The Owls' Perch

The Owls’ Perch was a high-class bar and lounge. It was situated in the city heights, an affluent district that big businesses and the most popular establishments called home. The Owls’ Perch grandfathered all of these. Having stood through wars, economic depressions, political turmoil, and changing times, it was like a fulcrum that surrounding society pivoted itself with. It was engraved in the city as a symbol of status and prosperity. Reservations were always booked to capacity as people from all over came to reflect the status and glamour that emanate from it.

It’s heavy old-style hardwood floors and walls were perfectly balanced with a scattering of thin wires which supported curling vines that grew up through the open space to the bottom of the glass floor on the second story. Patrons could see everything happening below through the twisting vines and flowers. It was furnished with glass-paned wood tables and white leather chairs and couches. The most defining characteristic however was the huge cage that occupied the entire back wall of the building. Glass panes facing the outside of the building let in natural light and kept the elements out and white birch trees and green shrubs lined the inside. Sitting on the pegs that were hammered into the trees at various intervals, were dozens of barn owls.

One evening an eager and ambitious man dressed in a charcoal grey cashmere suit, with cufflinks, and black, emblemed, leather, derby shoes made his way into The Owls’ Perch. His hair was slicked to the side and he gave off the strong smell of high-quality cologne. There was an equally classy girl on his arm and they met up with a prestigious group in the back of the lounge.

“Darius!” shouted one of two other men waiting for them. He was a little chubby with a red face. His Gucci tie was loosened around his neck and it was apparent that he had already started drinking. The couple sat down at the end of the U shaped sectional sofa and a waiter quickly came to take their order.

“Hennesy, neat,” Darius ordered, “and Champagne for the lady.”

“Come on, man.” The chubby man exclaimed, “You’ve just been promoted. You’ve moved up in the world! This is cause to celebrate.” He turned to the waiter and corrected the order, “Give the man some Remy Martin.”

“Right away.” The waiter said and swiftly exited.

“You should be embarrassed to order a cheap ass drink like that in front of your girl.”

Darius gave an embarrassed chuckle as directed and chided back, “I’ll be learning a lot more from you now. Glad you’re here to set me straight.” He hated the impudent bastard.

The drinks came and the group drank and celebrated.

“You know why there are live owls here?” Darius asserted, trying to regain a foot up in their standing, “It’s a representation of the spirit of the place. The place is alive, so it’s decorations are also alive. You don’t see a single picture, or painting anywhere; just the plants and the owls: it’s all alive.” His companions gave the appropriate interest in the comment and the conversation continued through the night.

The party concluded and Darius and the others stood in front of the entrance.

A valet pulled the chubby man’s Corvette around and he got in, saying goodbye to everyone.

Darius and his date walked back behind the building to his car.

“Well, you’re off to an ok start.” The woman said as she checked her appearance in the drop-down visor mirror. Darius started the car and as the headlights came on his jaw dropped open slightly. Hundreds of owl eyes were reflecting the light back at him. Seemingly brighter than the high-beams of his car, unyielding, searing, exposing, the eyes were on him. His head swooned and he looked down his steering wheel, his tie, his cufflinks. His chest began to burn.

“Are you going to go?” The woman asked.

He looked up at the woman and then back at the eyes, the eyes on him.

He slammed his foot on the accelerator and crashed forward.