Welcome to West Baden, the friendly sign marks the doorway to the quaint existence of my home town. The West Baden Dome sits shadowed in the southern Indiana trees while the sunset reflects hues of reds, oranges, and pinks off the white plaster surface. The Jesuits believed in their faith and worshiped in the same halls that were alive with gambling and Al Capone just a decade before.
I doubt that town will ever be that alive again but in the still of the night you can hear a woman laughing, pearls draped around her fragile neck with her flapper dress caressing her voluptuous hips. In Her passing wake the scent of magnolia lingers. The clank of her heals reverberate off the stone walls as she steps away around the corner and into a room.
Suddenly the dark interior lights with a golden glow, the chink of the piano can be heard prickling the back of your neck. We are engrossed in another time, another place, and decades ago but still close at heart. This is a living history of the small town.
The woman Kate walks around the piano her finger trails a swirl on the black lacquer. Her green eyes flash with excitement as she starts humming along to the music. Soon her voice swells over the melodic notes. She leans against the sturdy frame. Slowly she adjusts to the pale electric lighting. She catches a movement in the corner. Dark hazel eyes caress her high healed shoes, up to her bare legs and beyond pass those subtle hips, her tenderly curved waist and rests on her glowing features.
He stands propped against the Canvas covered walls watching her every move. He lifts a tumbler up to his lips cringing at the stiff liquor. He smiles as the song finishes. The young woman rests upon the piano twirling her pearls. Her light hair plastered back with sugar water in gentle waves.
Like cat a mouse they watch each other toying with the air between them. She slowly turns looking over her shoulder as she exits to the veranda outside. Dusk sets over hillside glowing in a golden glory. Small bugs are enticed toward the light of the globed fixtures. She looks out toward the sunken gardens, the smell of sulfur floats from the Apollo spring.
He moves like a predator stalking his prey watching her. He is out of her sight range. He stands waiting. The light dims over the sycamores their palmate leaves sprayed over a cream trunk. She waits watching the night awaken her one foot twists on her tip toe, back and forth.
He makes his move walking behind her covering her frame with his larger build. Gently he whispers into her ear "My canary what a beautiful song". She startles turns around with her hands balanced against the white railings. "A canary is only as pretty as her voice I ain't your bird." "Well dame you might not be my pet but you can be" he smiles. "I could cage you and watch your every move." He places his arms around her body moving forward to inches from her face. The smell of bathtub gin overpowers the scent of sulfur.
Voices grow closer and he grabs her arm practically dragging her along into the next open corridor. That path leads into the atrium a 200 foot freestanding manse the largest in the world. Marble fills the expanse of the room. Tropical foliage fills large urns while birds float around the different statues. A large fireplace takes up one part of the space holding up to a 14 foot log. The bricks around the fireplace are hand painted including the trademark Sprudel, an elf like creature. Elegance and grandeur are everywhere you look.
He pulls her past the shoe shine stand, a small black child sits waiting for his next client and his dirty shoes. Pulling her around to a hidden alcove covered by a palm. "Let go of me you bruiser" she jerks her arm from his grasp "the banks closed." He steps closer. "Oh a bearcat I see. What a treat."
"Listen buster I ain't no charity girl so get those grubby paws off me!" she turns and walks away around the corner and reaches the stair case painted gold. She starts to ascend
He stays where he stands watching her saunter away. Her brown silk dress sways with each step. He then slowly turns and walks back toward the jive his only release. The best burning fire he could buy. That dame could be caught she needed more pressure.
He sits in a plush chair reading "This side of Paradise" by F. Scott Fitzgerald. The light filters through the stained glass of the lobby doors making sparkling patterns on the marble tile. The hustle and bustle of everyday life is not engaged yet. It is still early the cats won't be up for another few hours to party again with the moon.
The only people awake are those that come for the healing powers of the spring trying to get well from the many ailments that the miracle Pluto water could heal. Someone coughs in the background the sickening sound of a person encased in a disease ridden body struggling for breath. It slowly comes to a stop as a young attendant wheel the ailing man into the mineral bath and shuts the door.
He is only half engrossed in his novel ever watching for her to come down the steps or the squealers to show their face. The real reason he is in this backwards town. It never hurt to have a little fun while you are doing business and this area has many a place to store a decomposing body if one needed a place to slumber for eternity.
No one would miss these arrogant bastards let alone remember what they looked liked. Their families would be well paid for any secrets they keep. The boss wants it that way. Keep everyone happy but bump a few rotten eggs out of the dozen helps keeps those clean.
That was his job the enforcer. He was the go to guy the one that could break a few legs and have dinner right after. It was just work to him but he did enjoy the finer things in life and wanted to expand in his career. He didn't want to be Mickey down at shipping anymore but more of Michael the notorious boss that would be written about in the globe or the herald.
The clank of her heals are heard first. She comes slowly around the bend of the hallway a bright yellow sun dress flows in a silken wash dangling at her delicate ankles. Buttoned Mary Jane shoes encase her slender feet. Her hair pulled neatly back in a prime bun hiding the generous curls of the night before. This was not his flapper dame but the angle of his dreams awakened to torment his living days.
"What you again" she stops just shy of the entrance. He purse in her gloved hands. He stands book caressed in his massive arms a finger still holding the place he had been reading over and over in the past hour. "I've been waiting for you" he stammers afraid to pursue this new addiction. Her scent different not the strong smell of magnolias from the night before but a softer rose scent somewhat like peaches. This scent so feminine he warms with the strong urge to kiss her.
