Florence Davenport (happensynapse) wrote in rivieralogs, @ 2016-06-11 00:10:00 |
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It had to be some kind of record, losing three jobs in the two months she'd been living in Santa Barbara. Last week she sighed into her free beer as she talked to Tracey (who was almost as "friend" as they came in her life) about the frustrations of secret handshakes and burnt out jeeps, but it was masked by a joke and a shot until the rest of the night disappeared in a blur. Happy Birthday to her. She woke up the next morning with a message on her phone from Harold, wishing his daughter a happy birthday before asking her when she was coming home. Wasn't she tired of running? Didn't she want to talk? When would she forgive him? Florence deleted the message, took two aspirin, and peeled open the newspaper to scan for job postings. But another weekend was soon upon her, and this time she found herself in a cigar bar called Lonesome Joe's. Opting to forego the counter, she plopped down at a corner table where the nearby rock and blues band Mudlark began tuning their instruments to play. The server came by. She selected Romeo y Julieta off the cigar menu, clipped it and lit it, puffing away as a redbreast 12 whiskey was brought next. A shame they didn't have the 15. For the most part she was left in relative peace. Maybe it was the "fuck the fuck off" vibes she gave. And if that didn't work, then a death glare that might set a man on fire for his attempts at trying to buy her a drink tended to work. One out of ten pushed their luck even further and she'd kick a chair into their crown jewels. Could've been worse, though. One time in Arizona she'd been escorted from an establishment because it wasn't acceptable to slam a man's face into the bar. But some people were genuinely nice. Her server tonight, for example, had a sweet smile and a lime green tie. But she knew what some of these men felt when looking at her. And she was tired of it. She wasn't lonely. Or weak. Or a piece of meat to salivate over. And if she wanted to pick someone, male or female, out in the crowd to take home, Florence could certainly make that decision herself. The band rolled through a few of her personal favorites. ZZ Top and Steely Dan, among others. They picked up a classic tune by The Band, and her foot tapped along as the guitarist charismatically moved from his post to entertain the various customers throughout the room. Take a load off, Fanny Take a load for free Take a load off, Fanny And you put the load right on me She smirked as an inebriated woman hopped off her stool to shimmy with the guitarist. Florence ran her fingers through her hair, momentarily cured of the heavier thoughts that weighed her down, taking some advice from the lyrics. If she could get through the rest of the evening entirely unbothered and unnoticed, it would be too good to be true. Regardless, her heel remained on the seat in front of her, primed for pushing if someone else didn't take a hint. |