Free A Self Made Monster by Steven Vivian Page B

“Say, could I borrow a…” The stool was empty. The man sitting next to her had smoked those stinking Kools, she remembered. But she was now agreeable to any cigarette.
    Alex had been sitting by the wall, not ten feet behind Sandy. He had watched for a half hour. She was apparently alone, which surprised him. Though the light made it difficult to be sure, she seemed attractive. Her orange hair and red dress were catchy. When she failed to bum a cigarette from anyone, he took the chance.
    “Here,” Alex offered. “Have one of mine.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You need another beer too. Bartender?” He gestured for two more drinks.
    “No thanks,” Sandy said. “I can buy my own.”
    “I’m sure you can. But it’s my pleasure.” His smile seemed genuine. Many smiles, Sandy thought, were disguised smirks. “If you like, you can buy my drink. If not, that’s fine too.
    Sandy did not know if she liked the man, but at least he did not seem to be a creep. These days, that was a terrific start. He was dressed sanely: no idiotic gold chains or piercings, and his smile widened into an easy grin.
    “My name is John Lowe,” the man said. “Come see me if you’re ever looking for a Chevy.”
    “Really? I do need a new car.” It was true. Her car had 138,000 miles. “Can you get me a good deal, Mr…” She had forgotten his name.
    “John Lowe.”
    “Sorry. Sandy Chandler.”
    “It’s all right. I forget people’s names all the time.” He laughed. “I forget all kinds of things all the time.” His second laugh was a snort.
    Sandy laughed too. She laughed freely at his candid snort, and at her own drunkenness. The room had been tipping left since her third beer.
    The bartender had delivered Sandy’s beer and John’s gin & tonic. He waited to see who would pay for the drinks.
    “She’s paying for the drinks,” Alex said.
    Sandy laughed again. The laughs were coming so easily. She waved a ten at the bartender.
    Alex lightly pushed Sandy’s hand away. “Just kidding.” He paid the bartender and sat on the stool. “The trio’s back,” Alex noted. “Let’s see if we can name the tune.”
    “All these jazz tunes sound alike to me.”
    “You’ve just got to concentrate.” He laughed inwardly. He was alert, witty, focused. He felt wonderful when he had a victim. The anticipation was energizing. His headache had melted like ice cubes in warm water.
    The trio kicked into a double time cover of “It’s Easy to Remember.” He told Sandy the name of the tune, then noted the composers, Rogers and Hart.
    “They’re famous, aren’t they?”
    “You’d probably recognize a lot of their tunes.” He rocked his head back and forth. “You know, ‘Isn’t It Romantic?’, ‘Spring Is Here’, stuff like that.”
    “Geez I don’t think so.” She found herself leaning toward the man, rolling her shoulders to the music. Her spilling orange curls had loosened and now reached the middle of her back. She realized she was flirting and chuckled. The man understood her chuckle and smiled.
    “It’s a nice night, isn’t it?” Sandy asked.
    The thought of Sandy’s blood thrilled him. “Very much so.”
    Alex hummed along with “Blue In Green”, the trio’s last tune. When the trio left the bandstand, Sandy asked that he walk her to her car. “You can tell me how much I can get on a trade-in,” she joked.
    They walked toward the parking lot. Alex wanted to remain a gentleman for the moment, so he kept a polite distance. Sandy wanted to close the distance, so she began to walk suggestively. She imagined that her walk was alluring. She offered her new friend a cheesy smile, held it, then raised her eyebrows playfully, then smiled again. I know I’m acting silly, she wanted her eyebrows to say, but I’m loaded and I think I like you.
    Sandy wanted Alex to smile at her drunken riot of facial tics. So he smiled.
    Inside the car, she rolled down the window. “Give me your phone number, I’ll call you next