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Time period - 1924. Roaring 20s.
Set with the song Love Runs Out by One Republic.
The air was thick with gray clouds of smoke and the essence of alcohol filled the dark room. Dim lights hung lowly over tables where business men sat, drinking their whiskey and playing cards with beautiful women sitting on the edge of their knees. A faint band played in the background, jazz. Clubs like this weren’t approved of, but to Anthony Dinozzo Jr., this was home.
It had been a long day at work for Tony today. His pitch to his latest clients didn’t work out as well as he had hoped for. The client was a bitter, early 40’s man who had no faith in what Tony’s agency could do for his automobile company. Tony had promised the man that what he had pitched would help the company get more automobile sales, but the man was just not pleased. Soon enough, the man ended up leaving the office and stating he would be calling Tony’s boss in the morning. That was never a good thing.
Tony groaned and crumpled up the papers for the pitch on his desk before throwing them at the glass window behind his desk that overlooked the streets of Fifth. Shit, his boss would be pissed.
His boss was never pleased with anything they did, no matter the amount of money they would make him. Although he never showed up to the office often and was on business trips for most of the year, Tony was convinced that the guy had a humongous stick of wood up his ass since he was born. There was no way anyone could ever be that angry with that much money. After all, money definitely did buy happiness especially, in this time of despair. If you weren’t in this occupation and playing on Wall Street, your life was the depression.
He slapped a few coins down on the bar top and ordered a “Whiskey sour” to the bartender. Next to him, a small voice asked for the same and he turned his head. Blinking a few times, he finally registered that what he was seeing was indeed, real. A beautiful, curly haired brunette with tanned skin was standing next to him and just asked for the same drink. She was sporting a sparkly silver dress and heels to match. Flapper, Tony groaned to himself as he checked out her tight fitting dress around her ass. God, she was gorgeous.
“What’s a pretty little thing like you ordering a whiskey sour for?” He smirked, questioning the odd drink choice for someone like her.
“Oh, I am sorry. I did not know that as a female I had to order some colorful, high sugar drink that will get me drunk in only a matter of seconds,” She bit back coldly, glaring at him.
Tony shook his head, muttering a curse word for his actions, “I didn’t mean it in that way. I was just remarking on that it was an odd choice for a-“ He was interrupted.
“For a flapper, yes?” She cocked her head towards him as the bartender placed their drinks on the table.
“Yeah,” Tony sighed, rubbing the back of his head with his palm before taking a sip of his drink.
“I do not care how women are supposed to act or do things, I do what I want.” The woman stated, grabbing her drink off the bar top and gulping the whole thing down. She slammed the glass back to the table.
“And how does your father feel about that?” Tony joked.
The woman giggled and leaned in closer to Tony, “My father is a very bad man. You do not want to know what he thinks.”
“Hey, I hear ya. We all have some type of daddy issues.” He clinked his glass with hers on the bar top.
“Oh, do not pretend like you know any of my problems…” She paused realizing she didn’t know his name yet.
“Anthony Dinozzo” He smiled, holding his hand out for her to shake.
Her eyes grew large, and she laughed, “The famous bootlegger? Seriously?” Her head shook thinking he was joking. She made no move to shake his hand.
“Junior,” He clarified, “That would be my father who’s the bootlegger. I wasn’t joking when I said we all have daddy issues.”
“I am Ziva David,” She smiled back at him, feeling somewhat of an ease.
“Well it has been a pleasure meeting you, Miss David.” He smirked, setting his glass down next to hers after finishing it.
“Mmm, soon to be a Mrs., actually” She shrugged and looked around the jazz club.
“Really?” He choked out, “Since when do flappers stay with one man?”
“Excuse me?” Ziva’s eyebrows narrowed towards him, “I am not a prostitute. Yes, there are some flappers who sleep around, but I do have morals. Thank you for once again proving you are a judgmental asshole.”
“Wow, what a lucky guy to be engaged to such a fierce lioness.” Tony joked again, looking at the time on his watch. When he looked back up, Ziva had walked away and disappeared somewhere in the club. Tony looked around through the smoke and couldn’t spot her again. He shrugged and decided he had an early morning at work. He grabbed his tan sports coat and headed out of the jazz club and into the alley way hoping there wouldn’t be any police around.
As he walked home in the crisp New York air, his mind was still stuck on the woman he had met moments before. There was something about her and the sparkle in her eye when she got angry that made his chest swell up. But would he ever see the tantalizing woman again? He was sure he wouldn’t.