A Ceremonious Cocktail

Workaholic, love-cynical beauty, Vanessa Delgado, heads to trendy Bar 26 for solitude and a much needed drink; but receives much more.

 

  The ceremonious clink of glasses annoyed the hell out of her. A lot. Dimly lit, and jam packed, the socialite’s haven in which she reluctantly sat, serviced the local corporate regulars in need of cocktails and flirtation. The menagerie of 9-5rs at the local post-work watering hole, Bar 26, irritated her more than usual that Monday evening. Perched elegantly at a high-top table in the corner, she silently prayed to be left alone. Absently stirring her vodka and cranberry, she willed herself to become lost in thought and quickly became unaware of the cacophony of chaos surrounding her.  Thankfully able to tune out the roar of drunken laughter, the cattle-like heard of designer heels clicking to and from the restroom, and the music’s blaring bass, she allowed her thoughts to roam free from the work day grind.

  Feeling the warmth of vodka spread throughout her weary body, she sighed contently.   “Ahhh “she breathed.”  “ How very necessary” she spoke aloud to no one in particular. Surveying a table nearby, she scoffed audibly. “Ah yes, the evident cycle of evolutionary psychology at work” she thought to herself analytically. “I may as well be watching the discovery channel”, she thought humorously.  How animalistic it all seemed, she considered. Almost like a herd of male tigers innately securing the best choice for mating.  Her eyes wandered to a cluster of smartly dressed Armani suits, in desperate attempt to charismatically charm several hopefuls in push-up bras and mile high pumps. “How sad,” she pondered, thoughtfully.  Sipping her drink, she thought cynically, “Morons.”      

  Her arduous day at the office practically required a post-work drink. As Creative Director at the House of Gucci, her work schedule was agonizing both physically and mentally.  Working hard to obtain her position, day in, day out, she threw herself into every detail of the job. Known as Vanessa, the man-eating perfectionist, she truly looked forward to her evenings at Bar 26, escaping the critical eye of her superiors with a cold cocktail. Unlike most of the regulars at the bar, her intent was not to socialize, let alone hook a man. She simply desired a moment of alcoholic solace. Inadvertently massaging a kink from her shoulder, she sighed, allowing the warm buzz of vodka to ease her ever churning mind.

  Unfortunately, for Vanessa Delgado, it was quite hard for her to go out unnoticed. A woman of a different breed, donned head to toe in Gucci and confidence, she made the cleavage queens seem whoreish in comparison. From her long chestnut tresses, pulled back in a neat chignon, her dark, almond shaped eyes, surrounded by thick come-hither lashes, to her full pout perfectly painted in her signature scarlet red, Vanessa was nothing short of stunning. She oozed sensuality, and quickly became the object of male conquest. She had discovered that the only surefire way to ward off the over-confident slew of persistent Armani suits her signature “f**k-off” attitude. By exuding a false sense of aloof intimidation, she succeeded in keeping the typical bug-like bar men at bay. The truth was, she had not always been the man-eating ice queen that she appeared to be. Having been deeply hurt by a seemingly providential romance, she learned to consciously wear the lipsticked facade in her tender heart’s defense. It was a man that had turned her into a cold, empty workaholic; spending most nights with expensive Chianti, take out, and a good book. It was quite unfortunate; for the real Vanessa Delgado was the epitome of a textbook romantic; a true dreamer.  That man had hurt her so deeply within her core, forcing her to swear off all men and their false promises. And that’s just what she did.

  Allowing her mind to once again wander, her thoughts were interrupted at the sight of a man. “ Could it be him?” she thought inquisitively . Dark, kind eyes, argyle sweater.  Upon realization of the stranger’s not so strange identity, she was alarmed at the confusing combination of comfort, warmth, and desire surged through her. She was surprised that those feelings still existed, as she had learned to squelch any such romantic emotion long ago. But there it was, stirring withing her core, threatening to contradict everything she had worked so hard to portray herself as.

  She had met the man in the argyle sweater several years ago, back in her days of makeup artistry at Sak’s Fifth Avenue. He was always shopping for his “mother” or “sister”, so he claimed. The two soon developed a friendly rapport.  His demeanor was always sweet, and genuine, unlike the harem of beauty-struck men that typically sought after her.  After each and every encounter with him, she felt more and more comfortable, almost as if as if they had known each other for years. Their “friendship” consisted of shared stories of unhappiness in their respective relationships.  4 years later, she left for Gucci, and had not seen nor thought of him since.

   Quickly regaining her composure, she glanced his way. Their eyes met, and for the first time in a long time, she smiled, authentically. “Hey! She said invitingly”” How are you?” she questioned. “I’m doing good, considering” he spoke softly, “Ellie and I broke up” he stated, fidgeting in his bar stool. “I’m so sorry Nicholas” she said sympathetically.  “Well that makes two of us, “she said, fingering her hair unconsciously. Carefully studying his features while they spoke, she wondered why she had never noticed how good looking he was. With eyes like black olives, and a jaw of a model, Nicholas Francell had that “take home to mom, and then take come to bed” look about him.  Amidst the feelings of comfort, sexuality and excitement rising within her, she fought a giddy child-like giggle.

   The two sat and had a drink, and talked about their failed relationships comfortably.

Looking down at his Patek Phillip watch, he frowned. “I really should go” he stated reluctantly. “I have work early in the morning” he explained apologetically. “Yeah, me too.” She responded trying to hide her disappointment. “But it was great seeing you, Nicholas” she said genuinely. “Yeah, you too, Vanessa You look great” he complimented, a half smile curling at his lips. They agreed to exchange numbers, to meet, as friends. “We’ll get together soon” he assured her, gathering his coat. “Goodnight Vanessa” he said regrettably.  As the bar door closed, Vanessa noted the flush at her cheeks, the irreversible smile pasted on her lips, and the unsteadiness of her hands. Her mind and heart were racing, desperately trying to make sense of the feelings welling up inside of her. “Yes,” she thought to herself as a slow smiled curled on her full red lips. “This is one number that I won’t delete” she thought dreamily.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Kyle]

I really liked reading this! My style is so similar In some ways.

I think you should continue this story but change it by using more spacing. Your readers Need some spacing on order to 'rest' while reading. It's much easier to read a longer piece when there is some white space.

I appreciate the fresh quality of this story. It makes ke want to know what happens next. You are a fine story writer.

[Dark Beauty]

Love this story,great word choice to convey your message in the writing along with good word choice for meaning, Nice job!!