The Clouds Shifted: Speakeasy #161

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“Hey baby,” she whispered as she rubbed her chest against me, “Why don’t we go someplace a little less… public? I have whiskey at home.”

I downed my drink, picked up my hat, put my arm around her waist and said, “Let’s go.” Her long curly hair was black as night. She had large green eyes, full lips, and high sculpted cheekbones. Her legs were longer than a Jerry Brown speech.

I tossed some money on the bar, nodded and said, “Thanks Tony,” to the bartender. We walked out the front door. I squinted for a moment against the afternoon LA sunshine, my eyes adjusting slowly after the gloom inside. The clouds shifted, casting an ominous shadow on the ground. It was easier to see with the sun behind the clouds and I chose to take this for a good sign.

“Which way?” I asked.

“Where did you park?” she asked, then quickly added, “We need to drive. I don’t live around here.”

What was I thinking, this is LA. I spun her around and we went back into Spiro’s. I was parked in the back. I waved to Tony on the way through to the back door. She kept washing glasses, shook her head and smiled that lopsided smile she had. Tony was the silent type, she didn’t talk much but you could somehow, always tell what she was thinking. When we got to the alley the clouds had moved again. The evening sun was back out. It was another beautiful day in paradise.

“Ohh, a 73 Camaro,” she gushed when we got to my car. “And, it’s orange.” She shivered and then licked her lips. I took that as a good sign too. I got her situated in the passenger seat and went around to the driver’s side where I unlocked the security bar from the steering wheel and tossed it in the back.

“Where to doll?”

“Hollywood,” she said, “I love your hair. Gray hair looks so distinguished on a man. Call me Mariana though, my name is not Doll” She had a faint accent that I couldn’t place. It was musical, easy to listen to.

I smiled and put the car in drive. I took surface streets to the Hollywood Freeway, and headed toward Cahuenga. She leaned way over so that all I could see was cleavage and turned on the radio. Fiddling with the knobs she tuned in a soft rock station. Some chick, with a nice British voice, was crooning about a fire starting in her heart. Mariana set the volume for background music and then put her hand on my chest. She moved it slowly downward, lingering over my belly and then rested it on my thigh.

“Your dough-boy physique really turns me on,” she said. “Hard body boys are so boring. I prefer a man, with a bit of a paunch and an AARP card.” Her breath was coming faster now and she was moving rhythmically in her seat; swaying and dancing to the music that emanated softly from the speakers in the doors. I pressed a little harder on the accelerator.

“I hope it’s not too disappointing,” I told her, “but, I’m not a member of AARP. I don’t like their politics.” Immediately, she pulled away, took her hands back to herself and when I glanced her way I saw that her mouth was set to ‘pout’. “I do have Medicare though,” I added quickly.

“Ohh, that’s sooo much better,” she leaned back over and nibbled my ear lobe. I sighed and eased back up on the accelerator. I was going to enjoy this ride. We blew past Hollywood and headed towards Malibu and the shore. The exit signs all began to look the same and the black snake highway kept winding up the coast. We drove slowly alongside the warm, whiskey colored sunset in the west. Time stood still.

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