by Janet Dale
Sitting alone at the bar in her favorite little black dress, Ginny Martin was a masterpiece suitable for framing. Men paused, stealing glances as her slender arm reached forward to accept another drink from the bartender. She tilted her head to look down at the simple gold watch encircling her wrist. Her brain began ticking off the reasons Mike would give her for not showing via a hushed telephone conversation later: one of his boys was sick, Marta made him steak for dinner, or the guilt was too much to bear. After two more drinks, she slid off the stool and opened her purse to settle the tab, but the bartender said, “It’s on the house.” After holding up her empty glass for a silent toast, she turned toward the door and went out into the night.
Janet Dale, who blogs here, is set to graduate from the University of Memphis in December with a B.A. in English (Creative Writing). She is currently researching M.F.A. programs, studying to take the GRE, and reading literary classics.