Cackling Rose
Hillary Lyon
The woman took a seat at the hotel bar,
choosing a stool near the single older man. She looked to be in her late
forties, but well-kept in her yoga pants and athletic tank top. The bartender
didn’t bother to hide his scowl: he thought gym-wear—no matter how
expensive—outside the gym looked trashy.
The man sipping his drink two stools
down from hers evidently didn’t think so; he glanced over at the woman and gave
her a smile that was half leer.
She accepted his eye-contact, and
rapidly blinked her sea-green eyes, telegraphing the message into his mind: Buy
me a drink.
“Say, what are you drinking?” The man
queried. He himself was long past middle age, but prided himself on his svelte,
dapper appearance. I’m rather like an aging Cary Grant, he often
thought.
“Oh, I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
She giggled and wiggled her shoulders.
“Bartender,” the old gent called out. “A
couple of old fashioneds, sil vous plait.”
“Ooh, you speak French!” She cackled as
she slid over to the bar stool beside his. “You're so worldly.”
“Well, I’ve been around.” He looked at
her appreciatively. I think you’ve been around, too, he decided.
“My name’s Rose,” she said in a breathy,
Marilyn Monroe voice. “And you are?”
“Graham,” he answered, but before he
could elaborate, he was interrupted.
“And I’m Mike,” the bartender said,
wiping the bar and setting down fresh coasters before them. Rose wouldn’t look
at him.
After their second round, Rose leaned
her head in close to Graham’s. So close, he could smell her odd perfume. Graham
couldn’t place it, but it reminded him of a cool early-morning breeze blowing
across an empty beach. Bracing, but with a hint of something...decaying
underneath.
“So, what do you do for a living?” As
she asked, she smoothly moved her arm across his back. He looked at her with a
grin that said I like where this is going.
“I’m retired, but I worked in retail for
decades. Garçon!” He snapped his fingers to get Mike’s attention, then
signaled for two more old fashioneds. “I managed the largest discount mattress
store in three adjacent counties.”
“Ooh, sounds important!” Rose cackled as
her hand moved up his neck into his hair. Graham was flattered; he couldn’t
recall the last time a stranger had put the moves on him. She slid her other hand
across his chest, insinuating itself under his sport coat—where he kept his
wallet. Maybe she was a hooker? If she was, after four drinks, he didn’t care.
Besides, he assessed she was too clean and pretty for that profession.
Mike set the drinks before them and
glared at Rose. She pointedly ignored him.
Instead, she leaned in even closer to
Graham, murmuring in his ear. As her fingers ran through his thinning hair,
they splayed and when they did, small suckers popped out from the tips—suckers
ringed with tiny teeth which dug into his scalp.
Graham sat up with a jolt. His eyes
widened, his mouth dropped open. Drool leaked over his bottom lip.
“You have such tasty memories!” Rose
purred. “A veritable banquet of pain and joy!”
“That’s it!” Mike said as he slammed his
fist on the bar. “I told you, I catch you doing this again and you’re banned!”
Rose looked at Mike with her big green
eyes, and gave him her sexy pout. “But he wanted…”
Mike whipped out his phone and snapped
her photo. He’d send it to both hotel security and the manager. “Unhook him and
get out,” Mike growled through clenched teeth.
One by one, her fingertips pulled off of
Graham’s head, leaving behind oozing bloody punctures.
“I said OUT!” Mike repeated, pointing to
the door. “You. Are. Banned.” He watched Rose hop off her bar stool and
wriggle her way to the door. With disgust, Mike noted the glistening trail she
left in her wake. He’d have to call in a custodian before anyone slipped on it.
Mike grabbed a clean towel from under
the bar and pressed it against the back of Graham’s head; he knew the wounds
would heal quickly. So quickly that Graham likely wouldn’t notice them.
“Goddamned cackling cephalopods,” Mike
grumbled under his breath. “They never think the rules apply to them.”
With relief, he watched Graham’s eyes
regain their focus as his consciousness slowly returned. Mike threw the bloody
towel into a small bin under the bar.
“Hey,” Graham laughed, confused and
embarrassed that he’d been abandoned. “Where’d she go?” He reached into his
coat, locating his wallet still secured in his inside pocket. Relief washed
across his face.
Mike shrugged in reply. He prepared
another old fashioned, and set it before Graham. “This one’s on the house.”
