Implode (Purple Heart)

The influence of Roman architecture was evident in the arches of the large picturesque windows behind her desk. It allowed for abundant sunlight, which spilled throughout, its brilliance shimmering along the oyster shell walls. In addition to Rome, the composition reminded her of her husband, whom had sent her flowers today. She sat in her office on the second floor, whose bright and airy interior was in stark contrast to the ambience of the restaurant below. Though consumed in work, the bouquet of purple roses called for her attention, their violet aura bleeding against the ivory interior, like the sender’s heart that beat for her.

Several blocks southwest, Max Mulberry reclined behind a desk of his own, the tales of his friend’s travels strewn before him. He had several appointments today, including one with his colleague, Neil Horowitz. The sun was in vigorous spirits and more often than not, he sought the space beyond his window for inspiration. This caused the Sumatran espresso to cool considerably. He was in the midst of a sketch, composed for a Russian industrialist, who was to purchase a sizable structure on 68th Street and Madison Avenue. The gentleman sought out the Platonist architect after spending considerable moments in his furniture’s embrace at the London apartment of his mistress, heiress to a Scandinavian crown.

And from the drift of the Thames to the liquid corridors of his office, his own version of Swedish royalty entered in the form of Ms. Olsson.

“Mr. Mulberry,”

Maxwell looked up from his work.

“Mr. Gray is here to see you.”

“Thank you, Ms. Olsson.”

As the slender siren turned to part, Benjamin entered the harmonious enclosure.

“Mr. Gray.”

Benjamin smiled.

“Max.”

His crisp Tom Ford shirt collar was attentive at his neck. He was in good spirits.

“I was under the impression we were having noodles in the East Village.”

Benjamin conquered a chair at his friend’s desk.

“You were correct. The error was my own.”

He paused.

“I…”

He seemed too excited to speak. This piqued Maxwell’s interest.

“I had tea with Lucy Horowitz.”

The abundance of light had dimmed, as heavy gray clouds began to fell the sun. The occurrence was sudden, in the same manner as when the Roman senate accosted Julius Caesar on its marble floor.

The light had also disappeared from Maxwell’s eyes.

“Tea, you say?”

Benjamin nodded and smiled.

“Where did you go?”

“Oh, well it was uh…”

He stumbled.

“She had just acquired it from China, so she invited me over to her place.”

And with each moment, Maxwell and the sun seemed farther away.

“Da Hong Pao,” Benjamin continued. “Do you know it?”

Maxwell breathed a deep sigh.

“It’s exceptional.”

Implode. Part XXXVI - DK