Solara sits alone at a bar.
In A Word
Solara sat in her favorite bar, nursing a red wine. It was her favorite because she liked the ambiance of the twenties décor and music. In fact, she wore a flapper dress and feathered headband tonight. It was enjoyable because it wasn't crowded.
“Wow, somebody has put the word out about this place, it’s jammed! I hope I can get to ladies,” she muttered.
She beckoned to the bartender, who came over with the wine bottle and topped up her glass.
“What’s with the herd tonight? Most of them seem single and men.”
The bartender, whose name happened to be Butch, shrugged.
“The boss’s idea. Speed dating, can you believe it?”
Solara looked around. Then it happened.
“Well beautiful,” said a suave voice in her ear, “Can I buy a drink?”
“I’m not interested.”
“How can you say that, you don’t know me?”
“I know your kind, even married one once,” she replied, turning on her stool.
Nobody seemed to be sitting at the speed-dating tables. Most were coming up to hit on Solara. She repeated her line about disinterest over and over.
“I’m beginning to feel like one of the marks of a robo-caller,” she remarked to Butch, with a smile.
He grinned and twirled his handlebar moustache to make her laugh, like he always did.
As the evening wore on, Solara continued to say no to all comers. One had the nerve to grab her arm and try to pull her off the stool. With her other hand, she punched him expertly.
Butch hauled the unconscious Lothario to the door and threw him out. When he came back looking impressed, Solara sketched a bow. Finally, it was just her and Butch.
“Promise you won’t deck me?”
“Can I see you home?”
“In word, yes!”