Vintage Vixen

TaxicabTango…

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 14:09:39 -0700

by Rosanna Carlucci
She is late. She pushes through the evening work crowd, her red croc-embossed clutch under one arm and the daily paper under the other. She is desperate and begins to scan the streets for a cab. As each one seems to pass her, her chances seem slim. Then out of nowhere, a sun- yellow cab screeches to a halt before her and she is amazed. Her prayers have been answered.

Bag Lady

Fri, 12 Sep 2008 10:54:25 -0700

by Rosanna Carlucci
Her eyes were having a conversation. Through the shop window the exquisite handbag, tall and square, speaks to her and tells her about the dinner parties and evenings at the theatre that they will share. She can see it all, her red day dress, leopard print pumps, and her grandmother's pearls dancing around her neck. All she needs is this handbag staring back at her through the glass.

Racy Lacey

Tue, 2 Sep 2008 07:45:42 -0700

by Rosanna Carlucci
Her lover waits, rose in mouth. In the dark corners of a crowded nightclub her breath is heavy and he is teaching her his version of the tango. The cold, hard wall is their bed and they punish each other with every touch and kiss. In the background the music plays and the sharp beat mimics their pace and pulsates through every cell.

Pin Me Down...

Fri, 22 Aug 2008 14:46:49 -0700

Like a cherry coke with extra cherry, she bounces into the theatre with a smile and all the right moves. He watches every step and every bounce and thanks God for the gift of sight. Locked in tight, his eyes follow the curves his hands wish they could touch. She sits in the row across from him, knowing full well that her admirer will now be watching her instead of the movie.

One Glove at a Time...

Mon, 11 Aug 2008 09:19:14 -0700

by Rosanna Carlucci
The jukebox was broken and the crowd restless. No music meant more talk, and talk was cheap. The joint was full of dames and no “good boys” who thought they were men. The night was coming to an end and just as I was about to leave, a tall drink of water in a dark suit strutted in through back door.

He meant business- I could tell. He came close-real close and leaned in against the bar. “Going somewhere?” he asks, coy smile intact. I slowly remove my gloves and sit back down. I can tell he wants to play and I am game.

Into the Wild...

Tue, 29 Jul 2008 11:17:11 -0700

by Rosanna Carlucci
The rain came down hard that night, real hard. She found him sitting in their favourite café, waiting. His dark eyes brooding over a cup of coffee- black no sugar. As she walks towards him, his anger is palpable. She forces her way through it and sits down.

Tie me up…

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 11:21:56 -0700

by Rosanna Carlucci
The station is crowded. The smell of cheap cologne and cigarettes fills every corner and hallway, making it impossible to breathe. He leans casually against the wall, like a man just minding his business, waiting.

And then like a bolt of lighting, he sees her. She makes her way through the crowd, their eyes meet and they both nod to acknowledge each other. As she gets closer the air slowly fills with the scent of lilac and roses. The setting sun filters through the station windows and seems to cast a warm glow across her face.

Nine to five...

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 15:10:33 -0700

by Rosanna Carlucci
There is a lowly hum. She sits, uncomfortably, in a crowded, gray office and stares longingly at the man before her. He is reading over her memo, checking for grammar and spelling. She assures him that after four years of writing memos she is more than capable; he laughs. He stares straight into her eyes and assures her that after four years of proof reading her memos there is always room for improvement. She laughs and shifts nervously back and forth, breaking the stare. She always breaks the stare.

Diamond Girl

Fri, 4 Jul 2008 12:08:10 -0700

by Rosanna Carlucci
The clock on the wall strikes ten. It’s show time. She adjusts her costume one last time and scurries for the stage. Poured into a creation of feathers and crystals she still manages to shine in the darkness, waiting for her cue. Her hair is set and her lips are painted with her signature red. Her heart vibrates in her chest with excitement and anxiety, like a million drums beating at the same time. She waits.

Forbidden Fruit

Jimmy — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 14:17:24 -0700

by Rosanna Carlucci
Everyone who is “anyone” is there, from the highbrow suits and their cookie cutter wives to their secretary lovers who pretend to be “just friends”. Each of them push into some stiff upper class joint like a bunch of white-collar rats in suits and dresses. The fear and loneliness hide behind each fake laugh and smile. Every glass of champagne seems to make the time pass and the hypocrisy less visible.