8-17-05

Work. Bookstores were great places, really. Except for the people. Devi strode silently through the city of shelves and tables, ignoring the whiny children and the rickety old women who lurked in the aisles. She hooked an empty cup of coffee with two fingers as she passed a dilapidated community of armchairs, and the cardboard offender was sentenced to a dustbin prison.

"Oh, for God's sake," she muttered, spying a heap of crinkled books that someone had knocked to the floor. She rearranged them on their stale shelf and kept moving.

A man was waiting at the customer service counter for her. She tossed the book she'd been holding at him and took her place behind the computer. The man left, and Devi was left for a few moments of blessed silence.

Then another man, this one looking just like the last but for the length of stitches that ran across his forehead, walked up. His eyes unfocused, he opened his mouth, and through the haze of drool-soaked syllables, Devi could just barely make out a few words.

"I'm looking for a book."

"O...kay," replied Devi. "What book?"

"Uh...I think it was blue."

Devi thought longingly of having a gun, then remembered that the only one in the store was under the front counter. How dearly she would have liked to blow the heads off of customers like this asshole.

She pointed the man toward a stand of men's interest magazines and let her elbows slide onto the counter. Her head in her hands, she wondered how long she would be able to handle the collective idiocy of mankind. She only needed this job until her art career took off, but with the way the market looked nowadays, she could be stuck in retail for a long, long time.

The end of her shift came after an eternity of hellish encounters with less-than-intelligent customers. Devi finally hung up her ID badge in her room by the mirror. The plastic surface slowly twisted on its string, reflecting the rays of a dying sun. She stood transfixed by the bloody glow until the sky faded to indigo.

The phone rang. Devi jumped, and the trance was broken.

"Devi?"

"What the hell do you want, Tonja?"

"Whoa. Calm down. Did I interrupt something?"

"Yeah. I was about to get laid."

"Ha, ha. Very funny, Devi. Look, I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight. There's a new club opening. It's called the Abyss. Derrick said that they're booking a really good band from New York."

Devi's bad mood evaporated immediately.

"Really? What're they called?"

"Rasputina, I think."

"Sounds dark. Can you pick me up in an hour? I'm still in my Mundane uniform." Devi fingered the hem of her dark green shirt.

"It sucks that they won't let you wear anything cool to work."

"It's a bookstore. What do you expect?"

"Yeah, I guess." Tonja laughed. "I'll pick you up in an hour, but you better be ready. It's already almost ten."

"The club's open until 4am, though, isn't it?"

"Of course."

"Then what are you worried about?" Devi allowed herself a small smile. "See you in an hour."

"Bye."

Devi hung up, the conversation still ringing in her ears. She smiled, then set to work. She only had an hour, and if she wanted to get any painting in, she had to move fast.

She threw off her shirt and jeans, digging out a pair of her favorite black pants. She jumped into them while she searched her drawers for her mesh shirt, but all she came up with was a pair of ripped fishnets. She ripped them at the crotch and set them aside, changed tactics, and located a black halter top. The fishnets were pulled over her head and the halter top, the entire effort taking less than thirty seconds. She just had to touch up her eyeliner and she was ready to go.

Devi grinned. Time for painting.

When Tonja pounded at the door fifty-nine and a quarter minutes later, Devi was absorbed in her latest work, a portrait of a girl with red eyes. Finally, Tonja found her key and opened the door--Devi had given her a key in case something like this happened. She burst into Devi's studio to find her friend covered in paint and clutching three paintbrushes and a palette at once.

"Time to go, Devi," she sighed, dragging her away from the canvas.

"Hey! Wait! At least let me cap the paints!" she cried, struggling back toward her easel.

Tonja rolled her eyes and released her. Devi skittered around the room, capping paints and sticking brushes into a an of water on the ground. She carefully added a touch of color to the girl's hair, then dropped the last brush in with the others and grabbed her jacket.

I like the look," commented Tonja on the way to the club. "Artist chic, huh? I'll have to try it next time I go insane."

"Oh, shut up, Tonja," grinned Devi. "You know you're just jealous."

The club was dim, as per usual. Scratchings of cello music and haunting vocals drifted through the smoky haze of smoke and heat. The band must have started already. Devi could see many people, almost all of them in black or red, swaying to the beat. As Tonja steered her toward the bar, she felt herself swaying along with the others.

"Snap out of it, Devi."

Devi shook her head rapidly, dispelling the partially-drug-induced trance. There were enough chemicals floating around in the air for a girl to get high off of. She ordered a drink and sat down, still slightly dizzy.

"I'm gonna go dance, okay?" called Tonja over the din.

"Go ahead!" answered Devi. "I'm feeling a little overwhelmed. I'll just sit here, okay?"

"Whatever you feel like doing!"

Tonja wandered off, and Devi was left mostly to herself. People came and ordered drinks, but none stayed long enough to really take notice of her. That was how she liked it anyway.

Devi pulled out a pen and began to absent-mindedly draw on whatever paper was handy--napkins, mostly. She sketched the people she saw, adding little touches to make them somewhat frightening. She was in the middle of adding horns to the bartender when something caught her eye.

He wasn't exactly the tallest guy she'd seen. Not short, either, but the way he hunched over in his seat made him seem smaller. She didn't really get a good look at him because of the lighting, but she could see that he was watching her. Probably security, though why the club would have employed a guy like him for security she'd never know. He looked away quickly when she made eye contact. Just some pathetic wallflower, then.

Devi resumed drawing on napkins, disinterested in her watcher. She finished the bartender's "portrait" and looked up to get another look at the wallflower for another drawing. He was gone, though, so she moved on to a vampire near her.

Something bumped her arm. Devi looked up to see a black rose tucked into the strap of her purse. She looked around to see if anyone else had been given one, but the only black was on clothes and skin. A small smile escaped her, and she carefully slipped the flower behind her ear.

The next day, Devi rolled out of bed and onto a pile of paint brushes. She spat a curse and stood, stretching the kinks out of her muscles and spine. A pounding headache greeted her cheerfully, reminding her of the night before. She hadn't drunk that much, but the noise alone had been enough to render her temporarily deaf.

Then she looked at the clock. It read "11:42am."

"SHIT!"

Her manager was not pleased. He ranted for awhile about being on time and how she was starting the day off on the wrong foot. Devi dearly wanted to shove his head up his ass, but that would have gotten her fired, and she needed money for food. Food and paint. As it was, she resumed her place at the customer service desk in the same clothes she'd been wearing the night before, wondering when the manager was going to notice that not only was she late, she was also dressed for a concert.

Hours into her shift, a rather small, nervous young man approached her. He wasn't really short, but the way he hunched over made him seem smaller. She recognized the look: the battered ex-teenager who just wanted to move around unnoticed. He gave her a weak, watery smile and surveyed her with a pair of sharp brown eyes.

It was the guy from the club. She was sure of it. He had that same air of unease about him, like he was afraid of being attacked. His skin looked ashen in the flourescent light, not pale, but sickly, as though he hadn't been outside for awhile. There was a starved look in him. He hadn't eaten in awhile, either, if the skeletal look of his arms and hands was any clue. His spiked, blue-black hair gleamed dully as he shifted from one foot to the other.

"Er, I'm looking for something by Edgar Allen Poe," he murmured, his voice so low she could barely hear him.

"Oh. Not many people read him anymore." Devi left the counter and beckoned for the man to follow her. "His works are over here with the other classics."

"Thank you." The man followed close behind, making almost no sound on the carpeted floor. "Most people don't even know about Poe anymore. It's very difficult to find his poems, much less his books."

"I know. This is one of the only places that still carries such 'outdated' material. Here." Devi stopped in front of a dilapidated shelf in the very back of the store, scanning the rickety shelves before selecting a dusty tome from the others. "The Complete Works: Edgar Allen Poe."

"Thank you," murmured the man, gently taking the book and holding it as though it were made of glass. "I've always liked Poe. Very dark."

"Do you like Dickens, too?" asked Devi warily.

"Not really. Too wordy for my taste. I prefer Lovecraft." His sideways look was just as wary as hers.

"Me too." Devi smiled. "I'm Devi. Who are you?"

"Pleased to meet you, Devi." The man abruptly swept into a low bow, startling her. "I'm Johnny C, but seeing as how we share this intimate love of literature, you can call me Nny. What has you working at this hellish book outlet?"

"I need money until my art career gets off the ground."

"Painting?"

"Yeah. Why, are you a painter or something?"

His gaze dropped. "Sort of."

"Wow. That's weird, isn't it? It's not often to meet somebody who's into painting, especially a guy. How old are you?"

"Twenty-something, I think. I lose track."

"I know the feeling. I only know what day it is because I need to fill out order forms all the time." Devi grinned and led the way back to the register. "We should hang out sometime."

"I can come back tomorrow and talk," offered Nny. "T-that is, if you want me to...I mean, I'd understand if you don't want me to-"

"I'd love to talk to you again tomorrow." Devi rung up the purchase and smiled again. "That'll be thirteen dollars even."

He handed her the money and lovingly tucked the book into his messenger bag. Devi caught a glimpse of something black. Nny, noticing her stare, pulled out a rather crinkled black rose.

"So you were the one, huh?" laughed Devi as Nny's face gained a degree of color.

"I just thought you looked like you needed something to cheer you up," he stammered. "I, I always give these to the wallflowers."

"You don't have to be embarrassed," Devi reassured him. "I loved it. In fact, I even started to paint it into one of my pieces."

"Really?" Nny's face broke out into a wide grin. "I can give you this one if the other's getting dry. I-I could give you a new one every day until the painting's finished so you don't have to use a dead rose."

"I'd love that, thank you."

Nny nodded and turned to go, but Devi had to give him one last parting comment.

"You look much better when you smile, you know. You should think of doing that more often."

"I might," he answered quietly, and then he was gone in the forest of bookshelves.