Hair-Trigger by Trevor Clark

detail.
    An older blondish woman half-stumbled out of the ladies’ room. Although Rowe stepped aside so she could get by, she stopped to study the picture, and smiled up at him. “Hey, you’re cute . ”
    She was squinting as if to steady her wobbly eyes. Her silly expression had a guilelessness he found promising as he took in her wide mouth, and observed that her complexion was fairly unlined in the harsh lighting.
    â€œThanks. You too.” As she was turning to go, he asked, “What’s your name?”
    â€œBella.”
    â€œI’m Derek.”
    â€œHi, Derek.”
    Rowe followed her erratic trip up the staircase. A bit heavy in the trunk, maybe. When they reached the top, he asked, “Do you dance?”
    She gave him a coquettish glance. “Sometimes.”
    â€œFeel like it now?”
    â€œSure, why not?”
    He took her by the elbow and guided her around the corner of the bar, past the stools, the drinkers in the aisle, the amplifiers and musicians. Bella bumped against a couple of people when they maneuvered onto the dance floor, but moved into the right rhythm as Rowe caught her by the waist to steady her balance. Periodically, he leaned in to talk to her, trying to assess her beyond the giddy drunkenness and pale yellow sweater. He winked over her shoulder as Beach Boy raised a glass to him.
    Afterwards, he suggested they go somewhere else, and waited while she went to find her coat and say goodbye to her girlfriend. Leaning against a tabletop near the front, he watched a game of darts until she reappeared wearing a fur jacket. Couldn’t locate the friend.
    Rowe nodded to the bouncer on their way out the door, and held her arm as they crossed the street to the south side.
    He took her to a place called Lido’s, but it was too noisy and full of kids to talk properly, so they left and cut back to another one called The Beach Bar. Without a band or dance floor it was comparatively empty.
    He bought a vodka and tonic for himself, talked her into a large Coke, and asked for a glass of water on the side. Leaning on her elbow, Bella grinned at him from under her bangs and asked, “So how old are you?”
    â€œForty-four.”
    She looked comically agog. “I thought you were younger.”
    â€œHow about you?”
    â€œForty-seven.”
    â€œI thought you were younger.”
    She shook her head and turned serious. “Hey, d’ya smoke?”
    Rowe gave her a cigarette and tapped out another for himself, then looked in his pockets for a light.
    â€œGreat. Nobody smokes anymore.” Exhaling, she examined the advertisement on the back of his matches. “You don’t go to this place, do you? It’s disgusting.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s a meat market.”
    â€œIt’s just a neighbourhood bar to me.”
    â€œYou live up there? Me too . ” Strands of her hair overlapped, mussed and childlike. “I have a house on Balliol. You live in a house or apartment?”
    â€œApartment.”
    â€œEver been married?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œGuess I never met the right woman.”
    â€œYou’re not bisexual or anything, are you?”
    â€œNot me.” Rowe took a drink. “If you’re worried about AIDS, I got checked last month and have a clean bill of health at home.” While she seemed to be thinking it over, he said, “Here, have some more Coke.”
    They left the bar fifteen minutes later. As they walked along the sidewalk, she asked, “Do you drive?”
    â€œNot tonight.”
    â€œWell, I’ve got a car up Queen there, but I don’t know if I should. I was supposed to stay at my girlfriend’s tonight. . . .” Bella buttoned her jacket. Though her articulation had improved, her walk was still unsteady. “You got a license?”
    â€œYeah, but I’ve been drinking for a while too, and I’ve already been charged with