I crawled onto the barstool and ordered a Double!  Believe me, what I'd just seen required a Double Scotch!

Gruesome - The victim had a stare on his face that was, somehow, oddly gruesome. Rigormortis had definitely set in.  The bewildered look on his face suggested to me that he'd been, somehow, astonished during the last few seconds of his life.  Frankly, he had a look of fright on his face that could chill the coldest ice cubes.

It was now almost 4:00am - a rainy April night - I'd hung around the newsroom until the early morning edition went to press.  I'm here to tell you, “April is the cruelest, the loneliest and the rainiest month of the year.

“The rain, the lousy April rain - it hadn't enticed me to attempt my regular nightly journey home just yet.”

As a reporter, being away from the paper was not really to my liking – I seldom wanted to be away from the newsroom for very long.  Being at the center of breaking news had always been more exciting than any personal life I could ever imagine.  Believe me; working for a newspaper, in a city like San Francisco, always filled me with a thrill I couldn't easily shed for the trappings of a so-called family life in the new burgeoning suburbs that now engulfed the city's perimeter.

Yeah sure, I knew a few ladies - I mean a few dames.  They were just that – dames - not the type of women you propose to or heaven forbid have kids with.  Marriage is definitely for real suckers!  I prefer the beat of a city to the patter of little feet or the sound of a nagging wife.

When the police scanner came alive with reports of finding a corpse, I rushed over to the sleazy hotel, the squawk-box mentioned, just to be in on the initial look at the crime scene.  In a small room, the victim was found slumped back in his chair.  A whiskey glass on the floor beside his chair must have been dropped when whatever the fright he witnessed enveloped the last gasps of his life.

It was the look on his face that stuck with me.  It was as if he knew his murderer - like he'd been talking with them when the apparent poison took charge of the last moments of his life.

In a tavern down the street, the bar stool I’d struggled up onto seemed to support me while my brain moved away from the eerie look on his face.  The double scotch pouring into me sustained my fortitude.  After a second shot, I began to take notice of the lady across the bar.  There she sat - all in black, all engrossed in her martini.  From where I was, I could vaguely see her running her finger around the rim of the martini glass as if in contemplation.  She appeared to be winding down from an evening of revelry or some serious mischief.  She, also, looked resolute, satisfied - you know, the way you look when you've completed a job or a task to your own satisfaction.  She, also, seemed to possess a determination about herself – real guts.

She had class too - I could see that from where I sat.  Her clothes were classy and she was well-kept.  You can tell a lot about a dame from the way she carries herself.  The way her make-up looks, the way her clothes hang off her frame.  She definitely filled her clothes.  Her bosom shown all the way across the bar.

After all, it was 4:00am and any dame looks alluring after what I'd just seen.  But this one, I could get to know her in a hurry!  She had a look that could sharpen my reporter's pencil in a heart-beat.

_____________________________

With that thought, I motioned to the bartender for a third scotch.  When he delivered it, I leaned over to inquire about the damsel gracing the other end of the bar.  In a quiet tone, he said, “She’s been a regular in here for the last few nights - always dressed to the nines.”

I questioned further, “Has anybody ever been in here with her?”

He replied, “Last night, there was a little scruffy guy.  They took a rear booth and talked for a while.  It appeared like he was telling her something she didn’t want to hear.”

I further asked, “Did you know the guy?”

The bartender responded, “I think he’s some sort of P.I. – he does two-bit divorce investigations and crap like that – strictly small-time trashy stuff - low-rent all the way.”

“Didn’t that seem odd, a low-rent P.I. and a classy dame like her?”

“Hey, nobody said alcohol made life-long friends or compatible bed partners.”

With his comment, I leaned back to gulp down my third scotch.  I thought to myself, “You have no idea what a long-legged gal can do without doing anything at all.”

About that time, the lady, in question, got up to leave.  As she walked by me, I grabbed her arm and asked her to join me for a final nightcap.  The close proximity of her perfume was intoxicating, the closeness of her beauty was breathtaking, the scotch was giving me courage I didn’t know I had.

I could use this woman or be used by her – it didn’t matter to me which one occurred.  Closing time is closing time and loneliness is loneliness.

When I grabbed her arm, she turned and replied, “All men are alike. Their approach is different; but, the result is always the same – No, Thank You."

Her reply made me reel back, but I recovered quickly,  “You’re a dame worth knowing – let me buy you a drink.”

Her retort, “What do you really want mister?”

I looked her cold in the eye and remarked, “The only question I ever ask any woman is: 'What time is your husband coming home?’”

She looked me over, took sharp offense and said, “Cute – very cute, you’re amusing – I should get to know you; but, morning is coming and I need to get out of here.”

Since I was being rebuffed, I felt a need to get under her skin – she was certainly getting under mine.  I leaned toward her and whispered, “Outside, Countess.  As long as they've got sidewalks, you've got a job.  Stay awhile and have another drink with me – I want to get to know what’s inside that dress of yours.”

She turned colder and slapped me.  Then she turned to leave – cracked a half-smile and said, “That's OK, I can walk to the curb from here.”

She walked out – I nursed my wounded jaw, not to mention my pride.  I momentarily thought to myself, “Maybe the lady was alright - maybe she was as she appeared - classy” and then I thought, “Yeah - and maybe Christmas comes in July, too.”