*********
From behind the foggy windshield sits Brenda with her extreme, blackcherry red hair; goth-guyliner; dragonsblood-red lips, and rave, ghost-white, melt in the sun complexion —and the attitude and expression of one not looking forward to a miserable Monday at the shop….. she drives a sedan, of a faded primer shade of terra cotta, with a replacement door of another primer shade of some nondescript off gray/white and, the car motor is noisy and seems in desperate need of a mechanic.
she looks up at clumps of gray slush on the windshield that move across and freeze as the wipers slowly start to become frozen along their semi circle journey across …. the windshield
She stops at the stoplight. Now notices the wipers are stuck
“Fuck….” opens the car door and gets out to unstick the wipers
She bends over the car hood; she wears black rubber jeans with side zips that go from ankle to crotch (store merchandise —as it is necessary to wear what you sell)
someone whistles from a car window,
“nice ass!” one of them shouts from the car, “….see ya later, Brenda!”
She makes a face but her back is turned and mumbles,
“yeah, whatever, fuck you….” under her breath, “fucking stalker….”and without looking, flips the finger
Then pulls the wiper with a yank. gets back in. gets as far as the next corner
“It’s less than five minutes to the shop!! Why the fucking fuck are there five fuckin’ million fuckin’ red lights!!!” she shouts this at the top of her lungs but the windows are closed and she’s blasting Paramour
her phone rings,
“I’m driving I can’t talk.”
Hysterical voice starts yelling at her,
“You mean you’re not even at the shop yet?!!!”
“Listen, this is a favor!—it wasn’t me calling up and asking to come back to the shop!—a’ight?—you said you were fucking desperate so don’t—“
“Ok, ok—shit, the fucking store alarm is going off and the cops are calling, y’know?”
“Ok, great—fuck!” her phone flies out of her hand as she avoids running over a squirrel…. the phone lands somewhere in that nebulous dark side of the moon of her back seat.
and she can still hear the voice on the phone shouting from somewhere within that
“It’s a wicked gray miserable day in Detroit….” says the voice on the radio
“Yeah, no kidding,” she shuts the car off and at the same time the radio voice dies away as she jumps out having parked in the small lot in front of the shop
The voice is still shouting at her from the back of the car
she searches under empty used paper coffee cups from the last several light years of her life mixed with a stockpile of mad debris she has been meaning to sort ….
“….yeah, I’m here—it’s fine! No cops! Cheerio, later,” throws her phone in her rubber bag
Grabbing her fresh cup of coffee now from the cup hold, she slams the car door shut as a gust of wet windy sleet hits her in the face and blows open her black fake fur trimmed black rubber motorcycle jacket, and in an audible whimper from the cold, she wraps closed the jacket and runs across the street to the shop.
“Noir Rubber” the letters written in lavender neon lights that go across the store front window. In the main window are displays of the most recent rubber merchandise and fashion, mixed in with artisan sidelines such as a huge, explosive profusion of phallic balloons; some that lost their helium and now litter on the platform below alongside an attractive display of soft, plush boob and ball toys and pillows
Only she is not really standing there admiring her masterpiece work of a window display as she is now covering her ears outside the store window, by the door as the alarm is going off and she is desperately trying to get it to stop
“Shit-shit-shit!” she says pressing the alarm code numbers Jennifer gave her —but it does not seem to like her code, “why won’t you shut-the-fuck-up?!”
From behind her a finger appears and magically shuts it off
“Oh….” Brenda turns around
a tall …. blond
stands there
Blond, that is, in that blond bombshell kind of way; perfect Noir make up down to the deep red lipstick. Noticeably quite broad shouldered and strikingly appearing to be over six feet tall with those heels …. Brenda momentarily stares ….wearing a fuzzy black boa with a houndstooth print trench coat over hot pink tights and zip up black go-go boots and slinging an apartment sized snake print shoulder bag
“Brenda?” extending one—very large—hand
“Uh—“ Brenda, still staring as she is caught in the perfection of the application of cosmetics…. but then it is the eyes she gets caught up in
“We spoke yesterday,” the sexy mysterious blond says in a very deep, but unnervingly sexy, husky, voice as to remind her
“DT!” Brenda remembers
“Yes!” and smiling as Brenda accepts to shake hands
“I’m sorry, what is DT short for?”
“Ah—uh—Greta….”
“Ok. Right—Greta—“ she turns to unlock the door, “so how did you do that alarm thing?”
“Oh—“ shrugs it off as they walk into the darkened and still closed shop, “a trick from a previous job….” Greta looks around at the store as they walk to the wall where the light switches are
“Did Jen tell you I was starting today?”
“Um—no, but she isn’t great with little things like —details,” Brenda switches on lights and explains, “they all flip on in the morning then off at night.”
The shop phone starts to ring,
“Oh, one sec, let me get that—“ Brenda puts her coffee down to answer the phone
Greta takes a moment to look around at things, walking through the sections. It is when Brenda looks up and hears from behind a mannequin,
“DeepThroat…. just got here….”
Brenda puts down the phone and walks around
Greta smiles looking up from putting away phone,
“I uh—set up Siri to call Pouchie…. they can be so needy!”
“Pouchie?”
“My baby….oh, where should I put my….” Greta slips off the trench coat and shoulder bag
“This way, let me show you,” Brenda shows the way to the lockers that are that unique shade of bubblegum pink
Greta puts away the shoulder bag and turns, shutting the locker,
“and this?” Greta holds the trench coat to stand before Brenda in a Lycra skin-tight long sleeved little black dress that clings to every body part
it is in this moment that Brenda knows a moment of surprise as Greta leans, draping a long arm up the wall of lockers and leaning a slim hip as Greta looks deeply into Brenda’s eyes
“Oh ….” hesitates as she seems to forget what Greta just asked but then remembers, “you can hang it up over here—“ Brenda points to the line of coat hooks that are above the desk area where the safe and book keeping is kept by the time clock
and—well, it is hard to say exactly what next occurred as in this sudden moment Brenda moved to turn —and show where…. but —the nearness of Greta was suddenly much closer than expected as Brenda brushes past—and so, it’s because Brenda’s rubber belt loop on her rubber jeans gets caught on Greta’s oversized statement ring and for a moment they are stuck together with this awkward contact and, of course, too—the surprise of pressure in places where parts pressed create some unexpected reactions
But no time for either to remark, if they dared as —just then the bell from the front door announced the first customer
“Hellooooo???” the customer calls out from the other part of the shop
“I suppose we better get that….” Greta says suggestively
*****
this is manic madness comedy relief not genius—
And as it’s an experiment with ‘noirotica’ I’ll take opinions on if it’s preferred this way or is it better as “my diary?” —first person narrative? I can rewrite this that way —from the ditch, you know (with my Smith and Wesson)
2 comments:
Of course, I wait for more
I found the prose nice this way too. As an experiment I'm very interested to see what you create.
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