This was another book signing at a neighborhood bar. Since this is only the second neighborhood bar I've visited, the statistics don't allow me to generalize especially since these two had nothing in common with each other, except for the fact they were sites for author's signings.
This place was so dark, I had to feel with my toe as I walked through a doorway of one little room into the next because I thought there was a step between them. There might have been. We found a dark shape that appeared to be our hostess, but I asked cautiously, Maud? She greeted us enthusiastically I think. The boom pounding through the area (it had a beat so maybe it was music) masked all conversation. Reading her body language, I was assured we were welcome. Art, whose ear was closer to her mouth determined that we were suppose to retreat to the bar for our drink, and say we were with the party.
He sat on a stool, and I paused tentatively at the adjacent one. Noticing my hesitation, a nice lady at his other side, said "Am I sitting in you guys's place?" I assured her we were fine, and sat. I ordered a light beer, and when the bottle was placed on the counter, I asked for a glass. We walked back, peering through the dark, but we lost our hostess and could not recognize anyone we knew. We found the table with a lovely repast of fruit, veggies, cheese, nuts, dates, and dessert squares. Filling our paper plates we looked into the several open rooms before settling down to our snacks. Art sat on the "leather" bench along the back wall, and I sat across on this huge round pouf. (That's what they called it in Victorian days. I don't know its modern decorating name. It was scarred enough to have lived through its Victorian times.) Straining to hear his conversation, I left my seat to sit closer at his side, and watched as a couple sat down on the pouf I had just abandoned.
She was wearing black lace stockings that ended thigh high. The dress ended much higher. Engaging. She was faced away, we saw her back with his hand slowly caressing up, and, down. And Up. And. Down. It paused at the lower extremity and circled and circled slowwwly. It was hypnotic. For me anyway. The hand came up and worked the shoulder. Repeat. Dowwwn. Around at the bottom, and around. Luckily he had to get up to replenish their drinks, and it broke my entranced voyeurism. She immediately took out her ipod and worked at it, obviously not nearly as scintillated as I had been.
We groped our way to the front, bought a book, great name, "The Oldest We've Ever Been", edited by Maud Lavin. A collection of personal stories of midlife reflections.
We got it signed, and went out into the bright quiet night.
---Florence
I CAN'T RECALL EVER BEING AT A BOOK SIGNING IN A BAR, TO SAY NOTHING OF IN A FINE IRSH PUB, WHERE THE ONLY SIGNING YOU MIGHT BE DOIN' IS IN THE TOP OF YOUR PINT OF THE SACRED BREW TO MAKE SURE IT WAS DRAWN PROPERLY. MEET YOU IN THE "SNUG" NEXT TIME....
Posted by: jonny c, ex of HP | March 17, 2008 at 11:04 AM