The girl with the lilac stripe was my ex-girl. Her gesture of searing the flyer with her teeth was more a symbolic representation of our relationship than dislike for the guest DJ. She led a fashionable life reading high brow magazines in Doctor’s offices. She never had anything wrong with her or begged for drugs. She just had better tastes in men and magazines she didn’t want to own. She could never subscribe because of her ever changing address. She wakes up in a different part of the city every morning. She used to sit in beauty salons while waiting for a bus and read magazines. She got bored of the how-to articles, head shots and news ice cream with scoops on the hottest stars personal life topped with tidbits of facts and nuts. She would have cherished the day that brought a weekly world news to her breakfast bran muffin and coffee late. Sometimes she would pick one up on the end of her shift from the drugstore on the way back to a hotel or call ahead and have one sent up from the gift store if it was available. The Dr.’s would often meet for the night. They could be spotted checking in, turned slightly out towards the elevators, preparing to make a quick exit. They would sweat at the front desk when they purchased the room for the night and leave about an hour later with a copy of the daily news tucked under an arm, at eleven.
The girl with the lilac stripe was knowledgeable about the transaction and would often get the key and stay for the night, taking a bath or reading her weekly world news. She would wrap up in the terry cloth bathrobe and lay across the bed. Sometimes her phone would electrify the air with a call from her boss inquiring of her position and if he could send a guy up to her room with a bouquet of flowers and a box of edible underwear. She would shrug and put down her book, take a deep breath in and holding the phone down away from her nostrils exhaust a sigh that turned into a stretch. “Sure,” she would reply and silence her phone for the next couple of hours and get back into the tub.
The girl would read magazines in the doctor’s offices because they were smart and informative. She liked to feel informed and smart. So she would step into a dental clinic or a chiropractor and just take a seat. “Oh, no,” sometimes she would have to say. “I’m not here for an appointment or any-body.” She emphasized the body with a pernicious giggle. Sometimes a doctor, when he wasn’t seeing anyone, would come out to the front desk and notice her, conversations ensued. Sometimes she would read all of the magazines and then step outside to greet the bus. She felt informed and strode with confidence. There was a tiny angle in her sweater pocket that stuck out and weighed down from the business cards she had collected.
We met before her new lifestyle of a punk princess. We were dating, I suppose. One day her old man got raunchy and I spracked out on the guy. She had a bag packed and grabbed it on the way out. She said I saved her life or some shit like that. She was with me every day after. She kept saying she couldn’t go back to her father’s house. She camped on my couch for a night and slept with me for about six months before I kicked her out. She kept telling all her friends, all my friends that became her friends, that her dad had done her wrong and I saved her but then said I had done her wrong so she left me. It wasn’t long till I put her on the spot for a hook up and she got hooked. I still tossed her name out there every now and then and she would get picked up. My friends holed her up for about a month, two weeks and three days before she vanished. I could still access her profile, so I knew if she was around. I auctioned her off to some bad mother fuckers when I knew she was in town.
Not on that night though. Root and I were just hanging around checking out the lights. Her friend Cam fucking weirded me out when she pretended to ash on me. Geez, really? Fold up my fucking eight cent flyer and pretend its a cigarette and flick ash on me. Even if it was a real cigarette who is she really offending by flicking her ash? Is that some medieval insult? Everyone from Clark County bar to Pikeville Pub owed me an apology. I didn't need it and I couldn’t tolerate the two walking around with each other, together. Cam was a bore and a buzz kill. She would melt your ice cream cone but she was the bummer sick feeling an hour later after scarfing cold cream milk on a hot fucking day. I wouldn’t put her in a top five unless it was heads I would like to stuff and mount. She creeped me out but what the fuck ever, I heard they were coming into town on a delta late night. I planned a week of fun for us all. I would give her a break tonight and just gaze at the lights as she and her cohort cunt exuented out the doors and a musky glitter-fiend entered casting an eye from my eye to my hands to my crotch. I let the girls go and focused on this fizzin sparkler girl who wanted to know more about the show, how much she would get and who was going to come.
“Stick out your tongue.”
“What?”
“Stick out your tongue, here, I want to give you something.” I urged.
“Is this a trick?” She scrunched her forehead. I hated when girls did this. “I’m tricky, if it’s a trick.” Then she stuck out her tongue.
“Close your eyes.”
I retrieved a miniature dropper bottle from my fifth pocket and put two dollops of blue ice on her palate.
“I will see you in about an hour.” I told her and smiled with my eyes as she opened hers and licked her lips.
MmMmnn… I will see you. She pointed at me like Claudia Schiffer or some shit from elle and blew me a kiss. I smiled over at Root and turned back to the lights. I would probably not see this girl again. She would come down about fifteen minutes after I leave, feeling the walls for unnecessary support, while keeping a squinted eye out for a guy matching my description. I had no doubt, if she was smart, she just stayed in her room and tripped out on the dumb Grateful Dead poster or Salvador Dahli that she undoubtedly had on her wall somewhere in her apartment. If she was dumb she would get out of the shower and stare at her thumb while toweling off for an hour before she even realizes something is not right and she’s dosed. Afterwards she would probably return to the bathroom and take the longest shower in her life trying to get completely clean, she might even fill up the bathtub with suds from comet cleaner and scrub the walls and grout. “Can’t get clean in a dirty shower, can I? No that makes no sense. How could I possibly get clean in a dirty shower.” I was not sure of the after or side effects but the worst I imagined were flashbacks while watching adverts from Kaboom soap scum cleaner. She might wonder why she feels so strongly for goo be gone and orange scented disinfectants.
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