Writing Honorable Mention: “The House of Eve Mariner”
Photography Honorable Mention: “El Porto Nights” by Jamie Grant
by Nancy Skiba
As he stepped wearily out of the small apartment halfway up Calle Miramar that he had shared for two years with the love of his life, Bret stuffed the last of his belongings into the back of his weather-beaten old Wrangler. It didn’t consist of much: a Strat and amps, some music CDs, a camera, a laptop and some jumbled clothing he’d jammed into canvas duffels as Lucie screeched parting words he’d rather forget. It had all seemed so perfect and so fated when they met at one of his gigs. They had shacked up soon after, but her moods and jealously had transformed her into a she-devil. Too many nights he came home late after a show, only to find her waiting like a caged cat, all claws. She was not allowed to attend the gigs due to her tendency to see infidelity in every smile or hello to an admiring fan, and then there were the scenes she caused that cost them venues. Oh well. He was relieved to get the hell out of there, anywhere would be better than this.
He noticed the sudden chill in the air that bit at his bare tattooed arms. He pulled an old black coat, a duster, over his torn jeans and tank top. As he got in the Jeep he saw the fog roll in thick and quickly, filling the street eerily. How appropriate, he thought. He drove away, not sure where he was headed. But it was away, and that was good.
As he sped off down the street and turned onto Esplanade, the door of a triplex opened and a red lava lamp was hurled out onto the sidewalk where it broke, then the door slammed shut. The red contents of the lamp spilled out like blood, oozing out onto the sidewalk.
Bret drove aimlessly for a few minutes, getting his bearings, passing the pier. Then he stopped at Beryl and hung a U-turn, driving south again. He looked at the clock on his dashboard. It was only 5:15 p.m. He put his cell phone down. His buddy and band mate, Colin, wasn’t answering. He could crash there. For now he’d chill out and just listen to the fog horn, parked along the oceanfront walk, and let the negativity drain away from him. Clear the energy, clear his head. Bret got out of the car and walked for a while along the cliff edge, as fog parted and closed around him. He thought he heard footsteps, light like a woman’s….following him? Then they were gone. He went back to the Jeep and got in. He lit a cigarette that had gotten bent and broken on the car seat when he loaded the car. “Just like my life,” he muttered cynically, and inhaled slowly. As he finished the smoke and rested his head on the high-backed seat, he drifted off.
Something woke him. A rap on the window. No, it was not a rap. It was more of a light tickly tapping on the glass of the driver’s side window, like long fingernails on the glass. Bret opened his eyes, expecting to see a Parking Enforcement officer. Instead, there was a beautiful, dark-haired girl, with dark eyes that gazed at him deeply. He opened the window and sat up, unable to take his eyes off her. She was a vision all in white, somehow seeming to glow against the dreamy fog that engulfed the street and, it seemed, the rest of Redondo Beach. She came close to the open window, her breath cool, and smiled at him.
“What are you doing out here on a night like this?” Bret smiled self-consciously, and indicated the hastily packed car. “My girlfriend – ex girlfriend – evicted me about an hour ago.” He laughed. She shook her head and blinked at him with those big dark eyes that he could not stop gazing into. “You poor thing. Misunderstood, were you?” He shrugged.
“More of a mistake from the get go.”
She tapped a long pearly fingernail on the window edge, and patted his suntanned hand that idly rested on the steering wheel. “You come with me. I know what you need.” She pulled open the car door and led him out into the fog. Bret walked along with her, led, along Vista de la Playa…up and up, up the hill, not knowing where they were walking, unable to resist this mystery vision.
She stopped walking and turned to him. “I’m Eve. Eve Mariner….Bret.” He looked at her in surprise.
“No, we haven’t met…..I know you from your poetry readings, at the Coffee Cartel.” He winced. “I’m off to a bad start then, my poems are sentimental crap, just my rambling thoughts. I’m no poet. Not that great of a musician either.”
She laughed and took his hand, and led him to a private cobbled walk that led to an old stone villa that he did not remember ever seeing before, somewhere overlooking the cliffs, the sea roaring loudly down below, as the fog continued to swirl making it nearly impossible to see. She led him to the carved door and then inside. What was that door knocker, some sort of animal? The door closed heavily behind them.
There were candles in leaded holders that flickered and cast a glow around the room. Bret shivered a little from the dampness and sea air that had turned cold. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She shook off her long white shawl. She was wearing something filmy. She led him closer to a fire that was burning nicely in a stone fireplace. She poured some wine and handed a glass to him. Bret was feeling more than a little stunned and puzzled. Eve held her wine and raised it to her lips. He blinked and was not sure if she had sipped the wine or not. She set down her glass, and welcomed him to sit on the deep velvet sofa, burgundy red, and he sunk down into it. “I have a poem of my own that I wrote for you. I call it “Rock star.” He smiled, feeling the wine warm him, and the attraction that was so strangely intense, hypnotic.
She joined him on the sofa, catlike, and gazed at Bret, then began to recite:
“Rock star”
He explodes into his song
Suddenly ablaze
All passion, sound, and fury…
Glistening he sheds
One layer and then another
Like a snake taking off its skin.
Unstoppable, he’s driven
Like a God and like a demon,
Effortlessly balancing
On waves of words
Tidal, all-consuming…
Tearing, now sharing
Pieces of his soul
Like offering bread
Upon the altar of his memories.
He hurls himself
Like an arrow
Through their hearts
Reminding them that love
Is close to death
A fatal wine
That heals and kills
From which few remain standing.
Alone again,
He contemplates
What is it all about?
And dreams of finding that lost boy
Misplaced among the brambles,
Always with him,
Always out of reach,
He feels him there upon the stage,
Reflected in their gazes.
Bret was blown away by her words, and how deeply she understood him. Who was this woman? He finally found his voice. “You know me? How?”
Eve watched him for a few moments. She rose, and indicated he should follow her. She led him out onto a patio where the cool sea breeze whipped at their clothing. It blew her long dark hair off her white shoulders. Eve looked out over the pounding sea.
“We have lived here for a very long time, my family and I. We go back a long way.”
Bret glanced back at the room they had just left. It seemed a world away from Calle Miramar, and yet the walk had not been that far in the fog. “How is it I’ve never seen this house before? I grew up here in Redondo, not far from here, just off PV. I’ve surfed here all my life.”
Eve laughed lightly. “The only people who can see it are the ones we want to see it.” He felt almost dizzy bathed in her smile. Some sound in the fog was calling his attention – something far away in the thick mist out there….what was it?….a dog bark?….some kind of a call, like a wolf dog somewhere.
Eve turned and walked back inside, leading Bret by the hand. They walked down some steps into a lower level of the home that had more candles and muted lighting and dark wood……and she took him through a carved door. “I want you to be my guest. For as long as you like.” Bret couldn’t believe his good fortune. Meeting a mysterious and beautiful woman like this, who could see through to his soul, on the same night he had nowhere to go…..that was karma.
He looked around the room, which was shuttered and lit only by small candelabras that flickered in the cool dimness. Eve closed the door behind them. He turned to see that there was a big ornate bed, covered in pillows and silk overhanging. He looked at the bed and back to her and saw her beckoning. He followed her to an alcove inside the room……where she pointed to their sleeping place. His eyes followed her hand and Bret stared, uncomprehending:
It was a luxurious open vault with a casket for two, lined in the finest silk. Candles lit the sleeping area on crystal candlesticks, which reflected the glow of the candles. He turned toward her and she met him with an embrace. He felt her close around him, softly yet surprisingly strong as she drew him closer. As she kissed him he felt the ever so sharp pinch of teeth – fangs. He couldn’t move, and helplessly felt life as he knew it draining out of him….
On Calle Miramar, the red lava lamp rolled away, leaving a red puddle that looked very much like blood…. B