The Dinner Date
A Vignette
Kiana picked up the Beretta 21 Bobcat pocket pistol from the marble countertop of her bathroom vanity and slipped it into her black sequined clutch purse. Mathew would never suspect. She inspected herself in the full-length mirror. Her black halter dress clung to her frame in all the right places, and she knew his eyes would be drawn to the keyhole design of the front of the dress that promised the prize he had so been after these last few weeks. The hem of the dress fell to the floor, but the split on the right side shot up her leg to graze her hip. The bronze strappy four-inch heels completed the ensemble. The vanity lights shone on her dewy, cocoa-butter skin, with just a touch of copper bronze to set off her high cheekbones. Her long, black hair was pulled up into a topknot ponytail. The scent of Dior Poison still hung in the air after she had placed a few dabs of the perfume behind her ears and on her décolletage. A queen chess piece made of onyx stood on the counter next to the dark purple glass bottle. She didn’t know why, but it reminded her of Snow White. Ironic. She had considered poison when she first thought of her plan, but decided against it. She wanted to watch his eyes when she pulled the trigger. Also, she didn’t want to take the chance of him calling 911 or getting to a hospital in time. No, this was better.
This was personal.
Water dripped from the curve of the sink’s faucet: a keeper of time counting down the seconds. Drip. Drip. You don’t want to be late. Drip. Drip. You have an important date. She laughed, and her teeth gleamed in the bright light of the vanity mirror. Then she puckered her fire-red colored lips into a cupid’s bow. The gloss, a high shine in the reflected light.
Tonight was the night.
Kiana moved away from the mirror and left the bathroom, turning off the light behind her. She told Mathew she didn’t want to be picked up. That she would meet him at the Ivory Court, the new French restaurant that opened up downtown. She made the dinner reservation for them weeks ago. Then, after her affair at his place, she would order an Uber back to pick up her car.
It would be better that way.
She took the elevator downstairs to the parking garage of her apartment building. Her high heels clicked, clicked on the pavement as she strutted like a catwalk model towards her electric blue Acura NSX. She pushed the unlock button on her car’s remote. The chirp-chirp of her car alarm disengaging ricocheted throughout the chilled concrete interior of the garage. She lowered herself onto the leather driver’s seat and put the key into the ignition of her ride. The reward she splurged on herself with her year-end bonus. After all, didn’t she deserve it? You’re damn right. No matter what Mathew thought. And she laughed again.
©️ 2025 Francelia Belton. All rights reserved.
Yikes! Couldn't stop reading!
Nice writing! I want to read more, although it's clear what happens next. Well done!