She’s prac­ticed at it. You can tell: expensive dress, eye­shadow just so.
The way she dips her eyes and glances over your shoulder, as if
There’s some­thing she’s idly won­dering but of course, it’s a ruse.
She’s scan­ning escape routes and plan­ning get­aways she never uses.
She’s con­vin­cing: if you weren’t on her payroll, you’d have no clue
She wasn’t just another doll in here to listen to the jazz and maybe
Find her way back into some guy’s apart­ment, into three kids and
A life of ease and blue­ber­ries, cham­pagne and laughter but
Reality is she’s the brains of the oper­a­tion and one of these days
Some guy is going to put his hands wrong somehow and end up
Laid out flat wearing that pretty lamp­shade in the corner as a hat.
She flicks her eyes back to your face, taps her unlit cigar­ette on its end,
Ges­tures minutely with an incline of her neck and that’s it, fate sealed.
Another jerk who thinks he can get his way, slip into any old skin,
Take without asking, will find him­self cut out and cold
And be no wiser. Word’s get­ting around though; town’s chan­ging.
When she sets her mind to some­thing, town doesn’t have a lot of options.