She was easy on the eyes but hard on the heart. The Santa Ana winds had blown into town, and my throat was as dry as desert sand. She stood behind the bar, wiping it down in a robotic fashion. She had dark, shoulder-length hair and piercing blue eyes. Her ample bosom left an ache in my loins. Angie knew I was waiting for her to attend me, but she pretended I wasn’t there. I couldn’t blame her—Angie and I had a history.
A month earlier, I mustered the courage to ask her out. Her gentle lips widened at the proposition, and her porcelain skin glowed. “What did you have in mind, cowboy?” she asked
I was eager to impress her with my masculinity, but I didn’t want our relationship to start with a lie. “I’m not a cowboy,” I said, “I’m a yoga instructor.”
“A tough guy like you,” she said, “I find that hard to believe.” I grabbed my right leg and placed it on the back of my neck. She must have been impressed because the popup turkey timer went off in her bra. “Is that all you got?” she asked
I grabbed my left leg and also put it around my neck. It was difficult balancing on my tail bone, and I toppled to the floor with a thud. Angie leaned across the bar and asked if I was okay. I must have looked like a human paperclip.
She placed both hands on the bar, thrust her legs in the air, and stuck the dismount. I don’t mind telling you it was a turn on. This woman could pommel my horse anytime. She rolled me over and helped me untangle one of my legs. The ache in my loins grew when she touched me, but this time it might have been a hernia.
Our first date had gotten off to a rocky start when I asked her if she wanted to leave the sleazy life of a bartender. “Don’t you hate it when a bunch of drunken creeps hit on you?” I said. Again, she asked me what I had in mind.
“Angie,” I said, “picture this. You and I live in a five-thousand square foot home. Our two children, Matthew and Lori, jump on their Sea-Doo’s and race around our private lake. At night our personal chef prepares us a gourmet meal. How does that sound?”
She reached across the table and touched my hand. “It sounds amazing,” she said. “but this is our first date. Aren’t you moving a little fast? Two kids, a private lake.?”
I grabbed a paper napkin and showed her the life we could have as Amway distributors. She threw her drink at me and stood up. I pleaded with her not to leave. My credit card was maxed out, and I had hoped we could split the bill. But that’s all a distant memory now. I had been going to the bar every day since, wishing to apologize, but first I had to get her to talk to me.
“Angie,” I said a little louder than I had intended. “Get me the usual.”
She put away her towel and turned to make my drink. She hadn’t bothered to look at me. I watched her cut a mini watermelon in half and scoop out the fruit. She placed it in the blender and gave it a single pulse. She filled the empty rind with vodka and poured the slushy fruit back in. A bendable straw and umbrella completed the job. “One watermelon vodka,” she said. She pushed the drink in my direction without making eye contact.
I reached over and grabbed her wrist. “Angie, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Can’t we make a go of this?”
Her breasts heaved, and her blue marbles gave me a look that chilled my drink—no need for ice with this broad.
At long last, she spoke to me. “You know you can’t be here.”
“It would take the Grand Canyon to keep me away from you.”
“I don’t need the Grand Canyon,” she said. She reached under the bar and pulled out a piece of paper. “All I need is this restraining order.”
“Come on, Angie,” I pleaded. “All you need to do is get a hundred distributors under you, and we could live the life we talked about.”
“Stop hounding me,” she said as she walked to the end of the bar.
“Outside the Santa Ana’s kicked up dirt devils in the barren street. I sipped my watermelon vodka and waited for a beautiful woman to sit next to me. I needed someone to help me forget Angie. Just then, a wrinkled broad in musty clothes sat next to me. She had the breath of a dragon, and could have used a laser to remove some of the hair from her face.”
“Screw you,” the woman said.
I must have been thinking out loud again. Much like ordering girly drinks, it was a habit I was trying to break. Last-call came at one-thirty. I knew it would be another hour before Angie closed up.
I finished my drink in a hurry. I had consumed enough watermelon to feed a picnic. I walked across the street to my car. I put my butt on the torn Naugahyde seat, and a piece of stuffing worked its way out. The neon sign clicked off, and I told my brain to wake me in thirty minutes. I shut my eyeballs.
I woke an hour later from a drunken slumber. I lit a match and blew it out. It didn’t flare, so I figured I was sober enough to drive home. It was my own field sobriety test. I waited for her to come out. It was fifteen minutes later than I thought it would be. Even though we weren’t talking much, I still had the hots for Angie.
I watched a male figure approach her in the shadows. I slapped my face and cleared my eyes. Angie turned and bumped into him. I tried to open the car door, but it stuck. I prepared to warn her when I saw her lock lips with the wind-blown man. Like I said earlier, she was easy on the eyes but hard on the heart. They walked away, arm-in-arm. I wanted to ask him what he said to get Angie to date him. As they passed under the dingy street light, I thought I recognized the man. I didn’t think a heart could break twice in one night, but it can. The stranger was a Tupperware distributor.