"Huh?"
Heather Chandler cocked her hip and put on hand on her waist. "Did I stutter?"
"No...wait, did she?" Kurt turned to Ram, who was too busy trying to get his arm far enough around Heather Duke's shoulder to grope at her chest. She sent Heather McNamara a look of pleading as she pushed aside the persistent hand.
"Is your brain so fucking tiny it can't comprehend what a stutter is?"
"...no?"
Heather breathed through her nose as she switched the gear on her porsche in the parking lot. "I said, I'm hungry. I am going to pick out something to eat on our way to your bogus party and you will pay for it."
Kurt seemed to be thinking it over, brow furrowed in the utmost concentration for this harrowing task that may or may not result in he and his friend getting sex.
"Okay. Can we get beer?"
"No. The lady upfront won't buy that fake ass card." Heather told him with a similarly fake sweet tone that might be used to condescend to a kindergartener. "So just shut up and when me and Heather and Heather get our snacks, you will take out your wallet and use the little green papers inside to buy them. Can you do that Kurt?"
"Yeah!" Kurt nodded dutifully as he punched Ram in the shoulder to get his attention. "Got it?"
"What?"
Heather cursed them both. "Just get your asses in gear. Heather, Heather, follow me."
They jumped out of the car hurriedly and scrambled after their fearless leader, more than glad for a chance to breathe and straighten out their clothes.
It was a well known fact that Kurt and Ram were as dumb as bricks, yet as obedient as dogs when the unspoken promise of seeing a naked breast came into play. Not that any of that would be happening; in truth, all they were good for was a lay when instructed properly and for their pocket change. Heather felt a strange sort of satisfaction in particular from using them; if she wanted a fuck or to exert her will or to sponge cash from them, she could do it, and they'd be more than willing because she was, as Kurt so eloquently put it, 'a babe'.
But today she had a very different purpose in mind for using them, for as stupid and boorish and utterly hopeless as they were in every aspect of their lives, Kurt and Ram were gifted with the grace and strength they didn't have elsewhere to make passes and impossible touchdowns and even a smidgen of brainpower to understand football strategy. The letterman jackets were more than just to show school spirit and team unity.
They were symbols, badges of honor that they had something to be proud of. Even the rest of the town saw them as hometown heroes for racking up the points; two good 'ol American boys with good 'ol American values and a talent for slinging a ball of rubber and dead, leathered cow skin.
"God knows it's all they're good for."
Heather contemplated them as they roughhoused like brothers in the parking lot, fighting for who would gain brownie points by opening the door for Heather, Heather, and Heather.
They also were lucky to be passably good looking, decent bone structure, thick hair, and when they didn't look like complete tards, they had winning smiles with straight, white teeth. It was too bad there was nothing of value behind the skull.
"Heather."
"Yes Heather?" Heather Duke immediately went to her leader's side as said Heather took out her compact mirror and fluffed her already perfectly coiffed blonde locks.
"How do I look?"
"Huh?"
"Wow, great Kurt impression." The little mirror snapped so sharply it made Heather McNamara jump in her shined penny shoes. "I'll repeat this since I'm feeling nice and hopefully you're not too stupid to give a good answer. How. Do. I. Look?"
"S-sorry Heather. You look perfect."
"Yeah, perfect, like you always do." Heather chimed in, playing with her fingers; her and Heather were still on thin ice for leaving Heather alone at the bar/restaurant.
"I know." Came the simple response.
Heather and Heather looked at each other as Heather swung back her voluminous hair and smacked her lips to evenly cover them with cherry red lipstick. Not once in all their years of following her, bending over backwards to keep in her good graces, or any other time as far back as they remembered, had she asked them for confirmation of her looks.
"The door is automatic neanderthals." Heather said coolly as she bypassed Kurt as he got Ram in a headlock; the doors slide to the sides as though she had commanded them to. While the boys scrambled after her, Heather and Heather dropped their curious stares to walk beside her, following back just by a few inches so no one made any mistake of who was the front of the pack.
"Welcome!" a voice called out from the other side of the store as the ding of new customers sounded through the speakers.
"Righteous!" Ram punched fists with Kurt as Aerosmith blared over the small radio resting on the counter. The two pretended to play air guitar as the other Heathers looked on in mixed expressions of embarrassment and exasperation.
"Hey," Heather Chandler yanked Kurt's hand down. "I said, we're getting food. Now be a good boy and shut up and come with me."
"Okay, okay Heather, don't get your panties bunched up…."
"What was that?"
Kurt shrugged and buried his hands in his jacket pockets. "Nothin'."
"That's right." Heather marched over to where she was sure the greeting had come from. "Heather, Heather, come on. Keep testing me and see what happens." she turned on their somewhat sobered up dates. "And you two dolts-just go get us something to eat from the hot bar while we choose snacks."
Ram and Kurt took off and switched to talking about their next practice and what kind of color panties the girls were probably wearing, while the girls trailed after Heather meekly. Mel was crouched down and getting a good grip on the crates of glass soda bottles as they approached her; she was trying very hard to not get dizzy. Gary had told her not to come in, but she felt bad enough for worrying Sheila; besides, she needed the money and the fresh air.
JD was borderline smothering. He kept bringing her water, insisting that she didn't do more than sit up, kept the blinds closed so the sun's rays wouldn't hurt her eyes, and continually made sure she kept the cold cloth over her head until her skin stopped burning. He even rode out to the nearest convenience store to buy aspirin, ginger tea, and to a Dunkin' Donuts to get her decaf coffee and a baker's dozen.
And when she finally did go to sleep, Mel could have sworn she heard breathing, soft and barely audible, but there. Or was it her own breathing amplified by her hangover? At any rate, JD was worrying too much, so she figured seeing her ready for work would convince him she would be fine.
"Don't you look cute in your...I'd call it a shirt, but it looks more like something the cat dragged in."
Mel smiled wryly to herself as she hoisted the three crates into the air. "Hey. How're you feeling?"
"Fine."
Mel blinked; she hadn't expected such a straightforward answer. Heather was staring at her expectantly.
"What?"
"We need service."
"Oh, well hold on a sec." Mel told the girls; she carried the crates over to the refrigerated drinks section near the front of the store. She squatted down to place them on the ground carefully before going over to the counter to turn down the music just a bit.
"What can I help you with?"
"Heather wants-"
"Shut up Heather."
"Sorry Heather."
Heather rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Does this place have anything that won't make me gain five pounds?"
"...Sweetie, I hate to break it to you, but this place is junk food city." Mel smiled crookedly. "If you want healthy, go to the organic section of the grocery store down the block."
Heather clicked her tongue impatiently. "We have a party to get to." she looked over her shoulder to give a flirty smile and a wave to Kurt, who was thankfully not looking too much like his head was an empty shell. "Quarterback is hosting."
"Oh that's nice."
"Nice?" Heather laughed. "It's the biggest party of the fall. Anyone who's anyone will be there."
"Eh, I don't follow sports." Mel shrugged. "Sounds like a riot though. The best I can recommend from here is to get diet soda."
"Heather needs to maintain her figure." Heather Duke shot back in exasperation. "Like, she can't just drink diet soda."
Her mouth immediately fell closed as Heather Chandler shot her a cold glare.
"Did I say you could talk? Are you forgetting your little lapse of judgement from the other night? When I talk, you don't. Is that going to be a problem Heather?"
Heather shrank to two feet tall. "Yeah...sorry Heather."
Heather McNamara kept to the side, eyes glued to the floor; Mel looked them over with a vague smile.
"Aren't you three just heartwarming."
"Whatever."
Heather was fuming; none of this was going according to her plan. It was like Mel didn't even care. Didn't Mel realize what kind of position she was in? She was actually right there, speaking to her, and Heather was allowing her to. She was in the presence of royalty and Heather herself was at the very center, the lower rungs at her beck and call.
But it didn't seem to phase Mel in the slightest.
"Well, what'd you expect stupid? She doesn't even go to high school."
Heather kept her eyes averted as Mel went around the counter to man the register; she took out a little mirror of her own and a tube of shiny pink gloss that spread like honey glaze over her lips.
"Seriously? God, just shut up and die. Think one more stupid thing like that and you might as well crash your porsche into the side of the building."
Because at the end of the day, she was everything to the student body of Westerberg High for only one more year.
One more year and it'd be on to college to find a man to support her and marry and who eventually she'd probably want to kill. That's all that ever seemed to happen in the futures of the Chandler women, or at the least women in high society. Go a year or so of college for the sake of meeting an educated and well off man to add to the empire of bullshit and wealth and then pop out a few screaming brats and spend your days watching daytime TV and organizing tedious get togethers with people you couldn't give less of a shit about while you swallowed your happy pills in secret while you prepared a roast for your cheating bastard of a husband who you stayed with for convenience.
But for whose convenience, Heather didn't know.
Mel was single from what she could tell. Mel probably would laugh hysterically at the life awaiting her, wave her off with a smirk as she went off to party and listen to rock, no one scrutinizing her every goddamn move. She'd be unattached and carefree and gorgeously wild, with arms strong enough to carry three huge crates, and probably strong enough to lift Heather herself, secure and warm-
"What are you wearing?" Heather demanded to know abruptly. "Is that cake icing?"
Mel puckered her lips not bothering to look up. "It tastes like it. Want to try some?"
"Excuse me?!"
Mel put a dab on her bottom lip. "Or I could tell you where to get it if you're scared I have lower class cooties."
"Pink is so juvenile."
"Mhm. And that lipstick is off a 1950's cosmo cover."
Heather scoffed and smirked. "Red goes with everything. But since you have zero fashion sense or style, you wouldn't know."
Mel leaned forward over the counter and yawned.
"What, don't believe me?"
Before Mel could answer Heather was rifling through her patent leather bag with shaky fingers to produce her tube of lipstick. She wore a look of haughty condescension as she turned the bottom to have the red tip come up. "Wipe off that ten cent crap. I'll prove it."
Mel cocked her head to the side but took a tissue from her purse and did so until her mouth was clean; her lips were actually a somewhat dull eraser pink. They were full and the cupids bow was naturally shaped. Heather leaned over just so and steadied Mel's chin with her own hand, ignoring the way the placid eyes were staring right into hers.
"Don't make me look like a clown, okay sweetie? I'm on the clock, so I need to look professional."
Heather smelled a hint of coffee and something bitter on her breath. "Keep your mouth shut and let me show you how a pro does it."
She traced the very tip over Mel's still upper lip, taking her time and watching closely as the natural shade went from dull and uninspiring to bright and alluring. She did only use the best; it made sense Mel's lips would look even more pouty with the right application, and Heather could already see what she'd look like with the right brand of eyeliner and mascara and maybe a dab of blush. Her skin was long cleared of adolescent blemishes, so cover up wasn't necessary; Heather could even tell exactly what shades would look best, though she doubted Mel would care much for anything heavier than a thin line of kohl and the gloss regularly.
Did she look the same in the morning when she woke up in bed, hair tousled and unkempt and lips maybe the slightest bit chapped?
What kind of house did she live in? Heather was absolutely certain it would look like a hovel compared to her own dwelling. She could picture a weathered couch and outdated curtains and dim bulbs and a somewhat messy room. Inside there would be a bureau lined with a few choice pieces of makeup and jewelry and probably tons of CDs or maybe even a few empty bottles of booze, the rims stained with that candy sweet gloss.
The bed would be a single. Heather could bring the image to mind easily by now. The mattress would be caved in. Mel didn't seem like she'd be the kind who flipped it over periodically to keep it's shape. Maybe there would be sheets to keep off dust or maybe she'd only bother with a blanket and a couple pillows. But, for some reason, it didn't matter much when Heather thought of Mel resting her head there every night.
And it made her wonder if she herself ever crossed the older woman's mind.
Heather blinked and swiped one last dash of red over the bottom lip. "Done. Don't smear it, this shit is better than anything you could probably afford."
"Yeah, she's loving this. Calling her ugly and poor and fashion challenged, that'll do wonders."
But it usually did; at least it usually didn't matter what she said or how she said it. Heather's words were solid gold.
But it didn't. Everyone hated her. Everyone loved her. Everyone wanted to be her friend and everyone wanted her to choke. Everyone wished they could be her and everyone wished she could be anyone else. Heather knew why they flocked to her; the fear, the instinct to survive and get behind the most powerful member of a pack and to be under their protection and to be under their ranks to get what they wanted was just natural.
But that was high school, even if there was still some truth to the theory outside of it.
But what about Mel? Heather watched as she checker herself in the little mirror and her lips stretched into a bright smile that was already emphasized by the red.
What was her world like? Did she hold any sort of power for herself? Who did she look to for all the things she lacked, if there were any? And how? How did she do it and would she, did she, bring anyone else into this world that was unlike anything Heather might care to know of or dare to step in herself?
She was sure if she even toed the line, she'd be sucked in and powerless and how much would that blow? But then, maybe she'd get a different kind of power. What that was, she didn't know or really have faith in.
"This is so awesome! You could be a makeup artist or some shit Heather. Hell, you could be the makeup model." Mel laughed and the red shined in the light; she made a teasing kissy face and Heather's mind went fuzzy for a moment. "Not bad."
"It's good stuff right?" Heather put away her lipstick, making sure not to have the tip smudge against anything else. She wondered if her expensive makeup now smelled like coffee.
Mel beamed. "I think I pull it off decently enough for a stock girl."
"Don't look at me that way. Don't look at me like I'm your friend."
Heather flipped the clasp of her bag into place. "You look-"
"Hey, what's cooking good looking?"
Heather wanted to dig her nails into Kurt's eyes as he stared down Mel's shirt and back to her own bewildered eyes. Ram was loaded with snacks and containers of hot dogs and chili fries, but he managed to give Mel a failed suave wink.
"Heather did a nice job. Maybe those lips could be-"
"What?"
Mel sighed and put a hand to her forehead. "Oh crap. Gary, now calm down, they're just a couple dumb kids-"
"Do I look like I give a shit?" Gary slammed down a box of frozen packs of ice cream bars and gave both Kurt and Ram the hardest glare. "These two are grown. Hey, you fuckheads-" he marched right over to them, leaving the lesser Heathers to stand to the wayside looking more anxious by the second. Heather Chandler was impassive but Mel was just shaking her head.
"Gary-"
"No. You," Gary got up in Kurt's face. "Mr. Quarterback, what the hell were you just going to say to my employee?"
"Nothing!" Kurt raised his hands and looked down at Gary innocently.
"No, you don't get to back down now that you've gotta deal with a real man." Gary persisted; he was a couple inches shorter and not in the best shape, but it was clear Kurt wasn't ready to deal with an irate adult who clearly didn't give two shits about who he yelled at. "She is a lady. You speak to her with respect, you greasy haired punk. You're damn lucky you didn't finish that sentence-and listen here, if you come in here again and if you or Tweedle Jackass say anything or do anything, to make any woman uncomfortable in my goddamn store, I will shove a bar of soap so far up your asshole your mouth will be clean for weeks. Do we understand each other?"
Kurt stepped back with a sulky frown. "Yeah."
"Yeah what?"
"Yes sir." Kurt said dully and Ram echoed seeing Gary give him the evil eye over his friend's shoulder.
"And you apologize to-you know what? Fuck it, just get the hell out of my store and don't even look at her again. That'll work."
"But our stuff-"
"Give these ladies the money and I'll let them check out. I would assume you two can at least do that fucking much."
"Fine man." Kurt handed Heather Duke his wallet before sending Gary a look.
"Yeah, look at me like that again and see what the fuck happens. You play football? Well I play baseball, and I can hit a home run on that fat head of yours." Gary called out as the two slipped away through the automatic doors; he sent them one last glare before turning on the Heathers. "Jesus, if you're going to go around with schmucks, can you at least go with ones that won't oogle the cashier?"
"Thanks Gary." Mel sighed. "Geez, you didn't even give me a chance to take out Mary Mae."
"Huh?" Heather McNamara seemed to snap out of her daze. "Who?"
"Oh, this." Mel pulled out a crowbar from under the counter. "I wouldn't have actually hurt the kid mind you, but as a friend once said, the extreme seems to leave an impression. But Gary already had me covered of course." she smiled fondly. "A gentleman through and through; even if you did look ready to go apeshit."
"You see those punks in here again, you call me. Christ, I got enough problems worrying about Shelly getting bothered at the bar."
"Sheila? Gary, she once broke a bottle against the table and threatened to twist it into some creeps face. I think she'll be okay."
Gary's hard expression turned dreamy. "Yeah…well, carry on. I'm going on break. I did my duty."
"Right…" Mel shook her head once more and smiled apologetically at the girls as she hid the crow bar. "I'll ring you up. Sorry, Gary gets a bit...well, you saw it."
"That was sooo scary…" Heather McNamara said softly, eyes flitting over to the break room's closed door.
Heather Duke nodded quickly in agreement. "Totally scary."
"Aw, he'd never go too far." Mel said blithely. "Hey, how's your stomach? Keeping things down okay?"
"Oh...yes."
"Good. Okay, that'll be twenty even."
"Here." Heather Chandler came forward. "Sorry about those two."
Mel almost missed the button to print the receipt. "Oh. It's okay, I wasn't freaked or anything. It was just sad. Like I'd give those chumps the time of day. I guess it's slim picking's in your school?"
"Should I keep chaste until I'm your age?"
Mel snorted. "That'd be the pits. I'd wait until you can meet someone worth your attention though. God knows you could do better. No offense, but those guys seem to share half a brain. Find someone you can at least talk to without their eyes going to your boobs for five seconds."
"Heather, Heather, take these out to the car."
The girls slipped away, grateful to be outside and away from the tension. Mel ripped out the slip of paper and handed it to Heather; she felt the tips of her nails scratch her palm as she took the receipt.
"What kind of...person are you interested in?"
Mel blinked. "Who, me? Well, someone with more than half a brain. I guess someone nice and funny and all that good shit." she ran a hand through her hair. "Someone I can count on and share my life with ideally. I guess that's pretty basic. Like, who wouldn't want that?"
"Not everyone deserves it." Heather intoned dully. "Oh god, shut up and leave, you got what you came here for!"
"That's crazy. Everyone deserves love, or at least a friend. A real friend." Mel added lowly; she rested her chin in her hand. "People you want to be around, not order around."
"Maybe those are the kind of people I want to be around."
"Suit yourself." Mel shrugged again. "Enjoy your...company."
"I assure you, I will." Heather said sharply as she made her way to the door.
"Be safe Heather."
Heather paused and chewed the inside of her cheek. "I can handle myself. I'm not a child."
"I know."
"Don't fuck up my makeup." Heather felt her feet carry her out the entrance. "Red's your color Mel."
The door's opened and closed swiftly and Heather disappeared into the night and her porsche so quickly she didn't see Mel's jaw drop just so.
"Um, Heather-" Heather McNamara tried to venture.
"Buckle up."
Heather's short tone left no room for argument as she turned on the engine; she paused before pulling out, hand hovering over the transmission before flipping on the radio, turning the dial until Aerosmith blared out the speakers and the windows and the beat of her frantic heart matched the pace of the drums trying to immerse herself into world she could only dream of that was filled with guitar solos, pink nails, bright smiles, and cherry red kisses.