Benny Watts Imagines

Not A Word

I woke to the sound of the little alarm clock on my bedside table ringing its bells so hard that it was almost falling off the bedside table. I stopped it quickly and pushed the clock back from the edge of the table, I climbed out of the stuffy hot hotel bed onto the rough carpet, barely opening my eyes as I hurried into the small grey bathroom suite forcing my eyes open trying to let them clear for a moment. I turned the tap on letting the shower run for a minute or so while I brushed my teeth, once I was done with my teeth I jumped in the remarkably still cold shower scrubbing up and down my body a solid three times and doing the same to wash out all my hair. By then the water was like ice so I jumped out wrapping myself up in my towels from home as I always hated hotel towels. I returned to the main part of my little room grabbing my dress from the hanger where I hung it up on the door last night as I had no wardrobe, laying the little white halter neck tea length dress on the bed digging through my bag to pull out my thick black belt, my black thigh high stockings, my little white kitten heels, My black lace gloves, I got dressed and did my hair setting my Alice band in my hair yo stop fly-aways or little strands of hair from falling in my eyes, I did my make up doing my best to not be overly dramatic at all. 

I grabbed my bag making sure I had my purse and anything else I was going to need doing a last spray of perfume onto my neck before Locking up my hotel room and hurrying down the grey-striped hallway. I froze in front of the elevator for a few seconds before I pressed the button hearing the bell toll above my head. I watched the arrow slowly move like a hawk as it came down to this floor the moment the arrow stopped the doors opened to the empty brown box. 

I climbed inside holding my breath as the doors shut behind me, I watched the little arrow above the door again as it took me down to the lobby slowly but surely listening to the horrific sounds until the doors opened again. So with speed but dignity, I rushed out into the hotel lobby. 

I held my handbag tighter as I walked through the mass of people rushing back and forth preparing the ballroom for the tournament today. The lobby flooded with the sound of boys in their shinned oxfords pattering across the striped carpet, The sea of beige, brown and grey pants with their seams so perfectly pressed down the centre held by their same old belts. There are little white shirts all with woollen vests to try and look more grown up when all it really did was make them look more childish. The Overwhelming scent of channel Pour monsieur and Diddy Do Hair gel both of which I imagine are well used by more chess participants the gel always had a little alcohol clean smell like a hospital or other deep cleaned environment, the scent almost overwhelming from the Channel, the Intense citrus combination always made chess tournaments smell of Old Mahogany wood, Citrus, cleanliness. Like a Lemon tree in a doctor's office. 

I walked on through to the ballroom where the tables were still being set up many people I knew hung around waiting for it to be set up chatting among the herds that exist within the chess world. Many of them with drinks or cigarettes in hand. I could hear the ballroom speakers all around the room still playing music at this moment playing mack the knife but it was fading out to whatever was next and it happened to be Venus making me smile always enjoying the sweet voice of Frankie Avalon even though these old broken echoed speakers. 

Almost instantly upon arriving I could feel eyes on me, as I often did as one of the few ladies who plays in the games. But I felt one set in particular. I glanced in my peripheral vision spotting the bar on the edge of the ballroom still being opened up the man there cleaning glasses and such often times stopped to sever the little drinks to the chess boys mostly scotch, whiskey, martinis and such like. But I saw him there such an oddball from the rest of the chess boys but I suppose we shared that in common. 

Stood leant on the end of the bar, Ankle high black leather boots without a spot of muck and yet not shined up like a new penny, Dark blue jeans, his leather belt tight around what I suppose could be called his hips if he had a curve on him at all. The belt of course famously contained his light brown holster containing his well-sharpened knife, His Black striped texture silk shirt hung odd him luxoriously only maybe four or five buttons done up as from the collar down to the centre of his chest the buttons where undone exposing the bare skin there, His three silver chains sat against his skin each lower than the last almost as if the shirt and chains had been designed to draw one's eyes to his chest, Like how a young lady might wear a tight dress and a small pendant to draw attention to her cleavage, But over this outfit laid the black leather jacket so well worn and warm that it moulded to him and his movements as if it was a part of him, His square silver ring on his right ring finger, a silver chain too around his wrist. In his left hand sat the tall fluted bottle of colourless liquid, I knew the bottle enough to know it was a sprite, he never did drink, before a tournament.  His neck craned up to stare at me, jaw locked in position, lips in a wicked smile, That little wave of spikey untrimmed blonde hair across his upper lip, chin and a tiny tuff under his lip but that and his chin did not connect and after all this time likely never would. His dark chocolate eyes were squarely on me and my dress almost like a schoolmaster inspecting it completely for any violations or errors in a dress code he knew but I didn't. His fairly long hair pulled back with his light brown cowboy hat perched there keeping his face somewhat in mysterious darkness.