"Hey! Daddy-Os. This is a real L7 scene. Let's just all take a trip down the road of forgiveness and compassion." "Ooh, passion!—Heh heh heh! I like your style, little Miss Mochaccino—but I'm busy right now!" "Well I'm dizzy right now from watching your downward spiral." "Ah, why don't you go off and save some whales or something?" "HA!—Oh you slay me tiger. You are the fly in my soup—You are the eyelash in my eye—You are so busy blowing out bad vibes in every di-rection that we are all choking on your secondhand smoke!"
Cold blue filtered into shallow pools on the humble stage. The dark red hair shone under the light. Luscious lips teased the space between her and the mesh. Darkened lids shut, relaxed. Another sermon condensed into fragments of speech.
Her voice is divine. Yet her attitude… leaves much to be desired.
A thumb and forefinger cradled the young man's chin as he leaned forward in the shady corner of the café: The Bean Scene, as everyone knew it.
Bradley Uppercrust fixed his gaze—his leer—upon the Beret Girl as her arms and graceful hands traveled toward the ceiling. A sudden dynamic pose to accentuate the message carried throughout her poetry and prose.
I can write better than she can.
He took a sip of coffee, piping hot—black, and set it down on the table. A scattered clicking of fingers and a closing of the curtain marked the end of her show. Another group came up to set up their ensemble. Today's theme: fusion lounge.
Brad chuckled before raising the cheap plastic to his lips. It had been a while since he heard a tune similar to the high end clubs he went to.
It hadn't been too long since that fateful confrontation with a certain black canine. That piece of lint. Still, his skills were impressive—
for a freshman.
His mind diverted back to the Beret Girl, who sat at the little bar close to the cashier. Wandering eyes took in a view of those curvaceous hips, legs. Already Brad's clouded mind swam in those usual fantasies, stripped down like the inferior beautiful creature she was.
Apart from being known as the X-Games King, Bradley Uppercrust was the freest lover behind closed doors, (though he preferred them wide open). He had a sample of just about everything there was to offer. Men, women… Brunettes, blondes, redheads…
A curtain of garnet hair flowed through snow white fingers. Bradley seemed amused by the fact that she had not looked his way yet.
His presence was being ignored, or rather unnoticed. Brows furrowed together. The music group continued that slow beat. The jock peered down at the Rolex watch under his sleeve and figured it was near closing time.
Another sip and the sudden tapping of his long fingers on the table. Head crooked within his palm and his lips letting out a breath of hot air, sending his short bangs flying for a second.
One by one the beatniks left the Scene, eventually leaving only the cashier, janitor, band members, Brad and the Beret Girl behind. The scrape and clanks of their instruments irritated him; it tore him away from that alternate reality which he always imagined during some sacred silence…
But instead of secretly laughing behind their backs while they broke necks, he got up and walked right to them, "Need of some assistance?" loud enough for the café poet to hear. She turned 'round in her seat and nearly spilled the latte cupped in her hands. The young man shot her a devious smirk before disassembling the synth pad nearby. He overheard the clink of the ceramic upon the counter and the shutting of the backstage door.
"Perfect." Brad snickered under his breath.
"Well I think we're done here—thanks man!"
"Don't mention it."
He watched after their departure up the concrete steps. Under the dim light he saw the janitor with mop in hand while the cashier discussed some monetary issues with him. Their platonic conversation distracted the two from noticing the snake slithering into the back onstage.
A tiny hall greeted him, nearly pitch black but for a ribbon of light under a dressing room door…
"Who is it?" Another polite knock—"Come in."
Dark lids went up in shock when she saw his reflection in her illuminated mirror.
"Good evening, miss." clicking the panel shut. Instead of screaming aloud, the Beret Girl recollected herself and resumed her gaze of indifference,
"What brings you, of all pathetic creatures, here?"
"I think whales are pathetic too. Actually, I'm beginning to wonder. You don't make much money reciting your silly poetry, do you? Perhaps you could pursue a career in science? Marine biology, maybe. Any place is better than this dump—
"Then why are you here?" Still talking to the reflection.
"There are no good coffee shops within a 16-mile radius. That's why. I'm impressed with that group—the ones that just left? I was almost tricked into thinking I was back home or something." He stifled a giggle; the girl twitched an eye and crumpled her nose,
"You're a strange one."
"And I think—a hand running through red hair caught the young woman by surprise—a sudden shriek was quieted by forced contact. The white complexion smeared with pink when a muscle dug under her own—
Her arms were wrenched to her sides, leaving her helpless to the violation of her voice… Slowly did he trail out; a sinister chuckle to her bloodshot gaze…
"You're infernal."
The female gasped for air, "out."
"What now?"
"I said get out—Out!" A sharp slap was blocked by astonishingly strong, thin fingers.
"Why so scared? Haven't you ever been French kissed before?" feigning innocence with shimmering sapphire eyes. The Beret Girl swore she saw the orbs glowing red—
"Please, get out. You," short breath, "shouldn't be here."
"Stupid woman. If you didn't want me here in the first place, you should have told someone to throw me out. As a matter of fact,"
Backing away from the shuddering starlet until he found the knob again,
"You should have screamed."
One lust-filled glare pierced through her being before the door shut once more.
A dead silence hung over… The Beret Girl couldn't hide away her look of fright on the golden pane.