Black

         Odds and Ends was located in the downtown area of Newbury, occupying the building that had once been “Mirriam’s books and more”.  Unfortunately for Mirriam, most of the town’s residents were not that interested in books and had only wandered in for the more.  But the tagline “and more” had been intended as a joke.  The townsfolk hadn’t found it that funny and “Mirriam’s books and more” had closed just five months after opening its doors:  Leaving the building vacant until a week ago, when the new antique shop had opened its doors for the first time.

         Of course Francis had not attended the grand opening.  She was not one for the hustle and bustle that accompanied such events, people cramming themselves into such a small place; all so eager to lay their eyes on new items for purchase and even more eager to meet the proprietor of the new business.  Just thinking about being shoulder to shoulder with so many people made her feel a little claustrophobic.

         Now, as she exited from the Tip-Top Café where she always took lunch on Wednesdays before going to her bridge game, she couldn’t help but glance at the new shop across the street.  Like most women her age she loved antiques and little trinkets and took a great delight in adding a new item to her curio cabinet whenever possible.  With that thought in mind, she checked her watch.  It told her it was a quarter to one.  Her bridge game didn’t start until half past, and while she usually arrived early to help Eleanor organize, she supposed a quick visit to Odds and Ends wouldn’t kill her.

         A bell dinged when she opened the door, signaling her arrival, and she expected to be greeted by the owner.  She was not.  The little checkout stand to her left was empty and the place was silent save for the faint sound of classical music, which she thought was Bach but couldn’t be sure.  For a few moments she just stood in the entryway, waiting for someone to manifest from the back area of the store, but after almost a full minute she supposed her entrance had gone unnoticed.

         Just as well, she thought, I don’t have time for the meet and greet.  I’ll just have a quick peak around and be on my way.

         She found several items of interest while perusing through the shop.  An ancient radio that was a big as a television—and just as expensive at a hundred and fifty dollars—which, to her amazement, still worked; and was in fact the source of the classical music she’d heard when she entered.  Various statues of rosy cheeked cherubs caught her eye along with their larger seraphim brethren.  A small glass model of a castle in the clouds caught the gloomy light perfectly, creating a plethora of colors within its cuts that made her breath stop and caused her free hand to clutch her chest.  Of course the price was outrageous, and she could never afford it on a fixed income, but it was still nice to look at.

         After some time she came to an old brass lamp that had tarnished, giving it a dark, muddled look.  Without thinking she picked it up for a closer examination, her eyes squinting and brow furrowing in confusion.  Why would anyone want a tarnished lamp?  She wondered, and was about to set it back down—she’d already spent too much time here and would probably be the last to arrive at Eleanor’s—and make her way out of the store when a voice came from behind her.

         “Beautiful, isn’t it?”  The voice was like butter, but its sudden appearance startled her.  She jumped, her breath surging into her lungs audibly.  She turned, and found herself looking up into eyes that were fiercely blue and alive. 

         “Goodness,” she gasped.  “You scared the life out of me.”

         The stranger smiled and uttered a chuckle that was deep and friendly.  “Terribly sorry madam, it was not my intention.”

         “No. That’s alright.”  She took in his face and guessed him to be somewhere in his late fifties, or perhaps early sixties.  High cheekbones and an angular jaw-line made her guess he was of Slavic descent, though his voice carried no accent to suggest so.  His silvery hair was combed back, thinning, with a widow’s peak.  A black suit covered his tall, lithe physique and for a moment Francis was dumbfounded by his strikingly handsome appearance despite—or because of—his age.  The only real flaws she could detect were his teeth, which were grey, bordering on black, and the rancid quality of his breath.

         She realized she’d been staring, and broke their mutual gaze by shaking her head and letting out a small laugh.  “I’m sorry.  What were you saying?”

         “The lamp,” he gestured to it, “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

         She’d forgotten about the lamp completely, and realized with something like surprise that she was still holding it in her hand.  “It’s tarnished.  You should restore it, make it like new.”

         He frowned at this.  “You think so?”  He reached for the lamp and she handed it over without hesitation.  For a moment he studied it.  “I disagree.  I believe it is the tarnishing, the age of it, that makes it beautiful.  Gives it personality, so to speak.  New lamps all look the same, but this…this is one of a kind.  The pattern of its tarnishing can never be reproduced or replicated.”  She noticed him eying her as he spoke and her cheeks flush.  “It has a history, a life, a story.  Imagine what this lamp has seen, what it has—“ His mouth shut with an audible click.  “I’m rambling now:  Humblest apologies.”

         “Oh no.  I’ve never heard anyone put it that way.”

         “Yes, well, I suppose it’s the old country in me.”

         “Old country?”  She asked; her ignorance obvious.

         “I was born in Romania.  My family moved to London before I was old enough to remember, but I suppose it’s from there that I draw my love of history, at least that’s what my father told me.”

         “I see.  And how long have you lived in the states?”

         “Almost four decades now.  I came to New York when I was—oh but where are my manners?”

         He set the lamp down and faced her.  “Please allow me to introduce myself—“

         —I’m a man of wealth and taste—

         “—my name is Adrian.  Adrian Black.”  He crossed on arm over his stomach and gave a half bow.

         “Oh my,” she giggled—how long since I’ve giggled like these oh my God I feel like a girl—“Well Adrian, I am Ms. Francis Lutz.”  She offered her hand.

         “Pleased to meet you—“

         —Hope you guess my name—

         “—Francis,” he said, taking her hand.  He did not shake it however, instead he turned her palm down—his hands are so cold—and proceeded to bend over and kiss the top of her hand.

         Absolutely charming.

         She liked him immediately.

         He would end her.