Pump House Café

Pump House Café

Pump House Café(Artist – unknown)

Clara sat at the edge of her seat: legs crossed, cigarette in hand and painted finger-nails that tapped upon a half-full glass of warm Chardonnay. Her outfit was flawless: white blouse, plunging neckline with ruffle detail, black tight skirt that matched her black curly hair and four inch patent leather pumps.

Her ruby studded earrings sparkled and her blue sapphire ring glowed.

The café was empty except for a sad pianist who pressed hard on the ivory keys to the tune of “Cry me a River.”

“Anton! Hurry up and finish your drink, that fool cannot even keep in tune, he’s hideous!”  She shrieked.

Anton, Clara’s husband, was a small man with large dreams that never came true.

“One day, I will fly a rocket and stumble upon a new planet. Then I will meet up with the Little Prince and admire how he lives alone in his own big world. How lucky he is to survive without a telephone or TV.” Anton thought to himself.

He placed his snifter of cognac on the table and with the jerk of his hand it tipped over and the liquid poured onto the walnut surface like a molten piece of gold.

Anton quickly grabbed a hanky from his pocket and wiped off the spill before Clara turned her gaze.

He waved his hand at the bartender to refill his glass.

“Oh good you’re finished.” Clara remarked a she jumped up from her chair, tearing a hole in her silk nylons.

“Let’s go, I’m bored.”

Anton looked over again at the bartender who knew the signal and poured the cognac back into the bottle.

He gave Anton a sympathetic nod.

Anton picked up Clara’s mink coat and placed it on her shoulders.

She hurried out the door into the cold night air.

Anton stopped to put a hundred dollar note into the pianist’s jar.

The pianist stopped playing.

“Thank you sir, any last request ?’ He asked.

“Yes, I do have one.” Anton replied with a smile.

Fly me to the Moon.

And with that, Anton sat back down at the table where a full glass of cognac waited for him.

He sipped it slowly.

© 2013 Ann Ivy Male


(The piece was written in response to a request from my daughter. We were out for dinner at The Pump House Grille and she was facing a large painting. She knows how much I like to create stories based on paintings of people in cafés so this one’s for her.)

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