Her name was Lucy Coyne and she was as
famous as she was beautiful. I had met
her a few times but only in passing at her legendary parties.
It was a rainy day when I saw her in the shop where I worked. Stripped of her make-up she still looked gorgeous
– maybe a bit more innocent and plain; but still breathtaking nonetheless.
She slinked around the various displays of our new stock as I viewed her
from a distance. Her slim fingers would
lightly brush against the silky dresses that clung to the size eight
mannequins. Every now and then she would
smile secretively to herself.
When she left, the sky had truly opened up and the street outside was
filled with umbrellas and running feet.
I decided to follow her. I didn’t
want to, but I knew that I must.
She ambled straight through the centre of town, took a right and made
her way to the building commonly known as Rumourville.
Rumourville was a disused hotel that Lucy’s wealthy father had given to
her on her twenty-first birthday for Lucy to use as she saw fit.
It was in Rumourville that Lucy, with her sultry pout and piercing green
eyes, planned her first riot. Along with
her friends - a collective known as the Rioteers - they welcomed in the freaks
of the city to her idealistic safe haven for all creative minds.
The famed legions of the cities varied underground movements would come
and talk to her about their theories and she would sit and listen and smoke
joints with them, never once batting an eyelid as to their fame. I once even saw Mulholland Mornings
there.
The rain was deafening now as I caught up with her.
‘Excuse
me, Lucy…can you stop there please?’
She turned and smiled cautiously at me.
‘Can I
help you…Sol, it’s, Sol isn’t it?’
She knew my name.
‘Ehhhm,
I’m really sorry to ask, but I need you to open your bag
for me please?’
‘But
of course, Sol,’ her seductive charms were intoxicating.
There were only flyers for her next riot there.
‘I’m so
sorry for troubling you…I’ve just started my new job and…’
‘Don’t worry about it, Sol,’
she winked, ‘see you at the next riot.’
She handed me a flyer, turned and slowly continued on her way.
A security tag hung loosely underneath her jacket.
Tomas Bird - Coaltown 2014
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