by Kelley Lortz
“Where to, Miss?”
“The Galleria, alright.”
“That’s an interesting picture.” The young woman nods toward the faded and dog-eared photograph taped to the meter.
“Miss?” The worn cabbie glances in the rearview mirror.
“Sorry, I just noticed your picture. It’s kind of an unusual photo for a cab?” It showed a dark haired beauty tangled in sheets, arms open wide, an inviting smile.
“I like to remember her just like that.”
“Oh, your wife? She’s wearing a beautiful necklace.”
“No, not my wife. Yes, the necklace, diamonds and rubies. She wore it well, don’t you think?”
“I smuggled it out of Germany in my camera case. I was a photo journalist during World War II. I met Simone in France. She was something to see, something indeed.”
“What happened to her?”
“We spent three beautiful months together. One day, I returned to our apartment, the door was kicked in, she’s gone, so was the necklace."
The cabbie shrugs, “I was never able to find out if she had been captured or escaped.”
“Here you are. That’ll be twenty-three fifty.”
“That’s so sad.” Her eyes welling up.
“Yes, my heart breaks still when I look at the photograph, but I like having her close.”
“Keep the change.”
“Thanks Miss, have a nice day.”
“Hey, nice picture.” The young man grins.
“Huh? Oh, I found it in the backseat last night, thought she was pretty, so I stuck it up.”