*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
OOooOOOooOO
Leaving the St. Elizabeth Parish Courthouse, Polly Chastaine was deliriously happy. A crisp October breeze blew in from the north, bringing with it the smells of autumn; fallen leaves, a fireplace blazing and crackling nearby, even the hint of rain. That hint of rain could not quell Polly's happiness at winning a major victory for her client.
Putting the battered old briefcase into the passenger seat of her Smart Car, Polly glanced at her Rolex watch, seeing that it was three seventeen.
The briefcase had been a gift from Polly's grandmother. Polly's maternal grandmother had been the only one in the family to say that Polly not only had the brains, but the right to become an attorney.
"And, she got the right to go to school," Marie Couvillion had declared. "So, Ann Marie? You shush right now with that she just needs find herself a good man get married yeah."
The Rolex watch had been a graduation gift from her mother and father. Polly knew her mother was still hoping that Polly would just find a good man, get married, have plenty babies, and just forget this nonsense of being a lawyer. Especially since the passing of Jerry Chastaine, Ann Marie was hoping for a grandson that would be named Gerald David.
Arriving at the office of Banks, Chastaine, Greene & Associates, Polly again admired the gleaming sign that bore her name. She almost reached out to touch the 'C' of her name stenciled on the glass door of the office building.
After completing the closing on Kirsten Landry's new home, Polly shut everything down and wished Kirsten and Kirsten's roommate, Robin Theriot a good weekend. Polly double-checked that everything was shut down; she was borderline OCD. She then let the two giggling girls and the paralegal that had notarized the sale out into the early evening. That was Polly's only complaint about the fall season; sundown came far too early.
Driving along Highway 19 toward her Kimble, Louisiana home Polly passed 'The Casual' bar. She remembered seeing a blurb on Channel 12 about the bar acquiring a cache of one hundred and twenty nine year old whiskey from Oakleaf, Texas. The whiskey was being sold for twenty five dollars a shot,"
"Know what? I want to know what one hundred year old whiskey tastes like," Polly said aloud and pulled into the parking lot of a shoe store, performed a U-Turn and pulled into the parking lot of The Casual.
The name of the bar was not a misnomer. There was absolutely nothing fancy or flashy about the bar. Dark paneling, dark furniture, recessed lighting, and soft piano music tinkling from hidden speakers.
The bar was not dingy or run-down. The leather barstool was soft, warm as Polly sat down. The bartender, a handsome older man nodded to let Polly know he had seen her. He then finished shaking the vodka martini for his customer and set it onto a cocktail napkin.
"Good evening, Ma'am, and what'll you have?" the man asked, smiling.
"I saw on the news about your whiskey?" Polly asked.
"Oakleaf?" the man smiled wider. "And just had to see what one hundred and twenty nine year old whiskey tastes like, am I right?"
"Yes," Polly smiled.
"You know its twenty five a shot, right?" the man asked, reaching for the prominently displayed bottle.
"Yep, but I just won a pretty big case; I think I deserve it," Polly smiled.
"A lawyer, huh?" Terry smiled as he carefully poured the rich amber liquid into a small glass. "Do you know...?"
"Don't. I've heard every lawyer joke out there," Polly smiled as Terry set the glass in front of her. "What you might not know? There are only two lawyer jokes. All the rest of them are true."
Terry laughed and waited as Polly picked up the glass. His smile widened as Polly took a cautious sip of the aged whiskey.
"Hmm? So, what you think?" Terry asked as Polly let the alcohol sit in her mouth a moment before swallowing.
"I think that has to be some of the best whiskey I've ever tasted," Polly said. "I can see why it's twenty five dollars a shot."
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While Polly Chastaine sat in The Casual, slowly savoring the taste of the expensive whisky, Whitney Sidowski gave a hard look in the faded mirror that hung on her closet and nodded with satisfaction. At first, she'd not been sure about the shorter hairstyle, but now absolutely loved it.
"My wife, Ethel, is a receptionist with Richards, Pellichet, Jones and associates," Richard Gerrard had smiled, standing in front of Whitney's desk. "And she tells me, being a receptionist is hard work, especially when you have a butt hole of a boss."
"Oh, the poor girl," Whitney had sympathized with Ethel Gerrard. "Does she need...?"
"Anyway," Richard chuckled at the beautiful girl's lack of comprehension. "Happy birthday, Ms. Sidowski. I know I don't say this often enough, but you are a great asset to PC Nation."
"Huh?" Whitney asked, confused.
Richard Gerrard had never said that Whitney was an asset to PC Nation. To Whitney, it seemed that Mr. Gerrard had nothing but complaints about Whitney's telephone abilities, her manner of dress, and her lack of organizational skills.
Inside of the birthday card was a gift card for T. Dayton Hair Salon. Whitney had been ecstatic and had immediately called the salon to make an appointment. Other employees of the PC Nation Data Center also gave Whitney birthday cards and one young geek made Whitney laugh happily when he gave her a yoyo.
"Just because you're getting a little older, don't forget, it's important to still be a kid," the nerd had blushed.
"Thanks, John-John," Whitney smiled, then answered the phone. "PC Nation Data Center; how may I direct your call?"
Plopping down into Rita Garcia's chair, Whitney asked the attractive Latina if she could make Whitney look more professional. The young woman looked at Whitney's brilliant green eyes in the mirror.
"I'm tired of everyone always thinking I'm just this dumb blonde?" Whitney had declared.
"Well then, let's get started," Rita had smiled, taking a handful of Whitney's light blonde hair and brandishing the scissors.
The impact had been immediate. Richard, her supervisor had stopped, looked at Whitney, then snapped a picture of the uncertain girl with his cell. John-John had blushed and said Whitney looked stunning. One woman even told Whitney she was jealous
Now, standing in the small bedroom of her tiny apartment, Whitney gave a little shake of her head. She turned and lifted the hem of her bright red dress and checked that the stockings were lined up right.
"I do got a cute butt," Whitney giggled to herself, smoothing down the dress.
The dress was made of soft cotton, with a deep V-neck that showed off Whitney's 30Dbreasts. The soft material clung to Whitney's form, accenting Whitney's 26 inch waist and 31 inch hips. Because of the clingy nature of the material, Whitney couldn't wear undergarments; the lines would be very noticeable in the dress.
Whitney had seen on Channel 12, on a newscast with that really pretty reporter, Chelsea Duhon, the bar right up the street had whiskey that was selling for twenty five dollars a shot. Whitney couldn't afford whiskey priced that high, but did want to meet one or two men that could afford that kind of whiskey.
The brisk October air greeted Whitney as she stepped out of her apartment. Her nipples reacted, stiffening to two bullet points in her dress. The wind blew the hem of her dress up and the slit on the left side allowed the hem to flap open, exposing Whitney's thatch of blonde pubic hair. With a squeal and giggle, Whitney pushed the hem down, covering her crotch.
"Thank God Mr. Arnaud wasn't around," Whitney whispered, thinking of the old man that lived right next door.
Stepping down into the parking lot, Whitney decided to leave her car in front of the apartment. The bar was just three blocks away, then across Highway 19. If she did meet a nice man, she didn't want to have to leave her car in front of the bar. Or, have to drive back to the decrepit old apartment building and get into her new friend's car. This way, if she did get lucky, they could just go straight from the bar to wherever.
OOooOOOooOO
"Ready for another one?" Terry smiled as Polly put the empty glass onto the bar.
"Hmm, I, damn, I know anything I get after that? Is going be a big giant let down," Polly smiled. "But, no. How 'bout a whiskey sour?"
"Yes ma'am," Terry chuckled and made the drink.
