The Necklace

     The cool blue lighting in the lounge that evening whisked me into an ethereal realm bathed in moonlight.  If I hadn’t known any better, I would have sworn I’d see stars if I looked up from the bar, rather than the dark nothingness beyond the lights hanging from the ceiling.  A glass of Courvoisier hung precariously in my hand, my fingers dancing along the glass while I took in the sweet smell wafting forth from the glass’s edge, anticipating its taste against my lips.  I was simply biding my time; I was waiting for someone.

     Her.

     Mysterious and elusive, she had been a woman of few words.  A momentary glace that couldn’t be mistaken, I had approached her.  Introductions omitted, she let me know what was on her mind.

     The Blue Lagoon, be there at nine.

     Her hands then slowly reached up behind her silk neck, her fingers effortlessly unclasping the ocean-blue necklace caressing her skin, and with eyes trained on nothing but my own, reached for my hand and placed the necklace securely in my grasp.

     Don’t be late.

     I was always a man of impeccable timing; I had ordered my drink at the stroke of nine.  Taking a sip and letting it warm my parched throat, my eyes glanced back down to the ocean-water chain I had set on the counter, the moonlit lights striking the crests of the jewels’ waves.

     “Glad you could make it.”

     My eyes drawn to the slender figure in the flowing blue dress, she paused by my side, placing a hand gently over the sleeve of my gray pinstripe.  Placing my attention where it belonged, I lowered my glass to the counter.  “I never stand up a lady.”

     “Always a man of class,” she offered, her delicate hand reaching from my sleeve and to her necklace, lifting it up and returning it to where it belonged.  “I have a job for you, Mr. Bond.”