It’s Wednesday and another challenge from Bikurgurl. What 100 words (or so) can you give this image? It’s great that every Wednesday her post is live on my feed as soon as I wake up. I set up my son with his breakfast, make a coffee and mull over the picture. This week’s photo of cocktails spoke to me, it prompted a short story/ flash fiction. I’m a little over 100 but… I write novels don’t shoot me!

 

 

 8:00 p.m Friday Night, The Cocktail Bar,

 I glance around the bar looking for my date. Hell, not that I know who I’m looking for this is a blind date. Lucy bless her she set me up with some guy from her office, she thinks is “perfect for me.” I couldn’t pass up a night of free cocktails, I thought what the hell you only live once. 

The air is thick with cigar smoke and the lights are low, all eyes focus on centre stage as a Jazz band entertains the crowd. I spot him over by the bar nursing a drink. That has to be him right? I make my way over closing the gap between us, as I snake my way through the tables. What do I say? My heat pounds, what if it’s not him?

“Hi I’m Julie.”

“Hey, I’m Brian.”

He offers me his hand as he glances me over from head to toe. Is it him? He snaps his fingers at the bar tender.

“Put another one in there for me.” He demands.

As  the bar tender makes quick work of his drink and slides a fresh tumbler across the bar, I  drink him in. He’s handsome and well dressed, but is it him? He’d know me by name surly.

“So you been here before Julie?” 

“No never, I’m… I’m… here meeting a friend you could say.”

“Ah a date?” He sniggers  then takes a healthy sip of his scotch to hide his amusement. He snaps his fingers again at the bar tender. Clearly Brian is used to being the authority.

“One for the lady too, what’s your poison Julie?”

I raise an eyebrow in his direction. “Cosmopolitan.”

***

 After two hours of conversation against the back drop of smooth jazz, and four Cosmopolitans thrown back, I’m tipsy and dateless. Old whats-his-name did a no-show. His loss… As Brian and I stumble into the back of a black cab from London Bridge to his place, the Cosmopolitans start talking to me. “You only live once! That’s why you went on this date.” Cocktails were always my weak spot, as well as a man in a sharp suit smelling good.