THE BLACK LOBSTER

C’EST MA CHANSON
I walked over to the band’s table and had to stop and just look at Anetta. She had a cute little nose, beautiful brown eyes and an amazing smile that looks both cute and sexy at the same time. She caught me looking at her and called me over. “Sit please.” She pulled a chair out and I sat in it.
I watch in amazement as she pulled her chair close to mine. I reasoned that she wanted to talk, and it being loud moved near to me. But, honestly, I just about lost it when I inhaled her perfume and I wanted her to be as near to me as she could get.
She opened the wine and poured us both a glass, and proposed a toast. “Here’s to finally finding what I needed,” said Anetta, smiling. “To us!” Anetta then devoured her dinner eating two large lobsters with all the fixings and two large baskets full of a heathy helping of long neck clams.
After dinner, she remained at the table but moved next to the piano bar and requested several songs which happen to be favorite tunes of mine and the band’s forte. After a few drinks, she was very talkative, in fact I couldn’t shut her up.
“I have to confess something to you. I was looking for you.”
“meuh?
“Do you have any plans for the next few days?”
“I’ve got nothing but time.”
“Every time I come to Maine I spend some time at Moody Beach. Nobody knows about it, and it’s fabulous.” She tore a page out of a tablet, borrowed my pencil and began to write. “I’m inviting you to my photo shoot which is closed to the public. I’m going to draw you a map of how to get there. It’s not far away, so you can walk there. I want you to arrive just before sunset. I have work to do but I’m going to make the evening well worth it.”
“Wow,” What do you say to that?
Suddenly she stood up. “I have a special surprise just for you.” She boomed, looked at Carlos who came and handed her a vintage mandolin. She walked to the stage, whispered to the band and they smiled. It would figure if she was an amazing singer.
The light dimmed, and her hair softly framed her face and she closed her eyes. She strummed a few chords on her mandolin. The band started playing. She opened her eyes slowly, and then the most magical sound emerged from her gorgeous mouth. She sang gently in French “C’EST MA CHANSON,”
The sound of her voice carried around the room in waves, bouncing around wildly. Her serenading was feathery, vulnerable yet strong at the same time. It was hypnotizing, almost like melodic drug, the sweet vowels leaving her mouth being mesmerizing and powerful. When she stopped singing, everyone could still hear the last note her lips had touched.
WHO IS THIS WOMAN?

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