Chapter 4
4.
After an exhausting day of critizing, crumpling papers, printing sources and researching, Roz dressed quickly for her night out with Payton. The plan was simple. Flirt your head off and dance the night away in the newest and most popular Los Angeles club, Static.
Looking at herself thoughtfully in the full length mirror of the bedroom, Roz experimented with several different tops. She was fairly fit due to the fact that she disciplined herself into doing 200 situps a night in broken sets to stay in shape. Once in a while she would run around the block, but work was hindering that practice. On top of it all, her metabolism was frighteningly fast, so she was able to enjoy the fried foods, even if they did clog her arteries.
Slipping a black top over her head which slid silkily down over her chest, leaving an extremely low-cut V, she frowned and whipped it off. To flirt didn't necessarily require Payton's provocative style. Finding a dressy, deep blue tanktop with mini-rhinestones across the top, she grinned and matched with a pair of blue jeans and classy heels. Complete in her lady-like style and feeling fresh and ready for action, Roz snatched up her purse and made her way to the door as the clock blinked 9:00. Andy sat in front of the doorway, looking up at her anxiously with his eyes, wagging his tail slightly. Since the morning, she had felt very uneasy about him, so she simply patted him once and excused herself by walking briskly out the door.
Calling a taxi immediately, (noticing the disturbing elevator eyes in the rear view mirror), Roz leaned into the backseat, closed her eyes and waited until the cab pulled up with a jolt to the nightclub. The music thundered like angry Gods from the inside, and people thronged about loudly near the entrance. Some smoked, others had carried their drinks outside. One girl was crying quietly on the curb, her head in her knees. Roz knew how she felt.
Static was anything but an old-fashioned, classic jazz club. Strobe lights, twisting tubes of neon, faintly glowing lamps and twirling mobiles of exotic, extreme colors helped to light the dim interior. Couples danced like pairs of gorgeous sea life, spinning about eachother in an ocean of moving color and liquid. Waves of dancers undulated to the beat of speakers which were set too high, the decibals of sound bouncing around the painted walls. A set of tables near the bar composed the only area around which wasn't confused by the shifting lights, and plagued with the bass of the massive speakers, and it was there that Roz spotted Payton downing a strawberry dacquerie.
"Hey, girl!" called the journalist's best friend, waving frantically from the back table. Roz rolled her eyes. Payton was probably already half drunk.
Smiling, beaming in her stunning, dazzling, pearly-white way, Payton adjusted her low-cut red halter top and took another sip from the drink. Long, elegant, dark curls cascaded down her shoulders and dark, wild eyes looked out from under lashes coated with ebony mascara.
Roz had always been jealous of Payton's ethereal beauty, and the way that the men flocked to her, drawn in by her charm, her charisma and most of all, her body.
Taking her seat quickly, Roz snatched the strawberry concoction for a bit of cool relief from the stagnant heat of the room. Raising her voice over the rumble of the music, she spoke.
"Payton, I need to meet a guy tonight, and you're the one to help me."
When Roz had met Payton for the first time, she had thought her to be just another airhead youth, drunk off of sex, alcohol and freedom. A preppy, cheerleader-ish attitude, a risque dress, and a flirty air, she didn't seem to have anything in commmon, didn't seem to have one intellectual bone in her body. In place of those bones and intelliagent blood would be the nightowl blood of the partier, and flexible bones of the dancer. However, this was definately not the case. Payton was amazingly bright, although she chose not to show her geeky side around Static. It was only revealed to her "serious ones," (as she called them), the boys whom she truly loved. Deep down, Payton was everything Roz strove to be. Confident, sexy, and smart, uncaring enough to truly enjoy herself, loose on most standards, rough on herself and very concerned with whether she was enjoying her life.
"No problem, Roz. You know I can find you a good one. See that one over there, for instance?"
Payton pointed coily to a light-haired boy leaning against the bar, watching the dancers.
"Yeah?"
"Well, he checked you out when you came to sit down. I was eyeing him all night, and you were the first person he turned to look at."
"Yeah, okay."
"No! Really Roz, he's cute isn't he?"
"He reminds me too much of-"
"Enough with the X's. You're going to dance tonight and that's final."
"That's final, huh?"
"Yup. And you're going to dance with him."
Saying this, Payton grabbed her by the hand and began to bodily drag her across the room to the bar, where the man turned slowly to meet them with a perplexed expression. His eyes were dazzling, sparkling with an inner kindness, and he wore a cotton buttondown which brought out their color wonderfully. His hair was fashionably spiked and his face was simply breathtaking. Roz smiled sheepishly on approach and tried to pull away.
"Hey there, bud. My friend wanted to say hi," cooed Payton, smiling slowly, a stunning seductress.
"No, I just got here, I was just getting a drink," whispered Roz, trying to look modest and not throw herself on him.
"Don't be so modest, Roz," smirked the other, reading her mind. "Don't pass up a cutie."
"Oh, thank you!" laughed the man suddenly, in a strangely high pitch, running one hand through his hair. Suddenly, on the side of him, a man turned and craned his neck around to gaze upon the two girls.
"What's going on, Robert? Who are you're friends?"
"Two charming girls. Sweety, I love your top," Robert praised, leaning back against his partner and grinning broadly. "It's beautiful."
"Th-thanks," muttered Roz, stepping back. "Now, as I was saying, Payton...about that drink I was coming up here to get?"
Blushing fiercly, Payton leaned over to the bartender and ordered a selection.
"You know, I can't be right ALL the time..." she shrugged. "...And anyway, why is it that the hot ones are always gay?!"
After an exhausting day of critizing, crumpling papers, printing sources and researching, Roz dressed quickly for her night out with Payton. The plan was simple. Flirt your head off and dance the night away in the newest and most popular Los Angeles club, Static.
Looking at herself thoughtfully in the full length mirror of the bedroom, Roz experimented with several different tops. She was fairly fit due to the fact that she disciplined herself into doing 200 situps a night in broken sets to stay in shape. Once in a while she would run around the block, but work was hindering that practice. On top of it all, her metabolism was frighteningly fast, so she was able to enjoy the fried foods, even if they did clog her arteries.
Slipping a black top over her head which slid silkily down over her chest, leaving an extremely low-cut V, she frowned and whipped it off. To flirt didn't necessarily require Payton's provocative style. Finding a dressy, deep blue tanktop with mini-rhinestones across the top, she grinned and matched with a pair of blue jeans and classy heels. Complete in her lady-like style and feeling fresh and ready for action, Roz snatched up her purse and made her way to the door as the clock blinked 9:00. Andy sat in front of the doorway, looking up at her anxiously with his eyes, wagging his tail slightly. Since the morning, she had felt very uneasy about him, so she simply patted him once and excused herself by walking briskly out the door.
Calling a taxi immediately, (noticing the disturbing elevator eyes in the rear view mirror), Roz leaned into the backseat, closed her eyes and waited until the cab pulled up with a jolt to the nightclub. The music thundered like angry Gods from the inside, and people thronged about loudly near the entrance. Some smoked, others had carried their drinks outside. One girl was crying quietly on the curb, her head in her knees. Roz knew how she felt.
Static was anything but an old-fashioned, classic jazz club. Strobe lights, twisting tubes of neon, faintly glowing lamps and twirling mobiles of exotic, extreme colors helped to light the dim interior. Couples danced like pairs of gorgeous sea life, spinning about eachother in an ocean of moving color and liquid. Waves of dancers undulated to the beat of speakers which were set too high, the decibals of sound bouncing around the painted walls. A set of tables near the bar composed the only area around which wasn't confused by the shifting lights, and plagued with the bass of the massive speakers, and it was there that Roz spotted Payton downing a strawberry dacquerie.
"Hey, girl!" called the journalist's best friend, waving frantically from the back table. Roz rolled her eyes. Payton was probably already half drunk.
Smiling, beaming in her stunning, dazzling, pearly-white way, Payton adjusted her low-cut red halter top and took another sip from the drink. Long, elegant, dark curls cascaded down her shoulders and dark, wild eyes looked out from under lashes coated with ebony mascara.
Roz had always been jealous of Payton's ethereal beauty, and the way that the men flocked to her, drawn in by her charm, her charisma and most of all, her body.
Taking her seat quickly, Roz snatched the strawberry concoction for a bit of cool relief from the stagnant heat of the room. Raising her voice over the rumble of the music, she spoke.
"Payton, I need to meet a guy tonight, and you're the one to help me."
When Roz had met Payton for the first time, she had thought her to be just another airhead youth, drunk off of sex, alcohol and freedom. A preppy, cheerleader-ish attitude, a risque dress, and a flirty air, she didn't seem to have anything in commmon, didn't seem to have one intellectual bone in her body. In place of those bones and intelliagent blood would be the nightowl blood of the partier, and flexible bones of the dancer. However, this was definately not the case. Payton was amazingly bright, although she chose not to show her geeky side around Static. It was only revealed to her "serious ones," (as she called them), the boys whom she truly loved. Deep down, Payton was everything Roz strove to be. Confident, sexy, and smart, uncaring enough to truly enjoy herself, loose on most standards, rough on herself and very concerned with whether she was enjoying her life.
"No problem, Roz. You know I can find you a good one. See that one over there, for instance?"
Payton pointed coily to a light-haired boy leaning against the bar, watching the dancers.
"Yeah?"
"Well, he checked you out when you came to sit down. I was eyeing him all night, and you were the first person he turned to look at."
"Yeah, okay."
"No! Really Roz, he's cute isn't he?"
"He reminds me too much of-"
"Enough with the X's. You're going to dance tonight and that's final."
"That's final, huh?"
"Yup. And you're going to dance with him."
Saying this, Payton grabbed her by the hand and began to bodily drag her across the room to the bar, where the man turned slowly to meet them with a perplexed expression. His eyes were dazzling, sparkling with an inner kindness, and he wore a cotton buttondown which brought out their color wonderfully. His hair was fashionably spiked and his face was simply breathtaking. Roz smiled sheepishly on approach and tried to pull away.
"Hey there, bud. My friend wanted to say hi," cooed Payton, smiling slowly, a stunning seductress.
"No, I just got here, I was just getting a drink," whispered Roz, trying to look modest and not throw herself on him.
"Don't be so modest, Roz," smirked the other, reading her mind. "Don't pass up a cutie."
"Oh, thank you!" laughed the man suddenly, in a strangely high pitch, running one hand through his hair. Suddenly, on the side of him, a man turned and craned his neck around to gaze upon the two girls.
"What's going on, Robert? Who are you're friends?"
"Two charming girls. Sweety, I love your top," Robert praised, leaning back against his partner and grinning broadly. "It's beautiful."
"Th-thanks," muttered Roz, stepping back. "Now, as I was saying, Payton...about that drink I was coming up here to get?"
Blushing fiercly, Payton leaned over to the bartender and ordered a selection.
"You know, I can't be right ALL the time..." she shrugged. "...And anyway, why is it that the hot ones are always gay?!"