I walk into the bar on a cold Friday night, and as usual, it is dimly lit. The rowdy and buoyant atmosphere welcomes me. I think to myself, This is my scene; it almost feels like home. I walk casually to an empty seat, and I raise my hand to get the attention of the bartender. I peruse the crowd, looking for a beauty to catch my fancy. I am not one to pick up females at the bar. But I am never opposed to a few drinks and a great conversation.
Suddenly, I see her. The light in the bar illuminates only a side of her face. Her pantyhose clad legs are long, lean, and enticing. Her silk cream-colored blouse is tucked neatly into the waistband of her short black skirt. She raises a glass to those plum lips; coated in red lipstick. She looks alone and deep in thought, her beautifully heart shaped face in a frown.
I want to get to know her, out of all the women in here tonight she is the only one who intrigues me. From the looks of it, she had no desire to interact with anyone but herself. I get up and adjust the sleeves of my shirt. For some reason, she made me want to be prim and proper. I know I might be shooting myself in the foot, but I was willing to try if she as much as looked at me. When I get to where she is seating, I turn and smile at the bartender, yelling over the loud crowd behind for a stiff whiskey. Then I turn to her, take a deep breath, and speak almost too gently, not recognizing my own voice.
“You have frown lines making a face on your forehead.” She tilts her head up slightly in my direction. I know she is staring at my long blonde hair, blue eyes, and firm chin. I hope she likes what she sees because I am already in love with the cautious way her hazel eyes regard me. Then, she speaks with an accent I don’t recognize, it made are feel even more far out of my reach. So exotic, she may never go for a simple man such as me, but I have to try.
What kind of face?” she asks
“A sad one. A penny for your thoughts?”
“How about you let me slide my hands through your hair, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” She winks at me, and I automatically rake my hand through my hair and smile shyly. I really like that she is intrigued by the texture of my hair. “Okay, go ahead,” I say, and she smiles. I am taken aback; it is a shelf-life smile, but it was just as sensational.
“Honey,” she says, “don’t let strangers up there. They might mess it up.
“My hair or in my head?” She winks again, and adds, “both.”
Curious to know more, I take a seat next to her and gesture to her drink. “What are you drinking?” I ask.
“Water, but I bought a couple of martinis for the people over there.” She points a nude painted finger at the rowdy crowd.
“Did you come to the bar to drink water?”
“And to celebrate with others.”
“Why aren’t you over there then?”
“Oh, with Olivia and martin’s family?”
“Do you know them?”
“Olie is my best friend.”
“Won’t your party miss you?” I say, and the frown lines on her face return, the one that made a face on her forehead. She places her right hand on my thigh and squeezes just a little. It radiates through my whole body. She doesn’t seem to notice the effect that simple touch has on me. She keeps talking, and I have to force myself to pay attention. I hear her say, “the thing about celebrating is that you can only do it if you feel it on the inside. I love them, they are getting married. They’ve been together for 5 years. They both deserve this.”
“But you don’t feel happy on the inside,” I reply. She looks at me with a pensive look in her eyes, like she is about to predict a macabre. I don’t know what to do with this type of woman, but I listen because she commands my attention. She says, “I just can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going on in the world at this exact moment. A mother just lost her child, a husband, his wife. I know this is not the time or place, but I feel this way.”
To add to the macabre in the atmosphere, I say, “a soldier his legs.” She smiles that shelf-life smile again and says, “you get the idea. Olie knows me so well, she’ll figure it out, and it’ll ruin her day.”
‘Tell me more, please.” I know this is not the usual Friday night conversation, but I have never met a more beautiful or sullen being in my life. I feel like I can listen to her talk forever.
She regards me from under her thick dark lashes. I watch uneasily as they strip me of my comely languor. I adjust myself in my seat and move closer to her instead of running for the nearest exit. She stays quiet for a while, almost too long that I begin to feel a bit awkward. After the wheels have stopped spinning in her head, she takes a deep breath and continues, “have you seen the haunting of Bly Manor?”
“No, tell me about it.”
The End (of part 1)
Picture retrieved from Pinterest
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