Friday night, out in Los Angeles’ West side, in a crammed bar called South off of Wilshire in Santa Monica. My friend and I are at sitting side by side at the bar. She’s sipping on a Stella and I’ve got a vodka-7 in hand when behind her I see a guy approaching with dark hair, olive skin and the widest smile, a smile so wide his mouth becomes a crescent moon, radiating against that olive skin.
He’s smiling in a goofball way, in a stupid, silly way. An “I-just-won-the-lottery” way. His smile becomes even wider as he comes to stand in between my friend and I, that crazy moon! He nearly sits on my lap as he sloshes his drink to and fro.
He only has eyes for Sammi.
He leans in to her, that clown, spilling his coke-and-whatever down my thigh as he attempts to charm her. He slurs a few compliments, “You sloook schnice tonight” and “Gawd, you’re cute!” and as each phrase flies out his mouth, so does his coke-and-whatever. Into my lap.
He comes around to my other side now and I’m rolling my eyes and scooting away. He gives me a huge grin as he reaches his grubby hand into the bartender’s supply of cherries. He starts popping them into his mouth, like a little kid slurping icing off a cake.
And then he tops the cake.
He leans into Sammi one more time. “And I just love the Jewishness,” he says, eyeing her curly dark black hair.
“But…” Sammi seems to grasp for air. “I’m not JEWISH!”
I can’t hear what he says but he sort of slithers a bit off to the side, snake-like, into the dark of the bar.
“I can’t tell you how often I get that,” Sammi says. “And I am pretty sure he just stuffed those extra cherries into his pocket!”
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