White Vespa
White Vespa
“Even drunk she perched there sure as a bird, a cormorant, she thought, with disgust. It was after hours and the doors were locked, but the help who still wanted to drink were doing so in the upstairs bar. There was a bottle of gin open in front of Anne and she’d had a few. Everybody’d had a few and a false hilarity rippled through them and a little malice, too. Anne wanted to get away from all their sticky chumminess, but she leaned forward and bent the bottle over her small glass and poured an...other.
Lisa pressed close to her and was muttering something about men, what bastards they were, and Anne said, “Yeah,” the way she did when she didn’t want to talk all that much.
“All of’em. Oughta get—”
“Get?” Anne prompted.
“—what’s comin’ to ’em.”
Anne turned her head toward Lisa, and it was like turning her face to an over-heated stove. “They don’t often,” she said.
“But they oughta.”
“I know one really oughta,” Anne said.
“I know way more’n one,”MoreLess
Lisa pressed close to her and was muttering something about men, what bastards they were, and Anne said, “Yeah,” the way she did when she didn’t want to talk all that much.
“All of’em. Oughta get—”
“Get?” Anne prompted.
“—what’s comin’ to ’em.”
Anne turned her head toward Lisa, and it was like turning her face to an over-heated stove. “They don’t often,” she said.
“But they oughta.”
“I know one really oughta,” Anne said.
“I know way more’n one,”MoreLess
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