A Bronx Tail

My eyes took a while to adjust to the darkness. I was on the trail of the most alluring feline tail I had ever set eyes upon, beckoning me deeper into an unknown world, void of humans, yet full of intoxicating promises. Not wanting to lose sight of her, my swirling head drunkenly attempted to focus my besotted, veiled view of her – now fading into the shadows of a long alleyway. Those six quick shots I downed right before leaving Henri’s Bar are most definitely not helping my balance or eyesight; however, the hypnotising sway of her walk, has me mesmerised with desire. Quelle chance, mes amis. What luck that she crossed my path at the very moment of my exiting the bar.

Stumbling in the dimly lit passageway, I accidently kick over an old metal trash can that spews its discarded contents of fast-food leftovers onto the ground. A collection of hisses, growls, and shrieks accompany several Alleycats converging on the smorgasbord of fresh pickings I have gifted them. Collectively, they all stop and stare at me as I pause to talk to them.

“Bonsoir,” I cordially greet them, but they just freeze-stare back at me in various poses of haughty suspicion. Not one of these little kitties return as much as a meow. It matters not. Perhaps, I am not like the kind of leering passer-by they are used to. By pointing at them and laughing at their rudeness, I bring unwanted attention to their discreet practices, so they begin to verbally abuse my unwelcome intrusion. Perhaps they are visually impaired by the surrounding darkness, because who in their right mind, can resist me in my starched and well-pressed uniform? It is apparent that they are not my type and are just too embarrassed by their unappealing appearances to acknowledge the plain and obvious truth, that keeps them feeding on the scraps that society throws at them. Misfortunate children of the lower classes, sad and downtrodden, they are unable to lift their game to my level.

“Do not fret, mes amis,” I comfort them. “You will find someone one day that will overlook your shortcomings.”

In unison, they reply with an upward jut of their rumps, straightening their postures, as they turn their gazes away from me. “Begone,” is their apparent message. It is of no consequence. They are not my destination. The fluffy sequined one swishing away down the alleyway is what I really seek. Look at that swagger.

“Lose yourself in that swish,” I tell myself. “Allow the surrender.”

 Oh, how my pulse races. She is truly magnifique. A beautiful creature of desire with the sensuality of a well-fed alleycat. I vow to introduce her to a level of passion she has never felt. She will soon realise that once you go Jacques, you never go Bach. How absolutely humorous of me. Along with my poetry, it is another inner quality that will smite her with desire for me.

Make a girl laugh and she will return for more,

Should she refuse me, then she is just a…

“Hey Sugar,” a sultry voice attempts to seduce me through the darkness. “Are you looking for a date?”

I momentarily halt, staring intently through the neon illuminated passageway to my left. At first, I see nothing. Then, someone saunters under the glare of a green, streaky light reflecting off a reddish brick wall. A sleazy denizen of the seedy character that neighbourhoods like this are notorious for. Offensive red lipstick smeared across her face, fails to hide the unpleasantness of her nature. Appearing weirdly purple in the current neon glow, her hideous appearance is merely a mirage caused by the undulating effulgent light. I am sure she is not that ugly in the warm glow of a bedside table lamp, or after several glasses of Absinthe. I am not disturbed. I am a man of the seven seas. A veteran of foreign wars that continually haunt my nightly dreams. A witness to horrors unimaginable by most of these city dwellers, so it would not be the first time I surrendered to the ugly lure of a quick jolly before battle, and it wouldn’t be the first time I did it as drunk as I am. But I am not to be distracted. I am on the hunt and will not let anything slow me down.

“Je suis vraiment désolé, Mademoiselle. Forgive me,” I insincerely apologise. “Perhaps another time in another light,” I explain - while maintaining an element of polite decorum.

She purrs like she is willing to be friendly for a price. Like love to her is transitory, repeating, and a commodity to re-sell.

“Why chase it, when the capture is here, honey?” Her sales pitch screeches like fingernails across a chalkboard.

I know what she means, and I know what is on offer, but she is not pure like my sweet Antoinette. She is tainted with the scent of sex for sale and the body language of a Texas cowgirl offering rough rides and cheap thrills. I say cheap, yet I know not her price. However, my sixth sense tells me that the short-term cost may be damaging to my long-term health, and no amount of antibiotic cream would erase the lasting sores.

I try politely to let her down gently.

“Love is a privilege, Mademoiselle. But when I no longer can find it, perhaps I will return to purchase it…”

Tact has a habit of escaping me; however, on this occasion, it failed to even materialise in the first place. It seems my insensitive choice of words has angered her.

“You think you’re too good for me, you little tail chaser?”

“Non, Mademoiselle,” I obstinately retort. “…I don’t think it, I just ‘appen to know it.”

My patience wears thin. She is keeping me from my objective, so it is time to turn on the rude by adding fuel to her fire with some French arrogance.

“It is life,” I dismissively gesture. “It is fact.”

It is then, that I realise we are not alone in our conversation. Two proportionately sized, large gingers reveal themselves in the neon glow - as it changes colour from red to blue. As I suspected… this was all a ruse to lower my guard, then take from me what I politely refuse to part with voluntarily. Judging by the appearance of the oversized steroid twins, it will not be a fair fight. However, what I lack in warrior skills, I more than make up for it in intellect.

“Hand it over!” The scruffy of the two ginger Toms demands. I decide to try some advantageous French guile.

“Monsiour…” I reason. “I cannot give what I do not have.”

“We’ll be the judge of that. Now give me your wallet…”

“It’s judges,” I grammatically correct him – momentarily confusing his unlawful intentions. “There are deux d’entre vous… two of you. Surely, you ‘ave the foresight to see that puts this lonely French sailor at a disadvantage…”

“Deux dante…? Where are you from, asshole?” The second ginger demands to know.”

“De Paris!” I excitedly blurt out, as if the mere mention of the city of love would change the course of his plan to thump me, and just hug me instead - followed by a kiss on each cheek. It becomes immediately obvious that my city’s amorous reputation is completely lost amongst his ignorance of the outside world.

“Well, this ain’t parlez-vous France, buddy. This is the Bronx, New York City - the Big Apple, and you’re trespassing on our patch. You wanna pass through it, you pay. Comprehenday-Vous?”

“With what?” I confusedly queried before reiterating, “Like I already explained to your boss girl. I ‘ave nothing to give you but love…”

“Why don’t you give him a taste of our very own Bronx love, boys,” the mademoiselle encourages. “Dent that little French kisser of his. He’ll soon cough up the dough.”

“Ma Cheri,” I plead to her sensibility. “You mistake me for some back-alley pugilist. I assure you that I am merely a lover and not a fighter. You, my little petal, are beyond my affordability. As strikingly beautiful as you are, I can only apologise to you that my heart is already taken. C’est dommage, that is just too bad… A hapless shame on my part. If only we had met earlier, ma petite Rose…”

Lesson one in the art of my love is if you cannot be sincere, then flatter till it matters. In this case, I appear to have taken the sting out of this little one’s scorpion tail, because she has called off the heavies.

“I can’t figure you out, Frenchie. You’re either naïve or you’re hiding a streak of danger behind that lover boy façade. I reckon you’re more trouble than I wanna know, so I’ll give you thirty seconds to skedaddle from my view. If I see you after that, then the boys here will get their fun day out, after all.”

No further explanation is needed. I have wriggled out of a potential setback. I salute them with a sailor’s farewell, then make my escape in under twenty seconds flat. Looking back just once, I am sure her lingering gaze wonders what my love would have been like. I know one thing for sure. Her boudoir would be much too hazardous for even my idea of a good time.

With haste, I lengthen my stride, trying to catch up with my Antoinette. If I didn’t know any better, I would say she is dawdling further down the alley, awaiting the resumption of our little game of not-so-trivial pursuit. What a teasing little minx she is, and how it makes me want her more. But I must be careful. Too eager and it may push her away. Too shy and she may just simply ignore me. Yes, if I am to win her love, my desire must be like a cradled passion that when squeezed, lets out just the right amount of balanced appeal.

“Bonjour, mon amour,” I whisper. “You waited for me… That is such a beautiful gesture.”

Like the alleycats earlier, she says nothing, but just turns and heads away from me once again, pretending not to be interested.

“It is a challenge of my genuineness,” I tell myself. “She is testing me.”

If this cat and mouse game is to have a happy ending, then I must get ahead of her and prevent further progress, until she has been enlightened by my glowing admiration for her.

Using the dense shadows of the tall buildings to hide my advance, I swiftly scurry along the edges of the alleyway, gaining the advantage of pace and unavoidable destiny. Catching my breath, my pulse races, as I pant heavily from the excitement of the approaching surprise I have waiting in store. I see her, but she cannot see me. I can tell she is looking for me, because she continues to turn her gaze behind her while increasing her walking pace. I think she knows that her voyage is close to its destination, for I notice her eyes nervously darting from side to side, trying to detect my whereabouts. What valour! What daring! She has such an uncanny sense of inevitability yet continues heading toward her fate undeterred. How that makes me desire her so much more, knowing no matter what she does, her journey ends with me.

It is time. She approaches. Casually, I step out from the shadows and into the casting light of an old wall lamp flickering its warm yellow glow onto the cold ground. She now sees me, and her facial expression morphs from surprise into the most widened grin I have ever seen. Screaming with what I can only call, the delight of seeing me again, she backs away, arms raising in thrilled shock. My own two arms dramatically stretch toward her and beat back her weak repulse, forcing my loving hands to caress her exquisite neck with gentle squeezes - tightening slowly around her choking oesophagus. Oh, the ecstasy, the joy, the sheer unadulterated pleasure. Mon amour, we will always have this night. No-one can ever take it from us. You sensed the danger from the very moment you stepped into the alleyway, so let this moment be ours forever…

Staring lovingly into those beautiful blue eyes - whose lifeforce rapidly recedes from this existence, I smile at my reflection in her expanding, dilating pupils. Look how radiant she is, as I lay her pale sweet face onto a patch of wild green grass. I must be careful not to dirty your short but magnifique sequined dress. Mon Dieu, please forgive my carelessness. One of your high-heeled shoes has slipped from your dainty little feet. I may be a beast, but I am not an animal. I shall take it with me. A memento of our time together. Do not be concerned for its treatment, my little chérubin. It will have great company in my trophy cabinet.

Now, alas, I must love you and subsequently leave you. My ship sails soon and I am bound to sail with it – if I am to remain part of its crew. Many more ports of call await the arrival of my impending love, you see. Please do not judge me. I was born a semen to sail the seven seas of salacious immortality. My quest is destined for the annals of tomorrow’s history books, where they will record that this was nothing but a sport to me. Perhaps, they will describe that the game - as games go - was all in the chase, mon amour. You walked when you should have run. Had you not enticed me with your inviting swagger and that petite little swishy tail, this French Bulldog would not have chased the little kitty through the alley. What can I say, except that it is not my fault. I am not to blame. You led me on. How could I resist your charms? I was driven wild with the craving for you. The truth is, a leopard never changes its spots and a man seldom changes his ways. Alors, we were never meant to last long, because, after all, unrequited love is nothing but a forlorn delusion – a slap-in-the-face rejection that by my standards, always requires an immediate and suffocating response.

You are not to worry that your refutation has hurt my feelings, my little pussycat. Because once again, I shall be on the move, looking for the perfect love that I believe, am destined to find…

Adieu, my Antoinette… and bon voyage…