New Assignment...

[Beswitchingly Positive]

Thank you for all the help, rose and H Dean. That was a mess.

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Would you bring me a boquet of baby blue forget me nots?
the kind that are stolen
not the common kind store bought
Light me a candle, to La dy Dym ph na the saint?
and on your way out
could you please loosen my restraints?
Forget me not.
ForgetMeNot

Ana never liked country music before she had to work with that album on the jukebox; ‘Forgetmenot’ was currently her favorite song. The longing, lyric, twisted lovesong caught her ear; the clipty-clop of the rythm pulsed gently from the green neon machine. The soft melody of the guitar carried the song to the next verse. She sang along softly, standing at the sink, head bent, washing glasses.

Her attention was only half on the little dining room adjacent to her bar.
Lost in a moment of music, hands missing in the soapy water, she worked the glass up and down, mindlessly twisting it on the bottle brushes mounted in the bottom of the sink. Backlit by the brighter lights shining on the big mirror and the shelf of bottles, she enjoyed the hot water on her hands and the fluidity of the song, notes from the guitar sliding along with the words.

The waiter could take care of the few tables they had at three in the morning. She had recently attended to the scattering of customers at the bar: the snuggly couple at the end, close on thier seats had fresh golden pints, the boys just off work in their waiter's black and white competeing for the two tourist girl's attention with amber shots of Jameson and black frothy pints of Guinness. She half heard the happy chatter of her customers. Everyone was content-everyone but her.

Her mind was elsewhere.

He stood at the smoky entrance in the open door and watched her for a moment before walking in.

In her free minutes she did medetative menial tasks like washing dishes or cutting fruit and she allowed herself to think of Andrew. They had thoroughly enjoyed their last date. As always, they parted without further plans. As always she wondered when she would see him again. Days had passed. She lost her self in the memory of his eyes, his warm hands. Her hands moved mechanically through the hot sudsy water. She wondered when he would kiss her. They had parted reluctantly, only hugging, after each date. Singing, she pictured his face and relished it as the chords progressed to a her favorite verse of that sad song. He sat at the bar unnoticed, and heard her softly singing...

"I been waitin' and waitn'
in this
mad lone ly tower
for
you to come see me
during
vi si tor's hours

well, the head nurse
starts crying
and shaking
ev ry ti me I call your name

The detective, man, he's smiling
he says
"for this one,
sonny boy, you're gonna hang.

could ya bring me a boquet of ba-by blue forgetmenots..."

Sitting quietly he was glad that he had prepared his room. There was little doubt that she would say yes.

She looked up from the last glass at the beginning of the second chorus and caught him watching her in the hazy light. He had materialized out of the emptiness to sit there, watching her sing.

She caught her self, almost gasping in delight as she looked up from the sink; her voice siezed midword. Her heart stopped, she sightlessly dipped the pint glass for a final rinse and was washed over with warmth. Her eyes settled on the face she most wanted to see. She drew her hand slowly from the water.

He had entered quietly, always quiet. She had let him remain so, served him drinks for months before learning his name. More months of soft conversation had passed before their first date. Suddenly, sitting right in front of her, across the bar, he caught her off guard. Setting the glass next to the others, she fell into the liquid blue of his eyes. Time froze.

He looked into her hazel green eyes wordlessly. She had to abrubtly stop wondering when she might see him as it registered that he was here now. Blushing, as if he had heard her thoughts, she swallowed her smile in a vain attempt to look unsurprised. She could not lose his eyes.

Surely, no more than a second passed when time woke and slowly crept forward as he smiled, eyes lit with fire. The sound of Happy Talk Band flooded her head as sense of hearing came back, joined with the movement of time. "Light me a candle, to lady Dymph na, the saint...and on your way out, could you please loos en my retsraints? For get me not.""

The chatter of the other customers had faded in the background as his face glowed his mischievious grin. The light in the bar became slightly sharper as if his smile had dilated her eyes. Her own smile spilled out, sound of surprised greeting passed her lips, time jerked back on its track.

The hello she managed sounded like a hiccup.

Regaining composure quickly, she jerked herself back into professional posture. "What can I get for you baby?" same way she always said it, same way she said it to everyone.

That got her a playful frown; his eyes were still smiling.

"Forgot my drink already?"

She beamed at him for a second, said nothing, spun away; a ballerina in tight jeans and a black tank in diaphanous light behind the bar. She was an angel in a cloud of other people's cigarettes. Snagging a tall glass from the top shelf with one hand, the bottle of Goose with the other, turning back to the bar, she gracefully put them down in front of him. She dipped down and grabbed the grapefruit juice from the cooler, closing the door with her foot as she put the juice down next to the vodka. She looked him in the eye. He smiled as she blindly scooped, filled the glass with ice, four count of vodka, big slpash of pink juice, threw it into the shaker and poured it back into the glass. She was a fluid rush of motion, not wasting a drop.

She carefully laid a white barnap on the blonde, polished wood in front of him. She picked up his drink in her right hand and looked at him as she pressed the cold glass toward her cleavage before presenting the perfectly blended beverage and setting it in the center of the napkin as if it were a personal offering from her heart.

He thanked her. Dim smoke-stained light from the little bulb over the bar shined down on him like a halo. The rough grey cinderblock wall behind him managed to catch some of the color of his eyes; for a moment it looked more blue than grey. Cold blue eyes sent a tiny shiver up her spine. Tasting her drink, he held her with a steady look. She waited.

No compliment, he got right to the point with a firm low voice, "What are your plans after work?"

Before she could think of anything clever to say "I have no plans," fell out of her mouth.

He stared at her. "I am taking you home with me tonight."

Her heart was pounding, ears burning, face red. His words pinned her feet to the floor and her cunt clenched. In a shy whisper she managed to respond, "You'll have to wait for me. I have an hour left."

He had spent hours thinking about this, and his heart was rushing secretly. He answered with silence. Maintaining his cool composure, before she could reconsider, he took his drink, hoisted his grey backpack and walked beautifully away from her.

She watched his old faded jeans and dark blue shirted back as he distanced himself. He crossed the red painted concrete floor to the table in the far corner of the dining room. She turned away quickly as he chose his seat.

It was all she could do not to grab herself by the crotch knees buckling, and sink down to the floor behind the chrome keg cooler onto the black rubber matt behind the bar in the fetal position while his back was turned.

He sat, took laptop from backpack and placed it on the dingy brown table. He choose the chrome and red vinyl padded chair in the corner deliberately, wanting a view of the bar, so he could look up and watch her working. Not staring too long, he was soon lost in his typing.

Ana attempted to dismiss him from her mind. She moved lightly between her customers carrying bottles and glasses, full and empty, back and forth through the smell of Marlboro's mixed with beer, pizza, and summer drink-sweat. Glancing occasionally at his drink, she watched the slow progression of it's disappearence.

She tried not to glance above the bar at the icy glass cold face of the old clock in the iron frame; the hands did not seem to move.

Ana's relief showed up fifteen minutes early, good old Christopher of the graveyard crew, never late for the torturous four am shift. She was happy to see him.

She wanted the night to end so it could begin; yet she was nervous about the man with the blue eyes watching her from the corner table.

He made her feel fifteen. Her stomach tightened up, her mind replayed his statement; I am taking you home with me tonight. It caused a fever in the wet cleft between her legs.

Glancing up at him past the other customers she caught his eye; his look told her time was almost up.

She chased down all of the running tabs; she paid for Andrew’s, avoiding talking to him about something as mundane as his drink price. She took the money from her shift and dumped it in a green zippered pouch. She crammed her uncounted tips into her black leather purse. Christopher came behind the bar with his bank and looked around.

"Look's good, as always, Anastasia, you're a peach. Damn, did you have time to polish the bottles?"

"Yep, not too busy tonight, hope you brought a book."

"Stay for a game of chess?"

"Not tonight Chris. I have plans."

She paused, her mind darted around this statement like a hummingbird, extracting the sweetness and meaning of the words.

"One drink, after I count out."

He looked at her questioningly as she quickly put her finger to her lips giving him a shush, Ana took her money and went to the back.

Andrew watched the new bartender take the girl's' place. His eyes followed as she vanished into the back office with the bank. He was leaning back in his chair with his an eye on the scuffed door when she emerged. He gave her a slight nod. She held up an index finger signalling 'one' and pointing at the bar, hoping he would get the signal that she wanted one drink, that it was the proper thing to do. Midshift can’t just abandon graveyard. He smiled and nodded again, mirroring her gesture then turned back to the screen to wrap up his work.

She sat at the end of the bar with her back to Andrew's corner.

"What'll it be, pretty lady?" Chris was a charmer. She smiled and asked for a Stoli Madras; he made her a tall one. She could feel Andrew's hot eyes at her back; she wanted him to come sit with her. She could almost see him in the mirror behind the bar. She did not look; practicing patience. Patience in turn was straining at the leash, a dog in heat. Trying so hard not to turn around or squirm in her seat, she did not see him until he was next to her.

She almost jumped when he touched her back.

"No one can sneak up on me like you," she smiled as he pulled up the next barstool.

"Only one of my super powers." he said it quietly, close to her ear, so only she could hear-so Christopher would not hear, well aware that Chris had also been watching her, looking at her ass in those jeans every chance. Ana was oblivious to everyone but Andrew. His quiet voice was a wave that drowned the chatter of the crowd and went into her head. She loved the way he said things.

"Hmmm, what else you got?"

"I am taking you home with me tonight."

"That is what you said." Her face was pink, a schoolgirl caught with no panties. He loved the combination of her cocky attitude and the guilty-innocent flush of her skin.

His eyebrow raised slightly. "That is what I'll do ."

She felt a little more confident and her inner flirt toook charge.

"What else will you do.?"

"I will whisper that in your ear. Later."

She could feel the sparks coming off of him as he leaned in close and spoke the hot words in her ear. Silently moaning in delight, the tingle ran up her spine; she could feel the passion inside burning to a fever.

Patience agonized over the fact that she drank faster than Andrew as he ordered another from Chris. Patience took her side again, reasoning she was the one who wanted to stay for a drink in the first place, and they had rushed nothing before tonight. She relaxed and enjoyed being near Andrew.

They sat and chatted with Chris for a half hour. Andrew’s second drink went down faster. He declined another round and looked her in the eye and simply asked "Ready?"

"Yes, baby. Let's go."

He drove to his place. The house had been scoured, every corner was clean. Ana was known for her clean bar; he did not want her to think him messy. The maid cancelling this week had not upset him. He had to do this himself. He had washed all the tiles in the kitchen and baths, found time to steam clean the rugs. It was for himself as much as her, he liked his place clean.

Silently they entered. It looked like a hospital with mood lighting, not the bachelor pad she expected at all. The surfaces were white, walls, floors, carpet, spartan white furniture and dark wood cabinetry, stark, simple space. There was almost no furniture, a white futon in the living room, chrome stools around the island counter in the open kitchen where he never cooked...There was a faint smell of lavender and...clean. She was silent.

She felt the lonely existance led in that still white house.

"Want the tour?"

It was more a proceedural offer to break the silence than a question.

She followed him as he gave each room a wave and a name, "living room, kitchen, bathroom, my nerve center the office, guest bedroom, my room..."

He opened the door to his bedroom, and Ana felt faint.

Candles in glass jars adorned every surface; dresser, armoire, and bed tables. Dim flickering danced shadows of roses and baby's breath on the white walls. Radiant smell of soft petals hit her, erasing all memory of the smoky bar, the stench of her daily existence. Roses in vases, strewn about, splashed vivid red in her vision. Lavender scented candles intermingled salaciously with the musky fumes from the roses. The room was white despite the dark heavy furniture, white candles, walls, carpet, bed made with white sheets and pillows. All reds and white and black, except for one detail.

On the white bed was a single bunch, different from all the perfect fragrant roses. These were hand picked from a neighbors garden.

A boquet of baby blue forgetmenots.

She looked at him, her gaze soft as she blinked the beginning of a tear away. He put his arms around her and pulled her close, she inhaled deeply, her face on his chest.

"Andrew. Your place is beautiful."

He ran his hand up the back of her neck gently and his fingers twisted in her hair as he got a grip at the base of her scalp. She inhaled sharply as he pulled her head back and kissed her neck roughly on the jugular. Nails sank into his arms as his lips traced up to her burning ears. She held on as he moved her head roughly, lips and tongue found the hot spots along the nape of her neck, responding to her breathing and voice as sounds of ecstasy passed her own. Warm lips pulled away as he held her by the hair nice and tight and met her eyes. He told her something she already knew.

“The roses have their thorns.”

She smiled as he held her with his gaze, with his hand, her nails still in his flesh.

“I know Andrew, mine do too”

[Dragon's muse]

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Would you bring me a boquet (bouquet) of baby blue forget me nots?


Ana never liked country music before she had to work with that album on the jukebox; ‘Forgetmenot’ was currently her favorite song. The longing, lyric, twisted lovesong (two words) caught her ear; the clipty-clop of the rythm (rhythm) pulsed gently from the green neon machine.






In her free minutes (add "while" here) she did medetative menial tasks like washing dishes or cutting fruit and she allowed herself to think of Andrew.

As always, they parted without further plans. As always she wondered when she would see him again. Lose one of the "as always". Using the same word or phrase too close together gives a sing-song feel and can take the reader out of the story and into a rhythm



She caught her self (one word), almost gasping in delight as she looked up from the sink; her voice siezed (seized)midword.



Regaining composure quickly, she jerked herself back into professional posture. "What can I get for you, baby?" same way she always said it, same way she said it to everyone.





Before she could think of anything clever to say, "I have no plans," fell out of her mouth.










Silently, they entered.


She felt the lonely existance (existence) led in that still white house.


It was more a proceedural (procedural) offer to break the silence than a question.



On the white bed was a single bunch, different from all the perfect fragrant roses. These were hand picked from a neighbors garden.

A boquet (bouquet) of baby blue forgetmenots.

Fantastic rewrite. Just a few minor spellings dings and commas here and there. I am proud of you.

[Beswitchingly Positive]

rose,

Thank you! I could have sworn I looked up bouquet, and I thought I caught the rest, ah well, I am taking more time with the next assignment...I wanted to ask if there is a standard way to write out song lyrics in this context? I imagine is it necessary to get permission from the band (I know one of the guys from happy talk, so I could get permission to use the words in this case) Also I was trying to write the words to sound like the song, you could hear it on myspace, happytalkband has it on their page, if you are inclined and have the time.

This device might only work with popular well known songs (I seem to remember Stephen king uses pop music quotes now and then) where the melody just pops into one's head.

The next piece is in the works, I am taking your red marks seriously and I am detemined to catch my errors and do a couple of rewrites before posting.

That you are proud of me feels really nice. Thank you for all of your help.

julia