"You look a bit bummed, sugar," I said to her as I wiped the bar in front of her 'space' and removed her empty shot glass, then pouring the rest of her beer into her glass.
"Can't hide the obvious, I guess," she replied with a bit of a sad smile on her otherwise very cute face.
"Well sweetie, once you accept the fact that 98% of all men are blatant assholes, the disappointments they can cause doesn't seem so fucking important," I said to her in an attempt to lighten both her spirits, and the moment.
Leaving her with that thought to chew on, I greeted a couple who had walked in and sat at the far end of the bar, feeling the cold air that had entered with them. Taking the order and bringing their drinks, they immediately became engrossed in private conversation between themselves.
It was slow at my bar that particular Friday evening, no doubt a result of the terrible weather, and I had let my floor girl go home a bit early; hell, with three at the bar and another couple at a table, it wasn't anything I couldn't manage by myself. We had been busy earlier, during happy hour, but with the bad weather, the crowds died.
After checking on the couple at the table, the chick at the bar signaled for another round with a hand motion while she talked on her cell phone. Damn, I thought, she'll be in blitzville pretty soon at the rate that she was putting it down; I made a mental note to monitor her intake and not let her drive off if I thought she was impaired. The last thing I needed was a fucking lawsuit because I let someone drive away drunk.
"You might want to nurse this round, baby, you've been hitting it pretty hard," I said to her when I delivered her order. She nodded her agreement with the same sad smile still planted on her face.
The couple at the table got up, said goodnight, and walked out as I retrieved their glasses and wiped the table. As I did so, Ms. Sadface punched up a couple of tunes on the jukebox, her body slowly moving to the sounds as she picked a couple of more.
Saying goodnight to the couple at the bar and cleaning their spaces, I checked the time and debated about closing early since it was slow and the weather outside just plain sucked.
"It wasn't a guy that stood me up," I heard my last remaining customer say as I checked the register readings.
"Excuse me?" I said since I hadn't heard her clearly, or so I thought.
"It wasn't a guy," she repeated, a noticeable slur in her voice now; that, and the slightly glassy-eyed look told me that she was definitely cut off.
"Well, gals can be bitchy as well, sweetie," I offered in response, "either way, it sucks to be stood up."
"I hear that," her voice still slurring.
"Sweetie, you need to hand me your car keys; I can't let you drive away in your condition," steeling myself for the argument I knew was coming. Surprisingly though, she reached into her purse and threw me her keys, which I stashed next to the register.
"Look," I said, "I'll call you a cab and you can pick up your car tomorrow, okay?"
She nodded her agreement and threw down the remaining shot, and took a long pull at her bottle of beer, not bothering with the frosted mug I had given her. Picking up the phone, I called the cab service I regularly use for driving drunks home and was greeted with a surprising answer.
"Trish," the dispatcher said to me, "there's not a shot in hell of getting a cab to your place, have you looked outside?"
Walking to the front door, I opened it and was greeted by a blast of cold air and blowing snow; looking to the street, I couldn't see it because of the white-out conditions.
"Great," I muttered, "okay Joe, thanks anyway, I'll figure something out," and clicking off the hand-set, I chewed my lip in thought, while staring down to the floor.
"Got a problem, sugar," I said to my lady at the bar, "there's no cabs available and there won't be for quite a while by the looks of the blizzard that's going on outside."
"Guess you and I are stuck with each other then, aren't we?" she replied.
"Well, me, not so much; I have a small apartment, above the bar that I can use, so I'm good," I jokingly responded.
"Well, since we can't go anywhere, let me buy you a drink," she said with a smile that wasn't so sad.
What the hell, I thought, might as well and I set us both up with a shot and a beer.
"I'm Trish," I introduced myself to her, "and you're...?"
"Horny and stood up," she joked, then added, "Marge, Trish, I'm Marge."
"Please to meet you, Marge," I replied and lifting my glass to hers, and she to me, we threw the Tequila back, both of us grimacing at the fiery burning sensation to our throats.
We talked and the long and short of her story was simply this; she was supposed to be meeting an on-line chat partner for the first time and her 'date' hadn't showed up.
"She was looking for her first bi-experience and I guess she chickened out," Marge said to me. Seeing the small smile on my face, she added, "Oops, too much information?"
"Quite alright," I countered, "I'm not exactly Ms. Prim and Proper myself," pouring us both another shot.
We threw that one down as well and then I went and locked up, just as the last song she had punched came up in rotation. Jumping off of her bar stool, she grabbed my hand as I walked past and said, "Dance with me, Trish? I mean, if you want to, that is."
I must have been feeling those two quick shots; well that and the other four or five I had during the evening when regulars had bought me a shot to do with them.
"Sure, why not? Sure as hell, we're not going anywhere," and with that said, I let her take the lead and followed her movements on the small dance floor of my bar.
She was a good dancer, was Marge, and I found myself relaxing in her embrace. She was a little bit taller than me, probably 5'8", give or take an inch, with short, brown hair and dark brown eyes. I figured her to be near my weight, maybe 125 lbs. and while she wasn't the next glamour model for Elle, she wasn't unattractive, either.
"I really like this song," she said softly while we moved to the music, the warmth of her breath next to my ear and cheek sending a wake-up call to Ms. Priss. Well hell, it'd been a few months since my last tango in bed and with the shots and all, it's no wonder that Ms. Priss got all tingly.
Marge sensed something, though what, I'm not sure. But as she moved us effortlessly around in small circles, I found myself responding to her embrace. And when her lips lightly brushed against my cheek, I stifled a sigh of excitement.
Jesus, I thought, had it been that long since I balled someone?
