A Perfect Martini

by Joseph Cavano

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Picture by Shelien Hadfield

December 23, 2011

Ellen Morris glanced at the bedroom mirror and sighed “Mother was right. I’m not much to look at.” She was beginning to lose hope. It had been a year since she had torn up her list, “Things I Expect in a Husband,” and replaced it with a small note she had placed on the refrigerator. It read, “He must be kind.”

Ellen moved from the mirror and glanced outside. It was raining. Hard. Still, it was Friday, and if she was ever going to nab a man Friday night was her best chance. “To hell with Evelyn Harris,” she muttered as she walked quickly to the bed-room closet and searched for the perfect outfit. “Let her stay home because of a little rain. We’ll see who ends up the old maid.”

Taking a final look in the bedroom mirror, she walked to the front door, unlocked it and made her way outside. It had stopped raining. The city had come to life. Everywhere she glanced, young couples held hands or pushed carriages with the most adorable babies. Her heart ached. Their lives seemed so full, so rich, while hers had become an unending succession of weekends alone or bar-hopping with Evelyn. Why couldn’t she find someone and join the parade?

When she arrived at the front door of Chico’s, she took a deep breath before entering. It was still early. The bar was empty except for a man sitting at the bar having a beer and talking sports with the barman. Ellen took a seat a few places down. Desperate times demanded desperate measures.

“They should have traded Davis a year ago,” the man said.

The barman nodded wearily.

“We could have gotten something for him then.” He waved a hand in disgust. “Look at him. We’ll be lucky if we can give him away.”

Ellen glanced at the television and sighed. The game had just started. It wouldn’t be over for hours. She reached into her pocketbook, took out a compact, and glanced in the mirror. She did not like what she saw. She did not remember having so many wrinkles.

The man was still talking to the barman. She turned her head slightly to get a better view. He’s not exactly handsome. Still, he’s not ugly either. Not so ugly you’d be afraid to be seen with him. Go to dinner or a show with. None of her friends had married handsome men anyway. She hardly noticed anymore. All she remembered was how elegant they looked Saturday nights, arm in arm with men who held doors, hailed cabs - smiled at all the right times.

She reached in her purse and pulled out a wallet. Well, she thought, here goes. “A vodka martini, please. No ice. One olive.”

The barman nodded and stooped to retrieve a bottle.

The man at the bar turned towards her and smiled. Ellen smiled back. She called to the barman.“Excuse me.”

The barman lifted his head.

“Make that two olives”

The man at the bar shook his head side to side. “That martini is on me.”

Ellen pulled back the chair next to her and patted the seat. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “You’re very kind.”