The women in green smiled anxiously at each other across the restaurant. One lit by kerosene lamp, the other lit by modern methods. The Bouzouki music created a whimsical atmosphere but the mood weighed heavily at each table championed by the women in green.
Love and Happiness was being crooned in the open air bar next door. Al Green was competing with the lute, the winner only determined by the direction of the wind.
The woman in the olive summer dressed shook her hair and wiped a disobedient tear before it fell in her wine. She hated to cry in public. Hated showing she cared when he had disappointed her once again. Hated admitting her mother was right. She straightened her shoulders and shook her mane again and looked up straight into the eyes of the chartreuse wearing woman. Why does she look at me that way, as if she knew me? How dare she watch as if she knows my story?
The lady across the restaurant shifts her eyes and looks at her watch. It is 10:15pm. He should have been here already. The credit card receipt said 9:45pm every Wednesday night. Hump day! The irony did not evade her.
For the past year, she fell asleep alone on Wednesday nights. He had to work late he said each time. Why were all the emergency cases on Wednesday nights? Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind “don’t leave the house on Wednesday nights. The devil is taking a walk that night!” Pfff… The woman in chartreuse rubbed her nape to ward of the impending headache. He better not walk in. The credit card charges are fake. Ah but what about the perfume on his suit. They were too feminine for his Hugo wearing self. It could have been a co-worker. Yes, that is what it is. But what about the strawberry red hair on his member? That could have been an accident since they use a communal washer and dryer. Yes, she thought, she had nothing to worry. She gazed across at the strawberry red haired woman and her fears were ignited again.
10:45pm had come and past. The humidity in the air was rising. Aretha Franklin was preaching “You better think” while the lute had faded away. A requiem was playing softly. The morbid essence was of the music permeated the room. The wait staff meandered waiting for the women in green to leave. Tonight was inventory and these two women were cutting into their precious time.
11pm, the woman in chartreuse bites her last finger nail and gulps her shot of Raki. She turns over the glass like a seasoned drinker and bites the last piece of octopus on her toothpick. She tosses the stick away and orders the bill. As she reaches into her purse, a man rushes by her and straight to the woman in olive. As they embrace, and share sweet soft kisses, the woman in chartreuse watches. She sees him touch the woman in green’s neck like they do in the movies. She seems him brush her hair in the most intimate way. He kisses her forehead. It is a sign of respect in some cultures. The same cultures who would stone him for his act of treason. The woman in chartreuse quietly pulls out her gun from her worn handbag and says “Aris you kept me waiting again!”
