SHE STOOD IN A SHADOWED DOORWAY

SHE STOOD IN A SHADOWED DOORWAY

by Robert Davidson.

She stood in a shadowed doorway for a few moments before stepping out to walk up and down under the street light. Her white sheath skirt tight to the thigh. A flashy female figure with fading, red-brown hair. Her face set in lacquer smile. The neon nightscape reflecting in plate glass. She stepped back into the doorway, a police pick-up car cruising past. On the other side of the street a well-fleshed man of forty was eyeing her with bright predatory eye.

She met his glance as he came up to her. A grin glistening on his wet mouth. She aware of his stare. The opening of her blouse; the swelling inside; the white cleft; shadowed. Mary Magdalene had been no less than she. His presence tense before her. She thinking inside herself, Here’s yet another mediocre male! At length she was the one to break the silence. The paint on her lips softly mouthing her name was Roxanne.

‘What did you say your name was? He asked.
‘Roxanne.’
‘Is that all?’
It’s enough, isn’t it?’
The masculine shape of his voice said he was called Tony - Tony Hart.

Turning back to the doorway, her mouth smiling. She beckoned him to follow. A hallway leading to a flight of stone stairs that smelled of damp, a banister greasy to the touch. Stairs going up and up steep and dim as Calvary. On the third landing they came to a door which opened into a large airless room. A shaft of neon light from the street laid bare a thin, torn curtain hanging loosely over a dusty window. In one corner was a large matrimonial bed pushed against the wall. A stain on the counterpane.

Unbuttoning her blouse, Roxanne said, ‘Here, let me undress,’ her hand detaining, restraining his hand. Tony now finding himself searching for something to say. Shyness? Or perhaps imagining how he might introduce a touch of tenderness into the encounter, giving some personal consideration. Not just the crude conjunction of bodies on a bed going through motions. Something deeper, he wondered if it were possible, perhaps simply talking or holding one another for a while. Standing there watching her slide off her stockings. But he couldn’t get the words out.

Then he touched her with his voice, saying: ‘Look, there’s nobody in the world, but us tonight.’ But his words to Roxanne were like a hot wind blowing over her face. His mouth a meaty mass about to move above her throat. She shrinking back as if a flame had leaped towards her face, tearing her mouth away from his, black eyes blazing, her voice cut, said: ‘Take it easy, Tony.’ Seeing that broad smile on his fat face. The impact of his life slicing into hers. Their thoughts clashing like pebbles in mid-air.

Then a deep, bedrock distrust hardened her heart. If she were female foolish enough to … No, she told herself, men must be kept strictly within the four-square enclosure of themselves. I too must keep myself taut within my own self. Then she spoke again to him: “Now you’re so terribly male upset. Well, you’ve just crossed the forbidden frontier. What do you expect?’

Warp-heads like him. No hopers of the worst kind. He was just another brutal, clumsy male, Roxanne argued within herself. Men are tough, insentient creatures, hard as iron. He, like all men was selfish, aware only of himself, must prove himself in the male position in face-to-face embrace. Men - the deception they expect and need. And me the mere tool for his ego-satisfaction. That’s all I am to him. He’d never own me publicly. He’d be the first to throw stones if I appeared amongst his friends. Well, let’s get it over with, she thought, stiffening, hardening her spine in resistance. They were fitting together for the thrust of lust.

But the deeps are dark in the human soul. Feeling herself turn to stone, Roxanne shut tight her mouth, her eyes becoming fixed, her vision in-turned, her body slipping from her as he entered her. She, mentally detached from her body, was thinking of Cherie, the girl who often worked the same beat as herself. Cherie would return to Roxanne’s room later that night. In imagination she felt Cherie’s blood-red lips upon her own. The warmth of the girl’s body and breath. Roxanne was living it all inside her head. Let your mind float, she was telling herself. Cherie, the woman she had come to know better than herself. Tender love kindled, a soft flame lapping her. Somewhere on the edge of her mind, or in her heart, Roxanne wept.

But gripped in her strong arms and straddling thighs, Tony had never felt more utterly alone. And within himself he said to his soul: No, we can never meet … except for a moment. Foolish of me to have expected more. Our lone paths briefly crossing one another, then we’re blown apart forever. Except for a few random street-meets on nights like this, Tony Hart has remained faithful to the love of his early days, Jenny, the girl who died.

Well, he’s got what he wanted, Roxanne reflected as she returned once more to her body, her eyes mocking the sated lover tossing money onto the bed. She putting on her mouth at the glass, was busying herself with herself. I no longer have existence for her, Tony’s thoughts were tortuously in-woven, as he watched her slender fingers counting out the cash.

In a closing of words and doors, it was like a nail being driven through your heart, Tony fancied. He was beating a retreat. She following him down the stairs to where she stood like an avenging angel in the shadowed doorway. Her look of scorn unnerves. Tony felt stiff as a conscience. Enough to destroy the man in a man. His lusty night blowing away like dead winter leaves.

Copywrite 2007
http://www.robertdavidson.blogsource.com

amazing, i enjoyed every word of every sentance.
your writing style reminds me of englands greats.
truly impressive thank you for sharing this incredible piece.

I hope this wont be the last time we see you on this forum?

Thank you very kindly 'Tortured Mind' for your positive comments on my story 'She Stood In A Shadowed Doorway'. I will be posting some more stories and poems soon.

Robert Davidson.