Bar Dance Boogie
The pulse of Otis Spann’s Boogie moved Michael’s feet as he crossed the crowded oak floor to the bar. He made a valiant effort to resist the temptation to dance. Walk. Don’t dance. “Don’t,” he whispered to himself as pushed his way through the crowd and leaned on the bar. His fingers took on the base rhythm line in time to the Otis’ left hand as he waited to be served. He closed his eyes and let Spann’s piano solo take over him as it floated out of the Bose speakers hanging from the ceiling.
The redhead in the black dress with the low cut neck line was suddenly beside him. His eyes snapped open as she jostled him. He pushed her hands away that had somehow landed on the inside of his jacket. A whiff of rum and coke registered.
“ Sorry,” she said as she steadied herself and flashed a gleaming set of pearly whites.
Michael’s annoyance at having his boogie disrupted was cut short as he looked at her. She was about five foot nine, thin but nicely shaped. Her low cut left nothing to the imagination. Michael forced himself to move his gaze to her eyes.
“No worries,” he said as he his eyes met hers. There was a light behind her baby blues, and Michael was immediately drawn into them. She giggled as her body moved to music. Her feet shuffled , and her body shimmied as Spann’s solo washed over them. She looked at Michael as he watched her move.
“Hmmm…what…?” Michael stammered as he stared at her movement.
“Otis…awesome.” She said as she nodded her head and swayed. She knew his name. That was awesome. He caught a whiff of Tea Rose perfume as she moved closer to him. She opened her eyes and gave him the once over. She smiled as her eyes settled on his moving fingers. He felt his face flush when she touched his hand.
“How long you been playing?” She asked.
“Excuse me?” He said.
“Keyboard. How long you been playing?”
“ ‘Bout ten years,” he answered as his fingers stopped.
“Classical training, right?”
“How’d you know?” Who was this woman?
“Your fingers … they don’t lay down sloppy when you ‘play,’ sign of classical training, ” she said as her fingers slid over hers. “Nice..strong…fingers..” she whispered as her gaze met his. He sighed.
“Right?” She asked as her fingers intertwined with his.
He shook his head slightly and his eyes left hers and moved to their interlocked fingers. Oh. O.k. He smiled.
“Right ,” he said as his fingers gripped hers. “Very…strong.” He locked his fingers with hers.
His eyes met hers again.
“And how ‘bout you? How long have you been playing?”
She smiled. “Oh..I don’t play.” The baby blues darkened a little.
“I’m all about…business.”
“Really.” His gaze went back to their locked fingers.
“The dress, your…dancing. Breathy voice. Really. You don’t play.” His voice tight. He moved closer to her.
She tried to squirm away but his grip held her and his other arm was suddenly around her.
“So ,” he said as he stared at the bar. “How long?”
“Five years,” she said. “Look…maybe I should go,” she said as she tried to pull away again.
“Yep. That’s what I thought. He said as he loosened his grip.
“But …just one thing.”
“I’ll take the wallet back.” He removed his arm from around her and held out his hand.
She sighed and slowly took it out of the pocket in her “dress.” She placed it in his hand. His fingers slowly released hers.
“Look…I didn’t want to…”
“Go.” He said.
She backed away from him slowly, turned and pushed her way through the crowd and out the door.
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Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.de am 29.07.2010. - Infos zum Urheberrecht / Haftungsausschluss (Disclaimer).