I flashed them a charming smile and leaned against the bar. “What can I get you ladies? Coffee? Tea? A cab?” It was almost midnight and I was done. Ready to have a few beers of my own, ready to hand over the reins to Fred and make my way to Tuesday. She pushed her boobs against the bar and giggled. “Are you trying to get rid of us, Donovan?” I laughed at the use of my uncle’s name. My fifty-year-old uncle who hadn’t been here all night, but of course I played along. “Now Cindy, why would I want to do a thing like that?” She giggled and snorted. “My name’s Susan, but you can call me whatever you want.” I turned around and blew out a breath. These girls were too much—easy or just wasted. Either way, I didn’t want any part of it. My cell began …show more content…
“I don’t know, man. Tuesday, I think?” So she was telling the truth. Okay. “Is she single?” “I have no clue. Look, I gotta get back out there. You’ll have to grow some balls and figure that one out on your own.” I grinned. “No problem, cover for me at the bar.” Colin laughed. “Nice try.” He pushed through the door to the bar, where he could see one of the girls lying halfway over the counter, helping herself to the bottle of tequila. “The natives are growing restless,” Colin muttered. I blew out a breath and jogged back to the bar. “Ladies, ladies…” CHAPTER FIVE Tuesday My second beer lasted to the end of the night. Past Becky’s endless flirtation with Colin, past all the wayward glances my eyes took to Donovan, and all the way to midnight, when I was finally free to go home. Colin came toward us—his nametag removed but a wide grin and swagger in its place. Time to go home. I took a sip of water, grabbed my bag from the back of my chair, and hopped from my seat. “Well you guys have fun. My fairy godmother is calling my name.” Becky frowned, somehow making her look more beautiful than always, and grabbed my arm. “Did you have any fun at …show more content…
I was determined not to look over to the bar again. I was being ridiculous. I wouldn’t go out with Donovan if he asked me, yet for some reason I couldn’t stop staring. The last I’d seen, only a few girls remained at the bar, and soon I knew it would dwindle to one. The one. The fan girl who would win the Donovan prize. For some reason, I didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to know if it was the one with the freckles, the redhead, or the blonde with a killer rack. I wanted to go home, crawl between my organic cotton sheets, and fall asleep. I was so tired. Maybe more exhausted than I’d ever been in my life. There were too many orders to process, too many phone calls to make, and too many papers to sign. After I let the crew in the next morning, I’d head back home, turn my phone on silent, and hibernate until winter. When I entered the nearest stall, the door to the hallway banged open, and I turned around. A couple of drunken women stumbled inside the bathroom, both giggling and drunk. I nodded, recognizing the redhead from the bar, and closed the stall door behind me. I hung my purse on the back hook, pulled down my panties to my knees, and then heard someone mention Donovan's name. I froze. I couldn’t help it—I was more interested than I cared to admit and leaned my ear against the door. My heart squeezed in my chest, and my panties were still held up by my knees. “Do you have any condoms? I’m going
Like a regular discord between long term friends, both parties argued back and forth in a rousing manner until Dennis had to excuse himself. Before saying goodbye, Dennis proceeded to say he was going “ask the waitress out tonight”, regardless of Charlie’s feelings, and that Charlie had to make sure to Paddy’s Pub’s basement and the bathrooms were clean, in case Dennis brought “the waitress” back to the bar. The waitress, a woman that works in a coffee shop near by, has been the object of Charlie’s love and desire for “most his life”, a fact that Dennis was well
Joyce Carol Oates intrigues readers in her fictional piece “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been” by examining the life of a fifteen year old girl. She is beautiful, and her name is Connie. Oates lets the reader know that “everything about her [Connie] had two sides to it, one for home, and one for anywhere but home (27). When Connie goes out, she acts and dresses more mature than she probably should. However, when she is at home, she spends the majority of her time absorbed with daydreams “about the boys she met”(28). This daydreaming behavior is observable to the reader throughout the story. From theories about dreams, theories about subconscious thought, and the clues that Oates provides, the reader is lead to believe that Connie’s experience with Arnold Friend is a nightmare used to awaken her to the consequences that her behavior could result in.
It is still Saturday night and Holden is bored so he goes to the club in the hotel. The waiter will not serve him alcohol. At the next table there are three women who are giggling at him. Holden asks the ladies to dance. Holden find out that the ladies are from Seattle, Washington. After the ladies leave the club Holden gets bored because there are no drinks are and no girls, so he leave. In the lobby he sits down in a chair and thinks about Jane Gallagher.
Crouched behind a square column of the porch of an old late-Victorian frame home, now shelter for squatters, Lew was watching for Molly. Molly is an unassuming yet attractive young woman who makes her living dancing at a local ‘gentleman’s’ club called the Lucky Lady. She lives in a second floor apartment of The Hanright Home, a rundown Gothic Revival house split into six apartments. Lew lives in the apartment next door.
Spring break week had come; all the guys had decided to go out and have a crazy night down on the strip. We went from bar to bar, having a good old time just like back in the day. MMM had found this incredibly gorgeous girl at one of the bars. By this time, we were quite intoxicated, and apparently so was this girl. Marco stumbled up to me, and said “I’m going to nail this chick, I’ll see you guys later!” and off they went. As usual, nobody thought anything of it, and we continued on with our night.
My literacy journey began long before I had actually learned how to read or write. While recently going through baby pictures with my mother, we came across a photo of my father and I book shopping on the Logos boat, a boat that would come to my island every year that was filled with books for our purchasing. Upon looking at this picture, my mother was quite nostalgic and explained how they began my journey to literacy through experiences like this. My earliest memory of experiencing literature was as a small child. My parents would read bedtime stories to me each night before I went to bed. I vividly remember us sitting on the bed together with this big book of “365 bedtime stories for 365 days” and we read one story each day until we had
So, seeing Devon pull out his revolver, in addition to the other four guns pointing at me, didn’t erupt too much fear in my heart nor did it convince me to bargain off my hidden, life-saving stash of money. At this point, I’m fed up with life and won’t put up a fight. Guess today’s the day I meet God, who probably won’t be pleased with the account I will give. Glancing to my right, the man at the bar is cupping a glass of whiskey with shaky hands. Melissa, who is standing behind the counter, avoids my eyes and pretends to clean a cup. Just last week, we were laughing about politics over two glasses of Sprite and speaking kindly of her government-working husband. This transition in loyalty is disheartening.
But the money wasn’t the only thing in the box I didn’t want my parents knowing about. There were also some condoms hidden in there—now I don’t want you thinking that I’m some kind of slut here, because I’m not. Truthfully, I’m still a virgin. I just had them for the simple fact that they’d be there if and when I ever did need them. My friend Lettie Sheppard though, now there’s a slut for you. She could suck start a leaf blower, but I’ll
In the short story “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” the author Joyce Carol Oates, tells a breathtaking story about a teenage girl named Connie. Connie is faced with an earth-shattering situation with a stranger who is known as Arnold Friend throughout the story. To the reader of the story, Connie could be seen as hopeless and self-absorbed, who is looking for someone to accept her. She uses her beauty to make herself feel mature and get the boys attention. However, when Connie ran into Arnold, her beauty only made her look like an easy target. Throughout the story, the character’s reactions made it clear to the reader Connie’s earth-shattering experience was only part of a dream.
As Cliff walks into the Kit Kat club he enters the world of promiscuous uninhibited dancers, and people of the like. Men approach him to dance, and women entice him with their charms. He obviously wasn’t all that accustomed to this kind of happening, but he didn’t shy away from it. The first night he lived this almost unreal experience, he met a woman. Sally was a one of a kind woman of her time, being on her own, making her own living, whether that living be on stage or with a man who suits her interest for a while.
A thick plume of black smoke and ash hung in the air in a heavy haze, almost completely obscuring the lurid red glow of the waning sun. Below, a cloud of grey plaster dust twisted and writhed amid the sea of debris as intermittent eddies of wind gusted by.
“By the way what is your name mine is Jimmy. Most people call me jim,” I exclaimed
“Garcia from criminal minds.” I responded. “Oh. No one is gonna know who you are Bethany.” She said, with a humorous grin on her face. “ I don’t care. I think I look cute.” I said proudly. I walked to the bonfire after grabbed a hotdog and sat next to Finn Eckart, and A girl I had not met. She had brown hair and brown eyes, she was stick thin and sipping out of a red cup. “Hi, I’m Bethany. Have we met?” I asked. This wasn’t something I normally did. I stuck with my crowd. Which mainly was just my best friend Rebecca Pillar and I. “I’m Sadie.” She responded. “Oh, I’ve never seen you before.” I said, wondering if she would give me more information. “Yeah, I just moved here from a base in Texas.” She replied. “Oh okay. So you’re parents are in the military?” I asked. “My dad.” She responded. “Oh okay.” I said nodding. I was going to say more but suddenly a girl who looked my age ran up to Sadie. “Sadie, they’re going to play Hide N’ Seek, are you coming?” She asked. “Umm yeah.” I got up and walked with Sadie. “Brooke this is
I hadn’t meant to stay the night, wanted to avoid the dreaded morning after, but I must’ve fallen asleep at some point because I woke to the smell of bacon and peppers so strong it was like they were coming straight through the hand-carved gaps Ms. Laughlin’s ornate rosewood headboard. I checked the clock—9:30 a.m. Save for my annual two week vacations I hadn’t slept in that late on a weekday since college. I guess being unemployed, or in Ms. Laughlin’s case unemployed and divorced, had its upside. The whiskey from the night before throbbed in my temples, pushed at my ear drums like altitude pressure. I pulled on my jeans and shirt and stumbled to the bathroom. She had porcelain his-and-her sinks. His was free, I figured, so I turned on the water and stuck my head in, wet my hair and face, turned my mouth and chugged it straight from the tap like I used to from the garden hose back home during all those sweltering Midwestern heat waves. Spinning the knob closed I smoothed my cowlick down to a manageable level then dried my face with a plush white towel embroidered MKL. In the kitchen Ms. Laughlin lifted a frying pan from the stove and spooned its contents onto two plates.
There are many different types of events that shape who we are as writers and how we view literacy. Reading and writing is viewed as a chore among a number of people because of bad experiences they had when they were first starting to read and write. In my experience reading and writing has always been something to rejoice, not renounce, and that is because I have had positive memories about them.