General Fiction posted September 26, 2017

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I ordered my first glass of wine

The Man across the Room

by APyburn-Phifer

I focused on a spot of dried yellow mustard on the top front pocket of my red pantsuit. I tried to cover the spot with my large purse. My clacking high heel shoes, made a loud noise on the well-polished wooden floor as I slid into an empty leather booth. A man said "Hello."
The Tipperary Inn was an old rustic restaurant. Rose tinted windows, and high vaulted ceilings was a great setting for a short, passionate novel. Smooth, soothing jazz played soft and continuously in the background.
A dark gray suit, light blue shirt with an open collar, clothed the tall mahogany-colored man, as he stood talking with a friend. His mingled gray/black hair and adoring smile could never have looked better; at least according to me! Thank goodness, he was not the age of my son! He looked old enough to understand the contained emotions and flirty looks from a woman with bottled up memories.
I soon noticed he did not have a wedding ring. I began to question my thoughts. Was the ring in his car ashtray; did he forget and leave it on the nightstand in another woman's bedroom, or is he married. I ordered my first glass of wine.
His large smooth hands waved briskly above his head;as he gestured his responses and argued points of conversation. Bringing more attention to himself, I smiled at him with pleasure. He smiled with satisfaction to the other person at the table. Watching his every move and listening to the enticing music one tune after another, encouraged me to take my notepad from my purse and write.
His cell phone rang! I wanted to listen to the conversation; as if I were leaning on his shoulder, or holding his hand. He passed the phone to the man at the table. I exhaled. I ordered another glass of wine! Where do my compressed thoughts of fantasy come from? I have many trodden down feelings. A short, round-faced, laughing waitress, found time or reason to place her small, hard-working hand on his shoulder. She asked, "How are you doing?" I thought, maybe I will become a waitress and have my section of fine-looking healthy men.
My writing began to look crooked, or maybe the pad accidentally turned at an angle! I needed a waitress at my table; then I could order my third glass of wine. I started thinking of different levels of happiness. I was happy when I arrived at the restaurant; happier knowing that a distinguished good-looking man noticed me and even happier after having a few glasses of wine. He walked to my booth, extended his hand and whispered, "You have a beautiful smile; have a good evening." "I said, 'Thank you!' He turned and walked out the door.
The music continued echoing throughout the restaurant; I took my last sip of wine; then paid the waitress.
I left the restaurant to attend my first Writing Children's Books class, still thinking of the man across the room.

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