She finally took her shoes off, one heel was in tatters and the straps were biting her ankles like startled Yorkies. The sun was quickly slipping behind the pines, daylight didn’t last long in the midwest. It was at least an hour’s walk back to the house. Soon the sky would be black and the crickets would launch their monotonous feedback loop into the wind.
Category: Tattle Tales
He meandered through the docks, hoping to catch a glimpse of his dreamboat. She was 35 feet of milky white planes and curves outlined by polished steel. As he approached, she strummed her siren’s song through her jingly rigging, luring him closer. He stood in front of her slip, pulled the mini bottle of rum from his pocket, hoisted it and declared aloud, “Here’s to you and me, Lady. May I soon know what it’s like to slow dance with you.”
She wanted to meet somewhere no one would recognize her. He suggested a joint that was so dark he would barely recognize her.
She was late. He fidgeted with his tie, his buttons, the fringe on the miniature lamp shade. The cocktail waitress, who was wearing a lei and little else, sauntered up, leaned over and let her long ebony hair tickle his cheek. He flashed his practiced movie star grin and ordered a Dark & Stormy. Before walking away she dropped a pedal by his hand on the bar. Relaxed now, he settled in and turned his attention to the sarong clad Hawaiian whose voice was as smooth as syrup floating in honey.
He was three Stormy’s deep and ready to ask the waitress if he could play Love-Me/Love-Me-Not with her lei when She walked up next to him. Her smell made him dizzy; expensive perfume, cigarettes and a dash of bitters. He didn’t look up, he took a long sip and rested his hand on the small of her back, relieved it was too dark and he was too drunk to see those ruby red lips scowling at him.
She stood next to him, sucking in the sea air, hoping it would sober her up. What the hell was she doing here?
The people around her were laughing too loudly and the stench of cheap fried food wrapped itself around her face like a chloroform drenched towel.
She groped inside her purse for her lighter. She didn’t even have a cigarette, she just gripped the lighter like it was a rope and she was drifting out with the Atlantic current. What the hell was she doing here?
She squinted in the dimming sunlight and searched the crowd for someone to notice her anguish and rescue her. No one returned her gaze. He gripped her shoulders and angrily looked in her eyes, “Hello, are you even here?!”