La Violetta

The soft pat of small black penny loafers against wet pavement echo along the Avenue. The full moon reflected in the puddles seems appropriate considering the chaos Violet left in her wake. The chaos was not of her doing, of course, she is used to personifying the welcome calm and logic to others as they begin to grieve their dearly departed. Or in tonight's case three. It had to be a full moon, Violet considers, although she is typically not the superstitious type, as a mortician, it is foolish not to pay attention to all possibilities. Sometimes logic must take a back seat.

The soft pats stop in front of one of the only lit establishments open at 3 am, but at least it is in one of the more affluent parts of town surrounded by beautiful lake views and gorgeous manicured mansions. Three deaths, one mansion, one open bar...and one full moon.

The heavy door dings as she pushes in, the welcome warmth causing her to instinctively wrap her arms around herself before squinting at the softly lit room. She could make out the gold accents and vintage shapes of beautiful chaises. Dressed in a figure-hugging pencil skirt, low cut, button-up blouse, and a dressier wool coat, she was chilled to the bone. Having left her own Valentine’s date for a late-night call, she was never happier to be a mortician and therefore had a legitimate excuse to leave her sleazy date in the dust. After changing from her scrubs and hazard suit, this is all she has to wear. Her perfectly placed curls are now pulled back into a ponytail. What a waste, I look good.

At 3 am on Valentine’s Day, Violet is unsure of what to expect regarding the crowd but happily, the reality is anti-climactic. A middle-aged couple sits at the far end of the bar huddled together in what appears to be a serious conversation, several glasses lining their table. Both seem like black blobs from a distance except for the woman’s short bleached blonde hair, vibrant under the light.

One well-dressed man stands leaning with his back to the bar, a whisky in one hand and a cigar in another. He looks up at Violet when she walks in but returns to his whisky uninterested and solemn. It appears that she is not the only one having a trying night. That suits Violet well enough and she makes her way over to the other end of the bar where a young woman sits with her head cradled in her hands, nursing what seems like her seventh drink.

“Can I help you?” a deep voice offers from behind the bar as Violet removes her coat and takes her seat on the tall vintage barstool.

“Can I just have water?” Violet speaks softly so as not to disturb the Tablo around her.

“Just water?”, the bartender teases looking up at her with dark eyes. Violet notes the tattoos on his forearms that appear to crawl up his chest and onto his neck, his dark shirt unbuttoned enough to expose both. Only shapes, nothing clear. It matches the tattoo on the neck of the well-dressed man at the other end of the bar, still sipping on his whisky. Violet wishes she hadn’t dropped and stepped on her glasses at the morgue, so she can make out more of the figure before her, although glasses are not needed to see how muscular he is.

“I don’t really drink”, Violet lies. She loves a great merlot but after all the blood she had to drain that night to embalm three bodies, she is a bit put off. It isn’t the bodies per se, dealing with corpses is normal to Violet, but the state of those bodies was something else entirely. Three young college men were tortured and mutilated according to the coroner's report, and her own. She recognized one of them as being the mayor’s oldest son. He was known to be awful and treated everyone around him as such. Perhaps he pissed off the wrong somebody. Alone in a morgue with three dead guys is not how she had hoped her Valentine’s Day would go.

“You look like you need one. “No hot date?”, the bartender prods.

Violet scoffs in response, causing the bartender to smirk right back. It is unnerving for Violet, now feeling somewhat exposed.

“That bad huh?”.

Violet shrugs. “Just got off a rough shift, that’s all”.

“Let me make you something I’ve been working on. You’ll like it, promise”. Before Violet can respond, the bartender goes to work. Violet leans forward in her seat to watch him mix all the ingredients, one out of curiosity, two for safety before realizing that without her glasses she would be unable to satisfy either. The bartender seems to notice as Violet sits back.

“1-ounce Boodles London dry gin, 1/2-ounce Rothman & Winter crème de Violette, 1/2-ounce lemon juice, freshly squeezed, 1 ounce Lambrusco and to garnish, a lemon twist”.

“Wow, I’ve never had anything so fancy”, Violet softens.

“Give it a go”, the bartender says sliding the drink towards her.

The dark violet cocktail runs smoothly down her throat and burns just enough without being off-putting. Violet nods her head. “It’s really good, thank you”, she smiles. The bartender smiles back.

“Well, now you must properly introduce yourself. That drink needs a name”.

“You mean, my name?” she laughs. “It’s Violet”.

“La Violetta”, he leans in saying it in the sexiest accent she has ever heard. Violet blushes.

“And you are?” she asks.

“Dade”, he says returning the bottles to their stands on the shelf behind him. The well-dressed man has now turned to face the bar and Dade. Violet tries not to notice but she shifts in her seat.

“Is this bar normally open so late? It just doesn’t seem like anything else is going on, on this block”. Violet asks.

“You're right Violetta. Tonight is special”, Dade says.

“Valentine’s Day?”

“No. The owner says so. The owner being me”, he whispers and winks the last part like he is offering her a secret. The well-dressed man smirks at this.

“What is it you do, that brings you here so late? I wasn’t expecting such a beautiful woman”, Dade grins. Violet looks down at the bar to avoid rolling her eyes.

“I’m a mortician”, she says slowly, anticipating an adverse reaction but not the one she got. The couple stops talking and looks towards the bar, the young woman shifts in her seat but does not look up, while Dade and the well-dressed man exchange a glance.

“Sorry, I know it’s a buzzkill, especially on Valentine’s Day”. Violet shrugs again.

“Not at all”, Dade replies relaxing his shoulders. “Any big news coming out from the morgue?” he asks almost timidly. Violet hesitates at the strange question but before she can reply blue and red lights illuminate the otherwise soft glow from the inside of the bar when a police cruiser pulls on the street and stops abruptly in front of the bar.

The atmosphere in the bar changes at once. The middle-aged couple look at one another before sitting up at the edge of their seat. The well-dressed man puts down his cigar and drink, turns and stiffens, fists clenched. The young woman, whom Violet had not been able to note her face previously, now looks up and Violet, although blurry can make out dark purple under her eye, purple and green wrists, and the bright red stain of blood on her lower lip, her pale face cradled with strands of auburn or brown hair. Dade keeps his back to the door. Violet is unsure of what to make of the scene change, but she keeps her heart steady. One bar, three bodies, one hot bartender, 4 patrons, one police officer, one broken pair of glasses…and a full moon. Of course.

The door dings as the Police chief walks into the bar and stops just at the entrance. Violet recognizes him from only hours before as he was the one who delivered the bodies personally. Violet did not consider why, knowing who one of the bodies was. The Chief is a heavy-set man, who shifts on his feet while nervously looking around the bar. Dade turns around pretending to organize the bar and grins a very feline grin.

“Excuse me, Violetta”. Violet watches him walk to the Police chief. The chief leans in to whisper into Dade’s ear. Dade leans back and nods. As the Chief turns to leave, he notices the young woman and pauses for a moment, startled, before quickly running through the door and back into his cruiser, which leaves immediately, lights off.

The atmosphere settles and the woman of the couple gets up and walks towards the young woman and uses her body to cover her from view. She whispers to her so that Violet cannot hear. The man, at the couple's table, pours himself another drink with scraped and purple knuckles. The well-dressed man grabs his whisky glass, visibly agitated. Dade saunters back to the bar, his eyes now upon Violet.

“Please excuse the intrusion, Violetta. You see there has been a terrible incident tonight. Three men were murdered in the area and the Chief was just letting us know”.

“They won’t be missed”, mutters the well-dressed man while finally downing the whisky in one shot before slamming the glass back onto the counter.

“They were not very nice guys, Violetta, they were hurting a lot of young ladies, you see,” Dade says casually.

“That’s terrible”, Violet says after swallowing a lump in her throat.

“It was terrible”, Dade responds.

A thick silence surrounds everyone in the room as Dade stares at Violet, and Violet at Dade. Violet nods curtly before drinking the last of her drink and sliding the glass towards Dade. Something felt familiar about the drink. A smell perhaps.

“What did you say was in this drink”, Violet asks. Dade takes her glass to wash.

“1-ounce Boodles London dry gin, 1/2-ounce Rothman & Winter crème de Violette, 1/2-ounce lemon juice, freshly squeezed, 1 ounce Lambrusco and to garnish, a lemon twist”.

Violet had smelled lemons on the mayor’s son at the morgue.

Violet peers over at the women on her right, and the others in the bar. Dade turns back to smile at her.

“Well, dear Violetta, I think we need to call it a night. Do you have a safe way to get home?” He asks stepping forward. Violet feels as if she has sweat through her blouse, her normally logical demeanour now replaced with something else.

“I’ll be alright”, she says. “Thank you for the drink”, she pulls out her wallet.

“No, Violetta, this one is on the house. For Valentine’s Day”, Dade adds.

Violet smiles and grabs her coat and bag hastily as she makes her way to the door.

“And Violetta”, Dade calls and Violet stops dead in her tracks.

“You seem like a strong woman. Calm and collected even with the hard stuff. Even with all that blood tonight”. Violet holds her breath and holds her coat tightly to her chest. She does not need to look to know that Dade is looking her up and down and grinning as he does so.

“Till we meet again, Violetta”. Dade enunciates.

Violet steels herself as she always does when facing difficult things and turns to stare directly into Dade’s dark eyes. Not in challenge, indifference, or defiance. Simply because she can, before turning around patiently and calmly exiting into the full mooned night.

Fin