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November 2010 Volume 12 , Issue 11 submit to us!

by Wayne Scheer -- Contributing Author [Email This Story]

Graham loosened his tie the moment he stepped into the hotel's restaurant. His stomach growled and he wondered if he could get away with ordering a porterhouse for two. A group of men in dark suits that he'd seen all day at the conference waved for him to join them. Shit! Smiling in their direction, he pointed and winked, and turned toward the bar.

Before the bartender had a chance to ask for his drink order, he said, "Scotch, straight up. Make it a double."

The barkeep poured the drink and placed it on a cardboard coaster. "You want me to charge it to your room?"

He told the bartender his room number. "Do you serve food at the bar?"

"Just peanuts. You have to go to the restaurant for a meal."

He sighed. "Peanuts will have to do." As hungry as he was, he decided to wait for the group in the dining area to leave. The last thing he wanted to do was talk shop.

Graham felt the liquor burn a path to his empty stomach. He inhaled and blew the air out of puffed cheeks. Again, he pulled at his tie.

"Another double," he called to the bartender.

Scanning the room, Graham eyed a woman in a short skirt and revealing top. When his eyes found her face, he saw her smiling at him. The bartender brought him his drink and a bowl of peanuts.


"No problem, man."

He devoured a handful of nuts and washed them down with most of his Scotch. Checking out his reflection in the mirror across from him, he ran his hand through thinning hair. He finished off his drink and turned toward the woman.

She circled her full lips with a pink tongue and raised her glass in his direction.

Playing with his wedding ring, Graham saluted her with his glass.

She rose, letting him appreciate her curves, and walked towards him. "You look like a man who needs company," she said. Her voice was barely a whisper, but her full breasts spoke for themselves.

Graham assessed the situation. Obviously a hooker, attractive, young, but she knew what she was doing. He calculated the amount of cash he had on him. He could charge a meal to his company, but not a prostitute. He sighed, and made his decision.

"I'll give you fifty bucks cash if you join me for dinner and promise not to talk about quarterly earning reports."

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Features -- November 2010 -- Mid Month Issue