She brought the glass of red liquid to her lips, reflecting on the events of the
day, pondering over what would happen next. Her legs covered in dark boots crossed, swinging in the air off the stool. She didn’t lean on the bar, as did the gentlemen who had been continuously consuming shots since he got here. She hadn’t seen him before, at least not before she left. He’d looked at her only once and ignored her the rest of the time—she hated him.
Bored of the rather dull atmosphere—no music, no entertainment, no men—she finished her numbing elixir in a soft gulp, head tilted back, long dark hair sweeping her back in fierce strokes. Rising, she grabbed her leather jacket and proceeded to the door. Putting on the jacket, she reached to pull the door open. A wave of shock hit as the blinding white light met her eyes—and he entered. Compared to the atmosphere, he was a God.
“Excuse me,” I managed to purr, as I brushed past, careful to graze his perfect arm as he held the door for me. She’d have to keep special tabs on him.
Her boots echoed as she made her way on the pavement, boots echoing her every step, unable to penetrate the noise of the city traffic. Without a destination in mind, her thoughts crept to the men she’d just met. She envied them. The alcoholic, in all his distasteful existence, seemed to even then have purpose, a reason. Since she got back, the direction of her life seemed elusive. She’d always lacked specific direction in her life, but she had an overwhelming sense that something needed to be dealt with—she just didn’t know what yet. It was like an itch that couldn’t be scratched, no matter how much alcohol she consumed. Wine—she needed more. Interestingly enough, her mind had been one step ahead of her; she had somehow made it to the front of Manny’s Grocery.
She entered the store. Taking a basket, she made her down the aisles to get to wine section. She thought back to the women she hadn’t previously given notice to: the weird woman on the sidewalk and the annoying twit on the elevator; even they had some path that they were drifting along, no matter how insignificant. She stood in the aisle, staring at the glass bottles that would be her sweet aid. Some woman was muttering next to her, she was also staring. She appreciated this woman’s taste, but it was rude to stare, even if it was at Nicole. She left the aisle, and bought her wine. Number one task out of the way, she headed to the coffee shop.
Sun high in the sky, she entered the shop.
Oh dear. Molina was in the convenience store talking to Dillain. The ding of the bell signaled her entrance, and they both looked up. Molina made a smart comment, followed by another. Nicole ignored her and went to the back room. She set her bag down and changed. Dark jeans and red blouse on, she returned to the front. Dillain had left, which only left Molina. How she was not in the mood…
“So?” Molina questioned, hand on hip, impatience in her voice.
“I wasn’t in my apartment, obviously. How can I help you?” Nicole retorted with equal attitude.
“Jus’ wanted to check on ya, hadn’t heard from you in a long time.” Her lack of speaking skills always infuriated her, other than that, Molina wasn’t so bad. Nicole even enjoyed her company some of the time, she’d been a good friend before she left.
“I’ll try to answer my phone next time, or bring my cell phone with me; whichever.” Effectively assured, Molina left.
And so work began.
Dillain entered the shop at 12 a.m., right on time.
“I’ll see you later,” Nicole said as she flew past him in her hurry to leave. She’d bee so eager to leave she’d almost hit him on her way out. She loved and hated Sketch Coffee. Taking ownership from her uncle had been easy enough, but as far as she knew, her uncle got the better end of the deal. Walking back to her building, home, she considered the people who’d come in. A woman, young, pretty brown hair, poor. Taking out change like an imbecile to pay for her coffee, which had been difficult to “make” in and of itself. A man who’d bust in the store, unwashed. She knew that these people stayed in her building, but that didn’t make them any more appealing to talk to, however convenient it might be.
When she stepped off the elevator on the 11th floor, she noticed a strange and eaciated character jiggling the door knob of my apartment.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Well obviously I am trying to break into your apartment. It's much more difficult than it looks, I usually have someone else do this. Regardless, there is no point in continuing, I shall take my leave."
She'd of kicked his ass, but she had she more pressing matters to deal with; however, she wouldn't forget this encounter--or this insect. She watched him walk away and push the button of the elevator. She memorized his statue and appearance--she stored it in her memory for later. She entered the apartment. She breathed a huge sigh as she threw herself on the couch. Her dress and drinks were in the bag, but she’d get them later. With nothing to occupy her mind, she considered the problem that lay ahead and behind her. Something needed to be done about something, she just didn’t know what. She raised up and placed her arms on her knees, head in her hands. The unknown task harassed her thoughts until impatience flowed into her limbs. She had to get out.
She switched from jeans to her short, pleated, black skirt. She grabbed boots from her closet—red. The cold wouldn’t bother her after a few drinks, so she left her jacket and left the troubling apartment.
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(this happens at a later date)
Brone Barnheart Apt. 223
I woke up late. It was raining. “Another day in paradise.” I rolled out of bed, grabbed my beige trench coat, and lurched out of the door. Out on the sidewalk, the rain patted my hair like fingertips. I had nowhere to go so I let my feet decide. I took a left, passing the little taxidermy stand where the elusive buzzard lives. Victoria cracked a smile,
“Hey Mister, want to buy a rat? It’s good for a scare.” She held up a little black ball, complete with tail and whiskers. I grinned back,
“Sorry, this time I’m sober.” My feet walked on. My eyes unfocused and glazed over all of the grey in my view. Then a strip of red caught my attention. There next to the gutter, soaked, was a dainty red scarf. I looked at my watch as if I had something better to do than go pick it up. As I lifted it, I noticed it was complete with tire marks. Looking around to see if anyone was taking not of my peculiar behavior, I saw a laundry mat. “What are the odds.” I took the scarf in, holding it by one end, away from me. The laundry mat manager lifted an eyebrow. I just blankly stared back; this was definitely not the strangest thing he’s seen. As it was washing, I slouched down, put my feet in another chair and lit a cigarette. The manager cleared his throat and pointed at a no smoking sign. I kept puffing. Two cigarettes later, the scarf was out of the dryer. I carefully rolled it up and placed it in my inner suit pocket. As I was leaving I herd “asshole,” under the manager’s breath. I was tempted to show him the wonders of a window punch, but my feet had already guided me away. Back, past the little stand.
“Are you sure?” Victoria said.
“Get me after I leave the bar,” I said without stopping. Huh…the bar it is then. I took a slightly quicker pace with a destination in mind. At the door to the bar, I paused. In the refection I saw the woman in red. Except it was a red shirt, not a dress. Hand propping her head up, she had a look of absolute boredom. This time, there was no work to do. I turned around and put my hands in my pockets. Ding ding ding, she glanced at me, but did not move. Her expression gave away nothing, I like a challenge. I wiped my feet and hung my dripping trench coat on a hanger, careful not to make more work for her.
“Hey, I’d like a coffee, black.” I said.
“What size,” she responded automatically.
“Medium,” she finally got up and started getting the coffee. As she turned away to get the cup, I admired her figure. She had perfect curves and the right proportions in all the right places…Looks like I was going to find out the hard was why she lived here.
“That’ll be 2.50,” she said. Again rehearsed, this was going to take some time. As I gave her three bucks I said,
“Want a scarf?” She looked right at me and her eyes gave away nothing. It looked like she was capable of anything, “daunting” I thought. She handed back two quarters and I tossed them in the tip jar. I took out the scarf out and put it on the counter, snagged my coffee and put on my trench coat at the door.
“Thanks,” she said apathetically. I walked out into the crying world without looking back. “A challenge alright.”
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