Thirty-One
Before she could get more than a few steps away, I reached out and grabbed her wrist. She turned, wide-eyed, and mouthed “please stop” at me. She yanked her arm from my grip and sped through the crowd with her towel and the broken glass. A waitress brought me another glass. “On the house,” she said. “Wait,” I said before she could walk away. “What’s that girl’s name?” “What girl?” She looked around the crowded club. “There are lots of girls here.” “The one in the maid costume.” “That doesn’t narrow it down. What does she look like?” She shouted into my ear over the music. I looked around and noticed a few women wearing the same ridiculous outfit. “Short, dark hair, pixie cut, clumsy,” I said and motioned her height with my hand. “Oh, I know who you’re talking about now. Are you
- Writer
