Holy shit, I updated... Anyways, read and review please.
On days off when Mary would crash at his place for extended periods of time. Eugene Skullovitch detangle himself from her, rub a hand over his face, spend a minute or two wondering what they did last night, find the evidence, and squash the rising bile of self-loathing that would spawn after every time.
It was a sick and cold routine that left him feeling more and more empty each time.
He sneered bitterly; at least no one else from High School could see him like this. Not that he was religious, but Eugene wondered if, from wherever Bulk was in the great afterlife, the corpulent son of a bitch was watching him. Least he could feel better about his own demeaning death in light of his only friend's current situation.
Farcus Bulkmeir had suffered from depression. It was a little known fact that Skull had been unfortunate enough to have been privy to.
Since the Skullovitches used to live next to the Bulkmeirs, Mrs. Bulkmeir had taken to talking to Mrs. Skullovitch over their back fence. As gossipy mothers tend to go, the exact list of their sons' problems and embarrassing birth details came into regular heated discussion.
After Genie had finished the tale of how she had prayed for a girl to name Gina, and wound up with her son Eugene. Flitsy had returned with the tale of her son's on going battle with depression, about the pills he had to take to fight it, about the uncertainty of him ever overcoming it. As soon as Flitsy and Genie had finished their conversations the thin woman marched into her house, snatched her son off his Atari and dragged him outside with a "you will play with the neighbor's boy." that left no rebuttal.
From then on they were Bulk and Skull.
Eugene rubbed under his eye as he sat, naked, on the edge of his bed waiting for Mary to get up and either move to the spare room or head out to find her next boyfriend. The man lit a cigarette and returned to his thoughts of his departed friend.
Bulk, after leaving Space, started up his own club. The closest Eugene Skullovitch could figure out why was to surround himself with people having a good time, as if in some way that would disillusion himself into believing he had people. It seemed to work and for a while he was real happy.
Then one day his meds ran out, and the pharmacy wouldn't get his shipment of meds in till Saturday of that week.
They had all thought he was doing better, that he would be fine without the pills for a few days. Turns out Bulk's doctor had upped the dosage when he found out his depression wasn't getting better, but worse. And he didn't fuckin tell anyone. Just slid it under the table and let Bulky think he was doing great.
The dark haired man wiped at his eyes and took a furious puff on his drag.
It was Monday when Bulk had taken the last of his pills. By Wednesday his system had run clean of the medication, when the bar closed on Friday. Bulk grabbed several bottles and began self-pouring. Half a bottle's worth of mixed hard liquor in his system, and he was so shit faced he became angry, started throwing bottles around, coated the place with alcohol, left nothing in the bar, everything smashed. Then he torched the place, with himself inside. Security Cameras that recorded to a remote location caught his last moments as he spoke, drunkenly, in what would be his will. Then he fell over. Police assumed he passed out drunk and slept through his incineration.
Autopsy said he fell on his back and vomited and choked to death on his own puke before burning.
Eugene fell on his back and let the tears fall. Bulk may have been an ass, and it may have been easier to be pissed at him, it still left the part of Eugene Skullovitch that would always be Skull, dead, like there was a great something missing from his life.
Maybe it was high time to pull up roots and find a new venture to waste his life on. There was nothing but repetition keeping him here in this town, and he had saved up enough cash to get by for a while.
The clock glowed five fifty three in the afternoon. Rick's should just be picking up now for the night crowd. Even though it was his night off, Eugene was tempted to head on in to at least make sure the new girl didn't drown in tables. Nowhere close enough to be a gentleman; it was a tribute to the dying embers of his humanity to be concerned for a girl working in a strip bar. Stripper or not.
He took another deep drag of his cigarette.
"Fuck it." He grumbled.
As Mary climbed back over him in her sleep, Eugene's last thought before slipping back into slumber was that he really aught to start locking his bedroom door whenever she was around.
Kim bit back a snarl as yet another man tried to slap her ass.
"Hey Buddy, I'm not the merchandise."
The man grinned in a way that said he didn't know, or care.
From the bar, Rick chewed his lip nervously. The girl looked way over her head out there. However, as another patron made a grab at her, the girl fended him off, and didn't even spill a drop off her tray.
Not even his boy Eugene could do that.
And she was willing to work the shit hours for cash…
"Hey Rick, pour me another beer." One of the locals he catered to, who knew his name, but to whom the sentiment wasn't returned, distracted the barkeep from watching the new girl like a hawk.
Kim sneered as yet another man tried to grab her. The tips were so far amazing. But every guy in the establishment seemed to not understand that she wasn't one of the strippers.
Thankfully the place closed before Kim reached her snapping point and accidently killed someone. She may have been half-starved and basically destitute, but she was still a dangerous person to anger.
"Does the rest of your wait-staff get the same treatment?" Kimberly Hart asked as she turned in her platter and note book.
"Hardly, don't know why, but no one around here messes with Eugene… probably because he got that feral aura of a man fallen from grace." Rick said as he returned to washing the bar glasses. Kim smirked briefly in laughter.
"I used to know a guy… I think his name was Eugene, his real name I mean… God… I don't even know what happened to him…" She mused absently, her memories happy for a moment.
"Think they could be the same person?" Rick asked mildly, he'd have to make a mental note of asking Eugene and Mary about a Kim Hart.
"Hardly, last I heard he went up to space. There was something I caught on the news about a fire, and I thought they said his name but…" Kim shrugged and gathered her coat from behind the bar before waving Rick a goodnight and walking out the door to her car.
Rick watched the girl leave and noted that she was wearing the same rumpled shirt and jeans from the day before…they were clean, just incredibly wrinkled. And her shoes were in a down right sorry state.
He also made a mental note, in addition to the one asking Eugene and Mary if they've ever heard of a Kim Hart, of cutting her a small, advanced, check the next day she worked.
With the tips she made that night at the strip joint, Kim was able to rent a motel room for twenty a night. She had made a little over forty that night in tips, and according to the lady at the desk -a kind motherly woman who, not only owned the motel, had made Kim take a slice of her pecan pie and a helping of pot-roast back to her room with her- they don't do bookings, so the room was Kim's; so long as she paid her nightly fee.
And there'd always be a bit of dinner for the girl, no charge.
As Kim crawled under the clean sheets and blankets, that smelled of off brand fabric softeners, her stomach full and her hair still slightly damp from the shower, she smiled and drifted off to sleep, warm and comfortable.
Eugene Skullovitch was impressed by the sounds of this girl. Not only did she survive the Friday madhouse, but she did it without taking crap from patrons, and she managed to get Rick to cut her an advanced check. And walked out the door with over forty in tips.
Tough chick.
"At the moment, since it's between seasons, I'll alternate you both and give her just enough to become experienced with working a strip joint, though something tells me she's not a virgin about that. Anyways, later when the Christmas Tree Harvesting season comes in, I'll start her on full time and you both will work the seasonal rush… Yeah, that sounds like a good idea… Off season you'll do solos, and on season you'll double up. Anyways… as I was sayin, even with the new staff, it don't mean you can slack off. At any rate, you'll need to keep and eye on… shit… what's her name… damnit… it's… some cheerleader name… I knew it yesterday… it was… it was K-something… OH! That's right! Kim!" Eugene Skullovitch's treacherous heart fluttered painfully at the name of his high school love interest.
There was no way it was Kimberly Ann Heart. People like her just don't end up working in Strip Bars in the middle of the mid-west. In a back water Lumberjack town of inconsequential name and population. The idea was preposterous, ludicrous, and a million other words all meaning 'never going to happen'.
"Kim eh?" The tall dark haired man said absently as he puffed another deep drag to hide his reaction to the name.
"Yeah, little thing. Looks like she might've once been a gymnast or a dancer or something." Eugene Skullovitch choked on his cigarette smoke.
"Oh wouldn't that just be the funniest thing if she was our Kim?" Mary said lightly as she retouched up her make-up. The woman's hand shook, smearing her eyeliner into a thick smudge. And Eugene was fairly certain she wasn't in withdrawal yet…
"I guess." He mumbled from his spot leaning against the wall behind her. The truth was, they were both thrilled for another familiar face and terrified.
"I wonder what brought her out here, I mean if it is her. Last I heard from her was that she was fast becoming huge in the gymnastics world."
"Broke her ankle." The male grunted. The stripper eyed him loftily.
"You would know that." She sneered.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He snarled, shifting forward from his position his arms dropping from their crossed position to rest at his sides, tensing as if ready to get in a fight.
"Just that you always were into gymnastics… the leotards I suppose." She dismissed, keeping an eye on him in her mirror. He smirked and rested back against the wall and re-crossed his arms after digging himself a cigarette and lighting it. The glowing cancer stick hung out of his mouth, pinned by his lips, a billow of smoke coming out his nose.
"I suppose. I mean after working in a strip joint for so long, clothing and morality has become something of a fetish for me, the more the better." He said slyly, watching Mary's face turn red under her thick foundation.
"Pity you can't screw someone through their pants eh?" She shot back.
"Not necessarily."
She slammed her wadded up tissue on the surface of her dais in a temper tantrum. "You mean you've figured out away to make your dick go through denim?" She quipped, purposely being vulgar. Eugene leaned in close and breathed a thick cloud of clove and tobacco smoke down her neck.
"No. I mean something along the lines of: I've had so much free milk, I've become lactose-intolerant." He replied.
Kim threw her laundry in the large industrial washing machine, and pushed her quarters in the machine starting up the giant appliance. The machine buzzed before starting to fill up with water and the soap start to sud-up. She turned away form the whirling mass of water, suds, and clothing to go raid the vending machines for a snack.
She giggled as she read the soda names on the vending machine title.
"Good Lord, didn't they ban that brand like ten years ago?" She muttered to herself as she took out the change for an orange soda and a bag of pretzels.
The Laundromat was owned and operated by the same woman who owned and operated the motel. It was a very small affair, with maybe five washers and dryers respectively. And a vending machine that looked like it had been there since the sixties. She giggled at the thought of the ancient vending machine being there and the Laundromat being built around it.
"Kim! There you are sweetie. Listen, Rick's been asking about for you. I gave him your room number for your room, but you weren't in there. Never mind your laundry dear. I'll take care of it for you. You better get over to Rick's." Mrs. Thatcher, the woman who owned the motel and Laundromat, said, gasping slightly. Kim nodded and left, taking her snack and drink with her.
The strip joint was as dead as it was the day she applied. Rick was behind the counter, wiping down mugs again. Kim wondered if the day to day ever changed.
"Erm… Rick? You wanted to see me?" Rick looked up and set his mug down on the counter with a clank that startled Kim. For a sick moment she began to fear that she was going to loose her job. He went back, slapping his towel on the bar counter, and threw open the door to the back with a loud clatter.
The man in the front never even took his eyes off the girl swaying half asleep in front of him.
Kim swayed on her feet, vaguely remembering her horrid days as one of those girls up on stage. Rick came back out with a slip of paper and leaned over the bar, holding the paper out to her. Kim, realizing it was a check, hesitantly reached out to take it. Rick pulled the paper back and gave her a level look.
"You got a bank account?" Kim bit her lip; she used to have a bank account… she shook her head no.
Rick sighed and handed the check over. "Thought as much. Take it to Bob at the bank down the street, tell him that you're in between houses and that you're staying at May's, and have him open an account for you." She nodded and took the check.
"Kim? Kimberly Hart?" Kim paused and whirled around to see a familiar face, but she couldn't quite place it…
"Mary Sheps?" She cried in disbelief.
"Oh good, I was wondering if you two knew each other." They both turned to Rick who started to whistle and bent to dig out two beers and placing them on the bar, before returning into the back.
"…So, I wound up here, half-starved, homeless, out of gas and out of cash." Kim finished her own tail of how she came to here. Mary finished the plate of greasy seasoned oven fries and wiped her fingers on one of the napkins Rick had plunked down with the order.
"Wow… that's just the shits Hun… But at least you're not alone. I mean Skull's here too… Only he calls himself Eugene now. We may fight like cats and dogs, but I know I can depend on him for a place to crash whenever I'm here." Kim nodded, surprised.
"Skull's here though? What brought him here?" Mary downed her beer and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"His story to tell I'm afraid. But anyways, it was amazing to see you again Kim, when we heard you had landed the other waiting position, we were wondering if it was you, I mean it's still a shock that your hear, I mean I never would have guessed it, but… Well, anyways, I got to get going, my numbers up next. Maybe we could hang out and I don't know, there's not much to do here, but I imagine we could find something." Kim nodded and gathered her tattered coat. Mary smiled at the other woman, before both turned to go through their respective doors.
Kim had to wonder about Mary; it seems that life had taught her a hard lesson, from what she, herself, remembered; Mary Sheps was a snooty bitch who deserved to loose her parents' inheritance.
But now she was… humble… No human should have to fall into that life. It made the former Pink Ranger consider how lucky she's really been all this time. Despite the fact that for the last six months she had lived out of her car, not once had the idea that she could sell her body even crossed her mind. Not once had she felt the temptation of drug use. And she didn't have to return to the same degrading job over and over again, just when her life took yet another turn for the worst. She shivered at the idea that she might have had to resort to self-prostitution just to eat. She might have been the favorite ho of a drug-lord pimp… She shook the thoughts from her head and gently chided herself for thinking that she had already hit rock bottom. Mary had hit rock bottom, Kim was just close.
Eugene puffed his cigarette in the living room/kitchen/dining room of his tiny apartment. His hand on the phone, as he entertained thoughts of leaving the po-dunk hell-hole he was quickly becoming stagnant in. At the worst, if he left and he ran out of money before he settled, he could use his skills at the piano to supplement his travels. He picked up the phone and dialed in the number he'd need to implement his plan.
"Hey, I'm back." Mary's tired voice startled him from the doorway. He turned to look at her as she kicked off her shoes and shrugged out of her ratty fur coat some drug-lord had bought her sometime ago.
"Mm." He put the phone back down in it's cradel and leaned back into the couch before turning on the TV. Some horror film played on the screen, the screams of the victims broaching the quiet.
"So… Uh… OH! You'll never guess what. The new girl at Rick's is Kim." Eugene's heart thumped in his head making his hearing slightly muffled.
"Yeah her name's Kim… we knew that…"
"No, I mean Kim like Kim Hart from High School. She's over at May's, room twenty-three…" Eugene Skullovitch was up and out of his small apartment before Mary could finish.
Kim rubbed the water out of her hair and fished out a clean tank-top and PJ shorts. Outside a storm ranged quietly, occasionally booming with thunder but largely just dumping tons of water into the little town. The unpredictable weather of the area making the weatherman contradict his charts and graphs on the small old TV on the dresser at the foot of her bed. Kim snorted in wry humor as the man stuttered and stood in front of his chart claiming that the night should be a perfectly clear and warm night. The ticker at the bottom reading that the estimated rain so far for the storm was at an inch already and the temperature was in the low forties.
Kim shivered and turned up the space heater in the room.
An urgent pounding knock came from her door. Startled and wondering who would be out in this weather, the occupant of the room went over to the door and opened it to the person outside.
It was Skull, drenched and heaving. She looked him over, taking in his adult form. His arms were thicker than she remembered, and Dear Lord, did he have six pack abs? But even with his bulk, he was still wiry. There was still so much of Skull under the muscles and the black muscle shirt. He was still pale, and while Kim couldn't say he was any more, or less, attractive then his high school form, he definitely wasn't the Skull she knew. Her eyes were caught by the edges of a tattoo peeking out from his excuse for a shirt, something black and swirling… possibly tribal.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" He demanded between gasps. Kim jerked back.
"Excuse me?" Kim shot back, still highly startled.
"You heard me, what the fuck are you doing here Kimberly." He growled, earning a squeak from Kim. She backed up, giving him the opportunity to advance on her. He followed, keeping the distance between them at barely a foot till he was in her room enough to shut the door behind him. She began to panic slightly when her knees hit the edge of her bed.
Kim had fought some of the worst monsters in recent history, Rita, Zedd, and even that disgusting Ivan Ooze. At that moment, Skull trumped them all.
"Skull…" She whispered. His expression softened.
"Shit... Kim… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… But Jesus, what are you doing here, working in a Strip Bar?" He began again, his voice softened from the hard edge it was.
"I-I…" She dropped her head and sat down on her bed. "I've just had a ton of bad luck." She murmured before she rolled onto her back on the bed. "I don't have any clothes that would fit you, but there are towels in the bathroom." She swiped her hand in the general direction of the bathroom.
Chapter Two is comming along whenever I can get it written.