Ad-Hoc: Three
Steven
The balcony overlooked the small town of Emeryville. On the balcony, there was a large telescope with a small table was placed. I looked at the papers that had rocks in place to hold the paper down from flying off. It had all the constellations and arrangements of the stars, with calculations of their distances and other things that I didn’t understand. I looked up at the night sky where the stars shinned brightly.
I bent down to look into the telescope—black.
“Shit,” I muttered. “I guess you have to turn it on.”
“Then you should turn it on, try that button there,” pointed Steven.
“This one” I asked.
“Yeah—that button on the side.”
I pressed it—nothing. “Sorry Steven, not that one. How about this button?”
“Yeah, try that one,” he agreed.
“Shit, no—not that one,” I say.
“Try the red one on the left side,” said a woman’s voice. I quickly turned around to see Jackie leaning against the door’s side. She had a broad smile with a friendly shimmer in her eyes.
“Oh, yeah. Stupid Steven,” I muttered after and turned the telescope on.
“Try not to mess around with the other buttons—Dave will hate it,” she said pressing a few buttons on the telescope. “It’s expensive, and he doesn’t want the telescope to be moved, or he’ll lose his place.”
“Um, yeah,” I say. She was ignoring my habit. Why was she not weirded out by me? I talk to myself! Even when I try not to, I still do.
“All that stuff back there…all your guys’?” I asked tooling with the telescope as if I knew how to use it.
I she smiled and then stepped to the telescope. She tooled with it and then pressed a button that made a small beep. “Yeah, we all like to play around with that stuff—or James, Karen, and I at least. Dave just plays with his telescope.”
I nodded to her when she fixed the telescope and then bent down to peek thru the small pin hole. “So, I didn’t know that you could paint.”
“Anybody can paint, some people just better than others,” she said. “That star you’re looking at is Orion.”
“Orion..?” I asked stupidly. I was supposed to know this. But I never learned astronomy.
“Well, one of the stars in Orion’s constellations. That one in specific is Bellatrix, next to it is Alnitak,” she said. Hearing her talk made me feel so inferior all of a sudden. That wasn’t Jackie, not the Jackie I used to know at least. She looked more mature now—still goofy, but more beautiful. She still had that dark skin complexion and she didn’t where her glasses anymore. Her eyes were beautiful without them anyways. She was a bit taller than before—or maybe I just shrank over the years. She had a smooth nose and nice thin lips. Her face was framed by the short straight hair she had always wanted.
“Yeah, so…all those paintings—are they all yours or is it all Karen’s?” I asked starring at the bright stars. They were so small; it was amazing that a few billion light years closer, they would be so massive.
“Well, most of it is Karen’s. She paints as part of her living and sells most of the paintings off. She paints more than I do, but I’m still pretty good at it,” she says.
“Then the camera?” I asked pushing some random button.
Jackie stepped up and pushed it back, then pushed another button. “We all do that. Dave rarely takes pictures, but we make him model sometimes. We sell those pictures too.”
I tried to imagine that Dave guy to be modeling and then I quickly got the image out of my head. “Oh, so do guys make good money out of selling your pictures and paintings?”
“Well, sort of, Rob is the guy who buys most of them,” she said looking through all the papers from Dave. I wondered if she had actually knew what they were saying.
“Rob? Who is he? I keep hearing his name,” I say getting up from the telescope. I looked at the sky with my bare eyes now. It was much prettier that way.
“Oh, yeah,” she laughed. “You don’t know, huh? Well, he’s a pretty cool guy. Rich, pretty famous and loves art.” She gathered all of Dave’s pictures and stacked them up neatly. “Karen knew him before when she herself was in college. Rob was the one who helped her out with a lot of stuff. But he’s one of those art sellers and buyers, ‘art patrons’ as they’re called. He’s so rich that he owns houses like this and other nicer ones all over the U.S. He’s paying for half our rent.”
“Really..?” I asked surprised. I thought these guys were pretty well off.
She smiled and then placed a rock on top of the stack of neatly piled papers. If I were her, I would have thrown the papers off the balcony and let it fly off. “He loves art. And he knew exactly what Karen had to go through, and what we have to go through. He’s a cool guy.”
I looked at her for a while. She did live an easy life. It was so simple for her. All she did was go to school and go to work. She didn’t have to worry about house rent, food, what were those plans for then? Were they really that tight on money? “So, if you guy’s only have to pay half rent, then why are you guys so stingy on money?”
“We don’t have to pay half—this house is probably a million dollars. And what’s half of a million?” she asked with a semi-laugh and a bit of “we’re not that rich” face.
“Oh,” I say looking around the house. Maybe I shouldn’t have used too much soap.
“Rob knows it’s hard, but he’d only take so many discounts off. He knows a lot about being dependant and being a mama’s boy,” she said with a smile.
“Oh…” I say. I looked back out to the sky. They lived on the top of a mountain, in a house that costs a million dollars—it doesn’t look that nice now that I knew what the price was. It was just a normal family house, made with lots of space to spend time together. It was nice, but not that nice to cost a million. “A million..?”
She laughed, “Yeah, a million.”
I looked out to the garden—it was too dark to see. I would imagine an overgrown garden full of flowers with something that smelled like “water.” She would probably have a ton of daisies everywhere. Karen looked like a daisy person.
I heard the sound of waves crashing not too far away. “Is the ocean close to here?” I asked.
“Yeah, you can’t see it now, but it’s right over that hill,” said Jackie pointing out into the darkness. “It’s very beautiful in the morning and at sunset. There’s trail that leads right there.”
I tried to imagine the morning view of the ocean. The sunset thought can easily; it was a cliché picture, but the thought of watching the sunset in the morning? I tried to transfer the image into my head, but all I could come up with was an egg as the sun and a people standing around the shoreline. Obviously, with my pale skin, I hadn’t gone to the beach very often. (Picture to this: Morning By: Vladimir Kush)
I thought, as I laid down on the comfy couch of the living room, should I really be here?
“Do you believe in destiny?” asked Steven.
“No, not really,” I answered.
“Do you think it was destiny that brought you here? Why Jackie came to you at late night and took you back here? Back here, to this wonderfully comfy couch with odd blankets and pillows?” he asked thoughtfully.
I thought for a moment, starring at the white ceiling. “This is a nasty color for a room.” the room was painted a peachy nude color. Flowers were put at every corner where dust had clumped up. The house wasn’t as beautiful and gorgeous as I had thought it was before. Now it was just a very expensive house with terrible furniture and interior designing.
“It’s alright,” said Steven, this was the first time he had ever went against me.
“Why do you say that?” I asked him.
“Well, they’re letting you stay here for free, Steven. Shouldn’t you be happy?”
I sighed. “I don’t like it here. There’s an Indian who’s out to get me—he’s probably a terrorist, and a girl who is crazy and on pills, and another girl who’ll torture me with terrible memories.” I paused and then thought about it. “I think I’ll leave tomorrow,” I say.
“What?!” cried Steven. “Why? This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, Steven!”
I sighed. “I don’t belong here, Steven. They’ve changed. I don’t want to freeload off of them or else it’ll come with a price—blackmailing.”
“True…true…” he said agreeing with me.
“Tomorrow it is,” I declare.
“Tomorrow it is.”
Johnny
“Hey, Dave..?” I asked through the speaker.
“Mph, Johnny?” asked Dave tiredly. Maybe I called him too early in the morning? He sighed loudly like a dog and then said, “Yeah, what is it?”
“Yeah, I was wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink tonight,” I say fiddling with my pen.
Another sigh, “Tonight?” he asked. “Mmmh…drinks…you’re not going to hook me up or something. I hate it when you do that.”
I couldn’t help but smile, “No, man, just some brother-brother talk. We haven’t hung out in a while.”
He was silent for a moment. “Who’s with you?” he asked suspiciously. “You’re not setting me up are you? NO-MORE-PRANKS,” he declared rather than said.
I laughed and then rubbed my head, “Here’s the sad truth. I’m bored and I need someone to keep me company. I’ll buy the drinks.”
He was silent again. “You didn’t turn your sexual orientation did you?” he asked.
“What?!” I cried appalled. “No! Shit, man!” I knew this was a bad idea. “You know what, never mind. You can go live your dull life!”
I could imagine him smiling then, “What time, then?”
I sighed. “Six, maybe seven,” I say.
“Alright, six thirty. You buy the drinks and no women. I’ll see you tonight,” he said and then hung up as soon as he finished. I listened to the dial tone for at least a minute and then hung up myself. I looked around the modern made house and then sighed. It was quiet here. Why’s it so boring now?
Dave
I turned the hung up the phone and sighed loudly. I smacked the right wall of me and got up. I liked where my bed was placed. It was right between two walls where a window was drawn right above it. It was like a place made especially for a queen sized bed. It probably was, if not, then it was made for the lonely worker who would confide himself in the small corner and look out the window to the Emeryville hills.
I had an odd dream last night. It included Karen screaming as usual and Jack brining a hobo into the house. All I remembered was the feeling of jealousy and feeling left out of the group again. They were going over another one of their plans while I saw the hobo sitting on the couch.
Karen was always interrupting my dreams. I would just dream of a girl running in my class sessions at Stanford screaming of coconuts. It became a normal habit now.
I sighed and changed quickly into my normal house clothes.
A hobo. That was the only odd part of my dream. I don’t’ usually dream of hobos. Oh, well.
I opened the door- the door to the bewildering La Casa house.
“Dave!” screamed Karen from the kitchen. “Good morning!” I felt a sudden feeling of happiness hearing her good morning voice. She was always joyful and happy. It was a wonder where she got all the energy from.
“Good morning…” I muttered. I walked through the family room and into the kitchen/dining room. I stopped in my heels when I saw a man with long hair covering half his face. He crouched over the table drinking what seemed to be coffee. I stared at him for the longest moment trying to comprehend what was happening.
“Davey?” asked Karen.
“Who’s that?” I asked pointing to the man with black hair. His hair was pale white and he wore what seemed to be James’s clothes. A normal build in body and a pretty round face with a square frame. He was the weirdest man I had ever seen.
“Davey? That’s Steven! Remember?” she said tugging at my shirt sleeve.
Then the painful night came to my head. “Shit,” I say and then I turned back to my room.
“Dave?” called Jackie from the kitchen.
“Did I do something wrong? I took a bath today,” asked James stupidly.
“No! Get that hobo out of here!” I yelled.
Karen
I never really understood why Dave was always so mad. I had actually always envied him. He didn’t have to go through the troubles of parents. He had all that he wanted; it was easy to get things since his family in India was so rich. He was constantly sent money. He could get whatever he wanted. Unlike me, who was chained down and never given any privacy. Maybe my constant over concerned parents and his lost of caring parents was the reason why we were so different….
He’s really cute for an Indian guy.
Dave had a very nice build that seemed to come to him naturally. I had always imagined him to look something like Kartik from the book A Great and Terrible Beauty. But he had really dark skin and pitch black hair. His face was a strong structure, squared and stiff. He had long dark eye lashes and smooth clean skin. I had always admired his skin. How it always seemed so smooth and shinny rather than my pale dull skin. I had never seen him shirtless so I had imagined him with a four pack or possibly a six pack. Yeah…six pack….
“Why’s he always so mean?” I asked softly.
Jackie sighed, “He’ll get over it sooner or later.”
I looked over to Steven who was unmoved by the while scene. He was probably sad, on the inside. Everybody was always sad on the inside, “It’s alright Stevie! Dave will get around!”
“Mmm…” murmured James the monkey. He was always so funny. He didn’t have to say anything and he was already a born comedian. He had the looks of a chimpanzee—he was more close to the appearance than George Bush. But he’s changed in growth. His body has become stiffer, and more liable to getting fat. His body had squared up over the years and his face has turned more squarish. He still has that same dark skin and funny Asian eyes. But he looks a lot better with contacts on. He’s changed a lot over the years. I wonder why Cath likes him….
I envy the Guzman twins, they’re mixed and multi-racial. Usually the more mixed the more beautiful. Jackie looks…exotic and James you just can’t decipher. When you look at me, maybe you could see a bit of Asian complexions, but all you would see is white.
“What is it?” I asked him.
He starred into the coffee container, “it seems like we’re out of coffee….”
I watched him stare into the container for a minute and then said, “Let’s go to Costco! We can go and buy some clothes for Steven while we’re at it!”
“Yeah, let’s go to Old Navy, it should be cheap,” said Jackie. “I need a new blouse too.”
“Yeah…” I say with the scene forming in my head. I smiled happily and then returned to the stove where my hot chocolate was simmering. I looked over to James where he was still starring at the container of coffee. I took the container from his hands and looked at the nutrition contents.
“Hey!” he cried.
“This has a hundred calories!” I cried. “And we drank it all! Oh wait—you guys drank it all.”
“We should try the Forester brand then,” said Jackie taking the container from my hand.
“I think we should go back to the Emeryville coffees!” I say. “Peet’s!”
“Peet’s?” asked Steven.
“Yeah, that’s the coffee shop around here. It’s pretty big but it originated from here, Emeryville,” answered Jackie.
“Oh, is the coffee good?” he asked.
“Yup! The best in town—plus, they have scrumptious hot chocolate too!” I say with glee twirling around the kitchen.
“Really?” asked Steven.
I didn’t really like coffee—the putrid smell and the bitter taste. It was amazing that such a thing was so popular among people. But it was not just the taste and smell of the thing that bothered me most; it was the people who drank it. Yeah, Jackie is alright, Dave and James too. But it was those geeks who would sit in cafes and talk like arrogant assholes, with their stupid MacBooks and sipping their “Grande” decaf lattés. And how they dressed! All “nerdy” with bow ties and glasses that didn’t even had glass in them! There was a big difference between “preppy” and “nerdy.” It was those kinds of guys that pissed me off the most. Gay men are cool, but they do get off the edge sometimes. They do piss me off sometimes. And the word “Starbucks” pisses me off! Who would spend four bucks on coffee?! When you can buy a whole tub of coffee at Costco—that tastes better—and is much cheaper by two bucks! People piss me off sometimes….
“We should get more hot chocolate too,” I say.
“We have a whole lifetime’s supply of hot chocolate,” says James with a sigh. “We should get some more mocha instead.”
“What’s the difference between mocha and coffee?” I asked.
“I think mocha is sweeter…and it does have a funny name,” said James.
“Mph,” I say.
“Let’s go, we’re out of meat,” I say. I walked over to the kitchen counter and looked through the mail.
“Anything new today?” asked James. “Did I get my magazines?”
“Yeah, lots. But…is it tax week?” I asked looking at the Bank of America letter mail letter.
“Mmph, don’t think so,” said Jackie taking a sip of her coffee.
I organized all the mail into piles: Jackie’s pile, James’s pile, Dave’s Pile, and mine. And then I quickly slit open the bank letter. I quickly unfolded the paper and looked at the balance. “SHIT!” I screamed looking at the very number that I was most afraid of. “Shit! FUCK!” I screamed.
“What is it?!” cried Jackie grabbing the paper out of my hand. “What happened?” she asked.
“What?” said James.
“SHIT! SHIT!” I screamed.
“I don’t understand!” I cried to the bank accountant. “Why were all my interest rates tripled?”
“We’re sorry, but you had missed five months of payment. The policy states that if you do not pay within two months, the interest rates will be doubled,” she explained.
“That was four years ago!” I screamed in a semi whisper. I tried not to disturb the bank customers around. It was a quiet day.
“But that is the policy, and not only that, you missed four other months two years after, that makes seven months of missed payments.”
“I know my goddamn math!” I growled. This was the first time I have ever hated someone in a suit—just looking at the black lady made me want to puke. “Why didn’t you do this before?” I asked. “Why couldn’t tell me before—like a warning or something?!” I say demandingly.
She didn’t answer.
“GODDAMNIT!” I scream slamming the table. “It’s because I’m white isn’t it?! You black people think you own the world, huh?! Well you know what? Obama’s reign is over! GODDAMNIT! I ain’t religious but Mary Mother of Jesus, help me! You can go to hell!” I screamed and ran out the small cubicle-like room. I ran past my friends and out the door.
“Karen?!” called Jackie.
“I’m going out for a drink!” I scream.
Johnny
I sighed looking at the clock. It was still twelve. Damnit…I’ve been sitting here for three hours…I should find something to do, shouldn’t I?
I sighed and then took a stroll around the house. The house was made for three people, but only one person lived in it. It was a modern architecture with straight walls and slants constructing the building into a refined two million dollar house. It had open windows and would let the daylight reach in. I walked over to the living room where couches were set around a metal coffee table a large flat screen TV. I sighed and drank a sip of my beer. I looked out the window where it overlooked the Emeryville city.
“What should I do for another six hours…?” I asked myself. I took another chug of beer and then sighed. “Bottled beer sucks. George’s it is then.”
I walked in through the swinging door that opened to a fine bar. Most of it was a wood architecture making it look more authentic rather than those stupid martini bars in downtown San Francisco, with those techno lights and disco balls. I hate the color called “aqua green” and green itself. The walls were covered with old things ranging from pictures of men that were important in some way from the 1940’s, to old vintage lamps that still used gas to light them.
The bar was empty as usual. Amy was passing time wiping tables that had already been wiped. But there were only a few people there. Two businessmen escaping work life to enjoy a couple of beers and one lonely man probably rethinking his marriage. But there was only one thing wrong with the picture.
A girl was sitting at the bar chugging down beer mugs, squinting at the strong taste. She had light skin that seemed much nicer in the bar light, with big oriental looking eyes and long dark lashes and a small curvy pointed nose. Her light face was framed by a messily tied up bun of dark—almost black—hair that was slightly curled at their tips.
She was obviously stressed and possibly pissed off. George only stood drying mugs watching the poor girl chugging down the beers. Behind him was the usually racks of alchohol. Most of them were brand name beers like Bud-Lite, but then there was always something you never really hear about. Those were usually the best ones. When he saw me he only smiled and picked up another mug to dry. I walked over to the bar and sat two stools away from her.
“On tap, please,” I say. “…the regular.”
George picked up a mug and filled it with the foamy beer. “Here you go,” he said sliding the beer to me.
I caught it in time and drank the beer absorbing its heavy smell and strong taste.
The girl finished a mug. Three done, four counting the one she just finished. She sighed as she put the mug down on the bar table. “Fuck…” I heard her mutter under her breath.
I smiled—she really was pissed right now.
I looked at her; she wore a slick black pea coat with dark skinny jeans that slipped into boots with small heels upon them. I could see from underneath her peat coat, where the top two buttons were open, that she wore only a dark gray tank top underneath with a silver necklace with a possibly diamond pendant. She wore relatively dark clothes but it made her skin look even paler but still beautiful. She had very long eye lashes….
“Another,” she said pushing some of the glasses to make way for more mugs.
George went to work and filled another mug of beer. “Here, miss,” he said politely. Looking at George you would think a tough hard stingy bar tender, but he’s cool guy who gives discounts on mugs and gives some to you without cost. “Something go wrong?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said the girl with a laugh. She chugged down another beer.
What could go wrong with her? She looked pretty, pretty enough to be a model maybe—if her body was messed up (I couldn’t see her body shape thru the coat). She looked maybe something like an accountant, or something smart, something important. Maybe it was that? She had lost her job, wooed the wrong men? Maybe caught cheating—no then she’d be flying off somewhere else. Maybe it was her partner that was cheating. No…she looked too smart for that.
I looked at her again. She was almost finished with the beer. I forgot the rule, no starring at women.
She looked over to me in an odd and suspicious face.
I quickly turned away and gulped down a beer. Shit! Damnit! She must think I’m a freak!
She turned back and finished the rest of her beer. She sighed again. She probably did this after every beer.
“Hey George, get her the usual,” I said feeling a bit generous today. I had to pass time doing something; I had six hours to do nothing. Might as well talk to this girl….
“Excuse me?” she asked wondering why some random stranger would ever give her a free drink. George put the mug in front of her. She looked at the mug for the longest moment and then looked at me.
I smiled softly and only lifted my mug in a kind of “toast” way and sipped a bit of it.
“Thanks,” she said softly. But she didn’t chug it down so quickly now. She only took little sips—not as if she thought it was poisoned—but as if she was more well-mannered and upright now.
“That was very nice of you,” said George leaning on the bar with both arms crossed. He was a big grin on his face. “You don’t do that very often.”
“What?” I asked. “I do things like that. It’s called charity, something you do very often,” I say in my English accent.
He laughed, “The last time you gave me a ‘charity’ talk, you were talkin’ about giving hot women your money and your bought drinks.” I think one thing that George and I have in common is our accents. He had an English cockney accent. Something I can do as well. We liked to converse like that as friends in our homeland language sometimes.
I laughed, “Yes well, she’s different. She’s truly pissed, so she needs it.”
He chuckled, “Yes, she does.” He went back to drying his mugs. “You’re an odd bloke, you know that?”
I smiled and drank another beer.
Karen
I took a sip of the stranger’s beer. It was the house regular and tasted very different from all the other beers that I had gotten. Not that beer was all good itself. I hate beer. It’s just like coffee. Bad taste, bad smell. Alcohol itself can go to hell. But right now, it can remain in my head.
That man was nice. He gave me a free drink. Huh, funny. My loan interest tripled and now I’m wasting money on beer…how odd. I took another sip of the beer. So, this was people around here drank so commonly. This was a weird beer, who would drink this? I took another sip of the beer and then set it down on the bar counter to look at the bubbles.
I looked to the man who gave me the free beer. He looked nice—sort of. He had locks of dark blonde hair that had barely touched his ears. He was quite pale. Paler than me, though I was a bit tanned, I was extremely white growing up in school. But I should have been darker since I grew up in the southern L.A area. He had curving brows that reminded me of James McAvoy. But he had a clean face with light eyes—I couldn’t tell what color though. He was wearing the casual suit. Now I only wished Elis was here to judge him or not.
She loves men, and she grades them on a one-to-twenty scale rather than a one-to-ten scale. She judges men in suits, and this guy was in one, but I felt a bit better when he wasn’t wearing jeans with his suit, Elis found that very odd and hated it, so I don’t like it either. I followed Elis like a little sister, she’s one my major influences.
He drank his beer slowly talking with the bartender named George.
I had already liked George, he seemed friendly too and he had an English accent so that really made me favor him even more.
They conversed quietly so that I couldn’t hear. But the nice man was quite handsome. He looked like he could be on a magazine. One that Elis would read at least.
The George man laughed a bit loudly and then moved on to drying his mugs. Is that all bartenders have to do—dry mugs? Wow…maybe I should get a part time job as a bartender. I’m sure they get good pay. But the downside would be a bar shooting or a bar fight. And looking at my flimsy arms, I wouldn’t be able to stand that. One time Jackie and I were just playing along, she had bumped into me and I had flown three feet away. It was just a bump….
The nice man went back to drinking his beer. Now I think it was I that was staring at him. He was staring at me awkwardly before. He looked over to me with a kind smile. Ah! Maybe he was hitting on me?!
I quickly turned away and drank a big sip of beer. It was very odd…I hope he’s not a rapist.
I could feel a smile to the side of my ear, he was laughing at me probably. Even George man too, they were probably laughing at my curiosity, or my stupidity. Yeah, I deserved it.
Why were the banks so tight now?! Only nine months?! But that’s just the total! I have very good reasons for not being able to pay those months. The thing with art is that it takes time. Pixar accepted me after four months of repetitive applications being sent there. That’s how it worked and works now! And then when we first tried for a house, I couldn’t pay for the first payment. Life wasn’t as easy as most would expect. That’s why we have people like Rob.
I sighed, “To Bank of America, I hope you die in your own blood,” I thought to myself and drank the whole mug down. “Ganbei…,” I whispered to myself. It was Chinese, yes, I know a bit of Chinese myself; I am one third Chinese after all.
I felt eyes staring at me again. I looked over to the nice man where he had drunken half of his beer. He had both eyes on me—which is pretty obvious, it’d be impossible to have only one eye on a person—unless they’re a chameleon. He looked quickly away avoiding my eye contact again.
I smiled lightly and then looked back at the odd man. Why couldn’t people be like him—all nice and stuff? People should be like him and Rob—good people—very good people. I looked at the man again. And pretty people—people should look more like him—handsome. We need more of that in this word; then it wouldn’t be so ugly.
I looked at the empty glass, where the remaining bubbles and foam were at. God…beer is so sick. I can’t believe Boozeyman likes this stuff…. Strong and bitter…at least it wasn’t as terrible as Chinese wine or beer—now that’s some heavy stuff. I should try vodka sometime….
“Oh, sorry, would you like another beer?” asked the nice man.
“Ah…” I said without anything to say more. Was that legal—to ask for another beer? Would that make me a slut? No! I’m supposed to be a prostitute! That was part of the J.K.S Pact (Jackie-whore, Karen-prostitute, Stephanie-slut). “Erm…” I murmured.
“Its awright- it’s on me,” he said calling for George man to get another beer. “Thanks George.”
I was more amazed that he had an English accent than him getting me another beer. ENGLISH!!!! This would turn any girl’s attraction scale on high.
“Ah! No…no…you just got me one…I don’t need another,” I say timidly.
“No, no, It’s ‘awight, it’s on me,” he said with a generous smile. Cockney—definitely.
“No—it’s not that, it’s just that…well I don’t really like beer,” I say forgetting that I had drank about four of them.
“Oh, really?” he laughed.
“Mhm, I hate the taste,” I say.
“And you’ve drunken two!” he laughed.
“Well…” I say staring at the beer. “Beer disgusts me….”
“Girl you better get out of ‘ere or I’ll shoot myself!” said George man with a semi mad and joking face.
“I’m only willing to drink on tap, though,” I say.
George man laughed loudly, “That’s the only way to drink beer!”
He slid the beer mug to me and I caught just in time without making it spill to the side. “That’s the best wheat we ‘ave in ‘ere.”
I drank a big sip; this one was the same regular. Mmph, this one was a little better. It has a funky strong taste that seemed to amuse me. “Thank you,” I say politely.
He smiled, “Are you from ‘round ‘ere?” he asked.
I paused just listening to his accent and then answered quickly when I realized that I was looking like an idiot. “Um, yeah,” I say. “Just out for a drink!” I say with little enthusiasm.
“Really?” he asked. “Y’ look like someone from the big city.”
I smile a bit weakly, “Ha, no. I live a bit closer to the shore side. You? You’re not obviously from around here.”
He laughed, “No, obviously not. But I’ve lived ‘ere for ‘bout ten years. So, I’m no tourist ‘ere.”
I smiled, “Oh, really? Then you must know the place really well?” I asked a bit surprised. He’s been here longer than I have.
“I thought you were from ‘ere?”
“Oh, well, I moved here about four years ago,” I say taking another sip of the beer.
“Oh, then what do you do fer a living?”
“Erm, I’m an animator, I work at Pixar,” I say rubbing the cold beer. Mother’s probably right; I shouldn’t have gone into art. It’s a useless job. I would get nothing out of it. I’ve gotten an okay pay. I do what I love. But will it last for a lifetime?
“Really?” he laughed. He drank a sip of his beer.
“Then you?” I asked. Model maybe?
“I work at Rhineheart, that software company,” he answered.
Software? What? His beauty! Going to waste! “Oh—really?!” I say a bit too loudly, “Um—never mind,” I say quickly.
He laughed. “Y’ look pretty yourself. I’m surprised you’re not a model. They must use you as a model at Pixar. I’m sure Mister Lasseter would do that.”
I laughed, I could say: Oh! Mr. Nice Man, I’m flattered! But… that would mean that I’m just asking for it.
He laughed and drank another sip of his drink.
I tried to smile. “What about you? How high are you on the software company?” I asked.
He smiled and then took another sip. He’s either really high or really low in the company. “Not much to talk about in my place,” he said.
I smiled lightly. I wonder if he was in a rut too. If he had money problems like me. If I hadn’t gotten into art, then I would have been a teacher, or something having to do with history.
“So, then what’s with all the drinks? Yur man didn’t leave you. He’d be a bastard ta do that,” he said flattering me again.
I smiled. All the men I’ve ever been with were the ones I dumped. Kevin was the only man to ever go thru with it and make me feel bad. “Mmph—no, not that. Not that at all.”
“Oh,” he said noticing the sad look on my face.
I sighed and took another sip of the free beer. Free beer was nice. It’s funny how the world runs on money. It makes us go around, it charges the energy to make light, it makes my phone work, it lets me have a job, get to places, buy me what I want, it even gives me toilets and showers.
I looked back at the man. He must have some money to be able to pay for my two drinks. It wasn’t all that expensive here, but was a bit pricey….
I suddenly felt an urge to draw him. He was in the perfect posture and pose—he did look like a model after all. I picked up a paper from my pocket and then a pen from my other pocket—if there was one thing an artist always had, it would be a pencil and a paper—or in my case, a pen. I could draw with pen or not. Yes, I’m that perfect.
I first drew the lines. The bar counter, the height, eye line, body lines. He was in a crouch over the table thinking, running his fingers around the rim of the glass. Then I drew out the details, lightly getting the proportion and a bit of the hair. I was so used to drawing the skeletal structure, I ended up drawing out the foundations of his face and body. I could deal with that when I get home….
I got all his clothes down drawing out his legs and then the legs of the stool itself. I sketched a bit of the surrounds making sure that I would not forget. Usually I forgot what the surroundings looked like. I would end drawing an opposite surrounding so, my picture would go something like: based in a garden—drawn in a subway station.
I looked at the small piece of paper with the nice man on the stool of the bar. He was in a very thoughtful position concentrating hard on his own thoughts. This didn’t show the “nice” side of him, but rather a man thinking about his life in a bar with a half drunken mug of beer. This would go nice on an oil canvas. I started jotting down the surrounding colors. Tables—mahogany wood, stools—same, walls—wood (dark brown, maybe mahogany too).
I looked around the bar a little more. It was a nice bar. Old style and clean. It was all mostly wood with nice wood floors that reminded of ours at home. And the tables were all put down and set around the bar. It was probably called a pub too, or maybe a tavern. Since they were English, they probably called it a pub or a tavern. A small stage was set to the back of the room where a set of drums was placed on.
This place must look fun at night. A bit quiet in the morning too. Very few people were around now, one lady cleaning the tables. Working at a pub did seem nice….
I started sketching again—this time on the George man, and then one on the lady cleaning the tables, then one man sleeping in the back and another of a two business conversing over a couples bottles of beer. Then I drew a quick sketch on the beer mug itself. Up close to the where the bubbles floated, I didn’t go thru big detail, though the picture did come out looking like just bubbles—but it looked nice in my head. And that made me happy.
My phone rang giving a jump on my stool. I was happy that I was a very light weighted person—I could’ve broken the chair.
“Yeah?” I say into the speaker.
“Karen? Where are you?” cried Jackie.
“Oh, yeah,” I looked at the clock. I’ve been here for over two hours. “I’m coming.”
“Are you okay?” she asked worried.
“Y-Yeah, I’m fine…is everyone else alright? The accountant isn’t pressing charges against me is she?” I asked. I was talking in a bit of a whisper, afraid of disrupting the people in the pub.
“No, she’s not. She just wants you to come back and work things out. But you still have to pay your loans you know,” she said in a bit of a shaming voice. She was probably at the bank still.
“Yeah, okay,” I say. I was a bit surprised now that I wasn’t drunk. The collections of beers on the bar counter—did I really drink so much? Was I drunk? Maybe I have a hang-over right now, and I’m just dreaming this….
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I say shoving the papers into my pocket. “I’ll be at the house soon to pick up some of the bank papers. See you in…fifteen minutes at the bank. Bye.”
“Wait—,” was the last thing she was able to say before I hung up.
I quickly shoved my papers into my other pockets and dropped my pen along the way. I quickly grabbed it off the floor and then dug into my pockets for my wallet. I should seriously get a purse….
“Shit…” I muttered running run my tight pockets. “Damn jeans….”
“I’ll pay for it,” he said just as I pulled my wallet out.
“Oh. No! You don’t have to! You paid for two already, I couldn’t—”
He interrupted me, “It’s alright. I’m on the high level actually.”
“What?” I asked—a druggy? He was a drug addict. Is this why he was so nice? He was high so he felt so peace and lovingly?
“I’m on the high level of my company, I can pay for your drinks,” he said.
“Oh. Um, thanks. Thank you very much!” I say gratefully with a light and quick bow. “Thank you!” I cry running out the bar.
prev chapter
MySpace Bulletin
Facebook
Friendster
Orkut
Hi5
Wordsy
Add to Library
Bookmark Chapter
Email to Friends
Link 
