The Feel Good Drag

She looked around the small establishment. The walls were littered with random posters, metal signs; a Budweiser clock here, an inflatable Corona bottle there. The building itself had nearly been condemned only a year prior, and she had followed the local media's coverage of the "revitalization"- as they had termed it, rather triumphantly- of this wasteland. It had once been known as simply "Harry's", and then it had been "Dick's". Now it was under some new guise, some new trick to try and lure the attentions of anyone outside the small town on the outskirts of the city.

The clientele was nothing extravagant, consisting largely of the town's garden variety, redneck alcoholics; businessmen and women stalling for Happy Hour on their jaunt home; and desperate college students turned away at the upscale clubs of the large city. All gathered together in this disheveled edifice with nothing in common, save for the drink. It was a sad commentary on society that booze could bring the generations together; that a tall glass of Bud could unite the normally disagreeable groups. That was life, however, and this was her where she chose to select their prey.

Their prey.

Her gaze traveled around the dimly lit room in circles, analyzing first the leggy, thirty-something bartender, then the young brunette seated on the lap of her equally young male friend at the end of the bar, to her left. Her sparkling blue eyes traveled next to the pool table, where a group of local men- most of them blue collar workers by day- were engaged in an intense billiards tournament. Each of them was less appealing to her than the last. Moustaches qualified as an immediate no; beards merited no consideration.

Where was the one?

A second sweep of the enclosure found her losing further hope. The youngest individuals in the bar were no more than nineteen, by the looks of them; probably with a beautifully constructed fake ID to match their childlike innocence. The young girl gyrated in her counterpart's lap slowly, the pair sipping from a green bottle. Dutch. No good, she thought. No good. She turned to her lover and watched him as he watched this crowd. His brown eyes swept slowly from the swaying hips of a tiny blonde, dancing to the random Bruce Springsteen release emanating from the ratty old jukebox, to a tall brunette smoking a cigarette by the bathrooms in back.

"Anything?" he inquired, his voice lowered by smoke and excess Budweiser.

She shrugged. "Nothing, so far."

He nodded and returned his eyes to the petite blonde, her miniscule body swaying back and forth to a tune that did not fit the music playing around them. She looked young- possibly eighteen, probably younger- her lips pressed seductively around a lengthy cigarette. She would exhale and stop her movements, then press the Marlboro to her red lips and return to the dance. He watched her, and she watched him watching her.

"Her?"

"No," he shrugged and pushed his own cigarette between his lips. "Too young."

She nodded.

He removed his gaze from the smoking blonde and traveled to the woman at the bathrooms, she too with a lean cigarette pressed between her pouty lips. Her lithe body, easily six foot, was pressed against the wall as she curved into a payphone and spoke wildly to the call's recipient. Her tan arms gestured wildly, giving proof that the conversation was very clearly a heated one. He chuckled to himself and took a swig of his beer, checking the mysterious Latina off the list. Beautiful, spirited, but not what he was looking for.

"Anything?" he inquired again, exhaling a large plume of smoke towards the bartender as she rounded their end of the bar.

"Nothing," she sighed. "I want a blonde, young."

He nodded and exhaled smoke from his nose. "Feels so good."

She raised her manicured eyebrows and smirked. "A blonde?"

He laughed at this, shaking his head and displaying a soft dimple in his right cheek. "No, the drag."

She nodded again, helpless against the repetitive activity. "A blonde," she repeated to herself, scouring the room for the umpteenth time. "With tits."

"All women have tits," he objected with a devilish grin.

"Fake," she grinned. "I like fake blondes."

"Breasts or hair?" he inquired, a tease to her pensive moment.

She shook her head and spun on her bar stool, again devouring their small pool of victims with her midnight blue eyes. For tonight, all the men were out. There would be no wild, passionate love with a construction worker from downtown; there would be no heated make-out sessions with a small, pierced collegian; she desired not the sight of a briefcase tossed across the room as a dark stranger followed her to bed. Her prey was chosen, decided.

And where?

Her breath caught in her throat when he squeezed her arm suddenly, and she felt the exhalation of his breath against her small, pierced ear. "She's here," he whispered, directing her gaze to a small blonde entering the bar. Her body was barely covered against the harshness of the February air. Her jeans were painted on, her breasts made by the hands of a crafted surgeon. Her heels were dangerously spiked, her lips deliciously fire engine red.

She sighed, a gleam of desire tainting her pupils. "Yes."

"We take her home?" he questioned.

"Yes," she smiled.

"I'll go to her, lure her in," he offered. "Or you?"

"You," she stated softly.

She watched as the youthful vixen reached into her small purse and extracted a carton of cigarettes, pulling a long Light 100 free, and bringing it to her deliciously full lips before again searching the purse, and this time recovering a small lighter. The blonde smiled to no one but herself before lighting up, grinning and taking in her location before placing the lighter protectively back inside the purse.

"Perfect," she sighed with lust. "Perfect."

"I invite her over for a drink," he continued, pushing hair from her face as he spoke softly. "I bring her to you."

"Yes," she smiled.

"And then what?" he raised his eyebrows and wrinkled his large nose curiously.

"I want to watch the two of you smoke," she stated simply, as though he had asked a silly question of her.

"And what then?" he repeated, changing his phrasing ever so slightly, hoping for a detailed answer of the night's potential.

She shrugged, leaned forward and took the cigarette from between his lips. "We'll figure that out," she smirked, took a slow drag, "when we're all naked."