The Fluffy Girl by Dallas Mayo

The Fluffy Girl

Dallas Mayo

The music didn’t strike me as very sexy, just loud and brassy and a little off-key. Even a tiny bit ragged in rhythm. Or maybe that was only the noise of my fingers drumming nervously on the side of my tall tequila drink, I watched them tapping against the glass, my meticulously cared-for fingernails, long and tapered and glossy pink, too perfect to be other than nervous in the vaguely forbidding atmosphere of this dingy cabaret. The crowd looked pretty sinister even for a Tijuana strip-joint. Although that too could have been the work of my overwrought nerves, just a general feeling I had about this trip south of the border. Even if I really couldn’t think of a darn thing to be nervous about. Anyway, the bombastic little combo was simmering down and so was the audience, myself included. And after a long-winded spiel from the announcer, bilingual naturally, twice as dreary!, a blare of trumpet and a barrage of…

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