Fiction Friday

A friend of mine asked me about how much work i had piled up in my Document Folders on my computer. I think she was worried about how much stuff she had piled up in her folders... I told her not to worry. I had PLENTY! This one, titled Red Wine, I wrote from a prompt...entitle, Red Wine. :D Clever aren't I?

Red Wine
Remember that scene from *Cocktail*? The one where Elizabeth Shue is dancing with Tom Cruise and they’re down on that island in the Caribbean? The scene always intrigued me for one reason…I thought they looked so incredibly dumb dancing that way. She kept lifting her arm and he would copycat that movement and their hips would sway in rhythm to the steel drum band. It was the night she lost her virginity and maybe that’s why it always stuck out in my memory.
Virginity. That not very likely characteristic of most young women today. It was an odd thought to have while I stood off to the side of the hardwood dance floor and watched the couples move back and forth.

This was my fourth wedding this season and the only real difference this time being that I decided before even arriving I was going to drink red wine. Why red wine you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. It is horribly potent. I mean dance on tables, lamp shades on your head…forget the jerk you just broke up with potent.

As a matter of fact the glass I was holding right now was quite half empty…and wavering a bit, I think. Yes, it was doing that. But, wait. Mr. Blues-eyes was looking at me again. I lifted my glass to him but I’m afraid he misunderstood my gesture for he returned the gesture and started walking towards me…without a refill.

When he was standing just in front of me and my head was tilted back considerably he placed his index finger just on my sternum. "You’ve spilt your drink."

"Hmm?" My loss of vocabulary was unintentional.

"Can I help you with your drink?" Yes. He was finally seeing the light! A man who knew what I needed and would get me more. But he only took the wineglass and placed it on the tray of the passing waiter.

"Now why would you go and do a thing like that?" I had always been a direct sort of person and I saw a spark in his eyes then.

"How about some coffee?"

"With Bailey’s?" That would help too. I was so looking forward to the wine but sometimes you just have to make do. "That would be wonderful."

Blue-eyes lifted his finger and a passing waitress came up in an instant. Perhaps I should be calling him Fonzie. Fonzarelli. The Fonz. I giggled pretty unattractively and Blue-eyes gave me a puzzled look, but I just shrugged my shoulders. I had had a bit of wine already.

"Two coffees, please." I opened my mouth to speak but the stern look on his face stopped me. Why was he frowning at me? I looked down at my elbow. Yes, he was gripping it and pulling me along to a table in the corner.

"Now wait a minute here. I’m certain I’ve given up men for the time being. You’ll understand if I don’t sit with you. I’m just going to go find myself a table full of nice single ladies and get something to drink." Oh, I didn’t have to add that part, did I? Now, he’s looking irritated again.

"Drink your coffee."

"But I don’t want coffee." Who the heck was he to tell me what to do? Although, now that I had a better look at him, he did look somewhat familiar. "Do I know you?"

Oh, that’s just great. Now, I’ve insulted him. "Well, don’t look so hurt. It’s an honest question."
I can tell that the fog is starting to clear. My head is definitely filling in the holes because I’m mortified to find the rhinestone studded belt usually sitting at my waist has slid down over my hips and is in my lap. Now how did that happen? It must have been when I sat down. Hmm. Interesting what can happen when you’re not looking.

Oh…Blue-eyes was coughing…oh, right. Pay attention, Anne! Honestly, I would lose my head if it weren’t attached. "So," I said as I struggled with the belt in my lap, tugging it up where it originated, "you are?"

"Tom. Thomas Edwin Duvall, the Third. You use to call me Ted."

I almost fell off my chair. Ted was a skinny obnoxious older boy who had given me my first lesson in humility. The man sitting in front of me was…well, good-looking, for one. The glasses he wore implied intelligence.

At twelve, I’d proclaimed my undying love and been rejected. I’d been sixteen when we last met up. Sixteen and no smarter than the post I’d been sitting on. Surrounded by my few comrades from school, he’d approached. Said hello.

I’d been holding a grudge, juvenile as it was and so…

I flashed him, jumped from the fence, and walked away.