“If I wanted a man, I’d be with one,” Quinn explains. I sigh, not wanting to get into an argument about why butches are not men. It seems all we do is argue philosophy and beliefs.
“If you like the black woman, go talk to her,” I say. “That’s what we came here for, right?”
“What do I say to her?” Quinn starts sweating at the thought of being so bold.
“Say, ‘Hi, my name is Quinn. What’s your name?’ I guarantee she’ll say something.” I am being sarcastic but serious at the same time. I am not into game-playing and find the straightforward approach, pardon the pun, refreshing. Quinn looks as if she’s going to argue with me, but doesn’t. She stands up, straightens her shirt, then walks over to the black woman. I am too far to hear what they’re saying, so I decide to watch the baby butch play pool instead. The woman who is playing against her slaps her on the ass, so I decide to look elsewhere. A motion by the door catches my eyes. It’s my favorite bartender, and she’s looking good. She’s the miniature, female version of the male bartender from the 500 Club, except she manages to be feminine while still being tough. She is wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans, and she looks hot. I know her name is Vivienne, she’s half-French and from Canada. Quebec, to be precise.
“Viv!” A teenage-looking girly calls out to Vivienne. The latter flips the former a wave, but doesn’t reply verbally. Vivienne takes her place behind the bar. I finish off my drink and saunter up to the bar for the next one.
“Hey, darling,” Vivienne grins at me. She has the darkest eyes for a non-Asian person, and she uses them to her advantage. “What can I get you?”
“I’d like a Cape Cod,” I say, unable to take my eyes off her. Why have I never asked this woman out, besides the fact that I have a policy of not hitting on someone at the place of their employment because she can’t walk away?
“Viv. I gotta roll. See you back at the crib?” A stunning bi-racial honey leans over the bar to peck Vivienne on the cheek. The kisser has a head of curly black hair I would kill for, skin the color of molasses, and curves that look just as sweet. Oh yeah, that’s why. Vivienne is a married woman. She’s been with girlfriend for seven years, I believe I’ve been told. I sigh as I watch Vivienne’s better half leave. I turn back to the bar, catching Vivienne as she watches me in amusement. I have a feeling she knows that I am hot for her, but I won’t do anything about it as long as she’s with her girlfriend. I may not be the most monogamous gal myself, but I don’t mess with other people’s monogamy. Even if she and the gf aren’t monogamous, it’s too messy a situation for me to want to get into the middle of that.
“Here you go, sweetheart,” Vivienne places my drink in front of me with a flourish.
“Thanks, Vivienne,” I say with my best smile and a sizable tip. I always call her by her full name because I think it’s beautiful. She winks at me as she scoops up the money. I return to my table and covertly watch as Vivienne serves other women. She doesn’t call anyone else those pet names, so I start fantasizing about what that means. Before I can get too far, Quinn returns.