Fusions and Illusions Chapter Two

Written by Wilde Poet

Photography: Kathleen Bade

The Fusion





Ahh the Martini.
Is there any other drink that conjures up images of refinement and class?


Start with gin.
Some of you out there may be thinking vodka...
but that would be wrong. A martini is made with gin.
The type of gin is entirely up to you, I prefer Bombay Sapphire.


How dry you make your martini is up to you.
The drier a martini the less vermouth it has in it.
I like mine extra dry.

Pour some vermouth in a martini glass as roll the glass
so that the vermouth coats the sides, then discard the rest.

Add chilled gin and garnish with an olive and you have a dry martini.
If you like your martini less dry a mixture of 6parts gin and 1 part vermouth
seems to work well in a shaker. Add ice, shake, strain and enjoy.










The Illusion

The lady waked in the room and sat at the bar. She commanded a presence that few could equal.
She wore a long black dress that showed her figure without revealing to much. It was an elegance
that was truly a part of her, not simply a facade. She ordered a martini and leaned on her elbows,
the pale powdered look of her arms accented greatly by the deep mahogany of the bar. The martini
she ordered was in front of her and she ran one slender finger around the rim before bringing it to her lips.

A man who had too much to drink appeared at her side and began to talk to her much louder
than was needed. He did not take the subtle cues that so many others had picked up on. She was not
in the mood for companionship. When the man bought her another drink and she turned it away
he became agitated and sulked away. She sat quietly listening to the Miles Davis song coming from
the stage her foot swaying gently. She sat staring at her drink not speaking a quiet loneliness
that was her own. She wanted and needed nothing but the music and the cool martini in front of her.

I sat, my feet propped up on the chair next to me, my own leaning back against the wall. I smoked
one of my rare cigarettes and watched through the blue smoke. No one else approached her,
no one talked to her, no one seemed to even notice her, the same as she did not notice them.
She took no heed in what they thought or what they did, she lived in a time of her own much like myself,
while I took a fascination in watching the peope who came and went I held no stock in their thoughts.
I felt a connection of separation to this lady who sat sipping her martini.

She sat there for hours and I did the same. Neither one of us were approached save for when
the martini ran dry, never a word spoken, never an influence felt. When the time came for her
to take the world of her mind elsewhere she rose. I motioned to the bartender and he understood,
he took no money from her but offered no explanation. The woman scanned the room and saw me
in the shadows of my corner.

A simple smile said thank you and she departed as elegantly as she had arrived,
leaving an impression on very few, save one.

Fusions and Illusions Chapter One

Written by Wilde Poet

Photography: Kathleen Bade

The Fusion

Grand Marnier Cordon Rouge (Red Ribbon) is an orange liqueur from Paris, France.
It is a blend of cognac and orange essences that create a distinct orange flavor.
Generally it is imbibed neat, that's straight without ice for you heathens out there,
or it is used in some mixed drinks. You simply pour into a small cordial glass and enjoy.

The Illusion

No one knows exactly how the fire started, nor does it matter.
The red brick outside remained like an empty shell concealing the black
and cindered remains of the once beautiful building. But if one looked close,
the beauty remained, hidden under the soot and ash.

I sit on the floor staring at the remnants of the past looking far beyond
the now desolate surroundings. I open the bottle next to me and set it
on the remains of a burned out trunk. The orange scent of the
Grand Marnier fuses with the still, dry, smell of the smoke.
I fill my glass and begin to imagine the future.

A bar along the far wall will be stocked with as many of the spirits and liqueurs
that people could want. The dark mahogony of the bar would match the tables
and chairs throughout the open spaces. One side of the room a stage set for the jazz
performers and other musicians that I invite to my establishment. A dance floor
in front will invite those souls who wish to dance. It will be a place where people can
come to be with those they care about, to laugh and revel or perhaps to rendezvous
with a mysterious stranger that chance has guided here, all concealed by heavy smoke
of the patrons and soft shodowy lights. It will seem as if all time stops here.
Nothing else matters but what is happening between the four walls.
A place where broken hearts may be formed or mended, a place where
the dealings can be private or public, a place to disappear or be found.

My station will be where I sit now. My back to the wall in a corner table,
to survey the patrons and enjoy the drama that life will bring to my establishment,
perhaps I may influence fate if the feeling strikes me.

I finish my glass and place it back on the trunk. I am done here for now,
but soon the beauty that lies so hidden beneath the remains will once again
rise to the surface as does the scent of oranges and smoke.

~~~~~