The music was bumping, bouncing off the walls, and stomping out into the street. Carmello tossed the keys to his black Lamborghini to the valet. When he reached the entrance of the club a doorman held back the waiting crowd and motioned for Carmello to go inside. He maneuvered his way through the dancers who smiled at him as he passed. Carmello’s eyes burrowed a hole through their vibrant faces.
Someone was heard to say, “That’s a cold brother right there.”
Another chimed in, “Cold as ice!”
Ma’Zenaida had warned him, be back by the quarter moon or he’d pay. It was now a half moon and still he hadn’t returned. He could not go back, he wasn’t ready. He had forgotten what it was like to be among the living. How could he return to the walking dead, called up from hell by Ma’Zenaida to do her bidding? As a gift she gave her favorites a quarter to once again be alive; soft skin and hair, tender lips, sparkling eyes, and most important a voice to speak and be heard. It was now the full. Only one received the gift and had to return to pass it to the next. No one ever had the nerve to stay pass the quarter moon. Until now.
As usual, he sat alone waiting for someone to whet his appetite. His foot began to tap to the music, his head bobbing as the bass drums dominated the rhythm of the dance tune. He spotted a statuesque girl sitting alone at the bar. From the back her wavy hair cascaded almost to her waist. In the mirror behind the bar he could see her smile, almost wicked, and this aroused him. Their eyes locked as they watched each other in the mirror. A bead of sweat trickled down her face. Without taking her eyes off of his reflection, she licked the drop from her lip. She was what he had been hunting.
He walked over and extended his hand, which she took without hesitation. He looked into her face. Most exquisite were her eyes, deep teal flecked with gold, a striking contrast to her caramel colored skin. In her eyes he saw a kindred spirit, he saw himself.
“What’s your name?” Carmello asked.
“Does it matter?” she responded
“Do you know who I am?” he said.
“Does it matter?” she asked again.
Carmello gave a low laugh and took her hand as she stepped down from the barstool. Their dance began slowly, her hips swaying to the beat, her head thrown back as she moved around the floor, tossing her hair so that it lightly brushed his face. The other women in the club looked at her with envy, knowing he planned to make love to her. The men smiled, feeling their own desire to be in Carmello’s shoes. The girl moved in close and whispered.
“Do you really want to dance Carmello?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, as this was usually his line.
She turned her back and pressed against him slowly grinding, feeling him grow hard. He wanted to step back, but he was powerless as he responded to her movements on his body. It was as if he had been with her, knew how to satisfy her and she knew exactly what he needed.
Just when he thought he might lose it right there on the dance floor, she moved away and turned to face him.
“Let’s go,” she said as she turned to leave.
As he attempted to follow her, his legs stiffened. His arms swung aimlessly at his sides, and his head jerked as he moved cross the floor.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“More important, what are you? It’s time to go,” the girl hissed. “Ma’ Zenaida is really pissed off.”
Carmello looked in the bar mirror and nearly shrieked at what he saw, a decaying old man. He could see how the other dancers looked at him. Some one shouted “What the fuck?!” as the crowd moved away from him. The girl reached into the pocket of his jacket that now looked faded and worn. She pulled out his claim check to his car. They walked out of the club as the others gasped in disbelief.
“Don’t move from this spot,” the girl said, “stay here in the alleyway before you scare the hell out of someone.” This time she gave a cruel laugh.
He stood against the brick wall of the club, shaking not from fear, but from the transformation of his body. The girl walked slowly towards the valet and gave him the claim check. When he returned with the Lamborghini, she slid into the driver’s seat and roared over to the alley to pick up Carmello. His head was leaning sideway and resting on his right shoulder.
“Get a hold of yourself and get in,” she said. He lumbered his way to the passenger’s side and awkwardly moved into the seat.
By now Carmello had lost his speech and could only look at her through his now vacant eyes. His lower jaw fell to the floor mat of the car. The girl laughed.
“See what happens when you leave a lady waiting?” she told him as his right ear came loose and disappeared into the night wind.
©2009 Aurora M. Lewis
