FEMME FATALE-FLASH FICTION

19 Dec

FEMME FATALE

Colin.r.james 2010

 

The cloud of hairspray mingled with the residual steam from the shower and condensed on the bathroom cabinet; the specter of passion red lips barely perceptible through the hand smeared glass. An aroma of expensive soap and beyond-advertized-expectation perfume hung in the air, energizing the senses, promising an evening of as yet unrequited pleasure.

The bedroom was lit with candles, incense and possibility. Although crumpled, the bed served adequately to showcase the little black dress, the seamed sheer stockings, six inch heels and silver necklace. Everything had been laid out perfectly in preparation of the evening to come. Mirrors had been flirted with, a fashion show of dresses and skirts paraded in front of its unforgiving eye. Backwards glances had been cast to judge figure hugging lingerie and long lacquered nails had fumbled with leather straps and dithered over ridiculously small jewelry clasps.

Finally a decision had been made, not that the decision couldn’t be altered and prerogative exercised! After the requisite amount of indecision over neckline and hem, there was just time enough for the necessary preening. The act before the act, the scene setting and chorus of a dance hall diva.

The dance had been announced weeks before. A new club, advertized in bold text and garish colors, was opening up in the high street and was the talk of the town. There hadn’t been a dance club since the Roxy had been burned down back in ‘76. Promises of chandeliered excellence and champagne decadence; finally somewhere to exercise permissive social intercourse and showcase ones inner celebrity.

 

 

The invitation had been accepted and the date finalized. After a week of furtive telephone conversations and car-parked rendezvous the mettle had been struck, the decision to go hammered out and carved in stone. Excitement had filled the days leading up to the Friday in question. An auspicious occasion at the end of any working week, however on this particular week, a scarlet lettered day indeed.

Plucked, preened shaved and quaffed the flower of womanhood stared back from the looking glass. Dark charcoaled eyes and rouged cheeks simpered back from behind caged lashes; Mary Kayed perfection with a hint of Avon class! Still glowing from the warmth of the shower, the touch of silk stockings against freshly shaved legs was electric. The rustle of the dress as it draped down over designer store panties; the cotton hem brushing naked thighs, circumferenced by fish-netted elegance. A Friday night princess in all but name, but a Friday night princess just the same.

Above the sound of the record player, the doorbell clarioned its impatient demand. A deft flick of the curtain revealed a shadowy figure outside the front door; smoke rising up from orange embers. The lights from the still running car were reflected in the rain puddled street, the exhaust gasses cascading across the cobbles, misting the road.

 It was time.

A week’s worth of trepidation expired; the moment was here, the moment was now. Turning back one last time to view his sleek silhouette in the mirror he smiled satisfied. This was going to be a night to remember.

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