1943. Shanghai. A soldier of the Japanese Army happens by a club one night purely out of boredom. What he expects to find are uncouth drunks. He actually meets a beautiful African-American performer by the name of Beatrice. Throughout the next three...
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Epilogue
Lifting his vodka to his mouth, a sweet sound drifted down into his ears and it made him turn. A woman stood in the center of the room, lights shining on her gorgeous tawny skin. Her voice caressed the notes of the piano, weaved a web around the trumpet, and gave the horns a run for their money. Dressed in a startling dark blue slip-dress and matching shoes, the only other decoration that adorned her was a black flapper cap and long dangly pieces of sparkling beads. It drew the eye to her slim throat, small round shoulders, and dark red lips. Taking his eyes off her, he ordered another vodka.
The sound of clapping deafened him and he was glad to lose himself in it, reaching into his pocket to pull out his cigarette case. He was glad for a moment, just to relax and unwind from the uniform that sometimes suffocated him. Striking the match, he put the lit cigarette in between his awaiting lips and exhaled, the sudden smell of perfume disrupting the minty nicotine haze. Opening his eyes, he found the woman from the stage standing in front of him, skin glistening with sweat.
For a moment, the two of them said not a word, and simply stared at one another. She watched him inhale smoke and blow it out, hiding his face behind a mirror of clouds. Enchanting almond-shaped eyes watched as he reached for the vodka, ice now melted. Before he could lift it to his mouth, she reached out and grabbed it, lifting it instead to her own, throwing back the shot. Finally, she chose to speak, voice low and soft.
"I've been waiting a long time for you." Her voice instantly set him on fire and those eyes of hers devoured him; from head to toe she threatened to consume him. He didn't answer, just let his eyes roam every inch of her tempting little body. She placed the glass not too gently back onto the surface of the bar top just as his gaze lifted onto her own once more.
"You don't have your uniform on, tonight." She said with a smile, a sweet lulling twang to her voice.
"No. I don't." Tiny amber fingers plucked the cigarette from his lips, bringing it to sit instead in between hers.
"Guess we all have somethin' we wanna hide from." Inhaling deeply, she let the smoke exit through her nostrils.
"What are you hiding from, soldier?" He completely turned towards her.
"What makes you think I'm hiding, woman?" Taking fingers, he slowly teased the beaded tassels that hung down from her cap.
"How do you know you're not right where I want you?" Brushing them back and across her shoulder, he let his fingertips taste the soft smoothness of her flesh. Taking the short stub now imprinted with her lipstick, she placed it back in his mouth. The horn player played solo and it echoed the rhythm of their hearts, how fast and in tune they beat.
