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The Reek of Cheap Whore before/after "Do you want my phone number?" she asked. I looked at her and laughed. This made her become aggressive. Belligerent. "DO YOU WANT MY PHONE NUMBER! I'M SERIOUS!" she growled at me. I thought a slap wasn't too far behind. I paused as the bar held its breath a little bit, eavsdropping. She'd been flitting about the bar all night in skin tight black clothes and a silver vest, her blonde hair pulled up into scrunchy type of braid that trashy girls sometimes wear, somehow antagonizing one of the patrons who deliberately tried to ignore her. Clearly an ex, some sort of falling out. She reeked of cheap stripper perfume and trouble. I peered at her through the smoky haze of the dim bar. She had zeroed in on me from the start. Maybe it was the fact that I was wearing brightly colored clothes, I dont know. I saw a documentary about pimps once, they said something about that. I was walking around the pool table earlier in the night when the effuvula from her offensive odor hit my nose. "Smile." she said to me in a low growl. "I am." I noticed the freaky vibe that was going off about the place, and wasnt feeling quite myself for some reason. Maybe it was the weather. I took my shot, sunk it, moved around the table. "Smile." she said again,"Gawd, don't be so serious." "I did smile," I said, "You missed it." She went and sat down at the bar next to the man whom she was trying to bother. My friend, Rob, stepped over to me. "What is that SMELL?" he asked. I looked at him. "Cheap whore," I said. We shot some more games, and then sat down as two am rolled around without a sound from the bar. She walked over to our table, rubbing her nipples. "Stop making my nipples hard," she said to me. She chuckled deep in her throat, "I'm trying to be good..." I just looked at her. Rob filled in the silence. "Want to have a seat? Have a seat." he said. She sat down. "What's going on?" he asked. "Your friend already has it figured out, " she said, nodding towards me, then motioning towards the bar and a skinny guy sitting there in a marijuana endorsing t-shirt, who himself was busy shouting angrily at a woman on the phone. "Bring his pussy ass over here, then BITCH!" he shouted, "I'll kill both your asses! I'll burn your house down!" This made me laugh. "It's an...ex...sort of a situation..." she said, trailing off. I looked at Rob and rolled my eyes. Anyway, she asked me if I wanted her phone number. The bar was eavsdropping. "No." I said with cocky arrogance. The bar laughed. She eyed me cooly. "I want that shirt, " she said, motioning towards my red hockey jersey. Terry Sawchuk. Hockey legend. "I'm going to get that shirt." I paused. The bar eavesdropped. "No you're not." I said. The bar erupted again. "Hey!" a guy shouted from across the bar, "You should have asked her if she wanted to trade!" "Yeah!" rob said. I looked at her. "Yeah!" she said, "I can get your shirt, and you can get mine!" "SHIT!" another guy called out from the bar, "Why would he want that?! He can get that for three dollars at 'DEB'!" The bar laughed again. She looked around, unfazed. "BRING IT YOU PUSSY LITTLE BITCH!! I'LL FUCK YOU AND HIS ASS UP, YOU CUNT!" her ex screamed into his cell phone. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the barmaid, jess, arguing with the guy's brother, of whom the blonde said was 'taking her home'. They argued about me. I think he was going to try something stupid, but she spared me the trouble. "Are we leaving?" she asked, exhasperated, nearly on the edge of tears, "ARE WE?!" They left. "FUCK YOU, YOU CUNT!!! GODAMMIT!!! SHE HUNG UP!!!" the ex shouted, deliberately putting on a show for the bar. The bar's owner, jim, the man with the tracheal voicebox came in. The blonde looked at me and Rob. "1001 ninth street, if you want to party and get wild." she said to me, then turned to Rob, "1001 ninth street." And fled out the door. It was a flat out propostion. "I'm getting good at finishing my beer before you come, jim," a patron said, drinking his beer down and looking at jim. Jim said nothing, seemed not to notice. I looked at Rob, reading his mind. "No. No! NO!" I said. Eventually we filed out into the cold night. "Are you going over there?" I asked him. "I'll follow you." he said. I thought for a quick second. There was simply no way. Too sketchy, too many variable unknowns. So much I disliked. It wasnt the aggressiveness, or even the cheapness of the girl, but rather the presence of unspoken agendas, the motives of a girl seeking revenge, being a marionet on a string. Maybe if she didn't reek quite so badly of stripper perfume... No. "I'm not going there. I'm going home." I said, "You?" He never answered. I should find out what happened.
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