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Sunday, October 29, 2017

Delilah Calling (1)


His heartbeat increased to a heightened tempo; deep in its cradle, his chest, its thump like a giant’s footstep trudging across a broken landscape. 

Leaning on the door frame for support, he prayed for strength to his shaking legs, which appeared unable to carry him the few meters to where she stood, amongst her colleagues of like callings, looking directly at him like he was the one she had been waiting for.

Picking boldness, he forced his eyes to meet hers and marveled at the passion she conveyed at the blink of those sensual eyes. He wanted to call her, perhaps give her a hint of invitation. It would be easy, he was sure, knowing what she was there for, but his strength failed him and his legs refused to carry him those few meters.

He signaled a bar man, who hurried to his side, all smirk and servitude, his face a study of conflicting emotions.

‘Give me a bottle of Gordon sparks.’ He said, trying to convey confidence he did not feel.

Taking a seat, he prepared to await the order.
In his mind, he did a silent survey of the scene. Apart from the twenty or so patrons who were all keen on being as inconspicuous as possible – bowed heads and intense necking of whatever brands they were drinking marking that sign – and two or three serving girls whose mode of dressing and carriage set them apart from the girls outside, the immediate scene was bereft of any interest.

Plastic chairs and table did not tell much tales neither did the two company-issue deep freezers or the 14-inch television set tuned to a local station that was then showing the westernized antics of a homegrown music star.
In all, one could have been at any regular bar in town.

The order came sooner than expected and the chill down his throat eased off his tension a bit, or so he thought.

He caressed the bottle of Gordon sparks and looked out the large louvered windows in between sips. It was after a couple of sips that he discovered the silent code in use. The girls, who were dressed (or undressed) in varying stages of sensuality, took turns coming to the window to peer in through the double louver glass window and pose briefly for the benefit of the men seating within. 

The main idea appeared to be holding a man’s gaze long enough for a silent message to pass, a message that always without fail says, “I am available.”

While he was still pondering his inability to rise to the occasion, a young man whose attitude showed him an old hand at the game walked out and over to claim the very girl that had caught his fancy earlier and walked with her toward the back where the girls apparently had rooms.

Smarting from that missed chance and taking strength from the youth's boldness, he sampled what was left and found one he thought will cool his adore for that lost looker. Walking over to her was easy as well as discussion of terms – which she assured him would be better done within the confines of her room.

She led the way to the back, up two flights of stairs, both strangely well light, and into a room partitioned into two. To his surprise, her price, when they got to it, was way higher than what he thought was usual. The African in him flared and he haggled and got a third of it, hoping for a service she assured him would be his best ever.

“Now,” she said, smiling gently, while caressing him softly on the back. “Take off your clothes. All of it.”


To be continued

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