Lyrics quoted by: L. Nichols, D. Perkins and S. Taylor. (Chagall Guevara)
"...She was a cool blue redhead she was a virgin vixen she had the eyes of Lassie she had the lips of Nixon lips like Tricia Nixon..."
The doorbell rang, and rang again. Dave cursed; he'd completely forgotten that a reporter was coming around to do an interview. He practically jumped into his jeans and put on a T-shirt he found laying next to the mattress he used as a bed. After pushing the button that opened the downstairs door, he popped in a CD and started to make coffee.
"...she said, "Button up, mister" I shook as she took another look "Have you ever been hooked," she said, "by the tail of the twister?"..."
Another doorbell rang, Dave rushed to open the door. The reporter shook Dave's hand and looked around the place, before sitting down on one of the designer-chairs.
Dave poured him a cup of coffee, and sat down. A sound startled them both. Dave's apartment was basically a studio, one room about twenty by twenty meters, the entire top-floor of an old warehouse in the centre of town. Simple screens made of white cloth and wood separated the different sections. Very fashionable though not very good for privacy, but that was OK, Dave lived in it alone.
".....And with a brain like Einstein and with a form like sin up on the roof of Trump Tower she said, "It's yours on a trade-in" (think about it)..."
The girl emerged from behind a screen, her hair a mess and with sleepy eyes. 'Hi, is it OK if I smoke? Coffee, great! Pour me a cup will you, I'll be right back.' And she disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Bloody hell, Dave thought, in this light she doesn't look a day over seventeen. He glanced at the reporter, who was busy making notes.
The girl came back, looking refreshed and more awake. She wore one of Dave's black shirts; she must have gotten from his closet. 'You are wearing my T-shirt...'
Dave looked at himself in the standing mirror across the room. He was. She sat down and listened to Dave and the reporter doing the interview. It was apparent that the reporter considered Dave over-the-hill. It was one of those forever-young semi-trendy types. He hadn't taken his red leather jacket off, and from under the factory-worn sleeve a fake Rolex glittered. Dave had a hard time hiding his resentment. He needed the publicity; he needed the comeback.
".....It's a long black car it's power like a czar it's temporary bliss it's like kissing your sister....."
The music was too loud, but Dave didn't want to get up to adjust the volume. The girl took off the shirt, revealing perky breasts confined only by a tiny black lace bra. Without much ado she stripped the T-shirt off Dave, who let her. She put it on. Dave noticed he'd signed it. His signature was right under his picture. It was an old T-shirt, he doubted she was a groupie. He remembered meeting her in the bar, there had been no show, so it probably was a coincidence.
He put on his shirt. It smelled of her perfume. The reporter tried to act casual and kept talking until the girl put her hand over his mouth. 'Shut up you! Dave, I've got to go, so...'
Dave kissed her hand, sucking a finger briefly. 'Well, you know where I live now, did I give you my number?'
She waved one of his cards at him. 'Found this in your wallet, I took some cash for a cab...so, I'll call you, ok?'.
Dave glanced briefly at the reporter, still staring at the both of them from behind the girls' hand.
'Yeah, call me. Bye! I had fun!'
She smiled. 'Yeah, you aren't half-bad for an old guy.'
With those last words the girl released the reporter and left.Dave cursed under his breath. He hated to be reminded of his age, especially now, with that bloody reporter there.
"....Big, big wheels and you're sitting real high it's a temporary ride on the tail of the twister..."
Not much later the reporter left too, leaving Dave alone, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, watching himself in the mirror, in the cold light of morning. On the table in front of him was a pile of letters, most bills. The reporter must have seen those too, Dave cursed himself, again.
"....After sleeping with the devil you'd love to close the book but you gotta wonder how the baby's gonna look..."
It took him all morning to bring himself to read the letters and bills. Somehow he couldn't concentrate. There was the letter from his bank-manager; he didn't even read it. After a while of pretending to read the letters, most marked "urgent" or "Final notice" he got sick of it. He got the cat's litter-box and started to tear the bills into small pieces he threw into the box. 'Here Mozart...? he said to his cat, 'all these nice people sent you their stationery to piss on.'
His mind started to wander. He thought back to the previous night, and the girl, who was much too young for him. He liked her somehow. She had a brain in her pretty head, and he started to remember some damn good conversation before he got drunk and took her home. As he tore-up the final notice from the phone-company, he realised that he actually wanted her to call him.
"...."Have you ever been hooked," she said "by the tail of the twister?"...."