Ana Iñigo Olea

Looking at the Alexander served in front of her, she found herself smiling while dreaming away. Back to the moment, quite some time ago now, when she opened the door to her favourite hotel room, to find two colleagues from the trade that had become inseparable partners in crime, on the art of spreading the love for their brands through visits to venues now referred to as accounts, waiting for her appearance by the side of the table, where three Martini glasses, filled up with the cognac based mixture, rested on a silver tray calling out their names. Excitement filling up their eyes to the thought on the dazzling prospects of the night, that, agendas, smartly matched, had granted. Cheers to find themselves together, joining forces, celebrating success and mutual admiration. Golden shades sparkled their cheeks under the watch of the Tiger-lily. Cheers to us in Edinburgh tonight and cheers to what that might bring in life.

Edinburgh. Short-story from “12 o'clock-tales” (The red table & A scared black cat, book adventure)

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I am the other woman. I cook dinner for one. I don't plan holidays, commit nor adapt. I make no concessions, I don't meet half way to my happiness. I have it all. My life, myself, my dinners for one. I'm mine. I am free but taken, I couldn't wish for more. My bed, my space, and you, every now and then, when we can, when we have time when it suits all three of us. Romantically polychromatic, we are all in this together, for you I feel love and for her admiration, maybe love as well, the one that comes from respect. I find myself compelled to indisputable loyalty to the one you call your wife. She's my partner in crime. Tonight, we meet. As I walk down the staircase of our usual venue, it's escalating desire I feel. I’m attracted to your mind, your heart and the animal inside you. We meet to release the beasts and the outcome of our encounter is already agreed upon. With all our cards on the table, kisses filled with passion and your hands around my face, we greet, the pleasure is all mine, you will be coming with me tonight.

The clicking of her heels on the asphalt was the only sound surrounding her thoughts, as she walked down the street, at an hour when she always felt on top of the world. It was over, the feeling was gone, it was not that long ago they had met and the feeling was already gone. Her firm steps were guiding her heart to a stronger and reassuring beat, as they echoed up the narrow street, though cruelly pebbled, still appreciated by the romanticism attached to the architectonics of the age now passed. She was free and freedom tasted to reality. Shoes in hand, her feet felt cold. A snow flake landing on her nose took her back from melancholia, yet, another story that soon will belong to the past, with no special importance attached, living in her heart. The door from the bar, she had left behind, opened, letting out some recent former partners on the art of casual encountering, and, with them, muffed rhythms of the night, which, down there, often got a little stretched into brighter hours of the day. She grasped the leftover sounds and danced back and forth with time, for, though the feeling was gone, she was not quite yet ready to move on, and, she might as well, just for a short while, stay within the year of the cat with the Lucies in the sky.