The Ticket

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Atomic
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The Ticket

Post by Atomic » Sat May 30, 2015 12:36 am

It was 10 o'clock, and I had two slugs in me. One was lead, one was bourbon. The bourbon was winning.

Outside the window was another warm spring day, filled with the potential and pulchritude you can only find around here when the rich tarts start parading around in their latest labels while shopping for some new sucker to stroke their ego. No, not the tarts on the streets of Compton or Venice. I'm talking about the truly vicious types who would hire some other tart from ass end of town for a private party (by way of the gardener – clean hands and all that) then have me film it for the divorce. After all, last years Gulfstream is so outré. Then they're off to St. Moritz to rain hell on some helpless concierge because he can't locate a compatible charger for her vibrator. At least the check cleared.

The door chime rang, and she walked in. Head up, eyes straight, Vitton bag at her side, and the latest Milan sundress from that designer I keep forgetting the name of. The flower print white linen draped nicely over her firm breasts, with the cut and nipped waist designed especially to show off her cleavage and bralessness. Backless, sleeveless, floaty knee length skirt – those Italians sure knew how to dress a walking wet dream.

A large emerald cut amethyst hung in the delicious gap between at least $20,000 worth of breast augmentation. That, or they were real, and she was actually 23. Sure. Whatever. We all know every 23 year old Californian walks around with a Harry Winston diamond bracelet and natural boobs. Daddy loves her, don't ya know. Yeah. That's the ticket. The dress alone was more than my last month's income, not including the underwear, if she had any. Don't get me started on the sandals.

Her brunette hair (surprise! Not blond!) looked like it had been done by somebody who actually spoke French – not some loser from Cincinnati who took night classes until he could pass off the accent. She had that rich, bored look, slightly disappointed, as if she had to make do driving daddy's Bently because the Lamborghini was in the shop. If I played this right, maybe her daddy could pay off some of my bills, too.

“Good morning! How may I help madame today?” Yeah, I lay it on thick, but it works.

“Do you validate parking?”

“Certainly, madame! Your ticket please?”

As she twisted to dig into her bag, I was treated to a clear view of the soft, moist skin and the tiny, silvery hairs gracing the alcove nestling the luckiest piece of amethyst in the world. She handed me the ticket, I regained eye contact (jade green – down boy, down) and reached for the stamp.

“I just had my nails done at the Saigon Salon, and I didn't want to have to walk all the way back up there.” She held out her hands above the counter, fingers pointing down, to show me a collection of happy pandas frolicking in bamboo.

“Lovely!” I replied, “and their pedis are to die for!”

“Oh yes – I haven't tried the fish thing yet, but I hear it's wonderful.”

Time for the spiel as I handed back the ticket.

“There you are, madame, and may I say we're having a special this month on patio and veranda make-overs. Time to get ready for summer gatherings, you know!”

“Why yes! I was planning a little soiree...”

Soiree. Can't just hold a goddam party – has to be a soiree. Whatever.

“... late next month, and the veranda is looking a bit dated.” She tilted her head with a half smile as she looked at me. Just enough to bring out those cheekbones. And the crow's feet.

“Of course, madame! Here's my card, and I'd be happy to serve all your needs.”

Just then, that little piece of lead reminded me of the golden rule in this business: Wait until the check clears. Business. Focus on business.

She thanked me and I escorted her to the front of the shop. The sunlight caught the dress just right as I held the door open. I was right about the underwear. Full Brazilian. And those were some damn nice sandals, too.

Not a bad start to the day. I sat back at the counter and looked out the front window again. I was starting to like what it said there: Calvin Hobbes – Interior Designs.

This business is so much safer than the old one. Yeah. That's the ticket.
Last edited by Atomic on Fri Jun 05, 2015 9:52 am, edited 1 time in total.
Don't let other peoples limitations become your constraints!

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TazManiac
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Re: The Ticket

Post by TazManiac » Sat May 30, 2015 2:36 am

Vurry, vurry niche-y. I like it...

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Sgt. Howard
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Re: The Ticket

Post by Sgt. Howard » Sat May 30, 2015 11:21 am

It would appear that this place abounds with creative talent- richly worded, cynical, sarcastic- a perfect view of everybody's dark side... I love it!!!
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.

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Atomic
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Re: The Ticket

Post by Atomic » Mon Jun 01, 2015 7:49 am

Thank you! I was part of a writing group, and the exercise topic was "Hard boiled." With my taste for the absurd, I chose "Interior Designer" for the challenge, and a certain boy and his tiger came to mind by way of Tracer Bullet , P.I.

As you can imagine, Hard Boiled Nurse quickly devolved into an S&M tale...
Don't let other peoples limitations become your constraints!

My Deviant Art scribbles
The Atomic Guide to Basic GIMP Stuff

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Julie
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Re: The Ticket

Post by Julie » Mon Jun 01, 2015 9:54 am

Love this!! :)
"Just open your eyes
And see that life is beautiful."

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