Her hair was short and blond and had plenty of glimmer in it. The green eyes she had were much the same. She was petite, which is always a plus. Makes a man feel so much a
man. Her nails were fire-engine red and just as dangerous as any four alarm conflagration. All in all this kind of girl always proves to be a tasty treat of which men hope they can get at
least a mouth full. Her given name was Christy, but Ready Willing and Able was her AKA. She couldn’t help herself, this girl, she was just born that way, so “born to be bad” is how men
pegged her. In general she always got what was coming to her, and a little something extra thrown in for kicks. A girl like this is designed for fun, innocent fun. Well maybe the fun
isn’t so innocent, but you know what I mean.
She came over with a friend Dude already knew. Girls like her always come over with a friend.
The friends they hang out with are always not quite so pretty as they are. For this quality they choose them carefully. In this fashion they give the illusion that they’re better
looking than they really are. In this case it worked. Dude was taken with her immediately.
They sat down at the coffee table as a pair, Dude on the other side facing them. It wasn’t fair of course, it was two against one.
“Dude, this is Chris.” The first one said.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” said Chris, and offered her hand.
He reached across and shook it that way that men do when shaking the hand of a woman. Chris was good, and knew to start with touch early in the game.
“Nothing bad I hope”
“Nothing real bad,” she said smiling, “not the juicy stuff.”
Then she pulled her hand back and sat back in the couch, giving him a full-length view of herself and regarding him at the same time. This got his attention, as it was mean to do.
“Got a quarter?” said the first one.
“You know I don’t like selling quarters,” he answered, “but in your case,” he said this looking at the first one, but addressing them both, “I’ll make an exception.”
So that’s just what he did.
He put on some tunes, and rolled a joint, brought out the mirror of smoked glass, the razor blade and a hand-blown glass tooter. And oh yeah, he took out the blow.
“Ever had this?” he asked Chris. He didn’t ask the first one, she was a regular customer.
“I’ve had coke before,” she answered rather haughtily, “if that’s what you mean. But not yours.”
Actually she was lying here. She’d done a line over at the first one’s house. When she’d ascertained the quality, and found out there was more, and that there was a man attached to
the other end of the line, she’d ragged her to bring her over.
“Well,” she continued, “I’ve done the commercial stuff, but I hear this is better.”
“You might find it better. It’s Bolivian yellow rock.”
She looked at the wall. On it was a wall-hanging with a monkey. Across the room behind him was a larger one with a crocodile. They definitely weren’t from Mexico.
“You’ve been there?”
He lined up a small pile, then they did a line each. Within fifteen minutes the conversation got going. No longer strangers, they talked as if they were friends. Of course,
between you and me, it was just the coke talking, but that’s the illusion it provokes. They smoked a joint, listened to music and before they were done, had talked half the afternoon
Before they left Dude made a mistake. They’d already put their bag away. They’d been drinking a few beers and Dude wanted them to be safe for the road.
“Wait a minute,” he said, “before you go.”
He reached into the change pocket of his jeans. They were tight, and he had difficulty pulling it out. He removed a small silver pill box. On the lid was a Jaguar. He
flipped it open, then pulled a silver coke spoon free of his shirt where it had been lying hidden on a chain next to his chest.
“Here,” he said, “One for the road. It’s my personal.”
They both knew what this meant. It was uncut.
He gave them a one-in-one. When he gave it to Chris, although a normal girl would have been paying attention to match up her nostril to the position of the spoon, he noticed she was
looking at him instead. She didn’t need to look, she was a pro. Her eyes flashed.
“Now drive straight home and be careful,” he cautioned, “Straight home. This won’t last forever. It’ll wear off long before the alcohol.”
Chris said to the first one, though it was said so soft the first one barely heard it, a remarkable statement. She said it real smooth, as smooth as the substance that was languidly
dripping down into her slim throat.
“I’m gonna get me some of what’s in those tight pants” is what she said. Whatever did she mean?
Then she checked in the rear-view mirror for tell-tale powder marks under her nose before they drove off.
Chris suspected correctly that she would have her way. How did she know? I guess it was feminine intuition.Right before they were leaving, she’d pressed a piece
of paper with her phone number into Dude’s hand
© Copyright 2016 Steven Hunley. All rights reserved.