Ever have a good day and yet there’s a shadow descending upon you? I can’t sleep. Here is my tribute to hopefully placate insomnia.
The club was filled with dancers wearing one piece outfits with fishnet stockings. Black netting wrapped around their bodies, with pearls and frills at the edges of the outfits. Eyes were painted with bright colors, yellow, red, orange, blue, purple, and countless other shades. Skin provided contrast, some of the girls as pale as ivory and others as dark as ebony.
Each cabaret dancer had a talent, displayed on one of many stages. One woman juggled knives, while another slung fire which lit her body in quick and fascinating contrasts. Three women, flying through the air above, performed as a swinging routine, catching the middle girl and moving back and forth, from time to time resting upon the balconies above. But rest was relative, as the athletic women were brought into the arms of rich elderly men capable of affording the expense of those nubile nymphs’ company. It was a luxury Bigsbee could not afford. However, on that night, while the women were pleasant on the eyes, they held absolutely no flavor for Bigsbee’s palette.
Stella was on the stage in front of him, the main act. She had blond hair, a sharp nose, green eyes with purple make up surrounding them. Her body was gorgeous by any standards, with nice breasts, a good dip into her waist, which flared just right into her hips and butt. There were no frills on her outfit, and she never needed them. It was white, slit up the right thigh, showing her precious pale flesh. But Bigsbee had seen all of that and more.
He tasted the nipples under the clothes, pink and erect. He had kissed down her flat stomach and licked around her belly button, taking in her salt. Lower, he played with her womanhood, the first man to be with her. The first woman to be with him. She was the only woman he knew in that way, and the only woman he desired to know. A throb overwhelmed his pants, but it was followed by a distinct pain in his heart, killing the forming erection. Leg muscles tensed until his calves were about to cramp.
The music was loud, deafening, but it was plain to see all which was happening in the den. It was her choice to go there, his friends said. He could do nothing for it. Like hell, he thought, as his jaw trembled. As soon as he reached the stage, when her emeralds looked down into his cold sapphires, she started to tremble too.
“Why are you here?” Her voice was quiet. It seemed like she was singing earlier; she had a beautiful voice. But Bigsbee couldn’t hear her. Even with all the noise, he really heard nothing but a buzzing in his ears.
“You can’t just leave me.”
“I’ll be back.” She glanced over the crowd. Men started to boo and heckle. “But I need to do this for now.”
“Can’t wait.” He reached out for her and a man knocked Bigsbee over the head with a bottle, dropping him to the ground, the bottle, unshattered, landing beside him.
Bigsbee stood up. Stella pleaded, “Go, Bigs. I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
“Soon? Soon was last month. The month before. Three months ago. Soon?”
“Just a few more months. Swear it, Bigs. Just get out of here before they kill you.”
There was a warmth rolling down the back of his neck, soaking into his shirt. He touched the base of his skull, and the liquid strung along from finger tip to nape until the string had too much tension and broke. The fingers were red and sticky, tacking between index and thumb. “A few more months?”
“I need you, Bigs. A few more months.”
“I need you now. The only woman I want to know. If you need me, you’d need me now.” He felt under his shirt, loosing the buttons to reveal the chest she had touched so tenderly. His nails and finger tips dug into his chest, where her head would rest when she wanted to hear and feel his heart beat, thumping against his ribs and her temples. It brought the most gentle smile to her beautiful lips.
Blood poured from the wound and ribs snapped. He flinched, then grunted as his arm tensed. With a final grunt he pulled his heart out, the red muscle pumping in his hand. “It’s yours. It will always be yours. You don’t….” He sighed, the blood seeping from his chest, dripping down his shirt and pants. Down the pants she would so eagerly remove to know him. She started to weep.
He placed the heart on the stage. There were still some heckles from the crowd, but most of the people went still, statues watching this grotesque display. “You don’t get it. What you mean.” He slammed it on the stage.
The man, gaping hole in his chest, shambled away, his left foot dragging behind him. He held his wound, the bleeding stopped. The opening was near impossible to see with the shirt buttoned again. She cried out, “Bigs, please don’t.”
“Come back when you find you can.” He didn’t turn to deliver the words. He didn’t stop walking. If not for the silence of the garden of statues, the words wouldn’t have been audible. Bigs limped out of the cabaret, into the street, and back home, where he bled on page after page, and while he found love in many facets, he never seemed to find his heart.
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