She sat across the motel bar, cute as she colud be, sipping her drink and reading from a paperback, possible a romance novel featuring steaming passion.
The place was crowded with weary travelers and the band was loud.
Two men in suits tried her first, but she would not even look up from her paperback, they went back to thier table and sat down.
The man sitting next to me, who looked to be in his late 20s, had been watching her during a couple of martinis, both of which he had insisted come with two olives.
He made his first move.
"See the blond behind you, the one reading the book?" He said to the bartender. "Whats she drinking?" "Send her one on me," said the man.
The girl didn't acknowledge receipt of the drink when it arrived in front of her. She simply pushed her old glass away, took a sip from the new one and went back to the paperback.
The man ordered another two-olive martini and waited.
The band rocked on.
Maybe 20 minutes passed, and the man sitting next to me hailed the bartender again. "Send the lady another whisky sour," he said.
I wonder why more bartenders didn't write books. They see and hear so much.
Again the girl didn't look up to see who her benefactor might be.
If it had been me, I would have quit right there, but I was never any good in bars in the first place.
I tried, lord knows, but came to the conclusion that many women go to bars alone simply for the opportunity to intimidate men.
I heard "Buzz off, Creep," a few tims, which killed my confidence, and a man without his confidence is no match for a woman in a dimly-lit arena.
The band announced a slow song.
The guy sitting next to me was off his barstool in a hartbeat. He went directly to the girl reading the book and ask her to dance.
They danced closely, and when the music ended they returned to the bar and he sat down beside her ordered still another whisky sour and they seemed to be gitting along famously. After a few moments, she excussed herself and walked out of the room.
The man sat there as if he was expecting her to return. I fiqured her for a quick trip to the ladies room.
The man waited and he waited, but she never came back. Finally he summoned his tab. As he walked past me, he muttered something about the entire female gender.
I watched as the whisky sour lover disappeared out the door and headed back to his room probably to call his wife.
The place was crowded with weary travelers and the band was loud.
Two men in suits tried her first, but she would not even look up from her paperback, they went back to thier table and sat down.
The man sitting next to me, who looked to be in his late 20s, had been watching her during a couple of martinis, both of which he had insisted come with two olives.
He made his first move.
"See the blond behind you, the one reading the book?" He said to the bartender. "Whats she drinking?" "Send her one on me," said the man.
The girl didn't acknowledge receipt of the drink when it arrived in front of her. She simply pushed her old glass away, took a sip from the new one and went back to the paperback.
The man ordered another two-olive martini and waited.
The band rocked on.
Maybe 20 minutes passed, and the man sitting next to me hailed the bartender again. "Send the lady another whisky sour," he said.
I wonder why more bartenders didn't write books. They see and hear so much.
Again the girl didn't look up to see who her benefactor might be.
If it had been me, I would have quit right there, but I was never any good in bars in the first place.
I tried, lord knows, but came to the conclusion that many women go to bars alone simply for the opportunity to intimidate men.
I heard "Buzz off, Creep," a few tims, which killed my confidence, and a man without his confidence is no match for a woman in a dimly-lit arena.
The band announced a slow song.
The guy sitting next to me was off his barstool in a hartbeat. He went directly to the girl reading the book and ask her to dance.
They danced closely, and when the music ended they returned to the bar and he sat down beside her ordered still another whisky sour and they seemed to be gitting along famously. After a few moments, she excussed herself and walked out of the room.
The man sat there as if he was expecting her to return. I fiqured her for a quick trip to the ladies room.
The man waited and he waited, but she never came back. Finally he summoned his tab. As he walked past me, he muttered something about the entire female gender.
I watched as the whisky sour lover disappeared out the door and headed back to his room probably to call his wife.