Watching her as she approaches the bar I smile.
"Same again please," she offers on a pleasant smile in exchange, her sparkling light blue eyes fixing on me as she slid the empty tumbler across the bar towards me.
O'Leary's was quiet, Mondays were always a little hit and miss in terms of any significant number of patrons.
A little after half nine and it was fair to suggest we'd probably seen any peak in customers we were likely to see. As a consequence of the regular lack of custom at the beginning of the week only Steve and I worked the bar, given that as a result we did not have to pay anyone else from the pitiful takings we would make for the nights trade. I did not mind so much tonight, the lingering impact of a heavy weekend had left me physically drained still. Last orders could not come soon enough. A deep sleep needed to fully recharge my batteries.
"Single Jack and Diet Coke," I reply as she refreshes her smile in confirmation.
"Actually... make it a double," she offers immediately as I pick up her glass and flip it through the air, catching it in my left hand before placing it in a rack of empties to be placed in the glass washer between now and the end of the night.
"We'll... it is a Monday" I smirk as I reach under the bar for a fresh glass.
As I speak she doesn't respond but slips up onto a high legged stool at the bar. I had seen her enter about an hour ago, her eyes had scanned the bar on arrival, whereby she had ordered her first drink and taken a booth in the far corner of the bar. Checking her phone and the watch on her left wrist regularly across that time.
Other than her straight fringe her dark hair is scraped back off her slightly tanned complexion and sat in neat bun on top of her head. Her firm fuller figure squeezed into a tight fitting black long sleeve dress the hem of which sat an inch or two above her knee revealing the slight glimpse of her leg between the skirt of her dress and the black suede over the knee boots with a silver spiked stiletto heel that clad her lower legs. Over her left arm now was slung the short black leather jacket she had been wearing on arrival.
She was curvaceous I concluded as I set the freshly poured drink back before her, late thirties to maybe early forties if I were hazarding a guess at her age, her face was made up but not heavily so, dusky purple and pink eye shadow accentuated her stunning pale blue eyes.
"That'll be three fifty nine then please," I formally request.
Slipping her hand into her jacket pocket as it hung over her arm she took her phone as I held out the card reader. An electronic beep signalled the transaction had successfully registered.
"Drinking alone?" I offer as she makes to turn away.
"Looks that way..." she offers with a glum expression. "...Northants Underscore Mike obviously had a better offer."
Her response throws me momentarily until I realise the nature of her proposed rendezvous.
"Or he couldn't get away from the Wife he ever so strangely didn't mention while he catfishing you" I offer, thinking what an idiot Northants Underscore Mike must be to not turn up to even appreciate her beauty first hand.
My response brings a smile to her red lips, which I return.
"I never expected to be stood up at the age of 39." she offers with a little sigh. "Then again there were many things I'm doing at the age of 39 I didn't expect to be doing."
"How so?" I offer on an enquiry to discover more about her.
"Isabelle..." she offers without request stretching out a hand "Isabelle Michaelson... at least I will be between now and Friday when I can be Isabelle Fuentes once more."
"D... I... V... O..." I offer
"That'll be it..." Isabelle cut across my prolonged response, "...fifteen wasted years."
"Well Isabelle... I've never tried but internet dating must be a fucking minefield," I offer sincerely, compassionately in line with her obvious disappointment at being rejected, ghosted. "...Why put yourself through the ringer?"
"I dunno.... A girl just wants to feel wanted I guess." Isabelle responds sincerely herself, "And call me Bel... all my friends do."
"I'm your friend at I?" I offer on a grin.
"You've got a friendly face," she responds with a playful smirk.
"Why don't you take a seat at the bar... I'll keep you company even if Michael doesn't want to,"
A little over an hour later I watch as she heads towards the toilets, a little unsteady on her high heels as she rests her hand against the bar to stabilise herself. All of her subsequent drinks had been served on a very generous free hand measure with very little mixer, over the last hour in her warm company.
"What's the story?" Steve asks as he helps himself to a bottle of lager from the low fridge on the back wall of the bar.
"Bel Fuentes..." I use her soon to be reinstated maiden name "...thirty-nine-year-old soon to be divorced Mother of three... I forget their fucking names."
I see the disdain on Steve's face.
"What?" I offer
"Three kids... she's gonna have a fanny like Gandalf's sleeve."
I chuckle at his assumption
"Might beg to differ with you there my Brother dear..." I state pouring myself a single bourbon and topping up the contents of her glass. "...she's a personal trainer.... and yoga instructor .... suggests to me she'd be tighter than a duck's ass."
"And you're planning on finding out?" Steve offers on a sardonic grin.
"Interested in concurring with my assessment?" I answer his question with my own enquiry.
"I'm supposed to be playing Poker" Steve offers.
"There's too cliche a comment to respond to that with," I offer straight faced as a quarter of an hour early I reach for the bell that signals last orders to the three remaining patrons left in O'Leary's.
**********
A silence hangs momentarily over the dimly lit bar.
A silence that's broken by the sound of thick black industrial strength tape being torn from the roll clutched in my hands as I wrap Bel's boot clad ankles to securely hold them together.
I throw the roll of tape towards Steve who observes her restraint with a look of longing well known to me.
"Feeling wanted yet?" I offer quietly into her left ear as I step up behind her.
Bel stands facing the pillar that stands in the middle of the bar, her curvaceous body held in the grip of a simple yet effective restraint. The thick black duct tape wraps around the tops of her arms, the cuffs of her sleeves at her wrists. The tops of her thighs with her skirt raised just enough to apply tape over the natural colour fishnet tights that cling to her thighs, and her ankles.
Letting go of a slightly nervous exhale I watch her squirm a little against the incapacitation I have exerted over her buxom physique. A restraint she has permitted all be it with her inhibitions quelled under the heavy influence of nearly three quarters of a bottle of Jack Daniels.
