Sirop de Vanille

And why on earth are you here? She rolled her R-s emphatically.

I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you… the cliche delivered flawlessly accompanied by a gorgeous lopsided smile and a wink. Death was never so sweet.

Weak-kneed. She pretended not to notice, thank god she was perched lovingly on to the bar stool. She rolled her eyes, flipped her recently-styled hair over her shoulder and locked eyes with him to deliver a steely gaze. Failed miserably, she thought and chewed on her bottom lip.

He was stumped. Only for a second though. He bought himself time by lighting a cigarette. She wrinkled her pretty little nose. And asked him the million dollar question, again.

And why on earth are you here? This time she sang it like “Goooodd-Morn-ing Maaaammm” and he scoffed. He covered it up with a fake cough, and ordered a drink. In a very un-007 way, he asked for a Dry Martini, Stirred not Shaken. She rolled her eyes for the nth time and he wished they would just fall out of her stupid albeit pretty little head.

She sipped daintily on her ridiculously expensive Apple-tini and smiled at the warmth trickling down her throat. She self consciously touched her neck and hastily removed her hand, she did NOT want him to think she was drawing his attention towards her neck. Ewww. She thought. She tilted her head and studied him, he needed to shave and to comb his hair back, and he definitely needed a new cologne, she mused. Then he would be perfect, perfect to be her project. She studied her french-manicured nails and said, so isn’t she in town?

He choked on the first sip, whether it was the question, the ’she’, or the horrible drink, we’ll never know. He steadied himself and smiled again, the practiced lopsided grin or some such. He pretended he didn’t understand and she skillfully changed the topic. This time she touched him, a la Rachel style, and she laughed and giggled. She clapped her hands in glee and threw her head back, she knew she looked good when she did that. He knew she looked good when she did that.

He offered to pay for her drinks and to drop her home. She told him she was a big girl now and could handle herself. He expressed concern over the one too many drinks she had consumed. She pouted and said, my friend’s house is walking distance.

The Bartender smirked at the exchange and swiped the Visa.

He listened to her banter, hoping fervently for a good-night-kiss. He carried the silver sequined bag and then the silver sequined heels. He opened the door for her and forced himself not to think of the bill he had just paid for. She pouted again and announced she was sleepy.

He got just that, a good-night-kiss. She gave him a missed-call (he didn’t have her new number) and climbed the stairs. He kicked a couple of stones, walked around the crazy DDA colony where everything looked the same and finally reached the parking lot. He laughed when he saw he still had the silver heels around her neck.

Well, a reason, at least.

He shrugged his shoulders, got into his car. Shook his head and thought Bitch!

And right then she tucked herself in, and said, Bastard. (Aiming for a little chorus situation here!)