"Sorry, I'm closing up," I said to the rap on the door.
"Please, I think I left my purse in the ladies' room," she begged.
I peered through the glass, and saw she was alone. There had been robberies at bars in the area, and I didn't want to be next.
"Okay, come on in," wary of someone charging the door, and she slid in. I recognized her immediately. She had left only 1/2 hour ago with her friend, a man about her age. She had been friendly while Jack, the friend, seemed annoyed at her out-going personality. Her name, she said, was Gail.
She had jet-black hair, in a pageboy, a round face, pert nose, and soft, tempting lips. She had plenty of curves, fairly large breasts, and stood about 5'8.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Harry! I said I'd stop by again, but didn't mean this soon!"
She had an infectous laugh, a throaty purr to it, and I had liked her at once, but in the bar business, many women flirt, hoping for free drinks. And with her being 20 years older, and on a date, I had been courteous, deferring to her boyfriend.
Gail made a point of saying Jack was just a friend from work, which annoyed Jack even more.
I smiled back, "That was quick. Where's Jack? In the car?"
"No, I have my own car, we were chatting in his car, and when he left, I realized I had left my purse.
"I haven't cleaned in there yet, I hope no one walked out with it. Go check."
I was pretty-much done, and was about to have a beer before I went home, all the lights were out, except dim lights that we left on to discourage burglars.
She came back out with her red purse held like a prize. "Ta-Da!" she beamed. "I'd never look respectable tomorrow without my magic bag of tricks. Like grease paint for a clown!"
I smiled at her, seeing that she wore quite a bit of make-up, from eye-liner, to eyeshadow, lip gloss, the works, but it probably hid years on her, because she looked pretty good for her age, which I figured for 45.
"I'm having a nightcap, if you'd care to join me before you go."
"I thought you'd never ask!" that contageous smile again.
We stood at the back end of the bar, quietly chatting. There's a certain silence in a closed empty bar, almost church-like, and we spoke in whispers.
"I have to admit something," she said.