Cheap Dirty Talk

 

His body was draped lazily across the bar, one hip cocked out, the kind of effortless cool I wished I could be. He looked good, even outlined against the shabby wallpaper and cheap carpeting. But a playboy, no doubt. Even when I was just window shopping I sure knew how to pick 'em.

The women hanging around him twittered at his presence, spurred into shameless flirtation by his disinterested green gaze. A dozen drinks sat in front of him, all untouched, compliments of the ladies. I wasn't a mind reader, but I knew most of them pictured themselves in the passenger seat on the way to his bed later, and a few only cared about getting as far as his backseat.

With almost careful indifference he unwound himself, straightening up, surveying the group of females with the look of a predator presented with a rancid meal. At that exact moment every single one of those flouncing, frilly show-offs became wholly absorbed with the carpet or the wallpaper. Scaredy cats, I chastized silently, half-thinking I'd have done the same. Somthing about him warned people to stay away. He was dangerous. Or powerful. Or some heady, exciting mix of the two.

He didn't seem to notice the fall in chatter, the long, curious glances thrown his way, and if he did notice he most certainly did not care that they had gone from talking to looking. I had a feeling he was used to people talking about him. Serves him right, you couldn't just walk into a small-town bar and hope no one noticed you. It didn't work like that.

Almost imperceptibly his tense shoulders relaxed a fraction as he leaned forward, saying something in the bartender's direction. I wasn't terribly close but in the unnatural silence I heard it clearly.

"Tell those ladies thanks but no thanks. I'm sure they weren't implying what any red-blooded male could be tempted to think they were implying."

Without a second glance back, not even a satisfying look at the women some whose faces were burning with shame, some openly disappointed, he left.

I turned toward the door, swinging in the wake of his exit, straining to see whether he was actually leaving or just needed a cigarette, though I told myself that was definitely not was I was doing. A few moments later the scream of tires forced into motion rose above the buzz of voices, the gravel spray flung as far as thirty feet. And I knew he was gone, disappeared into the darkness beyond the neon glare of the bar.

I knew it, but I couldn't feeling a little scared I wouldn't see him again,

and even more scared I would…

Reviews

[Michael Carr]

hmm. the detail is perfect, and some wry humor as well.
not sure what the point of the piece was, only flaw, left me a bit confused.
however, from the language to imagery to voice, its great.