A radiant star, taking a vacation from the sky, illuminated the dimly lit café, and my heart began to race.  I was captivated by her tall, sinewy physique and wild spiky black dreadlocks. She wore a black low-cut tank top, where her large chest peeked out from, with snug black leggings, and black combat boots to match. Her dark chocolate hued skin glistened with perhaps a kind of glitter-lotion, (?) and her well-toned dark arms, were covered in star and moon themed tattoos. When she moved those arms, it looked like a celestial shower! Ah, but her face…it was as if the heavens opened up and hand delivered the most perfect human specimen!  She was blessed with high cheekbones, extra large dark brown eyes: dusted softly with smoky green eye shadow and a hint of green liner, and beautiful full lips: colored in a playful hot pink. I could barely collect myself when she walked towards me.

“Do we seat ourselves or should I wait to be seated?”  This blessing from heaven asked me with a sweet, radiant smile that revealed luminous white pearls.  I stood inches away from her and drank in her intoxicating scent.  It was lavender, with a hint of patchouli and vanilla…rapturous!

“Please, allow me,” I replied.  I sat her where I could keep my eyes on her, next to the indoor poplar tree, by the pink lotus flower acrylic painting. 

“This is nice,” she offered.  I found myself scrambling for the right words to reply to her, as I was so caught up in her blissful beauty.

“I hope you enjoy it,” was all I could come up with, under such heightened sensual circumstances.

William, a young playwright in the making, soon came to serve her, and then dallied off to the kitchen to place the order. I watched her take out a large sketchpad and pencil from her black canvas portfolio bag.  An artist—YES!  

Our Lower East Side café, The Lotus Bloom, was a safe, affordable, inviting harbor for artists, poets, thinkers, writers, actors, directors, and such.  The artists and poets, however, were always dearest to my heart.

She ordered a mushroom and feta cheese pita sandwich and spinach salad combination dish with a large black coffee:  my kind of woman!  Slowly, she took bites and sips, in between sketching.  I wanted to see what she was creating but became swamped with hungry customers on a time limit.  Duty called.

In between seating my harried vegetarian regulars, I managed to exchange a few words with this celestial specimen.

“Oh, my dear, that’s beautiful!”  I couldn’t believe her talent!  She had drawn herself completely nude, surrounded by a sea of stars—five pointed stars, in a miscellany of sizes.

“You think so? I’ve been working on it for a few days now.  I was just thinking about it in my mind.  It’s a place I like to go, you know?”  Oh do I know, sweetness.

She seemed completely comfortable with the nude form and I immediately admired this character attribute in her.

“I would love to purchase that from you.  Would you care to sell it?”  I couldn’t believe what I was saying.  What if she asked for a mighty sum and I could not afford it?  Then what would I do?  Oh, silly me, and my big mouth!

“Oxana, you’re wanted at the front,” one of our dear effeminate waiters, Kyle, politely informed me.  It was a busy place during this time of day. As manager of this small but prosperous New York City establishment, my occupation seemed to entail everything from seating people, to making bank deposits, and all that falls in between.  I would even pitch-hit as a waiter, when needed.  It was my brother, Anton’s café; and, I would do anything to make it a success, even if that meant hand-washing piles of filthy dishes when the machine was on the outs! 

“Excuse me, dear, I will be back shortly,” I thought I sounded a bit nerdy in tone.  I was becoming very critical of myself (despite my usually healthy self-esteem) around this spectacular star.

“We have a situation in the back, Mr. Bushama; could you help us out?” Another waiter, Forest, inquired.

“I’ll handle the seating until you get back.” Forest assured me.

And, so quickly did my opportunity to speak more with this mysterious woman, disappear with the demands of the day.  A heated disagreement broke out between the dishwasher, Franco, and the second cook in charge: Cashmere. I assertively did what needed to be done to reinstate the peace and restore our collective productivity.

When I hurried back to my post, I noticed Miss Lovely was nowhere to be seen.

“Oxana,” said William, the waiter who served Miss Lovely, “here, this is for you.  My customer said to give it to you.” He handed me a large sheet of paper. I could not believe it!  It was her nude self-portrait amongst the serene celestial creations I had wanted to purchase from her!

“Did she leave a card or anything?”

“No.  Paid in cash, too.  Nice gift, Oxana.  Workin’ the mojo?” William teased.  He then hurried to take another person’s order.

It was signed: Moira Nights.

Sadly, I have yet to see Miss Lovely again.

I still arrive at work every morning, hoping…for Moira Nights.

(Written July 16, 2007)

About the author:   Christine Bruness is a widely published author, teacher, and artist.  She believes in the infinite power of nature, recognizes the great potential of dreams and imagination, and understands that peace begins within.  Her artwork, poetry, and/or short stories most recently appeared in  A Hudson View, Skyline, Haiku Haven, Bewildering Stories, Ken*Again, 63 Channels, Poet's Ink Review, Poet Express, OCEAN, Bolts of Silk, Charlotte's Web, Spinnings, Shadow Poetry Quill Magazine, Poetic Hours, Ancient Heart Magazine, Because We Write, Poets Against War, Transcendent Visions, Useless-Knowledge, The Cynic Online Magazine: Cafe Del Sol, Wild Violet, and WOMB.  Her first published book of poetry, Imbalance, An Experimental Collection of Micro Stories and Poetry, received the Rose/Rosemary Zientek Award.  In June 2007, Christine won the Useless-Knowledge 500 Word Essay Contest for her piece, Cat's Eyes.


Email: chatnoir@comcast.net

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