MiniNanoWriMo: ficlet 10
“Are you sure about this Karen?” he asked. “We’re about to enter a scene of such depravity and filth, your delicate sensibilities may not be quite ready to handle it.”
The brunette shrugged and smoothed out a few non-existent wrinkles on her designer blouse. “I appreciate your concern sweetie, but have you seen the place I go to work everyday? The conditions I’m forced to endure for hours at a time?”
Her friend nodded sympathetically. He had seen said conditions, and they were, in fact, ghastly. But he didn’t know how to tell his friend that this was much much worse.
“C’mon,” Karen laughed, fluffing her hair and adjusting her blouse to show off her ample bosom. “It’ll be fun. Just pretend you’re Dorothy, about to enter the dark woods.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “If I’m Dorothy, I guess that makes you the Tin man?”
“You think?”
“Of course, it’s obvious. You have no heart and you need to stay well lubricated to function!”
Karen nodded and giggled. “Oh Jack, you’re so funny.” She smacked his arm in jest. “And so right!”
“Okay,” he sighed, his hand on the handle of the front door. “Just follow my lead.”
“Alright,” she said.
“And, don’t insult anyone’s clothes.”
“Hmm,” she sniffed, her lips pursed.
“Don’t talk about money,” he warned.
“Uh huh.”
“For God’s sake, don’t make any direct eye-contact with anyone unless you’re prepared to have dirty sex in the washrooms with them.”
“Got it. Eye contact equals dirty sex.”
“I know, isn’t it hot?” He paused thoughtfully as Karen hung his every word. “If you slip up at any point and things get weird? You might want to mention you were married to a con. These types can relate to that.”
With that, the two friends took deep breaths and swung open the doors.
~@~
Karen stood silently in the middle of the barroom, head cocked to the side as she carefully observed her surroundings, as she listened to the sound of southern rock crackling over the P.A. She could smell sweat, leather, motor oil mixed with cheap booze, and body odor.
“Well?” Jack flapped his hand around the room with a flourish. “What do you think?”
She looked at the peanut shells on the floor, the dusty stained-glass lamp shades hanging over the ripped felt of the pool tables. With a sniff, she lifted d her $600 Jimmy Choo out of a puddle of something wet and sticky. She wrinkled her nose at the duct-taped patches on the cracked vinyl seat covers.
“Exactly what look was the designer going for in here?” she asked.
Jack shook his head slowly. “Karen, Karen, Karen. There was no designer involved in this. This is just what happens to places where the ugly people go.
“So, you’re telling me that this is simply the result of years of neglect and misuse?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“These poor people, they don’t even realize, do they?”
“Nope,” Jack said, pulling her to the bar. “They know the secret: It’s a lot easier to take after a drink or two.” He squeezed them into a space at the bar between a grizzled blonde who’d seen better days, dozing over her ‘Hurricane’, and a massive biker in full leathers.
“I’ll have a Bud,” Jack announced, “and she’ll have the - “ He turned to get Karen’s order and was shocked to discover that his friend was practically in the biker’s lap, giggling and fluttering her eyelashes.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
“Bubba here was just telling me all about riding his chopper,” she explained.
He yanked her away from Bubba with a smile. “You’ll have to finish talking about his chopper later,” he informed her. “Now, what do you want to drink?”
“Let me think,” she smiled. “Since I’m probably the classiest broad as this place has ever seen, I’ll have the classiest red-neck drink I can think of.” She slapped her tiny manicured hand on the bar to get the barman’s attention. “I’ll take a Wild Turkey. Neat.”
The bartender gave her an odd look and gave them their drinks. Jack paid, and then lead Karen to an empty booth along the wall.
“This is so fun,” Karen laughed, sipping at her bourbon. “We should slum it more often.”
“I know,” Jack agreed. “Don’t you feel kind of like Faye Dunaway in Barfly? The last bastion of glamour in the seedy world of alcoholism? Seeking out the one man who needs the love of a woman to help him direct his untapped talent as poet?”
Karen glanced around the room with a nod, checking out the male patrons. Many were old and broken, sagging under the years of alcohol and hard labour. Others were middle-aged blue-collar types, truckers and construction workers, factory types, drinking away the tensions of the day before they head home to their unhappy marriages and empty apartments.
“They need to remake that movie,” Jack continued. “Seriously, I mean, Mickey Rourke is just not at the level of hotness that he once was in the 9 ½ weeks or Wild Orchids era. It’s embarrassing.”
Karen would normally have agreed, but at that moment, she was too busy ogling the pert backside of a young man bent over a pool table. When he finally stood tall, she couldn’t help but notice how his broad shoulders tapered into a slim waist and rounded butt. The shirttails of his flannel did nothing to highlight his sweet tush, but she could tell from his stance that he was packing upfront.
“Honey, you’re drooling!” Jack squealed, shoving a napkin at her. “Where are we looking?” he demanded, trying to determine which customer had caught her attention.
“Ngsdhk,” she muttered, pointing at an attractive man with dark-blonde hair who appeared to be winning handily at pool.
“I’d say we’ve found our brooding Henry Chinaski to your Wanda,” he trilled.
“I’ll say,” she remarked, gulping down the rest of her drink. “I ‘wanda’ if he’d like to show me his ‘chinaski’?”
“Down girl,” he cried, holding her back in her seat. “You gotta play this cool. Let him think he’s the one in control.”
“Honey, he can control me for as long as he wants,” she practically panted, squirming in place.
“Stop this wanton behaviour right now,” he commanded. “We might be slumming, but you’re better than this. Now, calmly, show me how you work this scenario.”
Karen pulled at the neck and shoulders of her blouse, exposing more of her creamy, pale breast. She rose from the table, clasping her empty glass in her hand. With a last wink at Jack, she proceeded to stroll across the floor, her hips swaying seductively.
“Hey,” she called softly, as she approached the table. The man she was ogling turned, his features quickly settling into a welcoming leer. His companion, an even taller man (who was not bad looking himself), was also entranced by her approach.
She placed her palm on his muscular chest, forcing him back so he bumped into the table. Closing the gap between them, she gestured with her empty glass. “I’m so thirsty,” she informed him in her most sultry voice. She traced her other hand down his chest, over the waistband of his jeans, stopping only once her hand was hovering over his crotch. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a drink around here…?”
“That’s easy sweetheart. First, you tell me your name.”
“Karen.”
“Well Karen, that’s a beautiful name. I’m Dean.”
“Hi Dean,” she smiled coyly at him.
“Now, why don’t you tell me what you’re drinking this evening, Karen.”
“Double bourbon, neat.”
“I love a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it,” Dean smiled; it was neither a leer nor a smirk, but some bizarre combination of the two. It shouldn’t look as charming and guileless as it does. Neither of them noticed that Dean’s companion, Sam, watched the exchange, his expression torn between fear, awe and disgust. Karen felt the temperature in her nether regions rise by about 10 degrees.
“So you’re going to help me with my little problem Dean?” she asked, pressing her bosom against his chest.
He licked his lips, giving her a smooth glance. “I think I can definitely help you out,” Dean answered. He turned his head, casting a glance at Sam. “Sammy, you heard her. Go get the lady a drink.” Sam narrowed his eyes, glaring daggers at his brother.
When Sam failed to react, Dean shot him an even sharper look. “Is there some sort of problem there Sammy?”
“No Dean-o,” Sam replied haughtily, and stomped to the bar to get the woman her drink.
Sam took a good long look at the woman. She was older, in that way that was difficult to determine. She could have been thirty, or fifty; no one but her surgeon would know. She looked like the mothers he’d met when he was introduced to so many of his Stanford classmates parents. Dean didn’t seem bothered by the idea that she was old enough to be his mother. Not that he could honestly say he was surprised by that.
“Unbelievable,” Sam muttered.
Jack, who’d been watching from the sidelines, joined him at the bar, smiling enthusiastically. “Its pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Jack commented.
“Hmm?” Sam asked, taking in the scrawny man beside him.
“How quickly she does it. She just says hello and BAM! It’s a done deal,” Jack laughed. “If only we could all have such luck. I think it’s the boobs,” he concluded thoughtfully.
“Huh?”
“Boobs? Breasts, sometimes referred to as melons, or my personal favourite,” Jack elaborated, making breast-shaped mounds over his chest with his hands. “Gazongas! Doesn’t that just sound like some sort of crazy instrument or something? Gazongas!”
“Yeah, I know what breasts are, I’m sorry, I’m a little slow tonight. It just took me a second to get that you’re here with her,” Sam said, finally making a connection between the stranger talking to him and the woman who was currently rubbing herself against his brother’s crotch.
“Yep, the dutiful gay best friend of the cougar totally mauling your friend,” Jack explained. “I’m Jack,” he said, holding out his hand.
Sam shook his hand and introduced himself. “I’m Sam, and that’s my brother Dean.” He got the bartender’s attention and ordered a round of drinks for all of them.
They delivered the drinks to Dean and Karen, then decided to pass the time by playing a few games of pool.
At one point, Karen let go of Dean and went to “powder her nose.” Not long after, Dean also disappeared. Jack and Sam both rolled their eyes knowingly.
Some time later, they reappeared, looking dishevelled and rosy cheeked. Dean’s hair was a mess, his flannel over shirt was unbuttoned, and there was a smear of lipstick on his jaw. Karen’s blouse was buttoned incorrectly, it was un-tucked at the back, and her hair had fallen out of its sleek up do.
~@~
“I love rich broads,” Dean announced as he drove them back to their motel. “They always smell so good and have really sexy underwear.”
“That’s kind of classist, don’t you think?” Sam snorted.
“Nah,” Dean laughed. “It’s no different than when they hit on their pool boy or the gardener, or the mechanic. They love to get down and dirty with the blue collar studs.”
“Right,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.
“It’s like they get off on giving orders or something,” Dean chuckled.
“That not true,” Sam insisted. “I’ve dated a few women from wealthy families, and they were nothing like that.”
“The rich bitches you dated at Stanford are still too young for what I’m talking ‘bout. They’re just a bunch of spoiled princesses who think it’s wild to have sex in Daddy’s car. They love to date guys like me because it drives their Daddy crazy,” Dean explained. “But once they’re older, and know what they want, they still want guys like me because their corporate-lawyer husbands are too busy with work and ignore ‘em. They’re so desperate for the attention, and they’re wildcats in bed.”
“Too much information Dean,” Sam wrinkled his nose in distaste. “And by the way, not all lawyers are like that.”
Dean smiled, happy that he’d managed to rile up his little brother. “I’m telling you Sammy, while you’ve been playing Mr. Monk, I’ve been sampling the goods, and trust me; wealthy older women are the way to go.”
~@~
“So, I’m dying of suspense over here,” Jack exclaimed. “I want details.”
“A lady never tells, Jack.”
“I’ll remember that next time I meet a lady,” he snorted. “Give it up.”
“Well, you were right. Direct eye-contact definitely leads to dirty washroom sex,” she giggled.
“How was it?”
“Mmm,” she moaned happily.
“That good huh?”
“Uh huh.”
“Did he?”
“Oh yeah.”
“And…?”
“Yup.”
“But did he….?”
Karen leaned forward with a mischievous smile. “Twice.”
“Wow,” Jack said, looking impressed. “I’m so jealous. Too bad his brother had to be straight. All the cute ones are.”
“I know it seems that way sometimes honey,” Karen sighed unapologetically, then re-applied her lipstick. “But it isn’t.
“It isn’t?” Jack asked.
She smiled at him, shaking her head as she tucked the tube of lipstick back in her purse. “Of course not Jack, it just seems that way when you’re out with me.” She adjusted her blouse and nodded. “I can’t help it,” she shrugs. “It’s the boobs.”
~30~
Character from a TV Show: Dean was being mauled by Karen Walker, while Sam conversed with Jack McFarland, as played by Megan Mullally and Sean Hayes on the pro-boy luvin’ show, “Will & Grace.”
Word count: 2243