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White Bitch (Part 5)

There was a black man at the bar, and I felt my pulse quicken. This guy was scary; he was big and muscular and his head was shaved. He looked like he could break me in two with one hand. He had to be about 6'5" and 270 or so. I sat next to him and ordered a drink. He looked at me and slowly looked me up and down.

   "Hi," I said to him.

   "Hi, blondie," he said, turning his head back to his drink.

   "Kathy," I said, "my name's Kathy." He ignored me. "What's your's?" I asked. He sat for a second, then looked at me with total disdain.

   "Lester," he said finally. I was getting a little irritated at being ignored by this man. I guess I thought that he'd be salivating at the thought of maybe scoring with a white, Southern belle. He wasn't. I practically had to drag words out of him. He never even bought me a drink, but I bought him three or four. He finished his drink and stood up, and I stared at him, dumbfounded.

   "Well," he said, "you coming or not?"

   "Coming? Coming where?" I asked, not sure how to play this turn of events. He leaned real close to me, his big, shining head just inches from my ear.

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