Fabre

Fabre

The scent of Chanel No 5 dominated the air of the function room, which was filled to the brim with various dignitaries that mingled with suspicious individuals. Their reputations smacked of crime involvement, especially drugs. The distinct odor of Cuban cigars and whiskey was overpowering; the lips of each and every one of them constantly whisked the pungencies as they spoke their foul tongue. Politicians, businessmen, and gangsters alike will gain an unimaginable amount of profit from the deals being made here, today. As the air became bitter with smoke, so too did the deals. After a time the deals being done had become almost monotonous, unlike the words of the jazz song in the background which gradually insinuated themselves into the subconsciousness of its audience; their stark contrast with the impoverished souls of the people became obvious to only the more astute among them. As the night went on, the tensions and the disparities of this group began to gradually amplify. Louis Armstrong singing "What a Wonderful World" seemed so ironic.

Late into the evening and at the far end of the room, the main doors swung open to reveal Fabre. She entered with a certain deliberateness and began to subtly scour the room with her eyes until her gaze fell upon the man whose charisma emanated across the room. She had been anticipating this moment all evening. She was naturally drawn to him but her past experiences told her to entice him by playing the cat and mouse game. The prospect of their inevitable union would excite and, maybe, electrify him. However, unbeknown to her, a strange pair of eyes intruded into her secret world of pleasure--she was oblivious to this as were others. This glance, little did she know, was the beginning of her end. As she approached the bar, she caught the slightest glimpse of the undoer following her with his eyes until his gaze was firmly fixed upon her--welcome Justin.

While sitting on the bar stool, Fabre stared down the bartender. Les, the bartender, must be the blandest, stupidest man in here. Les is short, bald chin up, and fat; however, Les' hawaiian get-up is rather amusing. Fabre ordered a martini and Les responds with the only word in his dictionary--a deep, wheezing OK. Fabre, ever cynical, actually gains relief from the harmless bartender: businessmen present dangerous games, that's for sure. Fabre downs three or four martinis while speaking to poor ol' Les. Eventually, Fabre coaxes a quick point out of Les. Intoxicated, she looked up and caught a glimpse of a scene of two lovers which was reminiscent of herself and her lover. She finished her drink with gusto, placed the glass on the bar and pushed it away from her with disdain and an element of despair as if it were him, trying to tell herself that this was not the first phase of a waning of passion between them. Fabre was overwhelmed with a sense of loss, rejection, and humiliation. The ever-sly Justin saw these negative qualities radiating and realized that this woman was at her most vulnerable. Oh, what a prize she would be for Justin! To wrench her from the arms of his rival would indeed be a recognizable notch in his armor. She noticed his squinting eyes honing in on her and momentarily thought she recognized him, but from where?

Fabre did not like small talk, so, in an attempt to forestall what appeared to be the inevitable, she turned and rather recklessly made her way out. Outside, she angrily searched through her purse and took out a packet of cigarettes and placed one in between her red lips. Her stance was not steady and her mood erratic. A flicker

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