seven. road rage
continued directly from here.
"No," Betty says, slouching back into the patched velour seat. "Because the driver is a pushover."
Buck sighs again, wearily bemused as he pullsinto the Tea Shop parking lot. Blue's engine begins to kick, sputter, cough, and die, finally giving out just as they roll in to an empty spot.
There's a moment of pointed silence.
"Oh just get out of the car," Buck says disgustedly, taking his own advice. Just before he slams Blue's door, he hears Betty cackle with victorious laughter. He hates when she's right.
Betty's still smirking by the time she's gotten out as well, carrying Buck's guitar by the neck in one hand and the drum machine in the other. She cuts such a pretty picture like that, this tiny little girl in bright yellow pants and a faded black shirt, all red lips and narrow curves and punk rock. Buck files the image away in his mind and takes his guitar. "Kiss the car and let's go, Bets."
She grins at him, teeth showing, and bends at the waist to touch her lips to one of Blue's many battle scars, a long scrape in the paint going sideways down the driver's side. Buck follows suit immediately after, then gives his van two affectionate little pats.
"We're only a little late," Betty says, almost childishly hopeful. "Right? Barney'll let us on."
Buck sighs and smiles and heads for the door. "Better late than never."
Inside, the Second Street Tea shop is as deserted as ever when Buck and Betty walk in, the blue stained windows filtering all the light to give the place a darkened, brooding look. The lamps above the black wire furniture all have colored shades or scarves over them, casting spotlights of primary colored lights onto the tables or sofas to see by. The only customers in the place, a group of three young men, down from the northside university judging by all the textbooks on the table, all look up when Betty and Buck enter, appraising them, and then turn back to their drinks and quiet.
"Barney took our setup down," Buck says quietly, realizing the space in the corner where they normally perform has been populated with tables and chairs. "Guess we're not on tonight." His shoulders slump a little, defeated.
"Oh no," Betty disagrees fiercely, turning around to try and spot Barney in the shop. "Oh no, just wait until I talk to Barney."
The tea shop has been understaffed since well before Buck and Betty ever found it, forcing Barney to be not only the owner and manager, but also his own part-time employee, too stubborn to hire anyone new on, and it's behind the counter that Betty spots him. She shamelessly marches right up behind it, standing at Barney's side as he takes an order. "What the flip, Barney, you said we'd be on tonight!"
Barney immediately responds to her attack and rounds on her, abandoning the customer waiting. "Did you think you could just show up an hour late and I'd just let you on? Wrong! So wrong! Betty. Buck. Darlings. I love you, you know I do, but what the hell is wrong with you?" Barney's worked himself into a fury by this point, face and scalp red underneath his thinning white-blond hair. Both Betty and Buck shift guiltily while he gapes at them, waiting for an answer. "Well?"
"Well Betty's --"
"That was a rhetorical question! I don't want to hear your excuses! I have a business to run! I can't cope with this, why did I decide to give up smoking..." Barney trails off, grumbling viciously to himself as he turns back to the ordering customer, taking his money. The register stuck when he tried to close it, forcing Barney to slam it twice with the heel of his palm, causing the coins inside to clink loudly.
"Look," he demands, sighing frustratedly through his nose, causing the nostrils to flare, putting something piggish about his features. "I'm doing you a favor, really. Your audience left when they thought you weren't gonna show, like last time. The only people out there are those funny kids down from the uni. I mean, I'm sorry you got all dressed up to come down here, but this show just isn't gonna happen, darlings." Barney spreads his hands and shakes his head helplessly, sending one of the pale tufts of hair on top of his head wafting in either direction.
Betty opens her mouth to reply, and Buck winces in preparation. He already recognizes the angry set to her eyebrows.
"Well don't look so heartbroken, loves," he sighs, piggishly ignorant of Betty's growing dislike. "Sit, stay awhile. Come on, come on, get out from behind the counter. Your girlparts are a health code violation, Betty. Go on!" He ushers them both to a table in the back, away from the windows and the few Second Street regulars lurking there.
Betty sets the drum machine down on the floor with a loud, spiteful thump, earning her a disapproving glance from Buck. Barney hesitates awkwardly for a moment after they sit, then adds, "Also, darlings, since you're not playing tonight, you're going to have to buy your own teas. And you know you can't sit here and not order anything." He shrugs again. "Company policy."
Buck sighs. "Alright, fine. Two teas then."
"Okay, that's it," Betty says loudly, shoving herself out of the chair and stooping to pick up the drum machine again.
"No," Betty says, slouching back into the patched velour seat. "Because the driver is a pushover."
Buck sighs again, wearily bemused as he pullsinto the Tea Shop parking lot. Blue's engine begins to kick, sputter, cough, and die, finally giving out just as they roll in to an empty spot.
There's a moment of pointed silence.
"Oh just get out of the car," Buck says disgustedly, taking his own advice. Just before he slams Blue's door, he hears Betty cackle with victorious laughter. He hates when she's right.
Betty's still smirking by the time she's gotten out as well, carrying Buck's guitar by the neck in one hand and the drum machine in the other. She cuts such a pretty picture like that, this tiny little girl in bright yellow pants and a faded black shirt, all red lips and narrow curves and punk rock. Buck files the image away in his mind and takes his guitar. "Kiss the car and let's go, Bets."
She grins at him, teeth showing, and bends at the waist to touch her lips to one of Blue's many battle scars, a long scrape in the paint going sideways down the driver's side. Buck follows suit immediately after, then gives his van two affectionate little pats.
"We're only a little late," Betty says, almost childishly hopeful. "Right? Barney'll let us on."
Buck sighs and smiles and heads for the door. "Better late than never."
Inside, the Second Street Tea shop is as deserted as ever when Buck and Betty walk in, the blue stained windows filtering all the light to give the place a darkened, brooding look. The lamps above the black wire furniture all have colored shades or scarves over them, casting spotlights of primary colored lights onto the tables or sofas to see by. The only customers in the place, a group of three young men, down from the northside university judging by all the textbooks on the table, all look up when Betty and Buck enter, appraising them, and then turn back to their drinks and quiet.
"Barney took our setup down," Buck says quietly, realizing the space in the corner where they normally perform has been populated with tables and chairs. "Guess we're not on tonight." His shoulders slump a little, defeated.
"Oh no," Betty disagrees fiercely, turning around to try and spot Barney in the shop. "Oh no, just wait until I talk to Barney."
The tea shop has been understaffed since well before Buck and Betty ever found it, forcing Barney to be not only the owner and manager, but also his own part-time employee, too stubborn to hire anyone new on, and it's behind the counter that Betty spots him. She shamelessly marches right up behind it, standing at Barney's side as he takes an order. "What the flip, Barney, you said we'd be on tonight!"
Barney immediately responds to her attack and rounds on her, abandoning the customer waiting. "Did you think you could just show up an hour late and I'd just let you on? Wrong! So wrong! Betty. Buck. Darlings. I love you, you know I do, but what the hell is wrong with you?" Barney's worked himself into a fury by this point, face and scalp red underneath his thinning white-blond hair. Both Betty and Buck shift guiltily while he gapes at them, waiting for an answer. "Well?"
"Well Betty's --"
"That was a rhetorical question! I don't want to hear your excuses! I have a business to run! I can't cope with this, why did I decide to give up smoking..." Barney trails off, grumbling viciously to himself as he turns back to the ordering customer, taking his money. The register stuck when he tried to close it, forcing Barney to slam it twice with the heel of his palm, causing the coins inside to clink loudly.
"Look," he demands, sighing frustratedly through his nose, causing the nostrils to flare, putting something piggish about his features. "I'm doing you a favor, really. Your audience left when they thought you weren't gonna show, like last time. The only people out there are those funny kids down from the uni. I mean, I'm sorry you got all dressed up to come down here, but this show just isn't gonna happen, darlings." Barney spreads his hands and shakes his head helplessly, sending one of the pale tufts of hair on top of his head wafting in either direction.
Betty opens her mouth to reply, and Buck winces in preparation. He already recognizes the angry set to her eyebrows.
"Well don't look so heartbroken, loves," he sighs, piggishly ignorant of Betty's growing dislike. "Sit, stay awhile. Come on, come on, get out from behind the counter. Your girlparts are a health code violation, Betty. Go on!" He ushers them both to a table in the back, away from the windows and the few Second Street regulars lurking there.
Betty sets the drum machine down on the floor with a loud, spiteful thump, earning her a disapproving glance from Buck. Barney hesitates awkwardly for a moment after they sit, then adds, "Also, darlings, since you're not playing tonight, you're going to have to buy your own teas. And you know you can't sit here and not order anything." He shrugs again. "Company policy."
Buck sighs. "Alright, fine. Two teas then."
"Okay, that's it," Betty says loudly, shoving herself out of the chair and stooping to pick up the drum machine again.