Friend of the Bottle

Flash Fiction

She sits at the oak desk with eyeliner and gin, with lipstick and eyeshadow. The silk stocking she’s not yet donned sits next to the plate of lime wedges she had the foresight to slice after reading the letter and before unstoppering the bottle. 

She sits at the oak desk and ignores all that’s on it save the gin. Her glass is in fact crystal, which eleva…