Old habits die hard. Melissa found herself at the bar, acting a floozy despite her inability to get drunk, night, after night, after night. What was it about the scene?
She sat on a stool at the bar. Since visiting it for Josh’s thirtieth birthday, the Glass Slipper had quickly become her favorite hang-out. Eventually, her only hang-out. Where else could you see girls with stab-wounds and burn marks dance in the nude while desperate men purchase you overpriced drinks?
Yet another man, stocky, short, dressed well, ordered her a drink. This time it was a long island. Mel picked it up and drank it in one shot.
The bartender gave her a quizzical stare.
“Girl, I don’t know ‘bout yo’ liver, but you good for business.”
Mel let out a lonesome sigh.
“Tell me about it. How many drinks has it been tonight? Twenty? More?”
“Try seventeen, sweetheart. Your face don’t even look flush. What yo’ secret?”
All she wanted was to again experience that social lubrication from alcohol. All she wanted was to be able to see a guy or girl she liked and say, hey, let’s go to the champagne room. It just wasn’t happening.
She ignored her long-island providing benefactor and watched Lucille gyrate against a pole to the Sound of Silence. God those breasts, those pendulous bags of pillowy flesh, swinging like silent raindrops fell, she was captivated.
A nudge to the back. Another man wanted to buy her a drink, likely. Mel held out her hand to either accept a drink or shoo the man away. Instead, another nudge to the back. She turned around.
It was just the bartender. She turned to look him in the eyes.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
Mel turned around just in time to see Lucille’s patented ping-pong ball trick.
No comments:
Post a Comment