Polish, Dust and Sparkle Read online

  Jack nodded. The dust remained quiet on that late afternoon. Perhaps the dust was also exhausted from its battle with the polishers and chose to lie upon the ground rather than rise to mar the Workers Holiday. Yet looking back over his shoulder towards the direction of the wild lands, Jack saw the heat lightning crack across the sky, telling him that a fresh dust storm was gathering in those empty lands to roll into the city. But the winds wouldn’t arrive in time to smear the holiday celebration. The city would twinkle and glow in uncountable reflections of falling firework light.

  Jack, however, wasn’t very interested in that skyline’s glow. He couldn’t resist the urge to shift in his lawn chair and gaze longingly in the direction of the Crystal Palace that waited a little further down the shoreline. He could just discern the light of the Palace’s pink neon signs rising into the darkening sky. He wondered which of the girls would be dancing that night on the Palace’s stages. The most popular dancers would be twirling for all the polishers who would crowd into the Palace on the night of the Workers Holiday, eager to toss their coins to catch the attention of the girls who teased them with winks and blown kisses. Jack wished he were at the Palace. He tired to imagine the image of the last woman he had watched dance on those stages. He could not. It had been too long ago. Jack sighed. Thinking of whoever might twirl that night in the Palace would only heighten his hunger.

  “Jack Mays,” Linda hissed. “Where are your eyes drifting to? I’m over here.”

  “My eyes aren’t drifting anywhere.”

  Jack knew that Linda realized he longed for the Palace. She wouldn’t say anything. Jack had learned that Linda was too frightened to object. He had learned how Linda refrained from confronting him regarding his yearning, for to voice her displeasure would be for her to admit how Jack still hungered, no matter his accumulating years, and no matter all the hours he spent rubbing his mop across those glass towers rising across the river. Jack knew that Linda would prefer to remain quiet rather than give her husband that chance to say aloud how she had never satisfied his craving, not in any of the ways Jack suspected a girl who danced at the Crystal Palace might.

  “Well, hand me a carbonated water,” Linda forced a weak smile, “one of the lime ones. I think the fireworks should be starting soon.”

  Jack leaned towards his wife as he offered the aluminum can. He tried to imagine that Linda was one of the Palace’s girls, tried to remember Linda before he ever accepted that dismal position as one of the towers’ polishers. Linda had been a looker then, maybe not a stunner like all the girls in the Palace, but she had been a real looker all the same. Jack found it wasn’t so hard to bring that memory of Linda back to his mind when he concentrated. He set a hand upon Linda’s leg. He softly caressed her ankle.

  Linda grunted. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m only touching you. Do you remember when we used to enjoy touching one another?”

  “Really? You just start touching me out of the blue? Really, Jack? You know nothing about the finer sex. A woman’s ankle swells in this kind of humidity.”

  “Humidity? There’s no humidity when there’s so much dust in the air.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you know more about being a woman than I do? You really are something, Jack Mays.”

  A whistle shrilled across the river. A white streamer of light lifted into the night before exploding in a blossom of falling reds and oranges.

  Linda clapped. “Just look at how those fireworks reflect off of the towers.”

  Jack watched a dozen more rockets fire from their barges upon the river to dot the night with fire. He looked to the other aging and thickening men who sat upon lawn chairs much like his own, and he thought their faces looked as puffy and dispassionate as his, no matter how their wives applauded at the boom of each concussion. He doubted that he was the only man watching those fireworks and thinking only of all the hours it had required to keep those glass towers so clean, so that their firework reflections could so awe the wives gathered along that shore.

  “I tell you, Jack, watching how those fireworks sparkle across that skyline makes me proud of you, makes me appreciate what you do to keep the city clean.”

  But Jack was not as impressed by the lightshow, no matter that the fireworks grew more elaborate with each rocket. He could only think of the dust that the wild land behind his shoulder prepared to deliver to those glass towers. He could think only of all the hours he lost to the labor of keeping those towers glistening and clean. He could only think of all the shiners he gave to give to the crooked lift men before they carried him in their ascending cages.

  “Now, that really is something,” Linda reached for Jack’s hand as bursts of golden light filled the sky.

  Only Jack withdrew his grasp. He didn’t think the fireworks were very lovely at all.

  Jack realized it was all reflection, all just empty light. Jack watched the exploding blossoms and realized that his work held no weight, held no matter. He knew that the result of so many of his days and years was only illusion.

  * * * * *

  Jack polished the glass until his watch beeped to signal it was time for lunch. Half of the cucumber sandwich he kept for himself, but the first half he tore into crumbles and tossed onto his scaffolding. Soon, a black crow, friend to every polisher, perched next to him to share in the worker’s meal.

  “The sky above the wild lands across the river looks brimming with dust, crow.” Jack mumbled through a bite of bread, cucumber and cheese. “A wicked storm’s brewing, and I’d hate to have your feathers once it gets here. One never can tell what the wind will bring along with the dirt.”

  Jack decided to give the crow what remained of his sandwich. He never really enjoyed all the cucumber sandwiches Linda packed for him.

  “Yeah, crow, that coming dust storm looks like it’s going to be a massive one. All the polishers are going to be working overtime to keep all the glass in front of them nice and polished. The winds are going to be rough. The dust is going to scrape the skin. The lift men are going to make fortunes carrying the polishers up in their cages. I don’t envy you or the polishers one bit, crow.”

  Jack didn’t pick up his mop after he finished what remained of his lime-flavored, carbonated water. Instead, he climbed upon the top railing of his scaffold and gave the river another look. It was the middle of the day. Like always just before the dust arrived, it was very sunny. Jack couldn’t determine if the Crystal Palace’s neon signs glowed. The tower’s glass at his back was blinding for its reflection after Jack had polished its surface. Jack resented his work. He was finally honest with himself as he leaned forward upon that scaffolding and felt himself sway in the gusting wind.

  The Crystal Palace had always been the only glow Jack had ever cared to know. It would be the only polish he would ever miss.

  Jack grunted and forced himself to think no more of the Crystal Palace found on the opposite shore.

  An easy lean was all it took to send himself flying.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 2 – Lookers, Stunners and Shiners

  “Hey, Big Bird, you wouldn’t be trying to hold out on me. Would you, Big Bird?”

  Indigo Satin’s palm recognized the weight of silver and gold. Her name attracted more of the polishers than that of any of the other girls whose letters glowed and blinked on the large sign above the front entrance to the Crystal Palace. Indigo’s swaying hips and arching breasts made her the favorite of Lady Finch’s girls, and the shape of her lean demanded many a coin from the polishers who visited the Palace to look upon its delights.

  Indigo removed a silver wig of curls, and her eyes blazed as she looked into the mirror in front of her. “So what’s it about, Big Bird? My take’s feeling awful light at the end of the night. You wouldn’t be holding any of my coin back, would you Big Bird?”

  The other girls combing their hair or applying their rouge peeked out from their mirrors and strained their ears.

  Lady Finch hated Indigo�
��s nickname for her. Though not old, Lady Finch could no longer call herself young, nor had her youth ever been blessed with the curves of all the girls who danced in Lady Finch’s Crystal Palace. Her figure had never made a polisher swoon. A tall and thin frame ran through the core of her shape, with little of the swell that made a man’s eye pause to regard her treasure. Lady Finch’s eyes didn’t sparkle. She feared her limbs were too long. Lady Finch thought she looked more like a bird than a woman far before Indigo Satin granted her that cutting moniker.

  But on that occasion when Indigo Satin tried to wield that nickname as a weapon, Lady Finch smiled. Even Indigo Satin would have to swallow the truth that the curves and the swells that tonight made her name so popular among those glowing upon the sign above the Palace’s entrance would too soon fail her. Even Indigo Satin would eventually be forced off of the stage.

  “I’m withholding your looker’s fee tonight, Indigo.”

  The girls gasped at their mirrors before grabbing at platinum and pink wigs.

  Indigo’s eyes widened in astonishment. “You’re not serious. Woman, I’m the hottest number you’ve got.”

  Lady Finch shrugged. “Maybe I need to buy new light bulbs for all these mirrors in this dressing room. Maybe I need to replace the leather upholstery on the booths, or maybe I need to update the sound system. Besides, Indigo, you look into that mirror in front of you and try to tell me that you’re the same girl who first walked into my Palace. Look into the mirror and try to convince yourself of it.”

  “Did you just call me old?” Indigo’s question hissed.

  “Indigo, this place teems with magic, but even the Palace’s power can’t prevent Father Time from pulling you off of that stage - more often than not, far sooner than you’re ready to accept.”

  “I’ll look better old than you ever did young, Big Bird.”

  Lady Finch smiled. She had struck a nerve very close to Indigo Satin’s heart. “True, but I call the shots in the Crystal Palace. Not you, nor any of the other girls, no matter how many polishers you all drive wild. I’ve a business to run, and I have to make sure I gather the shiners. Whatever magic you or any of the other girls arouse in the Palace all comes down to collecting that coin. Let me tell you, Indigo Satin, I keep a close count, and you’re not collecting the shiners like you used to.”

  “That’s not fair. You know the numbers are down for all of the girls because of all the dust. All that ash, and soot, and grime in the wind is keeping the polishers away. The polishers can’t get down from their towers because they’re working so hard to keep all the glass clean.”

  Lady Finch rolled her eyes. “The Palace has seen worse storms in its time.”

  Yet Lady Finch was not so sure she believed her comment as she watched Indigo Satin snatch her shiners and stomp out of the dressing room’s back entrance. A curtain of dust swept into the chamber, and the girls groaned at their mirrors as their brushes worked frantically to sift from their hair the grime that blew in from the quick opening and closing of that Palace back door. The Crystal Palace had witnessed many a dust storm upon that river shore opposite of the skyline of glass towers. Lady Finch had very good reason for draping her club in so many winking, neon lights and very good reason for owning such a massive and expensive marque, very good reason for earning such a steep electrical bill. Her Crystal Palace had to glow through so much dust.

  But Lady Finch still felt uneasy. The dust storms had never billowed across that river with such intensity. A fresh coat of dust swept into the Palace each time a visitor entered through the double glass doors, and Lady Finch and her girls couldn’t clean the martini glasses and the tables quickly enough to prevent a film of dirt from gathering on every surface. She wondered how the polishers found the motivation to wake up each morning and rise upon those towers when the dust storms mocked their efforts. Lady Finch harbored very real, and very deep, fears for the Palace’s enterprise, for she didn’t doubt all of her light bulbs and signs would go dark if the dust so fractured the polishers’ spirit that they had no energy for the thrills that swayed upon her stages. It was better for the girls to think her cruel than for them to think her afraid, and so she would imply to Indigo that age, and not dust, was the reason why that dancer’s take diminished, though Indigo Satin remained a woman even the dullest polisher sitting at that dancer’s stage craved to ravish.

  After donning a wig of golden tresses, Merry Fortune stepped away from her mirror and swayed to gauge how effectively her knee-high boots might attract a polisher’s eye.

  “The dust is going to deliver something to the Palace, Ms. Finch. My skin can feel it.” Merry paused to adjust the laces of her red corset. “The dust always changes things when it billows in like it has during the last couple of weeks.”

  “You look smashing, Merry. Maybe you’re not one of my stunners just yet, but you’ll be one soon, no matter all the dust.”

  Lady Finch forced herself to smile. As much as she hated to admit it, Merry Fortune often made her feel uneasy. Perhaps it was something in Merry’s voice, or perhaps it was how one of Merry’s eyes was green and the other was gray. Or, perhaps it was something about the sound of Merry’s voice, or the way Merry twirled upon the stage. But something about Merry made Lady Finch squirm. Lady Finch was certainly in no mood to listen to Merry prattle on and on about omens and signs. Merry’s penchant for recognizing the dimensions of every new girl the moment her green and gray eye considered her figure could be helpful, but Lady Finch feared hearing Merry’s opinion regarding the dust storms would only exacerbate her fears.

  “You can tell me all about it later, Merry. But don’t keep the polishers waiting for another minute. They’re restless for you on the other side of that curtain. Get your legs out there before they start spending all their shiners on the flat beer.”

  But Merry hesitated. “The dust this moment carries something new to the dressing room door.”

  The girls at their mirrors turned their faces towards the dressing room’s red, back door a moment before it opened to reveal the figure of a stunner. The dust swirled around that stranger’s shape, didn’t even rest upon the woman’s skin. The girls at their mirrors whistled as dust again settled into their hair. Lady Finch stared.

  “34C-24-34,” whispered Merry before she finally swayed through the purple curtain to take one of the Palace’s stages to the sound of the polishers’ applause.

  “Don’t just stand there in the dust, child.” Lady Finch scowled at the stranger standing in the threshold. “That dirt might not be touching you, but it’s burying the rest of us.”

  None of the girls turned back towards their mirrors, and Lady Finch didn’t fault them for staring at the woman who stepped into the dressing room before closing the door to the dust. Lady Finch knew Merry’s quick read of that woman’s measurements would be proven dead-on correct, and the stranger who stepped into the dressing room’s light didn’t disappoint as an absolute stunner.

  The woman wore a sundress, and not a single mote of dust smirched a spot of the fabric’s green and blue. Even Lady Finch felt the breath seep from her as she looked upon that woman, whose long locks of jet-black hair fell to her hips without holding a trace of outside dust. She felt her smile warm as she looked into the pair of dark brown eyes set within the slender face. The stranger’s skin looked tanned from the sun, and no where on that flesh could Lady Finch find any of the grime that fell upon all of her other girls after that door was opened for but a moment.

  Lady Finch grinned. “My dear, you look lovely no matter the storm.”

  The stranger turned and scanned the dressing room’s surroundings, and all of the girls quickly directed their eyes back into their own reflections in the dusty mirrors. There was a pecking order at work in the Crystal Palace, and none of the dancers preparing for their turns in front of the polishers wished to catapult that strange to the center stage and to the top of the bulletin posters because they stared too long, like a soul-sickened polisher, at the incredibl
e curves and the smoldering eyes of that woman the storm brought to their door.

  The woman returned Lady Finch that grin. “I’ve come to dance.”

  Lady Finch beamed. The dust had kept away too many of the polishers. The storms had given those polishers no time to rest from their toil upon the glass to lift their spirits in Lady Finch’s realm. The blowing dust had kept away too many shiners. Yet, that very dust now delivered the Crystal Palace perhaps the very stunner Lady Finch so badly required to tempt the polishers to return.