Post by Deleted on May 15, 2015 15:48:37 GMT -6
The flick of a lighter, that's all it took to bring the memory of her. He he lit the end of the cancer stick that hung from between his lips the long draw of smoke filling his lung and the burn of flavor that followed neither of that he paid much attention to in his mind. No, that all belonged to her. That ravaen haired beauty with red streaks who he had only met a couple of hours ago at his regular dive. He hardly moved, he hardly could, as the smoke escaped from his nostrils slowly and the thoughts continued to race through his mind. Perhaps it was the triple shot of Crown Royal or the red wine or hell, it could have been the Old Granddad, but the events of what had just happened continued to remain fuzzy in his mind still. As his thoughts raced away he attempt to chase after them, because they were thoughts you didn't want to let go, these were the thoughts you wanted to remember forever.
There was a dress. A black dress. Some wine, a little dancing and the trip back. In the cab on the way back she bit his lip, it bled. He didn't care.
They barely made it down the hallway of the third floor of the hotel, the guests probably were complaining about the noise. This woman was mad at some other man in the world, and tonight she was going to take her anger and frustration out on him. The things they did.
Until this night, he had never even heard of the word. But now, the word was etched into his mind forever.
Blumpkin.
She was classy, alright.
But what was her name? What was it? She let him call her so many things that night, many of which would have made his mother cry, but she had told him a name way back when they first met at the bar. That song came on, that Eric Clapton song. Yes! That was it, she had the same name as that Eric Clapton song, that was how they had hit it off in the first place.]
CALHOUN: Layla.
[Without hesistation the half dressed raven haired woman with red streaks replied.]
WOMAN: Lucy.
[Oh yeah, it wasn't Clapton but that goddamn Beatles. Fucking Beatles. Well, that would cost him at least another twenty bucks or so for a tip he thought.]
CALHOUN: Lucy. Like the Beatles song.
LUCY: That's what you paid it to be.
[Most the cigarette gone was gone, and now most of his money was about to be gone as well. Damn the living ones, Paul and Ringo. But, that's life. You pay double for the clean ones in town.
She leaves with plenty of cab fare.
He finishes the cigarette and falls asleep.]
--
[The same man, the next day or at least there is light over his shoulder makes it seem like there is sunlight out. He drags his hand through his dyed blonde curly hair and gives a chuckle, maybe about last night, maybe about something else who knows. His eyes are covered with large Aviator style of glasses, his beard needs a good trim as some hairs stand on end. He dangles a cigarette in front of his face before putting it between his lips, but leaves it unlit for now, instead he lifts the silver and black Zippo lighter in front of his face, flicking it open and lighting it only to extinguish the flame quickly.]
CALHOUN: Mercer. Too many fucking Mercers, it's like I'm headed to a Mercer family barbecue. Did I get a fucking invite that I'm not aware of? I hope not, because I'm not good at barbecues, I tend to get rowdy, I tend to get into fights and someone always heads home with black eye and a bloody nose. I don't see how this is going to be any different, honestly. Pappy Joe Mercer ain't gonna be too happy with how this one ends, amigos.
[Another flick of the lighter, another false attempt to light the cigarette.]
CALHOUN: Goddamn, how much of a whore was Mama Mercer? Did she ever swallow a load? I bet she thought she could have a minivan full of little fucking bastards running around and get herself a reality television show on TLC or Discovery or whatever the fuck is showing that one with the twenty plus kids. Lady it's a vagina, not a clown car. Mama Mercer, you need to try anal, your kids are all ruining wrestling.
[He sort of laughs through his own nose after that one, after a couple of seconds he sort of shrugs it off raising his arms into the air with the sort of 'I don't what to make of it' attitude.]
CALHOUN: And then they'll be all like, who are you to say this? Who do you think you are that you can give me a black eye and then they'll ramble on about stuff, probably how they're not related or some garbage. Who am I? I'm Eddie Calhoun, I piss people off and then fight. That's what I do, that's all I ever do. Don't like it? I don't care. By the time you recover from me punching you in the face it'll be too late.
[The cigarette continues to dangle from his lip, which there is a nice red line down the front of from his encounter last night. The cigarette dances in his mouth back and forth over that line.]
CALHOUN: This world of wrestling is changing, and I'm the new face of that world. Better get used to it, better get used to me. People like the Mercers? Nah, they're dinosaurs, their time has come and gone, they're going to deny this. They're going to talk their shit towards me thinking I really care about what they say. You watch it, you watch them tell me how wrong I am and blah blah and just remember they're the dinosaurs. I'm the damn asteroid that they never saw coming. Blam!
[He smacks both of his hands together making the sound with his hands. Then with an impressive flick of the wrist he not only opens up the Zippo but has it lit all in one motion. Cocking his head to the side, Eddie finally lights the cigarette and takes in that really long first drag getting all the good flavor going. With a big old smirk he looks dead into the camera.]
CALHOUN: By the way, what do you want me to bring to the barbecue? Are cold salads covered already? I'm a fan of potato salad, myself. Mustard based potato salad though, anything else and you're a pussy. See you at the party.