This Love Must Go On

Leon

Leon

Prominent for its intense, borderline- brutal and absolutely smashing looks - thick as they said. The new Merc was a classic example of that. But throughout the car ride the definition of the cabin distorted into a rather stifling cubbyhole and I couldn't rest my body properly as though the once comfortable seat was beetle-infested.

Maximo who was riding shotgun took the pain to twist his back to narrate her the historical facts at every crossroad and roundabout, as though she was a young, naive historian lounging in the backseat with a vision of writing a book. Additionally, I was made to feel like a mouth-taped cab driver who was barricaded from giving any insights.

After half an hour, I pulled up in the driveway poorly, and the mangy-looking woman jumped out of the car. Maximo looked ever ready to dive headfirst into being more generous - both stress-free and objectifying energetic. I remained in the car to test if the old-timer would turn around to check on me but he failed the test - that too miserably!

With crippling and unresolved grief my head became heavy and fell on the steering wheel subconsciously which tooted the horn. The sound wouldn't have shaken me any better than the shocking emergence of her outside the car window. Where the hell did Maximo disappear?

Smiling, she motioned me to come out.

I clambered out, jerking my arms and smoothening the sleeves aggressively. Okay it wasn't needed but it did work out, she backed away and instantly swung in the other direction. Geez, scaredy-cat.

I walked slowly and just when I reached the threshold of the main entrance, I noticed a man with a great curvature of stomach bending and twisting with difficulty - Mr. Mike, it was.  His feet were expressive of samba magic, despite the visible tremble in his limbs. He was trying hard to catch the faintest glimpse of that loony woman, which would have made his day for sure.

"What are you looking at?" I questioned him, standing abreast.

"Uh- uh, I thought I saw a . . . girl hopping inside." Immersed Mr. Mike didn't pay enough heed to greet me and continued ogling.

"Really?" I played along, imitating his actions. "How did she look like?"

"She was tall, and had big . . ."

When I knew exactly what his eyes saw as big as her supple hips, I changed my question, "What was she wearing?"

"Ah . . . white-"

"White shirt, denim jeans and scuffed suede boots?"

"Not sure about scuffed but yes," he drawled, bug-eyed. "Now I understand why your work is so famous. You are a genius!" His words were slow and so were his claps.

I rolled my eyes and raised a finger.  "A girl? Think again."

When he looked at me briefly he changed his stance completely, "No-no, it could never happen. In all these forty years of service, I've not seen even your father bringing a woman client. Besides, I'm an accountant, my mind excels in doing calculations only. Please accept my apologies."

"Right. I'll send Maximo to you," I asserted and squared up my shoulders before thundering in.

Little Lessie in her cavalry yellow frock ran toward me and my hard exterior crumbled as I scooped her up in my arms. "Yay, Lessie, my baby is awake."