She sat at the far end of the bar, bathed in caramel light and the wispy thoughts of Marlboro Ultra-Lights while she sipped tediously on her raspberry long island iced-tea. She flicked the ashen phallus of her cigarette into the ashtray with an indiscriminate flick of her thumb; she never ashed on the floor. That kind of thing was left to the girls of the brothel, and that was years ago. And anyway, those girls never amounted to anything more than what they fucked. She gave a soft glance sideways down the bar and spotted him: the husky cowboy with the ashen brown hair holding that one streak of cost-effective peroxide stripped hair falling aimlessly down over his right eye. She could see the seams of his Target sale-priced football t-shirt straining against his pectorals as he swaggered near. The small fruit of his nipples showed through the footballs on either side of the word “Bears.” Just as her eyes returned upwards to receive him, he spoke in a lost voice: “Ms. Lanning.”
She noticed a bead of sweat falling from his brow, accentuating his cheekbones and coming to rest for a moment on his testosterone chin before falling onto his shirt.
“Cameron… I’ve heard of you. Godfather Martin speaks very well of you.” She said in an exhale of hot air. His eyes blossomed at her recognition, igniting the fire below.
“Ms. Lanning, you look parched. I think you need some more water.” He returned, his eyes taking in the full measure of her exquisite stature. She waved him on with a dismissive gesture and reached for her overpriced pack of cigarettes. “I usually never smoke two in a row.”
The cowboy released his empathetic smile, slightly ashamed that she had been allowed to see a momentary weakness at this crucial moment. She was everything. She was glorious. He turned, perfectly aware of her calculating gaze and walked towards the ice water station. He could feel the stroke of Ms. Lanning’s eyes on his posterior as he reached for the cold steel handle of the pitcher. His fire blazed with her permission. But she could not be allowed to see such a weakness. His Weakness. It could cost him everything.
As he lifted the arctic grail to fill her empty glass he suddenly saw a shadow pass just beyond the doorway, perhaps nothing more than a customer come to unknowingly enjoy a beverage in the presence of his Fire Queen, but then again perhaps not. Surely she hadn’t made that call yet.
His hands began to tremble at the thought. She had made the call before. She could do it again. More than a few of the other boys had been made a sacrifice to her insatiable appetite, but she had said he was different. He was unique. He was her power.
As his hands trembled more fiercely, the sturdy spout of his hard, cold pitcher collided with the immovable lip of her glass, spilling a handful of perfect ice water onto the terracotta flagstone floor. He turned with a start to see if she had noticed. Ms Lanning. His hivemaster.
She was there, caressing the air with her ultra-light smoky breath and gazing into him, through his heart as though she had finally found true love, only to be left at the side of the road while love sped off in a BMW. With a slow exhale of ammonia-perfumed luxury she let her lids close in a final farewell.
No, Cameron thought, this can’t be it. She wouldn’t dare.
Ms. Lanning raised her left hand off her half-empty nostalgic soda glass and waved away the swirling white veil that always protected him from her eyes. She looked at him in question.
Cameron inhaled the sweetest air he had ever beheld. My God, he thought, her eyes. The color. They are real. She blinked. She snapped her fingers.
Not a patron. He realized. Not a patron.
Immediately the three men on the other side of the door entered in tight black pleather spankies and light green berets, almost ochre. “No!” Cried Cameron, shamelessly. “No! It was an accident! Ms. Lanning!” He looked to her despairingly. “I love you!”
She nodded her head, letting the veil of cigarette smoke close once again before her, cutting him off from her true beauty for one last time. The henchmen grabbed Cameron and dragged him across the bar to the hidden doorway, just beyond the beverage gun. He disappeared into the secret gaping hole before he had time to scream.
Ms. Lanning crushed the remains of her cigarette into the ashtray and the bartender immediately removed it. “Another one, Ms. Lanning?” he said with conviction.
She rose from her steel and leather throne and walked slowly towards the hidden door that had consumed Cameron. Her Cameron. She placed one hand on the doorframe and looked over her right shoulder, distinctly, as if she’d heard something pleasant and small. She contemplated for a moment, then looked at the bartender knowingly.
“One more, Joe. And make it dirty.”
“Yes, Ms. Lanning. I’ll have it ready.” he returned, with the confidence of one that would never receive the Call. She tilted her head back, almost too slightly to be noticed in the almond light.
“Oh, and Joe, not too strong this time. You know I never have two in a row.”
She gave him a smile, turned her head toward the unknowable cavern just beyond the doorway, and stepped into it.
“Oh, Ms. Lanning.” Joe said to himself in a hoarse, reverent whisper, “You are class.”

The End.

I dedicate this to Ryan Lanning. He is and will forever be the only true Chick With a Dick. Love ya Ms. Lanning!

Eric Thomas Martin