Stanley decided to try his luck at Freddie’s Bar and Grill. The patrons might not be sophisticated, but that was the point. The girls who hung out there had experience and a cynical view of life, which would help them understand his approach.
Lady Luck smiled half-way through his second martini. A tall brunette with a sleeveless black dress and spiky shoes came in and sat next to him. Actually, it was the only vacancy at the bar. But no matter. Stanley was ready.
He asked her if it was raining yet, and she said no.
Muscular shoulders and calves said, “Gym.” The vibrations of her silky dress said, “Braless.” He stared through the murky olive juice in his drink at the rows of bottles doubled in the mirror, glancing surreptitiously at her prominent upper story and the quiverings of thin fabric as she moved. She glanced back, and he caught a hint of smile. It was time.
“You aren’t attached, are you?” he asked.
Her hand went to her lovely neck. “No collar.”
“Me neither,” Stanley said.
“Well I hope not.”
Hearing the word hope filled Stanley with hope.
He reached into his pocket. “I have something for you.”
“Yeah?” she said slowly. She cast a glare his way.
“Hold out your hand.”
She hesitated.
He smiled. “I won’t bite.”
“You sure won’t, sonny.” She stared at him, hesitated a moment. “Okay, I’m just curious enough.” She put her hand on the bar.
“Palm up,” he said. “Please.”
Slowly she turned her hand over.
He always enjoyed the frisson as he made “the move,” as he called it. He dropped his apartment key into her palm, wishing he had the nerve to allow his fingertips to graze hers.
She looked down at her hand, then at him, then at her hand again. “Really?”
He shrugged his shoulders, trying to stay cool and confident. Apparently, his pheromone cologne wasn’t working tonight. Last Friday he had had some luck. That little red-head had let him buy her a few drinks. But that was at Oliver’s. His pickup batting average was higher in places with more class, with a more naïve clientele.
She closed her hand on the key.
She was going to keep it! His excitement made it impossible for him to speak.
“Dream on, Cowboy.”
She was playing hard to get. A new challenge! His heart accelerated. As he started to deliver his next line, “Here’s my card. Text me a time that’s good for you,” her smile turned into a sneer. His heart skipped a beat. She held out her hand again, with his key resting on her palm.
“Well?” she said. “Take it, Bozo.”
His heart skipped two beats, but he smiled, trying to keep his cool.
“Keep it,” he said. She just might have second thoughts later. He was set and ready to give her his card if she decided to keep it, so he smiled again.
She looked at him, at the key, at him again, and stuck out her tongue. Carefully she placed the key on her tongue.
Apparently, she had some moves of her own. But what was she trying to say?
Pulling tongue and key back into her mouth, she grinned. She raised high her scotch on the rocks, swilled down more than half, and gave him a wry smile and a wink. His pulse sped up again. How he loved a playful woman!
Then she leaned toward him.
Be still, my heart, he thought. Maybe, just maybe she would kiss him and leave the key in his mouth.
She stuck out her tongue, waggled it this way and that. Looking him in the eye, she slowly traced her lips with the tip of her tongue. His key. Gone. Vanished. She had ... she had swallowed it. Stanley stared at her. She downed her scotch, and, without looking at him, set her glass on a twenty, slid off her stool, and walked toward the restroom.
He was finished for the night. So much for the idea that women with experience might play along. Back to the younger crowd. The women at Oliver’s are polite, and they smile when they say no. And they give his key back.
Bio: Malcolm Glass
