Monday, April 25, 2011


I sipped on my Martini, the lemon peel sitting on the napkin. I admired the red lighting against the steel grey walls, the black shadow boxes holding single stemmed Roses in the main room and small pink carnations in the Ladies' Room hung on the walls with an interior decorator's practiced eye. The black seating was comfortable, formal, and ye so very appropriate for the room. The environment was both breath taking and functional.

Setting my glass down, I pulled up my handbook to pull my cell phone out and check the time. It was quarter after 10. He was now 15 minutes late. I slid the phone back in and contemplated the lemon juice swirling on the surface of the drink. My mouth felt dry. I wondered if he was coming or, if like many of the other men, he'd opted not to show up or met someone on his way to the bar. I pulled out my phone again. Two minutes had passed. Picking up my glass, I drank the dry gin, dropped $10 on the table and stood up to leave.

Quickly, I walked to the door. Pulling the door open, irritation and humiliation clouding my vision, I ran into the tall blonde entering. "I'm so sorry," I gasped, reaching to pick up my pocketbook that had fallen between us.

"Are you okay?" His voice was deep and smooth. He'd bent down to check that I hadn't been hurt. A small gesture, but one I hadn't been the recipient of in a long time. My eyes caught in the blue depths of his eyes and I fumbled for a response. "Let me buy you a drink." He filled the silence that I still was swimming in.

With a smile and a blush, I agreed. Maybe it was best that I had been stood up.

*** One Minute Writer ***

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