It was twelve. Church bells striking somewhere. Midnight. The witching hour. She went hunting. Time for a change, to control destiny, wrestle it the ground and master it. Or was that mistress it? Whatever. Alison was wearing black: tight jeans and crocheted sweater. She had lined her lips in red. Her hair, dark, hung loose down her back. She walked fast debating: subway or cab. She took the subway. More money to drink that way. On her way. Down to the East Village, 24 hours upside down version of 57th Street and its Disney-like allure. She stood on the train, hands clutching her bag close to her. She wore her glasses, but met no one's eyes. She went East on 42nd Street, down to Astor Place. Strange since the Riviera and Conran's and Cooper Books had closed. Homeless everywhere. The sweet smell of pot perfuming the air. "Sense," they offered, soft Island voices. She could use more sense, but not their kind. Faster. Faster further east. Past the Divide. Past some dividing line. Small clubs with music blaring. It was like twelve noon down here, everyone up and out. Even the vampires were awake. Wearing black, their lips blood red and their eyes hungry. Alison was indistinguishable. She smiled fleetingly, picked up her pace. East and south. Dive bar. Yuppies though. Suits that they wore to work at Chase or Lehman or Wilkie Farr tossed aside in favor of purple and more black. She took off her glasses and threw them into her bag. She looked better that way, tossing her hair and squinting at the grimy bar and beer without labels. She drank Thai beer and bummed a cigarette from the bartender. She was looking for trouble. Hell, she was looking for him. Cody. Cody, Wyoming somewhere in the western part of the country. Somewhere out past Denver, big sky country, some kinda bullshit like that. Nowhere she wanted to go. She perched on a barstool, bag crushed to her breast. She should have left the glasses on: she couldn't see who was there. Cody. Cody Nicholson from somewhere in the west of Jersey. The man of the hour. For whatever reason. People wandered by, said hello, bought her drinks. She didn't know their names. She was getting wasted, smiling more, smoking. Laughing with these familiar strangers. She let them weave their spells, let them get close. Then, as if by some inner radar, she knew he was in the bar. Tracking him. Willing him to come stand beside her. She couldn't really see him, but it didn't matter because she knew him. Knew him like she'd known him Biblically which she, of course, hadn't. He had long straight hair and a perfect nose, perfect lips, perfect high cheek bones. Perfect ass. She felt him beside her, an aura except she didn't go for that New Age cheap bullshit. "Alison," he said, reaching to give her a quick hug. She wanted to play it cool, pulled away. "You didn't call me." Her ruby lips pouted, her weak eyes were cold. "God," he said and slapped his forehead hard. "I lost your number." He leaned over and put his lips on hers. So briefly. Hot and then very cold when he stood straight. "Sorry, forgive me, Ali, please." He went down on his knees in front of her. The bar crowd, blasé, paid no attention. She touched his hair: soft, clean, smelling of some child's shampoo. "Get up." "Not until you forgive me." "Cody," Alison said, trying not to whine, sucking the last drops from her bottle. "The floor's sticky." He pulled out a ring box, handed it to her. "I'm not getting up until you say you forgive me. And while I'm down here, babe, you would be doing me the utmost favor to agree to become one with me." "What are you talking about?" She asked, peering down at him. She was certain he was ruining his very nice French jeans kneeling down on the gunky floor. "Marry me," he said, seemingly serious. He smiled at her. He was very goodlooking. Alison opened the box, draw out a fiery ruby ring. It gleamed with promises of unbelievable luxury and of tempting decadence. Unable to help herself, she slipped it on her finger. Tried to. It didn't fit. It was too small for ring finger and the little finger just wouldn't cut it. Alison picked up the ring, bringing it close to her eyes. It offered no new powers, wove no spell. She looked down and Cody had turned into a frog. "Sorry," she said, pulled out a tip for the bartender and left.
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Updated Thursday, 04-Mar-2004 14:58:30 PST