{"id":2775,"date":"2015-03-03T01:14:47","date_gmt":"2015-03-03T01:14:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/?p=2775"},"modified":"2015-03-03T01:14:47","modified_gmt":"2015-03-03T01:14:47","slug":"red-dress-janet-ursel","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/red-dress-janet-ursel\/","title":{"rendered":"The Red Dress by Janet Ursel"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Harvest<\/a>
Harvest by Lynda Warne<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The Red Dress<\/h1>\n

by Janet Ursel<\/p>\n

It was the red that drew my eye as soon as I came through the door. I quickly looked away and walked past to a vacant table.<\/p>\n

She sat alone, one red stiletto swinging back and forth. Her dress too was red, a figure-hugging, satin confection, its glossy surface emphasizing every roll and bulge. A pretty but plump face was framed by lank hair that hung down to the spaghetti straps, one of which kept sliding sideways. She pulled at it distractedly, her eyes fixed on the door. She was too young to carry off the level of sophistication the dress demanded, even if she had had the figure for it. I cringed for her, a Red Riding Hood probably eagerly awaiting the wolf.<\/p>\n

She sipped at her Mai Tai and I ordered an aperitif while I looked over the menu. But I couldn\u2019t stand it any more. I rose, and went to her table.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you mind if I join you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Startled, she looked up at me, pushing her hair behind one ear before pulling yet again at the strap.<\/p>\n

\u201cUm, well, I was expecting somebody.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be happy to leave when he arrives. I just hate to see a lady sitting by herself.\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiled then, an unexpectedly lovely smile, full of a sweetness that did not match the dress.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, sure, I guess I would like that.\u201d She gestured awkwardly at the seat across from her. \u201cI hope he doesn\u2019t mind,\u201d and then the thought struck her, \u201cbut he is late, after all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot the right time of the year for a prom date,\u201d I said as I seated myself.<\/p>\n

She blushed a bit. \u201cWell, no, I mean yes, I mean, this isn\u2019t a prom date.\u201d She looked at her drink and bit her bottom lip. She held it for a minute. I waited. She struggled a bit. When she looked up, I smiled at her. The warmth of it seemed to loosen something inside her and she blurted out, \u201cI\u2019m on one of those Internet dating services. And I was supposed to meet this guy here tonight, but I guess he isn\u2019t coming.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe cad,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was very kind of you to come over,\u201d she said. \u201cYou know, I wasn\u2019t all that comfortable with meeting somebody I didn\u2019t really know anyway. I mean, there are all kinds of guys on the Internet…\u201d<\/p>\n

I snorted.<\/p>\n

\u201cAbsolutely. You\u2019ve got to watch out. And that young man didn\u2019t even have the discernment to recognize a fine woman when he saw one. His loss, my gain.\u201d<\/p>\n

She handed me her heart then in her smile. Poor thing.<\/p>\n

Coming late always makes it so much easier.<\/p>\n

###<\/p>\n

After raising five children and one husband, Janet Ursel came to the obvious conclusion that writing fiction was an essential part of the recovery process. She can be found at janetursel.com and on too many social media sites.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It was the red that drew my eye as soon as I came through the door. I quickly looked away and walked past to a vacant table.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2776,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_bbp_topic_count":0,"_bbp_reply_count":0,"_bbp_total_topic_count":0,"_bbp_total_reply_count":0,"_bbp_voice_count":0,"_bbp_anonymous_reply_count":0,"_bbp_topic_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_reply_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_forum_subforum_count":0,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[375],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2775","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-literary-story"],"aioseo_notices":[],"amp_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2775","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2775"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2775\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2777,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2775\/revisions\/2777"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2776"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2775"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2775"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2775"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}