Posted tagged ‘pub’

pub chat ii

July 25, 2008

She made her way back through the rapt crowd. They stared at the televisions suspended from the ceiling.

She stared at him. Her fingers flicked as she took her seat again. Her hair fell again. She cursed and pushed it behind her ear.

‘Fucking smoking ban.’

He rolled his eyes. She was already fiddling with another cigarette. From the filter end she twirled it around her thumb and forefinger. The nail on her thumb was chipped, the polish peeling a touch. He watch it twirl. She watched him.

‘I’m not going to smoke it yet. I just need something to do. And you’re avoiding the subject.’

‘I’m not. I just need to order another beer.’

‘Go on then. And stop stealing sips from mine. Thieving bastard.’

Too many eyes on the game for a queue at the bar. He ordered two pints and tapped his knuckles against the hardwood. The other half of the bar gasped, sighed and then shouted the odd profanity. Jeers followed.

‘So how long does she need to think for?’

He’d only just sat back down.

‘I don’t know. I hadn’t planned a schedule. Neither, I think, did she.’

She reminded him of some 40’s newshound from some generic film noir piece. Hurried, impatient, right. She tapped the butt of the cigarette on the table again. Jennifer Jason Leigh in The Hudsucker Proxy. Prettier though. She didn’t take her eyes off him.

‘Is she that stupid?’

‘Again, a little harsh.’

‘Are you that stupid?’

‘Probably.’

She finished her first beer and pushed the empty glass aside, drawing the new one towards her. She used the hand that wasn’t twirling the cigarette.

‘No, dammit, you are NOT that fucking stupid.’

‘Well maybe I am. Maybe I’m just that fucking stupid.’

‘She doesn’t love you. Love isn’t about thinking about anything. Love’s when you don’t have to think. Love’s not thinking.’

‘So’s being stupid.’

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pub chat

May 13, 2008

‘So.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So what’d she say?’

‘She said she’d think about it.’

He drank his pint and fiddled with the beer mat, spinning it on its corner. Everyone else’s eyes were stuck to the television. It was some manner of football final, he thought.

She didn’t touch her beer. Her hands lay on the table, her long fingers splayed wide. Her eyes touched with urgency and disbelief. Impatience.

‘Think about it? What the fuck? What does she need to think about?’

‘A lot, I guess. It’s…’

‘It’s nothing. It’s a no-brainer. Which, you know, is ideal for her.’

‘That’s a touch harsh.’

He drank again and watch her long fingers as they tapped the edge of the table. He knew she wanted a cigarette.

‘I’m going out for a fag… this conversation isn’t finished. This is just a pause. I’ll be back.’

She fished in her bag. Her dark hair fell in front of her face. She found a pack and muttered an exclamation of victory and relief. She looked up and held him in her eye.

‘This isn’t over.’

She walked out, the swing of the door mute in the noise of the pub. Someone scored and half the bar erupted. He took a sip and watched through the window as she lit up and paced.

‘It never is.’

He finished his beer and took a sip of hers.