Elemental - I
And just like that, it was over.
Tanya turned away, and that waist-to-hip ratio that used to have me awarding myself congratulatory medals because I knew "I'm tapping that", swayed away from me, as she walked out of my periphery.
Did I have a broken heart? To be honest, no. But sorely damaged ego? Hell, yeah.
She was a bitch, and I'd played Petruchio to her Katherine, over-looking our unsuitability for the charms of her spectacular and unreal tits, and for the way she made an about-turn once I got her alone. A harpy in public, behind closed doors she was even more of one. But once I got her horizontal, with her mouth occupied in something other than complaints and whining, she had a body that could have stopped Casanova roaming, and the supple agility of a jungle cat. Our entanglement was too corrosive to last, and I knew that, I knew it, but crap - what now? Back to dull girls who always simpered nice things because they wanted everybody to like them?
Tonight I'd taken Tanya for lobster and basil butter at a very highly reviewed eatery, and listened to four courses of her usual vitriol before she dumped me and stalked off on her five-inch stilletoes, costing me enough money to put a teenager through university. Churlishly, I figured she could find a cab all by herself, and I'd explore the waterfront area, which I wasn't too familiar with.
After ambling for a couple of blocks, I stopped in front of a bar with the mysterious, made-up sounding name of Anthemusa, which is a bloody stupid thing to call a bar. Covered in shells, it was tacky and unappealing, but it was a bar, and that meant it would meet my requirements for the evening, which were alcohol. I planned to imbibe glass after glass until I reached either self-enlightenment, or self-obliteration. I wouldn't have to think about Tanya until I came around, and that wouldn't be for days. Days.
Once inside I did actually wonder why I'd bothered walking through the door when I discovered the interior was just as bad as the exterior. The walls were covered in some sort of veneer that looked like stone, so the whole place had the appearance of a kind of undersea grotto, with blue and green lights, for God's sake. A pump system ensured that the walls were glistening and gleaming with a constant flow of water drizzling down them. What Poseiden-minded individual had dreamed up this bad-taste nightmare? It was explosively kitsch. But fuck, there was seating, there was a counter, and there were racks of bottles. If kitsch offered beer and whiskey, I could do kitsch.
The bar was shell encrusted too, faintly glowing with all the nacre. I eased myself onto a stool and nodded to the bartender, who sloshed dark liquid into a tumbler and thrust it at me without bothering to ask what I wanted.
"We serve rum and ale, that's all. First one's on the house," he said, and I don't have a taste for rum, never have, but I raised my glass and drained it anyway.
"Ah," he said, "It's like is it?" and refilled my glass. I drank a second, and a third without pausing for breath, and then asked for a beer.
"You're drinking with intent. That always means woman trouble," the bartender remarked, opening a bottle for me. I nodded grimly, but I wasn't ready to talk, so I turned and took stock of my surroundings. The sea theme had been taken to its absolute extreme in here, certainly. It couldn't have been more briny. Odd bits of nets hung from the ceilings, along with anchors, and there were items of miscellany from ships - lanterns, bells, the brass surrounds from portholes - strewn about. Under the pervasive green light it was all quite eerie, but fuck - I didn't care. I was there to get drunk.
Another shot of rum, and another beer later, my angst over Tanya's abrupt departure was mellowing into a floaty sort of relief. It wasn't as if I'd ever envisaged myself taking her home to meet my parents. It wasn't as if I'd ever entertained the thought of little Tanya-Edwards scampering about on a daisy-strewn lawn under an apple tree behind a white picket fence. It wasn't as if I'd even actually liked her. I told the sympathetic barman my whole sorry tale. He had dirty blond hair and a smooth face, but eyes that looked like he'd seen a lot. I privately named him Captain Sparrow, even though he didn't look anything like a pirate. I figured he needed a seafaring name. He listened to all my venting and nodded sagely, polishing glasses and holding them up to the light, then polishing them again. They were very clean glasses. Good riddance to Tanya, and another beer thanks, my good friend Jack.
And that's when I saw her.