He stole a glance at the end of the bar. The young woman was still there, alone. There was a look of kindness, of amiability about her, although she seemed troubled. He wondered if it were possible for someone so lovely to be lonely. Boyfriend’s probably late, he told himself.
“I see somethin’ I like,” said John, craning his neck.
“Where?” said Vinnie, afraid it was the one he wanted.
John motioned with his chin. “Down there. The redhead.”
“Nice,” said Vinnie, nodding, relieved. Suddenly he recalled that John was married. He wondered how long it’d been since he’d seen Patty. Since high school? He experienced a sense of emptiness. He was fond of Patty, and here he was chippy-hunting with her husband, his presence sanctioning infidelity.
“What about you?” said John.
“I have one in mind, but I’m gonna wait a while.”
“For what? Ya gotta move. You single guys got it made these days. All these chicks’re on the pill and abortion’s legal. Yous got nothin’ to worry about. Take advantage. Live. There’re guys here who’ll come on to every chick ‘til they score. Ya wait too long an’ somebody else’ll scoop ‘er up, I guarantee ya.”
“I wouldn’t want her if she’s that easy.”
“Are you crazy? Relax, for cricesake. She can only say no. It’ll take ya a secon’. Ya can’t take things pers’nally here. It’s all a big game. By the end of the night the leftovers’ll be lined up at the bar, beggin’ to be picked up. So what if she says no. Her shit stinks jus’ like everybody else’s.”
“You’re right.” He knew, however, that he would not be indifferent to rejection. His heart would pound and his brain would threaten to burst. It was just the way he was. And it was a feeling so intense, so debilitating, that he would rather keep to himself than risk arousing it. He wanted to be absolutely sure of success before he approached a woman. And he did not want to approach any that did not conjure such dread. He wanted the situation to matter even if, in the end, it would have turned out to have been only about sex. And he wasn’t about to wait for the leftovers to insure sexual success. In his mind that would be failure.
John downed the last of his beer and said: “Here I go.” And he was off.
“Good luck.” Bad luck, Vinnie inwardly amended, recalling Patty.
He turned his attention to his own interest. She smiled. She looked better to him at each successive glance. Her face was radiant, a brilliance pleasing to the eye, like the moon peering through a gathering of clouds. Her beauty was quiet when at rest but amplified considerably when she smiled. Dare he hope to capture such a prize? Beauty and the Beast is strictly a fairy tale, he told himself.
My thanks to the woman who bought two books in Russian, and to the other who purchased Ann Rice's The Witching Hour in hardcover, a huge weight off my hands.
My Amazon Author page: https://www.amazon.com/Vic-Fortezza/e/B002M4NLJE
Read Vic's Stories, free: http://fictionaut.com/users/vic-fortezza
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