[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

 What s wrong with her? I asked the bartender.
He shrugged and handed me another VO and
Seven.  Don t know.
 She come here often?
 Never seen her before. Just came in, brushed
a few tears away, and asked for a brandy.
I watched her for a while. Every now and then
she d blush and slam down her glass. Then she d
cringe and look around. She radiated anger.
I waited.
After two more brandies, she softened. Her
pretty pert little lips opened slightly, and she turned
her eyes to me. To me!
I looked right back, wondering what she was
thinking. She smiled slightly, and I took that as my
cue. I walked over to her.  Okay, I know it was a
lame line, but you don t seem the mean type.
She shifted on the bar stool and bit her lip. It
was too lush to stay between her teeth for long; it
popped out and bounced. I wanted to try it, too.
See what it would be like to play with those pretty
red lips. She blushed. She was flustered by me.
That was a good sign, I thought.
 I ve had an awful day, she said.  I m sorry.
And I shouldn t have snapped at you.
A man, I guessed. Of course, she d already
have a guy. She was pretty, and even in anger
she d radiated niceness. She d have her night in
the bar, and tomorrow she d go back to him, and
they d make up, and I d never see her again.
I touched her arm anyway.  Tell me about it.
I don t know why I wanted to stay. Maybe I was
lonely. And if I couldn t make my night brighter, at
least I could make hers a little better. See what she
looked like with a smile on her face and her eyes
twinkling.
62
She did have eyes that would twinkle, I
guessed.
 I can t, she said.  I ruined everything.
I sensed that pressing her right now would
cause her to stop talking. I sat in silence and
waited for her to say something else.
But she didn t.  Everything? I prodded.  Surely
not.
 My job, my apartment, my livelihood. Her lips
trembled.  Everything s falling apart.
I waved at the bartender and saw to it she got
another brandy, hoping it would fortify her.
 How d you manage all that? I asked, after
she d composed herself.
Her eyes grew round.  All my fault, she
whispered.  I was late.
I frowned. I don t much like lateness. I have a
strict policy in my company: three times in a
quarter, and you re out. I ve always considered
lateness to not only be disrespectful, but also pure
laziness.
 Late to work? I asked.
She nodded.
 That s just pure laziness.
She gasped.  But it wasn t my fault! The line at
Starbucks was extra long, and they had a new guy
 very slow.
I started to chide her, but she held up her hand.
 And so I missed the subway. And so I ran up
to catch a taxi, and some guy stole it from me!
I frowned.
 And when I finally caught one, the stupid driver
got in an accident. She shook her head.  And had
the gall to ask me to stick around to be a witness to
prove that it wasn t his fault.
 Well, that seems like a valid excuse to me.
 Yeah, well. She shifted in her seat.  It s my
fifth time. Excuses, even valid ones, don t work so
well after five times.
63
I laughed.  Okay, okay, but I hardly see how
that s ruined everything.
She shrugged.
 You re young. You re what, late twenties, early
thirties?
She nodded.
 Believe me, short of a felony, there s not a
whole lot that s going to ruin your whole life.
She looked at me, angry.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Young and stupid, huh?
I looked right back at her.  Sounds like you ve
heard it before.
She cringed.  You know, I m a nice person. A
good person. I m not lazy, and I m not
irresponsible. I just don t like mornings.
I was about to chastise her again when she said,
 And besides, I m usually out until midnight
volunteering on the phones at the rape crisis center.
I get dinner and then I m in bed at two, but it sure
makes it hard to get up at six.
Valid point, I thought. I made a note to
investigate why employees were late before
enforcing my hard-lined late policy next time.
She pouted.  I wish they d just understand
that.
I could rescue her, I thought. Sweep her off her
feet. Give her a job. But I sensed that wouldn t be
right.
 Maybe that s something you should work on, I
suggested.
 Work on? she slurred. She was getting really
drunk.  What do you mean, work on?
Her lips pouted. Oh wow, that s the French pout
all right. I wanted to kiss her more than anything.
She was drunk, I told myself. It wouldn t be right.
 Come here next Friday, and I ll take you to dinner,
I said.
64
She just looked at me. She had long eyelashes.
Natural ones.  What do you do? I asked. The
inevitable question.
 I move money around.
I raised an eyebrow.
 I m a trader. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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