ds_aprilfools: Prompt 13 - Bringing sexy back (S&A, Anna)
13. Bringing sexy back - S&A: Anna, rated PG, 760 words
Anna regretted agreeing to the blind date before she’d even stepped out the door. The dress was enough: slinky and black, with sequins that were entirely too eye-catching across the chest. She’d topped it off with heels tall enough to snap her bony ankles if she stepped wrong. But Ellen had assured her it was “just the thing” for dinner at Le Bel Oiseau and Anna’s last date has been enough months ago and at a country and western bar (the fringed shirt she’d worn was still shoved into the back of her small closet) that Ellen’s advice seemed worthwhile.
She had tried to fit her pepper spray into the tiny, sparkling purse Ellen had loaned her, but with her bulky wallet, emergency touch-up lipstick, and Kleenex, there just wasn’t room. Anna had huffed and pulled out the lipstick, shoving the pepper spray into the space it had occupied. That had been the smartest decision she’d made the whole evening, she realized fifteen minutes into the first course. Her date, Robert Richards Breton - “the Second,” he’d added with a laugh that was clearly meant to be self-mocking but was really more “you’re such a plebian, I need to tell you when to laugh” - was regaling her with his travels on his yacht to see the greatest resorts of the world and she was considering using the spray on herself to get away.
“So then I anchored the Princess off of this tiny little island in the Caribbean, no one there spoke a word of English or French, or even Russian, and I’m fluent in all three. You can imagine it was like the Great White Devil coming to take the land.” Robert leaned forward a bit in his seat, “not that that would have been entirely bad, mind you. They were living like primitives, no sense of civilization at all. Imagine what we could do for them, how much greater we could make their lives!”
Anna smiled politely, a smile she’d perfected working with Oliver at his worst, and said, “Excuse me, Robert, I need to use the restroom.” He’d gestured grandly, giving her permission to leave the table, before attacking his lobster bisque with slurping noises that followed her to the bathroom. Upon her return, he’d resumed his travelogue with “I probably shouldn’t say this since it’s our first date, but you have lovely breasts. Reminds me of the time I anchored off the coast of Sicily.” Ten minutes after that she was staring at her filet mignon when she suddenly couldn’t take it anymore and stood, her hands shaking. “I need to go,” she said. “I’m not feeling well.” The desperate crack in her voice at least made it seem believable. Robert just stared at her, shocked, and she wondered if it was because no one had ever done this before or if because all of his dates ended this way. “Thank you for a lovely dinner. I just, I really can’t stay.” And she hobbled on her four-inch heels out of the restaurant to the valet, where she handed over her ticket and gasped in the cool night air.
Dating was not her forte; she knew that, she’d been on enough disastrous dates that this one didn’t surprise her. But she couldn’t figure out why she still agreed to go on any at all when they always turned out like this. Was it masochism? She considered Oliver, the real Oliver, not the one she’d memorialized since his death. It could be masochism. Maybe she was mentally ill.
The sputtering of her car announced its arrival before even the ever-present smell of gas wafted in. Anna tipped the valet extra for the embarrassment of having to be seen in her car, and she drove off into the night. Cocooned inside, with her favorite Tragically Hip CD playing low and her shoes sitting in the passenger seat, the strangled knot in her throat was already easing. One night, it would be easy to stay, have the whole meal and a long conversation. She just had to find the right person first. And that began with not letting Ellen set her up on any more dates. Anna nodded once, resolved, and turned up the music. When she got home, she hung the dress carefully in the closet next to the red skirt she’d bought for the carnival date - and hadn’t that been an experience - and promised herself she’d wear it to the next opening night at the Swan.
But she got rid of the shoes.
Prompt table is here.
Anna regretted agreeing to the blind date before she’d even stepped out the door. The dress was enough: slinky and black, with sequins that were entirely too eye-catching across the chest. She’d topped it off with heels tall enough to snap her bony ankles if she stepped wrong. But Ellen had assured her it was “just the thing” for dinner at Le Bel Oiseau and Anna’s last date has been enough months ago and at a country and western bar (the fringed shirt she’d worn was still shoved into the back of her small closet) that Ellen’s advice seemed worthwhile.
She had tried to fit her pepper spray into the tiny, sparkling purse Ellen had loaned her, but with her bulky wallet, emergency touch-up lipstick, and Kleenex, there just wasn’t room. Anna had huffed and pulled out the lipstick, shoving the pepper spray into the space it had occupied. That had been the smartest decision she’d made the whole evening, she realized fifteen minutes into the first course. Her date, Robert Richards Breton - “the Second,” he’d added with a laugh that was clearly meant to be self-mocking but was really more “you’re such a plebian, I need to tell you when to laugh” - was regaling her with his travels on his yacht to see the greatest resorts of the world and she was considering using the spray on herself to get away.
“So then I anchored the Princess off of this tiny little island in the Caribbean, no one there spoke a word of English or French, or even Russian, and I’m fluent in all three. You can imagine it was like the Great White Devil coming to take the land.” Robert leaned forward a bit in his seat, “not that that would have been entirely bad, mind you. They were living like primitives, no sense of civilization at all. Imagine what we could do for them, how much greater we could make their lives!”
Anna smiled politely, a smile she’d perfected working with Oliver at his worst, and said, “Excuse me, Robert, I need to use the restroom.” He’d gestured grandly, giving her permission to leave the table, before attacking his lobster bisque with slurping noises that followed her to the bathroom. Upon her return, he’d resumed his travelogue with “I probably shouldn’t say this since it’s our first date, but you have lovely breasts. Reminds me of the time I anchored off the coast of Sicily.” Ten minutes after that she was staring at her filet mignon when she suddenly couldn’t take it anymore and stood, her hands shaking. “I need to go,” she said. “I’m not feeling well.” The desperate crack in her voice at least made it seem believable. Robert just stared at her, shocked, and she wondered if it was because no one had ever done this before or if because all of his dates ended this way. “Thank you for a lovely dinner. I just, I really can’t stay.” And she hobbled on her four-inch heels out of the restaurant to the valet, where she handed over her ticket and gasped in the cool night air.
Dating was not her forte; she knew that, she’d been on enough disastrous dates that this one didn’t surprise her. But she couldn’t figure out why she still agreed to go on any at all when they always turned out like this. Was it masochism? She considered Oliver, the real Oliver, not the one she’d memorialized since his death. It could be masochism. Maybe she was mentally ill.
The sputtering of her car announced its arrival before even the ever-present smell of gas wafted in. Anna tipped the valet extra for the embarrassment of having to be seen in her car, and she drove off into the night. Cocooned inside, with her favorite Tragically Hip CD playing low and her shoes sitting in the passenger seat, the strangled knot in her throat was already easing. One night, it would be easy to stay, have the whole meal and a long conversation. She just had to find the right person first. And that began with not letting Ellen set her up on any more dates. Anna nodded once, resolved, and turned up the music. When she got home, she hung the dress carefully in the closet next to the red skirt she’d bought for the carnival date - and hadn’t that been an experience - and promised herself she’d wear it to the next opening night at the Swan.
But she got rid of the shoes.
Prompt table is here.