pages 17 and 18

by beginningstoendings

This music is making my ears rattle.

Miss Kitten comes on.  The DJ is obviously a little new and is shaky with the song transitions.  He’s train-wrecking severely over and over again making obvious the change in songs but the bass is heavy and the pulse is thick so I’m still “down.”

Apparently I’m dancing and also good at it.  I can rock this dance floor.  I am so in love with my outfit.  My outfit kills this song.  People are really watching my outfit and me.  My high-tops are a nice touch.  Who would have thought to put high tops, a skirt and ripped tee shirt together?  I’m a trendsetter.  People are going to copy me.  How flattering.  My stomach is a little churney and my jaw is killing me.

I lock my eyes on to a couple standing in the corner near the bar.  They haven’t started talking and I haven’t quite stopped dancing enough to watch them fully.

He looks at her from across the room; she smokes illegally in the corner.  Her red hair, curly and short, frames her make-up bronzed skin.  She wears champagne eye paint and clear lip gloss.  He rubs the back of his shaved head, grinning with crooked charm as he ambles over to her.  The green flashes from the dance floor paint his Armenian complexion a lethal olive brown—a tattoo merely suggested on the back of his neck.  His black sweater collar props up his neck into looking hulkier than it is and she likes this.  As he arrives at her side she bites her thumbnail, a habit she’s been meaning to break and a dead give away of the timid nature her friends told her she had.  He hands her a small lemon yellow pill, she takes it from him, filed, O.P.I polished nails placing the tab on the tip of her tongue.  She drinks from a bottle of VOSS sparkling water to wash it down—in other settings she would have used the tap.  His hand touches her abdomen and she quivers with the new contact.  A new playing field.  A new game.  She’s a virgin…sort of.  He’s had many lovers: both men and women.  Most were back in his native country.  She can’t afford tonight.  He’ll fly her to Spain.  Examining her hazel eyes, registering her emotions as best he can, he leans in to kiss her lips.  With the slightest sense of hesitation in her, he draws back. She smiles and pulls him closer, welcoming, hoping, wanting what’s to come.  He kisses her décolleté.  She leans her curled head on the warm sandalwood fragrance of his sweater.

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