KindleKonttori was the most celebrated nightclub in town, though certainly not the best, and definitely overpriced: its long admission queue led the customers, past the bully bouncers, to a local densely permeated by cigarette smoke, puddled with beer and carpeted in glass debris, with a narrow and stifling dance floor; and the staf was invariably bad-tempered. However, inexplicably though it seemed to me, it was the chicks’ favourite pick, and therefore also the guys’. After all, its reputation might not be altogether unjustified, since I used to get lucky there and my expectations were seldom disappointed.
That was my last night in Konttori. A few days later I was bound to leave the town for good.
Posted in one of the strategic corners, long drink in hand, I was keeping a watch on the entrance door, checking on the convex-gendered newcomers, and generally having a look on the women around, like a vulture in check of a prey.
The woman appeared suddenly in the focal point of my retine. She wasn’t neither the prettiest nor the youngest, but – her eyes beaming with a natural smile of their own, she was one of those rare owners – should I say portrayers? – of an ineffable something around their countenance or bearing, some I-don’t-know-what which seemed the quintessence of sympathy, an inborn elegance in demeanour, the ultimate sparkle of intelligence, a something that lends them an unmistakable and irresistible allure, making them conspicuously outstand the others.
Nonetheless, as she was in the company of a man, I quickly consigned her to oblivion.
A while later, though, when passing by the couple on my way to the dance floor, I heard my own voice unexpectedly speaking to her: ‘you’ve got something special!
– Thank you! So do you’, was her inmediate reply, and a broad smile on her mouth underlined the other, previous smile her eyes naturally portrayed.
Yet later on we came across again. She was now by herself, her companion nowhere to be seen, and, stopping by me, this time it was she who endowed me with a resplendent expression of gratitude:
— I wanted to thankyou what you told me before– she said.
– Not at all! I wasn’t flattering you –and then, looking for my words–: I just couldn’t help uttering what my mind was thinking. You have that charismatic something… a natural radiance onto your visage, like a glamour… a kind of luster that outstands. You looked straight into my eyes rather than dodged my stare…
— One thousand heartfelt thanks! –she almost shouted–. Yes, it’s true that our nation suffers from an excess of shyness. But please, don’t ever stop doing what you’ve done. Please don’t stop stating those thoughts!
I hadn’t ever met a woman so grateful by a compliment, and this idea made me wonder: maybe she has never been told anything similar before? These folks bashful!
We talked for a short while, barely enough for learning little more than our names – though I forgot her long ago; and then we heartily shook hands to the last of our words, prolonging a contact – probably longer than necessary? – that had turned into a caress...
— May you have a beautiful life –was her sentence of farewell; and before turning round, she sent me on her fingers a warm kiss that I – clumsy me! – didn’t manage to intercept, so it got lost among the smoke, the music and the clamor of Konttori.
