One of my short stories.
By David William Pearce
It was her eyes I noticed first. Big, cobalt blue, and surrounded by a translucent white. The beret was as I expected: red felt covering her head and left ear.
She was sitting at a café, outside, under a red and white checkered awning. A cigarette dangled between her fingers, and a cup of coffee, with barely visible wisps of steam, was very close to her red lips.
She smiled as I approached her.
“You are Georges?” she asked as she set down the cup.
“Yes, I said. “Maurice told me I’d find you here.”
The young woman raised her eyebrows at the name, but did not speak.
“May I?” I motioned towards the empty chair to her right.
After a long drag from the cigarette, she said, “Please.”
“You are Maris, no?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“But…” What little composure I had fell away…
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