Jennifer's feet were killing her. It was her forth day in Toronto, evening actually, it was just after 10:00 PM and getting dark. She felt completely drained. She needed to sit down, but the cheap backpacker's hotel she was booked into was filled with over-zealous and over-happy and constantly smiling backpacking tourists with timetables, schedules and itineraries. She refused to be pulled into any sing-along or some other happy vacation pastime the owners of the hotel had planned that evening for their guests. She was tall, 5'10", her dark hair hung half way down her back, she had beautifully expressive green eyes and she weighed about 125 lb, and reasonably happy with how she looked, ok maybe she wasn't a perfect 10, but certainly not a 0 either! Maybe a 9.5! Her makeup was expertly applied. Her hair looked freshly brushed. Her breasts were a magnificent 36D (sometimes C); she was 24 years old and single, unfortunately.
She had left home and everything behind her, her bedsitter, her job and come to Canada on a whim. It had all begun when her girlfriend of two years announced on Jennifer's 24th birthday, that she was getting engaged. When Caroline admitted she had been two-timing her with a man, Jennifer's world fell apart. To add insult to injury, she asked Jennifer to be her bridesmaid.
She had spent the first two days of her stay in Toronto checking out the sights before looking for a job. Seriously looking for a job. The want ads listed hundreds of jobs, however not having a work permit, she discovered, was a serious drawback. She had gone for interviews the whole day. From 7 interviews she had been offered a job as a telemarketer, phone-sex worker, escort, and as a 'trainee' at a massage parlour. None appealed to her.
She spotted a bar, just off Queen St, about 3 streets from her hotel. 'Happiness House' the name appealed to her wry sense of humour, she felt anything but happy, but she stepped into the batwing doors of the bar anyway. She was pleasantly surprised the bar's interior reminded her of the neighbourhood pubs of home. She slid onto a comfy bench seat of the only vacant snug and rolled her head around slowly, she was tired and feeling more than a little out of her depth. She lifted her long dark hair up for a second. She had dressed smartly for job interviews. Her feet were thrust into Bally ankle boots, her short designer black dress displayed her legs well, not to mention her ripe 36D breasts and concave belly, even exhausted, and she made a pretty picture.
Even though the bar was relatively busy, a server made her way over. Jennifer ordered a beer, on being asked what brand, she replied. "Whatever you drink, I'm new to Canada." Soon a red labelled Molson Export was put in front of her with a tall frosted glass.
From behind her, she became aware of the opening strains of 'Teardrops on my guitar'. It was Jennifer's all time favourite; she slipped out of the booth, beer in hand, and slid onto a barstool where she could see the singer. The woman, who sat on a slightly raised stage, and was strumming an acoustic guitar while singing, took Jennifer's breathe away. She had long flowing dark hair. Her cornflower blue eyes were large and expressive. She had long lashes that made her eyes appear mysterious; eye shadow enhanced their natural beauty. Her eyebrows had been plucked to thin-ish arches. Her cheekbones were high and complimented her eyes. Her face was heart shaped, her nose was straight and slender with narrow nostrils, her mouth was wide, with sensual lips She was dressed in black jeans and a tooled leather belt with an oversized oval western buckle and a simple white tee-shirt. Her feet were in a pair of fancy stitched high heeled black western boots that matched her belt; she cradled her guitar and crooned softly, her voice lilted, her eyes straying over the audience as she sang the story of unrequited teenage love.
Jennifer's attention was taken away from the singer momentarily by the man sitting next to her at the bar. His beer belly hung over his belt as he straddled his barstool, a pair of mismatched and inelegant gold chains and half unbuttoned shirt drew attention to his lack of neck and double chins. "Like another one?" He yelled unnecessarily loudly, over the music, pointing to her beer.
She shook her head, ghosting a grimace that could be mistaken for a smile, before turning her attention back to the singer. The beefcake made the mistake, and draped his fleshy arm around her. She wasn't in the mood to tell him to go sling his hook politely, her retort was a universal "Fuck off, asshole!"
The man dropped his arm so fast you would have thought she had bitten him. "Dyke bitch." He muttered.
Before things could get out of control, the singer, who had spotted the pretty brunette's plight, flicked some switches and trained a spotlight on Jennifer, before picking up an electric blue Fender Stratocaster and launching into the Hollies' "Long cool woman in a black dress."
A very large bald biker dude ambled up, poked the rejected man's chest none too gently before gesturing his thumb to the door. "You're outta here man! Dont make me throw you out!" He said just loud enough to be heard over the song, taking the man by the shoulder and half leading him to the door. He returned to the far end of the bar, and leaned against the wall, and gave the singer the thumbs up.
The singer winked and finished the raunchy song. "Y'all give me take my breath away." She said to her applauding audience. "Gimme 10 and an Ex, and I begin a new set." She set her Fender gently on a stand and stepped off the stage.
Jennifer saw the singer was tall, in her high heeled Western boots she looked close to 6' she made her way to the bar, and pushed her way till she was alongside her. "Are you ok?" She asked, making eye contact and smiling. She nodded to the server behind the bar and a red labelled Molson Export was instantly in front of her. She lifted the brown bottle in a half salute before bringing the bottle to her lips and drinking deeply. "Man that hit the spot." She exclaimed.
Jennifer watching her swallow the beer like it was water."Yes I'm fine thank you, thank you for sending the bouncer over." It was intoxicating watching her drink, Jennifer was entranced. She stammered. "Can I buy you another?" She asked as the singer put the empty bottle on the counter.
"Nah let me get you one." She offered, signalling the server again. A pair of Exports were set in front of them. "I'm guessing from your accent you are a long way from home."
Jennifer nodded. "I arrived here a few days ago." Jennifer admitted. "I'm Jennifer, pleased to meet you." She offered holding out her hand.
The singer shook her hand. "Arleen, Arleen Armstrong." She introduced herself, holding Jennifer's hand and smiling broadly. "Why are you so far from home?"
Maybe it was the beer; maybe it was the attraction she felt, or the sudden dampness seeping into her panties. She launched into her story, ending with. "So here I am, and I think tomorrow I'm becoming a telemarketer, it seems to the lesser of all the evils I've been offered all day."
"Your ex must be nuts! I certainly wouldn't let you go, you are absolutely beautiful, and I love your accent." Arleen commented, her own accent certainly wasn't Canadian either, Jennifer discerned, it was a lazy Southern drawl, from below America's Mason-Dixon Line."But that's a man for you." She smiled.
Jennifer blushed and blurted out. "Her name is Caroline, my ex, I mean." She waited for the curtain to fall behind Arlene's eyes when she admitted her sexual preference.
