It had just finished raining and it was sunset in Atlantic City, New Jersey. The glow of neon lights reflected past the window of the second story apartment to the mirror this young woman was facing. She was anxious and a little sticky from the heat. Or was it that she was nervous for her second night at the club she just started working. In either case she suddenly jumped, looking at the time.
“Shit, I’m gonna be late.” She hurried to put on her lipstick and then ran out the door.
This young woman clothed in a simple black dress with only a small pair of earrings to embellish herself ran out the door. The club was four blocks away and she was gonna be at least a few minutes late. She had promised herself she would not be late for a change. Seems like that didn’t last too long.
“Shit, I’m gonna be late.” She hurried to put on her lipstick and then ran out the door.
This young woman clothed in a simple black dress with only a small pair of earrings to embellish herself ran out the door. The club was four blocks away and she was gonna be at least a few minutes late. She had promised herself she would not be late for a change. Seems like that didn’t last too long.
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Anchorage
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Re: The Club Singer
Thu, February 1, 2007 - 9:17 PMShe ducked into the club though the back door, her head held low in hopes that her boss would not see her coming in late ...
"Sara!!!!!!!" Bellowed a loud, bellowey voice from an especially dark corner, "You're LATE!!!"
"Yes, Mister Fleecer, sorry Mister Fleecer ... it'll never happen again ..."
"You said that last time, and the night before ... you KNOW what I told you would happen if you were late one more time ..."
Sara stood, dumbstruck: "But ... but I thought ... you were ... kidding!!!"
Mr. Fleecer just stared at her, his lecherous eyes becoming, if possible, more lecherous. "Indeed, Sara, I was NOT kidding ... I was deadly serious. Why do you think that the moment you stepped in here I had the hired muscle trot off to your place to collect your precious rat,"
"My precious ... rat? Wa ... Do you mean my Chinese Hairless?? You had that meathead steal my precious Fluffy-cakes?? She's a $600 dog, you know, plus ... I kind of love her a lot!!!" Sara was aghast.
"Yes, we have your precious Fluffy-cakes ... and unless you make good on our 'deal,' princess Fluffy-cakes is going to be sleeping with the fishes!"
"NoooooooOOOOOoooooooo!!!" Sara screamed ... but she knew it was useless ... she knew she would have to make good on her promise. She knew she would have to sing her entire set tonight .... completely naked ..... -
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Re: The Club Singer
Tue, April 3, 2007 - 10:44 PMExcept of course for the six pack hat filled with golden cans of miller high life.......chewing nervously on the straw and slurping beer for courage she skitters onto the stage......the stagelights reflecting off her ivory skin......and of course...the beer cans.....making her look like a pale skinned beer guzzling angel......she steps up to the microphone and opens her ruby lips to sing...... -
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Re: The Club Singer
Tue, April 3, 2007 - 11:14 PM...but in a moment, a mere shard of a moment before she could utter a sound, a movie played out in her mind. She saw Fluffy-cakes eating birthday cake, walking in the park, huddled tight against her breasts in the pouring rain, squatting in the street to relieve herself, and greeting Sara with vibrating glee whenever she came back home. The movie jumped to a scene with a burly thug holding a squirming burlap bag wrapped loosely with chains. The bag disappeared over the side of the 10th Street bridge followed by the laughter of the cruel, cruel man.
Sara knew she had to sing her heart out to save Fluffy-cakes. She had to ignore her nakedness and the heavy pisswater beer on her head. She took center stage, drew a solid, cleansing breath and, amid the catcalls and hoots of the testosterone-soaked patrons, she began with a long low melodious note. She had decided to drop a torch song bomb on these cretins and take control. The band was just going to have to improvise and keep up. As she moved through the opening bars of her musical weapon, as the band tuned into her selection, the audience fell silent. No one could resist the power of the melody called... -
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Re: The Club Singer
Tue, April 3, 2007 - 11:20 PM..."Smack My Bitch Up," --- it was her signature song --- and bless her heart: she didn't realize the irony. -
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Re: The Club Singer
Sat, April 7, 2007 - 3:10 AMBut she did realize another form of irony as she was pelted in the heart by an iron. It had come from somewhere in the inky blackness of the crowd and was really starting to hurt. She felt faint and was on her knees much sooner than she expected to be.
A scuffle in the audience and the backup music slowly fading away were the last things she remembered. As her eyes were closing she could see the "Black & Decker" logo and she quietly guffawed to herself at the "Deck her" pun. Then, nothing but blackness. And Deckerness.
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Re: The Club Singer
Sat, April 7, 2007 - 9:23 PMSam was mezmerized the moment Sara began singing. He never saw who threw the iron but he turned in time to see that fat piece of garbage who owned this dive turn tail and duck out the door next to the bar like he'd seen a ghost.
"I'll take care of you later", he thought as he strode purposefully toward the stage, and the woman he was already convincing himself he cared deeply about. Or at least as deeply as he could care about any good looking woman in a little black dress in a bar like this.
He slipped his arm under her and cradled her head and watched her eyelids flutter.
"Sara"?
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