The restaurant Blondie selected was in the entertainment complex just down the street. The complex included three differently themed bars, one of which had a dance band playing during happy hour and on into the evening. At the restaurant, the combination of our continued drinking and the muffled, thumping beat down the way was making Blondie tap the table rhythmically with her long pink nails and move her body provocatively to the music. Attentively watching her movements, Beau teased,
“I don’t suppose you like to dance, Blondie?” My Dixie Pixie replied with an unbelievably sexy, hot pink pout of those full lips, sighing with contrived exasperation,
“Well of course! I love to dance but ol’ stick-in-the-mud there doesn’t. All he ever wants to do is sit back and watch me prancin’ around half-naked for his viewin’ pleasure.”
Beau raised an eyebrow at that too-candid revelation and looked at me appraisingly, a crafty smile on his face, and, I was willing to bet, forming an interesting mental picture of my wife “prancing around half-naked.” Tilting her head at him and smiling sexily, Blondie cooed,
“I bet you’re a real good dancer aren’t you, Beau?”
Beau gamely responded with a big grin, “Sure, all us black dudes got natural rhythm, you know.”
Peering into his eyes, Blondie winked suggestively and murmured,
“Mmmm, I just bet you do. An’ I hear tell that comes in real handy for other things, too, tu sais (you know) cher?”
Cutting a sly glance at me, she purred,
“You know, Beau, ever since I was a jeune fille (young girl) growing up over in Baton Rouge, I’ve always heard such interestin’ things about black men, such very interestin’ things.”
Gazing steadily, she smiled seductively and murmured,
“Sure makes a girl curious, you know?”
They held meaningful eye contact for a good ten seconds before he shook his head with disbelief at what he’d just heard. Cocking his head at me with an eyebrow lifted, he tried to laugh it off,
“Hey, Rick, are modern Southern women all this outspoken nowadays?”
I grinned back at his loaded question, “Beau, when my little sweetie is drinking, there is no telling what will come out of that luscious mouth. That little Louisiana belle is liable to say anything at any time to absolutely anybody.”
Blondie was still smiling serenely at Beau as she purred seductively, “Or do anything…”
Again they exchanged a long, significant look. Undeniably, all the alcohol we’d consumed was easing everyone’s inhibitions, although mine not enough to keep me from having misgivings about Blondie’s intentions toward my corporate honcho. Was she just flirting or was she actually trying to seduce him? If she were serious about it and it backfired on us, what then? Facing back to me, smiling prettily, she said,
“It’s still early, Rick, so why don’t we go in after we finish dinner here an’ dance just a little while, d’accord (okay)?” Smiling playfully at Beau she mocked,
“After all, I have never had the opportunity to dance with someone with natural rhythm.”
Holding her eyes on his, Blondie continued meaningfully,