LIP SERVICE

She pulled the door open and had barely stepped inside when a gust of wind caught it, and it slammed shut behind her. It was a good entrance.

She pushed the salutation into the air, “Evening Fred,” and her words were echoed in three steps to the right as she walked to the bar.

“Evening Belle,” he said, looking in her direction. “The regular?”

“Not tonight. Something colorful,” she said, moving further along the bar to the second stool. “A Singapore Sling. I'm celebrating,” and she put a ten-dollar bill on the counter.

Belle hoisted first one hip, and then the other, until she was sitting sideways on the stool. She lifted her left leg and let it slide slowly down over her right knee. Her skirt rode high up her thigh, exposing the lacy top of her black nylons.

She scanned the room. It wasn't what you'd call a busy night: locals in the booths at the back, a couple of guys down at the end of the bar, and a few new faces filling half the tables along the side wall.

She looked... some turned away from her with disdain; some returned her gaze with amusement or mild curiosity; others continued to stare. She knew their kind.

Belle raised the left toe of her high-heeled shoe and slowly outlined three circles in the air. Earlier she had stirred a cake with the same motion. She bent forward and placed her left hand on her ankle. Then with fingers extended, she drew it seductively up the sheer black surface of her leg and let it come to rest where black lace met red leather.

A loud whistle rose from a table to her left and over by the window. It was quickly followed by a number of comments - slurred and bellowed: “O-o-o-o-o-ee! Check that out! Nice legs sweetheart! Come sit with us, we'll show you a good time!”

A brief and amusing smile played across Belle's lips. Small fry, she thought, remembering the impetuousness of youth and other such encounters.

“Thank you, babe. Maybe later,” she said, and winked, playing the game, not wanting to hurt their feelings, keeping her options open.

With a precision that comes from practice, Belle grasped the toggle of her jacket between her thumb and forefinger and pulled the zipper down until it came to rest between her two full breasts.

“Getting a bit warm,” she said, and turned as Fred slid a coaster along the bar and stopped in front of her.

“Here you go, Belle,” he said, placing a tall glass on top of it.

“Thanks.” For a moment she sat motionless, lost in the past, with bittersweet memories of family - opportunity - choice - circumstance. Then she reached for the glass, pulled it closer, and placed her lips over the straw. She closed her long, dark eyelashes and blinked back the tears. She sipped slowly, letting the cool liquid wash gently about her mouth. It rolled over her tongue and tickled her teeth before it splashed down her throat.

“How's your drink?” asked Fred.

She knew she was still being watched, but let them wait. She drew back another long sip and let it play awhile. Then, as it trickled down her throat, she looked up.

“Okay, Fred. Thanks.”

“Can I buy the beautiful lady another one?” asked a deep voice, several seats away.

She was young, he thought, yet old in the same moment, with a sense of wisdom and sadness about her. And she certainly was attractive. Petite... full red lips... a little turned-up nose... big dewy eyes... and honey-cream skin framed by soft pale curls; curls that swirled down around her neck and played with her chin. She could have graced the cover of any number of fashion magazines.

Intrigued, she turned in his direction. Handsome, well-dressed, medium build, middle-aged flashed through her mind.

“Definitely,” she replied.

“A round over here, Fred,” he motioned and made his way from the other end of the bar to the stool beside her.

Belle noticed his eyes. He had the most incredible eyes! Violet - deep, deep violet; soft and kind. They were the type of eyes you wanted to get lost in and wake up to the next morning.

“I'm John,” he said, extending his hand.

“Belle,” and she placed her hand in his.

“It's nice to meet you, Belle.”

“You too,” she said, and felt both comfort and confident in his handshake. “How are you doing?”

“Much better now,” he said, and smiled.

“Have I seen you in here before?” she asked.

“No. I'm just in town on business.”

“Ah, new to this area,” she stated.

“What about you?” he asked.

“No, not originally. My family's back East. I came here about ten years ago and just... haven't been able to leave. What kind of business are you in, John?”

“Sales,” he said. “I work for a company that sells and services construction equipment; big machinery like back-hoes, front-end loaders, graders, bull-dozers, air-track drills, Euclid trucks. We're expanding across the mid-west and out to the Coast.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it, removed one of his business cards and handed it to her.

Fred served the drinks and removed the other glasses.

“An ambitious endeavor,” she said, and gave the card a cursory glance. “How long does something like that take?”

“It's hard to tell. It depends on the product, it's quality, the way you market it, supply and demand. What about you?”

“Okay,” she said.

“That's right,” he said, and smiled.

“I've had a variety of jobs,” she answered. “Some I liked better than others.”

“I think it's good to try new things,” he stated. “It shows you're flexible. You develop a wide range of skills and you learn a lot about yourself.”

“Lots of people don't see it that way, John. You're called 'unreliable' if you can't hold a steady job.”

“Their loss,” he said, and winked at her. “Just look at the great opportunity they've missed.”

“You are some salesman!” She smiled and thought how easy it was to be with this man. A stranger who had walked into her life only minutes ago, but one who had already made her feel more alive and worthwhile than she had felt in the last two years.

“Do you have kids?” he asked.

“Yes, an energetic eight year old boy and a precocious two year old girl. What about you?”

“It wasn't in the cards.”

“I'm sorry,” Belle said.

“It broke Clara's heart. She loved children so much.”

“Does she ever go on the road with you?”

“She did quite often, until she got sick. I lost Clara to cancer four years ago, Belle.”

“Oh, no! I'm so sorry, John. I never meant to pry.”

“Clara was a wonderful woman and we were good together. She left me lots of fine memories, Belle, but I miss her every single day. Life's unpredictable. I didn't see it coming.”

“We never do,” she stated.

“Belle, I just got off the phone,” Fred interrupted. “Call home.”

“Okay, Fred,” she muttered as the memories flooded back. Halfway through her sixth month, Tommy was called back to active duty. Every minute together became precious. In each other's arms in the short nights, and talking for hours. Shipped out to the Gulf. Every day she sent him letters detailing home; the latest news on television, things that happened around town, how she was feeling, how big she was getting, what they were doing to keep busy until he came back. He wrote too and called as often as he could. Somehow, he just knew the baby was born that day and that it was a little girl. He was so happy and proud of his family. He carried their pictures everywhere and showed them to everyone.

“We're living on love,” Tommy said. But you know how people are. In a small town, talk travels fast. Confused. Pregnant at sixteen. Running away from home. Family embarrassment. Two-bit jobs. Nosey people. Working as a waitress. Then one morning, “Double double and a chocolate dip.” Immediate attraction. Bright, handsome, witty. Falling hopelessly in love.

“It doesn't matter if you're pregnant with someone else's child,” said Tommy. “It could happen to any young girl. I love you! Let's get married before the baby comes.”

“Belle,” Fred said, an edge to his voice. “Call home.”

“Alright.”

“If you need to go home, Belle, I can drive you,” said John. “That is, if you don't think your husband would mind.”

“Tommy died in the Persian Gulf a year and a half ago,” she said, tears swelling in her eyes. “It wasn't fair, John. He was such a good man. He deserved more. He never even got to hold his own daughter in his arms!”

“Now it's my turn to tell you how sorry I am, Belle.”

“I don't remember much of those first few months after the funeral. I didn't care about anything, especially myself. And I'm not proud of most of the things I said and did. There were days when I tried anything just to make the pain go away. Other times, I did things just to make myself feel something - anything. It's a small town, John. There are lots of stories. Tomorrow morning, there'll be another one.”

“Belle, would you like another drink?” he asked.

“Maybe just one more. It's our anniversary today.”

He was motioning for another round when he heard the door slam. He turned in time to see a young boy rush in. The boy stopped, looked quickly around the bar, then ran over to Belle and started pulling her arm.

“Mom!” he yelled. “The baby's crying. Brenda thinks she's sick. You gotta come home right now!”

Panic crossed Belle's face.

“All right Johnny,” she said, and they left.