The Lovers

The Mistress, a long-legged luxuriant woman used to getting her own way, sauntered into the bar.

And there He was, at the end in the corner.  A clear view of the entire bar is how He liked it.

"Hello," she said, sitting and setting her purse on the bar.

He lit her cigarette.

"You're early," she said blowing smoke into His face.

"If you're on time you're late."  He said.

"Ha."

"So are we going..." He started in at the elbow, rubbing with a thumb.

"Can I at least have a drink?"

Drinks were had.  3 each.  Then:

"I saw the picture."

"Which one?"

"I saw the picture.  I saw the two of you.  IN THE PAPER."

"Oh yeah, well you know I'm a big deal baby.  It's just publicity..." He had moved to the thigh, high up just above her left stocking.

"But," she said clenching her thighs together suddenly trapping his hand, causing Him to fall of His stool dragging her with Him.  They got up.

Then:

"But something is different.  She looks different."

"So?"

"She looks like me!"

"Again, so what?  You have a hot look baby, why shouldn't she have it too?"

"But what does that mean?" the Mistress cried.

"Sssshhhhh.  Why don't we just get out of here, huh?" He drained his drink (4th) and took her arm.

"You're not leaving Her."

"Keep your voice down."

"You're making Her into Me!"

"You're crazy."

"Married men always lie," the Mistress hissed.





And she walked out that fucking door.

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Outside in the fading sunlight, she looked up and down the street.  The cars still looked like cars, the streets had not collapsed with the cataclysmic occurrences.  She dragged her heart into the sunset.

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