Cinderella, Cinderella... by Karen D'Antona

"Do you know the Enchanted Ballroom on the corner of Forest Avenue and 23rd Street?" "Yeah..."

"What do you look like, so I'll know it's you?"

"Tall, brown hair, beard and a mustache, I'm wearing jeans and a plaid shirt he offered."

"Okay, got it."

He arrived early with his bros. "What if she's a dog? Or fat?" They laughed.

The bartender frowned, as she dried a glass.

Looking both ways, she slid through the door looking for a tall man with a plaid shirt.

Her flaxen mane he noticed first, a natural blonde he smiled.

"Nice ass, a little short," surveyed his bros.

"Shut up," he said under his breath.

Leaving his bros to their commentary, he approached.

"Well hello there," he attempted cheerfully.

She felt his presence before she turned around, bad breath and perspiration.

Turning to face rotted teeth, crumbs nestled in his beard, and wrinkled clothes.

She was the classiest girl he had spoken to in years, a princess.

Maybe he's had a hard life she considered, should she give him the benefit of the doubt?

"What do you like to drink?" he asked. "Rum," she replied.

Shouting to the bartender, he ordered two rum and OJ's.

"Make mine a Malibu and OJ please." Less alcohol content she reasoned to herself.

Like a fairy Godmother, the bartender assessed the characters.  

Two strangers, two rum and OJ's, one 80 proof, the other 42 proof, and a couple of bros.

Boasting with bravado, it became clear his hard life was of his own design.

So much for being nice, she needed an exit plan and headed for the restroom.

Taking her time, she hoped he would be gone, instead he was strategizing with his bros.

They had drinks lined up for her and were rubbernecking with glee.

When he turned to consult with his bros, she poured the drink into a nearby plant.

The bartender paused and smiled with approval.

To their wonderment she continued to stand, while the plant wilted in the corner.

His balance was off as he groped the barstool for support, just missing her thigh.

She looked at the clock above the bartender's head unsure of her next move.

For a moment she and the bartender locked eyes in a fixed stare.

With a sparkling smile, the bartender winked. "Your cab is here."

A golden cab emerged with whitewall tires spinning like mice chasing their tails.

Bewildered, she turned to the window, then eyed her escape and bolted for the door.

Too drunk to remember her name he yelled, "Cinderella, Cinderella!"

"Didn't leave me a shoe, not even a business card," he muttered, from inside the entrance.

"Where to Cinderella?" The cabbie recited as the clock struck midnight.

Karen D'Antona's recent pieces "Talkin' to my Son" and "The Lottery" have appeared in Synchronized Chaos Magazine. She is a survivor, risk-taker, wife, mother, and educator. Her spare time is filled with love, drama, and home cooked meals.