Don't Love Me
By quarter to seven, I’m sitting at the bar in a sleek black dress that Tony borrowed from a friend. My make-up is a simple cat eye with a red lip, and my black pumps have a red sole. Supposedly that’s good.
I’m only there for a minute when I feel someone staring. Turning, I find Mr. Conti, slowly walking towards me like a panther, while he takes me in, top to bottom.
When he’s next to me he says, “You clean up nice.”