Champagne And Trains

She was surrounded by her casual friends among the regulars.

Tuxedos and glittering cocktail dresses abounded in the upscale

Manhattan-style cocktail bar.  All the pretty people from the city wearing

seasonal styles and seasonal smiles.  Glittering credit cards reflected the

low lights amid loud laughter and soft background jazz.

The silk of her satin pants caressed her body.  In the glow of candlelit

tables, she nursed a vodka martini and puffed on a miniature cigar.  Those

around her were patiently awaiting the arrival of new goals and expectations,

other places and different faces as they silently imagined the promise of yet

another year.

She was alone.  With no one on New Year's Eve.

A crisply dressed young attorney sitting at her table with his date politely

bought her drinks, but they were not the sustenance she sought.  Tossing back

her dark mane of full chestnut curls, she scanned the room with large blue

eyes. Too many pretty boys with too much arrogance.  The few possible

exceptions were already paired.

Her last lover had left her in late October on the eve of her thirty-fifth

birthday.  He hadn't called the next day to wish her a "happy one."  She

never heard from him again.  Sometimes she missed his sad dark eyes, unshaven

face, and tangled mess of jet-black hair.  He was committed to something with

which she could not compete. He had not left her for another woman or his

profession, although his work had suffered too.  He was out there somewhere

tonight celebrating with an old, Irish friend ö a being she had never met

before whom he fondly referred to as "James."  James lived in a bottle.

She became vaguely aware of those around her, engrossed in stock market lingo,

the latest in Parisian fashion, and pleasantly polite laughter.  Despite the

elite company and the delicate atmosphere, she felt caged and stifled.

Suddenly she felt an overwhelming desire to flee.  A vision of running,

sprinting blindly down the street in incessantly pouring rain flooded

into her mind like a tidal wave.  She had to leave.

A quick glance at an extravagantly large faux Victorian clock on the wall

revealed that it was 11:30 p.m.  Her decision was made.  She had to get out

of here now.  After asking a bewildered departing couple for a ride, she

chose her final destination impulsively.

She spotted her destiny through the rainy car windows as a large flashing red

light caught her eye.  It was a dark, seedy lounge, the type her mother had

always warned her never go into so many years ago.  She thanked the couple

for the lift and told them she was meeting a cousin from out of town there.

Taking a deep breath, she walked into the dimly lit room as if she owned the

place.

The bouncer at the door inspected her quizzically but waved his hand for her

to enter with no hesitation.  She took in a full view of what could have been

described as a surreal carnival in an experimental film.  Most of the crowd

there were obviously regulars: salt-and-pepper bearded men complete with

cowboy boots and hungry eyes dancing with bleached "big haired" women who

could barely gyrate in jeans so tight that they appeared to be painted onto

their flesh rather than worn.

She walked through the crowd, not surprisingly recognizing no one.

Inquisitive eyes burned through her expensively tasteful attire.  More than

one woman sneered at her as though she were a plump rabbit sauntering

sanguinely into a forest overpopulated by starving wolves.

She stood at the bar, pulled out a cigarette, and asked a guy in a cut-off

denim shirt for a light.  A husky voice drowned out Jimmy Buffet's crooning

over the fuzzy loudspeaker system.

"TEN MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT"

At that moment she realized she would be standing alone in another place, but

still alone.  Perhaps this wasn't such a great idea after all, she thought.

She quickly stubbed out her cigarette and headed out the door.  She would

welcome in the New Year on the nearby railroad tracks by herself.  She wanted

to just stand quietly and listen to the city raucously celebrate.  That would

be enough for this year.

He caught her attention just as she was stepping over the exit's threshold.

He obviously didn't belong here either.  Straight, short hair the color of

golden silk.  Brooding eyes that locked onto hers to hers never to let go.

They seemed to be composed of an impossible undulating mixture of blue,

green, and brown.  And he was standing by himself, slowly drinking a long

neck beer.

"FIVE MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT"

Then she committed the most gleefully irrational, impulsive spontaneous, and

passionately desperate act of her life.

"Are you alone?" she asked, still staring into his eyes.

He nodded affirmatively.

"Me too," she said.  There was no reply for what seemed like an eternity.

Neither looked away.

"Really?"  He spoke for the first time, unblinking eyes still firmly locked

onto hers.  She continued staring at him, unable to speak or avert her eyes

from his intensity.  Finally she leaped.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" she said.  He nodded again. His terseness

appealed to her in a way she that she couldn't comprehend.

"FOUR MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT"

Excitement was in the air, and people were beginning to yell like prison

escapees on a joy ride.

"May I bring in 1999 with you - or am I being too forward?" she asked.

For a brief instant she expected no response.  For that same fleeting moment

she felt as though she would run blindly into the pouring rain as she'd

imagined earlier that evening.

But he looked at her and smiled.  He nodded his approval and bought her a

beer.

She barely remembered the countdown.  She could hardly recall the cheers, the

fireworks and the noise.  All she remembered were his mouth, the most

sensuous lips she'd ever felt on hers. His lips made her feel as though her

entire body was burning with hot, liquid sex that was slowly melting into a

puddle at her feet.

He looked into her deep endless eyes and said, "You, My dear, have the softest

lips I have ever had the pleasure to kiss."

She laughed.  Just as his previous reticence had tempted her, his current

eloquence encouraged her.

For the next two hours they danced erotically, touched with rampant

indecorousness, and behaved no less mutually besotted than anyone around

them. She found out that he was from Canada, in the states on business, but

only for a few days.  He was dressed simply in jeans and spoke with an accent

as fresh as his sparkling smile.  They reminded her of cool air, warm

sunshine, and high mountains.

They left the bar holding one another's hands and climbed into a black rental

pick-up truck. It was so large that he had to hoist her petite, voluptuous

frame up inside.  He tickled her and called her "shorty."  She fell into the

vehicle uncontrollable laughing like a girl half her age who is ready for her

"first time".  He asked her where she wanted to go and she playfully pointed

at the railroad tracks.

The rain had stopped and the night air was crisp and foggy. They followed the

wispy outlines of the tracks several miles outside of the city limits. As

they approached a grassy field, she told him to stop.  The stars were

plentiful, twinkling like fireflies on a hot summer's night.  She dimly

recalled that the purpose of the insects' display was similar to their own

objective.

They ran up and down the tracks, drinking cheap champagne out of a bottle.  He

gently grabbed her by the hair and poured the champagne into her mouth. It

dribbled all over her face and down her blouse.  He began to slowly lick the

champagne off her skin. A hot eager tongue traced the wetness from the side of

her wanting lips down the curve of her cheek and into the hollow of her bust.

He lightly bit the side of her neck like a first-time vampire teasing virgin

prey into a seductive pose.  She freely gave her body to him, tossing her head

back into the wind as her curls flew into the air.  His moist tongue slowly

slid down until it buried deep within the comfort of her now erect bosom.  Her

nipples needed his touch and his saliva to moisten their tips.

The champagne dribbled from his mouth as his lips covered and sucked her

breasts in a rhythmic fashion. His hands had found their way into the

seductiveness of the satin as he discovered a pool of wetness flowing as

freely as the bottle from which he drank.  His mouth and hands were in unison

now, as she found herself moaning in ecstasy at the passion reverberating

through her.

She found herself laying flat on the railroad tracks.  The heat of the moment

was so intense, she wasn't sure how she got there, but her half exposed skin

was shining in the hazy light of the moon.  As a mild wind blew, she shivered

as she realized that she was covered in champagne and could not tell where

it's wetness ended and her own began.  He drank from the well that flowed in

her garden, an elixir more intoxicating than anything made by man.

Then they heard it.

The horn blew as the train screamed toward them at full speed. They jumped

up, half naked, and ran away as fast as they could, like startled children

ambushed while sneaking forbidden delights from a cookie jar.

She had never felt so incredibly high.  It was though she'd been set free from

the staid rules of a constraining civilization. He grabbed her by the arm and

lifted her into the back of his truck just when the lights of the locomotive

had utterly blinded them both.  The passing train was so close to their bodies

that she could feel the wind blowing against her like an animal force

powerful enough to pick her up and carry her away.

She remembered the driving sound of the train, the clanking of wheels on metal

tracks, the rattling of the rusty cars, and the beating of their hearts.

He entered her as the sparks from the locomotive flew into the truck.  His

body was moving with the engines' rhythm, thrusting like a hungry machine,

reaching inside her and bringing her back out again.  Just as the train

blasted a final farewell horn, she screamed.  He screamed too.

As the ripples of pleasure overcame them, fond memories of her childhood

wafted into her mind.  Waving to the man in the "little red caboose."  Her

face was glowing, her mouth glistening, and her skin was as flushed as the

color of the imagined trolley.

She raised her head, letting her long loose hair fly wildly into the wind,

only to see the man in the last car smiling at her.

He tipped his conductor's hat and winked.

He knew.