Nothing had felt as comfortable as the cloth interior of the car. She sank down into it, her hip nestling against the buckle of the seatbelt. She felt soft lips kiss her cheek and say “goodnight darling, drive safely” before the door slammed, leaving her another place to rest a tired elbow.
He turned the keys in the ignition and the windshield wipers began moving fast across the glass. He turned them off; he sighed as he sank into his seat. He looked at her and her false eyelashes dangling from one eye. “Did you have a good time?” he asked.
“Yes. I hope I didn’t act too stupid” she replied, eyes still shut, slouched in the car seat.
“Maybe one less black Russian would have been better for you” he said. “Things were going fine until you started waxing poetic about the difference between freedom fighters and terrorists and how Louisa May Alcott changed the world."
She fluttered her eyes open. All the streetlights were big blurry balls of fuzzy light, whizzing past in fast fury. She looked at his dark curls and then closed her eyes again. “It was fun though” she said. “It was really fun.”
She remembered dancing in the apartment, admiring the large modern painting in the hall. She remembered sampling the babaganoush and loving the hostess' new eyeliner. The boys were getting high on the balcony. She tugged on the top of her new cocktail dress, allowing the strap to slip down her forearm. It started to rain again.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We are going home, kitten,” he replied. “I am taking you home.”