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White Russian

White Russian

A Story by L.W.M.
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A comical and short bar scene.

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       “You know, American rocket out of service, but Russian rocket still work very well.” The words startled the girl as she sat alone at the bar. She took her eyes off the fit bartender in the tight black shirt and turned to their source. “Hello, I am Vlad,” said the young man to her right. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

       “Delilah…” she answered. After some hesitation, she took his outstretched hand in hers. The brief shake allowed her time to look him over: shaggy blond hair that that matted to his forehead and hung over his face. It didn’t seem to fit with his sunken eyes and overall dark complexion.

       “Delilah! Like American song I love. Hey there Delilah, how is life in New York City? Ho Ho, I love that song. It beautiful. And you very beautiful girl to go with it.”

       Delilah smiled. Her smile made her look even younger than she was. She too was a blond �" more of a dirty blond than Vlad �" and in the dim light of the basement pub it appeared she had quite a good body. “Actually, I’m from here,” she said. “Good old Eugene Oregon. Did you say you were from Russia?”

       “Yes. Zaraknakov, village in heart of former and future Soviet Union. Can I buy you drink?”

       “Sure,” answered Delilah.

       “Bartender, a White Russian for Delilah the Beautiful please. And a Black Russian for myself.”

       “White Russian, huh?” asked Delilah. “Do you drink many of those back home?”

       “Ho ho, yes,” answered Vlad, “Vlad has much milk for all the girls.”

       The bartender heard this and laughed from behind the counter, nearly spilling the drinks as he slid them over. “That’ll be nine bucks, Vlad,” he said. Vlad handed him the money, looking him directly in the eye during the exchange. To a bystander the look would probably be perceived as an American man warning another American man to keep his mouth shut. Vlad held his gaze for an extra second or two, just to make sure the warning was understood. The bartender looked down and then away. Delilah didn’t seem to notice.

       “So what brought you to America?” asked Delilah. “Are you a foreign exchange student?”

       “You could say this,” answered Vlad coyly. He always grew more confident as they fell deeper in to his ‘charm’. “I come with special envoy to study for great leader Putin. I cannot talk much about. But tonight it appears I study pretty lady.”

       Delilah laughed this time, scooting a bit closer to him while she did so. She held her drink in one hand and played with a curl of hair in the other. “You’re sweet Vlad,” she said. “Are you here with anyone?”

       “I come with Serbian friend Marco. But he big and hairy so I tell him to go home to shave back. Who do you meet here?”

       “I was supposed to meet a boy named Jimmy but he hasn’t shown up yet.”

       “Well, Jimmy make big mistake, da? Vlad knows the value of beautiful woman.” 

       “I bet you do,” answered Delilah. This time she looked at him directly, with purpose. Vlad smiled but said nothing while they both finished their drinks, the tension growing steadily with each sip. By the time they finished, a mutual understanding had been reached.

       “I show you Russian apartment now yes?” asked Vlad.

       “Yes,” said Delilah. “Is it far?”

       “Not far,” said Vlad. “Only to Patterson and Fifteen. And I have long skateboard for us to ride down hill if you like.”

       “You skateboard?” asked Delilah. “I didn’t know Russians rode skateboards.”

       “Of course I ride skateboard,” said Vlad. “Where do you think I from, Chechnya?”

       “Oh Vlad, you’re so funny,” said Delilah.

       Vlad took her by the hand. “Call me Vladmir,” he said.

© 2011 L.W.M.


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L.W.M.
All comments/critiques are appreciated!

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Added on January 26, 2011
Last Updated on January 26, 2011

Author

L.W.M.
L.W.M.

Portland, OR



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