July 2001
From the moment I saw her hunched over the register, I knew I needed her. Her soft doe eyes awkwardly begged my forgiveness as she pulled the damp fingernail from her pink lips and ran her hand down the side of her worn jeans. A slight smell of menthol cigarettes wafted from her sandy brown hair as she reached for one of the items on the conveyor belt.
"You find everythin' you was lookin' for ma'am?"
"Yes, thank you," I replied while a slow smile spreading across my face. "Have you?"
"Huh?" Her forehead wrinkled into confused lines.
"You were chewing your nails. Everything okay?"
"Oh, yea" she hesitantly replied sliding a bottle of red wine over the scanner. "Uh, nothin' really."
Feeling my eyes still on her profile, she glanced down at my wedding ring.
"Got man problems," she mumbled.
"Are there another kind?"
She bubbled out a sweet laugh before covering her mouth. Her eyes danced in appreciation of my comment.
"So, tell me," I prodded. "What has Prince Charming done now?"
She looked over my expensive attire and neatly pinned back French twist trying to figure out if I really cared about her situation. Obviously, she decided I was okay despite our differences as she started to prattle on about the asshole she was dating.
"...he just left a message on my phone. He's wantin' me to getta ride home wit' Sherrie, but I done told him this mornin' Sherrie ain't workin' today. So, I gotta take the bus," she exhaled loudly to punctuate her frustration. Her sweet southern accent accentuated by her anger.
"When do you get off?"
"In thirty."
"Well, you seem like a nice girl. Why don't I just go down the street to that bar on the corner and wait. Then, when you get off, just walk down there. I'll give you a ride if you buy me a drink?"
She looked a bit surprised at the offer, but genuinely pleased at the prospect of not riding the bus.
"Sure, you'd do that?" she questioned at the same time sticking out her hand in an introduction. "I'm Andrea, by the way."
"Well, Andrea, girls need to stick together," I said with a wink. "My name is Aria and I'll be waiting for you."
The bar was a dive consisting of a jukebox, afternoon drunks on bar stools and a crowd of empty tables. Taking a seat on the far end of the bar, I knew I stood out in my tailored navy jacket and skirt. However, the clientele seemed politely indifferent to my presence. Calling down an order for a draft deer, the bartender shuffled down to my end of the scarred counter. The wide gold necklace clasped around my neck reflected the neon sign sending blue and red strips over the Bartender's short-sleeved shirt. His fuzzy white hair looked oddly like the head on the draft bear he drew from the tap and sat down before me. Without making eye contact, he placed a bowl of stale pretzels on the counter. Then, he returned back to a sink full of sudsy dishes. The half hour passed quickly between three beers and seven sad country songs. About the time Johnny Cash began to crow "Folsom Prison Blues", a blinding light spilled through the open door as Andrea stepped over the threshold. The swirling dust disappeared into the shadows as my eyes readjusted to the dark. Without her red Piggly Wiggly smock, she looked smaller, younger and quite a bit happier. She slid a cigarette in her mouth and lit the end before she spoke to me.
"Shit, I'm so glad you're still here. I started thinkin' 'bout it and I was for sure you'd bailed. Ya know, I'd totally understand if you woulda... being in all as I am a stranger. But, your still here, Ariel..."
"My name is Aria," I interjected into her hurried speech. "I am happy to have the pleasant company. I was just going to go home and have some wine alone anyways."
"Yea, didn't strike me as the beer type," she commented. "But here ya are suckin' back a few frosties."
"Yes, here I am."
"Yea, so ya wantin' to split or ya mind if I got one?"
"No hurry," I answered as she dropped her belongs on the bar.
"Pops, canna get a bud draft?" she called out as she flopped onto the red vinyl stool.
"On my tab, sir" I instructed the bartender as he poured the beer.
"What? I'm buyin'"
"Next round," I replied patting her leg. "You get the next round."
A few hours later, we were still at the bar drinking as more people trickled in to populate the place. Andrea, buzzed from countless beers, was enjoying flirting with a variety of unsavory characters. She had even slipped off her white short sleeve blouse. Dancing with no one in particular, her white tank top clung to her sweaty chest revealing she wasn't wearing a bra. The perky tips of her small breast shaded the shirt with two dark rose circles. Her nipples protruded a full half inch about half the height of her breast. Climbing up with her taunting motion, the damp worn cotton top revealed a tan stomach and tiny naval. The jean dipped seductive low as her underwear flirted with exposure. Her hips swayed in a slow rhythm as she reached out her hands for me to join her on the floor. The smile on her face did not reach her eyes. The blue iris stormed with a desire. I could feel her need to be wanted, to be desired, and not to be forgotten.
One particular brawny country boy could sense it too. Oblivious to my approach, he grabbed her around the waist with a hoot. He squealed with delight as he tossed her about like a child. His sloppy wet lips attempted to cover hers when I intervened. Tapping him on the shoulder as she cursed, I spoke to him with pure ice in my voice.
"You need to release my friend immediately and return to your party."
"Wha...why lookie here," he snickered loudly. "Ms. fucking fancy pants thinks she's goin' tell me what the fuck to do."
"You only get one warning," I replied strangling him with my eyes. "Do as I say."
"I'm not listenin' to some fucking cunt," he hissed, ironically dropping Andrea, to intimidate me.
In response to the c-word, I used my self defense class training for aggressive means. A blow to crotch brought his head forward to meet my raised knee. With a loud pop, his nose exploded into a fountain of blood staining my stockings. His shock morphed quickly into threatening curse words as I back away from the hulking man. The red stain dripping down his beard onto his blue t-shirt made him look like a monsters. He narrowed his eyes reaching out to snatch the life out of me. When, to my relief, the fuzzy headed bartender and two bouncers ushered us out of the place, but not before asking us to kindly settle our tab.
Outside, Andrea twirled over the gravel parking lot laughing at us being thrown out for brawling. Clutching her shirt, smock and purse in her outstretched arms, she scanned each vehicles looking for my car as if she knew what I would drive. Finally, I pointed to the black BMW sedan. She rolled against the passenger side window waiting for me to unlock it. Once she heard the keyless entry pop, she flung open the door, tossed her items in the back and then, collapsed in the seat beside me. Rolling her head to the left, she grinned lazily rubbing her hand on her thigh. The leather scent gave way to the smell of cheap beer.
"Y'ur a regula' Rocky," she giggled. "Wish ya knock out Chuck."
"That was pretty stupid of me," I replied as I shakily inserted the key into the ignition.
