BABY GIGOLO.

Death of a Dream.

Our masked lady reached home, and with an impatient move she pulled the mask from her face. It revealed a mature face on which the ravages of lost hope were deeply etched into tired brown eyes. She took off her coat, and walking to the mirror which hung on the wall she tousled her hair and said, "Phew, what a night."

She took a long hard look at herself, and did not like what she saw. Turning abruptly away from the mirror, she gave her one bedroom apartment a sweeping look of discontent. There were clean and dirty clothes lying all mixed up on the floor, draped over the backs of chairs and scattered on its seats. Bras and panties hung disorderly on a makeshift line over the window.

Dirty empty beer glasses lined the coffee table, and in the middle there stood an overflowing ashtray. The apartment was a direct reflection of her soul which was scattered and disorganized and which in turn gave one the sense of someone who has given up on love and life. She swiped clothes off the seat of a chair and sat down with a thoughtful look in her eyes, while mulling over the events of the evening from every angle. The thought most uppermost in her mind was the haunting feeling that she had met the stranger before, and that thought kept her awake until the early hours of the morning.

When the stranger left the bar, he drove around aimlessly for an hour or two. He could not forget the masked woman and her touch, and her smell had left an indelible impression on him. He was absolutely certain that he had never sat eyes on her in his life, and yet there was a familiarity about her which he could not shake. He shrugged his shoulders telling himself that he was imagining things and that he should not look for things that weren't there. When he got home, he took a shower and slept in the guest bedroom. His excuse was that he did not want to wake up his wife.

The next day there was a break in the low hanging bank of clouds, the rain had stopped, but there was a refreshingly invigorating breeze, and the man dressed in a windbreaker and boots. He took a slow walk through his vineyard. It was dormant and sleeping, and the bare branches appeared cold and lifeless. He was looking forward to Spring when Mother Nature would breathe new life into them and fill those branches with thick red clusters of grapes ripening in the sun. On his lips there appeared a bitter smile when he thought that this was what he received in exchange for entering into a loveless marriage.

He reached the top of a coppice which overlooked his kingdom of neat rows and sat down on a large rock. Was it worth it? He had asked himself that question many times in the last five years and had found no answer; until last night. Last night had torn open his heart, allowing the blood to flow freely. Last night had forced open the grave where he had buried the remnants of his lost love and his dream of eternal happiness.

The tango with the strange and mysterious woman had shown him what a farce his life had been. But would he have been happy by marrying his soulmate and living in poverty? Through marriage he was a man of means, owner of an award-winning wine estate and the father of two beautiful children.

It should be enough to make any man happy. Right?

He heaved a great sigh and stood up. He had a meeting lined up with his label manufacturer. He was thinking of updating the labels of his wines, and by bringing them into the 21st century hoping that it would appeal to the younger generation and generate more profit.

It was midday and he was early for his meeting in the fancy upmarket restaurant in the center of town. Some of his wines lined the shelves behind the bar, and with a wry smile he ordered one of his own wines which was a fruity Merlot. He took a sip and stared out the window enjoying the passing parade.

Suddenly he smelled something familiar behind him. He turned around and saw the back of a mature waitress taking an order at another table. She turned sideways and her profile sent a shock through his frame. He was about to take a sip from his wine, but his arm froze in midair. It was his ex-girlfriend; it was his lost love; it was the woman he was pining after; it was the woman he would give up everything and marry her in a heartbeat. His mouth ran dry, and he was unaware that he was staring.

The waitress, after having finished at the table, walked over to him and asked, "How may I help you, sir?" He was tongue-tied and couldn't get a word out. She shook her head and moved on to place her order and service her other tables.

It was the masked woman from the night before who was transformed from a slovenly tipsy tango dancer into a tidy professional for the sake of her job. She had recognized him the minute he had walked in. She had asked one of her colleagues to pick up his table, because she was afraid that he would recognize her.

Without taking a sip, he lowered his wine glass and placed it gently on the table like a man who had seen a ghost and did not want to antagonize it unnecessarily.

A sudden thought made him jump to his feet to the astonishment of the diners. He remembered. He remembered that his ex had told him once that she had an exact twin sister whom he had never met. Could it be that he had danced with the spirit of his lost lover in the shape of her sister? Twins are formed from a single cell that has split in two. They share the same blood and guts; spirit and soul. He needed to get out. He needed fresh air. He felt faint. The man placed some money on the table to pay for the wine, and forgetting his meeting, fled from the restaurant. He was a mess of swirling emotions.

When he arrived at home he threw himself on the bed and in a fever he tossed around in agony. Night fell, and he got dressed and resolutely went to the bar. He had to talk to that woman and find out if his beloved was still alive. The night before, his steps on the way to the bar were ponderous and slow, but tonight he was in an impatient hurry. He reached the door and looked up.

Dark, cheerless and unlit windows greeted him. He turned the doorknob but it was locked. The man wanted to knock, but he realized that it would be pointless. There was no one there. He stood there not knowing which way to turn. Hope drained from him, and he felt tired with a tiredness that was beyond the grave. He felt lightheaded and pressed his hand against the damp wall to steady himself. The thrill of the tomb answered him. The man turned and walked away.

He did not know that the bar owner was dead, and so was his dream of happily-ever-after that had brought him to the door.

The End

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