Deauville In The Rain
They met early on a Sunday morning and drove to Deauville in the rain.Spring raced by like a movie set in a romance novel people read without applause
Until done crying about the heart breaking twist laced with poignant dialog.
Her name was Aimee, Jean-Louis her late husband had lived for the cinema and she had his best lines
Tattooed on the palm of her heart, (memoirs of star turns, flash bulbs popping and the press
always wanting a quotable phrase)
The drivers name was Alain, he raced in Le Gran Prix, his sponsor a global oil corporation.
He drove fast, on the edge yet under control, gave the fancy suits in the board room a
certain cachet with which to discuss their ruthless baronial tactics of resource and population
exploitation.
They had become acquainted when the lifestyle and fashion magazine from which she sometimes accepted photography assignments asked her to shoot the Continental Circuit Motor Sports Award Show. Alain won Driver Of The Year. Aimee found him to be exquisitely photogenic.
After 'the shoot' Alain insisted that she go to lunch with him at a wonderful cafe.
Aimee said, "no not today, I must work, perhaps Sunday." Alain smiled, like fingers caressing their wheel. Aimee loaded a fresh roll of film and shot some more frames as she felt herself immerse into a moment.
{In a movie outside the present moment, like a ballerina upon a floodlit stage Aimee feels the flexing muscles of her calves, a high arch. Sur les Demi pied.}
"Does one drive fast on a Sunday morning in the rain?" "Perhaps, should one so desire."
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2014-01-19 at 01:10
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