by Rusk, Day
What had he thought, he tried desperately to remember. Oh yeah, if only I was twenty years younger.
Leonard watched as she ordered a drink and took note that he wasn’t alone in watching her; many of the men in the bar had noticed her; the women too, but with less enthusiasm; this woman brought back memories of first conquests and the first time these men had ever seen a woman naked and willing to sleep with them, but for the women at Tabby’s she was a reminder of what had once been, and how no matter how much the men around them claimed they liked a mature woman, deep down the firmness of youth still held their attention and desires. He could understand the regular women’s subtle animosity towards her; if some young guy, who had yet to develop that paunch around his mid-drift, had walked into the bar and all the ladies took notice, he’d probably be a little peeved; he didn’t need a reminder of what once was, only to face the reality of what is.
Leonard watched her for a bit, lost in the nostalgia of youth, but then turned his attention away. There was no point in leering like a fool. She was obviously in the wrong place and would figure that out sooner than later.
It was only after he had set his sights on an attractive forty something business woman sitting at a table by the bar’s front window, and was prepared to make his way over to her for introductions, that the younger woman approached him. He saw her coming around the end of the bar; she appeared to be heading for him, but that was impossible; his heart raced a little faster and he questioned the integrity of his blood pressure medicine, as he realized he’d been right and she was approaching him. His throat tightened, and he had to take a quick sip of his scotch, to wash away the dryness that had suddenly afflicted it; he hadn’t been this nervous in a long time. Despite having been out of the dating world for more than two decades, he’d fallen into a rhythm at Tabby’s that worked for him; he knew he was no great prize, but also knew, or at least believed, the woman he approached felt the same. They were mutually past their ‘best before’ dates, so they were on equal footing. She threw the bell curve completely out of whack.
He’d expected her to ask him something frivolous, like where is there a bar with people under thirty, or something like that when she’d actually asked him, “Buy me a drink?”
She laughed a little as he just looked at her. She had a smile that would have had him signing over the mortgage if he hadn’t all ready lost the house to his ex-wife. He figured he must have looked like a deer caught in headlights.
“A girl gets thirsty,” she said.
God, she was beautiful.
Leonard had forgotten the business woman by the front window, although deep down he knew they were better suited for one another. He’d heard about ‘leagues.’ His teenage daughter had brought them up while talking on the phone with her girlfriends. “He’s not in your league,” or “You’re out of his league,” stuff like that. Like any good parent, he stressed there was no such thing as leagues; he’d been full of shit, although he hadn’t realized it at the time. Being in a long term relationship, comfortable in your togetherness, and the predictability of your love making, made you forget a lot of things. Staring at this beautiful, young woman in front of him, he knew ‘leagues’ existed and knew he wasn’t in hers.
The woman was looking at him; she was waiting for him to do something.
“What’s your poison?” he asked. He knew it sounded kind of cheesy, but it was the best he could do. He had no idea why she was talking to him; why she was paying attention to him at all. He just wasn’t prepared for this; he bought her a drink.
That’s it, he thought, as he continued to try and move. He’d spent most of the night talking with her - small talk, nothing important. All he could remember was thinking, why in the world is this woman talking to me? He recalled scanning the faces of other men in the bar and seeing and sensing their jealousy. It made him feel good.
So what had happened?
She’d asked him to come to her place. That’s right. She’d invited him home, and he’d almost blown it. He couldn’t believe what was happening and had mentioned to her that he didn’t pay for sex; wasn’t interested in paying for sex. He figured she had to be a prostitute, why else would she be hitting on him and wanting to take him home? At first she looked hurt, but then smiled. She knew why he’d said it. She assured him she wasn’t a pro and was just looking for a good time. He’d believed it.
After that it got foggy. She’d given him something – a pill. He hadn’t wanted to take it, but was afraid he’d look pathetic and old if he didn’t. What had they said in his day, a “square?” He couldn’t believe this young, beautiful woman wanted to sleep with him, and he hadn’t wanted to ruin that by not playing along. He wanted her, and he was sure she knew it; he was also sure she knew that gave her the upper hand; he’d come this far and now he wanted to see what he had imagined when he’d undressed her with his eyes; see just how far off he had been. He swallowed the pill in her car, which had been parked, strangely, several blocks from the bar. She drove off, and that was the last he remembered; now his mind was a psychedelic mess; the effort it had taken to remember all that had left him in a sweat; he had no idea what was going on. All he knew was he’d fallen down the rabbit hole and was in a surreal world that his mind couldn’t comprehend.
Where was he? What the hell was going on?
Leonard opened his eyes and once again embraced the flow of colors, shapes and swirls that played out in front of him. It must be the pill, he thought. It had to wear off eventually.
The somewhat human blur came back into his line of corrupted vision; streaks of white and black moving towards him, and stretching out as if leaving a trail behind it.
“Who? Wha...?” he started to say, when suddenly a piercing pain struck the palm of his hand; the one that up till now he could feel, but at the same time couldn’t move. Aside from his scream, all he could hear was the sound of a little girl’s giggle.
The floor was sticky. She’d never liked that, even though it was part of the process; there was no way not to get dirty. It all washed off anyway.
She giggled.
About the Author
An entertainment journalist for over twenty years, Day Rusk learned the art of storytelling having written approximately 30 screenplays within the indie film marketplace, having optioned one, Deadly Focus to a Hollywood-based production company and having directed another, Annual Getaway as an independently shot feature film. Returning to his first love, books, The Merry Pranked, along with Tripping on Tears is his first serious foray into novel writing. Day Rusk resides in Ontario, Canada with his artist wife, Rhea and has recently completed his third novel, The Marquis Mark, a modern-day tale incorporating the writings and philosophy of the infamous Marquis de Sade. He is currently working on his fourth novel, Barkerton.
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