An Aside: There's nothing like being in the company of a beautiful woman. And this story, for the most part, owes its existence to being in the company of not one but two beautiful women; Sheinaz Malik who shares my quite unhealthy obsession for Rihanna and who serves as the 'fleshy' on which the money chasing beauty 'Bridget' is very loosely based on (NB: Sheinaz is nowhere close to being the gold digging whore that Bridget is, just to make it clear) and Maureen 'MoRoots' Rutabingwa who can belt out a Rihanna tune probably better than Rihanna can and who serves as the 'fleshy' from which the sax playing songtress 'Deandra' is loosely based on.
Now for me, at least, this is one of those stories that one does not take all that seriously. It's not like some others I have written that have required an immense amount of energy and concentration because there's something specific that I'm trying to say, writing this story was like...was like a day out at the beach. My only hope is that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
So here's to hoping that you do (salut),
-- L.A. Lutara
Part 1: Light Bulb
She was short, he was tall. She was light, he was dark. She was pretty; very pretty, the kind of pretty in fact that any man would want to have babies with and he was...well let's just say that he was not the kind of man a girl would want to be seen out in public by her friends with. He did have money though, a lot of it and to a girl like Bridget that certainly went a long way to make up for his glaring ugliness.
They sat where they always sat. Far enough away from the stage that they would not be so easily noticed but still close enough to be considered a part of the audience.
He sipped at a Guiness; her, a double of Gilbey's with ice, a slice of lime and a dash of Krest.
They talked little, giving their mostly undivided to the woman ruling the stage with the magical sceptre of a microphone in front of them.
The sax playing, foot stomping, singing siren cutting up the stage played and sang and made magic every Tuesday night at the Blue Trumpet Jazz Club & Restaurant that boasted the crispiest fries and tastiest BBQ wings around town.
To say that they were just fans would have been an insult. They were fanatics. Her music did such saucy things to them that they even had sex to it.
Bridget would pull out the iphone 5 that Patrick had bought her and would record 5 minutes of the performance every week. Just one song though...
Diamonds.
And yes, the "Shine bright like a diamond." one.
Because as much as they were fanatics of the delectable Deandra (which is just her stage name by the way. She's something boring like Sarah, or Angella or Mary) they were absolutely freakin' nuts about Rihanna.
They even went as far as to refer to themselves a 'Rihanniacs'.
It was Bridget who came up with the name and even though Patrick thought it rather ridiculous, Bridget was pretty and was having sex with him and so he just went along with it.
It sort of bummed them out that Deandra only performed one Riri song every Tuesday which kind of relegated them to watching a grainy video phone clip over and over again but then beggars can not be choosers, can they?
And then Patrick realized something, they didn't have to be beggars because he, with pockets lined with 50's so fresh that their yellowish ink stained his fingertips, was far from one. He had money, lots of it and as Bridget was proof of it, there are very few things that one can not do with enough money.
Now this would be the part in the cartoon where a lit light bulb would appear above Patrick's head and he would hold up a finger and exclaim, "Aha!".
Placing a hand on top of one of Bridget's, Patrick turned to her.
"I think I just got an idea."
Bridget was mid sip and waited until she had set her glass back down on the table before answering.
"And what's that?"
And Patrick, smiling, showing off his yellowed and crooked teeth, proceeded to tell her.
No comments:
Post a Comment