Stranges In A Bar (The Mrs. Robinson Remix)
Remix of Strangers In A Bar by Charles.
Graham has a secret.
It's not as big as, well, being a member of a top secret government project devoted to researching vampires, demons, and other creatures straight out of horror movies, but it's also not something he's about to tell Riley or Forrest or -- God save him -- Professor Walsh.
Riley likes cute and blonde and sweetly tough. Forrest likes them long and leggy and taking yoga, preferably with the ability to put her ankles behind her head. And Graham...
Graham likes older women.
Finely built older women, old enough to be his mother, with long flowing hair with the faintest touches of gray, the softest of wrinkles in the corners of the eyes, with moisturized hands and cushioned hips and a sleepy sort of elegance that only came with raising children for years.
If it got out, then he'd never live it down.
He sits in the bar in the corner, sipping on a bourbon and watching the women come in. Most of them are young and bleached-blonde, fake tans and faker smiles, trying to catch his eye in the hopes that he'll give them a house, or money, or at least a fuck.
The crowds swell, the crowds shrink, and before he finishes his first drink, he sees that there is one woman on the other corner of the bar, a slowly melting frozen concoction in front of her. Her hair shimmers around her in a halo of blonde and gray and her clothing is soft, fluid, scarves and chiffon trailing around her.
She looks tired. She looks lonely.
He gestures to the bartender, and buys her another drink. It takes the bartender a few minutes to make it, and when he sets it in front of her, he mutters something to her, and she looks towards Graham.
"Thank you," she mouths, smiling at him as she slips the straw between her lips and takes a sip.
Graham finishes his bourbon and straightens, staring at her hungrily, feeling something that all the twentysomethings in all the world couldn't make him feel. Her smile grows wider and, as she walks over, slowly swaying with the faintest hint of an inner rhythm. "The bartender said that a man with the buzzcut bought me this drink," she says. Her voice is soft, delicate, enchanting. "You're the only one with a buzzcut, so...thank you."
Graham flushes slightly, and looks down, suddenly feeling fourteen and foolish. "You're welcome," he says quietly.
She pauses, taking another drink, looking over him as she tongues the straw. After a few seconds, she smiles and opens her lips again. "I'm Joyce," she says.
"Graham," he replies, trying to be calm. Her eyes keep watching him with interest and just a hint of lust. It makes him nervous. It makes him semi-erect.
"I take it from the haircut that you're in the military?" she asks, raising her eyebrows slightly.
"Uh...yeah," he says, stuttering slightly. He straightens proudly. "Marines."
"Oh..." Joyce says, smiling. "How nice..."
She took another drink, still watching him. He gestures to the bartender for another bourbon and thankfully hides behind the glass, still flushing. After the silence, after several minutes, she turns to him and smiles politely. "Excuse me," she says as she stands.
He nods and watches her walk away, the slow and sweet sway of her hips hypnotizing his eyes as she walks to the jukebox on the other side of the bar. She leans forward, and punches a few buttons, smiling as she turns and faces him. She sways her way over to him again, and smiles widely. "Dance with me?"
Graham stands and stutters. "I...uh...I..."
"As payment for the drink?"
Graham can't refuse, and he smiles and holds out his hand. She takes it, smiling, and nestles into his arms as the music slowly grows louder.
She's soft and smells wonderful, her body molding around his in the way only an older woman's body can. He tries to think of things to reduce the hard-on he's feeling, tries to think of anything but the warm body he's holding. She chuckles and moves closer to him, whispering something about his body as they dance.
The music ends and he's still holding her, still has his arms around her and is still trying to not fall in love with her. He only knows her name. He knows nothing else.
His beeper's going off.
"I'm sorry..." he says, moving away from her and blushing furiously.
She smiles sadly and nods. "I understand," she says. She pauses, biting her lip, then looks up at him and smiles. "It...It was nice to meet you, Graham."
He nods and smiles, then leaves the bar.