Friday, March 11, 2011

Working title "The Gender Barrier", EXTREMELY rough draft part 2

So he's standing there with his ruffled brown hair, his beady eyes, that middle-aged, wrinkled face, that perfectly ironed out, clean suit and complementing red tie, and he wants to come in and talk to me. He looks like a regular G-man, albeit one who's been living out of hotels for the past few months, and yet I interest him. Sure, why the hell not?

"Uh, sure. I guess." Is all I can say. He steps in and takes a look around. He's clearly not very impressed. "No posters? No naked women or buff guys with guns or movie quotes or poems or anything up on the walls? No decorations?" He gets down and looks under the bed. I'm confused. "Hey, what the hell are you doing?" I say. He gets up. "You have nothing hidden under the bed. No dirty magazines. No pornographic videos. No blow-up dolls and probably the worst, no girls." Indeed, I didn't hide girls under my bed. Silly me, not making it a habit. Now, I have to stand up and say something. "What the hell are you doing criticizing my decor and poking around my room?" He looks at me. No, he doesn't look at me. He looks straight through me. He doesn't look the least bit lost, and he seems to fully comprehend, but the look on his face is only accurately described as "puzzled." He glanced around the room again and shook his head. "I don't suppose you mind if I have a smoke?" Yeah, this guy is weird. I really need to find out why he's friends with my dad.

"I guess. If you let me cop one." He grinned. "Of course." He walks over to the window and opens in, letting in a blast of cool spring air. He taps the pack against his palm and pulls out two cigarettes, stuffing the pack back into his pocket and handing me one. He pulls out a fancy, custom engraved lighter and holds it up to the cigarette, taking a few gentle pulls. He obviously does this a lot. He hands me the lighter without even looking in my direction. One thing odd I notice, though, is that the lighter seems to be, for lack of a better description, perfectly aligned. It's just just in my general direction, it's actually right below my chin. Of course, the man in the suit is very tall, and this just made me realize it, since he does seem to be really extending his arm to get it down that low. I take the lighter and start up a smoke. I've done this before, too.

There's a lull; for a few minutes, it's just us two, smoking, tapping our ashes out the window, him staring out the window, me staring at him. I decide to shatter the silence. "So...your name's Jeff, right?" He takes a drag and considers my question for a moment. "Yeah, it's Jeff." More silence. "How did you meet my father?" I have to ask. He taps his cigarette against the edge of the sill and answers as slowly as possible. Maybe he's stalling. "I used to help him with paperwork. Down at the hall, I mean." Ah, that makes sense. Dad works down at City Hall, some sort of desk jockey. Makes sense that he would need some help sometimes. Yet another period of quiet. "So you're almost 18 right? Your father told me a lot about you." I feel really embarassed. "Yeah." I say.

We sit in silence for the next few minutes. The only sound I can hear is the wind from outside and the rhythmic inhaling and exhaling coming from the man and I. I feel awkward, but there's this vibe this guy gives off, like he knows exactly what he's doing, and this silence is all part of the plan. I hate him already. "So, I've got good news and bad news. What do you want to hear first?" He finally speaks up. "Huh?" I say. He says, "Oh, sorry. See, I'm helping out with some stuff in town this year, and I have some news. I think you should hear." I'm a little confused. "Well, I always liked hearing the bad news first. Softens the blow when you hear the good news, right?" He stands up and walks over to the open window, tapping his ashes into the wind. He takes another drag. "Well I don't know about all that. Anyway, here's the long and the short of it: You're not going to be a Lucky One. Ever." Well fuck me. Actually, don't, because it's now technically illegal. I mean I hadn't planned my life around it, but I'd like to get laid some day. Getting out of this town is tough: To actually move, you need to be 25, and the cost of living is ridiculous anywhere these days. You're really encouraged to just stay where you are and make the best of it. Even if I were to get out, apparently there's a lot of towns adapating the sex seperation system as well, mostly in the midwest.

"Run that by me again?" He takes another drag and gives me a concerned look. "You heard. You're not going to be a so-called Lucky One. I've seen your recent pre-test scores, and believe me, you'll never be able to improve enough to make the cut. Besides, you're not very fertile. Yeah, see, I'm helping out with the selection this year." I take a deep breath and lean back in the chair. I'm pretty sure I've just passed out. "Hey, Jake, stay with me here. I've still got good news, remember?" I regain some semblance of conciousness. "Right. Ok, hit me." He tosses the cigarette butt out of the window and leans over my chair, stopping himself an inch from my face. "I'm going to teach you to get girls anyway. I'll come around Friday and Saturday night and we'll run over a few things, then when you go out on Sunday, you'll put these things into action." Maybe I did pass out. Maybe I just thought I heard that. "'Scuse me?" I mumble.

"Your dad told me what you got caught doing." He says. Oh shit. Yeah, I can see what he's saying now. As I'm trying to recover from the blow, he begins to rummage through my closet. "Hey, you don't need to..." But it's useless. He digs deeper and deeper and finally hits something on the far left side of the closet, buried way in the back, on the bottom. He lays everything out on the bed. Makeup kit. Long plaid skirt. White blouse. Sun hat. I'm not sure why I kept this stuff; it didn't work the first time. "So, if I have the story straight," he begins, "You attempted to use these materials to sneak over to the girl's side of town. Pussyside, some of you boys call it." Cringe. The game's up. "Yeah, I did. It was a bet." He's still grinning. Fucker. "See, from what I've heard, nobody would admit to making the bet with you. They all said you just wanted to do it. For laughs. Or...for other reasons, maybe. Nobody really knows." Still grinning. Ear to ear. Cheekbones high. God I hate him. "The thing is, I think you could have pulled it off. You've got such a pretty face, darling." Not amused.

He flicks his butt out the window, as do I. Tension is now buzzing through the room, almost manifesting physically. "I think it's time you left." I can't look at his stupid smiling face any more. He's pissing me off. He stops smiling, but he still looks cocky. I still hate him. "Sure kid, but I'll be back on Friday. I think I know what you want. And keep this between us, hm?" And then he leaves so very uncerimoniously.


Zyral said...

Yes, I know, it can be a bit vulgar. I might clean some of it up in editing, but "Pussyside" stays. That's what TEENAGE BOYS call it after all. Can't expect much out of them.

S.M. Elliott said...