It was New Year’s Eve, late 1980’s, at the tarted-up Diplomat Hotel in Hollywood, Florida. I slipped inside a glittering ballroom; bushy-browed and sensitive, head-to-toe in black, searching for a shadowy perch where I could observe the action from the back.
The joint was on fire. There was no place to hide. I sat on a bar stool in the corner, watched and felt it all– the big hair, shiny skin, lonely hearts and a throbbing beat, thrashing on the dance floor. Waves and waves of wanton need.
Time slows down, under the strobing light.
I’d been tee-totalling scotch and fielding offers all night at the boozy trough, when I lifted a fresh cigarette to my lips and a blue-eyed, curly-blonde guy from Jersey murmured, hey you, in my ear and offered me a light. The flame of his lighter blew like a torch, we laughed and shared our first joke. Though he wasn’t my type, when he said, so gently, my name is Pauly, my lips parted and I told him mine. His smile was crooked and I was charmed.
I learned a lot about Pauly that night: he sold stuff for a living out of the trunk of his car, his life was inked in colour on his arms, his soul was touched by my open mind and open heart. When I told him I write and that my field of study was love, he kissed my cheek gratefully and whispered, I never met no one like you before.
The new year exploded with a chorus of screams. The party peak. Open, broken hearts; pounding, salty heat.
We looked at each other, and I said, let’s go upstairs.
His room looked out over the Atlantic, we stood in our skin, under the moon. I remember the tenderness of his lips, not the sex, and his black satin bathrobe with the mad dragon that made me giggle.
Later, Pauly seemed emotional, upset. He sat in the corner by the window and left me alone in the king-sized bed. He said he had a question for me. I had no idea what that meant. He tightened the sash around his waist, and asked, in a hushed voice, if I had ever killed anyone.
I lit a cigarette and so did he. The moon diffused in swirling smoke. I quickly understood that if I answered, I’d have to ask him back. My mouth opened and the question fell out. I couldn’t help myself, I had to know.
I never told no one before, he said.
Pauly pushed open the window, and the ocean roared. He said that his young cousin, a bright, young Jersey girl, was walking home from school one day, when someone grabbed her from behind and dragged her into a car. A teenage boy brutalized, raped, then murdered her, and put an end to her life.
His answer shocked me to my core.
I held myself tightly, but was not afraid.
Everyone in their town knew the kid who did it and believed he would be thrown in jail, but he was 17, underage and his mother gave him an alibi. When Pauly realized that his cousin’s rapist and killer was going free, he went to the store and he bought a gun.
The waves crashed around us, flooding the room. We cried together and held on for dear life. Pauly looked deep into my eyes, but he didn’t drown.
Moon Painting, courtesy of the artist, Rafe Martin.
Names and places have been changed.
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25 Responses to I Never Told
Loved “I Never Told”.Intriguing, sensual, and mysterious all at the same time!
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I’m glad you feel that way.
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So glad to see you on HP. Your moving writing belongs where everyone can find it. Yay!
And this piece? Is it possible to be both luminous and gritty?
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Thank you kindly, Jen.
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Just too easy to kill and the decision comes in a wink of an eye.
Met a friend of my farther that swung his right fist too hard.
His split second decision to do it haunted him for the rest of his life.
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Okkie
Van: burns the fire
Gestuur: Dinsdag, 25 November 2014 09:57 NM.
Aan: Okkie Jansen van Vuuren
Burns the Fire posted: ” It was New Year’s Eve, 1986, at the tarted-up Diplomat Hotel in Hollywood, Florida. I slipped inside a glittering ballroom; bushy-browed, sensitive, head-to-toe in black, searching for a thoughtful perch where I could observe the action from the back.”
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That’s some story, told lickety-split. Thanks for sharing.
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I am thankful you kept your distance, for I can’t help but wonder if you would have disappeared and we would not have discovered the beauty and delivery of your prose.
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What do you mean when you say I could have disappeared..? Curious!
Thanks for your lovely words.
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I took a path of understanding, read feelings of danger and deep concern. Remember, this was only my interpretation. I couldn’t help but wonder if you kept yourself from contacting him again because you thought your life may have been in danger. Perhaps you questioned his revelation of the murder, subconsciously could you have wondered if his personality contained a bit of suspect?
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I thought your concern was that I would stay with Pauly, leave my world and disappear into his. His life seemed so… literary, for the young writer I was.
Thanks for your thoughtful comments!
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Always the flame in every story–your writing puts hearts/heads “a-fire.”A thoughtful pause in my day.
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Thank you for taking the time to write!
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I was about to leave a comment- wait a minute- I need to read this again- and now I have- and now- and now- this time- loved reading every word- don’t like to think about if Pauly was justified…
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So glad you enjoyed. Justified or not, no one wins.
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I thought that it was going to be the story of a one-night stand, and the start of the story reminded me a bit of The Great Gatsby. Then it all changed. Well, it is a heavy story. Was Pauly justified? I prefer not to think about it too much…
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Here’s another difficult question: what would have happened to the young man who raped and killed Pauly’s cousin, if he hadn’t been killed himself? Would he have done it again?
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Loved this. Keep up the writing, the sharing.
Regards from airport on way from LA to denver. All going well. Home dec 2.
Hope all’s good there too.
Ez
>
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What a roller coaster ride, this tale – nicely done, again, Brenda.
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Great post, had me guessing… thanks for sharing, glad I stumbled on your blog!
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Welcome, Brahm!
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Smoldering, dangerous, beautiful. And ever so thoughtful/thought provoking. I love that about your writing!
xx
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And I love your work and your adjectives. xx
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Damn you’re good. That was incredible writing. Evocative as hell. I could *feel* being in the club and meeting the boy. xoxo
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Thank you, Beth, blush, so pleased you feel it.
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