June 9th, 2013.

Far be it from Lionel, to not approach a lovely young stranger on a slow night. He had noticed her on Wednesday evening, somewhere between Sinatra's "Fly me to the moon" and Tom Waits' "The piano has been drinking" because she was nodding along to the music, but looked exquisitely forlorn. The bar had been dead and when it was so, he liked to watch those that were there, make character studies, fill-in histories and personal details. Likes, vices, weaknesses. But he went blank on every single one for the raven-haired girl, who ordered two martini's each night since that quiet Wednesday, and slipped coins in the jukebox. She left at precisely 7.48 each evening.

On a more lively evening, he had taken to watching her from the corner of his eye, with concern. It was harder to enjoy his people-watching when the bar was thick. But during a lull, the crowd content, his wiping down of the counter eventually, and inexorably, put him opposite to her, when he threw the towel over his shoulder and lifted his brows, sitting back in his shoes. "You look a bit too glum for a roaring Saturday night....you okay, love?"

He gestured widely to the packed, jumping bar around them. The crowd was cool, luxe, easy. Everyone had a drink, or a cigar, and everyone had an air about them, except her. She was like a small black rain-cloud perched on the stool, tapping her toe to the music, or swaying her shoulders as she twirled her toothpick around the martini glass for the hundredth time. Listlessly. He took pity on her - sure, she was a pretty face, but she was far too austere for that face, and her youth, and the bar.

"Can't have you putting off my customers." He joked. He was met with a flat stare and a shrug. Shadows danced across her face as a trio of women passed, looking her over, and laughing. "Where'd ya buy your dress, doll?" The three stopped to look her up and down, laughter like popping gum, swaying in their heels. "Second hand store?"

Laconic, expressionless, Loni looked up to them and with a baleful eye shrugged again. "Yeah. So?"

The girls didn't know how to take a response at all, and one that seemed to do little towards getting the loner flapped. They rolled their eyes and swayed away, all stiletto, faux-fur and arrogance. Lionel was still looking at her, face turned. "You remind me of them actresses, from yonks ago. But still: why so sad?"

She gave out an exasperated sigh and pushed her arms out, shifting back on her stool to demurely uncross her seamed-stockinged legs, and drop the heels to the lacquered floors. "I'm waiting for someone."

"They're a bit late, no?"

The startlingly deep green of her eyes ate him up. "I'm waiting for someone. They'll come."

Gloved hands opened her purse to forage for a few notes. She held them out. When Lionel took them, she drew her eyes up. "Who said I was sad anyway. See you tomorrow, Lionel."

"You know my name?"

A gaff. She pointed to the badge hanging from his shirt pocket crookedly. She smiled, or did she" And, she was gone.

Lionel watched her go. "See you tomorrow...."

Lionel had been anticipating finding the name in the phone directory. He had switched the names around when nothing was yielded in the order of the card. Then he drew the tip of his blunt-nailed finger down under attorneys, underwriters, brokers, loan sharks, recruitment firms, agencies, clerks. He tried a Niel King, thinking perhaps it was a printing error - but no such luck. He stepped back, perspiring in his intent, and wiped at his brow. So consumed, he nearly leapt from his skin as Loni sat down on her usual stool, placing her purse down followed by the coat. He hadn't even heard the door open, but as it shut behind her, swinging on its hinges, the dwindling daylight also brought with it husks of air. Smooth, warm, fragrant with that smoky late-afternoon aroma. The hot asphalt. The last of the day burning away on the pavement. That smell. Then the hint of the raven one's perfume. Powder and blossom. He smiled at her. She didn't smile back. "One martini, Li."

"Coming up, Loni. Think they're coming today?"

"Maybe. Did I leave something here last night?"

"Uh....no." He turned his back to her, prolonging what were usually liquid motions as he built the drink. The gin hissed in the glass. "What did ya forget?"

"I seem to have misplaced a card. I suppose it could be anywhere. You will keep an eye out for me?"

"Sure Loni. How was today?"

She didn't respond. She was punching in her choice on the juke. "Trampled Rose" winning again. The notes would burn up like the pavement, much like his gin and vermouth reserves if she kept up at it. He smirked at his own lame joke. She was seated again. "It was alright. I think I have found a place to live, though I'll miss my room service awfully. Falling asleep in freshly pressed linen every night is a real splendour. I love the fresh soap too. It's quite a treat." She accepted the glass as he finally faced her again. He was worried she might see the card, which he had left out beside the directory. At once, as if his guilt bore a signal, Apollonia looked down the bar. She saw all that was and perked a brow. She didn't say a word. But the glass went untouched. The martini reflected her quizzical expression, rippling as she swayed the glass slowly.

"Lionel, what were you doing?"

He sighed, exasperated with himself and his foolishness. How could he lie now"

"Lionel?" The startlingly green eyes gave no way for him to continue any omission. They imprisoned him in their severity.

"I'm sorry, doll. I'm sorry", he wavered, two fists on the bar. "I ...I saw you left that card behind, and I got curious."

She looked down into her glass and her shoulders sagged. She looked utterly disappointed.

"I see. Do you know why I choose to come here, Lionel?"

He shrugged.

"Because you provide the *best* martini I've encountered since coming through the looking glass. And you, for the most part, don't question my motives, for coming here every night for a month to sit on the same chair and play the same songs and order the same drink."

"Until now."

"Yes. Until now."

She kept staring into the drink. "Well, what did you find?"

He laughed. "Nothing."

"Do you know who Nellson King is?"

"He's not an attorney or a pawn broker!"

"He's someone you best mind your business about. Do you hear me?" She was so direct, so sharp, it took him off-guard, and he looked at her puzzled, affronted, confused. "Look, it isn't my business, I'll stay the hell out of it. I'm sorry for snooping. But you....you .."

She lifted up the drink, took a sip. "I what?" Her voice was clotted like blood. Rich. Her lips shining with the liquor.

"I feel like I have some....some concern over those who come in here. You get to know a person. Granted, with you, it has only been, yeah, a month' But I worry, okay?"

"No need."

He walked over to the directory and picked up the card. It was smooth and he could feel the letters beneath the pad of his fingers as he walked back to her. He held it out.

"Thank you." Loni took it back and placed Nellson King's card beside her martini. Then she spun away and rocked her head to the song. Her next favorite, about a drunk piano, starting up. He stared at the back of her head with shame.

The piano has been drinking And the bar stools are all on fire And all the newspapers were just fooling And the ash-trays have retired And I've got a feeling that the piano has been drinking It's just a hunch The piano has been drinking and he's going to lose his lunch And the piano has been drinking

The room went black. There was a silhouette in the doorway obstructing the light. It took over it all. The one in the cloak who sometimes held the match, and led her and the rest of the crowd down the hall. She ushered them along, as though they were all off to the theatre. She kept her head bowed and her fingers clasped. But he hadn't been coming by, and she had got tired of waiting in the same old place. Seemed he had a few bookings these days. She wondered if that ticket she had bought to the show, all those years ago, had been worth it. When the ticket-seller offered her one for a very, very good price. And she accepted it, readily. Young and foolish.

"Apollonia, you're here."

She turned, finally, to face the door. She had been watching the light fall through it against the wall opposite her, when the ink of shadow spilled down the surface and told her he was here. She rose as he crossed what felt like many lifetimes, until he was before her. He illuminated the room with his being - around him a flickering radiance. The Doormaker, the Death-singer. The one in the cloak who sometimes held the match, and led her and the rest of the crowd down the hall. "You came. I thought you wouldn't. I thought you gave up."

"I couldn't. I trust you have another for me?"

She handed him a polaroid and smiled. It never reached her eyes, but it did its best to. He lowered the hood. His sunken cheeks, his drooping bottom lip, the wispy dark blonde hair. It was all as she remembered it. Gravely handsome. Solemn as a church. He held out his arms and welcomed her against him. A black glove careening down the black curtain of her hair. "My dear girl." He gripped the polaroid tightly and when she stepped back he viewed it again. He nodded. "Remarkable. Did it take long?"

"A few months."

"Hardly a wrinkle in time. Come."

The Doormaker enfolded Apollonia again. When the hood rose, the darkness swarmed and flooded, and when the light filtered back in through the door, the two were entirely and decidedly not there anymore. Left on the chair upon which she had sat, lay a polaroid of Lionel.