Blurred Lines

Chapter 11

"Reservation for Elizabeth Greco, at nine o'clock," Abigail said to the host at Anush's.

The attendant looked at his watch.

She was early.

"The other members of your party haven't arrived yet. Can I seat you at the bar until your party gets here?"

A group of girls from her Medical and Surgical Nursing II class had wanted to get together for a celebratory dinner after the results of their midterm had been released. All had managed to pass Professor Lydia Brooks' class, or as they liked to call her, Nurse Ratched a unit they'd been dreading  since their first year in BSN.

Professor Brooks took Medical and Surgical Nursing I in the first year of their degree and left students dreading her return in the fourth and final year of their degree. Her class had been so difficult to pass, that the university had dropped the passing grade to 45% and even then only half the cohort had managed to get a passing grade. Abigail had scraped through with a 58 percent that year. This time round she'd managed to push her grade up to 72 percent.

She followed the attendant through the restaurant to the bar. Heads turned, some briefly, others not so subtly. With heels, she stood a striking five-feet-eleven and in the cream figure hugging dress that fell into a ruffled skirt from her waist to somewhere around her mid thigh, she was a sight to behold.

On the nights she didn't work, Abigail wore next to no makeup. Having to scrub layers of stage makeup off in the early hours of the morning was something she despised. Her wavy chestnut hair hung loose around her shoulders and she sat at the bar, crossing her long legs.

A barman approached her.

"Can I get a Daiquiri?" she said.

Despite the empty bar, he took the stool next to hers.

She was used to this kind of attention but it got tiring after a while.

"Hi," he said.

Abigail nodded politely before turning back to her drink.

"I thought this was a restaurant, but I must be in a museum," he laughed nervously.

She turned to look at him, shooting him down with an unwelcome stare.

"I was just saying, this place must be a museum, because you're a piece of art," he said looking at her nervously.

Great. He was a comedian.

She turned her attention back to her drink, visibly unamused.

"I'm Elliot," he said, unrelenting.

"I'm waiting for someone," she said.

"Really? Cause that's a crying shame," he said, sounding like he wasn't buying her lie.

Abigail ignored him.

"Trust me I'm not drunk, really. But, I am intoxicated by your beauty," he went on.

Aloof wasn't going to work with this guy. She needed to amp up the bitch.

"This place is something isn't it? I've never been here before. How about you?"

"Yeah I have," she said, keeping it short so that he'd get the hint.

Abigail looked at her watch.

Where were these girls?

"I should really start coming here more often. I mean if everyone here looks anything like you, I should definitely start coming her more often," he laughed nervously into his glass.