Noir: Cold Heart Stops

I rose from the ample bosom and instinctively scanned the front of the house again. The words from Robert Sterne faded as I saw her. A sea of patrons parted and her full visage turned all else out of focus. Oh. My. God.

She had dyed her hair red and purchased an emerald green sequined gown, all certainly with my money. Logic prevailed and I soon steeled myself against her beguiling beauty. Fabrizio came out from behind the desk and offered his arm to personally escort her. She did command attention. She represented everything The Topaz stood for: glamour, fantasy, escape and of course – sex.

I panicked. I was not ready to confront her, make eye contact or, God forbid, talk. A lane developed between me and the kitchen 20 paces away. Swiftly I strode across the dining room floor and behind the safety of the swinging kitchen doors. I dared not look back, like Lot from the Bible, behind me was certain death.

What is her play? Thoughts raced through my head. My “do-nothing” plan was screwed now.

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