SEPTEMBER IN THE RAIN

He'd always said if that if he could choose a perfect time to fall in love then it would be September and ideally with some rain. Not that heavy rain that acts like it has a personal vendetta against you. More that end of summer fresh rain that carries just a hint of autumn snap about it.

September was the month when sanity was restored after the endless chaos of summer. The school kids were finally returned to the classroom where they belonged and the adults could get back to more serious things like enjoying city sidewalks and meeting a stranger for coffee.

And, of course, falling in love, if anyone could be bothered.

Falling in love was a tricky business these days, with what Anthony called "the atomised age". Everyone was couped up in their restrictive echo chambers (mostly online) and it was becoming increasingly impossible for anyone to meet in reality without a sense they may be facing a potential enemy of their own patchwork ideology. Dating in the age of identity politics was like attempting to tip toe across, not the tulips, but instead a field of landmines or "landminds" as he once proudly quipped to no-one.

Fortunately for Anthony, he had steeled himself against the collective insanity of the 21st Century by taking refuge in his vast library of books at home and on occasion taking one of them off the shelf to a local cafe where he would try and look as natural reading in public as it ever can be trying to turn a page of a book whilst not getting cappucino froth all around your mouth.

He'd once had a friend who often like to pose with vast tomes in public and it had made Anthony self conscious about reading his own books in public for fear of looking similarly pretentious or, even worse, a "phoney" to use that Caulfield-like expression. His friend had reasoned that women like to see a man reading as it demonstrated he was more than just another over-sexed primate.

"But you are an over-sexed primate!" Anthony said to his friend.

"Yeah, but the book helps disguise that fact."

Sitting in the small Italian place, "Roselli's", where he had practically become part of the furniture, Anthony sat at an outside table with a copy of This Side Of Paradise (F. Scott always had a September vibe about his books somehow) and began to pick up where he'd left off late the previous night following the trevails of protagonist, Amory Blaine.

This seasoned reader even had a couple of alternative classics in reserve in his backpack just in case he wanted to find an even better match for his September mood. He had Salinger, Carver and Cheever waiting like literary subs on the bench, ready to be called onto the field of play.

In the background, the sound of Sinatra could be heard lightly swinging through the half opened cafe kitchen window. Clearly, the chef had taste when it came to the food of love thought Anthony. That late Capitol, Nelson Riddle sound was also somehow perfect for September and regardless of being alone, Anthony felt as content in this moment as any single man had any right to.

Then he heard a voice that at first he thought was in his head.

"I love Fitzgerald. Nice to see it's not the ususal suspect Gatsby for a change."

Anthony looked up at the naturally beautiful woman standing in front of him.

"Yeah, I left Gatsby at the pool. Pun intended."

The woman leaned back and laughed a real rip snorting Elaine Benice type of laugh that took Anthony by surprise.

"Wow. I never heard anyone laugh so hard at something I said."

"I have a propensity for laughing hysterically. It's an affectation."

"I like your affectation. Do you want to take a seat?"

The woman looked around at the other tables before staring at Anthony as if to quickly vet him before taking the seat next to him.

"Sure, why not."

"My name's Anthony, by the way."

"Madison!"

Putting his well worn book down on the table, Anthony couldn't help but think of his oversexed friend and how disappointed he would be to learn that it only took a slender paperback and not the Dictionary Of Modern Thought to ignite an opening exchange with a member of the opposite sex.

"Can I get you a coffee?" he asked with zero expectation.

"I'm fine. I'll see how our chat goes first before deciding if its worth me getting a drink to go with it."

Anthony, who had been fairly monastic of late, led the conversation with an assured calmness even though he couldn't deny the very real factor of Madison's beauty to contend with.

She gazed at him, seeming to find him compelling in some way. Anthony didn't subscribe to the supposed endemic virus of toxic masculinity he kept reading about in articles but made sure not to say anything too controversial for fear she might be some kind of third wave intersectional feminist on the war path. Conversations and worlds could turn on one misspoken word or sentence these days. She didn't seem to be one of those types, though. Madison appeared to possess that natural old world feminine confidence, the kind you might see in an old black and white movie.

All he knew was, he liked it. It felt familar somehow.

It became clear the conversation was of sufficent quality to warrant Madison allowing Anthony to order her a coffee and after a couple of hours talking mostly about American literature, she suggested they might go for a walk in the nearby city park.

As they left the table, Anthony could still hear the Sinatra blasting from Roselli's kitchen. He admired the Chef's single minded obstinance in maintaining a consistent musical mood all the time he'd been sitting close by.  In an age of random shuffled playlists, there was something admirable about maintaining a mood.

"I'm glad summer's over" said Madison. "I honestly can't stand the heat. It's terrible for introverts."

"You're an introvert? I must say you seem like the most gregarious introvert I've ever met," Anthony replied in mock jest.

"Really? I'm actually quite shy. Except when I'm around a fellow book lover then I forget whatever mental categorisation I've given myself lately."

"You can't say "mental" anymore," Anthony warned Madison with a cautionary tone of voice.

"I can't?"

Anthony shook his head like a disapproving schoolteacher.

"Ah, the cancellation and politicisation of words. Orwell and Huxley warned us."

"At least we've managed to not step on any conversational landmines since we met just a few hours ago."

Madison sighed, appearing to agree wholeheartedly with Anthony's assessment of their conversation up to this point.

"There's still time to offend me if you try a little harder, maybe?"

"I wouldn't want to. You're far too wonderul to want to offend."

"Are you suggesting you're only happy to offend people you don't find wonderul?"

"Yep! I'm afraid so."

In their increasing sense of connectedness and mutual cynicism of the militant snowflake age, Anthony offered his hand for Madison to take a hold of which she happily obliged.

And then then a soft, mellow rain began to fall, like a sweet scented watery blossom.

"Oh. Isn't that just the best. The kind of rain that seems to have its own conditioner included."

But Anthony had just remembered something he been wanting to ask Madison for the past hour or so.

"By the way, I had the distinct impression you were waiting for someone back at the cafe, was I wrong?"

"How did you know?"

"You were looking round a lot."

"Yeah I was, but he never showed. At least I don't think he did. Wait, let me check my messages."

Madison got her phone out to discover a dozen or so missed calls and message notifications from a certain Flamekeeper.

"He? Who's he?"

"I only know him as Flamekeeper. We met on Bumble. Shit. I got the time wrong. I better go. Do you mind?"

"I don't know. I guess this wasn't techncally a date so I can't really mind," Anthony said, looking downwards now and away from Madison's eyeline.

"You can if you like. In fact, I would be happy if you did mind," countering his diplomacy.  

The rain started to increase in its intensity and Anthony put out his hand to formally shake Madison's hand.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you look a lot like Ava Gardener?"

"No. They never did."

"Well, it's a compliment. And while I think about it, you should take this so you don't get your hair soaked on the way to your date with 'Flamekeeper'."

Madison laughed at the saracstic way Anthony said Flamekeeper and awaited whatever the 'this' was he'd mentioned.

Pulling out a book from his backpack, he passed it to her.

"What's that?"

"Use it as an umbrella. Here, like this."

Demonstrating by placing the opened book on his head like a hat, she laughed uproariously again just the way she did when they first met.

"But you can't do that with a book, surely?"

"It's fine. Besides, it's only Philip Roth."

Cue more laughter from Madison.

Accepting her book umbrella of sorts from the handsome and intruiging man, Madison placed it on hers and waved goodbye to him in the rain.

"Have you got one to wear? Please not Fitzgerald!"

"I'll be fine getting wet."

"We didn't exchange numbers though?"

"You'll find my ex-libris inside the Roth on your head. Hopefully, it'll still be readable after this downpour."

Madison's phone started ringing.

"Why do you put an ex-libris inside a book you don't even like?"

He looked at her with his best 'Michael Corleone in Sicily' look of intensity and said simply.

"Just in case I met someone like you!"

And with that, he knew Flamekeeper didn't stand a chance.

Happy Birthday, Buddy!

With love and squalor. ;-)

1st September 2022