Retexo

vecchi amici

"Tenny, you listening?"

I looked back at Mark, nodding in mock thoughtfulness, eyes wandering around the bar lazily. Out of the corner of my periphery, I saw a flash of dark hair, a quick sliver of a white smile behind bright red lips. The girl smiled at Tom as he handed her a drink and gave him a quick shake with a well-manicured hand before turning on her (very high) heel to settle at a corner table to flick through a pile of papers spilling haphazardly out of a few manila envelopes.

Mark whistled appreciatively, eyes tracing up her lithe figure. "Whaddya think? Weekend vacationer or someone we have fun with for a while?" he said almost predatorily. He turned to me, a smirk evident on his face. "Give you fifty bucks if you can get her number before I do."

He's cocky, too cocky. I gave his hand a firm shake, sealing the wager. He got up from his seat easily and all but swaggered to the table, leaning a hand on it as he smiled brilliantly down at her. She glanced up in surprise but a small grin spread across her face as well. I couldn't help but notice that she was beautiful, delicate features framed by a curtain of heavy dark hair, a waterfall of onyx cascading down her back and around her shoulders. He proffered a hand and she took it, the nuances of their conversation lost to me in the squabble and hubbub of the pub. I pulled out my wallet, ready to give Mark a fifty before he came back, positively scowling.

"Something wrong?" I asked, genuinely interested. 

"She's not into it." He grunted noncommittally and took a deep swig of beer.

"Surprising," I held back a chuckle, "seeing as you haven't been turned down since what, eighth grade?"

"Yeah you see if you have any more luck, the girl's freaky man, something about the eyes. Put you under a spell or some shit."

"Not every girl who doesn't want to ride your dick is 'freaky', Mark."

"Nah dude it's like she thinks she's above all of us, like we're the paparazzi and she's being kind just letting us look at her. Fuckin' bullshit dude-" he said, pounding his fist into the table, "I'm a DuPlier. We run this town."

I rolled my eyes as I ruse from my seat and go to see if Tom had anything non-alcoholic to pump into an already volatile Mark, but nearly lost my step as a group of tipsy fifty-something women pushed through and occupied a booth.

"Careful there," a voice said. Someone grabbed onto my elbow as I stumbled, "falling face-first in a bar isn't exactly on one's bucket list." The lovely alto voice continued, words lilting with the hint of an unplaceable accent. I looked up from the ground and found myself lost.

The eyes; grey and green and brown, like an angry ocean during a storm.

"No Tenny, that's not fair, if you knock my sand castle down where is Princess Aurora supposed to live?"

Her long black hair writhes like little snakes when it catches in the wind, and she is sandy from head to toe.

"GI Joe and Princess Aurora can both live in a castle we build together." I declare, proud of myself for thinking up such a great idea.

"Okay," she giggles, plopping down next to me, "but you have to lift the sand okay?"

I agree, and soon GI Joe and her princess doll rest comfortably upon a sandy lump.