Tuned to Static (Fucking Tragic) : D&M

[Noir City]

<center></center>

We took the Chevelle.

It was my suggestion, she said "I don't care. Just get me the fuck out of here."

20/20 struggle through July, I pulled down the visor for her.

Tilda has fashion sunglasses, her mouth struggling with the thank you smile.

I relax, trying to talk over AFI (a strange loudness of lyrical beauty strung with a haunting base). "Why did we have to get out there so fast." I don't pose it as a question, mostly because it's a secret that I already know won't budge.

"Do you really want to know?" I think about her in bowling shoes, in that self-assured grin as she won the game.

I think quietly, and by the tone of her voice, I shrug. "I left Adam a note."

"What did it say?"

"Dear Adam." I clear my throat, that lopsided smirk already taking off it's mask. "I'm leaving you for a lesbian."

She laughs, and I'm pleased that as we're leaving Los Angeles County, her mood seems to shift into something a little easier to swallow. "And?" She eggs me on.

"Fuck L.A. My lesbian and I are going to get married and live on a vineyard in Italy. Don't worry, I left the rent money behind the case of beer in the fridge. Goodbye."

She nodded, leaned over the center console to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you."

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ July 06, 2006 05:16 PM: Message edited by: fishhook grief (i'll catch you) ]</font>

[Noir City]

He couldn't believe he was driving these same roads, the same highways and interstates that he had sworn to never touch again. He tossed the cigarette out the window and rolled the window to a hissing crack. He had reached the bottom of salt and vinegar kettle chips, and she had asked him a question but he couldn't hear.

"What?"

"I said, I need to go to the bathroom. Can we pull over?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure." There was a rest stop a mile and a half from here.

"I gotta make a phone call."

Tilda must've had to go badly, because she didn't ask "Who'd you call, Casanova?" until she came back to the car.

"No one." Sigh. "Linda."

"Linda the actress, or Linda the model?" A single scoff.

"Linda, the girlfriend I had left in North Carolina."

"Oh?" There seemed to be a more serious interest taken now. She had no clue.

"Yeah." He readjusted the review mirror. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything that will get me through Nevada."

"My daughter is going to be one year old in October."

"And Linda is the mother?"

"Yeah."

"I've never heard you talk about your daughter."

"I don't want anyone to know what a fuck-up I am."

She nodded. "So that's why you left."

"You don't understand--"

"I'm not here to judge."

It's impossible to write the amount of appreciation that was rooted deep in his hazel gaze. "Can you get me a--"

Matilda already had one of his smokes pressed between her lips and lit before handing it over to him. "You wanna see her?"

[nearby]

"Washing your hair in those sinks takes too much effort."

"Is that so?" They both welcomed the subject change.

"Yeah, the sinks have those little sensor things. Don't laugh!"

"The thought of you just trying to do that--"

"-- That's why my hair is in a ponytail, instead. We need to find better sinks."

"I need some fucking sunglasses."

"I looked at the map at that rest area. If we stay on this stretch of highway, we'll go right through Vegas."

"Good. I'll get some there."

"We could probably get a cheap room, too."

"Don't gamble your money away."

He found her excitement as the strip crept into view amusing, and they both knew now that she'd seen the lights, they couldn't just drive through.

[Noir City]

"They don't call this place Sin City for nothing."

Declan smirked as Tilda was inspecting a package of neon star pasties.

"Let's get you the matching thong," he joked.

She gave him a faux icy stare. "Shut up."

"C'mon, you don't have to impress me with those things." He put his arm around her shoulder, guiding her out of one of the many stores that she had dragged him into.

She was apparently intent on seeing EVERYTHING.

She laughed, her arm swinging in a dangerous vicinity, and causing Declan to contract to protect his... uhm, himself. "Oh, sorry," she said and he'd brush it off.

Sort of. "Please be more careful."

"I forgot how... delicate you were."

He gave her a look.

"I'm sorry!"

He shook his head, kissed her enthusiastically on the mouth (which nearly sent her into shock). "Don't worry, you can make it up to me."

"I think I just did."

[nearby]

Vegas was no game this time of year. Mercury-slashed heat, sweltering around the strip, bloating concrete. Declan was whistling "New York, New York" as they left that hotel, only to make their way to The Venetian. You can never underestimate the distance of hotels. Yes, they look so close, but they really aren't. "Jesus fucking Christ, I knew Vegas was a bad idea," he muttered under his breath, hazels darting over to Matilda. "I hope you're happy." He needed a shower desperately; white t-shirt and jeans felt like twenty pounds of torment.

"We're back on the road tonight."

Vegas was amazing, this time of year. Any time of year, to someone who hadn't seen it before, was the right time of year. She felt like there was so much left to see, but her feet were beginning to cry with the ache of unsupported walking. Flip-flops had been a poor idea.

"Of course I'm happy." She ran her fingers through her hair, tousling the strands a bit. She'd pulled the scrunchie from it hours before, when they first set foot in a gift shop. A little frown dirtied her face at the mention of leaving. She didn't want to go, at least not yet. They both needed to stretch their legs, at least for longer than an hour. They also needed to sleep, at some point.

"Why don't we cozy up in one of the cheaper motels for the night? Besides, you still need your sunglasses."

Eighty nine degrees feels like Ninety six feel like one hundred and seven. It was all painful. It reminded him too much of Texas, and not enough of California. It was dry, it was VILE. Declan trudged on, whimpering about how "The Crazy Horse could surely keep us cool and dry. Air conditioning... tits and ass... mile long drinks, mile long legs... We oughta forget about the gondola ride. Forget about spending too much money to pretend you're in Italy when you could just be there."

He snapped out of his heat-exhausted trance. "What?"

He blinked. "Oh. Yeah. I definitely need sunglasses." He pulled her by the arm into MGM Grand, just to cool down for a few minutes. "Hey... how about that shop? They've got sunglasses there..." He squinted, sun spots taking over his vision, through the store window. Sure enough there were a whole bunch of sunglasses on one of those ridiculous spinning things. In fact, there were two of them. "Lets go!" He said, like an excited little kid. "C'mon..."

One hour into their road trip, Matilda had learned to tune out Declan's whining. Not that he did it a lot, and it didn't even hold a candle to Chelsea and her inside (but outside) voice. She was simply the happier tourist, at here, and only because she'd never been. Vegas would probably lose all of its splendor the second time around.

He won her attention back from herself at the mention of sunglasses, and moments later her own designer pair rested on the top of her head, a gaudy faux-diamond pair taking their place. "Think I should get these?" She looked to Declan, as he spun through the other rack and then slid the horrible things from her face when she spotted a pair shaped (and colored) like bright red hearts. "Ohh! You need to get these ones. C'mon, Declan, start the heart glasses trend. You know you want to."

He smirked. "I don't want to walk around here like some fag. Like the next Elton John. Thanks." He was staring and spinning intently, sticking on a pair of black rectangular framed glasses. "How about these? Do I look hot?" He posed like one of those cologne models, serious and as sexy as he could muster. He broke into a grin. He slipped on a pair that looked like knock-off Oakleys. "Too weird?" Another pose. He sighed, struggling to put those back onto the spinning rack. "You're the model. You're supposed to know what looks good, right?" Declan appeared to be worried for a moment, fingering another heart pair of sunglasses. He scoffed, smiling to himself. So, this is why he never bothered going sunglass shopping before.

"Here." Another knock off pair was eased off of the racks, and then onto Declan's face. Lewie Voitton. "How about those. They look nice." She slid her sunglasses back down to rest on her nose and turned around to look in the mirror with Declan. "We look too hot to handle. Is that the look you're going for? If you want to look like money, go with the Prada fakes, like a queer, the hearts."

A gay man would have taken offense at the fag comment, and that was what made having Matilda the lesbian as his friend special. She didn't care. She came drama-free, unless the drama actually had some weight, but she wasn't about to get all pissed off at a harmless comment about a queer. "Jeeze. They want twenty five bucks for these."

He whistled, gazing at their reflection. "I like these. They make me almost like I could be a model." He rolled his eyes and glanced at the faux-Pradas. He tried those on, and once again whistled. "I like them both." He tried the Vuittons on again. "Which pair has a better chance of turning you straight?" he joked.

He fished into his pocket to see how much dough he was working with here. "Looks like I got a budget of thirty to spend on glasses. So I guess buying both is out the question." Prada was on again. He glanced at the salesperson. "Are these polarized?" The high school blonde giggled. He turned back to Tilda, waiting for her valued fashion opinion.

"I take that as a no." Her eyes narrowed, briefly, at the blonde. It was girls like that which ruined the world's view on blonde's. Her nametag said Jessica. How typical. "They're probably not. I can get you both pairs, if you both pairs, if you want, that way you can wear whatever you feel like wearing." She took the pair he wasn't wearing and slid her arm through his to lead him to the register. $53.00 even, with tax.

She handed the clerk her debit card before Declan could say no, if he even would. "I got a lot of money in savings." She had close to 15 grand in savings, to be exact. There weren't a lot of people that knew that. Matilda wasn't that big of a shopper. A good chunk of that money had come from the job she'd held waitressing when she was in high school, and most of her modeling jobs. What she didn't need to live, she'd banked. It added up.

"You're fucking crazy." He was trying to refuse her generosity. "Little girl, put down that debit card!" But of course the blonde sales clerk only giggled. "No, really, I'm not kidding."

He turned to Tilda, wrapping his arms around her in a gentle friendly embrace. "You know that I'm going to have to buy you something now. Maybe a lap dance or something." He snickered at that, sticking the Pradas on right now. He released her, admiring himself in the mirror again. "Seriously. I owe you." He kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks."


"Consider it a thank you for the use of your car." She fell easily into his arms. Almost too easily. She caught a glimpse of their embrace in the reflection of the shop window. They could pass as being a couple, especially with the aid of the affection he'd been pouring on since they got out of the car.

"You don't owe me anything." She took her card and receipt from the blonde with a polite smile and eased the items into the pockets of her jeans. "You want to stay here tonight? I'm gonna go ask for room rates." Matilda started off towards the reservation desk.

[nearby]

"$119 and tax for the night."

"Jesus."

"It's got a great view."

"Of course, the view."

She cast an irritated look over her shoulder at Declan, sitting shirtless on the bed closest to the door. The sun had fallen, but Vegas still shined brighter than the sunshine. It explained the dark curtains and decor of the room.

"Where do you think we should head next?"

"I don't know. We can think of it in the morning, Tilda. I'm getting in the shower, do you need to use the toilet?"

"Nah. Go ahead. I'll get in after you."

By the time Declan emerged, she was curled in the center of her bed, sleeping like an angel.

[Noir City]

She was nearly skeletal,

a million pieces of girl

and goddess. He knew

what he needed to do;

floral patterns aside,

sheet drapped over

her, saying goodbye

like it's her funeral.

[I don't want to leave

you alone], but he does,

through the hotel doors,

to a place called The

Crazy Horse. [I'm a

Stranger in this Town],

he's rockin' the faux

Prada's she bought

for him, he's stringing

dollars in their thongs

like decorating the

fucking Christmas

tree. Her name is

Delilah. Mary Jane.

Sierra. He leaves before

the last twenty has

left his pocket. He

places a bet on black,

and is up one fifty.

He doesn't bother

with the other cold mattress,

the sheet cutting

boundaries between them

as he spoons her.

Matilda, he whispers,

and she's dead asleep.

Still. The same angel

from two hours earlier.

[nearby]

She woke up startled, hurried and careless hands clawed through the sheets as if she couldn't get away from the body curled against her own fast enough. She'd heard his voice, again, the deep rumble of his yes's... real, too real.

In the darkness she scrambled to the bathroom and shut the door too hard behind her. She felt the panic in her chest, then in her throat, and before she could stop it, Matilda was bent over the porcelain throne emptying the contents of her stomach.

She straightened, found the light switch, and regarded herself in the mirror. Paled skin was streaked with tears she hadn't realized she cried. She looked down to her hands. They were shaking. Arms were crossed, to still her hands against her sides as Matilda collected herself.

It took a cold shower, and an additional hour before she managed to talk herself out of the bathroom. He wasn't there. Not the cop. Just Declan. Just Declan.

The sun cut through the curtains as she eased herself back down onto the bed, only not as close as they'd been before.

Just Declan.

[Noir City]

<center>The Perks of Hotel Bathroom Telephones.</center>

A thin glowing line traced the curtains, signaling Declan that it was in fact daytime. He groaned, rolling over. The digital clock read 9:34 in red electric. He hadn't slept long enough, and Tilda looked distressed, curled up and sprawled all at the same time. Like a sleeping tigress.

Their first night together wasn't what he had exactly expected. He had thought he had heard her get up in the middle of the night, but now he wasn't so sure. Rubbing his throbbing forehead, he forced the shower on hot. He stole one last glance of Matilda, wondering more than ever why she left Los Angeles with him, of all people.


"You show up in North Caroline, Declan, and I'll get a restraining order." The same old threat.

"I don't know why you have to make everything so fucking difficult."

"You walked out on me over a year ago. Pregnant with nowhere to--"

He laughed. "What the hell are you talking about?" He took a deep breath. "We've been over this, Linda. Several times. It was the best thing I could do at the moment. Your loaded parents--"

"Yes. I know all the excuses." She was cold.

"Would you had preferred we be broke and living on welfare? Well?"

She said nothing. He was satisfied.

"I'll call when I'm in town."

"Why do you always insist on ruining my life?" Her favorite line.

"Linda, Linda, Linda." He sighed. "You spoiled bitch. I hope he's a better fuck than me." He could already see that loser all over her.

"He is," she said hotly.

"Yeah, sure." A noncommital laugh. "You know what I think?" He didn't wait for her to respond. "I think you would take me back in a heartbeat, drop those panties before I ring the doorbell. I think you're scared shitless what your parents would think after they've been trying to brainwash you for so long. I think you'll let me see her as long as I promise to..."

She finished his sentence.

"Not let anyone else know that you were here."

"Exactly."

"Call me only between two and three in the afternoon. Goodbye."

He let her hang up on him before setting the receiver down. The shower was still running, and he thought for a moment before ordering room service for Tilda and himself.

[nearby]

"Lookit them. Aren't they so cute, Wayne?"

Vegas was a tourist attraction for those of all ages, but the elderly couple curled up together on a bench in the hotel lobby weren't tourists. Wayne and Gina Toohey moved to Vegas for their retirement, and were practically a fixture at most of the hotels.

"She's got such pretty hair. See how he's lookin' at her, I bet they just got married, Wayne."

"Oh Gina, you don't know nothin' 'bout nothin'. You think that 'bout everyone. If I had a nickel.."

"He's got his arm around her, oh! They did! They had to of, I wish we could be up there, I bet they're gushin' to that nice young lady at the desk how wonderful their wedding night was."

Wayne snorted.

"Lookit how she moves when she talks, Wayne. Just lookit her. That girl could be a model. That young man right there's the luckiest man in Vegas right now."

"You say that 'bout everyone. Why don't you get them to come blow on our dice or somethin' later."

"Interrupt two honeymooners, I could never!"

Gina Toohey had never been good at people watching, but her kind, wrinkled face twisted into a smile as Matilda passed her debit card to the clerk. The story she imagined, two in-love honeymooners thanking the hotel for a wonderful night was a better story then how Matilda's attitude had flared at the forty dollar room service charge for scrambled eggs and bacon, anyway.