The slim dark-haired girl with the slight sexy figure wrapped in the tight little black dress sauntered over to the table.
“Well, hello” she said. “What can I get you?”
The patron smiled. He was a sucker for pretty faces.
“Just a Chardonnay for now, thanks.”
“Sure. Be right back.”
She turned and sauntered way, with the same careless sway that high heels scrambled to enhance.
He opened his iPad, and turned to the espionage novel he’d been munching on.
It was hard to concentrate. The piped in music in the dark bar was infectious. Mick Jagger’s “Dancing in the Street” demanded some attention. He read a few words, and then looked around.
The server sexily sauntered over again, with a massive tray – which held just one drink. “Here you go, hun.”
Hun. He smiled quietly. Such a word was usually the purview of buxom older women, who endeared all and sundry to their tender affections. It was the clarion call to favours, usually manifesting in the form of tips. It seemed odd coming from a 20-something little college girl.
Back to the book.
Except that an older couple showed up not two minutes later. Unremarkable, except for his booming voice. The quiet reader quickly learned that this couple was celebrating twelve years of dating, or something. Anyway, it was twelve years since their first date. And as the music on the speaker system changed over to Lily Allen’s “The Fear”, the boisterous man and his date began to sing along.
At first, the reader was annoyed. He muttered an aggrieved curse. “Oh for fuck’s sake…..”
And then he found the humour, and began to laugh, shoulders shaking. “Money for Nothing” began to play.
“WE GOT TO INSTALL….MICROWAVE OVENS…CUSTOM KITCHEN….DELIVEREHEHEHEEED” The man and his wife/girlfriend sang with the gusto of bottomless lungs.
He smiled. Maybe it was the Chardonnay. He wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t annoyed.
Against the backdrop of the singing, he found his way back to the book. People died horribly. One guy was strung up in a torturous position. He worried about dying, even as his girlfriend raced to his rescue.
More wine came, and the reader imbibed. Even more arrived, like magic, and like magic, it disappeared.
The older couple eventually paid their bill and left. The reader read.
The sexy server came back and quietly placed a plate of Bruschetta on the table. He was oblivious, until his hand hit the plate. He looked up and saw her across the room, smiling. He transacted another smile, and mouthed a “thank you!” in reply.
As the Chardonnay evening blurred, he managed a few tweets on Twitter. In the Olympic sport of Inebriated Tweeting, he might have managed a Bronze, but that was it.
Cute brunette brought the bill. He paid it, while silently thrumming to the sound of “I’m So Glad” by Creme.
It was nothing remarkable. Just a pleasant night.
Still though – it was something.