"Do you have the time?" he asked.
I did and I did not.
"Sorry, I do not," I said, giving him the safe half of the story. "I was looking for the Chantilly."
"I know this place," he said. "My parent's made their wedding bed there." I was taken with his strange manner of speech and the way he worried a glass bead in his hand. His eyes were brown.
Fourteen miles away, my husband was boarding the Blue Train towards home.
"I will walk you there," he said, "to the Chantilly." He smiled and softness spilled over his face despite his angular cheek bones.
I looked to the west. Red slippers sparkled upon my feet. I kissed him once on the lips and stepped into the east.
* * *
14 comments:
I smiled.
Cool. A breath of clean, sweet air on this winter day.
If a pro, like you, hadn't written that; here's what it would be:
We were standing by a fountain. He asked me what time is was. I told him I didn't know and I was looking for the Chantilly. He said his parent's had their honemoon there and he could take me there. He talked funny and had brown eyes so, naturally, I wanted him. I still don't know why he had a marble in his hand. Since my husband wasn't around and was getting on a train somehere, I kissed the guy and walked away hoping he would notice my red shoes and follow me.
Yeah Bill but she is a pro and that's why it's such a pleasure to read.
and that was exactly my point. a good writer can make an ordinary thing, compelling.
Please say this is merely the teaser to a longer work!
Chantilly Lace or the cream
I loved the idea of The Chantilly Hotel. Such a hotel would be old; and so distinctive that no one would need to specify it by saying "hotel." Everyone would just call it the Chantilly.
The main lobby would be an elegant place, with lush couches and low tables. Discreet waiters would take your order for a pousse café. You'd sip it slowly while staring into your lover's eyes, stretching out a moment so tragic in its conclusion, it would make the devil himself weep.
clear sigh
Yeah, yeah. Time to do the laundry.
I'll sign up for a pair of those red kicks, Erin! For me the location would be the Hotel Monaco in Denver. Google it.
Looks good, Limes.
The Netherlands Plaza in Cincy is one of my favorite places on earth.
I loved the idea of The Chantilly Hotel. Such a hotel would be old; and so distinctive that no one would need to specify it by saying "hotel." Everyone would just call it the Chantilly.
The main lobby would be an elegant place, with lush couches and low tables. Discreet waiters would take your order for a pousse café. You'd sip it slowly while staring into your lover's eyes, stretching out a moment so tragic in its conclusion, it would make the devil himself weep.
clear sigh
Yeah, yeah. Time to do the laundry.
Right there, you captured the lives of us writers, Erin. We live in fantasy worlds of our own making, where red slippers and talk of marriage beds are commonplace, and then we have to wash the dishes or do the laundry. We live in the same human world, just with our heads cocked more often than most.
Netherlands Plaza,+1.
Erin, I'm guessing, hoping, your stay at the Netherlands was a romantic interlude with the Goat. I was introduced to this masterpiece when, during a former life as a technical consultant/ data aq specialist/ and lifter of heavy things to the formula racing industry, I was invited to attend the Performance Racing Industry Tradeshow, in Cincy about mid 90's or so.
I've been to a lot of industry tradeshows, mostly fuel and alternative fuel industries, and particularly with the gas and oil guys, they try to outdo each other with opulent digs. At the Society of Independent Gasoline Marketers Association shindig in 2005 at the swanky La Cantina in San Antonio, Jerry Jeff Walker was the featured entertainment midst filet mignons branded with a V for Valero, showgirls handing out cigars and tables piled with Gulf shrimp the size of a baby's arm.
But nothing compares to the Art Deco-dence of the Netherlands. I rolled in about 4am, came through the parking garage entrance, and was awake enough only to follow the bellhop to my room, tip him, snarf a $23 jar of macadamia nuts from the mini bar and pass out.
Next morning I saw the Netherlands for the first time with sunlight streaming through the vaulted windows playing off intense metalwork beyond description and 40 foot high panels of Brazilian rosewood.
It has to seen to be appreciated.
The PRI event was down the street at some conference center, and no surprise, the crowds of engineers, fabricators, weldors, machinists and mechanics chose to hang out afterhours in this masterwork of craftmanship. The bar is actually a converted ArtDeco ticket booth from the Cincy rail terminal, long gone. If ever anyone has a chance to visit this icon, do it.
...and you know how much I digs me some flash-flash. Nice!
WV: "acter" which is the way my 6 yr old spells "actor"
Post a Comment