this is a 'slice of life'...hopefully not YOUR life...story, with a bit of a 'shaggy dog' ending
Peter drummed his fingers on the metal table at the sandwich shop. Once again, she was late. Why did he put up with this perpetually tardy woman? Despite thinking like this, he knew precisely why.
Last night was his idea of heaven. He had always preferred big, curvy women before but Lily was barely five feet tall and maybe, if soaking wet in a wool parka, a hundred pounds. Petite hardly began to describe her.
He looked at his Rolex, and loosened his tie even more. This time when he looked out the window for approximately the one billionth time, he saw Lily drive up to the shop in her miniscule fire engine red sports car and park in a handicapped space. The convertible top was down, and since she was fond of speeding, her hair looked wild. Which was an entirely appropriate look for her. She quickly got out of the car and walked into the shop with that wiggly strut of hers.
She slid into the booth next to Peter. "Whatcha doin', honey?," she asked seductively, although the smacking of bubble gum diminished the effect somewhat. Beneath the smell of gun and mouthwash, the odor of bourbon emanated from her breath.
For one of the few times in their brief relationship, Peter got angry. "I've been waiting for you! AGAIN! I told my secretary I was meeting a client. You know, I really COULD be making money right now instead of waiting an eternity for someone who strips for a living.'
Lily shoved Peter. Hard. Hard enough to knock him into the wall. "If you don't want to be with an exotic dancer, then don't come into a club that has exotic dancers! You think you're so smart, but that seems pretty basic to me! Don't blame me for my job! Do I blame YOU for taking forty per cent of your accident victims' money when you win a case?"
Peter looked out the blinds covering the window, There was virtually no chance anyone he knew would see him here, but he was still paranoid. He frequently made the incorrect assumption Lily was stupid...well, not stupid, necessarily, but not so smart...because she was a stripper...er, exotic dancer. He considered telling her yet again that he took no money from a case unless he won it, but decided against it. So he did what he always did. He looked into those slightly glazed hazel eyes of her and apologized for being such a jerk.
Then Lily did what she always did, which was to construct an elaborate story as to why she was late. This time it involved her uncle the mechanic and a broken timing belt. She was a fantastic liar, incorporating just enough truth into her tales to make you want to believe her, even though you knew it was total fabrication. Peter thought, with the right education, she would be a better lawyer than him.
"So...what kind of sandwich do you want?," Lily asked. "And thanks for waiting for me. I mean it."
"Um, you know you parked in a handicapped space, right?"
"If I see someone in a wheelchair, I'll move it. Now give me some money and tell me what kind of sandwich you want!"
"Tuna. Because it reminds me of you."
Lily punched Peter on the upper arm. "You're such a prick, Peter...Wait a minute. Prick. Peter. You're well named, I'll give you that much!"
Roger Cassell (author) from Dallas, Texas on April 07, 2021:
thank you. please check out my other recent stories if you have the time (I read some of your collaborations and they were quite good)
John Hansen from Gondwana Land on March 27, 2021: