Only The Piano Player

I was tempted to yell something nasty and un-stoic after her, but it wouldn’t have been anything but sound and fury. As it was, I signalled the barkeep for another vodka and listened to Christian finish butchering “The Sunny Side of the Street”.

When he was finished, he strode up to me smiling, his golden good looks no doubt in sharp contrast to my average, entirely unthreatening ordinariness.

“You look like Jay Gatsby or something,” I muttered.

“Who?” Christian was unbearably ignorant of all culture that you didn’t have to listen to. Perhaps I’d buy him an audio book one day.

I shrugged off his willful stupidity and asked, “You see Sonja?”

“See her?” Christian laughed – a throaty, indelicate sound. “Dude, the way she was looking at me I thought she was gonna fuck my brains out right there on the piano. You guys finished?”

“You could say that.”

He looked at me with something like pity. Then, with reluctance: “So, I know this chick. Not your type, but a demon in the sack. If you want ….”

This story has no comments.