Hillary’s lips. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You can’t smoke in here.”
Hillary grinned and put her index finger to the waiter’s lips. “Just one quick puff, please?” she purred.
The waiter’s eyes dropped to the rose tattoo on her left breast, and when he looked up again, his face flushed, he removed the lighter from Hillary’s fingers and laid it on the table next to her gloves. “Sorry.” He winked and left Mac to deal with any further problems.
“No sweat,” Hillary said, waving the unlit cigarette in Mac’s face. “Nasty habit, but I hate to give it up.”
Mac watched Hillary open her purse and drop the lipstick-stained cigarette inside, fought back his disdain, and attempted to start a conversation. “You were about to tell me about yourself.”
“Oh, right.” She took a sip of her whiskey then ran her tongue over her dark red lips. “I’m not from New York, but I bet you already guessed that from my accent.”
He hadn’t guessed. He’d been too busy trying to overlook Hillary’s offensive mannerisms, trying instead to concentrate on her tiny, turned-up nose. Long, thick, dark eyelashes. Liza Minnelli black hair. And that rose tattoo that increased in size every time Hillary took a breath.
“I want to be an actress,” she said, forcing Mac’s attention back to her face. “But I’m just not having any luck. Danny, he’s my agent, says I really got lots of potential.”
“Is that so?” Mac yawned.
“Oh, yeah. I went on an audition just the other day. The director said I could be a real star, with my looks and all.”
“I see.” He took a good look at Hillary. At first glance, in the dim light, she looked great, but on closer inspection he could see the pucker lines around her lips, the caked makeup at her hairline, the heavy buildup of mascara at the comers of her eyes. He swallowed the last of his beer, and started on the whiskey.
“Yeah, well, to be honest, it’s some kind of really low-budget movie. You know, the kind nice girls shouldn’t be in. I like the idea of being a star, but the guy sort of gave me the creeps.”
“Sounds like the kind of guy you should stay away from.”
“Well, Danny wasn’t too crazy about me telling the producer I wasn’t interested.”
“Have you thought about finding a different agent?”
“Nah. Danny’s okay.”
Hillary downed the rest of her whiskey. Mac followed suit. He needed it to dull his senses and to get through the conversation with Hillary.
“Hey! What about you?” Hillary asked. “Why’d you put that ad in the columns?”
“Somebody dared me to,” he lied. If he admitted his plan had been to find the perfect wife, she’d think he was crazy, and she’d probably be right. Just look what a disaster Hillary had turned out to be.
“Yeah, I thought it was something like that. I mean, all that talk about trees and gifts. Did you like my line, the ‘five foot two, eyes of blue’ bit?”
“Pretty clever.”
“Well, yeah. I’ve used it a few times before.” She picked up her gloves and purse. “Look, Mac. Thanks for the drink, but I’m really not interested. You know, you’re a little too old for me, and, well, gosh, I got to go.”
Mac stood. He didn’t have time to pull out Hillary’s chair. She departed in a flash. He wished he could run out too. Disappear before the next woman arrived.
He drank another Molson and checked his watch, over and over. He didn’t expect the next lady until eight, but when she walked in at seven-thirty he wasn’t surprised. She had flaming red hair and a short, tight black dress. Every man in the room followed her with gaping eyes. She sauntered across the room and took a seat at the bar, stuffing the white gloves into her purse.
Mac cautiously approached the bar, his beer clutched tightly in his fingers. He stood next to her and raised one boot to the foot rail. “I think you were expecting me.”
She stared Mac straight in the eyes. “I beg your pardon. Are you
Hillary grinned and put her index finger to the waiter’s lips. “Just one quick puff, please?” she purred.
The waiter’s eyes dropped to the rose tattoo on her left breast, and when he looked up again, his face flushed, he removed the lighter from Hillary’s fingers and laid it on the table next to her gloves. “Sorry.” He winked and left Mac to deal with any further problems.
“No sweat,” Hillary said, waving the unlit cigarette in Mac’s face. “Nasty habit, but I hate to give it up.”
Mac watched Hillary open her purse and drop the lipstick-stained cigarette inside, fought back his disdain, and attempted to start a conversation. “You were about to tell me about yourself.”
“Oh, right.” She took a sip of her whiskey then ran her tongue over her dark red lips. “I’m not from New York, but I bet you already guessed that from my accent.”
He hadn’t guessed. He’d been too busy trying to overlook Hillary’s offensive mannerisms, trying instead to concentrate on her tiny, turned-up nose. Long, thick, dark eyelashes. Liza Minnelli black hair. And that rose tattoo that increased in size every time Hillary took a breath.
“I want to be an actress,” she said, forcing Mac’s attention back to her face. “But I’m just not having any luck. Danny, he’s my agent, says I really got lots of potential.”
“Is that so?” Mac yawned.
“Oh, yeah. I went on an audition just the other day. The director said I could be a real star, with my looks and all.”
“I see.” He took a good look at Hillary. At first glance, in the dim light, she looked great, but on closer inspection he could see the pucker lines around her lips, the caked makeup at her hairline, the heavy buildup of mascara at the comers of her eyes. He swallowed the last of his beer, and started on the whiskey.
“Yeah, well, to be honest, it’s some kind of really low-budget movie. You know, the kind nice girls shouldn’t be in. I like the idea of being a star, but the guy sort of gave me the creeps.”
“Sounds like the kind of guy you should stay away from.”
“Well, Danny wasn’t too crazy about me telling the producer I wasn’t interested.”
“Have you thought about finding a different agent?”
“Nah. Danny’s okay.”
Hillary downed the rest of her whiskey. Mac followed suit. He needed it to dull his senses and to get through the conversation with Hillary.
“Hey! What about you?” Hillary asked. “Why’d you put that ad in the columns?”
“Somebody dared me to,” he lied. If he admitted his plan had been to find the perfect wife, she’d think he was crazy, and she’d probably be right. Just look what a disaster Hillary had turned out to be.
“Yeah, I thought it was something like that. I mean, all that talk about trees and gifts. Did you like my line, the ‘five foot two, eyes of blue’ bit?”
“Pretty clever.”
“Well, yeah. I’ve used it a few times before.” She picked up her gloves and purse. “Look, Mac. Thanks for the drink, but I’m really not interested. You know, you’re a little too old for me, and, well, gosh, I got to go.”
Mac stood. He didn’t have time to pull out Hillary’s chair. She departed in a flash. He wished he could run out too. Disappear before the next woman arrived.
He drank another Molson and checked his watch, over and over. He didn’t expect the next lady until eight, but when she walked in at seven-thirty he wasn’t surprised. She had flaming red hair and a short, tight black dress. Every man in the room followed her with gaping eyes. She sauntered across the room and took a seat at the bar, stuffing the white gloves into her purse.
Mac cautiously approached the bar, his beer clutched tightly in his fingers. He stood next to her and raised one boot to the foot rail. “I think you were expecting me.”
She stared Mac straight in the eyes. “I beg your pardon. Are you
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