Memories of a Nouveau Carre

Image by Aoife Mac

This is a style of writing I’ve not done much with here. I’d really appreciate thoughts and feedback in the comments since this is new stylistically. Did you enjoy this? Was it an interesting read? {Click to Share on Twitter} or {Click to Share on Facebook}

The Approach

This is the place.

Walking out the rear entrance of the garage, smiling as the glow from the Cab Franc at dinner fades with the wind nipping your ears. Thank God it’s less than a block away. Into the alleyway – surprising that your group are the only ones walking this way tonight. Must not be an event at the symphony… shame, that. Nice seeing everyone walking around, dressed for a night downtown. You remind yourself to ask for tickets to a performance for Christmas…

Four in the group, laughing and shooting the shit, stumbling through the alley. There’s the lawyer/politician – too kind and honest to be good at either. The Brit – always looking for a shag, and never a reliable wingman. Ah yes, the Old Friend… it’s great to just be hanging out again. He knows where you’re leading the group; the other two… no idea what they’re in for.

Turn the corner, just a few more doors this way. Quiet out in the street. That’s the thing about this place – unless someone knows it’s here, they’ll walk right by it. The windows are tinted dark. Gold lettering reads off the window. The Lawyer and Brit eye the door, then you. This is it? their eyes ask.

Outside the doors

Shapes moving just behind the window – silhouettes of a group of women at a table near the front. The ass on that one – is that??? Smile, realizing you could recognize that one anywhere just from the shadow of her ass. It’s not her. Good. Being in the same room is not worth the trouble tonight. Funny, though, the ass thing.

The door opens; a group of three strides out. Well, well, well. Look at the Big Spender. Your group catches a glimpse inside – busy night. No seats at the bar, tables full.

This is the place.

Behind closed doors

Walk in, lead the way up to the host’s station. He recognizes you. Solid handshake, more than an act… seems you’re starting to become a real regular here. The Brit quizzes the host about the women here tonight. Jesus.

It’s weird, this ritual you have here. Every time you arrive. Hang your coat, glide to the back for a piss – scanning the crowd along the way. Get a nod from the bartender. Make small talk with the chef – how’s she enjoying cooking the new menu?

And of course, the Cute One is working tonight. She always is. She must recognize you by now even though you normally sit at the bar. Still, not working up the nerve for a proper conversation. Hitting on the staff is just… you don’t shit where you eat, and you don’t hit on staff during shift.

The music in this place… who makes the playlists? Last time was dubstep. Tonight? The Clash. The Talking Heads. Eclectic but always always perfect. Incredible.

Finally, the drinks

The host pulled a fast one on the seating order during your trip round the room; the Lawyer and Old Friend are talking about a boxing match. The Brit has his head on a swivel, stopping on the Girl in the Red Dress. Jesus, the clichés on this guy.

You slide into your seat and eye the cocktail list. Tonight? Feeling tequila. You’re not driving, anyway. There’s one on the menu the bartender warned didn’t make the cut for the new drink menu coming out. Act now. Limited time only. Easy decision.

The Cute One is taking care of the group tonight. Oh, God. Swear she’s leaning close on purpose while she’s taking orders.

Yeah, right. Get over yourself, bub.

The Memories

Settling in, cracking jokes with the guys. Daring the Lawyer to talk to this woman. That woman. Stupid shit and you’re all laughing. Everyone else in the room fades and blurs a bit… not from the booze, but because the world has shrunk its borders to those four chairs for the next hours.

The drinks arrive. Clear, liquid bronze. The first sip slides across your lips… perfect. Why give this one the axe? Balanced, sweet, herbal and a spicy kick. Eyes rolling back in your head a bit, the drink is stirring a memory. This tastes like… Oh, my. This tastes like sex with…

This is the place.

Thanks so much for reading this. Writing it felt good. Should I write more in this style? Share this post on Twitter and and on Facebook, and let me know what you think in the comments. – Ken