a # 2
I climbed into the car in my heels, skirt, (jazzy) blazer, realizing at once the extent of my overdressiness as Sheilly, her uppity rich blonde girl friend and my soon-to-be nemeses Nic. The Russian. Well, the other Russian. The 1st Russian was in the driver's seat of the black Mercedes truck.
Sheilly told me to ditch the jacket with the layer of frilly fabric that attached at the bottom on the back. I ditched the fabric only.
"Atlantic City, are you ready for us?" I thought, smiling inwardly. Sheilly reversed the car, navigated to the highway and we were on our way to what I thought would be the New Jersey equivalent of Las vegas. Trust New Jersey to morph the classic getaway that is "Sin City" into a trashy fucking boardwalk bordering a smoking pathetic version of a world class casino (were there even cocktail waitresses with free drinks? does it even matter? what was the point?)
After arriving, parking two miles away, and milling through the Atlantic City "highlights" for going on three hours, my feet were aching in a horrific way as I jealously envied the footwear on the other three. It wasn't my fault I hadn't dressed for the occasion. I was told to wear something similar to what I'd worn to our girls-night out the night before. When we'd drunken in the classic New York bar hop for the classy and upwardly mobile.
Whoa...let me back it up...I'd almost forgotten the point of my little story here.
Nic (Nick?).
The biggest fucking asshole fucktard tool on the face of this planet at this point in world history, civilization.
As soon as I'd shut the door of Sheilly's Mercedes when I first got in the car, Nic and I collided head-on. He was the biggest d*ck I've ever been screwed into meeting (NJ Nic, not Cali nick, mind you those two are polar opposites. club soda and papaya juice.
I felt an immense hatred for him growing within me before we'd exchanged five words. From his reaction to me, I knew the feeling was achingly mutual. We disagreed the entire time. The blonde girl and Sheilly swore up and down that everyone who met Nic loved him and I replied [sorta] -yo what the fuck, me too- (no, i didn't say it really, but i did explain that I knew what they meant about a personality that everyone instantly beause i am {?} one.
Yet the game of player hating ping pong continued between me and the poor Russian excuse for a (hot) man (doesn't Russia breed noble men? Where had they gone wrong with this one?)
Fast forward.
I paced the crowded hallway of the little retail/restaurant sector of Atlantic City. Peeking glances at the darkened entrance to the dimly-lit Russian restaurant.
Nic chewed on a toothpick as he spoke laughing, while gesturing seriously and speaking in Russian to the Ruskie Matre D (owner? host?).
My eyes glowed red as I shot darts of (God, don't smite me) pure hatred in the cocky kid's direction.
* * *
...then Maria, whose cast would come off in six days, slowed the golf cart to a snail's pace as she navigated (again!) through the dark and eerily lighted golf course.
The naked man watched her from the shadows 'delicious,' he thought to himself.
Maria never saw it coming. Word was that the naked man preferred to feast on the teenagers that were out weekly for their whisky-fests.
But he liked what he saw that night
(tranquila!)
the curly-curly brown shiny hair. the red ribbon in her hair. the tiny diamonds twinkling in her ears ("the original path ceases to exist." - deja vu [the movie]). The slim calves. white tennis shoes. cutt-off blue jean shorts. white tank top.
"Amy!" she shouted softly..."Where are you!"
A sense of urgency made its way quickly through the room. papers rifled as the (other) twelve straightened up in their respective seats, gathered up their intel into neat piles, avoiding each other's eyes, feeling inner panic.
"damn, damn, damn!" Jeremy muttered.
- fade to black -
(hov)
10:06 p.m.
8.27.13
No comments:
Post a Comment