My idea journal is full of a lot of randomness. Of course, if you’re not new to the blog you’ll already know that. Today, I’m dropping a random scene that wrote a LONG time ago. This one is from WAY back before I ever decided to write Breaking Eselda, before I started this blog, and before I ever admitted I wanted to be a writer. It was rolling around in my head and it needed to get out.
Eventually, it made its way (with some serious editing) into a story that hasn’t seen the light of day in awhile. I’m still not completely happy with that story, but this scene isn’t terrible. It’s rough, it would need work, but it’s not terrible. Anyway, enjoy.
As always, this is my original work. Be cool. Don’t steal.
“Let’s go to the pub.” Zach is yelling up at me from the bottom of our narrow staircase. I’m standing in the kitchen with the fridge open and we have bugger all in there.
“You know, someone once told me I’ll never meet the perfect girl at a bloody pub,” I yell back.
“What the fuck did that person know?” he bellows.
What, indeed?
“Besides, you’re more likely to meet the perfect girl at a pub than you are to meet her in our refrigerator,” Zach points out. Touché.
We arrive at the pub and it’s already crowded. I see a leggy red-head at the bar sipping out of a dark colored drink, possibly rum and coke. She has a pretty clear don’t-bug-me-it’s-been-a-long-week face and I’m pretty sure I can strike out with her and use it as an excuse to go home. On the other hand, why not give it my best shot and see what happens?
I take an empty bar stool two over on her left, keeping an empty one between us. I flag the bartender and feint a look around the place. “Pretty crowded for a Tuesday,” I prompt. This is a test. In my experience she’ll either engage or politely blow me off. If she chooses the latter, I drink my beer and call it a night. If the chooses the former, we keep playing.
The girl looks up, glances around the bar, and shrugs. She wraps her lips around her little straw and sips. Then she answers, “it’s a nice bar.” Her eyes never leave the drink, but she still didn’t blow me off.
We’re still playing.
The bartender approaches and I order a Boddingtons. “I guess it is a nice pub, it’s really the only one I go to so I often forget to appreciate it.” This time I turn my knees in her direction, inviting her further into the conversation.
“True. It’s nice to step back and appreciate what’s right in front of you once in awhile.” There’s a playful tone to her voice.
“How often do you come here, then?” I press. “You escape the stress of your job every day?”
I’m rewarded with an adorable giggle. “No, there’s just nothing on TV tonight.” She turns toward me with her entire body and smiles. She is communicating that I have her full attention.
“Not true,” I counter. “I happen to know there’s a new episode of Thunderbolt on right now.”
Her smile turns up a notch and her chair spins even more toward my direction. It’s amazing how much people say with bodies. I wonder if she even knows what her thin frame is saying right now as she pushes her chest out just a little toward me. “True, but I actually have DVR.” She winks. “You like Thunderbolt?”
“I do.”
“Smart man.”
“Thank you.” My drink arrives and I take a long swig. Out of the corner of my eye I watch her, she is trailing her eyes coyly up and down my body. Intentionally I turn my head and catch her in the act. I smile and give her a little wink. She blushes and drops her eyes to her drink. “What other things do you enjoy?” I ask, using the deep tone of voice I know is sexy. She blushes a little. Good, I find shy to be stimulating. “Favorite movie?”
“Tuck Everlasting.” She answers after only a short pause. “You?”
I take another swig of the beer like I’m considering my answer. “Gone in 60 Seconds. The remake.”
“Ah, an Angelina Jolie fan.” There’s that little giggle again.
“Actually, I’m a Giovanni Ribisi fan.” Her laugh continues. “But not in that way.”
She laughs even harder and moves the stool between us back with her foot. “Favorite band?”
Again I raise the bottle to my lips, but this one requires less thinking time. The answer is out before I take the sip. “Everclear, before the change in membership.”
“Good choice but they’re no Pearl Jam.” She leans her cheek onto her hand, resting her elbow on the bar.
I know she’s hooked. If I ask for her number right now, she’ll hand it over. I could call her tomorrow and we could go grab a drink. I could put in a little more effort tonight and bring this girl home for a one-night stand. Instead, I reach for my phone. I glance down at the black screen and make my face look concerned. “I’m sorry, I have to take this call. Can I call you later?”
“Yeah, please do,” she says.
I’m all the way at the door, phone up to my ear pretending to be on a phone call before I realize she didn’t even blink at the obviously lame excuse. We both know I couldn’t call her. I don’t have her number.
Hell, I can’t even remember her name.
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