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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... Down in the Dirt magazine (v078) (the January 2010 Issue) This is also available from our printer as a a $7.47 paperback book (5.5" x 8.5") perfect-bound w/ b&w pages

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Assault of the Purple Martini

Nathan Hahs

1.

    The summer sun is setting and soon it will be dark.
I am reading Edgar Allen Poe, my favorite author.
It is Saturday and at nightfall I will go to the bar, The Upper Room.
The Upper Room is the top floor of a converted warehouse.
It is there that I will find an attractive woman, subject her to the Assault, and then bring her home.
The Upper Room has a revolving clientele, so I rarely see the same people twice- at least not frequently.
This Saturday night ritual has been going on for the last two months.
Before that I had a steady girlfriend.
    When I arrive at ten, the place is alive.
I wait patiently for a seat at the bar.
When a spot opens up, I sit down and the bartender quickly approaches me.
“The usual, Jackson?”
he asks me.
“Yes, sir,” I reply.
My usual is a Jack & Coke.
As he sets the drink in front of me, a beautiful brunette with blue eyes appears to my left.
“Hello,” I say.
She returns the greeting.
I flag down the bartender, Mike.
“Let me buy you a drink,” I say to the bartender.
She looks me over before agreeing.
“Mike, how about something special for this young lady?”
“You got it,” he says with enthusiasm.
In a flash the drink is in front of the brunette.
I tip Mike well for this.
And now it begins:
the Assault of the Purple Martini.
I used to be a bartender and the Purple Martini is my own creation.
The Purple Martini is one ounce of gin, one ounce of sweet vermounth, and a splash of Everclear shaken over ice like a regular martini.
Then, before pouring the mixture into the glass, a purple Jolly Rancher is put in the bottom.
The resulting beverage is the Purple Martini.
    After three Purple Martinis, I suggest to Margot (the beautiful brunette) that we take a short cab ride to my place.
The rest of the night goes very smoothly:
sex and Purple Martinis.
She leaves the next morning after a quick good-bye.

2.

    The summer sun is setting and soon it will be dark.
It is Saturday and I am on my way to The Upper Room.
As I am getting ready, everything goes black, including the sun.
It lasts for what seems like a long time and then everything comes back on.
I dismiss it as some sort of strange eclipse.
As I walk into The Upper Room, I immediately get a different vibe than most weeks.
I survey the crowd and observe that it is mostly males.
After waiting for nearly thirty minutes, I get a seat at the bar.
“Hello, Jackson,” Mike says, “The usual?”
“Sure, why not,” I reply.
“I think I’ll have just one tonight, unless things improve.”
He knows what I mean.
I nurse my drink for an hour and nothing changes.
Undaunted, I order another Jack & Coke and decide to give The Upper Room one more hour.
The hour passes and there are no signs of female life at the bar.
I tip Mike and then head home.

3.

    The summer sun is setting and soon it will be dark.
It is Saturday and I am on my way to The Upper Room.
Right away I am able to get a seat at the bar.
Before I can take my first sip of my drink, a beautiful brunette with brown eyes sits down next to me.
Mike, as always, is quick to answer my call.
In moments, a Purple Martini is set before the beautiful lady to my right.
She introduces herself as Anna.
I tell her my name is Jackson and asks how she likes the drink.
“I love it.
What is it?”
“It’s the Purple Martini,” I say.
She finishes the drink in one large gulp.
I order her another one, which she also finishes quickly.
She smokes a cigarette and I can tell the alcohol is beginning to set it.
Before I have a chance to mention it, she says, “Let’s go back to your place.”
Anna and I go downstairs and catch a cab.
Twenty minutes later, we are having sex.
I offer her another drink, but she declines and then passes out.
The next morning she gives me an affectionate good-bye and says, “I hope our paths cross again sometime.”

4.

    The summer sun is setting and soon it will be dark.
It is Saturday night and I reach The Upper Room around ten.
I wait a few minutes for a place at the bar. I order my drink, but before I can pay Mike for it, a blond bombshell says, “I’ll get that.”
I turn and introduce myself.
The blond ways her name is Constance.
I offer to buy her a drink and she accepts.
Let the Assault of the Purple Martini begin.
After four Purple Martinis, Constance is holding her liquor very well.
I, on the other hand, am beginning to feel an intense buzz.
She buys me another drink and I return the favor.
I cannot finish mine.
This woman is drinking me under the table.
“Let’s go to my place,” I say, slightly slurring my words.
“That sounds like a great idea,” she says.
Back at my apartment, Constance insists on another drink.
I pass out on the bed and, when I awake, she is gone.
I baby my hangover all day and, by evening, am feeling much better.
There is only one problem:
I have lost my keys.
I must have dropped them in my drunken stupor last night.
It has been a long time since a woman has drunk me under the table.
I wonder if I’ll see her again.
She was interesting.
    The summer sun is rising and I still cannot find my keys.
I visit my neighbor, Elouise, to whom I have given a spare key.
She loans it to me and I am off to work.
When I get home, a surprise is waiting for me.
All of my furniture has been rearranged.
This panics me a little, so I have a Jack & Coke.
Then, I have another one.
The funny thing is I actually like this new setup.
I decide to keep it that way.
Nothing was stolen; it was all just moved.

5.

    The late summer sun is setting and soon it will be dark.
I finish reading my Edgar Allen Poe and head off to The Upper Room wondering if my mailbox is full.
I only had two keys on my keyring, my apartment key and my mailbox key.
I got the key from Elouise, but it costs fifty dollars to get a replacement key for the mailbox.
That can wait until payday.
When I get to The Upper Room, it is a graveyard.
I sit down at the bar, where no one else is sitting right now.
“Give me the usual, please, Mike.”
At half past two a familiar face appears.
It is Constance.
“Mike, how about a drink for this young lady?” I say.
She gives me a hug, says thanks, and sits down next to me.
A Purple Martini appears almost magically in front of her.
We close down the bar and catch a cab to my place.
When we enter, the first thing she says is, “I like what you have done with the place.”
“You like it?”
I ask.
“I sure do,” she replies.
We have a couple more drinks before we head to the bedroom.
When I wake, I smell food cooking.
I walk into the kitchen and Constance has fixed us omelets.
We eat, she cleans up, gives me a wonderful kiss, and then leaves.

6.

    The late summer sun is setting and soon it will be dark.
Yesterday was payday, so I paid the fifty dollars to get my mailbox key.
It was all junk mail.
The Upper Room is crowded this evening.
I wait nearly an hour for a seat, but when I order my drink, a beautiful blond says, “This one’s on me.”
As I peer over to look at the face of this woman, I realize it is Constance.
“Hello, Jackson,” she says.
Before Mike has a chance to turn around, Constance says, “I’ll have a Purple Martini.”
“You’re my kind of woman,” I tell her.
“Why is that?” she asks me.
“He invented it,” Mike chimes in.
“Oh, really?
Nice job.
I like it,” Constance says.
“Cheers,” she says and we raise our glasses in a toast.
After another couple rounds of drinks, we head back to my place.
After sex, we talk for what seems like a long while before falling asleep.
When I wake, she is gone, but there is a stack of pancakes waiting for me.
I leave the TV on all day, but I am not watching it.
I am day-dreaming about Constance.

7.

    The late summer sun is setting and soon it will be dark.
I head off to The Upper Room on this Saturday night in hopes of meeting Constance.
When I arrive, I am not disappointed.
She is already at the bar, Purple Martini in hand.
And, she has saved the seat next to her for me.
Mike quickly delivers my Jack & Coke and the night begins.
I simply cannot keep up with Constance, drink for drink.
When the clock strikes twelve, we leave to go to my place.
After sex, I ask her a question I haven’t asked a woman in over two months:
What’s your last name?
“My last name is Greenaway,”
she replies.
“That’s the same as the bartender Mike at The Upper Room,” I say.
“Yeah, he’s my cousin,” she offers.
“What the hell?”
I exclaim.
“That’s right.
He’s my cousin.
He set me up with you, because he said you were interesting.”
“I didn’t realize I was that interesting,” I say.
“Well, you did invent your drink, didn’t you?”
she inquires.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Well, you are the only guy I have ever known who has ever invented his own drink,” Constance tells me.
We fall asleep and when I wake up, she is gone.
I spend Sunday day dreaming about her.
In the evening, everything goes black again, but this time only for a moment.

8.

    The sun is almost meeting its horizon as I walk through the door of my apartment.
It is Friday evening and only one more day until I see Mike’s cousin.
As I close the door behind me, I realize I have a big problem.
My apartment is naked.
Everything is gone.
First, my belongings are all moved around.
Now, they are all gone.
However, there is one thing here.
There is a small wooden box in the middle of the floor in the den.
I stare at it for a very long moment and then walk over and pick it up.
On the top are seven words:
To Paul Gaugin From Vincent Van Gogh.
My stomach turns as I ponder why my once-normal life has, over the last few weeks, turned strange.
I didn’t tell anyone about the furniture when it was moved and I wouldn’t know how to tell someone that I was completely robbed.
And, what am I supposed to do with this box?
I read the inscription again, rubbing my fingers over the letters.
It feels old.
I wait another very long moment and then turn the latch on the front.
Very slowly, I open the top.
The inside is a worn purple felt and lying in the center is a dark brown, gnarled object.
I stare closely at it and then realize what it is.
How and why do I have in my hands the ear that Van Gogh cut off himself?
I close the box and head straight for The Upper Room.
I need a drink.
When I take a seat at the bar, Mike quickly approaches me.
“What are you doing here on a Friday night?” he asks.
“You don’t want to hear about it, believe me,” I say.
“The usual?”
“Yes, and quickly,” I tell him.
I gulp down the drink and then another.
The box is in front of me the whole time.
As I am finishing my third drink, Mike stops in front of me and points to the box with an inquisitive look on his face.
I look him in the eye and say, “You don’t want to know.”
I take the box and leave, to go home and sleep on my floor.

9.

    The late summer sun is rising and I hear a knock at the door.
I hastily hide the box in the dark corner of my empty closet before answering the door.
It is Constance.
She is carrying a brown paper bag in one hand and holding a bag of ice in the other.
“May I come in?” she asks.
“Why not?” I say.
She steps in and drops the bag of ice.
“What happened?”
“I was robbed,” I tell her.
“You look utterly confused,” she tells me, “How about a drink?”
“Why not?”
I say.
“I brought everything we need,” she says.
We have a few drinks before I work up the courage to tell her about the box.
Later that evening we go to her place.

10.

    The late summer sun is rising on this Sunday morning.
Constance is in her kitchen fixing us breakfast.
We were up most of the night discussing the box.
I grab the box and open it.
“I wonder what it feels like,” I tell Constance.
I reach down into the box with my finger and touch the ear.
When I do so, the lights go out.
Not just the lights in the apartment, but the light coming in through the window as well.
After a second, I remove my finger from the ear and all of the light restores itself.
Wide-eyed, I close the box and set it down.
“Dear God” I say, I wonder if that’s what happened before?”

11.

    The late summer sun is setting and soon I will be meeting Constance.
She called on Wednesday to ask me to meet her at The Upper Room at nine on Saturday.
In less than an hour we will have our rendez-vous and discuss what to do next.
I have an idea and I’m sure she does, too.
When we meet, Mike says Constance has already had three Purple Martinis and has been anxiously awaiting my arrival.
I have the box with me and I set it on the bar.
When Mike is out of earshot, I ask Constance what is on her mind.
“Let’s rob a jewelry store,” she says.
“I have a better idea,”
I say, “Let’s use the box to steal the Picasso at the Art Museum.”
“That’s brilliant,” she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air.
“Quiet,” I say.
“That’s brilliant,” she repeats.
“Let’s try it again, just to make sure it works,” I say.
“Here?
Now?” she asks.
“Yes.
This time you do it,” I tell her.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I say, “I did it last time.”
She takes a sip of her drink before grabbing the box.
She opens the latch, sticks out her finger, and pauses to look at me.
“Go ahead,” I say.
She touches the ear and everything goes black.
A couple of girls behind us shriek and then everything comes back on again.
“It worked,” Constance says.
“Just like last time,” I answer back.
We act confused, so we fit in.
After the commotion has subsided, I say, “Meet me in black at my place next Saturday at ten.”
“I’ll be ready,” she says.
We finish our drinks, say farewell to Mike, and leave.

12.

    The late summer sun is setting and it is beginning to get dark earlier.
It is Wednesday and I went to the Art Museum after work.
I got a visitor’s guide and located the Picasso.
We will have to steal it in the dark, so I retraced my steps several times, so I would be familiar with the route for Saturday.
I guessed at a rough estimate of its size and bought a cheap, very large suitcase to put the Picasso in to get it back to my apartment.
Next, I called Constance to tell her what I had done at the Art Museum.
“I went there yesterday,” she tells me.
“Fantastic,” I say, “See you soon.”

13.

    The autumn sun has set and it is dark.
There is a knock at my door.
I answer it and there is Constance holding a black duffle bag.
“I figured we could walk down in our regular clothes, change into black behind the bushes in front, and then do it,” she says.
“Good idea.
That way we look like a couple of lost tourists,” I say.
I change out of my black clothes and put on a regular outfit.
“Let’s have a drink first.
I’m nervous,” I say.
I am out of Jack Daniel’s, so we both subject ourselves to the Assault of the Purple Martini.
After three strong drinks, Constance grabs the duffle bag and I grab the suitcase.
We are off.
    At midnight, we reach the Art Museum.
The streets are busier that I had hoped, but we duck behind the bushes unnoticed.
I take the box out of the suitcase and hand it to Constance.
I take the suitcase and we leave the duffle bag in the bushes.
I anticipated the Picasso being bolted to the wall, so I brought some tools to assist with this.
Standing at the entrance, we exchange a glance and I say, “Now.”
She opens the box and touches the ear.
Everything goes black.
This is impressive.
We open the door and go in.
Finding and stealing the Picasso comes off without a hitch and, in less than an hour, we are standing back at the door.
I removed the painting while Constance kept her finger on the ear.
When we are outside at the bushes, she takes her finger off the ear and everything comes back on again, including the Art Museum alarm.
We put the box in the suitcase with the Picasso and change back into our regular clothes.
We walk down the street a couple of blocks before catching a cab to the north side of town.
There we ditch the tools and the duffle bag and take another cab to my apartment.
We celebrate with sex and Purple Martinis.

14.

    The autumn sun is rising and I hear a noise at the door.
Constance and I are sitting on the floor and we stand up as my apartment door opens.
In walks Edgar Allen Poe.
He is holding a revolver.
“Give me the box,” he demands.
Constance, who is holding the box, opens the latch.
“Give me the box,” he repeats.
Constance opens the box and, in one swift motion, touches the ear.
Everything goes black.
A gun shot rings out and Constance and I drop to the floor.
Everything comes back on and I turn to Constance.
She is shot in the chest and is not breathing.
I pull her to me as Edgar Allen Poe walks over to us.
The gun is at his side.
He takes the box from Constance’s dead fingers and puts the revolver in his coat jacket pocket.
Then, he drops my keyring at my side.
“You lost these,” he says.
He opens the box and everything goes black again.
I am still holding Constance.
I pull myself together and realize I need to get out of here.
I lay Constance back down on the floor and grab the suitcase.
Everything is off and on for the next hour or so.
I walk to the bus station and buy a ticket for the place furthest from here.

15.

    The autumn sun is at high noon as we pull away from the station.
I am leaving everything behind me, except for the clothes on my back and the Picasso in the suitcase.
I was robbed.
Then I stole something.
Then Edgar Allen Poe shot my lover.
My life used to be so normal.
And it all started with the Assault of the Purple Martini.

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