Implode (The Consummate Professional)

He loved the rain.
Particularly in SoHo.
It reminded him of Florence.
Of Ellie.
Of love without compromise.

He wanted to discuss admiration.
He wanted see his wife.

Through the mist, the tangerine light spilt onto Mercer. The windows were large, luminescent, and bordered by a soil rich lumber, harvested in Eastern Himalaya. The sable cusp of the luxuriant wood was christened with mandarin garnet. The orange crystal was married to the lucid slate by Venetian glassmakers, unpretentious in their skill. Contemporary lights shone from the chocolate rafters, their dimmed magnificence calming over the intimate interior. Maxwell stood outside the glass, aware of his person. The bespoke coat, the patterned shirt and Windsor collar, adorned by a blushing necktie repeated back to him in the reflection. As the rain continued to pelt the cobblestoned street, Maxwell remained unmoved, awash in the bask of apricot gems.

Claire stood in the midst of Madison, illuminated by a somber spotlight. She removed wine contents from a bamboo parcel and prepared to place the Dionysian liquids onto espresso shelves.

And then she saw Maxwell.
He moved toward the door, decidedly coming in from the rain.

He entered and she did not move.

“My love.”

And still, she was still.

“It's all so magnificent.”

She gazed at him for a moment longer, before proceeding with her tasks.

Maxwell observed his hands. And then the imported floor.

“Ms. Olsson is preparing to courier invitations. She was uncertain whether the current list is finite.”

Claire set antiquated wine bottles atop russet shelves.

“I could have called your office. My apologies for your endeavor.”

Maxwell was perplexed by her disconnected response.

"Your love is my constant endeavor."

She pretended not to hear.

“It’s a short walk from the office. I wanted to see you.”

He waited, while she tended to the office of a restaurateur.

“Claire Madison...”

“Where have you been, Maxwell?”

He thought momentarily.

“Laboring.”

She stared at him.

So he continued, “And spending time with Benjamin.”

She gazed for a moment longer.
She then nodded and returned to her work.

He knew that she was unhappy, though he did not understand.

“He’s better, Claire.”

She removed the empty carton from the table. Maxwell beseeched her.

“He’s getting better.”

Though she did not wish to hurt him, she did not wish to acquiesce.

“He's got some new suits and…”

She appeared disinterested. He stumbled to regain his audience.

“He’s been going out on his own.”

No response.

“He may even manage a new fund.”

She stopped.

“I mean, it truly is too soon to speak on the subject intelligibly, however…”

“Maxwell…”

He paused and beheld his wife.

“You can’t help him. He needs a professional.”

They both stood,
Facing each other,
Kindled by opalescent light.

Maxwell considered her words.

“I am a professional.”

Implode. Part XXIV - DK

Intimacy

Close to you.

The arcade of shoppes upon a Venetian way.
Venice, Italy. In search of silks and culinary delight - DK

Eternity

Sea or sky.

The rail from Venice to Quarto d'Altino.
Venice, Italy. Closer to you- DK

Simplicity

Buried amongst treasure.

A shoppe keeper and a morning's moment.
Venice, Italy. On a leisurely morning stroll - DK

Implode (Shades of Gray)

Her profile was magic.

Art, itself.

As though Donatello arose from slumber,

Stimulated.

And cast her from bronze.

She sat stoically, facing Columbus Circle.

Her Givenchy accouterment,

Nearly touching the floor.

The silhouette was fitting

Of a coin from antiquity,

Though it was unequivocally Claire,

Lost in thought,

At the Mandarin Oriental.

“He’s intriguing.”

She turned to her friend.

“Whom?”

Lucy smiled.

“Benjamin.”

Claire did not relate.

“The guy staying with you.”

Her focus was elsewhere.

“Max’s friend!”

She remembered.

“Ben.”

She consulted the rouge cosmopolitan.

“How long is he staying?”

She set the cocktail down and turned toward the night.

“If only I knew.”

Lucy perused a dessert menu, though it was casual reading.

“It’s such a nice gesture by Max.”

Claire gazed at her friend, confused.

Lucy continued, still feigning interest in the menu.

“Neil would never do such a thing.”

And then Claire considered her words.

It was noble of her husband.

“They’ve been friends since grade school.”

“Really?”

She set down the menu.

“Inseparable. All the way through high school. When Max went to Oxford, Benjamin sort of drifted.”

“How so?”

A server arrived to grant their whims, though Claire gave him leave to go.

“He sort of wandered from one school to the next. Finally, he finished a program at Wharton and went to work for his father.”

Lucy did not follow.

“His father?”

“Ben is Marston Gray’s son.”

Lucy’s porcelin jaw lay agape with the weight of its beauty.

“The financier?”

Implode. Part XXIII - DK

Implode (Intoxication)

They sat atop A60, overlooking Midtown,
Lower Manhattan
And the street that made the world move.
Maxwell’s martini had lost its fervor and he sought another.

Benjamin presided over his strawberry mojito, trying to escape a distant past.

“What do you miss most?” Maxwell inquired.

Benjamin was still. His noir Tom Ford ensemble infused with his grief.

“Her mouth.”

The comment piqued Maxwell’s interest.

“How so?”

Benjamin gazed up at his friend. His eyes reflective, like the work of Angelo Barovier.

“She tastes like Spanish brandy.”

Maxwell took a moment, before nodding in comprehension.

Implode. Part XXII - DK

Implode (Do Not Tremble, My Love)

Under normal circumstances, he would have been home by now.
His imported soles in the foyer.
His leather tote by the sofa.

They were gallivanting on the town,
Contemplating the intricacies of love,
Over aperitifs and tapas.

It’s been several nights like this.
The postponed meals.
The notes of pardon.
The keys on the mantle at 3:17 am.

She had not seen her husband this way, in some while.
He seemed carefree.
Relaxed.
Like the lapel on a Ralph Lauren coat.

And though Benjamin was slowly thawing into Mr. Gray,
She was concerned for her husband,
For the frigid shell of his aura did not melt so easily.

Her concerns only mounted with each moment whittled away.
And so, she did not make dinner tonight.
For she expected them to be out.
And besides, she had plans with Lucy.
Whose keen insights and sharp wit, she thoroughly respected.

She removed her Dior trench from the coat rack, took hold of her keys, and scanned the expanse of the loft, once more, as though she had forgotten something.

Though, she simply missed her husband.

“I hope he’s eating properly.”

Mrs. Horowitz stood by the door, a scarlet smile blazing across her face.

“Oh, Claire. Boys will be boys.”

Implode. Part XXI - DK

Benjamin

How magnificent you are.

The clock bell and tower at the Palace of Westminster.

London, England. Still - DK

Holiday

May the sun also shine on you.

The sky deck at The Mondrian.
Los Angeles, California. Amongst friends - DK

Implode (Monarchs & Nobles)

They had completed their excursion for suitable robes and now held court in Central Park, near 81^st Street. Maxwell occupied a weathered bench, fanciful garment totes nearby, observing as Benjamin sought the affections of a butterfly. It was his first such expedition in some while.

In his newly acquired gabardine ensemble, Benjamin whisked about on the Great Lawn as the decorative moth evaded his grasp in playful maneuvers. Benjamin continued his pursuit of the Painted Lady, though his agility was no match for her aerial skill.

Claire’s restaurant would be opening soon. It was also his première, as Madison signified the company’s first foray into structural design at the commercial level. His thoughts wandered, and for a moment, he became lost in them.

“Max…”

He returned to the park.

“Do you think people can change?”

He considered his friend’s inquiry, who persisted in his chase.

“I think so. It may even be necessary.”

“Like this butterfly. Once a caterpillar.”

That was significant change.

“Evolution?”

Benjamin had worn himself down, pursuing the whimsical creature.

And Maxwell did not want to disappoint him further.

Though, to himself, he spoke the truth.

“I’m not certain.”

Implode. Part XX - DK

Implode (Madison)

Have you ever been in love?

Was it ambrosial?

Like saffron petals.

Or scorched Amaretto.

These were the walls of Madison .

A culinary edifice, signed by her,

Designed by Mulberry,

And soon, a victual cathedral for all.

It was an extension of home.

The white limestone was imported from Amalfi.

And still bore hints of the sea.

It was molded by hand,

Into pallid bricks,

And fused with marble.

The floors told their own tale.

Of pink Floriditas.

And late nights in Madrid.

The Azul Noche granite roamed the width of the dining room, like a sediment rug, whilst the slender legs of Cocobolo tables, harvested off the coast of Costa Rica , danced atop its lacquered shell.

A bamboo chest, stamped in New South Wales, reigned aloft such a table.

Claire beheld the package, in the same manner she had as a child on December 25^th. She removed the wooden lid and set it gently aside. She then relieved the parcel of straw, botanical leaves, and other such materials.

Until only the 22 kilo shipment of Macadamia nuts remained.

She observed the textured morsels and smiled. She thought of the dessert that she could prepare for him, rife with cherries, Tahitian vanilla ice cream, and Valrhona chocolate.

And then her smile began to dim.

For she missed him.

Because she was his friend, too.

Implode. Part XVIX - DK

Words

The process.

Scribbles on a napkin at La Poubelle.
Hollywood, California. 10:47 pm - DK

Grandeur

And this would be the ceiling, I take it?

Gallery at the Louvre.

Paris, France. When craftsmaship mattered - DK

Journey

Where will it lead you?

Road at Greenwich Park.
Greenwich, England. Still - DK

Love

For what can be greater than proclaiming oneself king,
And then crowning your beloved in the same breath?

The Coronation of Napoleon, by Jacques Louis-David, as it stands in the Louvre.
Paris, France. On an afternoon of vigor and noble blood.

(The grandeur of the piece is further evidenced by the silhouette of the young woman in the foreground) - DK

Faith

Because such perfection is possible.

The wonder of Notre Dame.
Paris, France. In search of you - DK

Implode (Silks & Sorrows)

He was lost in a davenport.
Plush bronze.
Mohair, perhaps.
There were ornate mirrors.
Vaulted ceilings.
And svelte perfection, abode in glass.
Despite the cashmere setting, he did not appear comfortable.

“How about the purple?”

He looked up, to find his friend exhibiting a double-breasted coat of worsted wool. The distinguished pair had already selected two suits, several shirts in varying shades, two pairs of shoes, and a dinner jacket at the treasury of a store on the New York avenue, that bore his wife’s name.

He shook his head.

Maxwell took a final glance, before returning the jacket to its crystal enclosure.

“I like the purple.”

An attendant joined their number, toting a decorative platter, replete with a lush variety of imported handkerchiefs for their perusal.

“These silks are magnificent.”

He accosted one in his grasp.

“Ben, you must feel this.”

Benjamin observed the aureate tray and its colorful revelry.

“Here…”

Maxwell attempted to brush the fabric against Benjamin’s face.

“No, Max.”

Though he continued.

“It is a transgression of nature to deny this material.”

“Max, come on! Stop!”

“Suit yourself.”

And then they recalled their surroundings.

Benjamin laughed.

And Maxwell was pleased.

“Better.”

And just as suddenly, he was filled with melancholy once more.

Maxwell turned toward the dapper attendant.

“Would you excuse us?”

The debonair gentleman took leave of the salon.

Benjamin’s eyes begun to well.

“I cry every night, Max.”

Maxwell attempted to find solace in the vibrant textiles, but was unsuccessful.

This time, he extended the silk in an outstretched hand.

Benjamin accepted,
And buried his face in indulgence.

“I know, Ben. I know.”

Implode. Part XVIII - DK

Implode (Vide Cor Meum)

There was opera in the marble.

Prayers whispered in the Pantheon, long ago.

He listened.

It was Blue Carrara.

Lugged out of the quarry by Maxwell himself.

The water was cold.

She loved the opera.

Frigid.

Like the Alpi Apuane.

Do you remember?

He continued to listen, though it numbed his face.

In the foyer, a noble hand unlatched a storied door.

“Benjamin,”

Maxwell, toting a small stack of letters, closed the portal behind him.

“We have an appointment with Tom Ford, my friend.”

He studied an envelope.

“And we mustn’t be late.”

It was therapeutic.

The icy liquid had interrupted his person and now his face was blue,

In harmony with the sink.

If only he could inhale.

She was his oxygen.

I wonder if she likes the opera, too.

But Hades would not accept him

And Zeus would not let him go.

Maxwell looked up from the parcel.

“Ben?”

He surveyed the vacant area, though he was certain there was a guest in his home.

Maxwell stepped hurriedly down the corridor, leading toward the guest quarters. Arrived at the bathroom door, he observed his friend contoured over the master sink, head submerged beneath a pool of water.

“BEN!”

He hurried toward the supplicated figure and violently pulled him from the fountain vessel.

Benjamin observed his friend, slightly confused.

“I was washing my face.”

Maxwell, his bespoke garment now saturated, returned his gaze,

Slightly bashful.

“My apologies.”

Implode. Part XVII - DK

Tour

Stay with me.

Paris, France. On a non-specific jaunt through the city - DK

6 AM

"It's nearly 6 am."

"Let's head back. Love knows where we are."

The Champs Elysees.
Paris, France. Still searching - DK

Majesty

Have I told you how much I love you?

Le Tour Eiffel, in all its majesty.
Paris, France. On a warm summer evening - DK

Hermes and Persephone

Tell me about sincerity. Because I don't have much time.

4 am. In the depths of the city with RS.

Cuckoo Club. London, England - DK

Implode (La Colazione)

A pinch of cilantro.

A dash of rosemary.

A sprinkle of cayenne pepper.

A dose of feta cheese.

She churned the amber concoction with a brisk and delicate hand. The layer of olive oil had been allowed to simmer and now her creation would be introduced to the Teflon vessel.

He sat near the window, staring aimlessly. The Upper West Side a mirage in the distance.

“There’s just a smidge of pepper.”

He turned to her.

“It adds a bit of color, but it will also awaken your taste buds, allowing the other flavors to appear more vibrant on your palate.”

He continued to stare. And she did not know what to say.

“The orange juice is fresh. I was uncertain whether you were partial to pulp, so it’s been strained. Though there may be small traces along the glass.”

She wrapped the concoction into a decorative omelette. Herself, wrapped in couture by Valentino.

“Max should be home early today.”

The strelitzias on her ivory dress captivated him.

“I have to go, but I’ve prepared a couple of sandwiches for you. The bread is black Russian pumpernickel. I just put a gruyere spread on some arugula. The rest is foie gras. I’ve also left some pasta in the fridge, along with a chicken and almond salad. There are a few raisins in it, but you can take them out if you’d like.”

Claire placed the omelette onto a white saucer with red cursive designs. An asparagus garnish consummated the affair.

“I have to go now.”

Benjamin stared. His gaze appreciative.

Claire observed him once more, before taking hold of her Hermès tote.

Benjamin stood and slowly made his approach toward the kitchen counter, where his gourmet omelette and freshly usurped orange juice laid in wait.

In his cotton tee shirt and borrowed pajama bottoms, he stared at the ornate meal.

Claire stampeded toward the door. Though the Reneè Caovilla creations paused.

She turned toward the broken gentleman now standing in her kitchen, observed him momentarily, and sighed.

The sandwich troubled her.

“You must be tired of foie gras.”

Implode. Part XVI - DK

Implode (Put Your Shoes On, Lucy)

The night was warm.

Amiable.

Like sincere intentions,

Or a beloved friend.

The vernal equinox swept through the urban forest of Central Park.

Persephone was nearer now.

Lucy could hear the trees flutter.

Tonight

There would be no confusion between the stars and the twinkling lights of manmade cathedrals that touched the sky.

“We’ll get the next one.”

Not tonight.

“Goodnight, Claire.”

She smiled.

“Goodnight Neil.”

"Goodnight, Max."

He extended his hand.

"Goodnight. Thank you for a wonderful time."

Lucy sauntered out of the restaurant, her Reneè Caovilla heels dangling from her grasp.

Maxwell and Claire waited to say their farewells, as Neil accommodated the door of the yellow coach, awaiting his wife’s approach.

Benjamin stared at the bare feet with the ruby red toes that graced the pavement of 1 Central Park West.

“Put your shoes on, Lucy…”

She turned to him.

“Don’t you know you’re in the city?”

Implode. Part XV - DK

Celebration

To be born on the 4th.

Los Angeles, California. On a night of celebration, amongst friends.
(Though invariably writing in my head) - DK

Implode (Notre Dame)

He was the standard.
A master of complexity
A progeny of genius.
Though Benjamin was a formidable contender.

As he observed the hour on his Aeternitas, Maxwell pondered truth. Its exploration and expulsion. He wondered why Franck Muller was so close. He wondered why Benjamin seemed so far behind.

Or was he so prodigious, that we failed to comprehend him?

“It’s getting late, dear.”

“Yes,” Claire replied, setting down her wine, “It is rather late.”

“I have a 9 am engagenment at Sotheby’s.” Lucy chimed.

However, Neil remained perplexed, even as the others attempted to rescue him from his daze.

Maxwell was persistent.

“Is it true that you’ve published a volume of works on the life of Maurice de Sully?”

Neil shunned his daze and turned to his colleague, in a brusque manner.

“No. It was a compendium.”

Implode. Part XIV - DK

Promise

I will find you.

The fairytale majesty of Venice.
Venice, Italy. On an afternoon stroll, beneath a setting sun - DK