After only two weeks of dating and we already had a fight. About money. Look, she was the one who drank too much, not me, I was sober. But I had to get her in the car so I put her ass in the car. I have a bandage on my hand because she slammed it in the door, the scratches on my face already healed but I like knowing I'm not the only one with wounds. Bitch.

It is what it is. I step into this tavern I know, looking for happy hour broads that just got off of work. There's an empty seat next to a banging blonde at the bar. Damn. Heels and legs, skirt. Tight turtleneck. Tan.

"Hi there. Do you mind?" I ask her.

"Not at all," she says.

And I know her! And she's a real aggressive one. "Hey, wow, how are you?" I ask. She's a dancer, at least used to be.

"So sorry have we met?" she says.

"Yeah, for sure we have. You used to dance here in Gotham, down by the waterfront, what was the name of that place? . . . Anyway, tell me your name again?"

"Kathlene."

"Colleen! That's right."

"No," she says, "Kath-lene."

"Oh . . . right. Okay, my fault. It's been a few years, for sure. But you, you're stilllooking fantastic, by the way." I mean, she is a fit woman with a defining shape. Plus, she's writing with a pencil, how hot is that? "And that perfume, I'd never forget you," I tell her. "You really don't remember me?"

"Nope can't say I do." Her glossy lips, they upturn into a smile. "Will it be a problem?"

"Of course not, no-no. I'm a pretty remarkable guy though," I tell her. "I'll jar your memory."

Between perfect teeth the tip of her tongue catches the light.

"Um, you were dancing your way through school, right? Living with your mom, I think. Couple of brothers?"

"No, my stepmom lives in Brooklyn. Nine sisters. I thinks ya got me confused with someone else, Boy-boy."

"Definitely not. Sorry, I'm just hazy on the details. So how are you doing?"

"Good."

. . .

"Can I get you a drink?" I ask her.

"Such a gentleman. One red-headed slut, please."

"Ha! For real?"

"You betcha! I love that deerkiller taste in my mouth."

Okay, this bitch is funny. I order her drink, and a beer for me.

"Wutcha do to your hand there?" she says. "Hit the table on the upstroke?"

"That how you imagine it?" I ask her. She wants me.

"Only if it's true, Cutie." Her stare holds fast, hypnotic blue eyes. I look away, slyly. There's something about this woman.

"I got into a fistfight," I tell her. "I had to throw some punches."

"Really? How did he fair?"

"I did some damage, let's say that." Of course it seems like I hit somebody. And it's a good look on me, I can tell she likes it. I flex.

"I just loves me a fighter," she says.

I really really want to make this broad. It was all business before, and trust me, I've never had such an eyeful. She used to bend over and spread her ass. Then she'd back up and slide my nose in between her butt cheeks, all the way. Didn't even smell. At least she was clean. And, one time way back, she asked me out but you can't be taking these girls out to dinner and stuff. Especially after giving them all kinds of gift money. I declined, respectfully, but certain strippers a guy never forgets.

"What you remember about me most?" she says.

"Your hair, of course. Long and straight. It hung down over me many, many times."

"I'm actually a natural redhead," she says.

One of her eyebrows is red. And the other looks kind of navy. Which I didn't notice before with her glasses on. It's perfect on her though, kind of punk. Guess that's why her bad girl was always bald.

"You just up and disappeared," I tell her. Honestly, I frequented this chick's workplace often, practically paid her way through college myself. I wanted to help her out, and look, here she is all successful. "Where did you go?"

"I left," she says.

"Where to?"

"Don't remember. But did you go and look for me, Sugar?"

"Probably." She is smiling at me. Like she's ready to hop a cab back to her place. "I mean, yes. Of course I did."

She slaps me in my face all the sudden what the &%$#! I don't take shit especially from a bitch!

"Take it ea-sy, Pumpkin," she says. Her hand slides to the inside of my thigh. "You know how I likes to roughhouse. I'm just playin."

"It's cool, it's cool," I tell her. And feel myself calming down. Does wanting to fight a girl make me look stupid?

"Why so serious?" she says.

"It's just, well . . . I don't hit women but there's crazy people all over, everywhere, you just don't know who to trust these days. And, believe it or not, a while back, some lady, well, she up and just kills my brother—-"

"You mean actually like killed him?"

"Yes, I'm talking murder. I'm not joking."

"I didn't say you were," she says.

Kathlene's hands slide around my back, she hugs me, warm and close. Her lips just touch my ear, hair against my cheek. She has very white skin near the hairline, maybe a birthmark?

"Who dunnit?" she whispers.

"Gotham PD is 99% sure it was Harley Quinn." She pinches my ass so hard it makes my jaw seize up and tears run down my face.

"Ouch, Lady, damnit!"

"The villain?" She retracts her body from mine. "Oh, Honey, don't cry."

I bit my tongue. Hard. I wipe my shirtsleeve over my tear-stained face. I clear my throat. My ass is pulsing with a very sharp pain. "My brother's head was smashed with a kind of mallet rounder than a bowling ball. There were wood splinters in his face. What was left of it. He was cremated."

"How did this all happen?" she says. "Or should we not talk about it?"

"No . . . it's okay. He, well, met this woman at a club. He started dating her too."

"Did you ever meet her?"

"No," I reply. "They were only together a hot minute. But I saw pictures. She's about your build. Brunette. She was in med school at the time. Anyways . . ." Some crazy man-killer took my brother, I mean, who has family tragedies like this? It was rough on me and my dad, my mom was already long gone. Tramp.

"When did you graduate?" I ask her.

"I got kicked out actually!"

"What, really? Why?"

"Had an affair with my professor, Dr. Collingsford. We got caught! So I dropped out, and just became a psychologist. Instead of a psychiatrist no difference really, I just can't get ya the good stuff."

"The what?"

"Drugs, Ass-wipe. The ones that boggle your noggin." Her hand is massaging her breast, what? No, she must be adjusting her bra—-

"Oh, ha-ha. Well, any man getting therapy from you wouldn't need any drugs. You're quite the cure, if I may say, even just to be close to."

"That so?" she says, and giggles. "You wanna schedule a session with me?"

"Would I?" My pants are getting tight. "But what if I don't have any issues?" I smirk, like I'm a bad boy.

"Seems I left you with a scar. Or I could open you up a fresh wound?"

"That sounds tempting," I tell her. Feeling good, feeling good! I open my knees a little wider. "You smell amazing too, I remember that about you."

"Research shows that olfaction is the strongest link to memory."

"Ol-what?"

"Your sense of smell, Dipshit." Her pointer finger touches the end of my nose. "So ya wanna do me?

"What? uh . . . you got a crazy mouth, Girl."

"So that's a 'no'?" she says.

"No, of course I . . . It's not everyday a um lady says that type of thing. But yeah, yes. I want to, touch your nudity." I grin at her. Do I look dumb?

She smiles at me, so guess not. I put my left hand on her thigh and start to move it up when she grabs it and bends all the fingers back to my wrist.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow stop-stop-stop!"

"Now listen, Fella. You and me, we're just doing a little chattin, okay?

"Okay-okay ow-ow!"

She lets go. Jebús, nearly broke my whole hand!I have to be able to type.

"See, this is my body," she says, "and I know you see it." Did she just fart? "But none of that sensual touching without permission. Just like the club. Mmmkay, Sweetie?"

Maybe she had better quit messing with me? I could

hurt her. I mean if she injures me first. Right, I'm allowed to do that? In public? I shake my hand a little, what's that song, Shake It Off, or something? I like that song, it helps me when I'm feeling defeated.

This woman likes to joke, I guess. Crazy sense of humor. I can go along with it, show her it doesn't bother me. Be a man.

"Should I get you some ice?" she says.

"No, of course not. I'm fine. I like your uh way."

She lunges at me. OH! ha-ha. "You're funny," I tell her. "Didn't even flinch, did I?" I have a small penis.

"Mmm, I sure likes me a tough man."

She's like staring at me. I can't explain it, but it's not exactly a friendly gesture. Definitely not an attractive look. You know . . . I think I'm almost sure that she's starting to piss me off. I can teach a ho a lesson if I have to.

"And sit up straight too, huh? It never pays to look like a slouch," she says to me?!

And I watch, in disbelief, as this lady actually puts her hands under my armpits and raises up my &%$# body!

I give her the glare so she knows how I'm feeling. I mean, I mean business.

"Go on," she says, pointing. "Have a drink, let's be a good sport, hm? Aint nothin but a party, Baby."

I pick up my bottle. It's even small hard:(

"Lemme get you another one too," she says, signaling the bartender.

So I tip it up, have a good drink, try to relax. That's why I came in here after all. Just wish I understood women.

"Remember any of my outfits in particular?" she wants to know. "Or, maybe I wasn't wearing them much?" She winks at me. She holds her glass up, and clicks my bottle with it.

"Cheers," she says.

Regardless, Colleen's perfume, it is something. I remember it, all these years later. Funny how you forget things, but then all the sudden they come back to you. I like memories, they're neat. And I can hardly believe that this full-bodied woman, she would be all up on me, totally naked, in the private rooms. I'd be breathing in her neck. And she'd be writhing in my lap, sliding her crotch up and down my zipper, telling me about stuff she did with her girlfriend. "It's fire down there," I remember she'd say. Said they'd have hands-free hour to explore, tie each others wrists behind their backs with leather.

"Hemp," she says.

"What?"

"Every Tuesday night we used to do that. We still see a lot of each other too."

She leans across me on the bar, reaching for the saltshaker. "What else of old times?" she says. Her hair and neck in my face. I mean, just the aroma of her.

"I have not smelled that, the way you smell . . . your fragrance. I haven't smelled that since I last saw you. All those years ago."

"It's actually from a tree. Red gave it me. The juice just leaks right out. But careful now, huffing'll give you nightmares. Me on top of you, full moon over my shoulder?"

The way she talks, it's so hot. I just wish she'd touch it it's not like super-super small.

Her nail polish matches her eyes and pumps. Small ringfinger diamond tattoo. She spins the saltshaker lid loose, then leans across me again, returns it back to the bar. Her earrings are little crosses. She used to form her body around mine as I sat in a chair. And you definitely couldn't touch at this place they would bust you up. I wanted to touch her a few times, but then I'd remember she was a sex worker.

"So did the lady have a name?" she says.

"Who?"

"About your brother."

"Yes, a name I'll always remember. Harleen Quinzel."

"Har-leen Quin-zel?"

"Yep."

"What a dumb name."

"Right?" I reply. "But: Harleen Quinzel = Harley Quinn. See?"

"Oh. I get it, right. Well that makes sense. What did your brother do to deserve that?"

"To be killed? Nothing! Look, we're a good family. My dad retired from the Gotham DA's office, he raised me and my brother right, provided for us.

She recrosses her legs, skirt riding a little higher. "Your dad worked for Harvey Dent?"

"Yes. And sure my dad was there when all that went down in their department, but that doesn't mean anything. My dad was a well-respected lawyer. And he was never charged with any wrong-doing."

Her hand reaches for me and I move my head away quick. "Ah come'ere," she says, grabbing onto my skull. "She brushes my cheek with her fingers. And she picks my nose?! "Had some lint on you, but I got it. So how'd he meet her? Your brother?"

"Well, that Harleen lady, she had these plants at her house. This is a crazy story, my brother was kind of crazy too. But for some reason my brother had to have them, he said nothing did it for him like these plants, told me he was going over there to get them."

"Plants? For what? To smoke?"

"I guess. So he shows up at her house, goes right in the front door, maybe he was a little too hands-on with the mom, I don't know, he's a reactive guy, I wasn't there. But he just wanted the plants."

"Plants? Okay. Well, then what?"

"We don't really know. The police found his skull and brains all smashed into the floor. It also seems he'd been sodomized by a rose bush, I mean, is that even possible?

"Evidence don't lie," she says.

"But the family, Harleen's, they had all split, and haven't been seen since. Well, Harley Quinn has been obviously."

"What a tragedy,"she says.

"If I ever find that hellcat—-cause my dad and I have been lOOking—-I will grind her up and spit her out!"

Colleen punches me &%$# hard in the belly and I double over it hurts so bad . . . I'm totally a pussy with a witless appearance . . . trying to get my breath back. I'm going to suffocate I can barely think you through this but my thoughts have always been like pudding who am I kidding why was I born? Her head lowers next to mine, her cheek against mine, her lips again to my ear.

"You are such a beautiful, wild man. You are so sexy." Her blonde hair, it hangs down over me. Her knee touches mine. "You have true passion for your family, for honor, and for retribution." Her tits round and tightly snugged to her chest. The floor is moving. I'm really feeling under the weather today.

"If you're gonna make sick," she says, "better head to the little boys' room."

"I'm fine," I gasp. "You nudged me . . . in a bad place." KOFF "I pulled a muscle right there just yesterday."

"Well, maybe you should just go on back and get yourself fixed up anyway, whaddya think? You don't want others seeing you all hurt and cowering like a dog in the commercial world. That's not such a good look for you. Or for anyone, actually."

"O-, o-kay," I say. "I need to take a leak. I'll be . . . right back." I think something's wrong inside my body.

—-

I splash some water on my face. Feeling somewhat better, yeah. As long as I don't lift my arms too high. I remember eating something not right at lunch too. Kathlene needs to knock it off with the pranks though, someone needs to tell her. A man can only take so much, you know, before . . . he'll just up and loose it on a bitch. Lose? I wish I was smarter. But you just can't go around in public charlie-horsing people in the stomach.

I take my seat back at the bar. That harlot must have gone to the bathroom too.

"You're all set," says the bartender.

"What?"

"You're Mr. Sylvester, right?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Okay. Here's your receipt and your card. Your fiancee said she'd see you at home."

"My fiancee?"

"Colleen, right? Such a sweet-heart." The bartender hands me the bill book.

"Wait, what? What is this?" I open the book. "Three hundred and sixty-two dollars? What?!"

"She took six bottles of wine to go. Said it was your anniversary weekend. Congratulations."

My credit card's tucked in the book. I feel my pocket and my wallet is missing!

"Who gave you my card?"

"Sir, your fiancee did."

My keys are missing too. "My fiancee?!"

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I always gotta ruin a good thing. Potentially a good thing? Maybe? ugh whatever point is I'm home again on a Friday night alone with six bottles of wine and a toxin immunity but it's possible he's still hoping I come over anyway:P