She was running her finger around the rim of her apple martini glass, lost in thought. I was two stools to left of her, in a dusky bar, in the middle of the afternoon, somewhere in boondocks near Jacksonville.
I was just recently divorced and in shambles. The details are too painful to iterate. A school chum of mine, Ramesh, had invited me to stay with him and his wife for a few days. He had insisted on the phone .
"I know you don't feel like driving or seeing people but it'll be good for you. Trust me. And I'd like you to meet Nita. You've never met her. You didn't even come to our wedding," he lamented.
I agreed reluctantly and told I him I would start the five hour drive early the next morning. But I couldn't stand to be in the apartment alone another night, so I packed quickly and jumped in the car. I figured I'd drive for while, get drunk, spend the night in a hotel, and go see Ramesh and Nita the next morning.
Four hours later I spotted a seedy bar on the side of the road. There was nothing but brush and fences in the vicinity. This was farm country. I stopped and I went in.
The bartender gave me a toothless grin. He was a short, fat, wizened old man with a dirty shirt that once used to be white. Predictably he was chewing on toothpick. I ordered a beer.
I took a swig and I noticed her.
She had dark skin, long black lustrous hair, slightly wavy, full lips, big satin-black eyes. She had an Indian nose, a little bit broad. Her face was clear and tan and there was no hint of make-up. A tiny jewel sparkled on her left nostril. She was wearing a snug white t-shirt and jeans. She was thin, and her big breasts looked almost out of place in contrast to her thin neck and arms and waist. Almost.
"Hi," I said with my best smile.
She ignored me.
"Come here often?" I tried again.
"My God, is that the best you can do." Her voice was divine, a little bit husky, probably from smoking, with a faint British accent.
