SPEAKEASY, LOVE.
THIS IS MY FAMILY.
When I see images from my family’s history, it conjures something in me. This piece of fiction was inspired by the photo above.
Speak Easy, Lin
She never told the truth, ever, about anything other than what she already knew and decided was fact. They called her Lin, though that was not her real name. Some old fling once called her linda, meaning pretty in Spanish, so she stole the word for herself, declaring it as her new favorite lie. Sometimes Lin believed it was more fun to fib than it was to be boring and honest, so she lived for the next opportunity to sit at the center of a circle of trust and paint pictures with words. Most times, her stories were remixes of reality, but the passion in her timbre and the conviction with which she boldly bent actuality was so matter-of-fact, that the world just went with it. She Banksy’d everyone constantly.
New storylines awoke on the tip of Lin’s tongue daily, armed and ready to make verbal art. Her words were her armor, though they were often a bit bedraggled from weaving tastes of cognac on the rocks across berry-like hues at the rim of her mouth. Last night’s lounge scene was one of valor for her, winning over the eyes of men and the envy of Queens whose rouge and ruby lips lost the race to out-party her.
She, the master shapeshifter and owner of the fore, charmed an entire brood, yet got lost crossing the eye line of a young, docile gentleman—named James; an unexpected treat. Lin and James played catch-me-if-you-can with their eyes throughout the night, throwing swift glances in the reflections of a crackled vintage-style mirror along the main wall of the lounge. James’s aura illuminated sharps tones of gold and cobalt across an otherwise dark, smoky room, all headed in her direction. They officially looked at each other for a millisecond while Lin spouted off stories to a crowd of half-listeners, somehow able to own the room while also studying James’s every move. She must be a Gemini.
He tipped the corner of the navy blue stingy brim atop his locks and smirked in her direction with confidence, logging the glint of joy behind in her eyes. Lin exhaled colors and saw stars as she acknowledged his nod, though never breaking her stride. She signaled back, confirming the unspoken reply with her hazel-flecked eyes, which glistened in possibility and haste. The crowded room and its sweaty walls, filled with the night’s final meandering hopefuls, suddenly felt empty. Lin shot James a purposeful grin—with teeth—a gift she rarely bestowed unto others, and it illuminated the ornate-yet-tattered lounge. She felt at home.
“Last call, beautiful people!” someone bellowed into a microphone, which howled in disagreement with the evening’s near end. The entire room winced in unison, both at the screeching siren-like sound of the man’s words, and at the reality of their evening’s blissful whims now soon set to conclude. In that momentary blink of sound, the remaining wave of partygoers tossed back final sips of courage while gathering handbags, hats, and egos alike. It was go time.
“Breathe b*tch,” she said aloud, while quietly fearing that she had missed a cosmic connection with the one mister who had her gaze. Disappointed, she aligned her view with the mirrored wall again, ensuring that she still looked like a dime. Just as Lin recognized her own reflection, it became two—and boom—there he was, standing right behind her. She turned to face him. Emotional truth serum struck her like a shot of white lightning, tossing her default settings into full fisticuffs with her tiny, forgotten heart. She gasped for air, or words—anything.
Words came first, so she did what she always did, started telling stories. Lin the Liar instantly found herself lost in his eyes, counting his breaths, becoming all but a jester, praying he would react as others always did. Yet he just…stood there, still as an empty classroom in summer. His lack of outward expression made her second guess her entire existence. Was I boring, her inner monologue dared betray her with the thought. He was just waiting his turn.
After an eternity of one-sided conversation, Lin concluded her soliloquy by saying, “F*ck.”—the only word she could wield to plug the outpour of word vomit. The silence in James’s stoic, kryptonite-like powers rendered her helpless. Finally, Lin surrendered and shut the hell up, causing James to smile. He touched her hand with comfort and made eye contact so deep that her ancestors felt the connection.
“F*ck?” he repeated, still looking her deeply into her eyes, his hand and countenance both unmoved. James was unsure if she meant it as a noun, verb, or adjective, so he just smiled and took full hold her hand.
“I meant, I mean, hi, I—-f*ck,” Lin said again in absolute bewilderment. It was getting too real.
“Hi ‘F*ck’, I am James True. I feel like you noticed me noticing you, and I have to admit, I feel incredibly drawn to you. Is that okay to say?”
“Um, I, um, YES. Do I already know you? I—I feel it too. I’m Lin.”
“I know you do, Lin, and no—not yet, but you will,” James said matter of factly. “But truth be told, I don’t….um, f*ck, on the first date, so if that was an invitation, I’m sorry but I must decline. I just…I just want to know you. It feels like I’m supposed to.”
She blushed until she was blue in the face. She grinned as they settled into the innocence of a new beginning, something Lin hadn’t felt in ages.
“So Miss Lin,” James said in his rich, baritone voice as they exited the lounge, “What’s your story? Now, tell me the truth.”
For the first time ever, Lin, a notorious griot-slash-hustler; a wordsmith who always gets what she wants, was rendered speechless. That damn James True. F*ck.
original work written by Kyla Wright 2021.
