The Uncertain Abstraction of Eve
by Darwin Leon
www.darwinleon.com

I followed Ruby Lee''s antique white Volvo home one snowy night in rigid anticipation of what was to come in her husband''s absence - I hardly heard my engine roaring and my chained tires crunching up the dark winding road to her secluded home in the woods forty miles outside Atlanta, near Gainesville. As I pulled up behind her after she parked, she flung upon the door of her car, stepped with bare feet into the snow, stark nude, white against white in my bright beams - except for her glimmering bleached hair above reflecting tiger-eyes, shining red lips, two pinkish spots, and black magic triangle.

"Come, leave the lights on, baby, come to me, he''s gone, find my hot spot on the hood again!" Ruby Lee sang out, breath steaming in the frigid glare as she swung her hips round low to bump-and-grind Kansas City jazz blaring over bass booms from the new auto stereo Jack had installed for her birthday.

"But what about the house? It''s warm in there," I panted after I had hustled into her arms and spread her out on the warm hood.

"What house? To hell with his house, baby, you set my house on fire, so come on in!