Red Windmill
-Chapter 4-
Chris stood outside T.J.'s apartment, removing his coat in the warm summer air. The door swung over and T.J. stood there, blinking in the sunlight and rubbing his head.
"What the hell?" He croaked, holding his head.
"I got the job!" Chris said excitedly, leaning casually against the doorframe.
"Do you have to scream?" T.J. whined, putting his other hand on his stomach.
"I didn't I-" Chris began, but interrupted himself with a sly smile. "You have a hangover, don't you. I thought that wasn't possible!"
T.J. groaned. "There's apparently liquor I'm not immune to." He retreated inside and beckoned Chris to follow. When the door was closed, T.J. grabbed an aspirin from the medicine cabinet.
"What job-and WHISPER please." Chris made a face.
"What JOB? The job you told me to go for. I got it! He called this morning." Chris plopped down on the couch and reclined with his hands behind his head. "But that's not the half of it. Sarah, that hooker you bought me-she's amazing."
T.J. smiled. "And I hate to say I told you so-the best sex in your life, right?"
Chris became instantly serious. "No." He sat up. "We didn't...um..."
"You didn't what? Please tell me you slept with her." Chris shook his head slowly. "Come on man! She cost a fortune!" He raised his voice, completely disregarding his hangover. "What DID you do then?"
Chris grinned. "I read her my poem, and we talked a bit. She's really nice." T.J. made a face. "Do you believe in love at first sight?" Chris asked softly.
"Of course I do, man! I'm the regular Don Juan of this century-you know that!"
"I know." He pondered. "But I mean REAL love, the kind that makes your heart stop. The kind that-"
"Alright, alright I get it poetry boy." Chris sighed and lay back down.
"That's how I feel." He admitted almost inaudibly.
"After one night?" T.J. asked skeptically.
Chris turned on the television. "How long does it take for the flower to love sunlight?" He pondered.
"Cut the crap, Shakespeare." T.J. said sternly. "Number one rule of life-NEVER fall in love with a hooker...it's the worst move you can make."
Chris frowned. "Why is that?" He asked stupidly.
"Dude, she's a whore! She has sex with two million people a year! You can't have a serious relationship with someone like that. Sure, you can screw around, but I know you man, and you're not like that."
Chris frowned more deeply, displeased with what he was hearing, although it was the truth. He had been so far into the clouds he hadn't had a chance to take a reality check.
"But she's different." He insisted. T.J. shook his head.
"I won't stop you, but you're getting married soon to a FINE piece of meat, I don't see what you need a slut for."
Chris scowled, but got up off the couch and walked to the door. "I gotta go. See ya." He closed the door quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets.
When Chris got home, his fiancée met him at the door with a pouty expression on her face. Before he would even ask what was wrong, she yelled shrilly, "Sarah called!" She spat. He felt his heart skip a beat.
"S-she did?"
"Yes. She said you left your SHIRT at the RED WINDMILL and she's coming now to return it." Her voice had reached such a high pitch that it made him cringe. "What were you doing at the Windmill? That's where people have SEX! Was hooters all a big lie?"
Chris lowered his eyes and sighed. "My party was at the Red Windmill." He admitted.
"And Sarah's a hooker?"
"And Sarah's a hooker." He confirmed.
"Did you sleep with her?" She squeaked, placing her hands firmly on her hips.
Chris looked her in the face and said, "No." He had been brought up to tell the truth, no matter what the situation and his voice did not falter.
"Well, why not!" She huffed, angrily stuffing her hair behind her ears. Chris was taken aback by this question, and almost found himself wondering the same question.
"I didn't think it was right." He replied softly, making his way to the answering machine.
"Her message is still there." She said with a bit less hostility.
"Thank you." He replied, hanging his coat in the closet.
"Why do you have to be so goddamn virtuous?"
Chris grinned halfheartedly as she marched upstairs, to no doubt talk for hours on end with her friends on the telephone. When she was out of earshot, Chris pressed the 'play' button on the answering machine.
"You have 1 new message." The monotone recorded voice chanted, cutting the silence in the air.
"Hey Chris, its Sarah from the Red Windmill. Um, I still have your shirt from last night...I'm coming to drop it off. If you're not home, I'll just leave it in the mailbox. Ok? Bye!"
There was a click when she was finished, and the message machine announced, "End of all messages." Chris sank down onto the couch beside the phone and rested his head in his hand, his elbow propped up by the couch arm. A few minutes later, he heard a car door slam and bolted up to look out the window. A car was parked in front of his house, and Sarah emerged from behind it.
Chris walked and hid behind the door, wondering what he would say to her. He bit his tongue, knowing he would most likely make a fool of himself. The doorbell rang, making him jump suddenly; biting down on his tongue so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He swore loudly and stuck his tongue out, examining it. The doorbell rang again, and then he heard the mailbox open and knew he should do something...she was leaving! He swung the door open, making her spin around. Chris shoved his bleeding tongue into his mouth and forced a smile.
She walked quickly back towards him, smiling. She was, if possible, more beautiful than before. Her hair went sans glitter and was put up into a messy bun, two ornate chopsticks sticking out from its center. She was wearing a low cut lacy camisole, accompanied by a tweed blazer, low cut jeans, and very uncomfortable looking black stilettos that put her feet into a graceful arc.
"You're home!" She exclaimed, sounding surprised.
"Yeth." He said, trying not to use his injured tongue, but sounding like an idiot.
"What did you say?" She asked, obviously confused.
"I thaid-oh thit!" He cursed, sticking out his tongue and showing her. She laughed and flipped her hair back.
"I see you hurt your tongue." She giggled. "How'd that happen?" Chris began opening his mouth to lisp out and answer. "Wait, never mind, don't answer that." She blurted, rescuing him from a new wave of embarrassment. He smiled, leaning back against the door. "I'll see you sometime." She said, heading back to the car. She opened the door, winked, and got in gracefully, closing it with a small click.
The second her car was out of sight, the door he was leaning against gave way and swung back, causing him to stumble and fall unceremoniously onto the floor of his entryway. He was greeted by the daunting, plastic face of his fiancée, finally out of her bedroom.
"Is the phone free?" He asked politely, completely ignoring her icy stare. His tongue didn't hurt anymore, and he found his awkward position on the floor suddenly quite comfortable.
"You like her, don't you?" She shrieked. Chris winced, glancing at the windows to see if she had broken them.
"For the last time Vanessa," He yelled, finally able to say her name without gagging, "there is nothing going on between me and that woman!" There was an awkward silence that followed. Vanessa huffed quietly into the kitchen and Chris cursed under his breath for allowing himself to move in with her.
He pulled himself up from the floor and traipsed upstairs to his typewriter. Vanessa had always pestered him to use the brand new flat screen computer she had bought, but he found it to be confusing and untrustworthy. Once seated, he restocked the paper in the machine and began to type.
That whole week began with one night...sleepless nights and days of steady writing. And after one tireless week, the whole play was written.