A bunch of nobodies

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Trey Vincent pulled his Nissan Pathfinder to a stop in the dimly lit parking lot.

"So here we are."

Trey looked over at Taylor Thompson, his breathtaking ex-model girlfriend. She looked at him, emotionless as ever, and unbuckled herself. She got out and slammed her door shut. Trey followed her lead. They met in front of the vehicle and headed to some bar. Neither bothered to notice the sign. Didn't matter. No free advertising. No recommendations for friends. Just a place to drink anonymously.

Taylor opened the thick wood door and went inside. Trey shook his head. Can't ever be a gentleman around this chick, he thought to himself. Independent women. Both a blessing and a curse. Great in the sack, but sometimes in the boring world, more problems than they're worth.

Taylor was worth the aggravation though. She was the trophy. The prize. Eye candy. And she wasn't a complete airhead. Not to mention how amazing she felt against him at night in bed. The electricity, the heat. The passion.

Trey followed Taylor to the bar. She found a pair of empty stools and took off her black leather jacket. She brushed her hair over her shoulders and took a seat. Instead of sitting, Trey first took a look around the bar. Quite a few heads turned toward Taylor. Nice. With a cocky smile, Trey took off his blue and black winter jacket.

The bartender, a plain woman in her late 30s who looked like she'd been bartending for too long, with all the lines on her face, tossed down coasters for the couple. Taylor was in the modd for some red wine; Trey opted for a bottle of vodka, a bottle of beer and a beer glass. Taylor watched as Trey filled the glass with a quarter of vodka and three quarters of beer.

"What is that?"

"Called? I dunno. Maybe it has a name. It tastes pretty....eh, but the vibe is what I'm going for." He looks at Taylor. "I don't think I've mentioned it, but you look beautiful as ever tonight."

"Thank you," she says shyly. She was wearing a tight white shirt and some cool blue leather pants. "I'll assume it's not the alcohol making you say that."

"Hasn't even gotten to the, brain yet."

"Don't go overboard. I do worry about your drinking sometimes. Why you're so unhappy."

"Unhappy? Life's a party, darling. Sorry, I don't want to live to be 90. I say 40 will be a fine age to check out. But I'll have lived more in my 40 then most of the old fossils walking this world. I want to party, become a huge star and die as a legend instead of a joke."

"But what about me? You do care about me, right?"

"Not as much as me, but you're my number two."

She sipped from her glass. "Do you think when I'm in my 40s that any guy will want to be with me?"

"Sure."

She smiled.

"There's plenty of losers out there. You'll have your pick. You'll still be decent looking, maybe you could get some plastic surgery to ensure your beauty, well, isn't as bad as nature would like it to be by that time."

She looked away from him and quickly downed the rest of her wine. He went through half of his drink. He put a hand on her back and lightly massaged her. She pulled away.

"You're such a dick sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Trey asked. "I'm always a dick. At least I admit it. What, are you mad because I said there are plenty of losers? That doesn't mean YOU are. You're great. But when you're in your 40s, well, I don't know. Time sucks, I guess. It's best to do something sooner than later. 'Cause there might not be a later. And then, it's like the guy who jumps off the cliff. You know? The guy who jumps off, and then a second before he hits says 'oops.' He's still gonna go splat. Sure, he's dead, but the ride must have been exhilirating as hell. See, I ain't gonna say 'oops' like that guy. I'm gonna take it like a man.

"Yes, I'm a dick. Even sometimes when I don't mean to be to you. But I still love you. But you either love me or you hate me. I don't care which it is, but you better realize only one answer is right."

Finally, she looked back at him.

"You know I love you. But it doesn't feel like you love me. Most of the time."

After finishing off his glass, he refilled, this time half and half. The beer bottle was empty, but there was still plenty of vodka.

"All I had for months was a picture of you. I hated it. I wanted you. I have arrived, and you're looking at one stock that ain't going down anytime soon. I finally have a place in a sports entertainment company that matters. But I have a goal."

"What?"

"Everyone talks about jOlt being past its peak. It's not as good as it used to be. You know why that is? Look around here. What do you see?" he asked, motioning around the bar.

"People, drinking," Taylor says.

"Nobodies. A bunch of losers." Trey drank from the vodka bottle, ignoring his glass mixed drink.

"This bar is a lot like jOlt. A sea of....nobodies. Only one man grabs you by the balls every time he's on TV. TV. Trey Vincent is the man, goddam. So my plan is simple. I'm going to give people a reason to tune in. I'm going to entertain. I'm gonna give MY fans a show. If they aren't my fans, screw 'em. Everyone in jOlt is swimming in the ocean. Little fish, big fish. Then there's me in the horizon, walking on the water. Just as the sun rises every day, goddam, Trey Vincent will continue to rise and make everyone's TV a more entertaining place!"

NEXT CHAPTER: Falling >>

©2002 John Leary