Devonne Brown

“What’s your best trick?” John asked, a blind date set up by a co worker. “Your greatest strength, what are you good at? What’s  your favorite thing in the world to do, Cynthia?” He sat up straight and smiled like a champion.

“My best trick? Are you expecting me to perform? That’s kinda personal don’t you think? I’m not sure I know you well enough, or like you well enough to answer that. Is this a date or a job interview?” asked Cynthia. John could tell he’d gotten off on the wrong foot, something he wasn’t used to doing.

Cynthia had a crease between her eyes and put her bag on the barstool between the two of them. He noticed the barrier.

John shifted on his barstool and stirred his bourbon and coke with his finger. He played  with the ice. It was her idea to sit at the bar. Like Flip Wilson, he preferred the power of the booth in the back, in the corner, in the dark. He felt vulnerable and exposed in the light at the bar. She wanted the stained glass glow, she said she looked better in red and pink lighting. She also said her chances of surviving in a bar with a man, even a safe one a friend recommended, increased exponentially with the quality of light. Cynthia had some nonnegotiables. No discussion.

John wasn’t sure he liked this woman at all. She was disagreeable and bossy.

“Do you have “a best trick,” John?” Cynthia asked. Did she just mock him?

The same question he’d asked her made him squirm. He took a long sip from his drink and nearly drained it. He was glad he’d ordered the good stuff.

Cynthia signaled the barkeep to bring him another one, ordered a shot of good sippin’ whiskey for herself and gave the barkeep her credit card. “Take care of it,” she said. 

“I don’t know that I have a best trick, Cynthia. You kinda made me feel stupid when you asked me that. I’m not sure I want that other drink, maybe I should go,” said John. His face was red. Cynthia gave him a sideways glance and a smirk. She shrugged her shoulders and pointed toward the door.

The bartender delivered the beverages. John reached out for his, and thanked both Cynthia and the barkeep. Looked like he was staying.

Cynthia laughed. “You’re not offended enough to run out with your tail between your legs. It doesn’t look like you’re going to answer me, and you don’t seem to be interested enough to hear what I have to say. Nice.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You’re kind of a bitch aren’t you? Nikki said you were a nice lady, and I ought to call you, that we’d get along well. She didn’t say you had a mean streak a mile wide.”

“I don’t have time for bs, do you? What’s my best trick, John?”

“Cross stitch and apple butter,” he laughed.

“Exactly, and yours is figuring out shit. Later, dude,” said Cynthia, and she exited the building.

Cynthia thought she probably ought to go back to therapy for awhile. She didn’t figure being so hard on him was cool, when he wanted to be nice. It startled her when he caught the car door before it closed.

“You’re going to have flight or fights forever, hang a while,” John read Cynthia’s mind.

“What gave that away, Genius?” She spoke sarcasm with power.

“We can have coffee tomorrow and talk about it.,”John let go of the door, and he smiled. “My job is to figure out shit, remember?”

“You must be the “Learn’d Astronomer” I read about.”

“Smart astromoner, cool stars, and galaxies, but you got too technical with the charts, so techincal in fact folks got tired-butt and left.”

“I can take a punch from a bitch for a day or two. I don’t think you’re as mean as you think you are. See you at noon at the book store. You can autograph your book for me, you won’t be so mean then.”