Hours and hours dragged by. I did everything I could to distract myself from my rising anxiety. What was going to happen? Was mom going to leave dad? Was this the end of our family? I cleaned up the garage to the point that it was neater than my father ever kept it. The words, 'the scene of the crime,' rolled around in my head mocking me whole time. Suppertime came and went and they still weren't home. Eventually, my anxiety subsided, and was replaced by a sad resignation. I really wasn't sure what was going to be the outcome of this, but I was sure it wouldn't be good. And then this odd, reckless feeling came over me. I decided to go out, maybe get a little crazy. I didn't care.
There's this club attached to a hotel, just on the edge of town that often has a good DJ on the weekends, so it's usually packed with young people, and the scene is always loud and raucous. That's what I was craving and that's where I found myself at around 11 that night. The place was starting to fill up. The music was thumping. Colored, flashing lights cast over a sea of writhing bodies with lots of hot, single girls jumping up and swaying seductively. I could sense the excitement in the room, and I had this vague notion that I was going to hook up with someone, maybe get fucked. Why not? It'd happened before. That would help me blow off some steam, I thought. But, no dice. Two hours and about a dozen failed pick-up attempts later, I was probably the only guy in the place not dancing with a girl. So, I decided to bench myself. Perhaps a good soaking in bourbon was the best I was going to manage that night.
So, I retired to the lounge adjoining the dance club. Dimly lit in pink neon, giant video screens silently playing sports highlights dominated the décor. Great, I thought to myself, Looserville.
"A double, Jack," I said sidling up to a long, seemingly empty bar. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the racks and racks of booze and I thought, this is such a cliché. I'm like some burnout in a second rate movie. The drink was placed on a coaster in front of me by an older guy in a vest and bow tie, and I took out my wallet to pay.
"It's covered, sir," he said discretely leaning in. "The lady at the end of the bar." I thought he was just trying to fuck with me, but his head nodded to one side, and I thought there was a bit of a smile on his face. Then he turned and walked away. I was stunned. Talk about a cliché. I looked, and there really was a woman with short blond hair, in a strapless black dress smiling at me. I wasn't sure how to handle this. No woman had ever come on to me like this before. But, after the night I was having I thought that I needed to take advantage of whatever fate was sending my way. So, I picked up my drink and walked over to her. As I got closer I saw that she was not remotely the same age as the girls I had been pursuing in the dance club. She was a lot older, and stacked. A real MILF.
I approached, a bit nervous, but, smiling, and raised my glass to her. "Thank you," I said.
"You're welcome," she smiled back.
"May I join you?" I tried to be cool, and not to sound like a douche.
"Of course, honey," she said. I took the barstool beside her. I was immediately struck by a sweet, but subtle perfume that rose from her. I liked it and wanted to smell more. I notice the redness of her lips, the brightness of her eyes and the prominence of he cheeks.
"My name's Jeffery," I said. I held my hand out, but couldn't help glancing at her body. She was in no way slim, but the way she filled out the dress was very sexy. Her neck, shoulders and arms were smooth and elegant, and her ample breasts were fully displayed by a deep neckline, and accented by a delicate pearl necklace resting just below her throat.
"Dolores," she replied, and took my hand, not delicately, as I expected, but fully and she shook it firmly.
"Hi, Dolores," I said.
"Looks like you were having a bad night," she said, and lifted a martini glass to her lips.
"What do you mean?" I said.
"Well, you've been trying all night to hook up with someone, and you've had no luck." I was stunned. I think my jaw actually dropped.
"Ah..." I uttered. "How do you know?"
"I was in the club earlier. I spotted you the moment you came in. I thought you were really cute. But, you were carrying some obvious emotional burden, something troubling you. I could see it on your face. And then, of course," she paused, took a deep breath, and gave me a wicked smile. "I watched you strike out, I can't say how many times."
"Yeah," I sighed. "It was pretty bad."
"You know, women can sense these things. Even though those ditzy, little, boppers in there weren't aware of it consciously, they got a vibe from you, your facial expression, your tone of voice, the way you moved that put them off. That's why you got no play, no matter how hard you tried."
"Wow," I said. "You're quite the spy."
"Hm. I'm a keen observer of people." She took another sip of her drink.
"Well," I took a deep breath, hesitated, then asked the question of the night, "Why are you interested in me?" I looked her straight in the eyes. They were nice eyes. Kind, inviting. She smiled silently at me for a long time.
"I told you. You're cute." She gently placed her hand on top of mine. "Besides, I knew you were troubled, not trouble. So, I thought I'd arrange to meet you. And I have, and I was right. You are a very sweet boy. I'm a pretty good judge of character. I have to be in my profession."
"Well, I am flattered. Really, and please don't stop with the compliments, but, if you don't mind me asking, what do you do?" I turned my hand palm up to take hers more intimately.
