Excerpt from a novel in progress
she waits in the lobby seated near the bar by panoramic windows framed in dark mahogany. outside beyond a veranda behind a bluish film needle-like spires of Ottoman mosques form a ragged skyline above the glistening Bosphorus separating Europe and Asia. she consults her watch on a delicate gold chain cursing him silently for making her wait. more than anything she wanted to avoid the waiting which she now finds excruciating as she had known it would be. she stiffens and adjusts her skirt seeing the barman stare from behind a potted palm. a front desk clerk watches her also. tossing a stray lock from her face she turns to gaze out the window. she is aware of the revolving door a figure entering hesitating a moment walking briskly across the crimson carpet. noticing, she pretends not to notice. she stands and accompanies him to the elevator seeming from all appearances to be his companion. the barman busies himself folding napkins pretending not to watch. in the elevator, alone with him she sees him study her face in the mirrored panel. she pretends to watch the numbers illuminated above the elevator door. Tenth floor the room does not overlook the Bosphorus as might have been expected but rather the city on the opposite side. entering, he goes to the glass door and walks out onto the balcony. below, tiny red flags hang lazily in the cloying heat draped from white poles aligned like toothpicks alongside the entrance to the hotel. from hidden loudspeakers songs like plaintive wailing waft through the October afternoon. when she does not join him on the balcony he returns to the room finding her seated on the side of the bed her hands folded delicately in her lap. from his breast pocket he produces an envelope from which he removes a packet of bank notes. Shall I count them? she insists knowing her insistence will offend him. she wants to offend him at least just a little if for no other reason than for accepting her proposition. with a practiced smile he places the bills on the dresser apportioning them in haphazard stacks of ten apiece. when he has finished there are eight stacks in all representing the exact amount of her father's debt. the slightest hint of sorrow plays in her face. she glances at the money and quickly turns her eyes. he has avoided mentioning her father not even asking after his health though he had known beforehand the money was intended not for her. she lies down on the bed propping herself on a pile of pillows and gestures for him. when he does not lie down she feigns a smile then gives him a puzzled expression thinking he is being coy. she watches, still not believing in him when he opens the door to leave. she glances at the money stacked on the dresser half expecting it to be gone. he pauses in the doorway without looking back at her then as if deciding something he tells her farewell and goes out, closing the door behind him. by the time she has made her way down to the lobby he is nowhere in sight. peering through the revolving glass door she glimpses the white taxi as it bursts into flames. ......................................................................................................................... Art | Books | Travelog | Dennis | Nonfiction | Novel in Progress | Poetry Copyright (c) 2018, Dennis Lee Foster |