A glance, fleeting

The boots were black, leatherette, and reached to just below her knees and tightly covered her calves.
It’s funny what you see, at first glance.
A wrap dress. The pattern was black mixed with the color of a freshly peeled banana. On her neck, a dainty silver chain.
No ring on her left hand.
Clear polish on the nails, which were short, well-kept but not labored over.
Dressed to go out, she pushed a skinny girl through the crowded room. The girl, maybe 12, wore her corn silk-colored hair in a pageboy, the bangs held back by two hairpins. Her dress was black with silver sequins. A small purse hung from her shoulder, on spaghetti straps.
It was a night out for mother and daughter. A blues concert at our lovingly restored art deco theater.
The woman was tall, striking.
Dark brunette hair that flowed around her head as she moved. Dark eyebrows, nicely shaped.
Creamy skin, a tone that accentuated her every feature.
Her eyes. Oh, those eyes. Blue-gray and piercing.
Was I staring?
I was staring.
She returned my gaze, just once. I did not look away.
Friends said she had trouble written all over her.
I don’t know. I will never know.
Their seats were in the balcony, mine in the orchestra.
It was the first – and last – glimpse I got to take.