June 2085: girls just want to have fun

Happy 27th birthday to Debbie and Darla Roberts. 

Soundtrack: "Girls Just Want to Have Fun," by Cyndi Lauper

warnings: walls o' text, whee!

Debbie slid onto a bar stool and picked up the nearest drink. Something lemony, sour, strong she hoped. "Oh God, he didn't even see me. I'm mortified."

"Who?" Darla asked.

"Demitri Hobbes. Did you see him? He was in here for a minute, can you believe it? He was actually here. And he didn't even recognize me. I feel like an idiot. Everybody saw me waving like a stupid love-struck girl." Debbie sighed. "You know I did a job for him this week?"

"I have no idea who you're talking about," Darla said.

"You know, the soap actor! On Turning Tides???"

Darla didn't watch soaps, but she knew what Turning Tides was, a low-budget daytime soap filmed here in Lake City. It was sort of hard to escape in this town.

Debbie sloughed off her shame, sitting straighter, tossing her head once so that the curls piled on top of her head bounced. She grinned. "I purchased a new sofa for him. And he loved it."

Darla still couldn’t believe people paid her sister to shop for a living.

"And he gave me flowers," Debbie added.

"Did he pay you in money?"


"Yes, of course he did. He's very handsome, but also very pompous. Awful, really. I didn't like him. I didn't like him at all. I hated him a little. But wow, very handsome. I can't believe he didn't recognize me."

"Do you wanna borrow one of my boyfriends?"

"No thanks," Debbie said.

"You sure? All my stupid boyfriends just want me to marry them and have their babies. If I have a baby any time soon, somebody is going to pay for it."

"I want a baby," Debbie said. "But I guess I need a husband first. Or even just a boyfriend."

"How about that one?" Darla pointed across the room to a guy in a soaked sweater with long, dripping hair. "He’s cute."

He was kind of cute, in a homely way.

"He looks like a wet dog," Debbie said, trying and failing to hide the slight snarl on her lips.

Darla laughed. "Well if you're holding out for Demitri Hobbes, you're gonna have to get in line. I don't have time for that shit."

Debbie grabbed another drink and her sister went off to browse the night's male offerings, which were slight and unimpressive. At some point, as a young girl, she probably imagined that by twenty-seven she'd be celebrating her birthday with a husband and at least two kids, in a stylish colonial in the suburbs. Not slurping back whiskey sours, alone, while her sister picked over the scruffy, wet, smelly boys at this bar.

The night was already a let down the minute Demitri hadn't recognized her. As far as Debbie was concerned, Demitri Hobbes was the only man with style in this whole town. Debbie should have put on a dress. Or some nicer earrings. Now she felt so plain and invisible. Three days ago, she'd been in his apartment talking about his favorite colors and fabrics and style and she knew for a fact he was single because that was the reason he hired her. He wanted her to lend the room "a feminine touch", so the ladies would feel comfortable in it.

How many ladies, Debbie wondered?

But it was just a job. So she sat next to him on his sofa and imagined herself comfortable there, he'd lay her across something velvety, mountains of pillows on the floor, rose petals on a glass table so clear it was as if the petals floated in air.

Debbie sighed. She supposed some other lucky lady was being laid across those pillows right now.

Darla spoke with the wet dog boy, and she laughed in her head the more she got to know him the more he reminded her of a big, wet puppy dog. He was so eager and happy and doting she thought he might lick her face. She felt inclined to introduce him to Debbie—he was exactly Debbie's type, if he hadn't looked like the exact opposite of Debbie's type—but before she could follow up on that thought he'd grabbed some flowers from a nearby table and held them out to her and she was so dumbfounded with the simple joy of it that she squealed, "Awww, look at how cute you are!" Darla turned to call out across the room at her sister. "Hey, look, I got flowers too."

"Christ, I’m going home," Debbie said.

And she went.

So Darla talked to wet dog boy, who was sort of funny, and he really didn't smell that bad.

She was drunk and horny and he said he hadn't been with anyone since his fiance dumped him. Darla wasn't above pity sex, so they ducked into the photo booth for a little messing around.


But then she realized this guy was exactly the opposite of her type. He was sweet, soft, eager, engaged once already at his age. Geeze, the thought of all the babies he'd want. He'd already given her flowers and he seemed like the type who carried around an engagement ring in his pocket. She didn't want him getting too attached, following her home like the sweet doting puppy dog that he was. "So hey, my sister's waiting somewhere, I gotta go. See ya."

"Wait, what's your name? I'm Ian, by the way."

Darla was halfway down the stairs already. "Debbie," she called out and ran for the door.

—

June birthdays:

3: Jack Phoenix (39)
4: Bella Gibson (33)
8: Sophia Nelson (21)
15: Elijah Riley-Kim (6)
21: Summer Jackson (25)
23: Darla Roberts (27)
23: Debbie Roberts (27)

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notes: Some picspam of Debbie working for Demitri, because she would like to present photo evidence that he really is very handsome, and he really did give her flowers, lest her sister try to claim she was just making it all up. ;)

Sadly, I forgot to take any pictures of the work she actually did to his room, lol! Ah well, next time.