San Francisco Shelia
by Sterling Warner
The first time Jason met Shelia, she looked him over, toe to head, fixing her gaze squarely on his receding hairline.
He glanced away, slightly embarrassed. The fact she appeared cross-eyed didn’t bother him, far from it.
“Hey there, I’m Shelia, Shelia Schoepfer. You?”
“Jason Perücke,” he answered. “Nathan mentioned his cousin from Perth, Australia was in town for a visit, but I didn’t expect you.”
“Why? What did the asshole say about me?”
“Er, Nate called you a kind but twisted beaut’ who wanted some fun on her only night in San Francisco.”
“And he elected you for the part? Bastard. I’m not needy. His bogus family shouldn’t cast stones,” she grinned, her left eye drifting corner to corner. “Checking out my stigma, are you? Lots of men do when we first meet.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be, just buy me a drink — a Stoli Doli — and tell me about yourself. Amuse me. My asshole cousin doesn’t start his shift at the bar for another twenty minutes.”
Older than he cared to admit, Jason had witnessed many techniques women used to draw attention to themselves — from low-cut dresses advertising breasts to outfits seemingly painted on shapely bodies — but not Shelia; violet eyes distinguished her!
By the time they’d polished off their second round of drinks, Nathan arrived, ran to his cousin, embraced her, and swung her around in circles three times. before putting her down. “Great to see you, Shelia. How’s Uncle Neil and Aunt Alyne?”
“Obnoxious,” Shelia sighed. “They send regards and bless continental distances.”
After an embarrassing silence, Nathan announced, “Well, glad you two hooked up. Jason’s a spot-on fella, a real reader and a cinema freak like you Shelia.... Er, gotta get to work. Have fun!”
“Nathan’s such a bore,” she purred then coyly fluttered her lashes “He’s a geeky judgmental barkeep whose job’s a piece of piss. And get this: his girlfriend designs AI apps for undressing women and generating porn!”
“Pervs on a half-shell. Wonder what passes for intimacy in their relationship!”
“Dunno. Don’t care. Let’s change subjects; who’s your favorite author, Jason?”
“Hermann Hesse. I’ve read Steppenwolf a dozen times. You?”
“Flannery O’Connor. I tend to read and reread her collected works at least once a year. As far as flicks go, Local Hero — not a great hit — tops my list. It’s provocative.”
“I’m with you, Shelia. Most blockbusters pale next to a film like The Englishman Who Went up a Hill but Came Down a Mountain, and—”
“Enough!” Shelia interrupted, “We’re rambling on just like my creepy cousin predicted. Let’s prove him wrong” She abruptly reached into her clutch, grabbed a Murine bottle, and squeezed a couple drops in each eye. “Need to lubricate your optics, Jason? No? Well, chill here a bit; I got to hit the bathroom. Surprise me when I return,” she said. Turning, she kept one eye on Jason and the other in front of her. Magnificent!
Before Shelia exited the women’s restroom, Jason straightened his hairpiece. As she approached their table, he couldn’t help but notice — and appreciate — fresh mascara around her eye that seems to augment the length of her lashes. “You look vibrant, Shelia! Here’s my surprise — a plate of feta-stuffed shishitos in phyllo and another Stoli Doli.”
“Thanks Jason... I’ll get the next round and then some.”
One thing led to another. From buying each other drinks to dancing until the club shut down, they only parted for an occasional constitutional or to refreshen themselves. Each bathroom visit became a prelude to a new look she’d model on the dance floor. From blue glitter eyeshadow one moment to exotic Egyptian kohl encircling her violet irises the next, she’d never disappoint.
“Great band. By the way, where did you learn to dance?” Shelia asked as they sat down their profusely sweating bodies after cavorting to “Time of My Life.”
“My three sisters. They’d take turns showing me the latest dance crazes. One would show me steps, another would be my partner, and the third coach/critiqued the performance.”
“Lucky boy. You’re no Patrick Swayze, but you boogie well,” she said ruffling his hair.
“Oh, Shelia,” Jason murmured and then bent over and kissed her forehead, both cheeks, and cosmetically enhanced left eyelid.
“Damn,” Shelia giggled, “you seem to dig on my peepers! How flattering. How sweet.”
At closing time, neither of them doubted they’d spend the night together. No, the only question was where. “Don’t make a big production out of this, Jason. Let’s just kick it at the Holiday Inn across the street. Kinda kinky, kinda wild, kinda convenient....”
Throwing his coat over her strapless dress as they left Blonde’s Bar, Jason rubbed her shoulders and replied, “Great plan! We’ll leave our cars here overnight and walk.” The drunken couple miraculously ambled across the road, registered into the hotel under the name Hesse O’Connor, and managed to unlock their room door before everything began to blur.
Jason recalled watching Shelia undress, complimenting the peacock tattoo on her back, and stepping out of his own clothes before everything became an erotic, surrealistic journey where fingers entwined, lips touched, bodies sweat, and voices whispered nonsense words until sleep overtook them both.
When he awoke, Shelia had already left. In the pillow hollow that had held her head just a few hours before lay a green mini-Bible. Looking around, he saw a note written on Holiday Inn stationary, so he jumped out of bed eager to read her parting words — hopefully, a phone number or email address — maybe closure to the previous night.
Jason,
Before you leave, be a dear. Pull out the bed and check between the headboard, the mattress, and the boxsprings for my acrylic prosthetic — glass eye. It dislodged itself during our passionate sex.
Congratulations!
Jason stopped reading, glanced at the bed and squinted; his unbearable hangover made reading a chore but, naked and shivering, he continued:
When you find my prosty, Keep it! I have others....
BTW, I snatched your toupee.
—Long gone & no regrets, Shelia
Copyright © 2026 by Sterling Warner
