(8)
— Originally publshed in The MacGuffin, Spring 2004
Continued from page (7)
She raised her eyebrows, pursed her lips, and blew air toward the
ocean. “She doesn’t sound like your basic life-of-the-party type.”
“The gimlet’s showing.”
“Sorry. I’d rather not talk about her. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”
She rested the rim of her glass on her lower lip and twirled it. “I’d love to
see your room.”
“That’s it. I’m cutting you off.”
“I’m not propositioning you. I’ll probably never have another chance to
see the inside of the Tickle Pink.”
“Forget it.” He chuckled in spite of himself. “You’re funny when you’re
tipsy.”
“Buy me one more,” she said, “and I’ll quit.”
“No.”
“Spoilsport.” She grabbed his arm. “I know what. Give me your key.
I’ll go up and take a look. Then no one will think we’re into hanky-panky.”
“They assume we are. They think we’re newlyweds.”
She poked him in the ribs and held out her palm. “Baby, may I have
the key to our room, please. Honey. Lover boy, you handsome, devil, you.
How’m I doing?”
“Flutter your eyelashes and lick your lips. That’s better.” He reached
into his pocket and stopped. “How long’re you going to be?”
“Fifteen minutes max. Hand it over. Sweetheart. Buy me another
gimlet. I’ll carry it with me. That way they’ll know I’m coming right back.
Darling.”
He caught the waitress as she passed. “Two more.”
Roxie crossed her legs and pulled her skirt up half an inch. “You won’t
regret this, handsome.” She gave him an exaggerated leer and patted his
leg. “Hey, hunky, the key, please?”
He handed it to her. Her hand was still on his leg when the waitress
arrived, studiously ignored it, and set down their drinks.
“This’ll be our last,” Jamey said. “Check.”
“Would you like to put that on your account?”
“Fine.”
“May I see your room key?”
Roxie held it out. When the waitress glanced at Roxie’s ring finger,
Roxie followed her eyes and gave her a fatuous smile. “I’m not married.”
TOM'S TALES