The light scraping of her red lipstick on a white napkin thrilled Francine to her very core, not believing she was being this forthright to a hard and chiseled man casually watching as she wrote.
“Chris, right,” she cooed seductively while adding the final digits to her number. He nodded, a smile she swore could melt the ice off an iceberg if weaponized. With a deliberate fold, Francine held the golden napkin of future ambitions up pulling it back just enough to be teasing yet willing to pursue a possible connection with tall, built and mesmerizing.
“This is a treat now,” she said then slowly pressed it between the front of his jacket and into the inner pocket. Again, Cris’s smile filled Francine with hot passions. No, play the game, girl, she thought.
A rocking number began playing, the lights flashing in rhythm with the beat. “Shall we,” she said close into one ear, and he placed a firm hand against the small of her back and guided Francine out to the dance floor.
The next few mornings broke, and Francine pulled herself out of her bed. The usual routine, relief, shower, brush, color, dress and eat, all the regular traits for a young, well-kept woman whose life appeared to be breaking good for a change in her luck. Her mind flashed images of that man, Chris across her mind.
Gorgeous Chris.
Hunky-man Chris.
Her Chris, or so she wanted to believe.
OH, how the days passed as she worked in her humdrum office cube-rat of a job, feeling anticipation, then hopes to see that flash on her cellphone, the magical ‘CHRIS’ in pale digital blue alerting her to his call. It would flash, but not from him, some telemarketer or a goody-good need my money charity to shatter her begrudging world.
Get off my phone, I’m expecting a call, she would growl to herself, yet again nary a text or voicemail and she would quietly finish the day. Smiles for all, must not appear sad or too hopeful. He was just another quickie although it never got to that level after that fateful evening.
I gave him my number! What did I do wrong?
This, the fourth week now, would be it. No more Chris, her whining over his neglect was over. Francine had to move on her body demanded it. Start fresh, plenty of guys out there and it really—
On the television…there he was. Francine shook her head, bunches of her long brunette hair whipping frantically across her face as if to clear the smoke from her eyes.
Chris…it was him…and, and what was going on? Why is he smiling so gorgeously as another blonde floosy evilly pressed herself up against him as captions played across the bottom, [Local Entrepreneur engages Starlet after whirlwind courtship]
“WHAT!”
Her own cry startled her, Francine up on her feet, fist clenched tight, arms shaking as she watched the rest of the news scroll by.
[Mega-Party to be held, whole town is invited to the gala party this weekend. Come one, come all!]
Francine glared hard at the crowded mass of townsfolk and celebrities milling about the open grounds surrounding a large multi-level home. She pressed though them, black heels clicking in determined steps down the walkway, her dress, the same low-cut dance number she wore that night her hopes had been stoked into a burning fervor.
There was no pause, following the trail of well-wishers and other hangers-on up to the main balcony where there, at last stood Chris and his…betrothed…nodding at them, accepting the congratulations and smiles from everyone.
She waited a bit to allow more of the reporters to congregate, then approached, forcing a smile as she did.
Chris did not notice at first, but as he turned his eyes caught hers and a light start let her know she had caught him with his guard down.
It was as if the temperature dropped several degrees as Francine stood smiling at him, allowing the mood to darken.
“Hello, Chris,” she said, “I never got your call…wonder why?”
