The woman patted Jonathan on the back. “Don’t be scared,” she whispered. “Remember you’re among friends.” Whatever had driven him into the elevator, now pulled him out into a wide hall thronged with people. Even before the clicking of her high heels, like the clicking of a gave her away, Victoria wedged herself between the woman and Jonathan. She wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him close. “Dallas,” she cooed. “I missed you sooo much.” Her piercing voice not only ricocheted against the marble floor and walls but also against the insides of his skull. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and fluttered her eyelashes at him. The eyelids were painted a dark purple, a color that matched her short, tight dress. “You were awesome…
Mina Witteman – author | editor | teacher of creative writing
Posts tagged “Café de Eland”
The cover held a soup plate filled with a steamy orange soup. A sprig of green floated in the middle. The briny smell made his stomach rumble. He was hungry. He plopped into the chair and spooned up the soup. The hint of alcohol in it boosted his confidence. The burger he found inside the other cover was dry but tasty. He washed it away with three glasses of champagne. He sat back and looked out the window, at the bright blue May sky. He dabbed the plate with is finger and licked off the last crumbs, before he placed the plates and covers back on the trolley. Then Jonathan slipped into the new jeans. He still had an hour or so before Victoria and…
“You must be tired.” Matt Turing startled Jonathan with his question, which sounded more like a statement. “Let’s go to your room.” “I—I don’t have a room. I wanted to—I had to return this…” Jonathan stammered, taken off guard by the sudden twist. They both ignored him and Turing pulled him along without any ceremony. Within three rushed breaths, he found himself in an elevator with Victoria. The elevator shot up to the top floor, smooth and silent. Even Victoria didn’t say a thing. She had stepped away from him, the second the door had closed. Now, she studied her nails, like the guest service’s girl had done, as if he wasn’t in the elevator with her at all. When the door opened, Turing stood waiting…
“Dallas Bard.” Jonathan read the name out loud. He gazed up and watched a canal boat glide by. Smoke, stinking of frying fat, wafted up from it. Tourists snapped pictures of the gables, of him. In a reflex, he hunched up as small as he could, as he was used to ever since the book came out. He straightened up again, when the boat disappeared under the bridge. One day, he would get back at her. One day, he would tell his side of the story and show everyone what a world-class bitch she was. But he needed his notebooks. He’d plotted his revenge in his notebooks. He stared at the container with identical business cards. Nothing came up. He didn’t know a Dallas Bard. The…
Undefined piano music trickled from the speakers. Café De Eland was deserted except for two elderly people sipping cappuccinos at the reading table in the back. Mark wasn’t around, his place behind the bar taken by the bald-shaven guy whose name Jonathan always forgot. “Jonathan, what can I do for you?” The bartender lifted a beer glass of a stack and held it to the tap, his other hand resting on the shiny black knob. “No, no. Nothing. I–I think I left my bag here. Last night. When I left.” Jonathan looked around. No bag. Not near the corner where he usually sat, not near the coat rack. “Did you find it? Did Mark find it?” The bartender threw an unconvincing look behind the bar. “Nope, nothing here.” “Are…
Tagged: Amsterdam, Café de Eland, Dark Fiber, Feuilleton, New York, Silicon Valley, thriller, Turing
Mina Witteman 