Fahrenheit 32
"That woman will shrivel your stones to the size of raisins, my friend, just by looking at you. " A THREE - MINUTE FICTION
Fahrenheit 32
She slips into the Blue Arrow every night around the same time and sits alone at the end of the bar. They all notice her, but they’ve learned to keep their distance. She is ice. Frost glistens in her platinum hair, outlines her face, and freezes the air around her body. Her glance from across the room chills the loins of every man there. And of one or two women as well. Walt tried to sit down next to her one time and came back after thirty seconds with the look in his eyes of a terrified rabbit. He never revealed what she’d said to him. And he never tried it again.
Jimmy came through the door a little late tonight. Walter slid his chair over to make room at the round table. “What’s happening, gentlemen?” Jimmy said, pulling off his jacket.
“Beer,” Walter answered. “Beer’s what’s happening.”
“Yeah, beer… and watching the Ice Queen over there, that’s all we got going on,” said Willie. “Man, that woman is cold!”
Jimmy said, “Yeah? Well don’t worry about it, Willie. She’s a lost cause. Where’s Charlie?”
“In the can.”
Jim, Willie, Walter, and Charlie — best friends since high school. They’re hardworking guys, although Willie just got laid off again at the box factory. They come here every day after work for an hour or so. Regular guys, basically — a little starved for female attention, but always optimistic that their fortunes will change.
Charlie returned from the back with a smile on his face. “Okay, that’s it,” he said. “I am going over to the blonde and see what she has to say for herself. Never know, I just might get lucky tonight.”
“Yeah, just might get dead tonight,” said Walter, scratching his beard, gulping down a pint of Lagunitas. “That woman will shrivel your stones to the size of raisins, my friend, just looking at you! Want my advice? Don’t do it.”
At that moment, she was looking disdainfully at the four of them in the bar mirror; she knew they were talking about her. She turned toward them and slowly scoped their faces one at a time, as if aligning them in the crosshairs. Willie shivered. Walt shredded his paper napkin. Jimmy studied the foam dribbling down his glass like he was working out some mathematical equation.
“What’s the worst thing that could happen? I’m going in!” Charlie said with a determined grin. “Don’t wait up for me, boys.”
He ambled slowly up to the bar and eased himself onto the swivel stool next to her. She looked at him and said something. Charlie laughed.
His friends watched as she chatted with Charlie for ten minutes. Ten minutes? No one had ever held on to the stool next to her for that length of time. Had he been a rodeo rider, he’d have won that silver belt buckle hands down.
The two finished their drinks, stood up and headed out the door together. Charlie turned to his friends and lifted his eyebrows. Willie was stunned.
“Fucking hell!” said Jimmy. “How’d he pull that off?
“What’d he say to her, I wonder?” said Walter.
They shook their heads and ordered another round.
The next night Walter, Willie and Jimmy took their usual table. Jimmy said, “Hey, where’s Charlie? Anyone seen him?”
“Nope. Don’t know where he’s at. Haven’t heard from him,” said Willie.
“He wasn’t at work today,” said Walter. “I tried to call him around noon to see how he made out last night, poor bastard, but he didn’t pick up.”
She was sitting there alone at the far end of the bar again. She slowly turned and looked at the three men, displaying a small, slightly wicked smile and her sharp little white teeth.
The subtle touch in horror isn't all that common these days. You do a masterful job with it, though.
I don't know whether to give Charlie my condolences or my heartiest congratulations. Obviously, he'll never be the same or never be.