The Bridge

The Bridge

It was New Years Eve. I was walking with my wife and her annoying little toy poodle dog along the foreshore at Lakes Entrance. It was late morning, and the park was overflowing with beach intent Melbourne tourists. Mavis, my wife, was busy complaining in one ear about how the town filled up with outsiders who were managing to clog up our normal walking route. Shutting out her endless lamentations, I was busy eyeing over the imported scantily clad tourists, while I dragged poodle from piss point to piss point. Mavis kept walking as I stopped for the forty third time for poodle to lift his back leg. A young woman, dressed in a long flowing beach robe which clung to her body and outlined her sinuous elegant legs, sidled up to me and offered me a piece of paper. I took it without thinking, unable to get my mind off the way her soft wavy hair brushed against the swell of her ample breasts. She was gone, into the crowd, before I was able to even glance at the piece of paper. Before hurrying to catch up to Mavis I unfolded it. It said, simply, "Midnight on the bridge. Come alone." I quickly stuffed it into my trouser pocket. Mavis was looking back in my direction as I caught up with her.
Lost in reverie at what the note might mean, and the liaison that it appeared to portend, I whiled away the next few hours pretending to do things in the garden, while fantasising about what was to come. I visualised tantalising scenes with her in her hotel room, the soft feel of her hair, the voluptuous curve of her breasts as I ran my hands over them, and on down her body to those supple tanned thighs. By late afternoon the day was beginning to drag, so I took myself off to the shopping centre. Perhaps she did not have a room of her own, and I would need to get one. Lakes Entrance is full of tourists at this time of year, so anything available would undoubtedly have to be of the most expensive kind. And someone like her, well, they would expect a room of quality, a suite with champagne at least. I withdrew the maximum amount I could have from the hole in the wall. Cash would be best. No paper trail for Mavis to follow.

By the time I got home Mavis was already gearing up for our usual New Years Eve neighbourhood party, which this year was to be at Nellie's place, down the road. I was put to work in the kitchen making sandwiches. It suited me, as I could return unhindered to my reveries. The party went off as usual, lots of beer and chardonnay for the ladies. I tried hard to get into the usual conversations. The garden. The neighbours. That annoying young couple at the end of the road. Little Harry Bodkins and his urge to tag all the neighbourhood fences. But my heart was not in it. The night dragged. And dragged.

Finally it was a quarter to twelve. Everyone was assembling on the front verandah in anticipation of the midnight fireworks display. I slipped away into the darkness, and walked briskly, almost running as I made my way down the hill towards the park and the footbridge. I could see myself making my way through the crowd on the bridge, looking for her. Then I would see her. Standing there in the centre of the bridge the gentle breeze wafting her hair lazily around her glowing face, which would light up as she saw me approaching. But my dream disappeared into a nightmare as I came to the bridge. It was closed. For safety reasons. No-one would be allowed onto it until after the midnight fireworks display.

My mind was racing now. What could have gone wrong? Had I made a mistake? Of course. Stupid me! She meant the bridge by the roundabout at the edge of town. It was already only a couple of minutes to twelve. The crowd pressed in on all sides as I hurried to make my way west along the foreshore to the only really substantial bridge in Lakes Entrance. I bumped into people as I half walked, half ran in desperation. Pretty soon I was out of the crowd, but I was also out of breath. I had to walk. I was too old to go any faster. The sky rockets were exploding in a crescendo by the time I got to the bridge. It was already twenty minutes after the hour. I looked onto the bridge, but no-one was there. She had gone. Slowly, my shoulders drooping with disappointment. I made my way down to the skateboard park and sat down on a park bench. I was exhausted. I was deflated. My fantasy bubble had burst. I had my head in my hands, when I heard a noise from the bushes behind me. It was a low sort of moaning sound. Scary. There was nobody around. I sat motionless hoping it and the person making it would disappear. Instead a small man staggered out of the bushes and collapsed on the ground in front of me. It was obvious he had been badly beaten. I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out my mobile phone to call the police and the ambulance. As I did so the piece of paper, the note from the beautiful nymphette floated down to the ground. It landed directly in front of the face of the unfortunate little man. Seeing it, he reached out for it, held it and read the invitation. He laughed a hollow laugh as the blood trickled from the side of his mouth.

"You got one of these, too, did you?"