Bradley Cooper

by Ree Miller…

Crazy Daisy is alone at the bar, without her estranged husband Provo or his evil, goat-eyed twin brother Orem. She is unusually well-groomed, wearing a sleeveless, red-sheath dress.

“Wow,” says bartender Melissa, “I didn’t realize you had such great guns.”

“Guns? How’d you know about my guns?” Daisy asks.

“I mean your arms. Great definition.”

“Oh, that,” Daisy says. “I lift a little.”

“You’re quiet tonight,” Melissa says. “Everything okay?”

“I guess I’m a little nervous,” Daisy says. “I have a date. He’s meeting me here any minute.”

“Oh, nice,” Melissa says. “Anyone I know?”

“Know of,” Daisy says.

“Excuse me.  Are you correcting my sentence structure?”

“No. I’m saying you know of him, but don’t know him.”

“Oh,” Melissa says. “Is he a regular from another bar?”

“No, he doesn’t live around here anymore. But he visits. His mother lives near here.”

“Oh. Where does he live now?” Melissa asks.

“California. He’s between jobs right now so he’s staying with his mom for a few weeks.”

“Wait,” Melissa says. “Why would I know of him? What’s his name?”

“Brad,” Daisy says.

“Brad, Brad, Brad,” Melissa says. “I don’t think I know a Brad. What’s his last name?”

“Cooper,” Daisy says.

“Brad Cooper. Brad Cooper. Wait, you’re telling me you’re dating Bradley Cooper?”

“Yes,” Daisy says. “Why so surprised?”

Melissa says, “I just can’t see how your paths could possibly have crossed.”

“He was in here a couple of weeks ago. You were off that night.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Melissa says. “Just my luck.”

Daisy has a smug look on her face; Melissa has a moment of satisfaction as she pictures herself hitting her with a frying pan.

“Wait, here he comes,” Daisy says. “I’ll introduce you. He says any friend of mine is a friend of his.”

Brad arrives, kissing Daisy’s hand.

“Melissa,” Daisy says, “I’d like you to meet Brad. Brad, this is Melissa.”

“Enchanté,” Brad says. “But you may call me Bradley.”

“Bradley speaks French,” Daisy says.

“Quelquefois. Sometimes,” Bradley says. “May I have a Pessac-Leognant? Haut-Gardere, if you have it?”

“No, we don’t have that.” Melissa says.  “How about a Chablis? The house is Sutter Home.”

“Pas mal,” Bradley says. “All right. Excuse me a moment, my love,” he says to Daisy. “Must visit the salle de bain.”

“It’s by the kitchen,” Melissa says. “The kitchioni.”

“Melissa,” Daisy says once Bradley is out of earshot. “Why are you being rude?”

“Daisy, I hate to break it to you, but that’s not Bradley Cooper.”

“Of course it is. Didn’t you see his face?”

“Indeed I did. He has about as much resemblance to Bradley Cooper as Randy Quaid has to Dennis Quaid.”

“I don’t think I could be that easily fooled,” Daisy says. “I have excellent bullshit sensors.”

Melissa refrains from reminding Daisy that she consistently confuses her estranged husband, Provo, with his twin brother Orem.

“Believe what you want,” Melissa says,  “if that’s what makes you happy.”

The faux Bradley returns and sips his Chablis. “Exquis,” he says. “Exquisite. Just like you, my darling paquerette.”

“Wave me down if you need anything else,” Melissa says. “Our soup du jour is French Onion. We have French dressing if you prefer a salad. And of course, we have French fries.”


About the Author
After spending a long and painful career in corporate America, Ree Miller decided to write about what she knows best: sitting on her butt. Since then, she has written two novels: Butts in the Seat, and her other passion, Butts on the Bar Stool. Find out more about Ree Miller at

Support your fellow author by sharing this story through social media…  Rock on!!!


One thought on “Bradley Cooper

  1. Pingback: Welcome Ree Miller | Flashbytes

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s