"I hate this place, it just reeks of desperation." This from the slightly frumpy woman next to her. An icebreaker.
Elise looked at woman next to her, noting the hypocrisy in her statement, given that she was here drinking her little floral drinks, and then smiled the false smile she gave people she detested. Fuck, these people don't have half a clue how pathetic they are, she thought. The woman was easily ten years her senior, obviously interested, and despite the fact that Elise normally had a thing for older women, she walked away without a word, leaving the talker at the bar.
"Hey, I was talking!", the woman stuttered as Elise left.
Elise wasn't here for talk. That was for other people.
She was here for prey.
And with that, she did a tour of the dance floor, looking for her victim. This club was a miasma, full of middle-aged dykes and a bunch of twenty something pretenders, nothing real. They were either living in relationships and toying with the idea of something thrilling, bored more than anything, or they were the type that would tentatively lick you and run to the next great boyfriend complete with the vacuous wedding they all craved. Living in a college town was a fucking drag. Everyone wanted to pretend they were lesbians for a summer or two. She wandered around, sipping her JD and coke (none of this diet shit for her) and tried to find the one true, single, available dyke in the bar. She pretended that she could feel, could sense the crazy coming off of everyone, and headed for the void. Wherever crazy wasn't, was where she needed to be.
The dance floor was full of half-hearted women, mostly overweight and many of them with nearly identical clothing, shuffling to some beat that was at least a decade younger than they were. For fuck's sake, at least put in some effort, Elise said to herself and she sidled through the crowd, brushing less than innocuously against the few good looking women.
Well, Dorothy, we sure as fuck are in Kansas.
For a second, she missed Kate. Really missed her, but it was a pang and nothing more. California was another life, ages ago, and this was the new Elise, fresh and confident. Kate had made her bed. Fucking whore.
She stopped at a tall table, almost too tall for comfort, and set her drink down. From here, she could see the entire dance floor, like a playground for the eyes. She stared for a while at the screens on the walls, trying to look nonchalant and watching the silhouettes of the dancers, clearly naked, writhing as ten foot giants. Some of them had good bodies, but couldn't dance worth a shit and some of them were utterly fantastic dancers, but you could see a paunch or a haunch here or there and you knew that as they got older, whatever love for body movement was going to diminish to something akin to obesity. Almost no one ran out here. She hadn't seen a bike since she had hit the state. No wonder heart attacks in women were nearly on par with men. For every California and Hawaii, there were 20 states like this.
---------
And yet, this was where you ran, tail between your legs.
Knock it off, wiseass. I dragged your sorry butt along, so shut up and enjoy the ride.
Obviously.
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She scanned the room and like magic, she found a table of businesswomen, obviously out of their element. That made things easier. You could pick out the actual dykes from the folks stuck in a bar they'd rather forget, just from body language. She sighted in and paid attention, suddenly hungry. There was a real beauty, classic, but with the ring on her finger and her hand gestures, she was as straight as a board and completely clueless she was in a gay bar. Next to her was a brunette, 30ish, with a not bad shape. Nice tits. She had lips you could kiss forever, but she was clearly trying enormously to bring to the attention of the first woman that this was a gay bar. Elise laughed. I wonder if the tall girl has any clue the brunette wants into her pants. Probably not; look at how clueless the princess is. After that, there was a string of really homely girls, clearly nothing worth writing home about.
And then she was there. Black hair, white face, round like the moon, and with eyes so big that you could just about swim in them. Elise watched her mannerisms, wondering ... hoping. The girl glanced around tentatively, never keeping her face on one spot for more than a few seconds, head down. Clearly a headcase, but clearly hot. No confidence. She sipped at some clear drink and Elise wondered if it was just water. If it was, this was over. If it was something with a kick, then this little porcelain doll had some habanero in her, just hiding. The girl bounced her head in time to the beat, clearly unware of the music itself and just riding the thump at the base of things. She had rhythm, so at least that was something. No one fucks worth a damn without rhythm.
And like it was ordained, the girl turned her head and caught Elise's glance, full on. It was only a second or two, but at that moment, there was something. Elise could feel it. Despite her best intentions, her stomach clenched and her heart had a bit of a stutter. Holy fuck, am I that desperate? She forced herself to look away, angry at herself for her weakness.
Carpe Diem. With a giant swig, she downed her drink and strode diametrically across the dance floor, splitting couples and bouncing shoulders as she went. Nothing worth having was worth waiting for.
"I'm Elise."
The girl was clearly frightened by how aggressive Elise's approach was, backing into the corner slightly. A woman from the group turned, did a double take on Elise, then a double take again on the porcelain doll.
"What the fuck are you looking at?", Elise barked at the gawker. The woman turned her back to the pair, sniffing her discontent. Good. Keep out of my way.
The girl tried to speak, but clearly was too frightened to actually form words.
"Listen, honey, I'm not a threat. I'm big and clumsy and not much more than that, but I know the rhumba and think that you are fantastically beautiful." Where the hell did that come from? It was from some romance novel, obviously. Clearly, she was out of practice.
"Uh."
"I think you need to get more than one syllable out. Like I said, I'm harmless."
"Uh."
"Good evening, my name is Elise Shannon, and you are ...?" Elise bowed pompously, hand out.
With that, the girl laughed behind her hand, hiding it like it was something dirty. Tenatively, she offered her hand, fingers down like some femme.
"I'm Charlotte. Charlotte Church." Her skin was cold, like ice. Within a second, her hands were back in her armpits, defensive.
"You have GOT to be kidding."
"No ... I wish I was."
"This is creepy. She's like, twelve."
"She turned nineteen the other day. My parents made sure to remind me."
"So ... your parents think you are Charlotte Church?"
"They wish I was; they have every album. They legally changed my name after she released her first album. I was 13, I think."
"That's insane."
"Well, if I had to choose between knifing me in my sleep or this type of insane, I know what I would choose."
Elise felt naked, all of a sudden, and wished she had a drink in her hand as a buffer. Instead, she slipped her hands inside her pockets. This girl was tiny, delicate. She felt like an elephant in front of her and all of those taunts from grade school came back to haunt her for a second. She bounced her head to the beat, much louder now that she was nearly at the speakers.
--------------
You know you want her. Kiss her.
Not now you fucking tool. I'm trying to actually get somewhere.
I'll bet her nipples are dark, like raspberries.
Oh, good god, is that all you think about?
That IS why I'm here, isn't it?
