Her curvaceous body underneath that slinky little black dress showed prominently albeit the somewhat dim lighting. She flashed her shiny black Chanel purse, and gestured towards the bartender for a vodka lime as she sat on the bar stool next to me.
I turned my gaze towards the expat crowd gathering outside the al-fresco area, trying to look away. But I found myself staring at the reflection on the glass panel where I discovered that she was stealing glances at the same direction surreptitiously. I thought I saw a furtive, almost elusive, perhaps even coy smile on her full, cherry-glossed lips.
She turned her line of sight away from me abruptly as I looked back into the bar area. I took my time to examine her: intricate silver ear-rings, smooth velvety black hair tied up immaculately in a pony tail, matching black open-toed heels and carefully manicured nails. She wore a light make up with subtle, smokey eyes and perfectly curled eyelashes.
The strong, sweet, floral scent she carried was disturbing. It was so cloying that the cigarette smoke coming from other bar goers began to smell like a breath of fresh air.
I took the last sip of my long island iced tea, bid the bartenders farewell and called it a night.