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Bob Falfa (55chevy) wrote in silverage,

Bob entered the dark and smoky club with a confident smile on his face. A petite brunette wearing the requisite bunny costume passed him with a tray of empty glasses. On a whim, he reached out and gave her cute round behind a squeeze. She squealed in surprise and turned to face him, the shocked look on her face quickly giving way to a professional (and sufficiently seductive) smile, which Bob returned with a nod and a wink.

"Whiskey on the rocks, sugar," he told her, a soft demand rather than a request.

"Right away, sir," she replied, then continued on her way toward the kitchens. Bob too continued on his own path, descending the last few steps onto the main floor. With his tanned skin and large stetson hat, he stood out from the rest of the crowd, but that was by design. Standing out made the ladies come to him, and he was more than happy to regale them with stories of California sunsets.

Usually Bob would pick up chicks by his own merits, cruising the streets at night with the engine revving and the windows down, but after the big race he'd decided his Chevy could use a rest, so he'd headed downtown to the Playboy Club, where girls were ripe for the picking. When the brunette bunny returned with his drink, he took it graciously, making sure to grab the glass in such a way that his fingers closed over her own.

"Thanks, darlin'," he said. "Say, what's your name?"

"Charlene," the girl replied.

"Well, Charlene, aren't you just the prettiest bunny I ever saw."

Charlene blushed, excused herself because she had more drinks to deliver, but promised to return as soon as she could. Bob watched her go and took a sip of his drink. Moments later, a tall blonde in a pink satin bodice and matching rabbit ears passed his way. "Well there, doll," Bob said, "aren't you just the prettiest bunny I ever saw."