Monday, February 26, 2018

Her Jeans Were Tight Now

From PJH's Stoop:
Her jeans were tight now.
She pulled them on and wiggled a bit, sucked in hard and then worked the button on the waist closed.
‘It is more that I just washed them rather than the fact I have gained weight’ she thought.
She wiggled a bit more, squatted down in an effort to loosen them and tugged at the legs to encourage a bit of stretch in the newly washed jeans. In front of the mirror, she checked out her backside and spun around and in a wave of self-examination; she thought she looked rather sexy. A new blouse easily slipped over her, it was on sale yesterday. A v-neck to reveal just a whisper of modest cleavage. The blouse was light and airy, with a touch of frill along the sleeves, black in color and she loved it. Black jeans, black blouse, and a pair of black dress boots with an illusion of a high-heel.
She also knew that all he wore was black.
Always.
Supposition led her to the belief that black was his thing. A new haircut, not too short, but the stylist convinced her to go trendy and allow a touch of a wave of hair to cross her face.
“If you do not want to do the sexy stare through the wave of hair, tuck it behind your ear. Make sure that you highlight your eyes and lashes with liner and stare out at him. You’re gonna melt this dude,” was the stylist’s advice.
She went with it and she dyed her hair a shade or two off her natural color, because there was a hint of gray along the edges and here and there. The finishing touches were her grandmother’s heirloom hoop earrings, and matching single gold chain of a necklace, which she just had to wear. They were not expensive pieces, they were slightly tarnished pieces of gold, with some waves of mystery involved in them. She was very close to Grammy and she missed her every day. Through hints, parts, and pieces of conversation, she was sure that a special lover gave the pieces to her grandmother. Maybe before Grandpa was in the picture or maybe not. Just the manner in which Grammy held them in her hands and stared at them with this love-struck look in her eyes made her sure that she was correct in her assumption. He must have been the love of her life and these were precious reminders. Grammy left them to her in her will because Grammy knew that her granddaughter knew the true history of the pieces. Now, they were going to bring her luck today with the unapproachable man in black.
Every Sunday he was there for brunch.
Today was Sunday.
He would be there today. At the end of the bar, sitting alone, nursing a beer, chatting occasionally with the bartender, or a server than he seemed to know for a long time, but mostly remaining very quiet and pensive. Always dressed all in black, perfect in his features, stunning in appearance. She had never seen a more handsome man than he was. At a guess, he was at least ten years older than she was . . . he was one of those lucky people that it was impossible to tell how old he was. Their age meant nothing. She could care less. Her heart would go pitter-patter at the sight of him. They had only very scant bits of conversation in the past. She would always say something stupid and irrelevant. He would smile, comment and say a few polite words with his hard New Jersey accent and then he would fade away. As soon as she tried to break the ice, it would freeze over once more.
From milking information from the bartender, who was a gal she trusted and knew (and who, despite best efforts had no success in her own pursuit of the same man) for a long time, he loved music . . . primarily classic rock and roll. He was a fan of ice hockey too. His server buddy coughed up that tidbit. Other than those subjects, the inside scoop well ran dry. He never spoke of much else other than general subjects. No one even knew what he did for a living. However, she knew that his favorite band was the Electric Light Orchestra. Hockey was a sport that she was not going to tackle, but she could handle music. She was now the proud owner of every recording that ELO ever made and she had to admit that the music was very cool. Even if this day was a flop, at least, she had a new favorite band. She knew every song, every album release and every detail of the band and her cell phone had every MP3 recoding of ELO loaded on it now. She even knew the name of the street in Birmingham, England where Jeff Lynne grew up. The encyclopedia-like knowledge of ELO, would be the icebreaker. After all, she had some English blood in her veins.
She was no English Rose, but today was the day.
A short drive in her car, a final check of her makeup, a confident walk into the restaurant and an adjustment to the light inside as opposed to the outside light. There he was at the bar in his favorite bar stool and today, he was looking better than the laws of human attraction should allow. Faint be her heart because, the gods smiled upon her . . . the seat next to him was open.
“Hi, is this seat taken?” Her question floated in the air while she allowed the dangle of hair across her face and her eyes to flicker while asking the question. He finished a sip of his beer, smiled that killer smile and his golden voice riveted her soul.
With a wave in the direction of the bar stool, the words floated in the air, “No. Please.”
She swore that out of the corner of his eyes, he watched her settle into the bar stool and there were smiles all around.
Damn, she wished that her jeans were not so tight.
The bartender smiled and greeted her and the bartender’s smile told the story that she knew the plan.
The bartender winked, nodded and took her drink order. She looked down as her cell phone blinked and beeped with a text.
It was a text from the bartender and simply said, “Good luck. I never have any. May the best girl win.”
Two Mimosas later and the silence remained. He had not said another word and her palms were sweaty and she was feeling a little loose and loopy. Time to make a move. Time for a third Mimosa. A girl needs her courage. Liquid or otherwise.
Today was the day. Convinced that small talk was not going to cut it, she went for the brass ring. She opened her purse, pulled out her earbuds and placed them in her ears. God gave her a gift and that was her singing voice. Well, God also gave her some very nice female curves, a pretty face and other attributes, but to this man, she was sure that meant little. When you looked like he did, gals threw those gifts at him right and left.
With a flick of the screen, she dialed up “Out of the Blue,” scrolled to “It’s Over” and waltzed it for the kill. While pretending to glance at the menus to pick out some food, to absorb the alcohol taking over her mind and body, off she went into the opening words.
Not a loud singing voice, not an obnoxious singing voice, but just loud enough, “Summer came and passed away. . . .” His head swung around and he smiled.
Pay dirt smelled so sweet. As if, it was fresh-turned dirt in a spring garden.
“It’s over, it’s over. . . .”
Another smile and some words as he stared at her.
“Electric Light Orchestra, huh? I would not think they were your style,” He said with a knockout smile and a wave of his hands. It took all that she could muster up to pretend that she was only slightly paying attention.
While taking the earbuds out of her ears, she asked, “Say again. I did not hear you. I am sorry.”
“No, my apologies for bothering you. I said, ELO. I did not figure you to be an ELO type of woman. I am a huge fan of ELO. Huge.”
“Oh, cool. That is a coincidence. I love them too,” she said with one of the best acting jobs this side of Hollywood.
He paused and then waved at her with her hand. It had to be a New Jersey thing and she found it very appealing.
“I have seen you in here before . . . but there is something different. Maybe your hair?”
“Well, yes, it is a new style. I was not too sure about it. And yes, I love ELO. Out of the Blue is amazing.”
Once more, he studied her and her heart went pitter-patter and boom, boom, and BOOM! He gently reached up, pushed the dangle of hair out of her face, and tucked it gently behind her ear.
“Be sure about it. You look gorgeous. Say, let me buy your drinks there. And lunch too.”
The words were almost a sputter, “Well, okay. . . .”
“What is your favorite ELO song? I am kind of partial to, It’s Over, and appears if you are too.”
Two hours later, he had invited her to an Electric Light Orchestra reunion concert in Philadelphia, scheduled for about two months from now. Two months! Oh my! He said that he had extra tickets. She missed that fact in her research and she honestly had no idea they were even touring again. Wow, thank you, God! Oh yes, and he also invited her to dinner for later that evening. He paid their tabs; they slipped off the bar stools and headed for the door together.
Yes, today was the day.
Her cell phone blinked and beeped and with a smile, she looked over at the bartender who had sent a simple text, “Wow!”
She paused and texted back, “Mr. Blue Sky. Google it.”
Yes, her jeans were tight now.
Yet, she had a feeling that in a little while they were going to become much looser.
  
Cheerio for now.





Thursday, February 8, 2018

The Right Shoe and the Left shoe


The Right Shoe and the Left Shoe


From PJH's Stoop:
I had tried for the better part of an hour to avoid her gaze and goo-goo eyes. I was at a bar in Roanoke, Virginia and this guy from north Paterson, New Jersey was a fish out of water. She winked, waved, and tried everything to get my attention. Finally, she slipped off the bar stool and hit the floor with a thud and she plowed toward me.

Oh, no.

Her hairstyle went straight up in great swirling layers and I was sure that the blades of one of the ceiling fans might capture the outer layers of her hair and wrap her up like a corkscrew. She had ten eyelashes, I assumed that one was her own and the other nine were backups in case of a sudden gust of wind. This chick had enough makeup on that, her entire face would melt in the sun. Her breasts looked like the leftover balloons from my birthday party when I was nine years of age. It must have taken a few tugs with a sink plunger on her butt in order for her to fit in her dungarees. If she sneezed, half the population of Roanoke would perish in the blast.

With a smile on her face, the blessed arrival finally occurred, “Hiya, there, good looking. I reckon that I want to know where a gorgeous hunk of man like ya’ll are, been hiding all of my life?”

Without hesitation, I said, “From you.”



“Here, Paulie, this is in case you become bored later on,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. I watched in silence as she wrote a phone number on a scrap of paper and then with a smile, she gracefully tucked the paper into my shirt pocket.

She reached up and gently cupped my face with one hand and with a coy and seductive smile on her face; she secured the note into its hiding place, with a gentle double-tap upon my pocket. I looked up at her and scanned her beautiful face, her golden smile, and full lips touched by a hint of red lipstick. My eyes caught her deep brown eyes with hints of the sunshine glistening off them and she blinked rather shyly at me. I then focused upon her brown hair with red highlights while it tumbled over her shoulders, and the gentle breeze blew a few wisps of hair blew in front of her face.

Without further hesitation, I smiled at her and said, “I have to admit that right now, I am remarkably bored.”

I am a writer of fiction. . . .

On the other hand,

Cheerio for now

PJH's Top Ten Hot Summer Day Playlist

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