Sex, Booze & Tattoos

Elvira

As Reagan races ahead out through the glass plated doors and into the street, stealing my bottle of wine, she doesn’t notice me falling behind. I drag from my cigarette, and then reach for the handle of the door. Before I can claim it, I myself am claimed as someone grabs my shoulder. I reach for my lighter as I spin, but hit the wall and it falls from my grasp. I look down to see where the new stolen Bettie Page lighter is for a second, until realisation hits and my eyelids reveal more of my fate.
“Looks like DeMona’s been stealing again”
I stare up into the eyes of my assailant.
“Dro what the fuck? Have you been stalking me!” I ask plainly.
“No, just overheard is all” he replies coyly.
“Where the fuck have you been! I’ve missed you so much” I pull him into a hug.
“I’ve been...ya know...doing the usual shitload of stuff that is my life. I don’t suppose you know anything at all about DSA...nope,” he raises his eyebrows, staring at the ceiling.
“I miss the days when I could just fly over and see you all for a random occurrence, but ya know, my promotions made things a little tighter.” I say “You should’a called.” With a sigh I stare at the floor; all thought of my destination fallen into a black hole suddenly.
“Yeah well you could have called too...I miss our stupid conversations,” he says.
“Shit...Elvira what the...hi Dro,” Reagan comes bounding through the doors.
“Fuck. I gotta go. You got any plans for the next fifteen minutes?” I ask Dro.
“Nope, was hoping to talk to you, that’s about it,” he explains.
“Come with then! But we gotta go work,” Reagan grabs his arm and we’re all off out of the door again.
“You asshole!” Reagan shouts as a cab, supposedly the one she called up, drives off. She spends the next five minutes going berserk at the traffic until another cab ultimately dares to come close enough. We all jump in that cab and Reagan screeches at the driver to get to the Astoria pronto.
“Sigh....so what brings you so sunny ol’ London huh?” Reagan says just as, ironically, it starts to rain. I sit back in satisfaction and smile out of the window.
“I wanted to join the circus,” Dro replies really seriously.
“And I live here,” I say.
She gives me a confused look until I make actions to the snot spraying incident in the elevator, making her platform connect with my knee.
“Dickhead. She’s been waiting for you to call for a while now. Between forgetting and fucking that is,” Reagan says.
I shoot her a serious death glare as if to say ‘window. You. Jump!’
“So what’s this job then?” he asks after a long uncomfortable pause.
“Oh you didn’t over hear that then huh?” I smirk, rolling my eyes.
“Shhhh,” he mumbles.
“Slipknot. We got a week touring with them, starting with tonight,” Reagan answers.
“You’ll be happy to spend a week with Joey then eh.”
“Fuck yeah,” she nods childishly.

I let them carry on, while I phase out, looking at the rain with thoughts whirring around my head like a twister.
The past year I’ve have been waiting for a call, that call to tell me it’d be ok, everything was right with the world and I’d have what I wanted most.
But for a year I hadn’t gotten that call. Now it seems like it’s over. The missing part of me is sitting across from Reagan, while they have what’s probably a pointless conversation to pass the time. And that missing part is going to stay missing.
I sigh deeply and continue to stare up at the sky, thinking of what to record onto the album if Manson likes us enough, all the quirky sound effects to put into songs. Then I think up the stuff we could do on tour, the stage sets; strange things entering my head and pirouetting about in there.

“Shit for brains!” Reagan suddenly kicks me really hand in the knee, like before.
“What the fuck do you want!” I raise my voice at her.
“We’re here already! Get out unless you want to not go and not get paid and be lonely without moi!” she says.
I glance around and see that she’s right. I kick my bags out onto the pavement as she pays the driver. I slide out after the bags and pick them up whilst getting soaked in the rain.
“When you staying ‘til?” I ask.
“I’ll be here when you get back...don’t worry,” Dro says.
“Well I guess we’ll see you then huh,” Reagan says. My phone rings, I throw it to Reagan.
“Alright...be eating you in a week then,” I sigh, the corner of my mouth pulling itself to a slight smile.
“Yeah,” he replies.
“Well just to keep you busy,” I reach behind into my waitband and pull the vintage magazine from its place and give it him. I turn and start walking while Reagan pulls on my jacket.
“You kleptomaniac!” he says.
“Indeed,” I grin and wiggle my fingers pitifully before being yanked round a corner and out of sight.
“You’re late,” comes a voice from the other end of the car park.
“No we’re not!” Reagan says, letting go of me.
“Twenty minutes was ages ago. You’re late,” the voice comes again.
“It was twenty minutes ‘preferably’ and you don’t know what it takes the get a cab and through shitty traffic on demand around here,” she says.
“If you’d been around to take the call you’d know it wasn’t ‘preferably’ but indefinitely,” non other than the object of Reagan’s desire steps around the tour bus with his arms folded and a less than pleased expression.
“Well sorry but when our boss gives instructions we follow them to exact points and nothing less acceptable,” you say.
“Alright I’ll forgive you then. Which is Landers, which is DeMona?”
“Reagan Landers,” she says reaching him.
“Elvira DeMona,” I nod, trudging behind and coming to a halt.
“Well Reagan Landers and Elvira DeMona, unless you wanna be utterly formal and keep to whole names, you can call me Joey,” he says.
“No problem...Joey,” Reagan says.
I can’t be bothered and still feel pissed off for him being a dick, while Reagan is still busy being blinded with his mere presence that she’s waited a very long time to be in.