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Posted on June 23, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

The sound of the whiskey filling the glass was as seductive as a siren call and several men looked over. The initial curiosity was always to see what was being drunk by someone else. When they saw that it was a woman drinking one of the finest single malts in the house their curiosity took on an entirely different shade.

She was a lot of woman in the best possible way. Curves so dangerous a fellow could get whiplash navigating them and a smile so lethal the average male was well-advised to travel with a shot of adrenaline in his coat pocket, or at the very least, smelling salts.

Her name was Ilsa, after the character in the movie but she was no ingénue nor did she play at being one. She liked her position in the world, as a woman of power, and she was not averse to using said power to get what she desired. She was no spring chicken so she had the mandatory disappointed suitors, ex-lovers who felt jilted and even a man she left at the altar in her past.

She wasn’t looking for company that night which is what she said to the bartender when she requested her first drink. He nodded, slid the tip into his pocket and went about his business with the discretion of a man who had seen more beautiful women than a casting agent in Hollywood. When the first of seven men came over to the bar and requested that he send a drink over to the lady at the other end of the bar, he leaned towards the customer, smiled and said, “I’m sorry sir but the lady asked not to be disturbed.”

It was that kind of place.

She had requested similar service before, placed similar tips before other bartenders in other bars and the scene had gone differently in different situations.

In a grimier bar on the wrong side of town the bartender had discouraged a prospective suitor with the words, “She ain’t interested. Save your money.”

“Why? What’s wrong with her?”

“Beats me.”

“She a dyke? Cause I got the cure for dykes right here in my pants.”

“I got a double-ought down here behind the bar boss. Ain’t fired it in a long time so no telling what it will do but I cleaned it up real good just last night. Don’t make me have to use it.”

“Yeah whatever. Who the fuck needs her anyway!”

In a hipster bar across town the bartender had whispered in an overly theatrical manner, “She’s asked not to be disturbed.”

“I don’t want to disturb her, I just want to fuck her. Hell I don’t even care if she’s asleep throughout. Just want the notch on my belt if you know what I mean.”

“Amen brother but you’re probably better off elsewhere.”

“But she’s the best talent in the house.”

“Not if she’s not available. Then you’ve got to keep looking.”

“That must have been some tip she gave you.”

“Just doing my job sir.”

It went differently in different places but the time always came where the bartender had to drive away a possible suitor. Though few of them relished the situation most of them did the job without sparing a thought for the poor fool who thought he had a chance.

That evening was a little different. Number eight came directly. It was a potential hazard with drinking among the newly wealthy. Money gave them courage.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Not interested.”

“How about a meal then? A girl’s got to eat sometime.”

“I’m a woman and starving is good for my figure.”

“Then you must be famished because that’s the nicest figure I’ve seen all day. And I manage a hedge fund.”

“They say flattery will get you everywhere. Unfortunately for you, In My Pants is quite far away from Everywhere.”

“Wow. Did somebody break your heart or do you just enjoy busting a guy’s balls.”

“A little of both. But two ingredients hardly make a dish so there is so much more there that a man looking to get laid cannot even begin to imagine.”

“You must lead a lonely life.”

“You must lead an unfulfilled one.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Only a vacant, eager-to-give-up-her-beaver girl would fall for such superficial bullshit. You look intelligent so it must be an empty victory when you score. And then again, the mirror behind the bar is flawed so maybe it’s only your reflection that looks interesting.”

He looked up and watched themselves in the reflection she spoke of. He was wearing a business suit and she was wearing a black dress that hinted at her curves without giving away the entire plot. She hadn’t looked at him once but it was clear she had seen him.

“If you change your mind…”

“I won’t.”

“If you’re ever back, and in the mood for company, tell Jim. I could use the conversation.”

“Who’s Jim?”

“The bartender you tipped so handsomely for the privilege of sitting alone on the best stool at the bar.”

“Is it really the best stool?”

“It’s my favourite. Jim normally installs the ladies he thinks I might like on this stool.”

“I must not have tipped Jim very well because he didn’t warn me.”

“I’m the regular. You never stood a chance.”

“Poor me.”

“This was nice.”

“Good night.”

“What name should I say?”

“Pardon?”

“If I were to ask Jim to let you know that I was back, what name would I say?”

“I think Jim will remember you, for having shot me down if for nothing else.”

“Is that a boast?”

“A compliment actually. This is a busy bar and more beautiful women pass through here than the offices of the modeling agency on the sixth floor can handle. My name is Andre by the way.”

“I will keep that in mind Andre. Thank you.”

He walked away and she watched him go, right out the front door and onto the pavement where he hailed a taxicab that sped off to whatever destination he told the driver.

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