Drunken Lullabies

Madison shook her head as Isabelle strutted through the door of the coffee shop. Her jeans had grass stains on the knees, her hair looked like a birds nest piled on the top of her head, whoever's shirt she was wearing was wrinkled, and she could practically see the dark circles under her eyes even through her over-sized sunglasses. The only thing decent about the way she looked was her red manolos. How on earth did she manage to keep them so damn perfect when the everything else was such a mess?

"You look like hell, Izzy," Madison said, turning her head back down to her magazine. Isabelle dropped her purse on the table and flopped down in the chair across from Madison.

"It's Sunday morning. Don't I always look like white-trash on Sundays?" Isabelle asked, already knowing the answer to her question. It was more of a statement, anyway.

"So. How was it?" Madison questioned, only half ready to listen to Isabelles answer. It was the same every Sunday. The local bar had a band booked every Saturday, and it was always a second-rate rock band. Seeing as how there was nothing better to do in their small town, both the girls found themselves standing in front of the stage each weekend, drinks in hand making eyes at the band members. The unspoken goal was to get at least one of the band members wrapped around their finger, lead them on, then drop them after the girls had had their fair share of drinks and a ride home. It was an easy task, seeing as how they were by far the best looking girls in town. Both of them had perfect figures, impeccable style, and the come-hither look that no man could easily turn down. The only problem was they both had problems dropping the boys by the end of the night. In fact, they "screwed boys like whores on tequila," as a few of their old friends liked to put it.

"Oh, you know." Isabelle replied without much interest in the subject. "Same old, same old. This one caught me leaving, though." Madison smirked, but didn't look up from her magazine. "What the hell happened to you last night, anyway?" Isabelle asked, suddenly remembering how Madison had disappeared a mere twenty minutes before closing time. This definately wasn't typical of her, and it finally got her to look up from that damn magazine. What was so interesting in that thing anyway?

"Don't you remember?" Madison asked, looking a little confused.

"No...should I?" responded Isabelle, reaching across the table for Madison's cup of coffee. She held it to her lips, tipped it back, and drank down what was left of the now-cold liquid. "How long have you been waiting here anyway?" Madison rolled her eyes.

"You don't remember Shane showing up?" Isabelle's eyes widened as she shook her head. "I thought you were going to murder him when he walked in. You pushed him right back out the door and got up in his face bitching him out. I had to practically drag you away from him."

"Oh damn. I wish I remembered that. But that still doesn't explain why you left early." Isabelle laughed, amused at the image of her attempting to kick Shane's ass.

"He said he needed to talk to me. You know how I get with him." Isabelle nodded her head, understanding. "Anyway, it didn't go well. But I think now he'll actually just leave this whole thing alone. I'm over it."

"I'm so sorry, Mads. Like I said before, he's not worth it. And I swear, if I ever get my hands on that bitch Taylor..." Isabelle said, her eyes practically turning a shade of red.

Madison laughed, "Don't worry about it. She's not worth it either." And it was true. The man had broken her heart more than once, and this was the last time. She was done playing his childish games, and his new girl Taylor could shove it. She wasn't even that pretty.

Now both girls were after bigger and better things....or men. Isabelle ultimately aspired to be a groupie for Buckcherry. The lead singer, Josh Todd, was her ultimate turn-on. Not only did the lyrics speak to her, but his voice literally touched her soul. Anyone else could sing those songs and it wouldn't come close to touching her the way it did when he sang. When Wesley was alive, she used to tell him she would leave him in a heart-beat if she were given a chance with Josh. Of course, that was a lie. Wesley was the love of her life, and she would do just about anything to be back in his arms again. But now...

"I had that dream again last night," she told Madison. "It's driving me insane, Mads. Every time I end up in bed with somebody else, I have that damn dream. You think I need therapy?"

"Who needs therapy when you've got a friend like me? Have a shot of Jack when we get home, you'll feel better," Madison responded, attempting to lighten the mood a bit. Isabelle was absolutely no fun when she talked about Wesley. Sure, his death had been tragic and unexpected, but that was over two years ago. She needed to move on, and Madison had no problem telling her that. "You need to move on, hun. You fall into a funk every time you have that dream, and I'm getting tired of pulling you out of it. What do you say we head back to the apartment and finish up that song?"

"Yeah, sure. I need an aspirin anyway. Or a vicodin. Whatever."

Isabelle stood up, grabbed her purse, and headed out the door. After finishing the article in her magazine, Madison stood up and headed to the front to pay for her drink.

"Shit! I must have left my wallet in the car," she told the waitress. "Hang on, and I'll go grab it." She turned and headed toward the door, leaving her purse on the counter to reassure the coffee shop staff she would be back to pay...only she wouldn't be back. The purse was an empty one Isabelle had stealthily swiped from an unsuspecting girl at the bar the night before. With their lifestyle, you could never be too frugal when it came to money, and they were not above small crimes to save a couple bucks here and there.

Madison strutted out the door, smirk painted on her face. People were so easy.