That Night.....

“Hey boo,” Zara smiles as Eve approaches. Zara stands to kiss her on the cheek.

“Heeeey boo!” Eve sings back to Zara as she leans in for a hug and kiss. No sooner than the ladies finish their greeting, Eve pops back into her two-step. “Oh, this is my jam!” Before Eve even takes a seat for ten seconds, party mode has already kicked in. Zara wasn’t the least surprised. Eve was always ready to shake a tailfeather. She needed no warm-up. Eve's party starts the moment she steps on the scene, and her energy was infectious.

Zara loved this song too. It’s one of those late-80s pop/r&b songs that never gets old.

“Your love. Your…..good love……deserves……an encore!” Eve and Zara sing in unison with the record playing.

Zara scooted herself from the booth she had saved for them and joined her friend out on their little “dance floor,” which was nothing more than about a four-square-foot space next to the booth. It was just enough room for two ladies to dance without looking like a couple. It was also close enough to their booth such that they could save their seats for later and leave their purses without worry they’d be stolen. The bar still wasn’t too crowded yet, so their little area impeded on no one else’s party.

For two women who love to dance, there is one significant distinction between Zara and Eve: while Eve’s outgoing personality gladly welcomed a guy to come dance with her, Zara greatly preferred to groove in her own space, in her own world, alone. The irony of it wasn’t lost upon Zara either. Indeed it was slightly oxymoronic to have this deep desire to meet a man who she could fall deeply in love with, yet she very much enjoyed some things by herself, even dancing, which most argue is an activity designed to be best enjoyed with a partner. Zara wouldn’t disagree with anyone making such an argument. In fact, Zara’s ideal relationship included nights out dancing with her love, but until this special kind of man arrived, she simply preferred to give her body the freedom to move to the music unencumbered by some random man.

Eric, however, didn’t get that memo, unfortunately. He’d seen Zara about 15 minutes ago sitting in the booth. By the way she moved her body from her seat, he decided that he would be her first dance of the evening. He was just waiting for his moment. Now that Zara was out of her seat, he jumped at the opportunity.

Dancing with her eyes closed, Zara had no chance to see the predator approaching his prey. No doubt, had she seen him coming, Zara would’ve taken action to abort his mission. She was actually quite skilled at such endeavors. She had several moves up her sleeve to evade even the most aggressive men. Her go-to move was turning her body such that her back (and her backside) faced a wall or some structure that would prevent a guy from attempting to grind on her from behind. Some guys, however, would simply dance in front of her and try to spark a conversation over the loud music. Zara had a remedy for that too: minimize movement to nothing more than a dry two-step. No hip movement. No shoulder shimmies. Just step, together, step, together, until the guy got bored and moved on to another prey. Then there were times when Zara would just stop dancing altogether and pretend to need a break. She might grab her drink and start talking to a friend just to avoid eye contact with the poor guy. In emergency situations, she would just run to the ladies’ room and remain there until she thought the coast was clear. Indeed, Zara had enough experience to dodge Eric’s imminent attack. Unfortunately, she simply didn’t see him coming.

As soon as he was close enough, Eric wrapped his arm around Zara’s waist, pulled her to him and pressed his pelvis (along with nearby body parts) against Zara’s behind.

“What the fu…..” Zara yells as she is startled by her uninvited guest. She quickly spins around to face her accomplice, ready for combat. The look on Zara’s face must have said it all because Eric jumped back and threw his hands up in surrender.

“Calm down sweetheart. I was just saying hello. I don’t want no trouble sweetheart.”

“You can say hello with your mouth!” Zara snaps back.

“You’re right. My bad. I won’t do it again. I don’t want no trouble sweetheart. I was just excited to see you, that’s all. I haven’t heard from you. You lost my number?” Eric replies with this sly smile that is anything but remorseful for his ill-advised actions.

Zara was annoyed for sure but she couldn't help but laugh. Eric was harmless. She'd met Eric at this bar about a year ago. He was nice enough and handsome enough that she didn't mind giving him her phone number, but after two or three conversations, Zara had long ago written Eric off as just a guy she sees at the bar every now and then. She never even went on a date with him. Eric certainly was not her Mr. Right but he was good for a little bit of flirting whenever they bumped into each other at the spot.

"No, I still have your number. That's how I know you haven't called me either. The line goes both ways," Zara replies with sass as she reaches past him to retrieve her drink or, more accurately, her glass with melted ice. As Zara suspected, Eric's eyes followed her booty as she stretched across him.

"I hear you, Thickness," Eric says with enough lust to make a priest uncomfortable.

Instantly, Zara's irritation began to resurface. Yes, she happened to be one of those "lucky" girls with a perfect coke bottle figure and yes, she loved to flaunt it. Nonetheless, she absolutely abhorred being called by any names that made her feel objectified. She could never take a man seriously who called her Sexy, or Big Booty, or Thickness or anything similar. So, with one word, Eric had just worn out his welcome.

"Ok well, good to see you," Zara says dismissively. Fortunately, Eric takes the cue, at least for now.

"Aight sweetheart. I see you ain't in the mood tonight. I'll holla at you later." Before taking his leave and finding some other poor unsuspecting woman to harass, Eric looks Zara up and down, licking his lips as if he could devour Zara like lunch right here in this bar. Now, Zara's skin started to crawl. She kept her eyes on him as he walked away, making sure that he wouldn't surprise her from behind again. She watched him intently until she lost sight of him in the crowd of people. She exhaled like she'd just survived an attack.

"Now I need another drink," she mumbled to herself. She heads straight for the bar to order another Jameson and cranberry. The bartender, an older blond woman who looked like she belonged on Coyote Ugly with that perfect balance between hot and tough enough to kick a grown man's ass, gave Zara a knowing smile.

"Was that guy bothering you, honey?"

While Zara was bothered, and Eric was certainly bothersome, she didn't want to have him thrown out of the bar or anything.

"No, he's fine. Just a friend of mine."

"Alright. You know I look out for my ladies around here," the bartender says with a wink. "You want me to put this on your tab?"

Before Zara could reply, she was interrupted by a tall, light-skinned brother with hazel-brown eyes, a perfectly-groomed beard, and a fresh haircut.

"I got it. Let me buy this beautiful lady a drink," he announces with a slight cockiness as he flashes his pearly-white smile and slaps a Benjamin on the counter.

"Oh, thank you," Zara blushed.

"My pleasure, Beautiful. I'm Allan. May I have your name or should I just keep calling you Beautiful?"

Allan was not Zara's type of guy. Physically, she prefers darker-toned men and, while she certainly liked a man who took pride in his appearance, she drew the line with men who spent more time in salons than she did. Allan was a bit too perfectly manicured for Zara's taste. She also found cockiness to be a turn-off. Zara definitely liked her men confident and assertive but there was a fine line that shouldn't be crossed. Despite Allan's shortcomings, he was a very good-looking man. So, the biggest alarm sounding in Zara's mind was that this man was highly unlikely to be single. All things considered, Zara figured she would enjoy the attention anyway. Heck, the evening couldn't get any worse, and she wouldn't have to keep paying for her own drinks. Why not entertain this guy for an hour, or even for the night if he's lucky?

Zara extends her hand in response to his inquiry. "You can call me Zara."