1/16/11

Temptress Tiffanny
By Scott D. Hughey


“You don’t want to take me home,” the sultry young woman told me. She somehow made it a question as much as a statement. Despite the cool night’s air the twenty something blonde wore only tight black shorts and a loose fitting white t-shirt. Despite Gloria, my wonderful wife of five years, I noticed.
“Are you okay?”
We had just made it to her car, so the question seemed to come out of nowhere. I glanced across the parking lot to the Pizzeria Restaurant I owned. Instead of closing the store, both my employees were staring out the window. Vultures. I gestured for them to get to work.
I realized I hadn’t answered her yet. “Here’s your cheesebread.” For some reason she’d asked me to carry it out for her. I hoped she’d take it and leave. Well, that’s not entirely true. I didn’t want to betray Gloria in any way. Desperately, I also wanted to prolong this encounter with the beautiful young woman. I did so with what passed for witty conversation on my part.
“Need any more help?” She still hadn’t taken the food so this seemed like a good place to start.
“I’m a little drunk.”
“What’s your name?”
“So you do want to take me home?”
“I want you to make it there,” I reasoned. “Where do you live?”
She glanced pointedly at my wedding band and my flash flushed red. She giggled. “I’m Tiffany. I’m just around the corner. It’s okay.”
In spite of her words, she took a step closer. I stepped back. No, that’s a lie. She smelled like honeysuckles.
I love honeysuckles.
“Let me drive your car,” I offered. “We’re closed and if you’re not far I can just walk back. It’s no problem”
“What’s your name?”
“Tony.”
She leaned closer. I tried to think about Gloria, except that I didn’t. Tiffany stood near enough for me to smell the alcohol on her breath. I also caught a glimpse beneath her shirt’s collar before forcing myself to look in her eyes. At her eyes.
“I’ll be fine Tony,” she said, taking the cheesebread and climbing in her car. My name sounded incredible the way she said it. She was leaving, which would probably do wonders for my marriage, except she kept the door open and made a “come here” gesture with her head.
“Are you okay?” she asked again.
What did she mean by that? Was she flirting? Five years of marriage and I couldn’t tell anymore.
It seemed like flirting though. That made me want to retreat back to the restaurant almost as much as it made me want to stay. Tiffany leaned out the door at the perfect angle to expose her top again. I made a point of not looking at all this time. She wore white lace underneath the shirt.
I felt compelled to offer her more assistance, either out of concern for her safety or some other well-intentioned reason. “At least let me follow you. Make sure you make it home safe?”
“I’m not that drunk.”
“You were drunk enough to need help carrying your food to the car.” I thought I’d said that playfully. It wasn’t playful enough. Have you ever seen a beautiful woman’s nostrils flair? I have, just before she started her car (on the third try) and peeled out of the parking lot.
It was actually a relief at first. So much so that I didn’t consciously realize I was walking to my car. Sure, I’d probably lost a customer, but I probably avoided a terrible mistake too. If she was flirting, I had been dangerously close to seeing what I could do about it. I pulled my keys out of my pocket.
Up until making her mad, there had been an electric feel to the moment. The air seemed supercharged with opportunities- all of them bad ones for a happily married man.
I felt guilty acknowledging how much I’d wanted to explore those opportunities. All this occupied my thoughts as I unlocked my car. Tiffany had just turned left out of the parking lot. The Palmetto community was her only possible destination. I had to hurry if I was going to see where she lived. Or rather, make sure she got there safely.
It’s easy to lie to yourself when the perceived payoff is so great. She might hurt herself. She might hurt someone else. That’s what I told myself (and later my employees at the store) as I pulled out of the parking space.
Following her wasn’t hard. I made it out of the lot in time to see Tiffany’s car turn down Palmetto Circle. Doing the same, I passed her as she safely pulled into a driveway. Crisis averted. Right?
It would have been except that instead of following the loop back to the main road, I turned around four drives down.
She must have somehow spotted me because she was waiting at her driveway’s edge. Her fingers made the universal “come here” gesture. I pulled in and sheepishly got out of the car.
“Wanted to make sure I made it home Tony?” I could only nod. “That’s sweet,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Come inside.”
Oh yes!
Oh no!
This went beyond flirting. I’d imagined her saying those words as I followed her car, but I just couldn’t. “Tiffany..”
“We both know why you followed me.”
I blushed again. She was right.
“It’s okay,” she smiled. “I want to.”
It wasn’t okay though. I no longer had the luxury of lying to myself about my motives, or enjoying the ambiguity. Still I hesitated, and I think she enjoyed watching the internal struggle.
“I want to too, but I’d better not.”
“You’re married.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah. Guess I am.”
After a brief pause on her part, she nodded. “See, I knew you were a sweet guy Tony.” She stepped forward and gave me a friendly hug. I hugged her back, but that was all.
Okay, that’s a lie too. But I didn’t go inside. Really. I promise that did not happen. Maybe more than a hug, but not that.
Her lips tasted like strawberries.


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"Scott D. Hughey is a writer of short stories, flash fiction and those ideas that refuse to leave him alone until he gets them down on paper. Scott would also like to point out that, although he did once own a restaurant, this story is complete fiction. He is currently working on his first novel."