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07-13-03, for Selena
Selenium Arsenide - It's Just Chemistry for a birthday Gallium
She's vibrating again. The patrons have been watching her apprehensively for some time now. She's been twitching - the tips of her wings have been fluttering like hummingbirds for the last hour at least. Her fingers drum the bar top nervously, and one silk-slipper-clad foot has been tapping out a syncopated rhythm on the bar stool completely out of time with the R&B rifts coming from the juke in the corner.
The patrons are nervous. Visibly nervous by this unusual sight. Our Nymph isn't the agitated sort. Birthdays are happy times, not nerve-wracking ones, at least in here. That's part of what La Taverna is for, after all. It's an oasis, an escape, a fantasy retreat for uptight and high-strung artistic types. It's not a place to wallow in angst or despair. It's a place to let go, to argue-but-not-really, to debate, and be aroused, to... well, to be a part of something.
But today, the Nymph is nervous. It's obviously an important birthday. Or, perhaps, an important celebration of a birthday-because those are different things, aren't they really? The birthday, the birthday person, and the celebration.
Yes, the birthday person is an important person today, but it's the celebration that has Our Nymph so uneasy. With a last glance at her watch, she stands and walks to the stage. She squares her shoulders and shakes the shivers out of her wings before bringing the microphone to her cupid's-bow lips.
“Ahem.” It's tradition, after all. But today it was unnecessary. All eyes were already riveted, all ears tuned, and all lips silent.
“Yes. Well. Thank you. Thank you all. As you may have guessed, there's a birthday today here in our little bar. Now, in the past I've brought in quite a few special treats for the birthday celebrant as well as for the patrons. But it occurred to me the other day that I've brought in biker chicks, college co-eds, strippers, harem girls… but I've never brought in anything specifically for the ladies.
“I believe it's time to fix that little situation. So...”
Our Nymph, now blushing deeply into the possibly-lingerie-enhanced cleavage (although no one currently remembers who is keeping the book on those particular odds), gives a too-casual wave, and the once dim lights begin to slowly brighten.
Gone are the waitresses. Gone. No mas, zip, zilch. Not a corset or serving wench outfit to be found. However, now strolling through the room, casual and sensual, are The Men.
“Yes, ladies-and men, if you happen to be so inclined-The Men are here, and they're yours. You'll notice that I've, hopefully, provided a nice selection. For example, in the corner by the juke is one of my personal favorites. However, I don't want my preferences to color your choices. Now, our Birthday Girl gets absolute first pick-and I'm not limiting her to one-but once she's done making her selections, the rest of you are welcome to take your pick.
“Oh, and Happiest of Birthdays, Dear Selena. May you find something to your liking in this Place.”
And with that final word, Our Nymph glides from the stage and heads, rather quickly one notices, towards the back of the room, hoping, perhaps, to stake a claim before one of the other Patrons latches on.
(The End <g>)
