The Songs of Leslie Orange

Marcus Black downed another mug of clear liquid. He swallowed, and wiped his mouth. The bar was almost empty. He was okay with that. He liked a small crowd. He waved at the bartender.
“Take it out of my cut,” Marcus said. The bartender nodded, and continued wiping glasses. Marcus turned around. A small group of people walked in. They didn’t look like regulars. Marcus raised an eyebrow. “What’s with the squares?” He asked the bartender. The bartender glanced at the newcomers and shrugged.
“We have two acts tonight, they’re probably here for the second one,” he said. Marcus’ eyes narrowed.
“Who?” He asked.
“A girl named Leslie Orange,” the bartender said. Marcus scratched his messy black hair.
“Great,” he said. He watched as more and more people filled the bar. After a while, the place was almost packed. Lou, the bartender, was busy getting people drinks. It hadn’t been this bust in years. Marcus shook his head. He didn’t like this. He had heard of Leslies Orange. Anyone with their ear to the street and a good taste for music had heard of her. It didn’t mean she was famous though. Marcus had always felt that people liked her for her flowery music. It was never harsh, it was never disgusting, and it was never raw. It was always about teenage heartbreak, or a longing for the good old days. The only reason Marcus even listened to her was because she didn’t pretend life was great. She lived on the streets most nights, Gods knows where. She hardly ate most nights, God knows what. She was a vagabond. As dark and depressing as her life could have been, Marcus was surprised to see a smiling 19-year old walk into Lou’s. She looked around, and walked up to the bar once she saw Lou. Lou smiled.
“Look at all this business you’re bringing me,” he said. Leslie’s smile didn’t change in size. She didn’t consider this news as good or bad. Marcus watched her from a couple of seats away.
“So, you’re Leslie Orange?” He asked. He sounded unimpressed. Leslie looked at him.
“Indeed I am,” she said. Marcus eyed her. Lou came back with a small bag of money.
“This is for you,” he said, “and that’s so far. God knows how much we’ll have by night’s end.” Leslie took the bag from Lou and shoved it into her backpack. Marcus glanced at her as she did so, and noticed other wads of cash in there as well. He wondered if she ever spent any of the money she made. Her black guitar was tightly grasped in her hand. She nodded at Lou, and made her way to the stage. There were nights where Leslie didn’t have a song to sing. Sometimes, she made dates for live appearances and didn’t even have a song in mind. Once or twice, she’d sung a song she’d already sang, but sometimes, she just sat on the stage, and threw something together while people watched. One of the reasons people liked her music so much was because not only was she a great singer and songwriter, but because she also never recorded her music. If you wanted to hear a Leslie Orange song, you’d have to be there the night she wrote and sang it. The owners of the places she sang at never allowed her work to be recorded, though she never actually expressed any dislike of it. She always believed that if you had to take a picture of a painting, you would never understand it. The audience just watch as she ‘painted’. Marcus pulled up a chair next to her, and sat down.
“Need help?” He asked. Leslie looked at him.
“Not really, no,” she said. Marcus nodded.
“Can I make a suggestion?” He asked. Leslie still looked at him. Her expression gave away nothing. He had no idea if she was annoyed or not. She shrugged.
“What would you suggest?” She asked. Marcus took a piece of paper out of his jacket.
“It’s called “Smack!”,” he said, “I wrote it a few years ago.” Leslie looked it over. Marcus waited to see what she would say, for her face still showed no expression whatsoever. She finally spoke.
“Is this true in any way?” She asked. Marcus smiled.
“A bit. I’ve met a lot of interesting people in my life,” he said. Leslie looked at him. He smiled. “What, it’s not your style?” He asked, almost mockingly. Leslie didn’t show any sign of annoyance.
“I usually don’t do other peoples songs, but I guess I could for tonight,” she said. Marcus looked shocked.
“You sure?” he asked. “I don’t want you to think you have to.” Leslie nodded her head.
“I’m realize that Marcus,” she said. Marcus speed walked off the stage and grabbed his electric guitar. As far as Leslie could tell, it was an SG. It was black, like hers. He walked back on stage and plugged everything in. Leslie stood up and approached the microphone. “This was written by Marcus,” she looked at the piece of paper, “Black.” She said. Marcus waved at the small amount of claps. Leslie grabbed her guitar, and Marcus started playing. After a few seconds, she got the tone and the rhythm, and started strumming.

Pouring rain
Simple pain
Hit me again
The feeling’s the same

Blood trickles without a sound
Turns my smile into a frown
Why pick me up,
Just to put me down?

Smack! I’m down
(come on, come on)
That all you got?
(come on, come on)
That all you got!?
(come on, come on)
Give it another try
(come on, come on)

See the tears?
Feel the…fears?
Of course you don’t
It’s because of the beers

You taste its taste
I smell its smell
You’re up in Heaven
I’m down in Hell

Smack! I’m down
(come on, come on)
That all you got?
(come on, come on)
That all you got!?
(come on, come on)
Give it another try
(come on, come on)

Ooh…he’s mad now…

Oh no…what’s he going to do now?

Ah, let’s see what those muscles can do…

Uh…that all you got?

Smack! I’m down
(come on, come on)
That all you got?
(come on, come on)
That all you got!?
(come on, come on)
Give it another try
(come on, come on)

Smack! I’m down
(come on, come on)
That all you got?
(come on, come on)
That all you got!?
(come on, come on)
Give it another try
(come on, come on)

The crowd clapped when they were finished, though the claps was quieter than what Leslie was use to. She thanked them, put her guitar away, and made her way of the stage. Lou paid her the rest of the money.
“Interesting song Marcus,” he said. Marcus walked up to the bar. He made a gestured that showed he was thanking Leslie, and Leslie waved goodbye to them both. Marcus spoke up.
“Where are you going?” He asked. Lou nodded.
“Yeah, you just got here,” he said. Leslie shrugged.
“I’ve got to go,” she said. She walked into the night without another word. Marcus noticed a Ziploc bag on her chair. In Sharpie, Leslie wrote: “For Marcus: your money for your song. - Leslie” Lou counted it. It was all the money he had given her earlier. Marcus ran outside to try and catch up with her, but she was already gone. He nodded, and felt the breeze as he gazed at the dark concrete road.
“See you later Leslie Orange,” he said.