After I'd drained my bottle dry, I gathered up the courage to approach her. Threw myself down on the barstool to her left, asked if I could buy her a drink. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and nodded. The bartender gave me a murderous glare, but brought two glasses of tequila and set them in front of us. I was going to do the "cheers" clinking-glasses bit, but the girl didn't give me the chance. The shot glass had barely hit the bar before she scooped it up and threw it back.
"Thanks," she whispered. Still looking directly ahead of her.
I told the girl my name, said that I was new in town, the whole singles-scene spiel. She'd just nod, occasionally give me a sidelong look. Never moved her head, though, and never said a word.

The bartender caught my eye, shook his head, and discreetly rubbed his hands over his forearms. Doing what he could to let me know that this lady was as cool and as inaccessible as they come. I thanked him by ordering two more shots. He scowled.
This time, the redhead let me clink glasses with her. A faint smile took a millisecond to shoot across her lips, then was gone. She swallowed the drink, and her hands went to the pack of cigarettes on the bar in front of her. I asked her to tell me her name.
"Guess my name," she whispered, still not looking at me. The bartender chortled. I drank my tequila and shrugged. Figured I had nothing to lose by playing along for a little bit.
Marilyn...Rachel...Samantha...I started spitting out names that I thoght best fit her. She wouldn't acknowledge me, wouldn't regard me. I had to assume by that tiny smile that kept flashing across her face that my guesses were wrong. Finally, though, I nailed it. "Jennifer," I said.
She gave me a quick, spastic nod. "Yep," she said. "That's it." She lit a cigarette and flung her hair. Turned away definitively, her body language suggesting that she's done wasting her time with me.
"Man," I said hoarsely. "Jennifer. Tough break."
That got her. She half-turned back, still not looking directly at me, but fixing me out of the corners of her eyes. "Why's that?"
"My guess is that you had a rough childhood. Not-so-hot parents. Right?"
A toss of that scarlet mane. A drag on that Bette Davis cigarette. A smoke ring.
"Maybe."
I went on. "I mean, Jennifer, what kinda name is that for parents to give their kid? Pretty cruel. I bet your parents didn't help you out all that much growing up, didn't give you too much advice."
The bartender had been ready to cut in, ready to tell us that he was closing and it was time for us to pay him for all our liquor. But now he was lingering over us, listening, trying to watch without staring.
"I mean, I suppose it was sort of meant to be tough love, a way of getting you to be your own woman early in life. But a kid's gotta have a little help from her parents. Am I right or wrong?"
Her mouth curled up at the corner, the one eyebrow that I could see went cocked. I braced myself for a slap.
"What does my name have to do with any of what you're saying?" Her voice was chilly, but I reminded myself that at least she was still speaking to me.
"Well, your name's Jennifer, right?" A stiff nod. "Well, I can't imagine the kind of decisions you had to make as a kid. I'm sure it was super-rough on you. I mean, do you want Jennifer, Jenny, or Jen? Do you want Jenny with a Y, an I, or an IE? If you want Jen, do you want it with one or two Ns? Agony. It's nuts. You've got so many terribly hard decisions to make in life, you shouldn't have to worry about your name. If I were your parents, I would have named you something like Jane, Joan, Mary, Midge, Maude. Something without any variations. Something you don't always have to worry about. Never Jennifer. Jennifer's cruel."
She didn't move for a second. Held her cigarette in one hand, brought her other hand up through those locks of hers. Expressionless. Focused straight ahead of her. I braced myself.
Her free hand clutched a napkin, dragged it towards her across the bar. Then it went to her shirt pocket, came out with a pen. Scribbled something. Pushed the napkin in my direction.
"That's my phone number," she said.
Then, for the first time, she swiveled in her stool and looked at me, showed me her face. She wasn't bad-looking.