Dark and Stormy
The dance floor is packed. It’s sweaty, people swaying back and forth to the music that’s beating a decibel too loud and just enough where the buzz is wearing off. After 3 drinks it’s hard to make out anyone in the crowd. They were supposed to meet here at 7:30, it’s close to 8 with no sign of them. Typical, she thinks as she wades through people and continues sipping at her scotch and water. She’s getting too old for this; yet every week she’s here in the same bar, same drink in her hand waiting for a ghost she knows she’s never going to see. The lights begin to strobe throughout the club and she feels her heart start to jump a bit at the thought of potentially seeing him tonight. The ghost. The reason she comes here night after night. She knows she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be downing so many drinks but she can’t help it. It’s a compulsion, an obsession almost. She can’t get out of it. Can’t find a way out no matter how hard she tries.
The bar is starting to empty a bit. She decides sitting there might be her best bet of catching sight of him. The past few Fridays he’s been there, with his whiskey neat looking like he’s just stepped out of a GQ catalog. They could be so great together. Each time they’ve talked and danced she’s felt it. An all encompassing feeling of love or maybe lust that sustains her for days. Tonight she feels sure it’s time to make the next move. She can feel it. They’ve gone through all the steps. Talked, drank, danced. They’ve exchanged numbers and text frequently. She’s sure tonight is the night.
At 8:30 she gathers her last bit of courage in the form of one more drink before looking up and noticing him coming towards her at a rapid pace. He looks distressed and even so, handsome as ever in his perfectly cut suit. She gets up to greet him but instead of stopping at her, he moves past her to another woman sitting at the other end of the bar. She had noticed her but didn’t really look at her. She was wearing a tight red dress, minimal jewelry, one of which she could see as clear as day, a small gold wedding band on her left ring finger. Just then she hears the familiar ping of a text message coming in.
“Sorry, can’t make it tonight, held up at work. Let’s catch up later this week. Can’t wait to see you!”
Well, there it is. She hesitates for a few seconds before ordering a whiskey neat, telling the bartender where to send it. He looks up for a brief moment, she raises her glass to him and notices his wife fitting the pieces together. Before she can come to a conclusion, she slips away from the bar. Her phone starts buzzing with text messages that she knows are from him. Without giving it a second thought she blocks his number and makes her way back into the hoards of dancers, sweaty, loud, free.