Reggo
Blue Crack Addict
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2007
- Messages
- 26,992
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, yadda yadda yadda. Only a couple of swear words this time, and no one gets punched in the face!
Enjoy.
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Chapter Two - Doing Time
24 Years, 6 Months, and 8 Days Earlier…
A woman and I are in separate, but adjacent, jail cells at a New York police station. Here on nothing but a temporary work visa, I’m quite nervous about my future. I’m sitting bolt-straight on a wooden bench, silently panicking.
My female counterpart is lying on her back on her bench, her long blonde hair skimming the floor. She seems entirely unfazed by the fact that she’s been arrested. I wonder how she can be so casual, but then I realise I know next to nothing about this girl.
She approached me at The Ritz’s in-house bar after the band’s set was finished. She introduced herself by straddling my lap and putting her tongue down my throat. I’m not even sure of her name, though I know she did say it to me. I just know that she’s an excellent kisser and has a muddled Boston-Irish accent.
“While trucking down the road of life although all hope seems gone, I just move on.”
Add crazy girl who randomly breaks into song in public. She has a good voice though.
And I almost slept with her.
That’s not a bad thing, I suppose. Just a bit odd.
I glance over at her again and she’s lying on her stomach, watching me.
“That freaked you out, huh?” she asks plainly, startling me. “Sorry. I have an audition in two days and I need to rehearse.”
“Oh,” I reply, with absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.
“Where’s the rest of your band, do you think?” she rests her chin on her fists, and bends her legs at the knee, then crosses her ankles.
“Either still drinking or trying to find Paul so I can get out of here,” I shrug. “My money’s on still drinking.”
She giggles a perfectly girlish giggle and wrinkles her nose, grinning. “It is Saint Pat’s, after all.”
I nod, looking at my feet. “I just hope I’m not deported.”
“Yeah, that would really fuck things up,” she nods. “What’s your name again?”
“Adam Clayton,” I aay without the usual I’m-in-a-band bravado. “What’s your name, then?”
“Lucy McManus,” she smiles gently. “I guess I should’ve told you that before I gave you that raging stiffy.”
“You took care of it well enough, though,” I give her a sly, sideways smile.
“You haven’t lived until you’ve gotten bar head from a drunk chick,” Lucy says matter-of-factly, then giggles. She rolls onto her back again. “I think I’m too drunk to stand up.”
We both start laughing, then she sits up and actually tries to stand up. She has so much difficulty taking only a few steps, it looks like she’s walking over hot coals. Giving up, she sits down with a quiet “oof!” then lays down. “I think I better call my brothers.”
“That requires walking, love,” I remind her.
She sits up to look down at her feet. “Shit.” she giggles. “I can’t wait till they invent portable phones.” Lucy hangs her head off one side of her bench and looks at me, upside-down, fretting over the very real trouble I’m in. “How old are you?”
“25,” I lie a little.
“Me, too,” she grins. “How old are we, really?”
“24,” I lie again.
“Me, too,” she giggles.
“Actually, I’m 23,” I say, hating that she can see right through me.
“Me, too. Isn’t it funny? The truth just sounds different,” she bends her right, impossibly long leg and puts her foot on the bench. She rests her head on her left arm, bent at the elbow.
“I’m 22,” I come clean.
Lucy gives me an upside-down sceptic look. I take a good long look at her. She’s incredibly thin, but still fit, long long legs in light blue jeans, one of the most perfect pairs of breasts I’ve ever seen packaged in a football jersey t-shirt, green almond-shaped eyes, a large-ish nose (but by no means on par with Larry) and a devilish smile.
“Cailín!” A man’s voice shouts from the corridor. I know enough Gaelic to know that that means ‘girl’. Lucy instantly sits up.
“Mo buachaillí!” she calls back and two identical men, dressed all in black and wearing trench coats walk in the room with the cells.
“Don’t worry, sis, we’ll bust you out!” one shouts and starts climbing the outside of her cell.
The other twin stands at the door of her cell, fiddling with the lock. He has a crop of buzzed ginger hair on top of his head and looks like he’s trying to grow a goatee. He has his sister’s green eyes, and is smoking a cigarette. Suddenly a police officer hurries in the room and unlocks her cell. The twin climbing the bars jumps down and both men help their sister to their feet.
“I’m very sorry, Miss McManus. If we’d known who you were, of course we would’ve let you go earlier,” the cop apologizes like he’s insulted a dignitary.
The twins sweep Lucy out of the cell. “What about Adam?” Lucy asks, pointing at me. “We can’t just leave him here, Conor,” Lucy says to the brother on her left, pulling on his sleeve.
“Alright. We’ll ask Da to send the money for his fine,” the brother on Lucy’s right says.
“I’m not leaving till he gets out. Go call Daddy,” Lucy sinks to the floor, out of her brothers’ grips.
Conor groans. “Pat, go call Da. I’ll stay here with Lucy.” He nods toward the pay phone I used earlier to call Paul’s room and got no answer.
Within minutes, I’m out of my jail cell and feeling great relief.
“Since I got you out, you have to pay the forfeit,” Lucy says, sitting on the floor, but trying to be flirtatious with me.
“What forfeit?” I ask, feeling the beginnings of a hangover.
“You have to kiss me good-night, and my brothers are not allowed to pull their guns on you,” Lucy smiles.
Guns? Your brothers have guns?
“Fine, but Ma says we have to bring you home, baby girl,” Patrick folds his arms.
“No. I’m not going back to Boston. Fuck that. I refuse to marry any stupid Irish goon who’s asked Daddy for my hand in marriage. Ma may not have a problem marrying a hit man, but I gave up that life 7 years ago,” Lucy says loudly. “I have a callback audition anyway.”
Okay, some things are starting to make sense.
“Yeah, you’re the next Ethel Merman,” Conor picks up his sister and carries her out, followed by Patrick and me. Patrick hails a cab then motions that I’m to get in it. Terrified of getting “whacked,” I open the door and start to climb in.
“Wait!” Lucy shouts. “Conor, put me down,” and he does. “What about the forfeit?”
“Oh, right,” I mutter nervously. These men seem a lot more protective of their little sister than I am of mine. Lucy grabs my shirt and pulls me into a very nice kiss. I barely notice as she turns us around. I do notice, however, her suddenly pulling me into the cab with her, slamming the door and telling the driver to go before her brothers can pull us back out.
“What are you doing?” I shout, knowing this will probably get me killed.
“Having an adventure,” Lucy giggles. “So where are we going?”
I stare at her like she’s gone absolutely barking mad. “Well, I need to get back to my hotel and the band,” I say, being responsible.
“Okay,” she shrugs. “Can I crash there? The bartender took my keys.”
“Sure,” I shrug. She can’t cause too much trouble in a hotel room. When we get to my room, something is going on in Edge and Bono’s room that is causing a lot of drunken shouting from all three of my bandmates. I unlock the door, but Lucy pulls me in the room before I can go investigate.
I wake up and Lucy’s sleeping on top of me, naked. And my bandmates are standing at the foot of my bed, taking pictures.
“Oh, come on, fellas,” I groan and pull the covers over us.
“Why? We can blackmail you with these,” Bono grins while Edge snaps another picture.
“Yeah, I think we’ll send them to Donna,” Larry adds.
I slide out from under Lucy and stand up. “Get out,” I point toward the door with my hand.
“If you’re going to shag her again, can we watch?” Edge asks, taking a picture of me in the nude.
“Out!” I roar, waking Lucy. My bandmates leave, giggling.
“Where am I?” Lucy asks, sitting up. She looks at me, but doesn’t seem surprised that I’m naked. “Who are you?”
“Adam,” I say, trying to jog her pickled memory.
“Hi,” she waves. “Uh, I’d better go,” she takes a long look at me. “But I guess we could have sex one more time before I go.”
I walk over to the door and lock it, then climb back in bed.
Enjoy.
-----
Chapter Two - Doing Time
24 Years, 6 Months, and 8 Days Earlier…
A woman and I are in separate, but adjacent, jail cells at a New York police station. Here on nothing but a temporary work visa, I’m quite nervous about my future. I’m sitting bolt-straight on a wooden bench, silently panicking.
My female counterpart is lying on her back on her bench, her long blonde hair skimming the floor. She seems entirely unfazed by the fact that she’s been arrested. I wonder how she can be so casual, but then I realise I know next to nothing about this girl.
She approached me at The Ritz’s in-house bar after the band’s set was finished. She introduced herself by straddling my lap and putting her tongue down my throat. I’m not even sure of her name, though I know she did say it to me. I just know that she’s an excellent kisser and has a muddled Boston-Irish accent.
“While trucking down the road of life although all hope seems gone, I just move on.”
Add crazy girl who randomly breaks into song in public. She has a good voice though.
And I almost slept with her.
That’s not a bad thing, I suppose. Just a bit odd.
I glance over at her again and she’s lying on her stomach, watching me.
“That freaked you out, huh?” she asks plainly, startling me. “Sorry. I have an audition in two days and I need to rehearse.”
“Oh,” I reply, with absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.
“Where’s the rest of your band, do you think?” she rests her chin on her fists, and bends her legs at the knee, then crosses her ankles.
“Either still drinking or trying to find Paul so I can get out of here,” I shrug. “My money’s on still drinking.”
She giggles a perfectly girlish giggle and wrinkles her nose, grinning. “It is Saint Pat’s, after all.”
I nod, looking at my feet. “I just hope I’m not deported.”
“Yeah, that would really fuck things up,” she nods. “What’s your name again?”
“Adam Clayton,” I aay without the usual I’m-in-a-band bravado. “What’s your name, then?”
“Lucy McManus,” she smiles gently. “I guess I should’ve told you that before I gave you that raging stiffy.”
“You took care of it well enough, though,” I give her a sly, sideways smile.
“You haven’t lived until you’ve gotten bar head from a drunk chick,” Lucy says matter-of-factly, then giggles. She rolls onto her back again. “I think I’m too drunk to stand up.”
We both start laughing, then she sits up and actually tries to stand up. She has so much difficulty taking only a few steps, it looks like she’s walking over hot coals. Giving up, she sits down with a quiet “oof!” then lays down. “I think I better call my brothers.”
“That requires walking, love,” I remind her.
She sits up to look down at her feet. “Shit.” she giggles. “I can’t wait till they invent portable phones.” Lucy hangs her head off one side of her bench and looks at me, upside-down, fretting over the very real trouble I’m in. “How old are you?”
“25,” I lie a little.
“Me, too,” she grins. “How old are we, really?”
“24,” I lie again.
“Me, too,” she giggles.
“Actually, I’m 23,” I say, hating that she can see right through me.
“Me, too. Isn’t it funny? The truth just sounds different,” she bends her right, impossibly long leg and puts her foot on the bench. She rests her head on her left arm, bent at the elbow.
“I’m 22,” I come clean.
Lucy gives me an upside-down sceptic look. I take a good long look at her. She’s incredibly thin, but still fit, long long legs in light blue jeans, one of the most perfect pairs of breasts I’ve ever seen packaged in a football jersey t-shirt, green almond-shaped eyes, a large-ish nose (but by no means on par with Larry) and a devilish smile.
“Cailín!” A man’s voice shouts from the corridor. I know enough Gaelic to know that that means ‘girl’. Lucy instantly sits up.
“Mo buachaillí!” she calls back and two identical men, dressed all in black and wearing trench coats walk in the room with the cells.
“Don’t worry, sis, we’ll bust you out!” one shouts and starts climbing the outside of her cell.
The other twin stands at the door of her cell, fiddling with the lock. He has a crop of buzzed ginger hair on top of his head and looks like he’s trying to grow a goatee. He has his sister’s green eyes, and is smoking a cigarette. Suddenly a police officer hurries in the room and unlocks her cell. The twin climbing the bars jumps down and both men help their sister to their feet.
“I’m very sorry, Miss McManus. If we’d known who you were, of course we would’ve let you go earlier,” the cop apologizes like he’s insulted a dignitary.
The twins sweep Lucy out of the cell. “What about Adam?” Lucy asks, pointing at me. “We can’t just leave him here, Conor,” Lucy says to the brother on her left, pulling on his sleeve.
“Alright. We’ll ask Da to send the money for his fine,” the brother on Lucy’s right says.
“I’m not leaving till he gets out. Go call Daddy,” Lucy sinks to the floor, out of her brothers’ grips.
Conor groans. “Pat, go call Da. I’ll stay here with Lucy.” He nods toward the pay phone I used earlier to call Paul’s room and got no answer.
Within minutes, I’m out of my jail cell and feeling great relief.
“Since I got you out, you have to pay the forfeit,” Lucy says, sitting on the floor, but trying to be flirtatious with me.
“What forfeit?” I ask, feeling the beginnings of a hangover.
“You have to kiss me good-night, and my brothers are not allowed to pull their guns on you,” Lucy smiles.
Guns? Your brothers have guns?
“Fine, but Ma says we have to bring you home, baby girl,” Patrick folds his arms.
“No. I’m not going back to Boston. Fuck that. I refuse to marry any stupid Irish goon who’s asked Daddy for my hand in marriage. Ma may not have a problem marrying a hit man, but I gave up that life 7 years ago,” Lucy says loudly. “I have a callback audition anyway.”
Okay, some things are starting to make sense.
“Yeah, you’re the next Ethel Merman,” Conor picks up his sister and carries her out, followed by Patrick and me. Patrick hails a cab then motions that I’m to get in it. Terrified of getting “whacked,” I open the door and start to climb in.
“Wait!” Lucy shouts. “Conor, put me down,” and he does. “What about the forfeit?”
“Oh, right,” I mutter nervously. These men seem a lot more protective of their little sister than I am of mine. Lucy grabs my shirt and pulls me into a very nice kiss. I barely notice as she turns us around. I do notice, however, her suddenly pulling me into the cab with her, slamming the door and telling the driver to go before her brothers can pull us back out.
“What are you doing?” I shout, knowing this will probably get me killed.
“Having an adventure,” Lucy giggles. “So where are we going?”
I stare at her like she’s gone absolutely barking mad. “Well, I need to get back to my hotel and the band,” I say, being responsible.
“Okay,” she shrugs. “Can I crash there? The bartender took my keys.”
“Sure,” I shrug. She can’t cause too much trouble in a hotel room. When we get to my room, something is going on in Edge and Bono’s room that is causing a lot of drunken shouting from all three of my bandmates. I unlock the door, but Lucy pulls me in the room before I can go investigate.
I wake up and Lucy’s sleeping on top of me, naked. And my bandmates are standing at the foot of my bed, taking pictures.
“Oh, come on, fellas,” I groan and pull the covers over us.
“Why? We can blackmail you with these,” Bono grins while Edge snaps another picture.
“Yeah, I think we’ll send them to Donna,” Larry adds.
I slide out from under Lucy and stand up. “Get out,” I point toward the door with my hand.
“If you’re going to shag her again, can we watch?” Edge asks, taking a picture of me in the nude.
“Out!” I roar, waking Lucy. My bandmates leave, giggling.
“Where am I?” Lucy asks, sitting up. She looks at me, but doesn’t seem surprised that I’m naked. “Who are you?”
“Adam,” I say, trying to jog her pickled memory.
“Hi,” she waves. “Uh, I’d better go,” she takes a long look at me. “But I guess we could have sex one more time before I go.”
I walk over to the door and lock it, then climb back in bed.
- nice
