Phantasmagoria: Quickie

“Sit,” she commanded in a soft voice.

“Excuse me while I slip into something comfortable.”

Minutes later, she stood at the top of the stairs, one hip pasted against a door jamb. Dressed only in a sheer gossamer gown, she smiled, inviting him upstairs into her bedroom.

He smiled, loosened his tie, and rose from the couch. It had been much easier than he’d imagined when he dressed for the club. As he paid the cover charge and walked through the bat wings of the front door, he’d seen her reflection in the backing mirror that ran the length of the bar. She sat on a red stool, holding a fancy drink with a long glass stem between two curled fingers and her opposable thumb, with her elbows upon the bar. With her free hand, she wriggled her fingers in his direction.

He stood there for a second, looking around the room. Several couples were on the dance floor, wrapped together in place during the slow sentimental number that a spotlit three-piece band was knocking out. A couple of guys with their heads down in their drinks sat on stools at the far end of the bar. Otherwise, the place was dead. He guessed it was still too early.

As he looked around, he kept her in his side vision, making sure she actually had waved at him and not just reacted to the door’s opening as he came in. When he…