in the stool Jiff had just vacated.
I thought she had to do laundry!
He put on his best face. “Hi, Lottie.”
She gave him a big smile and waved.
“Finished your work early, I see.”
She wagged her head up and down. She’d pinned her hair back and changed into a shocking tight evening dress that was diaphanous black. Jesus, Collier thought. She looks like a slot queen on a casino boat. Redneck housemaids needn’t dress like this, but there was Collier again, supporting the stereotype. Why shouldn’t the poor girl go out to a bar? He struggled not to shake his head when he noted her shoes: black high heels several sizes too large. Collier thought of an adolescent trying on her mother’s shoes, to feel grown up.
But despite her petite frame, the rest of her was grown up, and the howlingly inappropriate dress spotlighted her body. Immediately, he noticed an absence of pantie lines…
A lot of dichotomies here, Collier pondered: Mrs. Butler, the equivalent of Raquel Welch’s physique circa 1980 topped by an old man’s head with a wig; Dominique, the beautiful European-trained brewmaster who only drinksone beer a day because she’s a Christian; and now Lottie, a racehorse bod who couldn’t talk and had a face that…wasn’t the prettiest. But after all the quirks that had already befallen Collier today, what else could he expect?
Lottie crossed her legs in the tight gown, a foot rocking. Collier gritted his teeth after one glance at the athletic legs, and a spark came to his groin when he imagined them entwined about his back. Oh, man …Next, his eyes flicked to her top and noticed the pert, braless breasts free behind the shiny black fabric, nipples erect. Then a glance to her face…
Absurd, excited, half-crazy eyes and a warped grin.
“Uh, would you like to something to eat?”
Grinning, she shook her head no.
“How about a beer?”
She wagged her head yes.
Collier ordered her a lager from the first barmaid. He felt obliged to engage in conversation with Lottie but of course he couldn’t do that, could he?
Please, Dominique. Finish checking the wort and get back here.
“Oh, you just missed Jiff,” he thought to mention.
She nodded and slugged a quarter of the beer in one gulp. The glass looked huge in her little hand.
“Looks like he went down the street to another bar.”
She put her hand to her mouth as if laughing. Her other hand slapped her bare knee.
“I…don’t get it.” He thought back. “Oh, do you know this local historian? J.G. Sute?”
Now she belly-laughed—silently, of course—but this time slapped Collier’s knee.
“I still don’t get it. What, is Mr. Sute a funny man?”
Another silent belly-howl, and her hand slid halfway up his thigh and squeezed.
The pig in Collier didn’t really mind her hand there, but… Not here! Dominique would be back, and he didn’twant her to witness this weirdo spectacle. Just as he contemplated a way to remove it, she slipped it higher, her thumb edging his crotch—
That’s it!
He plucked the hand off and put in her lap. But she was still silently laughing.
“Come on, Lottie. What’s so funny about this guy Sute? He’s, like, the town fool?”
Lottie slugged more beer while roving her hand in a circle.
“You’ll tell me later?”
More rapid nods.
Collier frowned. He knew it was his own flaw, though—his intent curiosity. Why can’t I forget about all this bullshit and just finish my book? That’s what I’m here for, not gossip.
Nor was he here to revel in all this lust. He tried to glance around inadvertently, but anytime his eyes fell on an attractive woman, his crotch tingled. It got to the point that he forced himself not to look anywhere. He pretended to peruse the cased uniforms on display but even this he couldn’t do without catching a glimpse of someone. Eventually he pointed to a case of Confederate double-breasted frock coats. “Lots of uniforms here,” he said, if only to not sit in
I thought she had to do laundry!
He put on his best face. “Hi, Lottie.”
She gave him a big smile and waved.
“Finished your work early, I see.”
She wagged her head up and down. She’d pinned her hair back and changed into a shocking tight evening dress that was diaphanous black. Jesus, Collier thought. She looks like a slot queen on a casino boat. Redneck housemaids needn’t dress like this, but there was Collier again, supporting the stereotype. Why shouldn’t the poor girl go out to a bar? He struggled not to shake his head when he noted her shoes: black high heels several sizes too large. Collier thought of an adolescent trying on her mother’s shoes, to feel grown up.
But despite her petite frame, the rest of her was grown up, and the howlingly inappropriate dress spotlighted her body. Immediately, he noticed an absence of pantie lines…
A lot of dichotomies here, Collier pondered: Mrs. Butler, the equivalent of Raquel Welch’s physique circa 1980 topped by an old man’s head with a wig; Dominique, the beautiful European-trained brewmaster who only drinksone beer a day because she’s a Christian; and now Lottie, a racehorse bod who couldn’t talk and had a face that…wasn’t the prettiest. But after all the quirks that had already befallen Collier today, what else could he expect?
Lottie crossed her legs in the tight gown, a foot rocking. Collier gritted his teeth after one glance at the athletic legs, and a spark came to his groin when he imagined them entwined about his back. Oh, man …Next, his eyes flicked to her top and noticed the pert, braless breasts free behind the shiny black fabric, nipples erect. Then a glance to her face…
Absurd, excited, half-crazy eyes and a warped grin.
“Uh, would you like to something to eat?”
Grinning, she shook her head no.
“How about a beer?”
She wagged her head yes.
Collier ordered her a lager from the first barmaid. He felt obliged to engage in conversation with Lottie but of course he couldn’t do that, could he?
Please, Dominique. Finish checking the wort and get back here.
“Oh, you just missed Jiff,” he thought to mention.
She nodded and slugged a quarter of the beer in one gulp. The glass looked huge in her little hand.
“Looks like he went down the street to another bar.”
She put her hand to her mouth as if laughing. Her other hand slapped her bare knee.
“I…don’t get it.” He thought back. “Oh, do you know this local historian? J.G. Sute?”
Now she belly-laughed—silently, of course—but this time slapped Collier’s knee.
“I still don’t get it. What, is Mr. Sute a funny man?”
Another silent belly-howl, and her hand slid halfway up his thigh and squeezed.
The pig in Collier didn’t really mind her hand there, but… Not here! Dominique would be back, and he didn’twant her to witness this weirdo spectacle. Just as he contemplated a way to remove it, she slipped it higher, her thumb edging his crotch—
That’s it!
He plucked the hand off and put in her lap. But she was still silently laughing.
“Come on, Lottie. What’s so funny about this guy Sute? He’s, like, the town fool?”
Lottie slugged more beer while roving her hand in a circle.
“You’ll tell me later?”
More rapid nods.
Collier frowned. He knew it was his own flaw, though—his intent curiosity. Why can’t I forget about all this bullshit and just finish my book? That’s what I’m here for, not gossip.
Nor was he here to revel in all this lust. He tried to glance around inadvertently, but anytime his eyes fell on an attractive woman, his crotch tingled. It got to the point that he forced himself not to look anywhere. He pretended to peruse the cased uniforms on display but even this he couldn’t do without catching a glimpse of someone. Eventually he pointed to a case of Confederate double-breasted frock coats. “Lots of uniforms here,” he said, if only to not sit in
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