Prologue
Perlman's Old Time Saloon was bursting at the seams. Great clouds of nicotine and marijuana leaked from every pore of the bar. Morgan Primrose always came to the OT, that's what the college kids called it, on Thursday nights. It was a pockmarked sweaty little place that smelled musty anytime the temperature went above ninety, but The Spurs were playing and the drinks were cheap. Thursday nights Morgan would sip at her vodka cranberry while she watched, and occasionally fantasized about Darius, lead singer of The Spurs. Darius was a budding rock god who crooned like Jim Morrison and moved like a panther. His boozy predation never failed to send waves of sexuality through the audience. Morgan felt it more than most, sometimes when he sang he would look at her, make eye contact, and smile ever so slightly in a way that made all her troubles melt into the cracked linoleum of the OT.
Morgan finished her first drink and made her way through to the bar, dodging cigarette cherries and loosely held drinks she finally bellied up. The bartender was occupied with a group of girls who looked too young to be there, but too attractive to be left out of the action. Morgan sighed quietly and waited to catch his attention. She felt an elbow jab her in the back and she turned to see a guy with a puckish look on his face. "I'm sorry, did I tag you?"
Morgan nodded and smiled sheepishly.
"Let me buy you a drink to make it up to you," he replied, but she couldn't hear him over the music.
"No thanks."
"What was that? What are you having? I'll get you another one."
"No thank you." She yelled.
He shrugged and disappeared back into the crowd. It was another two minutes before the bartender served her.
After several minutes Morgan traversed the gauntlet and made it back to her table, which had acquired a small collection of empty glasses. She sat and turned her attention back to Darius and The Spurs. The band declared their intermission and Morgan whimpered softly. Sometimes it was painful to be her, she thought many times that she should just let loose and attack Darius with all her wiles. Morgan was never brash enough for that, and she never thought she had any wiles. She drifted through her college life completely unaware of her effect on the men around her, of how they fantasized about her at night. She would have exploded into a room had she had any knowledge of just how hot she was. Instead she thought she was too fat, too short, too curvy, or too nerdy.
Morgan sipped at her vodka cranberry as the band tore into their second set. Darius slinked as women crowded at the base of the stage for the chance to touch his hand, his hair, or any part they could clutch at in the vain hope of collecting a small souvenir. Morgan was lost in the music moving slowly to the back beat. She lifted her drink to her lips as the ice shifted sending liquor and juice down the front of her blouse. She wiped the liquid from her chin as her head darted around to see if anyone had noticed. Everyone's attention was on the stage except one man in the corner. He watched her with amusement. She grinned and shrugged at her own klutziness. She went back into her reverie as she watched Darius.
Something itched at her ear, so she turned her head and she saw the man again, much more clearly as though he had a spotlight on him. He was attractive, she thought to herself, in a tortured artist kind of way. His hair was messy and long, but stylishly so. He wore simple clothes, jeans, t-shirt, and boots but they looked like they were tailored for him. She was transfixed for a moment and felt slightly dirty when she realized she hadn't been watching Darius. She looked away from him and back at Darius. After two verses she was back into her trance.
She watched for a while then began to shift in her seat. She felt the stress of a full bladder so she quickly rose and headed for the bathrooms. In the restroom she quickly went about her business then washed her hands. As she was washing she noticed something odd. Through the graffiti scarred mirror she saw a girl, sexy, attractive, with a body any woman would kill to have. She was looking at herself in the mirror but it was like she had never really seen herself before. Her breathing became shallow and she touched the surface of the mirror. Her lips were full and pouty. She lightly traced a finger around her lips. She then noticed the stained shirt and beneath her own cleavage. She moved her hand slowly to the cleft and rubbed lightly in a circle. She was turning herself on and without warning the spell was broken when a new batch of women came in. She saw herself in the mirror again, not the goddess she imagined. She shook her head clear and returned to her table.
Morgan noticed the man in the corner as she sat. He made eye contact with her and smiled. She felt pressure in her head as if the altitude had suddenly changed. She tried to look away but she was magnetized to his gaze. After several moments she managed to pull away and look back at the stage. Darius was singing to a girl in the front row, but something was wrong with the picture. Darius seemed smaller, less charismatic, like a caricature of a rock star, like a caricature of Darius. It was like someone had recast him while she was in the restroom.
