A slow song plays, and my eyes are fixed on the bottles on display behind the counter. Friday evenings: me, a glass of martini, my thoughts, making plans for another week.
The air I breathe in blends with a sweet scent, a perfume, and I look left. A lady wearing a short dress sits on the stool beside me, the side of her face hidden behind black, glistening hair that flows over her shoulder. Placing her hands on the counter, a mobile phone is in her left hand and a purse in her right. I take a sip, my eyes fixed on her. Then I clear my throat, hoping she would look in my direction so that I can see her face.
She doesn’t, and a few moments later, she taps on the phone’s screen. It looks like she’s texting. Maybe she’s waiting for someone.
“Hi,” I say.
She glances at me, lips shimmering red, beautiful protruding eyes.
“Hi.” Her voice: raspy.
“I love red. I like your dress."
“Thanks,” she says, without taking her eyes off the phone.
I take a long sip, thinking of what to say to keep the conversation going. Just as I’m about to speak, the bartender asks what he should get her.
“Martini,” she says and stops talking for a few seconds. And when she continues, I’m impressed. I love when a lady knows exactly how she wants her martini.
“I also like my martini dry,” I say.
She turns and smiles.
I extend my hand. “I’m Bruce.”
“Katy.”
After a few hours of knowing each other better, and flirting, we leave the bar together, holding hands until we get to where my car is parked. I'd offered to drop her off at home, and crazy thoughts run through my mind. What if she asks me to come inside for a drink? Does she want what I want?
I start the engine. “Kingston Ave,” she says.
At 9:23, I pull over and she steps out. She thanks me for the ride and starts toward the driveway. No kiss. Damn! I step out and follow her, tapping her shoulder when I’m close.
“I know it’s kinda late, but do you mind if we spend some time… together?” I hear myself say.
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “No, Bruce.”
She continues walking, her heels clicking on the ground. My eyes fall on her hot legs. I walk quickly and hold her hand. She faces me. I ask again, specifying we should only spend a few minutes together. Pulling her hand away from mine, she looks into my eyes.
“Bruce, do you really want to spend a few minutes - with me?”
“Yes.” My heart beats faster. I’m a damn lucky man. A one-night stand is almost guaranteed.
“Okay,” she says.
We walk together to the front door. While she reaches for the key in her purse, I put my hand around her shoulder and pull her close until our bodies make contact. It kind of feels like a charge flows into my body from hers. I hope she won’t resist when I try; I hope she won’t ask me to leave after a few minutes.
We step inside, and she switches on the lights. The palatial sitting room has white walls and cream-colored furniture. I wonder why a gorgeous, young lady would live alone in such a big house. Did she lie? Is her husband out of town?
While I’m admiring the luxury around me, I ask, “Do you really live alone?”
“Been living alone for years,” she says. I look toward the sofa, where she was standing a few seconds ago, and notice she isn’t there. I look around and she isn’t anywhere, but I hear her heels hitting the floor.
“Katy.”
I look around again, and again, at every corner, still hearing the heels. Then suddenly, I see a door opened on my left. And the sound seizes. She’s inside there. What’s wrong with me? I sigh, walk over and look into the room.
It’s empty. Looking behind the door, the sound of her heels starts again and it seems it’s coming toward me from behind. I walk quickly to the front door. What the fuck!
“Katy, are you playing a prank on me,” I say as I grab the door handle.
But—the door is locked. I force it. I push and pull. I hit it with all my energy. The lights begin to dim, slowly, as if they are being adjusted. The heels start clicking again, close.
“Katy. Katy!” I run and grab a side table and throw it at a window. It’s as if I threw it at a wall. My heart bangs against my chest. I look around for anything strong enough to break the window.
“Don’t break anything in my house!”
The voice is deafening. I turn around and see the form of a woman in a distance, beside the staircase. I scream for a second. The lights are so dim that I can barely see the chairs in the sitting room. I put my quivering hand over my eyes, hoping I would soon wake up, hoping it’s all a dream. Then I start hearing voices: male voices, female voices, kids laughing. It goes on and on for several minutes, and I start to feel like I’m going crazy. I open my eyes, and the female form is still at the same spot. I walk to the door and try opening it again, looking back every other second to check if the female form has changed position.
The voices seize.
“Bruce.”
I freeze.
It’s Katy’s voice, and it sounded right behind me.
“Ple-please,” I say, trying to force the door open.
“Look at me—now or…”
The only sound I can hear is my heavy breathing as I take forever to make a 180-degree turn.
First, my eyes fall on black shoes. Then I look up slowly to a skirt, and then a top. Next, a neck full of wrinkles and it looks illuminated. And when I see the face, also illuminated, I cover my eyes with both hands. Katy looks thirty years older.
I shudder, too scared to move or speak, waiting for the worst.
“You wanted to spend a few minutes. Now leave.”
I remain in the same spot, wondering how I’ll leave when the door is locked.
“Now!”
A strong wind blows the door open, and it slams into my back. The pain is intense. I have to get out of this place. I turn and take a step to run. But a force pulls me back into the house. I grab the door handle. Struggling, my hand gradually slips.
Moments from defeat, I stretch my right leg and manage to push it out the door. And then suddenly the backward force stops, and I fall forward. I stand up and run. Getting to my car, my chest heaving, I reach into my pocket for my keys.
It isn’t there.
Original image source: Pixabay
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