The Red-haired Lady on the 13th Floor
I hate going downtown because of the whole parking thing. It’s almost impossible to park unless you’re lucky. But tonight, I needed a change of scenery. I was oddly motivated by the idea of having a drink on the 13th floor, overlooking the city skyline.
A wise man once said that if you must drink alone, make sure there’s at least a beautiful sunset to watch. That wise man doesn’t exist, but at 6:30 p.m., I was convinced the sky would be worth admiring. Phoenix is known for some of the most beautiful sunsets in the country.
Tonight, luck was on my side. There was a metered spot right in front of the hotel. “13th Floor Rooftop Bar” … I looked for a sign with that name, but it wasn’t outside. It had to be inside the hotel. I asked the valet at the door who confirmed and directed me to “the red elevator on your right-hand side.”
It wasn’t hard to find what I thought was the elevator. A red-painted door stood just ahead. The small rectangular room behind it was dimly lit, its walls a deep crimson. I stepped inside without hesitation.
Once in, I began turning in slow circles, searching for the magic button that would whisk me to the 13th floor.
“Hm… they really wanted to create a mysterious ambiance,” I told myself.
Then I looked up at the ceiling lamp. It didn’t look like the kind I’d ever seen in an elevator.
That’s when I noticed the actual elevator — directly in front of me.
I pressed the round metallic button, and a minute later, I arrived at the rooftop bar.
Still chuckling internally at my confusion, I took a seat as a young waitress approached.
“What would you like to drink tonight?”
Without even glancing at the menu, I said, “A Moscow Mule.”
It was colder than I expected. The black shirt I wore couldn’t do much against the breeze, but I hoped the alcohol would warm me from within.
My thoughts drifted back to my workday… until I noticed her.
She was sitting alone on the other side of the bar.
In fact, we were the only two people there.
The waitress returned with my drink. I looked at the copper cup and wondered why that choice of metal. Maybe it helps keep the drink cold — copper is, after all, an excellent conductor.
Then I thought, Why indulge in such futile thoughts?
At home, we’re told it’s bad manners to stare at strangers. So I watched her out of the corner of my eye.
But it was impossible not to notice her. She had red hair!
Christian Holzinger
@pixelatelier
I took a sip, then stood up, drink in hand, and walked toward her.
The cold that had chilled me earlier vanished in her presence. I quickly realized why. It was her eyes. There was light in them… a flicker of flame, dancing in her brown gaze.
“Hi, you can call me Ishmael,” I said, extending my right hand. She smiled, wide, knowing, and shook my hand. That smile told me she caught the Moby-Dick reference instantly.
Her hand was soft, velvet, almost unreal. Her smile? Radiant. It made you think of a tropical morning breeze brushing against your skin while the scent of black coffee dances around you. Her white diamond teeth were framed by a pair of warm, generous lips.
Since the pandemic, we’ve been taught to hide our smiles.
Sometimes, that might be for the best — some smiles stir dangerous thoughts. But this smile?
Even the thickest mask in the world couldn’t contain it.
I came to the bar to watch the sunset.
I stayed for the red-haired lady.
She gestured for me to sit down.
And with an even bigger smile, she introduced herself.
When she said her name, something shifted.
Anais.
Of course.
A name like that could only belong to a fairy visiting Earth.