Day 198 – Velvet Vivienne

Started writing a plot at 23:53, so not bad!

Word count: 638

Velvet Vivienne headed up the bow of the bar, clicking her fingers for a fresh Martini. Effortless could describe her being in its entirety. Her little black number accompanied with her diamond-speckled black heels was so effortlessly put together; her hair curled around her shoulders as naturally as breathing. Her figure curved the edge of the bar as if they had been made together. She was a devil in disguise and her eyes were a gateway to sin and regret.

Soft music played in the background. A neat piano number, the pianist was restraining himself. A saxophone took off like a bird from a tree and suddenly the quiet evening mood turned into a jazzy vibe. It was mid week, the barman always forgot. Busy days meant Fridays and Saturdays, but every day in between became a blur off cocktails, whisky and liquers. Steve had worked in the Basement Bar for the better half of five years. All the regulars knew his name and he knew all the regular’s drinks. By now he could make up a cocktail for them depending on what mood they were in that night. He enjoyed working there, it was cosy and the tips were great. He knew everything about the job; there was not a trick that slipped him by… save one and that came in the curvaceous shape of Velvet Vivienne.

Every night she came here, ordering the same drink. Night after night for a whole two years and the only words exchanged between them amounted to only a few sentences. No one knew why she was called Velvet Vivienne, or even if she called herself that. She had never given her name, but the whispers in the bar had quickly brought along a gossip trail from others bars she had frequented in the past. She was an enigma save for what alcohol she liked: Martini, always Martini.

The crowds gathered near the piano and tapped their feet and sipped their glasses in time to the funky rhythm. From behind the bar, Steve listened intently to the beat and poured cocktails in time to the saxophone solo. He was making her Martini; she was eyeing it up like a hungry tiger. There was something odd about her today; usually she remained stone-cold anonymous and emotionless. Today she was frowning, could she be showing a little piece of her soul?

“Martini, for the lady. On the house,” Steve said.

Vivienne looked up, confused, “Why on the house?”
“Regular custom. Loyalty and all that.”
“You’ve never given it to me before?”
“You’ve never looked this upset before.”
She seemed taken aback, as if shocked that he had been able to sense her emotions.
“So what’s up?” he continued. “Work, husband? Family?”
Vivienne sipped her Martini and closed her eyes, “A little of them all, in fact.”
“Go on…”
“I shouldn’t…” she looked around her suspiciously.
“No deal, no deal… but you just look upset.”
“Not upset…. frightened.”
Steve’s eyebrows screwed up, “Frightened, what of?”
Vivienne looked towards the exit and reached into her purse, “You know who I am, right?”
“They call you Velvet Vivienne….”
“That’s right, well there’s a reason… and that reason you’ll soon find out… Here,” she thrust something into his hand, “Take this. Don’t open it now. I was never here, right? Never – not in all the time I have ever come here….”
“Vivienne, what’s wrong, what is this?”
Vivienne reached over the bar and revealed her deep cleavage, “By morning I’ll be dead. What you have in your hand is who did it and why. Don’t open… I was never here…”
She flew from her chair and glided across the bar to the exit, the black widow’s last flight. Steve looked on, unable to think or comprehend, a piece of paper scrunched up in his hand.

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~ by S.G. Mark on April 22, 2012.

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