He ordered a plain black coffee and a French Vanilla Latte for her while she clung to his tanned, sculpted arm, digging her inch long nude acrylics into his skin. He said, “Babe, go find us a table,” so she scurried off in her florescent orange high heels that clashed with her outfit but unbelievably matched her skin. He watched her half tripping over the wheel of a baby’s pram and knocking into an elderly lady with a walking stick.
He turned back to the barista, smiling apologetically, embarrassed, while she began her latte art. “Oh, she doesn’t like the leaf drawings…” The barista said she could do a heart instead. He said, “Great”, but thought that it might be pushing it a bit far.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He searched the room for her, his girlfriend, or bless him, was she his wife? Following the high pitch pig squeal that of course he told her was cute but told his mates was fucking annoying, he found her. She stood up, looking at her own arse, turning around like when a dog chases its tail. She peeled a yoghurt pot lid off her skirt, which would be better described as a belt, and flaunted a mini-tantrum. After wiping the strawberry gunk off, she turned around to the table next to hers, planting her tits in the face of the gentleman sat there so much so that if he were to sneeze her cleavage would swallow his head entirely. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but is there anything on my skirt?” She swung around showing him her behind.
His stare lingered a little longer than it should have and his wife stood up abruptly throwing her iced tea over him before storming out. The gentleman rushed after his wife, yelling, “Jesus, Suze, I didn’t do anything this time!”
The girl, we’ll call her Lucy – she looks like a Lucy – sat down, finding a compact mirror in her purse. She leaned over on the chair inspecting her own bum whilst flashing the entire room her vagina. He stood at the counter watching all this, questioning why in God’s name he was with her.
“That’s £6.30, sir. I hope she likes the heart.”
He handed over a tenner and said keep the change. Grabbing the drinks, he wandered over to the table while she waved manically at him, as if it would have been impossible for him to see her even though she was dressed like a traffic cone.
It was then he glanced to the window thinking of freedom, of escape, but instead he spotted me. I sipped the last of my Chai Tea Latte, picked up my bag and phone and walked to the door. He gave me a nod and I gave him a smile, followed by the finger.
He laughed while sitting down with her. I walked out knowing that she’d ask ‘Who was that?’
He’d reply “Just some girl I used to know.”