Nadine Pascal-Said was lounging backstage when the door to Lola’s dressing room opened, halfway through the show. The head that poked its way through was pale, heart-shaped, freckled with a long blonde ponytail. Blue eyes met bespectacled green ones, and the stranger’s eyebrows lifted just the slightest bit.
“If you’re an admiring fan, you picked a bad time,” Nadine teased, lounging upside-down on the couch, black curls hanging to the floor and a cigarette in her hand.
“I just wanted to see,” said the stranger, sliding inside, and Nadine didn’t bother pretending that she wasn’t sizing her up. Stocky was the word, or maybe reubenesque, or voluptuous, or something else that brought to mind an hourglass too wide; broad hips and broad shoulders and thick thighs and large breasts. She wasn’t dressed like a fan, in army boots and jeans, a black leather jacket over a white tank top. She was trying to act shy, whoever she was, and it didn’t fit right over her face or her body language.
Nadine was intrigued.
The sixteen year-old righted herself, stood to eyeball the blonde again. That she was shorter than Nadine was saying something, as Nadine was only 5’4″. Then again, the heels helped, pink platform confections that matched the lace of her dress and the bows in her hair.
Lola had picked it out. Nadine didn’t mind it. She sucked on her cigarette with a half-smile on her too-wide lips.
“You’re Lola’s assistant?” asked the blonde, and Nadine gave her a cheshire grin.
“Fuckbuddy,” she corrected, and as she began to circle the stranger, the stranger began circling right back, all pretense of innocence dropped. “You didn’t know anyone would be here.” It was not a question.
“I don’t mind the company,” the blonde assured her, and now she was grinning, too.
“You don’t look like you’re here to get laid,” Nadine observed.
“It wasn’t my goal, but I don’t mind detours.”
“Flatterer. What were you planning to do, if I wasn’t here? Wait for her to get back, so you could pounce?” Blue eyes darted ever-so-briefly to the jewelry scattered across the makeup table. “Petty thievery?”
“She’s not human, you know.”
“Yeah, thanks. I hadn’t noticed. We only fuck, and all. You some kinda bigot?” Nadine didn’t want the blonde to be a bigot, because Nadine had decided that she liked the shape of her mouth.
“Just makin’ sure you knew. She hasn’t earned it, all she’s got.”
“Ain’t nobody rich that’s earned all they’ve got. You Robin Hood?”
“I was always more of a Little John.”
“So what exactly’s the plan, now that I’m in the way?” They were still circling each other, eyes locked, grinning predatory grins.
“Ideally, you’ll get out of my way.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’d hate to have to knock you on your ass.”
“I’d like to see you try.” The blonde accepted this as truth, because it wasn’t said the way a threat was said, the way a bluff was made – it was a promise, a request made sweetly.
“Maybe I’ll just take you, too.” Nadine accepted this as truth, because the blonde was sizing her up, assessing how difficult she might be to carry like a viking taking a bride.
“That’d be some theft. What would you do, with your ill-gotten gains?”
“Spend it all on cheap beer and sex toys.”
“… what’s your name, Li’l John?”
The blonde mulled over the question for a moment, considered it from all angles. “Billy,” she answered finally, and Nadine held out a hand to shake.
“Hello, Billy. I’m Dean.” Their palms met, and Nadine yanked, pulled the surprised girl against her and caught her lips with her own. Billy, apparently quick on the uptake, wrapped her arms around Nadine and dipped her into the sort of kiss that Nadine had only seen in movies. “Wanna fuck on the couch?” Nadine asked as they came up for air.
“Mmmph. I would, but the boys are waitin’.”
“The boys can’t wait?”
“… I s’pose they’ll keep.”
Nadine Pascal-Said 