Pregnant Girl

A tall blonde chick chats me up at the bar. I love tall girls. Not tonight. I’m not interested. I’ve got my eyes on this pregnant slut sloshing vodka three bar stools over. She’s like seven months, eight months, just drinking away.

All they have on tap here is Bud and Bud Light and this watery brew makes me piss like a racehorse. I have no other cliché. It works though. It gives me an excuse to leave Blondie. I take the opportunity. The men’s’ room is no grosser than most, puddles of piss on the floor. I can never figure why guys can’t get it in the bowl. But I’m in a hurry. I’m not sure why. My big-belly girl has been alone all night.

Back from the bathroom, I move four seats down. I still have space. I’m less sure about time.

Serendipity strikes the right chord. Chick-with-child is almost out of booze.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says. “Double vodka and soda.”

I flag the bartender.

The barkeep does not hesitate. She pours the drink long and hard, maybe a triple if I had to guess.

Preggers rubs her big belly and thanks me.

“How are you?” I ask.

“Shit-faced,” she says.

“Can I touch it?” I ask.

“All you want.”

I rub her stomach and then I suck her fingers.

Her nails are long and her hair is shiny just like they say in all the books.

She puts one hand on my crotch and kneads my balls like she’s in cooking class.

“When are you due?”

“Any time now.”

I want to ask her a lot more questions but I don’t.

Her long nails are quite dirty and I suck the fingers of the hand that is not stroking me. Within a minute or two, her nails are pink and white and clean. She smiles at me.

She changes hands.

Her drink is gone and I order her another and I get myself a scotch on top of my fourth Bud Light. I consider sipping the scotch but instead I gulp it down and order another.

My girl spasms some and I guess I look alarmed.

She moves her face closer to mine.

“Braxton-Hicks,” she says.

“What?”

“False alarm.”

I remember the books I read and the classes I took.

We drink our drinks.

The jukebox walks the line, just right, a perfect and automatic DJ in the dark. The beer signs glow. The light is blue and black. The six-foot blonde is playing pool.

All at once the moment works.

Pregnant girl finishes her vodka.

“Take me home,” she says.

She stumbles a bit getting off her chair. I steady her, my arm under hers. I pick up her purse from the floor and I hand it to her. I grab my jacket and slip it around her suddenly shivering shoulders.

My heart is beating fast and my face is flushed and I am very hard.

I hold both her hands and lead her to my car.

I am taking her home with me.

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Larry Fondation is the author of four books of fiction, all set in inner city Los Angeles. His most recent, a collaboration with artist Kate Ruth, is called Unintended Consequences, a collection of short stories.