MK Lukman: "The Mysterious Woman." Part 2. Excerpts of Chapter 1: PIERCING EYES. All rights reserved

Oct. 12, 2010 - PRLog -- PIERCING EYES (A Novel of Romance, Suspense & Drama). ISBN: 978-0-9602660-2-9. Library of Congress Control Number: 2009902296. Copyright 2009 by Mphahlele K Lukman. All rights reserved! Dimensions: 6-1/2” w x 9-1/2” h x 1-3/4” d; hardcover-edition: $29.95 (USA); $36.65 (Canada); ~$59.90 (Barbados); page-length: 675. The novel (a compellingly romantic, suspenseful, poignant espionage-thriller) comprises 35 chapters, a preface, preamble, prologue, and an epilogue. Publisher: Avrem Enterprises Group, Inc.

Disclaimer:

"This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and/or territories (mentioned herein) are products of the author's imagination; and, thus, are only used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, and/or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental. This is a work of parody, as defined by the Fair Use Doctrine. Any similarities, without satirical intent, to copyrighted characters, and/or individuals (living or dead) are purely coincidental." Presented by Avrem Enterprises Group, Inc. : the publisher.

"The Mysterious Woman"
(Part 2: Excerpts of Chapter 1)

A gripping love-story, albeit somewhat peculiar, continued to unfold before the very eyes of the public. Considering the circumstances under which "PJ" and Beverley met—'the otherwise unlikely encounter of his walking along 86th Street and Central Park West (near Columbus Circle: 30 West, to be exact!); just in time to see her deftly park her Bentley, kerbside, in a space that was not much longer than that of her own motorcar (thus, his fascination!); and from which a history of drama, and the like, eventually developed between the two of them'—it was truly remarkable, incredible almost, that they lasted as long as they did.

Everything about that situation must have subconsciously verged on her capturing his attention—whether he knew it, or not! And, for him, time seemed to have stood still. Transfixed, no doubt, "PJ" cast a momentary glance at her; prompting a bemused reaction.

"Who the hell's this man?" Beverley muttered; peering over the shiny, walnut-veneered, steering-wheel of her, then, brand-new 1996 Bentley Azure—its black retractable roof, closed, showed droplets of rain trickling down onto the windshield: its automatic,  rain-sensitive wipers moderately oscillating from side-to-side—"must be a 'bloody' lunatic!" she quipped; her eyes, meeting his, seemingly locked in a perfect gaze.

'Was it love-at-first-sight? Was it sheer disgust? Or, oddly enough, was it something else, entirely—and, for that matter, far beneath the surface—that she'd much preferred to keep private, even unto her death?' one might philosophise.

Nonetheless, Beverley sheepishly drew a deep sigh as they stared into each other's eyes, even from a distance. And—in return, as if sensing some auspiciously encouraging hint—"PJ" smiled. The only thing standing between him and Beverley, at that moment, was his fortitude or a lack thereof. Not even his prevailing 'will' could, forever, quell the arrhythmical beats of his aching heart, which pulsated only for her. And, even then, he was whipped!

It was shortly after three o' clock in the evening: still, a bright and sunny day! The hustle-and-bustle of that part of Midtown Manhattan wasn't particularly unusual; not even for that time of the year! With, however, one or two obvious exceptions: Christmas, and New Year's Day!  

The dawn of early spring made its presence felt—with unseasonably warm weather—across much of the Eastern Seaboard of the United States. New York City was no exception. There wasn't even a chill in the late afternoon-air; much less at night: just an enticingly warm breeze. It felt so right, so beautiful; it was euphoric. Hardly anyone complained. There was no mention anywhere, not even from the lips of meteorologists at the National Weather Service, of a loom of heatwaves. In fact, none was 'normal' for that time of the year, barring the summer-months when prolonged heatwaves—of unprecedented intensity—could be brutally oppressive; stifling, even!  

It seemed as though the whole of Midtown Manhattan was a hive of activity; rejuvenescence was virtually evident, everywhere. And, as one might envisage, lovers were strolling hand-in-hand; flowers, blooming; birds, chirping; foliage, green and healthy-looking. And, interestingly, the warmth of the sun's rays made all the difference to them. But would it do the same for "PJ" and Beverley?

Amidst it all, Beverley emerged from the driver's left front-seat, and walked towards the rear of her Azure. She wanted to retrieve some shopping-bags—one bearing the name and imprint of Saks Fifth Avenue; the other: Bloomingdale's—that she'd placed, hours earlier, into its boot, following a marathon-shopping-spree just to get her mind off certain things that troubled her. And no sooner had she opened the boot of her motorcar and reached for the bags than she was courteously met by Gerard Fournier: the French-American concierge of her aunt's residential condominium-building.  

"Good evening, Ms Bradford! How are you today?" said Gerard, greeting her enthusiastically.

"Fine, thanks!" Beverley heartily replied.

"May I help you with those—?" offered Gerard, extending his hands to take the two large shopping-bags from her.

"Oh, that's very sweet of you, Gerard;" she said with a subtle interruption, nodding her acceptance.

As Gerard and Beverley turned and walked towards the main, exterior front door of 30 West, she glanced over her left shoulder at the 'stranger' who, moments earlier, had mesmerizingly stopped and stared at her. Naturally, she felt uneasy at first; but soon realised that—given the fairly dense thoroughfare of pedestrians, and the presence of a few patrolling-police-officers—there wasn't anything to 'really' fear: not even from "PJ", himself!

The encounter—between her and "PJ"—had happened rather quickly, as a matter fact! And if there was any physical threat to her person, well ... there was the ever-present Gerard: a strapping man in his late-thirties with a sixth-degree black-belt in the orthodox style of Matsumura Seito Shorin-Ryu karate; third-degree black belt in Okinawan kobudo ('Ryukyu Kobujutsu': a classical, Japanese-styled weapons-handling-system, including nunchakus); and co-owner of a Lower Manhattan-based dojo; notwithstanding a divorce, and family-friend: especially of Donna Bradford.

"Like yuh ride, nice car!" "PJ" said, trying to break the ice.

"Thanks, and you are—" Beverley replied, slowing her brisk pace to within a few feet from the building's main entrance—Gerard in tow; yet, somewhat vigilant—she extended her right hand to shake "PJ's". He obliged—having briskly walked towards her—sensing that she had very little time to chat.

"Hi, I'm Colin Walcott;" he said gleefully. "My friends call me "PJ". Here's my card. Perhaps, you can—"

"Nice to have made your acquaintance," said Beverley; cutting him off . "'PJ', you said, right?" gesturing towards him.

"Yea, ahhh—"

By then, Beverley had already turned away from him—her feet straddling the doorway-saddle as she hurried towards the open-foyer—whilst "PJ" was attempting to make a further point. Glad, however, that she'd taken his card, he then turned and walked along eighty-sixth street; heading Uptown as he'd originally planned before his journey was unexpectedly interrupted.

'But, wait now! I didn't even get hers!' he thought aloud; referring, of course, to her contact-details. For a brief moment, it looked as though he was about to turn round, and head back to 30 West. But soon realised that such a hasty move would undoubtedly be deemed 'in bad taste'; to put it mildly.  

"PJ" wasted no time in planning ahead. Night and day, he repeatedly thought of her; fantasizing about marriage, family, wealth, house, (a mansion, even!); enchanting her with poetry that he'd written on loose-leaves, and stored in a desk-drawer of the makeshift-library that he'd built in his flat in Greenwich Village.

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Avrem Publishing House, a subsidiary of Avrem Enterprises Group, Inc., is committed to the publication of compellingly fictional—albeit realistic—characters that have been influenced, motivated, and/or flawed, in one way or another, by deception, infidelity, greed, power, suspense, drama, romance, mystery, and intrigue.