A Night in a Year: 35. Table

[jacquelineb]

Already, they’re keeping an eye on her. They sway through the crowd like a single unit, the four men around her, Jeroen’s hand still on her shoulder, her fingertips touching Orhan’s elbow. It is packed so tight that drinks could spill with one careless step, or even careful step; those prone to tentativeness could easily get in the way of the casual and flippantly easy-going.

The bar is to the left, the dance floor to the right past some couches and bar tables. Two women of about forty get up from one, taking their bags and coats. She and her new gang stake the table like it’s made of gold, clutching at the four bar chairs and a fifth that Xavier manages to grab as he passes it like dogs with bones. Then they sit and nod at each other, as if this is a feat of genius.

“Ok, drinks?” Jeroen asks.

Orhan sighs. “Yes, my turn. Out of one queue, into another…” He mutters, and after taking requests, leaves them, nudging his way through the crowd back towards the bar.

Xavier says something, but no one can hear him, and he pretends to smack the table, his hand slowing down mere millimetres from the faux marble surface. Jeroen raises his hands, as if making a point.
“See! No conversation!” he shouts.

She screams back “Yes!” Diarmuid only looks wry, and he glances at her, as if waiting for a reaction. There is none of the sleaze she saw before, but a kind of… amused interest.

Somehow, with these men, she doesn’t feel the need to flirt, to lean forward pushing her breasts out, or to smile too broadly to catch their attention. Perhaps because she already has their attention, Jeroen’s at least. And perhaps because she doesn’t want to give Diarmuid another reason to look at her like she’s foolish.

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Next: 36. Fish Tank

Image found on flickr, by Dr Stephen Dann, used under the Creative Commons License.

Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.