Chapter 18: Manhood and Stuff
Beetle strolled up to The Red Rum, noting the giggles and sneers of a few women standing just outside the bar. He grunted, unimpressed, as he laid eyes on the chick with a pole through her head and old one-arm again.
"Been a long time since we seen you 'round here, Mr. B..." the one-armed chick grinned slyly.
"Yeah, that ain't at all like you, Mr.B..." the pole-headed broad chimed in, stepping in front of him and blocking his path.
Beetle grunted in annoyance, folding his arms. "What the hell do you want?"
"You still broke, Mr. B?" Pole-head asked, smacking her gum so loudly it nearly made him cringe.
Before he could reply, ole' one-arm interrupted her. "You're wastin' your time, honey. You know Mr. B likes to skip on the bill. The last time he took a ride he paid me with a napkin that had 'IOU' written in mustard." she scoffed, scowling in his direction with the best fuck you face she could muster.
"Beat it." he growled, not amused.
"Besides," the one armed broad began to snigger to the other woman, "I heard he got himself a little girlfriend. He's probably too busy lettin' her boss him around to have any REAL fun..."
"What?! Who the fuck told you that?!" Beetle fumed, becoming irate. How the fuck did anyone know about Lydia? What was going on?
"Oh, words all over the streets, Mr. B." the woman with the pole-head giggled. "Ever since people saw you with that gal that played the piano, we all noticed you ain't been around much. Heck, you've hardly even been out, unless it's with her. The nightclub, the movies..."
Beetle simply stood, his features falling slack at those words. Was it really that obvious? No, it couldn't be, cause it wasn't like that. Lydia Deetz wasn't his girlfriend, and she'd never be. She was a former deal-breaker who owed him until he'd received payment, and now she was...What was she? A friend? Hell, he didn't even know anymore. "It ain't like that..." was all he could bring himself to say.
"If it ain't like that, then why are you goin' after her again?" One-arm chimed in.
"Who said that's what I'm doin'?" Beetle snapped back, feeling the urge to juice both their traps shut.
"Well, she's inside right now, and you're goin' inside right now, so..." the other hooker remarked, smirking.
"She's in there?!" Beetle could feel his eyes grow wide with anticipation, and as soon as he realized his face had lit up, the two broads did, too. Damn, he wanted to wipe those stupid smirks off their faces - preferrably with a big roll of extra-course grain sandpaper. Or a flamethrower.
"Yeah, she looked pretty gloomy, Mr. B. What'd you do to her?" One-arm asked, giving him a leary glance.
"WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK I DID SOMETHING?!" Beetle huffed, stomping past the two hookers, as they looked to each other, as if to say, yup, he definitely did something. Bitches.
Beetlejuice entered the bar, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim, crimson lighting and the smokey haze that constantly hung in the air inside. Some pathetic old ghouls were sitting in various places, either drowning their sorrows in a bottle or drowning face-down in their own vomit.
He stepped toward the back of the bar, seeing Lydia at a small table in a dark corner, also seemingly in the act of drinking her problems away. Though he wouldn't admit it to himself, he was a bit relieved to see that she was alone - minus any potential horny, hovering jackasses in her parameters.
"Ah, I see you've decided to grace us with your presence..." Beetle's brow raised, as he looked over his shoulder to see the second (only to Juno) ugliest face he'd ever laid eyes on. "What'll it be this time?" the old-ass waitress from before hissed.
"Oh...Eh...the usual..." Beetle shrugged, his eyes moving back to the much younger, and much less visually offensive Deetz.
"And what for the ladyfriend?" the waitress continued, as Beetle scowled.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Beetlejuice snapped.
The old woman's face wrinkled further (if that was even possible) into a look of irritation. "I mean, what does your little girlfriend want? You two are sitting together, aren't you?" she griped, pointing a finger in Lydia's general direction.
"Look, the B-man doesn't DO girlfriends. If he HAD one, he'd most certainly DO her, but he DOESN'T, kapeesh?!" he raged, writhing about and acting all kinds of bastard to get his point of bachelor-dom across to the whole bar - nay, the whole fucking Neitherworld for that matter! Then he gave a big, manly belch and picked a roach leg from his teeth for added flourish. Yeah, totally necessary. Definitely.
The waitress rolled her eyes, sighing. "Look, I don't care who's desperate enough to let you slobber and grope all over 'em! Do you want one or two drinks?!" she growled, with that subtle hint of "I want to rip off your head and play water polo with it" in her beady eyes.
Beetlejuice stalled a moment, half pondering over if she really didn't care or if she just said she didn't care (well, he was pretty fascinating, after all) , and half attempting to glare into her own scary face in an act of intimidation. Of course, the latter backfired.
Beetle averted his eyes, looking back to Lydia, all hot and drunk and surrounded by empty bottles of booze. "Errr...Gimme' two..." he muttered in defeat. He wasn't gonna lie - there was some really sinister shit in that old hag's glare. "Oh, yeah..." Beetle turned back to the waitress.
She nodded before he could speak, rolling her eyes. "I know, put it on your tab..."
"Awww, you remembered?" Beetle snarked, grinning deviously, before turning his attention back to Deetz.
His eyes traced her delicate hand tightly holding a half-empty beer bottle, her pouty lips, and her sad, brown eyes. Then he noticed all the eyes on his eyes that were on her. Damn. Was it really that obvious? Truthfully, it not only scared him, it kinda disgusted him. Not her. Not Lydia, but himself. This wasn't him. The old B-man would run screaming before listening to some dame's woes that he didn't give a damn about. And why wasn't he doing just that? His lips curled into a disgusted frown, as he mentally forced himself to let his balls drop and turn away. Yeah, that would show 'em all the ole' B-man was still the ghost with the most and had zero fucks to give!
"B...BJ...Is that you?" A soft, clearly wasted voice hit his gunk-filled ears, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. He froze in place, as if a rabid Kodiak bear was holding a knife to his throat. He didn't know why he'd pictured a bear. Probably cause they were really badass and manly and stuff.
Truly, he'd wanted to strut out of there and be all awesome and apathetic and shit. And most definitely he wanted to show any and every ass-licking dick eater there that he was still THE poltergeist to end all poltergeists, THE ghost with the most, THE...
"I'm...glad you're here..." that sweet, soft, very trashed voice continued.
That was the exact moment when all of his thought processes were sent a cease and desist order by Lydia-fuckin'-Deetz. "Uh...You are?" Beetlejuice turned around, totally ignoring the pleasant smirk forming on his lips.