December 23, 2002

She’s making eye contact with me through the bar mirror. I watch her watching me every time I take a sip.

“How ya doin’ there, Harv?” Joe asks “Another one?”

I hate it when people call me Harv. But seeing as the bastard is one of my all time favorite purveyors of fine American bourbon, I let the affront slide.

“No arguments here.”

Joe reaches for the Woodford Reserve and fills me a new glass.

“Thanks.” I say when Joe trades up my empty tumbler.

“Hi.”

Her voice startles me. Good thing my reflexes have been numbed sufficiently and I don’t embarrass myself but flinching.

She’s leaning up against the bar beside me. Her small purse sits sparkling on the counter, the black plastic sequences-

Wait. That’s not what their called. Seek- Sweek- Sheik- Sikh-

Fuck it.

She’s talking to me.

“Can I get a light?”

I stare at her for a second. She looks at me and then at the lighter in front of me.

“Sure.”

I don’t think I slurred that.

I flick it open and let the flame dance perfectly in front of her cigarette.

“Thanks.” She says after exhaling a rather deep lungful of smoke.

I wonder how long she can hold her breathe?

I’m smirking. But I don’t think she notices.

“My name’s Harvey.” I say, remembering to wipe my hand on my pants before shaking her hand. Her handshake is weak. Like a dead trout.

“Hello Harvey. My name is Sweetness.”

Sweetness. Heh.

“Sweetness, I was only joking when I said by rights you should be bludgeoned in your bed.”

Silence.

She’s just staring at me with a weird expression on her face. Part smile. Part terror.

More silence.

Awkward.

I feel my face heating up.

“Sorry. It’s a song reference.” I say, fully expecting her to leave.

“I’ve seen you here before.” She says, the look on her face softening.

“Only when I can afford it.” I turn on my legendary charm.

She giggles.

Whew.

“Can I get you a drink?” I ask, almost forgetting the etiquette.

I can’t get her to blow me until I at least buy her a couple of drinks first.

She nods and climbs onto the barstool beside me.

“That would be nice.”

“What do you drink? Do you like bourbon?”

She makes a sour face.

“I’ll have a strawberry daiquiri.”

Good choice. I hate chicks that drink beer. Too gassy.

“Joe.” I call. “Get me another one of these, and a strawberry daiquiri.”

Joe nods as he finishes up with another patron at the far end of the bar.

I can’t remember the last time I had relations with a female.

Now that the ice is broken, the prospect is starting to look favorable.

Considering the types of women frequent Joe’s Place, the chances are pretty good.

As long as I don’t throw up. Or something.

Maybe I should stop drinking.

Shit. Something just occurs to me.

Maybe she’s a hooker?

I’m not paying a hooker. I have standards.

She doesn’t look like a hooker.

I give her a once over.

A little older than I like. Arms are a bit flabby. Nice rack.

Shit. She catches me looking at her tits.

Busted.

“So, what do you do, Harvey?” she smirks, not seeming to mind.

“Insurance adjustor.” I lie, for obvious reasons.

Joe brings over the drinks and asks if we want anything else.

“No. We’re good.”

Joe leaves and I get back to drinking, smoking and chatting.

Tonight may turn out better than I expected.