The Pixie, The Imp and The Devil

            We strolled into the bar last night feeling like a million dollars. The girls were together, dressed in graceful backless dresses, long waved hair falling about their shoulders. We took a table and ordered drinks. I took another look at Sharona and noticed that her dress was made of black velvet, and that she wore a single white rose pinned to it. I leant across to a passing waiter and ordered drinks for the girls who hadn’t yet noticed us. On receiving the drinks they came across.

            Ed and Miranda embraced, while Sharona and I stood apart, looking at one another.

            “Does the rose ever blossom?” she asked me, at length.

            “The answer to your question is but a dream away.”

            “But what if the rose stays closed, the petals too scared to unfold?”

            “Then we’ll know that black velvet is as choking as the unknown it portrays.”

            Sharona smiled prettily and nodded to me in deference. We turned to the others and noted their slack jaws with amusement. I took Sharona’s hand and drew her back from the table, before bringing back the chair and seating her. The other two sat too, in silence, watching us. Sharona winked at me and normality resumed.

            After a short time the girls went to perform. Miranda accompanied Sharona on the piano. The two of us watched them with real pride, basking in our circumstances. We barely needed to exchange a word. When Sharona returned to me at the end I again wondered ‘why’, but put it to the back of my mind this time.

            I asked Sharona about Miranda. She simply said they’d been best friends for years, since they met playing music at an early stage. Sharona then asked me about Ed. I told her I couldn’t back him for fidelity but she thought that was just fine. I hoped that opinion didn’t reflect her own attitudes. After a moment’s knotted brows I got a grip and bought another round. In a moment of madness I then invited Sharona to dance. I think perhaps she was surprised that I could, but we moved gracefully enough and soon she was laughing.

            “You know what they say about a man who can dance.” she said.

            And before the others could blink we were outside in the alley, Sharona on her knees before me, my cock in her mouth. It was a hell of a kick, seeing a girl dressed like her, so classy, in that scene.

            She stopped after a few moments and left me burning. She pushed me back against the wall and stepped away, running her fingers slowly half way up her thigh, showing me just so much, then leaned in.

            “Come with me,” she whispered. She led me to another graveyard in the city, magnificent and gothic. We could barely keep our hands off each other as we jumped over the fence and penetrated the dark depths of the place. Sharona moved with direction and took me to a crypt. She opened the stone doors and we actually entered the place. Down below we found an altar and she lay upon it, legs paired together and flexed at the knees. Her black velvet dress slipped down her smooth thighs and I went to her then, at that moment. Just as though I were falling from a great height I couldn’t pause for thought; I fucked her as though the laws of physics demanded it.

 

*

 

            I woke gently this morning to the smell of bacon.

            “My turn,” she said, smiling. I ate and she watched me. “Why did you come to me?” she asked, at length.

            “Why is your name Sharona?” I replied.

            “How did you know my name before I gave it?”

            “It’s written in our story.” I laughed.

            “What story?”

            “The story of us in the infinite library of Babylon.”

            She smiled. “What’s the story called?”

            “My Sharona.” I stopped eating for a moment and looked at her. “Why is your name Sharona?”

            “My Papa gave it to me. He wanted me to have a distinctive name. He told me that with a name like mine…” I began to gently caress her exposed midriff, the soft flesh between the ribs and the hips, “…I could always expect fate to come and mix up my life. He said that fate is a Pixie of no alignment and that she would as easily shower me with fortune as misery. He told me he could wish for nothing more than experience for me: good or bad. Anything more than ordinary…” my hand began to wander further up, and further down, “…and so he named me Sharona as a siren call to the Pixie.”

            “But is the Pixie in your mind? Is she your own Pixie, or is she Pixie to us all?”

            “Both!” She giggled.

            “I like that. I believe in your Pixie Sharona. It was in fact your father’s siren call that brought me here. Your very name, Sharona, called me from England on the wings of the Pixie, just as your father predicted.” I explained the adventures.

            “So a song told you to find me?” she said, at the end.

            “Yes.”

            “When you hear the lyrics, how do you know what to do next?”

            “Ed tells me, once the Imp of the Perverse in his mind has given counsel.”

            Sharona gently drew in breath as my finger traced the outlines of her breasts.

            “That’s very trusting of you.”

            “Very. Sometimes I doubt the wisdom.”

            “And what did Ed tell you to do with me?” she asked, playfully, and the whole thing broke down. We submitted to the Devil of Lust.

            Some time later she lay on top of me, the length of her body pressed into mine. She leant over me and her hair fell about us, shielding us from the world outside. We lay in mingled breath and gaze.

            “What now, Tom?” she whispered.

            I was destroyed.  I had to bite my lip. I wanted to ask her to come back to England with me. I was frightened of the idea.

            “Come with me,” I choked, and whispered.

            “Again?” she replied, and winked. Then her eyes softened slightly and she kissed me tenderly. I knew it was an acceptance of my meaning.

            And so much more.

 

*

 

            Sharona packed in less than two hours. I dared not ask how long she planned to join me but she declared straight away that she would let the flat go. She resolved to leave the remainder of her stuff with Miranda around the corner and so we left to speak to her.

            Miranda let us in and it became apparent that Ed was there, the sly dog! We told them our plans and they both looked mortified. I was worried about Ed’s reaction to the news: I’d thought he’d have been happy for me.

            An awkward moment followed in which Ed and Miranda looked at one another, each apparently wondering if they ought to follow our lead. The tension held for a few moments until they comically broke down in shared relied, agreeing that they were just fine on their own.

            The afternoon progressed. Ed and Miranda helped us move Sharona’s stuff into Miranda’s storage cupboards though they both displayed a kind of unspoken resentment.

            “Is everything okay, Ed?” Sharona asked, after a while.

            “Just fine,” he muttered.

            “You must tell me,” she said, “if I’m coming with you I’ll do it on your terms, as well as Tom’s.”

            “Alright,” he replied.

            Sharona called her employers next, requesting time off and refusing to be drawn into specifics of it. She lost the tour guide job completely; I could hear the guy yelling down the phone. She didn’t appear the least bit fazed by it.

            By early evening the three of us were standing in the low sunshine, with our boots and packs on. We were ready, but amusingly enough hadn’t worked out where to go. In the end we went back to the hostel, booked transport for the following day, and another night’s stay.

            We’re about to go to bed now. The evening’s passed peacefully with a few shared hostel games and beers, Ed and Sharona getting to know one another.

            On the morrow a new chapter of my life begins.

Sleeping with the Fishes

          This morning the Sharona-quest began in earnest.

            We looked online at the two girls’ profiles. One was still missing a picture, but in her profile she mentioned that she was a tour guide. We reckoned she’d therefore be easy enough to find. The other one, a hot blonde, has a fairly detailed diary. We carefully read through the last few weeks’ entries for clues. We discovered that she spends a huge amount of time at a few select locations: the mall, some café in town, the mall, a Bourbon Street club and… the mall. Her diary for today mentioned a rendezvous with the girls. We therefore decided to head for her favourite spot, The Shops at Canal Place.

            An hour later we were wandering about in the said mall, realising that this was in many ways a rather stupid way to go about things. It’s not exactly a movie, we’re not just going to bump into her… We went to a few shop clerks and showed them pictures we’d printed out. Eventually one of them actually did recognise her, and confirmed she’d been there in the last half hour. Ed got very excited at this point, believing himself a true Philip Marlowe.

            Despite this minor success we didn’t know where next to head, so we decided to sit in an open café in the mall and have lunch. We discussed what on earth I’d actually say if we did find her.

            “Go with your heart,” Ed told me.

            After lunch we decided we had to move on, perhaps try again another day with better clues. Ed noticed that we were next to the Aquarium and we went to check it out. Being on the estuary front it had been badly struck by Katrina. It lost 10,000 fish! It is recovering pretty well now though, and is open for business.

            We wandered about looking at various turtles and sharks until we came to a rather spectacular underwater tunnel. As I was gaping at the underside of a stingray Ed suddenly cracked me in the ribs with his elbow.

            “What the hell?” I asked. Ed pointed along the corridor. I looked and saw Sharona!

            “Wow,” I said, “that’s lucky.”

            “It’s fate,” Ed replied. “Now exercise your free will.”

            We sidled up to her and looked into the same part of the tank as her.

            “Hi!” I said, with forced brightness. Suddenly a giant of a man took a step closer to her and looked at me angrily. He must’ve been a college football player or something.

            “Er… Hi,” she replied.

            “Pretty aren’t they, Sharona?” I said, using her name to see what would happen.

            “You know this guy Shar?” said the bloke.

            “No!” she replied, with earnest honesty.

            “How’d you know her name then buddy?” he said to me, squaring up.

            “Her MySpace site, I recognise her.”

             “MySpace? Shar?”

            “Like, I dunno!” she replied. “What’s My…Space?” she added, fake-moronically.

            “Okay buddy,” the guy started again, facing me, “I don’t know what your game is but you’ll be sleeping with the fishes if you don’t fuck off.” A few kids looked over but he was just laughing at his terribly funny bon mot.

            “Alright mate,” I said, then turned to Sharona. “Sharona, fate brought me all the way here from London to see you. If that means anything then take your space and let me know.”

            The bloke didn’t take kindly to this continued communication. He grabbed me by the t-shirt. “I’m gonna knock you dead for that,” he said.

            “No, you won’t,” said Ed, suddenly appearing at my side. “Put my friend down, right now.”

            The two of them stared hard at one another, neither blinking. Eventually the bloke let go of me and we left quietly.

 

*

 

            Back at the hostel I found myself a little shaken by the confrontation. I couldn’t help but admire Ed’s bravery but I wondered if all this was so sensible.

            “What did you expect?” asked Ed, noting my mood. “This sort of thing is bound to happen occasionally when social conventions are pushed.”

            “Hmmmm,” I replied, and sat musing for a while. “I wonder if she’ll get back to me on MySpace.”

            “I don’t think so mate, she’s plainly an air head, and that hint of yours was way too subtle.”

            I think perhaps I’ll try and have a quiet one tonight.

The Island

          I had to get up at 5:30am this morning to get to a trial on the bloody Isle of Wight. This was no act of chance. The clerks were teaching me a lesson. They knew full well I wasn’t sick yesterday.

            I spent the day working on a miserable ASBO case. Imagine being sent all that way to deal with some little thug’s ASBO. The courts are in Newport, a city at the centre of the Island. So, as if it weren’t already bad enough that you have to catch a ferry to get to work in the morning, after a two hour train ride, you then have to get a connecting bus. What a joke.

On the way home, after an epic search, I finally found the correct bloody bus stop, complete with stationary bus and smoking bus driver. The driver was chatting to a girl with hair drawn sharply back from her face, I understand the correct term is ‘Croydon face-lift’.

            “Excuse me, is this the route 1 bus?”

            “There ain’t no other going from ‘ere mate.”

            He turned back to look at the girl again.

            “Ah, thank you… When do you leave?” I asked.

            “…”

            “Excuse me?”

            “…”

            “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you, I’m a bit deaf sometimes.” I attempted self-deprecation in the hope I wouldn’t be run over. The driver looked at the girl and rolled his eyes.”

            “Quarter past!” he shouted.

            It was ten past. After a couple of minutes the bus driver opened the doors and climbed in. The girl followed him. I moved forward to follow but the driver put out his palm to block my way: “over there mate” he pointed to a queue just down the road. I took a look at the girl and looked back at him. He remained impassive. I made my way wearily over to the designated spot.

            The bus pulled off and got to the queue before me. The driver let everyone on and started to close the door. I jumped on just in time and glared at him momentarily. Recovering my poise I asked for a single fare.

            “Two pound twenty.”

            “Here.”

            “That’s a fiver.”

            “Yes.”

            “I don’t take fivers.”

            “I just saw you take one from the last person.”

            “You couldn’t have, you only just made it through the doors.”

            “That’s a non-sequitur, and not a denial.”

            “What?”

            “Just give me my ticket please sir.”

            Grudgingly he took my money and gave me a ticket and change. I sat down. Fifteen minutes later the bus had emptied at various stops and only Croydon Girl, driver, an old lady and I remained. The old lady pressed the bell. The driver was gossiping away to CG. He went straight past the old lady’s stop without blinking. Eventually he noticed the ‘stop’ light and stopped at the next stop.

            “I pressed the bell for the last stop!” grumbled the lady on her way out, fairly.

            The driver grunted in response and CG glowered at her.

            So soon as she was safely off the bus, with the doors closed behind her, CG volunteered a brave remark:

            “Stupid old bitch. Doesn’t know what she’s on about. She didn’t press it at the last stop, don’t worry Gary, you didn’t do anything wrong. Stupid bitch.”

            At this I decided I’d had enough. This was just the sort of scenario that Ed would interrupt, and he’d be right to, although perhaps he’d’ve done it earlier.

            “Excuse me.” I said.

            Silence. Nobody looked at me.

            “Excuse me!” A little louder.

            After a few moments Gary replied, “What do you want?”

            “Well…” I started. “I have to say, you’ve no right to speak about a lady like that behind her back.”

            “Who the fuck…” He started.

            “No!” I interrupted him. “You just listen. You’ve no goddamn right at all. You must think yourselves so clever, the two of you.” CG jerked her head up; she’d been hoping to cow her way out of it. “You know your little bus route on your little island like the backs of your hands. A stranger comes amidst you and asks some reasonable questions displaying his ignorance of your little lives and you rejoice. The two of you look at one another, unified in your dislike of the other but just as ignorant of each other’s reality. You’ve no idea what goes on outside your tiny bus route. You’ve no idea what I do at all, nor who that lady is or has been. One day you might just need some help and you might find that the only person to give it to you can’t quite be bothered to explain what you just can’t understand. Show a little human decency and grow up. Face the world properly and stop teaming up on people you’d be too scared to even look at were you on your own. And let me off, this is my stop.”

            Gary had brought the bus to a standstill. He gazed absently ahead and pressed the button to open the door.

            I stepped off the bus.

            “You fucking pig.” Yelled Cf-lG, as the doors closed.