An Hour in Paradise by Mark Belisle

Mark Belisle began writing eight years ago in Fletcher, Oklahoma and since that time he has written numerous short stories, several screenplays, and a comic book script. This is his first published story. He currently lives in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware with his girlfriend, his dog, and a six toed cat named Dweeb.

It was a nasty night; the lightening crashed violently and tore the December sky apart with brutal roars of thunder. Cold rain poured down the neck of my jacket, soaking the clothes I had on underneath. I had with me the two most important items in my life: in my right hand was a worn, hand me down copy of Death of a Salesman. In my left was the stray kitten I had scooped up half an hour earlier from a filthy puddle in the back alley behind Reinhardt Street.

The poor thing was shivering and meowing weakly, so I kept it cradled in my arm, doing my best to keep it warm and dry.

Traffic was light. A traveler passed down the road and kicked up water as he sped off to some New Year’s Eve celebration. Another approaching vehicle lit up the miserable streets briefly before passing me and dyeing the night blood red with its taillights.

I took the opportunity to cross the street, clutching the kitten and the book tightly. I spied a bit of shelter by the neon signs marking a club called An Hour in Paradise. A bit of awning ran over the side of the building directly left of the main entrance. I rushed over to this prime bit of real estate. The small alleyway that the awning sheltered was littered with crates and broken bottles, the ground paved with dirty hypodermic needles and crumpled triple X advertisements. I was thankful I was still wearing shoes. Others weren’t so lucky.

I grabbed a crate and sat down. It was a modest bit of shelter in one of the most rundown parts of the city, but it was good enough for me.

The sound of the party and the music being played inside ground its way through the brick wall and sounded flat to my ears. Down a few blocks, a shot rang out above the thunder.

The kitten mewled in my hand, and I moved the creature into the pouch of warm air between my jacket and my stomach. I stroked its head lightly and smiled at the shadows.

“Yes, that’s a good kitty. I think you’ll be okay in the end. That’s what everybody says: ‘In the end, everything will work itself out and you’ll be okay.’ Don’t fret, it’ll be alright. Stop meowing and start purring, I’ll take care of you till you die or I die. I tell you what, I’ll read you some of my favorite story. This is Linda talking to her sons about their father.

I flipped open the book to a dog-eared page and began to read, “‘No. You can’t just come to see me, because I love him. He’s the dearest man in the world to me, and I won’t have anyone making him feel unwanted and low and blue. You’ve got to make up your mind now, darling, there’s no leeway anymore. Either he’s your father and you pay him that respect, or else you’re not to come here.’”

I sighed and stroked the kitten’s neck, “You know, I think that’s about the sum of it. Most people don’t give respect to those who really need it. I’m sure no one gives it to you, and that doesn’t make any sense to me. You’re beautiful, you’re a little beautiful creature covered with a bit of dirt and grime. No one’s really interested in cleaning you up and seeing you for what you’re worth. That’s okay, because I love you, little guy. I love you. You’re my friend, and I love you.”

I pulled the kitten out of my jacket and kissed its face. Dark green eyes that shimmered in the night looked back at me.

A sudden noise from the entrance of An Hour in Paradise caused me to start. I stuffed my feline friend back into its warm pouch of air and pulled into the shadows.

A young man covered with confetti and small stains on the arm of a well cut jacket walked out. He stood, letting the rain cover his head, then retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and slapped them a few times against his palm. He put one in his mouth and lit up, carefully shielding it from the rain. He was in the middle of a second drag when another explosion of music, noise, and social life poured into the night air. The second person to exit An Hour in Paradise didn’t bother stepping out. Instead, she called from the sheltered entrance.

“Hey, Marcus! Why didja come out here? Wait, is that a cigarette? Oh c’mon, you know I hate it when you smoke. Come back inside with me.”

Marcus turned but made no move to get out of the rain. “Shelly, you know I hate parties. I always feel so damned awkward. I have no idea what to say to people.”

“Marcus, it’s 11:45! If you don’t get in here, how are we gonna ring in the new year? And I sure as hell don’t want to do it out here in the rain.”

The sound of an impatient high heeled shoe tapping on cold concrete punctuated the night. Marcus still made no attempt to rejoin his date, opting instead to take another long drag off his smoke. A bright flare of red glowed brightly in the steadily falling rain as he breathed in, then died back down again after he removed the filter from his lips.

“And I’m really not fond of you taking me to these parties, either, but you do it.”

“Hey, what’re you getting from smoking? Huh? Emphysema? Lung cancer? Stained teeth? At least when I take you out, I’m improving your social skills. You just need to loosen up, Marcus. Now come back inside before you get too wet and the bouncers decide to not let you back in.”

“I’d really rather not. I mean, what’s the point? I’m just going to go back in there and make inane small talk that nobody’s going to remember after they wake up tomorrow.”

“Marcus, please come back inside. People like you. It’s not like they’re making fun of you or anything. Just trust me. You shouldn’t be such a coward.”

“Either way, the bottom line is that you’re standing out in the rain instead of celebrating New Year’s Eve with me. Now please come back inside.”

A sharp silence settled between the two people. The kitten in my jacket shuddered and meowed loudly, putting its two cents in.

“I don’t know, it just all seems so superfluous. All those people just sta-”

“What the hell does superfluous mean?” Shelly asked, noticeable tones of agitation creeping into her voice.

“Goddamn it. You couldn’t say that in the beginning? Jesus Christ, please speak English, wouldja?”

Marcus tore the smoke out of his mouth and flicked it to the ground. I watched as it somersaulted end over end, the inflamed tip leaving streaks tracing through the dark.

“You know what I mean. Now listen, you got two choices. You can either come inside with me and ring in the New Year, or you can stay out there and catch your death. It’s totally up to you. I’m tired of putting up with this stupid shit that you always do. It’s not my fault that you’re obsessed with your image, and I’m not going to take the fall for it. Why should I suffer for your hang-ups? You can stay out here in the rain, sulking in your own self-pity and personal bullshit, or you can come with me. What’s it going to be?”

I watched Marcus’s face carefully. I could almost feel the fear and doubt rolling off him in sheets. More disturbing were the much subtler shades of anger and resentment rippling across his features. The bright neon lighting cast a red tint across his face, and for the briefest of seconds, he was so picturesque he could have been a still life painting titled Conflict.

He extended his hands out to his sides and shook his head, “I don’t know what to say, Shelly.”

Marcus started to say her name, but Shelly cut him off when she opened the door to Paradise, letting the clamor of voices inside flood out onto the streets.

The ensuing silence was awful. Marcus’s face was etched with disappointment, sadness, maybe some grief. I recognized the hurt on his face. I had seen it before on the face of anyone who ever needed respect. Anyone who had never been taken care of went to sleep with that expression.

I leaned forward into the light, and a loud thump brought his attention to me for the first time.

He scowled at me and jammed his hands into his pockets. Maybe it was the embarrassment of having been spied on or perhaps it was the anger towards Shelly that caused to him curse as he began walking away into the rain.

I stared at the shadowy form on the cold ground and felt the tears well in my eyes.

The kitten had died in my jacket and now lay at my feet, soaked in December rain.

“No, no, no. Why did you do that? I told you it was going to be okay in the end. I told you I was going to take care of you. I told you you were my friend. I read you my story. You didn’t have to die, you know?”

I scooped the limp kitten off the ground and held it to my chest. The tears ran freely down my dirty cheeks. I hugged it, dropping Death of a Salesman into the litter beside my crate. I stroked its body and used my jacket to start cleaning the mud off its fur.

“You’re such a beautiful thing, you’re just covered with a little bit of mud. I’ll clean you up. I’ll love you. You’re my best friend, and I love you…I love you.”