Last Chance Saloon

Last Chance

He saw her as his last chance for scoring a good-looking girl. He has wasted too much time surveying the area and all the drop-gorgeous girls had been taken. The rest of the girls looked like rejects to him. So he focused on the redheaded girl with a bridge of freckles.

He edged to her, going against the stream of movement, dodging bodies to he reached her. She looked a lot better up close, especially her green eyes. He was trying to think of something to say, something to get her attention and get her engaged in a conversation.

“I like your freckles when you wrinkle your nose.” He immediately regretted this opening. What if she hated her nose? He would lose her, then he would have to leave empty-handed.

“Thanks for noticing and not trying to gawk at my breasts.” She smiled and her green eyes focused on his eyes. So he focused back. Now he was self-conscious, trying to remind himself not to stare. But the urge was strong. He just had to be stronger. He was wondering, where they big or small? If she mentioned them, then they must be huge. He could hope. He wanted to look. He knew he should not look. Now he did not know what to say or do.

She smiled again, “I know you want to look, but I appreciate it that you are looking at my face. Most guys want to see them, even if I am completely dressed and have a turtleneck sweater.”

The more she talked about them, the more he wanted to look at her breasts. Don’t blow it by looking, he kept thinking. “I like faces,” he attempted, “and I want to look at yours. I draw faces in an art class. At first, I took the class to get an easy grade, but now I want to sketch all the time.”

She seemed to consider this for a moment. She seemed to be thinking it was an unusual pick-up line. At least that was what her face seemed to say. Ever since he took the class, he was convinced a person could learn a lot by watching a face. His study of faces led to winning card games. However, getting a date with the girl was more important than winning at poker.

“I don’t believe you,” she finally admitted. But he turned over the check for the bill, took out a pen, and started sketching. He began with her eyes. He noticed she did not wear any make-up and he drew some mirth into her eyes. He drew her nose with its speckle of freckles, making sure he did not miss any.

“You counted my freckles!” She was amazed. He drew the arch of her eyebrows to capture her surprise. He included how her mouth parted slightly as she tried to hide her pleasure at seeing her face emerge on the piece of paper. He got the part of her hair, how the left side curved towards her left ear. He had the curve of her ear and the tiny pearl earring. Her cleft chin, making her face heart-shape, the mole, like a black dot, near her lip on her right

By now he knew he had her attention. She smiled more, he drew her blush. “That is amazing,” she soften, like a cat after licking cream. “Do you do nudes?”

He was not positive if she was offering, or if this was just another question of talent. He tried for a general answer, “Yes.”

“Would you do one of me?”

Any man’s fantasy; now to reel her in. “If you do not mind.”

Tomorrow the newspaper would find out he stabbed her, and he would have a drawing of before and after, to recall every lucid detail. He had her faster than he expected. “We could go to my place where I have a sketch pad.”

But now she had a gun pointed to him. So did some other women. He noticed all the people at the bar were women. He wondered, “Am I arrested?”

“No,” she answered, “We know what happened to the last girl you were with. She was my sister. These are her friends. You did not know it but she had on her cellphone. We heard you kill her and gloat afterwards. Now we want to inflict the same pain on you.”

He saw the knives. He never felt them coming.