THE GIRL IN THE MAGENTA DRESS

The Girl in the Magenta Dress

  You could see her coming a mile away. Walking confidently along the heavily populated sidewalk like a model on a catwalk. She oozed confidence, style, grace and elegance. Her body was tanned and as she came nearer I could see it also looked flawless.  Her hair was as dark a black as a raven’s wing and swished to and fro as she sashayed along the boulevard.

      Heads turned as she passed the people on the sidewalk. A small child reached out their tiny hand to her and she smiled brightly at the child. Even her teeth were flawless.

      The gentle breeze ruffled her dress, lifting it gently to reveal long tanned legs and feet encased in coordinating espadrilles.

     The colour of the dress was stunning, as was its style. A deceptively simple dress, probably crafted by a master designer with their label sewn carefully into the dress's interior. It was so obviously an original, no knockoffs for this woman.

      Her arms were bare, and the criss-cross neckline was plunging yet not as revealing as one would imagine, or wish.  She wore a long silky scarf draped loosely over her shoulders. The swirling skirts were a flattering length, just above her knees.

      It was the colour, my gosh, the colour that caught my eye. A rich magenta; not quite red, not quite pink, not quite purple or blue. It was a colour like no other. It commanded attention, wonder, and awe.

I sat at an outdoor cafe, which was sandwiched between a bank and a souvenir store. It was almost closing time, and I was the sole occupant of the cafe's outdoor seating area.  The waiter had told me that they were tidying up the inside but I was to feel free to take my time. 

It was one of those sleepy seaside towns where all the stores and shops roll up at a certain time and the employees go cheerfully home to their respective places.

 I had been sitting at the cafe for some time now. The sky was that beautiful tangerine colour famous in the tropics and the azure and aqua-coloured sea was visible from my perch. The billowing clouds were fluffy, and a snowy white. There was a myriad of rich verdant vegetation, tall stately palms,  and hibiscus by the hundreds; in short a holiday goers paradise. And I was just such a holidaygoer.  For two weeks, I was a man of leisure, eager to drink in the sun, the sea, the surf, and all the fully decorated pina coladas.

 This was a tourist town, beside the sea. I could see the beach from the cafe, it was crowded, for the weather was perfect. You could hear the call of the gulls and smell the nearby ocean. Tourists strolled up and down the boardwalk, going in and out of the shops that lined the street.

I sat finishing my beverage, and continued to study the approaching Goddess, as she glided closer. As she approached she lowered her sunglasses and I noticed the capacious beach bag she had slung over one shoulder. She passed by my wrought iron chair and hesitated for a heartbeat and when our eyes connected, something almost magical happened. I saw her eyes open wide and heard her faint little gasp. Then she graced me with a smile and a brief nod and headed up the short path to the bank. I had a brief desire to go into the bank and cash some traveler's cheques. Unfortunately, I had none. I gave a sigh; there went that idea, to get closer to her, and maybe have a brief but meaningful conversation, ask her if she would like to have a drink with me. Face it, I was lonely. What was meant to be a holiday for myself and my brother, turned into a solo trip when he broke his leg in several places and was not able to come on vacation. Thus far the holiday had lacked excitement of any kind.

      My eyes followed her as she walked with purpose up to the bank door. She unfurled the scarf at her neck and draped it over her head and around the bottom portion of her face.

     Well, that's interesting I thought.

     My eyes were trained on the bank door and a few moments later she exited. Her shoulder bag bulged at the seams. She stepped lively now, despite her high heels.

     As she passed my chair at the corner of the cafe area, she reached into her bag and threw me a small bundle. It landed at my feet. She continued on her way and joined the throng on the boulevard. I watched as she disappeared into the crowd.    Seconds later the bank door opened and several men exited the building, ran to the walkway, and looked left and right up and down the street. 

      I picked up my long discarded book and peered intently at it as they looked around. Hopefully giving the impression that I had been intensely riveted by the contents of the novel.

      One man rushed up the street while the other ran down. I knew who they were looking for but I  also knew it would be hopeless, she had looked like a pro.

     I watched them intently while at the same time giving the appearance that I was deeply engrossed in my book.

     She had probably peeled off from the madding crowd at the first opportunity and ducked into one of the many shops before they closed. She could have changed clothes or slipped into a parked car behind any one of the shops. She would be long gone before the police ever arrived at the bank. A short time later the two men returned, meeting up at the bank doors. They both shook their heads and spread their hands in that age-old gesture that said zilch results. They entered the bank, the alarm still ringing, and shortly after, two police cars drove up and four officers hurried into the bank.

My drink was finished and I placed it carefully in the centre of the table. Underneath it, I left a very generous tip for my waiter. I placed my book in the bag at my feet which held my towel, camera, and other beach accessories.  I picked up the bundle that the Magenta Goddess had thrown towards me and that had landed at my feet. I looked around and slid it quickly into my bag. I would wait till I got back to my hotel room before I would count it. My holiday was suddenly looking brighter. She really was a Goddess!