Nothing Happens.

One look at her face and they were all goners.

She had a way of unraveling everything anyone had worked so hard to keep tightly bound. Tadie Richards crossed her legs, sat on a bar stool and men came from across the room to fawn over her. Yes, fawn. They didn't know it was happening until they were long lost, enchanted even before they heard the soft melody of her voice. She did nothing to attract or detract; she just was. As a child she was a rambunctious sort, winning the affection of her peers easily, always telling stories, knowing when to laugh, when to be open and when to hold back. It was no different decades after that little girl traded in her curled pigtails and lacy socks for an A-line mini dress. Tadie smiled a winning smile, giggled when something was funny and typically saw only a few feet in front of her, yet still somehow was able to take in the entirety of a room. It was hers, and the room knew it.

John James entered Anchor Pub swiftly removing his pea coat to dust the dandruff-like snow from his shoulders. It was all a well-timed movement. First this, then this. He surveyed the crowd, groups of two, three and four clustered around freestanding tables. His grey-green eyes adjusted to the dimness of the establishment causing the soft creases of his crows feet to appear. His lips parted, not quite a smile and to no one in particular, he made his way to the coat rack. No one ever seems to use bar coat racks, he thought. Finding the label, he hung it gently and patted the sides being sure the pockets were empty. Adjusting his collar, loosening its hold around his neck, he headed to the bar.

Tadie had seen him almost immediately, a rare occurrence, noticing someone. Her back to the bar, sitting on a high stool, facing out, she thought he surely couldn't not notice her as well.

"Excuse me." He bumped her left knee trying to squeeze between chairs and people. They didn't make eye contact. He didn't see her, really, at all.

"You're fine," she said, unsure if she should say something else, but he had already forgotten.

"--can I get ya, friend?" The bartender.

"I'll have a New Castle Brown -- thanks."

Six dollars, then another dollar tip, popped the cap off, and already John had moved to the other side of the bar, locating the group of friends he had intended on meeting.

Tadie sat there, the room suddenly seemed small and so did she.