Last Call At The Blue Orchid

Written for Sadje’s weekly query:
 What Do You See?

The Blue Orchid never closed so much as surrendered, and by one a.m. the smoke hung low enough to hide a man’s sins.

I was nursing my third scotch when she turned on her stool. Black sweater rolled high at the throat, dark hair swept back behind one ear, a row of tiny silver studs catching the bar light like distant headlights on a wet road. She tipped her chin down and looked up at me through her lashes, doing her best Bacall, and her best was plenty.

I’d seen that look before. It usually cost me money.

She didn’t smile. Women like her never do on the first pass. She just let one hand drift to the back of her neck, slow, like she was deciding whether I was worth the trouble.

I picked up my glass and crossed the room. The piano man found a minor key.

“You’re staring,” she said. Her voice was gravel and honey, whiskey poured over velvet.

“Can you blame me?”

“Everybody says that.” She took the cigarette from my fingers, drew on it, and handed it back with lipstick on the tip. “Nobody says anything original.”

“Try me.”

Her dark eyes held mine long enough for the ice to melt in my drink. Somewhere outside, a siren wailed and faded into the rain.

“My husband’s looking for me,” she said.

“Let him look.”

She leaned in, close enough that I caught a whiff of gardenias. “Then buy me a drink, handsome. We’ve got until he finds us.”

Outside, the city kept its secrets. In here, we were about to make a new one.

NAR©2026
#WDYS

This is “Blue Orchid” by the White Stripes

From “To Have and Have Not” where Bacall reminds Bogie how to whistle.

What do you see # 360- 28 September, 2026

^{Everything on The Elephant’s Trunk was created by me, unless otherwise indicated, and may not be used without permission. Thanks for your consideration. NAR©2017-present.}