She was special.

She stands at the counter of the dimly lit bar, alone, it is already long past midnight. Her long dark red dress flatters her willowy body, her shoulders are covered with a shawl. On a long belt she wears a small shoulder bag, the counter is the program booklet, in the right hand she holds a cigarette, which ignited her hastily the barman. She probably attended the premiere at the nearby theater and then had no desire to go home alone.

She has a glass of white wine standing next to him, where she sips occasionally. Her dark eyes wander aimlessly around the room, as if waiting for something, someone is looking for certain. Her black hair falls smoothly to her shoulders, she wears big flashy earrings. Finally she sits down on a bar stool, crosses his legs, gives a clear view of a black silk stocking and elegant high-heeled shoe, the slightly bobs to the beat of background music.

While she smokes, she attracts the attention of occasional revelers to be still sitting at the small tables or at the bar, nervously sipping their drinks or sucking on their cigarettes, knowing that time is working against them, each of the tough elapsing minutes reduced their chance yet to reach the goal. One or the other has already tried his luck, offered fire or invited for a drink, but apparently they have received all a polite but cool dissipation, so that the limited remaining on it, to stare with hungry longing eyes.

I wonder with me. The prospect that it will happen to my mind, is very low, much lower than all the others. But what I have to lose? I’m new in town, recently suffered due to a professional opportunity that will not offer so quickly, waiting for me nothing but a lonely night in a cold bed in a cold apartment in the desolate district in which I, a provisional stay’ve found. So why not try my luck again?

None of the revelers notice of me, especially when I get up and go to see the toilet. On the way out, I have to get away from her, make eye contact a first opportunity to see it from nearby. My searching gaze gets hung up on me, would in any case take a long time, longer than a just random exchange of glances. I try a shy smile as I pass her, believe to see an approach of a reply. Can I dare? This question I ask myself again and again, while I look in the mirror, trying to give up, to tame my blond hair that can handle skidding loosely knotted tie, the white men’s shirt stuff in the federal government, not too tight, so as not to slight paunch sees the gives me lately grief, my jacket cope skidding. Why can I never have with me what I need, I ask the pale face that looks at me from the mirror, thinking of her purse, her could never happen. But it is also they who draws attention to itself. First thing tomorrow I begin a new life. Certainly. The mirror image of smiling mockingly, I turn away. You will see.

On the way back I decide to bet everything on one card. I stand beside her, take my courage, speak concerning the barstool next to her and ask “may I?”. She looks at me long, testing, almost thoughtfully. Finally, her mouth twists to hint of a smile, she makes a gesture in the direction of the stool and nodded at me encouragingly. The bartender looks at me, I say: “Scotch – On the Rocks”. She accuses him almost a “repeat please” out. “Do you smoke?” She asks in my direction. I nod, surprised by the obvious “you”. Although I have stopped doing smoking some time ago, I would have done anything not to lose their attention. She offers me a cigarillo from a silver box, waits until I’ve taken him with nervous, jittery fingers, takes itself a, gives us two fires. I reach for the whiskey glass to the barman before me, it will lift, look into her eyes and say “I’m Billy.” My heart beats to the neck, I fear that they did not understand me, so hoarse my voice sounded. She smiles, her glass lifts also, “Hi Billy, I’m Karola”. Her voice is dark, melodic, almost smoky. “Cheers”, say both almost simultaneously, a short embarrassed smile, then we drink, look at each case.

She makes no attempt to keep talking. “Will you dance?” I ask her, as someone at the Juke Box, a slow number selected. The absurdity of the question seems to me only to consciousness, when she is asked. I feel the attention of the few still present, it is usually not spoken in the bar. She looks at me again, is there a hint of uncertainty in her eyes? Short flickering on an expression of cool, I try to withstand the unfathomable eyes. – A jolt of determination goes through her body, she smiles, says “Sure, like” and slides from her bar stool. I get up, offering her his arm, lead them to the free surface near the Juke Box. It is half a head shorter than me, puts her arms on my shoulders, I grasp at the hips. As self-synchronize our steps, we are beginning to weigh us the beat, slowly rotate.

I can feel the hungry eyes that are upon us. In a daze we move to the music, hardly notice that the first number fades away, the man with a coin in the juke box. In the second song she puts her head slightly on my shoulder, I embrace close, feel her breath, her heartbeat, pulsating soul close to the mine. The scent of her hair mixed with the subtle hint of perfume – they have to have it placed before each performance, one can only guess.

The music ends, we remain motionless for a while. Then we part from one another, guiding them by the arm back to the bar. She puts a big bill on the counter, not observed the bartender, who tried to publish. “Come with me if you want”. My heart is racing, I follow her to the exit, we go silently through the night.

Once at her car – no, it’s not a sports convertible, so runs the only in the cheap films – she pushes me the key in his hand. I open her passenger door, let them enter, sit behind the wheel. I drive off without knowing where. Although I am not driven for months even, the car obeys me easily, I relax slowly in the driver’s seat. She says nothing, looks only now and then quietly at me. Following a spontaneous inspiration, I try to find the way to a small hill in a suburb, of which I have enjoyed on my first night in town the view.

The one or other scarce statement makes me feel that she has guessed my intention. Finally, I think the car in the small parking bay on, get out, open it again the door. We take the low stone wall, looking silently for a while on the city lights. Suddenly I shivered, the wind is stronger, playing in my hair, bags the thin fabric of my coat, I wrap my arms around my body.

“Come on, I live right over there.” Your hand trembles slightly as she grasps the mine. We silence the few steps to an old iron garden gate which performs an overgrown hedge in a dark garden. The path is dimly lit, resulting in a neat, small property. She goes ahead, it means to follow me, she closes the door.

You can grab them, the cold that the beating of us. In the hallway, in the kitchen, on the stairs, everywhere cardboard boxes, garment, books. She leads me into the kitchen, pointing to a rickety chair in the midst of disorder. I sit down, starting to realize as I observe them as they warmed milk, two cups takes from a carton, cocoa is stirred and put them on the small table in front of us. Finally she begins to speak.

It’s already early afternoon when I am awakened by the penetrating noise of an electric bell. She lolls in my arms, squashed the elegant red dress, ruffled her hair. I look down at myself, the tie is on the ground in front of the sofa on which we must have fallen asleep amid the chaos. The candle is burned down, wax sticks to the poli-oriented tabletop. A half-empty bottle of scotch and two glasses have the cause of the throbbing headache guess. She gets up, opens the door, does not care about the intrusive gaze of furniture packer who greets blustering – “that all?” She nods absent – and is preparing with his helpers to load the distributed belongings into his car. “Will you stay with me?” I ask her very quietly. “For now,” I add, I do not want to hurt even more. “Thanks,” she said simply as she pushes the car keys in my hand and goes with me through the iron gates, probably for the last time, without looking back.