The King of Wishful Thinking [2/?]
anonymous
February 4 2011, 22:56:37 UTC
Antonio furrowed his brow as Francis put the key in the ignition. "Please, Francis, let your driver take you...we'll move the cars!"
Francis started the car. "Oh but is it such a lovely car. Is it new?" He asked as the car lurched forward when he gently hit the accelerator.
Antonio turned pale. "Yes!" 'and Romana will kill me if anything happens to it...' he thought.
"Well Bonne Nuit, Antonio!" Francis called as he pulled out of the driveway leaving his friend to call behind him "But you don't know the way!"
He resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands as he watched his car speed off in what was decidedly the wrong direction.
Francis was not enjoying the car's stick shift but he was certainly enjoying the admiring looks he got from women at stoplights, even if his inability to properly work the car had them leaving him in the dust.
As the buildings grow shabbier he starts to get the feeling that Antonio was right and perhaps he doesn't know where he is going.
In one such shabby apartment building Amelia Jones was getting ready for a night of work.
She shimmied into a pair of impossibly tight tan shorts and donned a pair of high heeled cowboy boots. Her top was little more than a white bra and over it she wore her beloved cropped bomber jacket with the black faux-fur collar. The final step after applying her make up was to pin her long, unruly blond hair up under a short silky brown bob wig.
She stopped to look at herself in the mirror and couldn't suppress a small frown. This wasn't what she thought she'd be doing at twenty. This wasn't it at all.
Not wanting to dwell on her thoughts she quickly shut off the light and exited the apartment locking the door behind her.
She turned around to come face to face with her landlord. A sweaty, unshaven mess of a man.
"Amelia!"
She glared. "Yeah, whadda you want?"
He slapped the back of his hand into his palm. "Rent. You're late."
Amelia crossed her arms. "That's crap. Brit paid you yesterday in cash!"
The Landlord was unrelenting. "Britannia didn't give me nothin'."
Amelia felt her facade crack a little with uncertainty. "You for real, man?"
"Of rent," He stated simply "I do not bullshit."
Amelia pushed passed him and hurried down the hallway.
"By the end of the week!" He called after her "Or I'll evict your ass!" and then with a whistle "even if it is a particularly fine looking one."
She searched all through out the apartment. All the usual hiding places were empty. Brit must have done something with the money. If she didn't use it for rent, than what? Brit used to be the responsible one, the one who took care of their finances and kept everything in line. But lately that was changing and Amelia knew why.
Not wanting to deal with her landlord further, she made her way out the fire escape and onto the dirty L.A. streets.
The scene was as it usually was, dealers and hookers plying their respective trades and The occasional lost tourist who'd wandered into the wrong side of Hollywood.
Amelia stopped at one of her usual hang outs, a small chinese street stand on the corner.
"You seen Brit tonight?" she asks the fry cook who shook her head.
"No, seen nothing." she replied and Amelia nodded.
"Well if you do, tell her Em's looking for her."
Turning the corner Amelia immediately noticed the flashing polices lights. Drawing closer she felt her stomach convulse as she overhead one of the policemen interrogating a local man.
"They just pulled her out of a dumpster behind your place. Are you going to talk or do I have to bring you in?"
'oh god...oh god...' she thought her heart beat rapidly 'please no...'
"I tell you, officer, I don't know who she runs with."
"She have a pimp?" The policeman demanded
"Nah man, She's a strawberry. Out here every night selling herself for crack not money. That's what got her killed."
Amelia forced her boots to move, to push through the gathered crowd to take a look at the body being loaded into the back of an ambulance.
She let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't her. But she knew that drugs were a prostitutes downfall, Brit had taught her that, ironically. She resumed her search for her old friend. She had to know what had become of the rent money and she hoped she wasn't right in her suspicions.
"Please, Francis, let your driver take you...we'll move the cars!"
Francis started the car. "Oh but is it such a lovely car. Is it new?"
He asked as the car lurched forward when he gently hit the accelerator.
Antonio turned pale. "Yes!"
'and Romana will kill me if anything happens to it...' he thought.
"Well Bonne Nuit, Antonio!" Francis called as he pulled out of the driveway leaving his friend to call behind him "But you don't know the way!"
He resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands as he watched his car speed off in what was decidedly the wrong direction.
Francis was not enjoying the car's stick shift but he was certainly enjoying the admiring looks he got from women at stoplights, even if his inability to properly work the car had them leaving him in the dust.
As the buildings grow shabbier he starts to get the feeling that Antonio was right and perhaps he doesn't know where he is going.
In one such shabby apartment building Amelia Jones was getting ready for a night of work.
She shimmied into a pair of impossibly tight tan shorts and donned a pair of high heeled cowboy boots. Her top was little more than a white bra and over it she wore her beloved cropped bomber jacket with the black faux-fur collar. The final step after applying her make up was to pin her long, unruly blond hair up under a short silky brown bob wig.
She stopped to look at herself in the mirror and couldn't suppress a small frown. This wasn't what she thought she'd be doing at twenty. This wasn't it at all.
Not wanting to dwell on her thoughts she quickly shut off the light and exited the apartment locking the door behind her.
She turned around to come face to face with her landlord. A sweaty, unshaven mess of a man.
"Amelia!"
She glared. "Yeah, whadda you want?"
He slapped the back of his hand into his palm. "Rent. You're late."
Amelia crossed her arms. "That's crap. Brit paid you yesterday in cash!"
The Landlord was unrelenting. "Britannia didn't give me nothin'."
Amelia felt her facade crack a little with uncertainty. "You for real, man?"
"Of rent," He stated simply "I do not bullshit."
Amelia pushed passed him and hurried down the hallway.
"By the end of the week!" He called after her "Or I'll evict your ass!" and then with a whistle "even if it is a particularly fine looking one."
She searched all through out the apartment. All the usual hiding places were empty. Brit must have done something with the money. If she didn't use it for rent, than what? Brit used to be the responsible one, the one who took care of their finances and kept everything in line. But lately that was changing and Amelia knew why.
Not wanting to deal with her landlord further, she made her way out the fire escape and onto the dirty L.A. streets.
The scene was as it usually was, dealers and hookers plying their respective trades and The occasional lost tourist who'd wandered into the wrong side of Hollywood.
Amelia stopped at one of her usual hang outs, a small chinese street stand on the corner.
"You seen Brit tonight?" she asks the fry cook who shook her head.
"No, seen nothing." she replied and Amelia nodded.
"Well if you do, tell her Em's looking for her."
Turning the corner Amelia immediately noticed the flashing polices lights. Drawing closer she felt her stomach convulse as she overhead
one of the policemen interrogating a local man.
"They just pulled her out of a dumpster behind your place. Are you going to talk or do I have to bring you in?"
'oh god...oh god...' she thought her heart beat rapidly 'please no...'
"I tell you, officer, I don't know who she runs with."
"She have a pimp?" The policeman demanded
"Nah man, She's a strawberry. Out here every night selling herself for crack not money. That's what got her killed."
Amelia forced her boots to move, to push through the gathered crowd to take a look at the body being loaded into the back of an ambulance.
She let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't her. But she knew that drugs were a prostitutes downfall, Brit had taught her that, ironically. She resumed her search for her old friend. She had to know what had become of the rent money and she hoped she wasn't right in her suspicions.
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