3 thoughts on “Weekend Quickie #225

  1. She checked up and down the street. It looked clear, but she made it quick as she paid the Uber driver and ducked inside. It was half-full, the music was loud and raucous, two drunks were almost reeling at the end of the room, and the bar tender mostly looked bored as she wiped glasses. The place was perfect: the paparazzi would never look for her here. Nor would her husband, nor the jerks who formed his security cortege.
    She caught sight of her oldest friend at a corner table, ignored the haze of cigarette smoke, slid into the corner table, then shifted her chair for a better view of the door. “So what is it? What’s your big news?”
    “Hello to you too.” He signaled a waiter, who brought over a dripping glass of flat beer.
    He couldn’t have it. Could he? She eyed him with perspicacity and shrugged. When he got in these moods there was nothing to do but wait him out.
    He’d been drinking a while and was in a very expansive mood, until finally, finally, he shoved a picture forward. He shook his head. “I shouldn’t show it to you.”
    She stared at the evidence. This was it.
    She released his fingers gently. “But you did.”

  2. Just Do it!

    I stood at the curb looking at the bar with skepticism. This was the address. I looked at my watch. My keen senses confirmed what was painfully obvious; I never should have agreed to meet an old flame after so many years. I hadn’t initiated this. “She wants something,” I thought.

    I stepped onto the curb as she came slinking around the corner. The sight of her nearly pushed me back into the street. “Whoa!” I thought, as I scanned her stilettos, black net stockings, mini, and all the cleavage she could muster. Her eyes were fixed on mine like a cat about to pounce.
    “Johnny, you’re looking good. Wanna buy a girl a drink?” she almost sang as she reached out and ran her hand over my biceps. “Oh, you’ve been busy.”
    “It’s been a long time, Darla.”
    “Too long, Johnny. But we can make up ground … rapidly.”

    This was wrong. Everything in me was screaming, “Run! Get out before this goes too far!”
    Slipping her hand under my jacket and around my waist, Darla latched on and pulled me toward the door.

    “NO!” I almost shouted, “This is a big mistake!”
    Stunned, Darla withdrew her arm and stepped back. “Johnny?!”

    The director shouted, “Cut! It’s still not right! Run it again and put emotion in it, people!”

    Darla and I exchanged glances as she remarked, “His darned perspicacity! How many takes is this?”

  3. It was like the good ol’ days, a reunion of buddies long time past. Gone were the days of all night drinking on the town and toking in the den. Now we wondered which parts of our bodies hurt the most and each time we caught our reflections in the mirror how much hair we didn’t have anymore.
    “Black in the middle pocket,” said Goodge.
    We’d come to the Upside Down Plaza, Southside, where they had this great basement pool hall. Good prices, good people. Goodge potted the black.
    “Another game?” he asked.
    “Sure.” I was letting him win but keeping it tight, enough to not make him realise I was playing him. I could’ve taken him all night, but I needed to build his trust and more importantly, ego. “Another beer?”
    “Yeah! Maybe you’ll play better with more inside you!” he laughed, chalking his cue. As I went to order, he racked up the balls.
    “Listen,” I said when I came back. “Got a job over at Rock Creek.” He broke and fluked a pot.
    “Hey!” He smiled and lined up the next shot. “Yeah? What kinda job?” He gave that look. He was in, hook, line and sinker.

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