David Shapiro's Editor's Pick:
Party Dress
by Frank Zafiro
The door opened and the sounds of the highway outside carried into the bar. The blonde stepped inside and let the door swing closed behind her. She stood still and took in the scene. Her dress, a dusky blue, was snug only at the hips and breasts. I'd noticed her right away because of that dress. It had an elegance to it that was out of place.
"Uh-oh," Jack said, as he put my Rum and Coke in front of me.
"Uh-oh what?"
He glanced up at her in her dress and back at me. "Maggie's out for the night."
"What's that mean?" I picked up my drink without looking away from her. She surveyed the room, her eyes passing over me with just the slightest pause, and she took a seat at the end of the bar.
"Means she's got the Garrity girl babysitting her kids," Jack said, wiping absently at the bar with his towel. "And she ain't planning on going home tonight."
"No, huh?"
"No," Jack said.
Fifteen minutes later, I bought her a drink. Half an hour later, we were sitting hip to hip in a corner booth, laughing and sharing secrets like childhood sweethearts. That's when I found out about her two kids and how her husband died four years ago, cutting timber up near the Canadian border.
"At least he got out of town," she said with a shrug. Then she asked me, "What places have you been to?"
I told her about my sales route through Eastern Washington, Idaho and into Montana.
"Have you seen the Great Lakes?" she asked.
I hadn't, but I nodded. "Big as an ocean."
"I've never been to the ocean," she said. "Never left Deer Park, really."
"You don't get into River City?" I asked. "It's only a twenty minute drive."
She shrugged. "Sometimes, but not much. I work here in town. And since they put in a Walmart, I haven't had much need."
I told her about the coastlines in northern California. I'd visited my sister there once, years ago.
Her eyes shone.
"I can almost smell the salt in the air," she said.
"That's the rum," I said and she laughed like I'd said something terribly funny. I watched the rise and fall of her breasts and felt the warmth of her leg next to mine.
When she finished laughing, she asked, "Why do you stay in Deer Park instead of one of the nicer hotels in River City?"
"I'm on my way up to Ione. Besides, the Pines Motel is nice," I said.
She wrinkled her nose.
I shrugged. "I like the small town feel. Don't you?"
A shadow passed over her face momentarily and she shook her head in short jerks. "It's all I know, but no, I don't like it."
I didn't answer.
Her face brightened and she asked, "Where else have you been?"
"Lots of places."
Back in my dingy motel room, she asked me that question again. I'd never been out of the country, never even been to New York, but I told her stories anyway. I don't know if it was her elegance, her sadness or my lust, but I told her. Probably it was all three.
I told her about Italy and the Coliseum in Rome. I described the gladiator shows they put on for the tourists that looked as good as the movies. I lay down on the bed, stared at the ceiling and took us both places we'd never been and would never be and I hoped to hell I got most of the details right.
She sat on the edge of the bed, next to me, looking off at the wall and listening. I stole glances at her as I spoke. Even in the muddled yellow light of the room, I could see how her eyes sparkled.
Eventually, my voice trailed off and I ran out of imagined facts about the Eternal City. I reached up and touched the zipper at the base of her neck.
"Rome," she breathed, but her shoulders slumped a little.
I unzipped the back and she slipped off her party dress.
"Where else?" she whispered, but now her voice had the ring of surrender.
I didn't answer. I sat up, cupped her breasts and leaned in to kiss her. The last thing I saw in her eyes was sadness and resignation and then I felt her tongue in my mouth.