"Well, my hair wasn't technically, supposed to be purple," Wendy's words reverberate inside Derrick's head, mixing with the downbeat music of the smoky bar, trying to swim through the copious amounts of alcohol he'd drunk.
Derrick sits perfectly still, completely stunned by the sudden revelation. Again and again he plays the scenario in his head trying to determine how things had gotten so far off the beaten track. Nothing is making sense to him at this moment and every sensation only serves to confuse his already puzzled mind.
Blame it on the booze pickling his brain, or the heavy, nicotine-laced atmosphere that circulates through the thick smog that is ever present from the heavier of the smokers. Whatever the case, something doesn't fit right and it's up to our boy alone to put back all the pieces that have fallen all around him, to make sense of things.
As a very handsome man, we're talking supermodel beauty and perfection without even really trying, the lucky dog, Derrick is no stranger to women and it would be no exaggeration to say, that attractive women throw themselves at his feet. At first it was enthralling, but after a time, the simple, physical gratification grew tedious.
What's more, Derrick is not only a stunningly Adonis level bachelor, I mean… Okay, I'm going to stop. This isn't healthy. He also broke the mold on brains and snagged himself one with an intelligent disposition. He enjoys stimulating his mind as well as his body and he wants partners who are more than just pretty things to look at.
However, the dating scene is never easy pickings, by any stretch of the imagination. Attracting a mate is so difficult, people often rely on so-called experts to tell them how to land their whale. But not just any whale, they want a white whale. One that sparkles and shimmers, or one that will just keep a job and pay the rent and be good to the kids. Impossible.
More than once, Derrick has been let down by women in his pursuit for a higher intelligence. He'd get sidetracked by their beauty and forget all about his initial pursuit. He'd wine and dine them to their little hearts' content, and the parties would be smashing. At the end of the night, he'd be left with, well, they weren't Pulitzer prize winners that's for sure. But not this time.
This time, however, is going to be different. This time he's going to find a smart girl who can stimulate his mind, as well as his body, and there would be no obstacle too great for him to overcome. This evening is not going to end in disappointment. He has the body. He has the mind. Now, he needs only to put the two to work to secure a favorable outcome.
So it is that Derrick enters the corner bar, just down the street from his house. The simple dive that goes by the name Hell's Shapeless Interior. It appeals to his wayward soul. As such, he's been coming here for so long that he is in fact a regular and knows most of the other regulars. He looks about the place.
Sam, who looks like he belongs in a biker-gang, with his leather vest propped open in the front, revealing a bare chest and a massive tattoo of an evil looking clown's face. is tending bar. He wears a bandana tied tightly around his head which is black with many white skulls littering the pattern.
Maxine, a fairly mature woman with a rounded figure, is impeccable dressed in a daring yellow dress and is further dolled up with heavy eyeshadow, brushes of rouge on her cheeks and a strong bit of purple lipstick. As is usual for her, she already has several young men lining her table and begging for her attention.
Tyrone, impeccably dressed in a black and white pinstripe suit is the only regular who happens to be colored as well. To what side this color leans, no one is quite sure as he can easily pass for nearly any race that is not pale. He's fleecing the patrons ignorant of his skill, of their money at the billiard table.
All in all, it is an ordinary, Thursday night that is only starting to ramp up into the late evening hours. There is plenty of fun and entertainment to be had for those with patience and an eye for the more subtle clues. As for the rest, well, they end up being the fun and entertainment, for they know not that they are swimming with sharks.
Derrick tips his hat to each of his fellow regulars in turn and they return the gesture in their own way. It's both an uplifting measure to know that he can expect exactly what he is prepared for, and yet, that is exactly what he's worried about. He doesn't want to just float through the night he wants to… Then he sees her.
He can't believe what he's seen and is so astounded he finds it impossible to look away. Slowly, he makes his way across the room, angling through the bar, negotiating the slew of tables and all the people who would hold him back. All the same, he makes for the far end of the bar itself and the proverbial cheese, at the end of the maze.
With heart racing, he takes stock as he draws closer to his quarry. She's of average build, not too big, not too small, decent height. Black knee-high boots grace her legs, wrapped around fishnet stockings. A black miniskirt hangs from her hips, held in place with a large black belt, both of which are adorned with metal studs.
The woman, who seems to have a predilection for the color black, also wears a blood-red leather jacket, with a burning skull covering her back and sleeves that stop just before the elbow. Another set of fishnet stockings encircle her arms, before ending at black, fingerless gloves.
All of these features are nice, and more than a little enrapturing, but what really sets Derrick off, is her hair. It's like a work of art. It is no longer than her chin and combed to one side so it favors the right and hangs in front of her eye, but what is really enthralling, is the color.
The shade of this eye-catching hairdo is a dark, deep purple with lighter hues of the same palate streaking through it in a spiral fashion. There simply are no words, it's a veritable work of art and he is standing within the gallery housing it, ready to drop to his knees and thank whatever is responsible for making this happen.
This is it, the woman he's been looking for all this time. She's before him now, large as life, and he would not let her get away. The greeting is simple. "Hello, my name is Derrick," he starts in and sets a hand to the empty chair beside her. "May I sit beside you?"
The woman eyes him with a side-ways glance, then shrugs her shoulders as she returns to her large, frothy beer. Our Lothario pulls out the seat and sits himself down. There is only silence to greet his arrival, not all what he's used to, given the chatterboxes he used to courting. This is not going to be easy.
Starting with a cough, Derrick hedges in with small talk, which the woman only occasionally responds to. All completely innocent, designed to skirt and real sensitive issues, interrupted by calls for more booze from fellow barflies, but not her. She's nursing her beer giving a clear signal who find me a drunk, easy target.
After a fashion, the conversation starts to pick up and the woman even turns in her seat, so that they can talk face to face. Her name's Wendy and she is starting to warm to him. She's even taken to drinking her beer in proper fashion and calls for another once she's finished this one.
Finally, Derrick decides it's time. "I really love your hair," he tells her, eyeing the swirl and following it round and round. "Purple really suits you and the way you swirled in the lighter hues, it's, it's like a work of art."
"You mean this?" Wendy asks, as she twirls a finger in her locks. "Yeah, I kind of like it. Even if it's not what I wanted."
"Not what you wanted?" Derrick repeats in the form of a question, his eyes going blank.
That's when Wendy drops the bomb on him. "Well, my hair wasn't technically, supposed to be purple," are the words that explode from her mouth despite her maintaining an even timbre and giving a chuckle, like the end of a long drawn out joke.
She carries on with her explanation, but Derrick is only half listening. He can't believe that the one aspect he is most attracted to, is a fluke. She hadn't meant to do it? How do you accidentally create such a masterpiece?
Finished with her story, Wendy shoots him a coy glance. "You wanna go dancing?" she asks giving him a 'come hither' look. "I know a great club."
Derrick, only half conscious, nods.
"Great, I'll be outside. You pay the bill," with these words, Wendy makes for the door, but not before throwing him a kiss.
Derrick sits in a complete stupor.
"Everything alright?" Sam asks, as he rounds the other side of the bar.
"Just fine." Derrick returns reflexively and reaches for his wallet. "What do I owe you?"
Sam tallies the drinks in his head. "Let's say fifteen bucks," he surmises.
Derrick fishes Andrew Jackson from his wallet and places him face down on the bar. "Keep the change," the words fall from his lips, rather than spoken.
Sam snatches up the note and rams it down his apron. "Thanks, me old cracker," he says, adopting a half English accent and giving a pat to his shoulder, a gesture he reserves only for those who are true regulars.
Derrick rises from his seat and shuffles across the room. He eyes Tyrone, who flashes him a gold- toothed smile, waving a set of five, crisp, one-hundred-dollar bills, like a fan.
The dazed lothario is hardly paying attention to where he's going and so, bumps into a soft mound of flesh in front of him.
"What in the-" Maxine spits as she spins about, but soon changes her tone when she sees who it is. "Oh, it's you Derrick. What's the matter?" He opens his mouth, but it's the plump woman who speaks. "I know. I know. You just threw yourself at a pretty girl, like you always do, and you're worried she's going to be just another emptyheaded dribbling idiot."
Derrick absent mindedly nods.
"Take it from someone who's been around the block a few times-" Maxine speaks to him as though a misguided youth and places a hand on her shoulder.
"Make that a few hundred," one of her suitors interjects while giving a guffaw and slapping the table.
"You shut up," Maxine snips at him, before turning back around. "Look, you're never going to find that perfect girl. She doesn't exist. You just have to make do with what you've got and hope for the best. Who knows, if you just open up a little you might find that the girl is more interesting than you first thought."
Derrick nods, enthusiasm returning to his side. His spirits have been lifted by her pep talk, if only temporarily. He's ready to play the game once more and see just what cards he really has in his hand rather than simply throwing the game. He makes for the door with renewed vigor.
"A few hundred, huh?" Maxine gives the funny man what's for as she returns to her table. "Well guess what, you got to pay the tab."
"But I don't have any money," the comedian whines and looks thoroughly downtrodden.
"Too bad," Maxine snaps back and sits herself down. "You should have thought of that before you made fun of me."
Derrick gives a final look back to the bar before smiling. These really are his kind of people. And with that he carries on his way and out the door marked by real possibility.
Exercise #150: Beginning Line
Use this line as the beginning for your piece:
"Well, my hair wasn't technically supposed to be purple."
(Line courtesy of kitsune.)