Lyricon, Volume 1
The cafe was crowded. The background chatter fluctuated with the aromas of various coffee products. The unusually loud dub-reggae music made it difficult to converse among all the commotion, yet the two sat across each other in a contemplative silence for a few moments. She took a long sip from a large blue cup.
"It soothes you," he said. "Doesn't it? Like a lick of ice cream. Every time you take a sip, it's sort of a spiritual experience. Well, it is for me, to watch you drink coffee. You smile, do you know that? You smile every time you finish a sip."
"I sit at home looking out the window, imagining..." she paused, "It can't think most of the time. My mind is too cluttered. But when I'm holding a warm cup of coffee in my hands, my brain is able to function properly. I really cannot explain why that or why I work that way. Every morning, I stand in my kitchen and sip coffee and stare out the window and solve all those life problems that mounted during the previous days. There's a tree across the street in front of an old brownstone. And the leaves are waiting to bud. The moment before Spring."
"New York is nice that time of year," he said. "Almost as green as it is here. And the house up on the hill? Magnificent. The entire first floor reminded me of a poem from Dylan Thomas. Even the musty smell and the room with all those books and manuscripts. Centuries old. Layered in decades of dust."
"Such a pretty house. Such a pretty garden," she said. "I have to admit that I would never want to live in that sort of solitude, but I would have loved if a distant family member lived there and I would be able to visit for weeks in order to hide away from whatever I have been trying to avoid. When those phobias subside, I'd be ready to return to work again. Another assignment. You never told me how your last client ended up."
"In the back room she was everyone's darling," he snickered. "That was her problem. She spent more time seeking validation, love in the form of sex, so much so that that lustful pursuit destroyed whatever talent she had. I have no idea if we'll ever work again. It's not worth it. Those are the lost ones who self-destruct every time. I'd rather manage a heroin addict than a love junkie. I know you experienced some similar issues with the Colonel."
"His rival it seems, had broken his dreams," she said and paused to sip on the blue cup before she continued. "He was always dubious of anyone in a powerful position. But it was his inability to handle the inner jealousy that destroyed anyone's willingness to collaborate. Talent is a far more valuable commodity than likability, but if you're a raving psychopath, like Maggie Gottschalk, then no one wants to have anything to do with you."
"She spent all my money, playing her high class game. It nearly drove me to drinking again. mean, I was drinking wine in large batches, but I almost returned to the bottle of vodka an afternoon habit that plagued back during the 1998 strike."