A Smoke

Rhys asks the driver to drop him on the corner and he tosses him a twenty leaving him with a healthy tip for the ten block ride. Rhys pulls on his pea coat and wraps up in his scarf as he steps up onto the sidewalk. He sees his dads reflection with his grandfathers farm stained fedora as he walks passed the glass windows of an empty office space.

Reaching into his pocket his fingers wrap around the worn briar wood bowl of his pipe. He tamps down the tobacco and tilts his hat back as he strikes a match. His eyes fill with the red embers as he takes a few deep breaths to keep the pipe flowing. He starts to stroll up the street repositioning his hat with a tug on the brim.

A delivery truck rumbles passed and the smell of diesel and his pipe brings his father to the forefront of his mind and he tells him he loves him. Rhys smirks because he realized that he said it out loud. On his left there is a vertical parking lot, something he's never seen before and he stands and watches as cars pull in and out, drawing methodically on his pipe.

His destination is up the street and he can hear the silence of the venue which gets him moving again knowing he's not late, it is almost ten o'clock. The ironworks on the buildings are not ornate but they still beg to be touched and he runs his hand along metal that has been smoothed by unknown coats of paint.

As he walks up to the door he is expecting to see a pair of eyes peering out asking for a password like they did for the old speakeasy's but he just pulls the door and walks up the stairs, a little disappointed. He can hear the shuffle of feet and chairs positioning as he turns the corner and walks through the door. He sits down in the back as the drummer starts a slow rhythm on the snare with his brushes. He continues to scan the crowd looking for her, watching for the flow of her auburn hair.

He sits back and thinks he must have misread his calendar knowing that he checked more than once that on Halloween she would be singing. He enjoys the build up and the pianist starting in with a few hard notes and he watches the lead vocalist take the stage in her flats, black pants, and white open collared shirt.

The lights are still low and her voice carries well in this intimate setting but he still struggles to gain more detail than her black hair cut in a bob. As she turns to the audience and places her left hand on the mic and raises her right as the first notes are hit, the lights come up and she is in her full element. And Rhys remembers it is Halloween, and she dressed up.

He crosses his legs and gets comfortable in his seat, enjoying the sweet sounds of heaven echoing through the streets of New York, as she looks into the crowd and smiles at an old friend in the back.

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The playlist had songs Rhys has never heard and standards - 'Sweet Hunka Trash', 'Compared to What?', and 'Louisiana Sunday Afternoon.' The band closed with a cover of 'Today' which took his breath away. She went from note to note effortlessly, physically caressing each upturned face with her voice. He anxiously awaited his turn to capture her gaze and to be lost there for eternity or a second. He could swear her eyes smiled only for him, but it was probably a Hollywood illusion.

There were brief introductions of the band and a promise to return in a few minutes and she was instantly bombarded by admirers and short time friends. He sits watching the crowd, enjoying the descriptions of people formulating in his head drawn from body movements, facial expressions, and accents. He had lost her in the crowd and had a moment of panic that she never actually saw him. Then there was a hand on his arm, a warm cheek against his, a whispered hello and she was pulled away again.

Afterwards Rhys found a stoop with a clear view of the exit, he sat and pulled himself into his jacket. With his back against the handrail he flipped up his collar to shield the wind and lit his pipe. It is two in the morning and it sounded as if it was five o'clock in the afternoon. There was a constant rumble of vehicles in the background, with the occasional blare of a horn and the stars were non-existent in the narrow strip of sky above.

She walked out.

The night had cooled significantly and as she pulled her jacket off her arm he captured every movement and nuance. The turn of her foot that caused it to slip out of the back of her shoe, they are black flats mimicking Ms. Wallace perfectly. The cuff of her pants dancing in an unfelt breeze. Raising her arms to swing the jacket around a touch of skin flashes the remnants of a summers tan, a stark contrast between the black pants and white shirt. Her jacket is long and envelopes her as so many of the men wanted to tonight. There is one piece of Mia that is missing, her short black hair has been released of duty. The auburn locks are once again free to decide their color - deep brown, red with a hint of blond or somewhere in between. As she flips up her collar and turns her head to look for him the night air flips and twists a strand of hair as if to capture every scent.

He stands and walks toward her and offers his arm. Taking it and sliding into step with him she rests her head on his shoulder. Rhys thrills at her warmth and tells her again about her beauty as they step into a diner to travel through their conversations and sip on coffee that is only good because of the company.