The door slammed behind us, and I sloshed my drink all over myself. The dame was in the corner, giggling her sweet little head off. I calmly sat down, pulled out a lighter, and lit the lucky I keep in my front jacket pocket. The lighter clicked, and I inhaled.
The dame kept looking at me, expecting me to do something. ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven,’ they called it. More like seven minutes in a closet with a ragged fox coat and a moth eaten tweed monstrosity. “Never liked tweed,” I said, taking a drag. I looked at her. “Too itchy.”
I offered her a lucky. “No thanks,” she half-giggled “My momma doesn’t like me to smoke.”
I shrugged and pocketed the cig. No use wasting a perfectly good smoke on the likes of her. “Some party, eh?” I said, trying to keep it light.
“Are you going to kiss me now, or are you funny?” She was getting impatient now.
“Kid, you’re too young for me. Just sit back and pretend you’re havin’ a good time.”
The door finally opened, and I walked back into the kitchen. My drink needed replacing.