“Ugh, how can you invoke the great Susan Glaspell to make a point and not even know her work when someone recites it to you?”
“I’m more surprised thatyouknow it,” I admit, wincing slightly at how elitist it sounds.
“Well, I’ve been acting since I was old enough to walk and studying plays since I could read. I memorized my favorites and have a tendency to interject when I hear someone talk aboutthem. My mom used to get on me for it, even though it was her fault I fell in love with the medium in the first place. I mean, she and my dad would drag me and my siblings to theaters every chance they got, and?—”
“Seems like you have a habit of rambling too,” I note. As if I’m trying to form a barrier against the instant attraction—something to keep the bad decisions at bay.
I can’t recall the last time anyone caused such a disturbance within my being. Certainly not since my undergrad years, when I stopped letting myself get caught up in romance or its relatives.
My body could no longer handle it. Not after that night.
“That’s true, I do ramble. I come from a pretty quiet family, and as the only extrovert, filling the silence is a superpower of mine.”
“Silence isn’t a bad thing though. It’s good to ruminate on thoughts before speaking them.”
She ignores that. “The point is I’m a Susan Glaspell fan. Well, less specifically her fan and more interested in a lot of the female-written works from her time. I’ve starred in a couple community productions of her plays. I always think it’s interesting how so very little has changed for women in society, even decades later.”
“What a terribly bleak analysis.”
“Do you disagree?”
“Well, women can vote now. You can own property, get divorced, and the protections for actors have definitely improved since Glaspell wrote the play.”
“Ah, yes, you’re right. Equality achieved. Alert the community aid workers. They’ll be so pleased to know their jobs are done.”
Warmth flushes my skin, and I push the wineglass away. “I didn’t say things wereequal. Just better. Maybe. For some.”
“Yet here I sit—drinkless.”
“Is that a hint?”
“The polite thing to do when approached by a woman at a bar is to offer her something.”
“Doesn’t chivalry go against the whole equality thing you were just talking about?”
She grins, placing both forearms on the counter. As she does, her tits press obscenely against the neckline of her dress, and I have the distinct desire to shove my face between them.
I’ll bet they’re soft, her skin smooth as butter and just as supple.
“I’m thirsty and forgot my wallet,” she says, reaching out with her index finger. She places it beneath my chin, pushing up so my eyes meet hers once again. “I’d appreciate it if you helped me out.”
“With what?”
“A drink. Pay attention.”
The command in her tone makes me swallow. Hard. “Are you flirting with me?”
“If you have to ask, I must not be doing a very good job.”
“As I stated before, I’m not familiar with the concept.”
“Which I find odd, by the way. A guy that looks like you doesn’t evenneedto flirt. You could pick up anyone in this bar just by sliding a drink and condom their way.”
My eyes flicker to the counter as she drops her hand, her pinkie brushing the edge of the foil packet from before. “Are you really twenty-five?”
“Why, are you thinking about what I look like naked already?”
Self-consciousness flares deep within me, and I wonder if she can smell the depravity from earlier on my skin. No matter how many times I try to scrub it off, it never feels like I come all the way clean.
