She woke up
hungover at one in the afternoon. Drinking half a bottle of rotgut after work
had not been a bright idea, but it was the only way she had to cope with her
cruel routine.
She brewed
some coffee using her last bottle of water and lit a cigarette. In the cloud of
blue smoke that escaped her lips, she encountered childhood dreams and youthful
aspirations. The smoke vanished, just like what she saw in it had years ago.
She turned on the small, old tv sitting on the counter opposite the hard couch
of the trailer and flung herself on the couch.
She sipped
the steaming coffee and lit yet another cigarette, losing herself in the
universe of the old tv-show playing and which she struggled to follow amidst
the hangover and the blurry image of the tv-set. Another plume of blue smoke
rose in the air, and more sorrowful memories resurfacedit lasted a
fleeting second and her attention returned to the doctors and nurses caught in
the middle of the Korean War.
She put in
the microwave the pre-cooked dinner and in three minutes the small piece of
steak with potatoes and gravy sauce was hot and ready. She forced each bite
down, her eyes fixed on the tv. The tight-fitting shades kept the bright
sunlight out of the trailer. Sounds of children laughing and playing reached
her ears, but she had learned to block the annoying noise and maintain her
focus where it mattered.
She was
desperate for even a couple of hours without contemplating the non-existent
future. She finished her dinner, drained the now-cold coffee, and lit another
cigarette. Each new drag hurt her dry throat, but there was no water left in
the refrigerator and the tap had been dry for five days.
She drank
some bourbon, which, in spite of subduing the headache and exhaustion
tormenting her body, only worsened her thirst. She leaped to her feet following
an abrupt knock on the door and rushed to answer. A sigh of disappointment
quivered her lips when she met the longhaired, bearded visitor in fancy
clothes.
What do you want? She
demanded.
I guess, you don't remember me,
but... Peter cleared his throat. I just had to see you
again.
Yes, I do remember you.
That doesn't mean you're who I wanted to see right now.
I know, I just...
How did you find
me?
I asked around last night at the
club.
And why did you come here? What do
you want?
To talk to you, to...don't you
think itd be better to have this conversation seated?
No, the conversation wont
last that long.
Look, I realize I may have
overstepped some boundaries by showing up at your door like that, I
just... he paused and stared down at his muddy boots. I just can't
stop thinking about you and I...had to see you. To talk to you. That's
all.
Great. You saw me, you talked to
me. Are we done?
He chuckled
dryly, still staring at his scuffing feet.
Let me save you the trouble, all
right? You're going to tell me you're in love with me, that you want to save me
from my life, from myself, and that you are going to provide me with everything
I've ever desired, and then some. Am I right so far?
No, not really, he shook his
head, refusing to lift his eyes and meet her glare.
Then, you're slightly more
original than my usual visitors. That does not mean we're going to have a long
chat about the purpose of life, or whatever you thought wed discuss. If
you have something to say to me, just come to the club tonight. I'll be
there.
Yes, to pretend to listen, to
pretend to care. It's not what I'm looking for.
Then, go to some other bar; find
someone that will give a damn.
That's not an option,
either.
Keep this up and youll be
eligible for the weirdest visitor of the month award.
He sniggered
and finally raised his eyes. Believe it or not, that's the sweetest thing
anyone has said to me in quite a while.
You actually mean it, don't
you? Her eyes bulged and she took a step back.
The eyes are the mirror to the
soul, isnt that what people say?
Well, yours are a mirror to some
very dark place. She stared almost mesmerized into his hazel eyes.
You can leave now.
Aren't you even in the slightest
curious to know why I came?
You'll tell me tonight. That much
is obvious.
No, I won't.
So, you won't come to the club
tonight?
I will. I just won't talk to
you.
Well, that ruined my
day.
Yeah, I bet. Look, all I want is
five-ten minutes of your time. Is that too much to ask?
Frankly, yes.
He reached
inside his leather jacket and her hand went for the steak knife sitting on the
counter right behind the door.
That's all I have to offer as a
bribe, he lifted a fifth of scotch and a pack of Lucky
Strikes.
You'll have to do better; I have
my own booze and smoke.
Be that as it may, this is
good, aged whisky; from Scotland. Quite expensive too. I promise, it tastes
like Heaven. Maybe even better.
All right, fine. Five
minutes. She released the knifes handle and took a step back, her
alert glance glued on Peter who took a cautious step inside the
trailer.
Nice, cozy place you've got
here, he said and sat on the couch.
Don't care for cheap
compliments.
Fair enough. Wow, he
chuckled, when he noticed the tv, it's been years since I watched this
show. It's pretty good, isn't it?
Yes, she sat opposite him
and slammed two dirty waterglasses on the table. They have it on reruns
quite often and I try to catch it whenever I can. Helps with forgetting
reality.
He nodded and
poured scotch. They both had a sip.
Okay, it is quite good, she
smacked her lips. I'll give you that much.
I wasn't lying, was
I?
Not for the scotch. So, why
did you come?
Right, his smile vanished
and he sank the rest of his scotch. As I said, I can't stop thinking
about you. And the reason is that I want you to be my muse.
You said it wasn't about
how you fell head over heels in love with me and the rest of the horseshit I've
heard at least a thousand times before.
It isn't.
Then, what in the hell does
muse mean?
I honestly believe you can inspire
me. I just need to be around you. Learn about you. About your
life.
Then, you're a
stalker?
Call it that, if you want, but I'm
not gonna camp outside your trailer with binoculars following your every move.
I want to be around you, experience your life, breathe the same air as you, eat
the same food as you; do what you do.
You're some special kind of
psycho, aint ya?
No, just an
artist.
Oh, she scoffed and had
another sip. She lit a cigarette and he mimicked her.
Yeah, I know. Nowadays, almost
everyone is an artist. It makes it real hard to tell real from fake. I know
that. I face the same problem every single day of my life. Sometimes,
I'm not even sure whether I'm real or fake. Its a fucked-up world
we live in, but that's not the point.
My problem is, I've run out of
inspiration. My life is on a dead-end, I have nowhere to go, nothing to look
forward to. And that has consequently drained out all inspiration from my soul.
I'm just an empty vessel walking around with no purpose, no reason, no meaning.
And I'm sick and tired of it.
That sucks; for you. What does it
have to do with me?
I told you already. I believe you
can be my muse, the spark to reignite the flames of
inspiration.
Why me?
I don't know...I really don't.
It's just...I just saw something in you. The way you moved, the way you danced,
the way you talked and pretended to listen. Even the way you sat at the bar
when you were not busy. There's something in the air around
you.
Now I remember! She snapped
her fingers and her face lit up. You're the one that requested Cooper's
Novocaine for the private dance.
I suppose that was a first,
huh?
Well, yeah, she bit the
corner of her lips. Most guys want cheery songs, something
happy.
Makes sense, he shrugged and
topped the glasses. Not many people see the beauty residing in
misery.
There's not much to be found there
in the first place.
What it lacks in quantity, it
makes up for in quality. Everyone can admire a majestic sunset, few can discern
the beauty concealed in a disaster.
True; it takes a special kind of
moron or psycho to see beauty in something horrible.
Perhaps; it also requires the
ability to see things under different filters.
Can we just agree to disagree?
Your five minutes are up and you're still here.
Okay, yes. But, that's the
point I was trying to make from the beginning.
I'm sorry, what?
Her gaze moved to the door when a
demanding knock blared inside the confined space. Cursing under her breath, she
rushed to answer.
Hey babe, a tall, robust man
said in a rusty voice. Ready?
No, not now, she whispered
while her body seized, I'm sorry, but I have a visitor and can't pay you
right now. Can you come back in five minutes? Please?
Nope. Sorry, babe. It's either
now, or tomorrow. You oughta know I hate diversions to my
schedule.
All I'm asking for is five lousy
minutes. Please! We've known each other for years.
I don't mix friendship with
business, doll.
Yes, I know, I'm just...I didn't
expect
please, give me two minutes!
Now, or tomorrow. Take your pick
and be quick about it.
She glared at Peter; her eyes bulged
when he approached them, his hand buried in his pocket.
Can I be of
assistance?
Who's the fucker? The man
barked.
Just a friend, she was quick
to apologize. Nobody, really.
Look, I can pay for her; I don't
mind, Peter addressed both, but his cold stare remained fixed on the
man.
No, you won't. Just get out of
here.
I don't mind.
Look, doll, the man said
sternly, make up your mind. I'm not going to fight this weird-ass cat for
your sake, so, either you shoo him away and pay me the usual way, or you let
him do it for you since you've found a guardian angel.
Look, Peter cleared his
throat, just name the price and what I'm paying for, and go back to
whatever it is that you do, okay?
Why do you have to get mixed into
this?
How much? Peter
insisted.
Fine by me, the man
shrugged. Hundred and fifty will do.
What the fuck am I paying for?
Dope?
Close enough, he winked and
pulled a plastic bag with two grams of blow out of his pocket.
All right, I didn't see that
coming, Peter whispered, mostly to himself, while he counted the bills
and handed them to the pusher.
Pleasure doing business with
you, the man gave him a small, ironic bow and strutted away.
What did you do that for?
She erupted the moment she slammed the door shut.
I just wanted to help, that's
all, he shrugged and handed her the blow.
I never asked for your help, did
I?
No; just thought I should act
nice.
Next time, consider whether the
other person wants you to be nice before jumping in.
All right, fair
enough.
Want some? She asked as she
poured some blow on the table.
Now, thats an offer I
cant refuse.
What do you do for a
living?
Why?
You were cool like a cucumber when
you dealt with Travis. I'd assume his build would terrify most people. Besides,
you dont look tough, or anything.
I'm just used in dealing with
people like him, that's all. So, what's the regular price for
this?
Pardon?
Oh, come on. It was obvious he
didnt expect to be paid in cash.
None of your damn
business.
Fair enough. It's pretty decent,
though.
Best you can find in these parts.
You do coke often?
No, not so much. I don't like
being fully awake.
Whats your poison,
then?
Well, I mostly stick to booze.
Its served me well since I was fourteen, I don't want to ruin the special
relationship I and the bottle have. But, I've had my run-in with
smack.
You've been to
rehab?
No; unless you call poverty rehab.
I just...quit. Went cold turkey.
Isn't that
lethal?
Sometimes. I was one of the lucky
ones. Or unlucky ones; depends on how you view it.
Right, beauty in
misery.
Something like
that.
So, are you gonna stay around all
day?
If you don't kick me
out.
Well see how it goes.