Blonde Luck*

When it arrived, one of two chic blondes at an adjacent table said, “Are you sharing?”

“Early day tomorrow.” She handed me her business card. “That’s my home number written on back. I get off at three p.m. Call me.”

Since I hit forty, women seemed more persistent than ever. But inside I still was the vulnerable thin-skinned youth who grew up afraid of women. Now I had a blonde’s phone number and invitation to call. Last in a long list of phone numbers and invitations over the years I never acted on.

She said she’d be there soon. And she was. Male heads turned. Sober, I saw an attractive slender woman with perfectly coiffed blonde hair in a form-fitting little black dress that stopped above shapely knees sheathed in dark nylons; stiletto heels to complete the look.

He introduced himself grandly — wanted a closer look at my companion was my thought. Sure enough he dropped my hand and turned to her: “And I suppose you’re the missus. What a lucky guy!” She took his proffered hand with a saucy grin and Bette Davis intonation: “Nope, just a very close friend.” And winked!

When she slipped into the ice-cold car, her dress rode up affording a flash of pale thighs above dark stocking tops. She had goosebumps on her bare arms. I cranked the engine and took her in my arms to rub goosebumps away. She raised her face, lips parted. So I kissed her.

In for a dime, in for a dollar, as they say. “Do you really want to go driving?” I said against her lips.

“Unzip me,” she said.

“If we’re going to put on a show, you’ve got on too many clothes.” Just as good as Mae West, by god.

If I wanted — she suddenly was tentative — she would meet me for breakfast downstairs before I left. Her treat! Silly, I told her, you already are my treat. She was cute as the dickens blushing, and it sloughed away the evident maturity like magic.

*From My Iliad, available on (Writing Ish’s saga, I looked “Iliad” up: defined lately as (1) a series of…events; (2) a series of exploits…suitable for an epic; or (3) long narrative in the Homeric tradition. Close enough.



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Bill Burkett

Bill Burkett

Professional writer, Pacific Northwest. 20 Books: “Sleeping Planet” 1964 to “Venus Mons Iliad” 2018–19. Most on Amazon for sale. Il faut d’abord durer.