Bottoms Up

[DinMacXanthi]

Όνομα Συγγραφέα: Κέλλης Κωνσταντίνος

Είδος: Noir maybe?

Αριθμός Λέξεων: 1888

Αυτοτελής; Think so.

Σχόλια: Μια intense άσκηση εργαστηρίου. Έπρεπε να φτιάξω έναν χαρακτήρα σε 10 λεπτά και μετά να τον χρησιμοποιήσω γράφοντας μια ιστορία μέσα σε 2 ώρες. Ο καημένος ο Ντάνυ λοιπόν ήθελε να γίνει φωτογράφος. Καμία σχέση η ιστορία στην οποία κατέληξε. Hope u enjoy :-)

 

 

 

 

Bottoms Up

 

 

 

Danny tried to look over his shoulder, beyond the tinted glass windows as the door closed behind him with a definite click. He thought how much better he would feel outside as the distinct aroma of spilled beer, body oil and sweat rose to meet his sinuses.

Granted, it was pouring outside but as he looked around, the idea of him running back to the tiny studio he called home didn’t seem half bad. He even turned towards the exit. The neon sign reflected on the drenched glass spelling the words “Bottoms Up Bar”.

Then he felt his boss stare at him, burning his neck hair through a throng of leather pants and fishnet shirts.

Too late.

He hurried towards the bar, gently shoving men dancing, drinking and generally having a good time. They didn’t seem to mind.

His boss took him aside. The man was towering over him, and Danny’s reflexive slouching was not helping.

“You are late, again,” he growled in his ear. Before Danny could mouth an apology, his boss went on,

“You know how important tonight is, for the future of this bar kid. All the big heads of the city are dancing on my floor and still you couldn’t get your ass over here in time,” his scowl turned into a smile as he noticed at an approaching friend but still his voice cut through Danny’s eardrums.

“Now, go get dressed and we’ll have this talk later,” he finished as the man came over and bear hugged him, shouting hellos along with a few obscenities. Jarek Lafage knew all kinds of people in this city.

“Yes, Mr. Lafage,” Danny mumbled but his boss couldn’t hear him anymore. He was more than an hour late. And even though he knew it wasn’t his fault, none else would accept that reality. He took another look in the place. There were truly a couple known faces in here. He had already recognized a world class footballer, standing a few feet away. The man he was sloppily kissing, he didn’t know. Danny thought about asking for an autograph then quickly left that thought behind.

Tonight, these gentlemen were here to have a good time, feeling comfortable, away from the press, the paparazzi and their concerns for society’s judging eye. Ironically, Danny would now feel more comfortable running and shouting in the alleys of the east end. He would probably get pinched in less than a minute, but then again it would be his wallet that would get pinched, and that could only happen once.

He went to the back and the glaring white light blinded him. He took a look at the clothes he had to wear. A strategically cut pair of leather trousers and a white sleeveless t-shirt. He found the tag he had to wear for the party.

It said “Rico” on it. Danny just felt glad that the closed circuit cameras were turned off for this night.

“Bottoms up bar…” he chuckled pathetically. He had got that pun too late.

 

The night seemed endless. It was now two a.m. and “Rico” was behind the counter as the throng of dancing men had by no means thinned. His boss was nowhere to be seen but he could still feel his presence, somewhere at the back, like a toothache.

Danny’s eyes turned towards the opening door, a reflex similar to that of birds seeing their cage’s door open.

A new customer entered the premises and Danny mused if this guy had just wandered in the wrong bar. For one, he wasn’t dressed accordingly. Secondly, he could see a slight surprise on his face as he looked at the rest of the people in the place.

“You are sticking out like a bad hernia, trench-coat man.” He whispered to himself as the man walked steadily towards the bar. Danny took a deep breath. He knew the script. Make the patrons feel comfortable, smile, laugh at their jokes and passes. Danny had a weird-sounding laughter and he had to try just to form a smile.

Here goes, he thought.

“Hey honey, what can I get you?” he said, trying his best to leer as he leaned uncomfortably close to the man’s face, presumably to hear him over the din of the music.

“You can get your face out of my breathing space, friend.” The man grumbled. Danny smiled nervously. He wasn’t sure he had heard that quite right. The man looked around, then turned again towards him. He sniffed.

“What’s your name, pixie?”

Speechless, Danny just raised his finger towards the little tag on his chest. The man shook his hand, while his eyes focused behind Danny. He was looking at the patrons’ faces through the mirror. Who was this guy?

“Does your mommy call you Rico?” he said dragging that latin R for emphasis.

“I, I, I’m” he began choking, “ehm, I’m Danny.” Then he remembered to smile. It came out more like a wince.

“Grab me a whisky then Danny. Single malt.”

No curly straws and umbrellas for this guy. He definitely was in the wrong bar. Oh well, he thought. So was himself.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” the man said, sarcasm dripping like the rain off his trench coat.

“It’s alright, I guess. A big night, tonight. Are you here to meet someone?”

The man’s glare felt like a 0.50 cal bullet right between the eyes. Then, before Danny had the time to curse himself for the audacious question, the man arched one of his brows and smiled imperceptibly.

“You could say that Danny. Loads of people here tonight, no?”

“It’s a big party, alright.” He hesitated, then asked, “and what’s your name hon… sir?”

“Call me Julian,” the trench-coat man said dismissively, focusing on the reflection of a particular patron. He turned around and looked at him.

“Is that, is that the skipper of…” Julian said looking at the footballer. He was now back at exploring the other guy’s tonsils.

“Yes. Yes, that’s him.”

“I should get an autograph before I leave then.” He chuckled, casually, as he left his cigarette case on the bar.

“I’m not a, ehm, I’m not a pixie you know,” Danny said slowly, leaving the glass in front of Julian. The ice crackled as he poured the scotch.

“Your clothes would beg to differ, Danny. They scream “backdoor-man.” He took a sip of the whisky, turning it this way and that in his mouth as he continued searching for somebody in the mirror. The malt’s taste seemed to drown the air’s stench a little bit.

“They are not my own, I have to wear them for the job.”

“Boy... At least mine allows me a decent wardrobe. And you like your job, Danny?”

This time, Danny’s laughter was genuine. The thought of that seemed to sadden him immediately. He looked around to see if his boss could be seen anywhere.

“I hate the hours,” he started, “I hate the paycheck, I’ve lost my sleep and I’m about to lose my bloody apartment. I have to get the bus to get here and then wait for more than an hour for the buses to begin their day routes.”

Julian seemed to pay half an interest in Danny’s rant. Danny didn’t mind it though. “Half an interest” was infinite times better than “none whatsoever”.

“And you say you’re not a pixie?” Julian said after a while.

“Not one bit.”

“Then why are you working here?”

Danny felt embarrassed. That was hard work for someone used to naturally blush at the bathroom mirror.

“I’m, I’m, ehm, I’m, I thought that a job at a bar would help me find a girlfriend.”

That seemed to catch Julian’s attention. He looked at Danny, a smile emerging on the lips with the speed of continental drift.

“And you applied for–”

“I didn’t know.” He said raising his hands for a moment. “Bottoms Up... I didn’t…”

Julian looked in his glass. He seemed to try not to burst in laughter.

“Of all the people here, you are the one who sucks the hardest, you know that Danny?”

Danny didn’t answer to that. He saw Mr. Lafage emerging from one of the backrooms and started smiling like a loon.

“It’s the worst job I ever had and trust me, I had a few bad ones in my life. I just wanted to become a photographer. I can’t even get enough money to attain a model.”

Now, Julian didn’t pay any attention to those last words. That seemed more natural. He had focused on the bar’s proprietor, as the burly man was talking with one of the other patrons. The footballer was signing him an autograph. Danny found the opportunity to serve two other tired customers that were on the verge of sleeping on the bench.

“Why don’t you quit then, Danny?” Julian said when he was back. That seemed to have caught him by surprise. It’s not that he hadn’t thought about it. It was the consequences of walking in front of Jarek Lafage and saying “I quit” that were unthinkable.

“I’ve been here for three months now, sir.” He said, still smiling, as he was supposed to, “and I know that Mr. Lafage is a man you don’t want to cross. They say he has dealings with dangerous people.” He didn’t know why he was speaking so openly to a stranger. Maybe it was because this Julian character paid attention to him. That was something that happened less often than Christmas.

“I’ve heard things. Seen some too. I only wanted a fucking job to pay the bills…”

“So, you are afraid of him, then?”

“Well, I’m afraid of many things sir. But, to tell you the truth, I have this recurring dream of shoving a ball pen in his eye. Several times.” he said half-seriously and smiled nodding to the bar owner as he left again for the backrooms.

“That would be hard in a place with a close circuit system of surveillance, no?” said Julian as he sipped some of his whisky.

“Well, if this was to happen, the circuit would be the least of my worries. It doesn’t work. Not tonight at least. Too many important blokes in here to get their faces in tape. But this is just crazy talk,” he said and laughed, trying to get that conversation on another set of rails.

“I must tell you,” Julian urged on, “I haven’t seen any muscle in here. And I’m obviously not referring to the oiled biceps of your lovely clientele.”

“Security? He’s too cheap for such a thing. And like I said, he knows people. He got himself behind a wall of terrible friends. You don’t mess with Jarek Lafage. The people that are out there to get him… he gets them first.”

“He doesn’t know you are one of them though, no? You are nobody, a ghost. None would expect something like that from ‘Rico’ the waiter-boy.”

Danny chuckled incredulously.

“You said it, sir. I’m nobody. I’ve only dreamt about it...” Danny stopped.

Julian had just unbuttoned his trench coat. The unmistakable silver of gunmetal shined for a moment on his hip before he hid it again.

“Well then, Danny…” Julian said, smiling openly for the first time tonight,

“I’m here to make your dreams come true.”

Edited October 24, 2009 by DinMacXanthi

[vkarg]

Έχει νομίζω την νουάρ ατμόσφαιρα που θες να πετύχεις. Το στυλ σου ξεχωρίζει, αφού το κείμενο είναι διανθισμένο με τις τρελιάρικες παρομοιώσεις που χρησιμοποιείς συνήθως (τις οποίες λατρεύω) και γενικότερα είναι καλογραμμένο για κείμενο που γράφτηκε σε δύο ώρες τσάκ μπαμ. Από κει και πέρα λίγο το τέλος μου ήρθε πιο απότομο απ' όσο θα ήθελα αν και υποπτεύομαι ότι ήταν επιτηδευμένα κεραυνοβόλο. Αnywayz και all in all, γκούντ τζομπ.