Episode 2
690 Words
Releasing a pronounced sigh, the man before her pressed his full soft lips to her cheek as he released her body; bowing low before her as he told her, “I’m so sorry, Miss. It seems that my business calls me away.” He paused here, adding as he raised his hand to his full, moist lips for a gentlemanly kiss, “We will see each other again, this I promise you.” And with these words, he was gone. For a long moment Kat stood motionless on the dance floor, shaking her head from side to side as her fantasy man disappeared into the smothering throng of people that encircled the dance floor. “So he doesn’t leave me his name, his number, or as much as an identifying fairy tale glass sneaker behind,” she lamented. “Drat it!” Turning with a frown from the center of the dancefloor, Kat walked straight into a brick wall, or, so she found out seconds later, a musclebound, mustached barbarian of a man who looked down upon her with a slight smile.
“Just so you know, Miss, Mr. Ambrose has covered your bar tab for this evening,” he informed her. “And he encourages you to make a return visit to our club. Soon, if you prefer.” Kat grinned. “Oh, I prefer.” Kat came close to regretting her decision the next weekend, as she returned to Club Groove at the side of her friend Cecily, a slender, tanned blonde who looked smashing in a flirty white dress inspired by screen legend Marilyn Monroe. “Of course, Cecily would look smashing in a potato sack,” she sniffed, her eyes taking a self-conscious look down the length of her own fully made form, clad as it was in a purple V-necked spandex swing dress that fit and flattered her generous curves. The long unbound waves of her cinnamon brown hair framed a face touched up with ruby red lipstick and just a touch of mascara; and while Kat thought that she struck a passing fine figure if she did say so herself, she still felt all but invisible at the side of her glamorous friend; a crony that, bless her, never seemed to eat.
“At least I’ve never seen her eat,” she mused in silence, adding as she took a big resounding gulp of the no doubt high calorie cherry flavored drink that she had just purchased and was enjoying just fine, thank you very much, “And I certainly don’t see any evidence of it on her hips.” And while it was Kat’s connection to her mysterious dance partner that had secured them free admittance into the club that evening, Cecily was the one who seemed to be netting the lion’s share of dance invitations. As evidenced by the short but significant line of males now assembled before her table. “Forget a dance card,” she sniffed, rolling her eyes heavenward as her friend took the hand of her first prospective partner while asking the others to sit tight and politely await their turn. “This chicksta needs a billboard.” Shifting in her seat, Kat’s languid gaze searched the crowd for some signs of her own dance partner.
The man who had so impressed and entranced her just a few days beforehand. Although she knew him only by the name Mr. Ambrose, she’d seen the charming, strikingly handsome gentleman every night in her dreams. His deep, sonorous voice echoed endlessly in her psyche as his firm strong hands fixed themselves around her waist and swept her across her dreamscape in a passionate advance. “This is madness,” she mused now, shaking her head from side to side as she took a particularly hearty swig of her—um—cherry stuff. “I barely know this man, I don’t even know his first name, but I can’t stop thinking of him.” So entranced was she by this Mr. Ambrose, in fact, that she envisioned him bounding to the front of the assembled line that now surrounded their table.
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