18+ short story Working title Mercury 616

*EDITED TO MAKE POV CLEARER*

CHAPTER 1 (MAGGIE)

"Lusting after the repairman? Girl, you need to get out more!"

"Installer! But yeah, you're right. I can't remember the last time I got laid."

"I hear that! So how 'bout tonight? Crimson's has live local bands."

"Yeah, but we'll be the oldest hags there with all the college kids being back in town."

"The younger the meat, the finer the flavor."

"I don't want to be buying drinks for a kid with a fake I.D."

"Girl, please. These rich kids got an allowance, and all they spend it on is booze n bud."

"Either one of those would be great right now. Maybe we should go, at least catch a buzz."

Forty minutes later, Sharona is laying on the horn just as I dash out the door.
The left-hand neighbor's dog starts yapping, the right-hand neighbor shrieks "Shadafukkup!" as I jump in the passenger side.
I barely have time to click the seatbelt before she takes off.

"Slow down, Dale, this ain't NASCAR!" I drawl.

"Got a little hay in yer hair, Billie Sue."

"Least I done changed from mah overalls!"

We were still laughing as she flew into the closest space. The lot wasn't full yet, but it was getting there.
There were a couple vans in the back being unloaded by some very cute, very shaggy boys.

"Mmm don't they look delicious," she said, spotting a dreadlocked hottie.
I couldn't blame her; he was probably the only black man for 30 miles.
She waved at him. He did a backwards nod. "I'm gonna snag us a front row table. You order us some drinks."

The bouncer, who'd gone to college with us, nodded us in without checking our IDs.
He saw me pull out my pack of Marlboros. "Smoking ban went in effect this weekend. Gonna have to take that outside."

"Great" I muttered, and stood in line to get a rum and Coke for Sharona, and Lynchburg Lemonade for myself.

Country girl and all that stuff. I slammed our drinks down, and glanced at the stage.
The first band hadn't even finished setting up yet.

"I'm gonna go smoke some cancer."

"I'll be praying for your lungs."

I flipped her the bird behind my back. She was my best friend and all, but sometimes when she was joking she was actually being serious.
I guess all her nursing training kept her concerned for my health. Well, fuck it; I was still single at 33- what would it matter?

I paused as a young man who was a little keyed up raced out of the bathroom towards the stage. Another boy followed him out but turned for the back door.
He looked familiar for some reason. Not possible, we weren't even born in the same music era. He held the door for me. Well, I guess not all young men lack manners.
But then he was beginning to creep me out. He kept glancing at me sideways. He'd staked out one side of the doorway, and I the other.
I was losing my appetite for self-destruction, and crushed it out just past halfway. He opened the door for me, and smiled. OK, he was cute- but totally too young for me.

Nonetheless, I stopped in the bathroom, decided there wasn't much I could do without a syringe of botox and a pound of silicone.
I flopped back down at the table and swallowed half my bottle in one gulp.

"I'm down to about a half now."

"Good, I'm proud of you."

"Don't be. I couldn't finish it- some kid kept staring at me. Do I look that bad?"

"Oh shut up, I'm older than you. Do you see me pouting?"

She most certainly wasn't. She had spotted the Dreadhead, who had slung on the bass. The kid who bolted out the bathroom door was bouncing around the stage like a toddler who'd eaten an entire pound of Pixie Sticks. The creepy cutie was trying to avoid him, and tap dancing with his pedals. Probably gay, I thought. All the talented pretty boys are. It's one of those laws, you know? Applicable to desperate non-housewives like me. When he bent over to adjust a plug behind his amp, it suddenly hit me: I'd recognize that ass anywhere.

I nudged Sharona. "That's him!" I half-shouted, half-whispered over the sound of a guitar being put through its paces.

"Whatchu talkin' bout, girl? Who's him? He. Er whoever."

I pointed. "The one playing guitar. He's the one who installed my fridge today!"

"You betta be playin, girl, no way he works for Home Depot. He look like a basement dweller."

"He was in khakis earlier. But I'm likin' dem jeans- I gonna take that boy out back n spank him."

"You too funny when you drunk on that shit."

"I am not drunk. Just sexually frustrated."

Of I course I must have been a little inebriated, or I would have realized how unwise that statement would be in the company of spoiled Frat boys. I figured in for the nickel, in for the damnation. Or however that went. I ordered a second one by waving down a waitress. I nursed it while watching my handy man's hands. Sharona slapped my hand.

"You better stop that, coupla those dogs be eyein you up."

"What?" I swigged a bit. Then traced the condensation trail down the side with my finger tip. "I guess that was a bad idea too."

I probably wouldn't have been so blatant had he actually been watching me. He'd hit his groove- he seemed to amaze the audience. Then again, knowing that they probably had pop-punk or pop-country or pop-goes-the-fucking-emo crap in their jamboxes, it wouldn't have taken much. They played an entire set of classic rock that none of them were old enough to have heard when it was first popular- though they sounded as if they had.

The speed freak vocalist told us the last song would be a solo acoustic piece so they could make room for the next band.

"So he can sing lead too." He sounded pretty sexy as backup, so I couldn't wait to hear him on his own.

He finally looked up as he adjusted the mic and perched on a stool. "This one's for you Deadheads, Friend of the Devil."

I didn't know quite yet how fitting his choice was, but I cheered when he was done. He looked up and smiled, traded his guitar for a bottle of water and jumped down from the stage, heading our direction. He slid in beside me.

"How's your new fridge, Maggie?"

"Running just as well as it was three hours ago. I didn't know you're musically inclined too. You sounded really good!"

Sharona added, "Ain't you a little young to be playin' classic rock?"

"Never too young to appreciate good music. With the possible exception of radio today, every era's popular songs had an element of talent. Therefore, being able to achieve that level of ability means I fucking rock."

We both laughed at that. He took a swig of water, then continued.

"Even when we're doing covers, we try to mix it up- otherwise we'd get bored. The only way to build a unique sound is to let different genres and styles influence us. When different sounds get meshed, and it feels right, there's a better chance the audience's enthusiasm will translate to the almighty dollar... and with that we buy more drugs and generally piss of their parents."

What the hell? Either he had a dual personality or a weird sense of humor. I wanted to test that.

"So if you're so damn talented, what are you doing in bars, playing covers for drunken Frat boys and coeds?"

"Irritating my dear parents; neither of whom went to college, and despite the fact they've made a comfortable living without a silly scrap of paper... decided I had to go to college. One of the pretentious Ivy Leagues, which I promptly got expelled from because they didn't want to encourage opinions. God forbid education make anyone think anymore."

He seemed to enjoy my puzzled look- as did Sharona. "Sound like more than a disagreement over an opinion. What did you do?"

"I walked into my Religious Studies class one day, saw the professor was late, as he often was. So I lit up and said 'Today we're gonna talk about Jah, the Most High. Our text has conveniently ignored the Rastafari because these hypocritical tightasses don't like to have fun. Therefore, fun is sinful. I think they're assholes.' I had them howling, since half of them had actually hit off that as it went around. Then they all got quiet, except one guy in the back, who pitched the roach out the window, said 'Oh, shit.' and I almost did. The rent-a-cops dragged me off campus; if I'd been there on a scholarship, I would have spent the night in the jail instead of taking a taxi home. It was bad enough I had to let my sister drag all my shit home from the dorm. But better her than them."

"When was this?" Sharona asked, equally incredulous and curious.

"Tuesday. If I was sitting a block west of here, I'd be trespassing. Most of the crowd here were my classmates. That's why I wanted to play here. The poor bastards will be scrambling to learn how to be a sheep and so they can get their degrees this year. I get to entertain them on weekends. Much more satisfying way to spend my time."

"Lucky them." I rolled my eyes rather obnoxiously. "It's too bad you can't serenade them from the quad instead of this lovely venue."

He leaned in close enough for his hair to tickle my ear as he whispered, "Sarcasm is one of my biggest turn ons." I couldn't tell if he was kidding or confessing. But damn, did he smell good. When Sharona saw me staring him down, she kicked me under the table. I was so numbed from the alcohol that I barely felt anything.

The dreadlocked bassist sauntered over, said "hey" to Sharona, then poked him in the shoulder. "We gotta go, man."

"I've got a little delivery to make in a few minutes- if I don't time it right I might make tomorrow's paper. I'll call you."

"I don't think he's delivering an appliance." I said, watching him slip out the door, and secretly wishing I could go with him. I drained my drink and swallowed a belch.

"Uh- uh his fool ass is gonna land in jail some day, if not a padded cell. You ain't gonna answer him when he calls..."

"Why not? I could use some excitement. Find out just how handy he is." I stroked the empty bottle.

"OK, you're done. I'm takin' your drunk ass home before you get more brain damaged."

We were trying to get ourselves back into the car gracefully, which was a real task at this point, when Sharona thought I needed a reminder of why I shouldn't be thinking about him. "Mark was a dumbass, but at least he wasn't crazy."

"You mean 'psychologically defective'" which I said with smart-ass hand quote hand gestures, and punctuated with the burp I'd tried to avoid earlier. "All the best musicians have been perpetually stoned out of their heads. Fuck these J Crew assholes. On second thought, creative types are better in bed than suits."

CHAPTER TWO (CHRIS)

When I saw the flashlight, I bolted for the van. I was two feet away, and Devin opened the sliding door. I leaped in and flipped off security. Bastard stood there yelling "I'll get you Chris!"

I collapsed on the bench seat. "Fuck, that was close. He's not getting in his car is he?"

Devin looked back, "He's heading back to his golf cart. Now he's on the phone. If he calls the cops, we are so fucked."

"Oh, shit. Hang on." I dialed and hoped. It rang once, then she answered. "Mind if I stop by for a few minutes?"

She wanted to know why I was out of breath. "Just outran the guard. But he called the cops. He saw me jump in the van, and read the plate." I told Marley to hang a left at the next light. "So can I have them drop me off?" I braced myself against the seat as we rocked through the yellow light. "Right, next road"

"I don't want to be an accessory to whatever you just did!" she told me. Christ, I thought, I should be the paranoid one. "They won't bother to search for me anywhere else once they pull the van over. Come on, please?"

I heard her friend say she'd stay there, though she thought it unwise to let me in. But she said "OK. I'll leave the door unlocked." Before she hung up, her friend declared, "You as crazy as he is!"

I stood next to the door.

"Get close to those bushes on the corner."

I ducked out the door, and hit the pavement rolling.

The cop screeched around the last turn.

I dove behind the end of the hedgerow as the van sped back up.

Once the cruiser flew by, lights flashing but siren off; I half crawled to the porch.

I twisted the knob, and pushed the door inward slowly.

Once inside, I leaned against the door.

"That... was... awesome!"

CHAPTER THREE (MAGGIE)

"If by awesome, you mean stupid!" Sharona tsked at him. Her face was covered with a wet towel, so she didn't see him glare at her.

"Did you need to bring the foliage in with you?" I asked. He yanked the branch out of his hair, wincing. "And if you track mud on my carpet I'll turn you in myself!"

"That would be rather anticlimactic." he said, yanking off his shoes. "And unfortunate for me."

"So, to what do I owe this imposition?"

"I had to wait to make my drop off. I wasn't about to leave that out in the open and not get paid. Bad for business. But having to sprint like I'm on the track team wasn't a pleasant alternative." He sat down, wincing again.

I sat up and pointed, "You've a gash in your arm!"

He yanked off his shirt to stop the bleeding.

"You use that, it's gonna get infected." Sharona said, heading for my bathroom. She came back out with the hydrogen peroxide and a Band-Aid. "Here- he's your problem. I'm gonna go lay down before I get a migraine."

"OW!" he yelped as I flushed the wound with the peroxide.

"If you can play suburban guerrilla drug dealer, how can you be such a wuss?"

CHAPTER FOUR (CHRIS)

"I'm not usually fleeing anyone. My drops are never this dangerous. I think he set me up." My cell rang. Caller ID blocked. "Don't answer that. In fact, turn it off. Quick!"

"There, done" she said.

"Thanks for saving my sorry ass tonight. I owe ya one." I turned and flashed her my best smile "Can I take you to dinner tomorrow? You know I clean up well."

"That you do." she said, picking another leaf out of my hair. "I'll have to think about it though. I might be busy." When she grinned I knew she was teasing.

"I'm not always psychotic. Sometimes I actually take my meds."

"And today you skipped them?" she asked, playing with her pack Marlboros. I could tell she was trying to resist them.

"No it just wears off after a couple hours. Short half-life you could say." I pulled out my case. "Mind if I smoke?"

"I'm about to. Although I'm trying to quit. Again. I'm not doing very well."

"This isn't a cigarette."

She watched me light it, and tossed her cigarettes on the table. I held the joint up to her lips.

She hesitated. "I haven't been stoned since my freshman year in college." she took a small hit and continued "Probably when you were still a zygote," she finished with a cough.

"Not quite. I can drink alcohol legally. I just choose not to." I took another hit, then leaned over to tap it on the ashtray.

"You're still at least ten years younger than me. I'll be dead before you sprout any grey hairs," she said as she pinched it and took a longer drag off it.

"I don't see any on you yet." I twisted a brown curl behind her ear. "And you look pretty healthy to me." No, I thought, she looked hot. "No way you're over thirty."

"Show me yours, I'll show you mine." I did as she asked "So you are ten years younger. Almost eleven!"

"Is that too much of a difference?" I asked, taking a long drag, hoping she'd say no.

"For what?" she asked back, with a smile. Maybe she was flirting with me. One way to find out.

"For this" I said, leaning over to brush my lips against hers. She inhaled as I exhaled, the smoke mingling with her breath as she pulled back with a sigh.

"That was... unexpected."

"You've never had a shotgun before?"

"I would have called that a kiss."

"Would you?" I took another hit then dropped the roach into her ashtray, still smoldering. "What would you call this?" I said, pulling her gently towards me. I tasted her lips with my tongue. She moaned softly, then bit my lip.

CHAPTER FIVE (MAGGIE)

"I'd call that making out on a couch!"

I pulled back, reluctantly, and glared at Sharona. I hadn't heard her get up. She had some pretty bad timing. Or good.

"I was going to head home now, because I have work in the morning. I thought he left already." She was hinting but I chose to ignore it.

"OK, thanks for the ride. I'm sure we'll be fine."

She wasn't taking the hint either. Her arms were crossed, and she kept shifting her eyes from me to him and back.

"Maybe I should wait till you sober up."

"Don't inconvenience yourself. It's already 2 a.m. and you need your sleep. I'll be OK."

He shifted uncomfortably, then reached for his phone. "I think I can safely head back home now. Thanks for letting me hide out."

He shot me a disappointed but sympathetic look, then went to put his shoes on.

"I'll drive you home," Sharona offered, not unkindly.

"Thanks, but I'll walk." he answered without looking at her.

Before he pulled the door closed after him, he held his hand up to say he'd call me.

Sharona waited a beat, then sat down beside me.

"I know it's been a while, but what were you thinking?"

I started to get up, to go to bed, and turned halfway to answer her. "I was thinking... he tasted sweet... and how I wanted him to kiss me with the passion he showed on stage. I was thinking about how his callused fingers would feel against my skin. I was thinking I don't care how young he is because he doesn't care how much older I am. It's been months since I've felt sexy enough for someone."

"You hardly know him! What if has an STD?"

"I think he's a little young..."

"A virus don't care what age you are! Anyway, he's a damned fool. You axin for trouble, after what you been through?"

"Maybe you're right. But you should have let me figure it out for myself."

I stormed off to my bedroom and slammed the door. I listened for the front door to latch, then retrieved my cell. I scrolled through the calls list for an unfamiliar number. It was time stamped about twelve hours ago. So it hadn't been that long, but I still wanted to apologize for having to go home so abruptly. I sent him a text reading,

'Sry! I was rly njoyin that. MayB 2 much. If u still want 2 take me 2 dinner, I'm game. C u laterz.'

I hit send, then programmed his number into my contacts list. I set my phone on my dresser, and stripped off my clothes. As I dug in my drawer for pajamas, I found my vibrator. 'You again' I said, tossing it on the bed with my pajamas. Too bad it isn't waterproof, I thought, shuffling towards the shower.

CHAPTER SIX (CHRIS)

I was halfway home before I remembered to turn my phone back on. It rang immediately. I saw it was Devin, and answered.

"So you get any?" he said by way of greeting.

"You fucking pig! No, her friend just about chased me out. Wasn't too pleased she caught me kissing Maggie."

"Aw, you poor thing. Don't tire your hand out tonight. We have to record that demo tomorrow night."

"Oh fuck you, Devin."

I snapped the phone shut, hanging up on him as rudely as was possible in the digital era. I was about to turn it back off when it beeped. It was a text from a number I didn't recognize. I hit OK, and smiled. Her friend might hate me, but she didn't. I'd call her back, but I had to tend to something first.