Trash Talk
by
Anne Marie Andrus
Gentle
wisps of September breeze swirled through The Beach Haunt reminding Ajay of
summer’s magic at the Jersey Shore. A single sharp gust warned him of the
season to come. Flicking his eyes from the empty inbox on his smart phone to
the televisions and back again, he zipped the collar of his sweatshirt up to
his chin. Outside, his part-time cameraman wandered the abandoned boardwalk,
puffing an electronic cigarette.
“What
can I get the master of local turmoil tonight?” A lady with blue hair and an
enormous dolphin tattoo slapped the bar in front of him. “Earth to Ajay!”
“Sorry,
Gilda. I applied for a ton of newsroom jobs—they’re all playing possum. I’ll
have ice water with a slice of lemon, please.”
“Freakin’
boring.” The bartender flashed a frown that rippled into a smile. “What’s
really got you so distracted?”
Ajay stared
at the screens surrounding the bar. Dressed in a navy pinstriped suit, the global
affairs correspondent flashed her perfect teeth and plunging cleavage.
“You
know her?” Gilda sopped mystery liquid off the bar and squeezed the rag over a rubber
mat. “Oooo…you do. How well?”
“I
went to journalism school with her, that’s all.” Ajay chuckled. “Pretty much.”
“She’s
living the life, that’s for sure.”
“Chasing
the dream.” Ajay pointed to the television and then to himself. “Eeeking out an
existence.”
“Come
on, you’ve turned YouTube tabloid commentary into a distinguished art form.”
Gilda tapped her nails on a tequila bottle. She flashed the lace of her bra and
leaned forward. “I’m sure your classmate had surgery. I’m just dying to know
how much.”
“I’ll
never tell. No swill.” Ajay pushed the cheap tequila away and winked. “Or l
might…what else do you have?”
Gilda
jingled her keyring and fumbled through a hidden cabinet until she found a
green and gold bottle. She puffed dust off the cap, poured a shot for each of
them and then filled a third.
Ajay
waved the cloud of sand and ash away. “I’m not drinking all that again.”
“Just
think about the parade of drunks you’re about to interview.”
“Sinking
to new depths of stupidity every Sunday night, yet I still need to speak in
coherent sentences.” Ajay grabbed the salt shaker and fished the lemon from his
water. He licked the back of his hand before tapping out a healthy dash of
salt.
“One
for me, one for you, plus the emergency ration.” Gilda grabbed a fresh lemon.
“Here we go. Lick, slam, suck.”
Ajay
followed her instructions, gagged and groaned. Outside, a bus boy dumped three
huge bags of garbage on the corner, turned around and flashed him a thumbs-up.
“My
stage is awaits.” Ajay closed his eyes and drained the back-up shot. “I’ll make
those network execs sorry.”
No comments:
Post a Comment