The Spanky’s Connection

Every night I walk through the intersection of Broad and 73rd on my way home after a long day.  On the corner of that particular intersection is a pub that goes by the name of Spanky’s, as announced by a large, buzzing orange neon sign above the door.  Depending on the crowd, any and every type of music can be heard reverberating through the walls of the building.  The crowd itself was eclectic, forever changing, never pausing for breath.

Every night I walked past, never entering, electing instead to embrace my sofa and curl up in an oversized comforter.  I truly thought tonight would be no exception.  Spanky’s had never held anything of value to me.

When his voice wafted through the open window, I froze in my tracks on the sidewalk.  I knew that voice!  I tilted my ear towards the window to listen again.  Sure enough, I knew that voice. Peaking through the window, I saw that it belonged to a face I had never met, but knew I had to meet him.

Decided, I swung open the door and stepped inside Spanky’s.  Inside, it was much classier than I had pictured.  Slipping into a stool at a tall bar table, I looked around, trying to match the voice and face I had seen through the window.

“What can I get you tonight, dear?” A red headed cocktail waitress wearing a black V-neck polo and black shorts came up to my table and set a napkin in front of me.

“Scotch and soda water please,” I smiled, then called out as she sauntered away, “Chivas if you’ve got it.”

“Chivas, huh? I like Chivas,” I looked up to see the owner of sexy voice smiling down at me from the end of my table.

“I like Chivas, too. Please, sit.” I indicated the seat across from myself. “My name’s Rachel. You — oh! Thank you!” The waitress deposited my drink in front of me.

“Salud!” I clinked my glass with Mr. Dreamy’s beer mug. Taking a sip, my grimace was instantaneous.

“Oh, no! She didn’t hear you about the Chivas, huh?”

“No, she didn’t.  The scotch appears to be well. Or the soda is flat. Or both, Ugh…”  I made a face that must have been amusing, because he laughed immediately.

“Poor you! Let me buy you a drink. I’m Paul by the way.”

“Nice to meet you Paul.” As he weaved towards the bar, I tried to tell myself not to get my hopes up, he was to good to be true. He either had a girlfriend, or he was gay, or he was a Mama’s boy.  There had to be a catch. There was always a catch…

Time is up! 25 minutes writing, 5 for a quick edit.

I spy with my little eye the number 12…

Source: TBP’s On-line Writer’s Guild #5

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