The story dealt with a hooker.
Anyway, I had something, the beginning of a story: this guy messes up and cheats on his wife, is kicked out, is falling deeper, spiraling down like corkscrew destiny, acclimating to the fancies and foibles of the streets, out here, where dusk promises long nights of deviant deeds and worse.
Out here, where something else lives, breathes, and feeds. On us.
A few years later, going through snippets of written stuff, looking for something to work on, I found the notepad, and this story. “The Sunglasses Girl.” A lot of it was there, it just needed a fresh run-through, let it flow and see where it goes.
And where it goes…oh my!
This one’s a gnarly mess. Our main character, Trane, would tell you as much. Because as The Sunglasses Girl gives him what he wants, he decides he wants more…and more is not always a good thing.
Not when you’re dealing with…well, a thing like her, it…her…well…
Here’s a sample, our main character, Trane, thinking about her:
She had a gait—slow, deliberate, no hurry in her stride; no overzealous thrust of hips—that tantalized his imagination and burgeoning erection. She seemed almost languid, but with purpose. As far as he could tell, she was of indeterminate age. But, as with most of the prostitutes that prowled the desolate, torn and trashed landscape out here, they were always of indeterminate age. The life wore on them, like sun to a grape. Late twenties, maybe early thirties, maybe. Her hair was of a mahogany tint he had never seen; at least not like hers. It hung, straight and long, like some polished, unrecognizable woodwork. Her mouth was always closed, a thin straight line, no curve up or down to decipher joy, happiness, pain, sorrow or apathy. Her figure was lean but shapely.
There was nothing that really made her stand out in any way that would distinguish her as anything more than a somewhat attractive woman. But there was a mystery, some kind of secret buried within her he wanted to know, because day or night, sunny or overcast or lamp-lit darkness, whenever he had seen her she was always wearing sunglasses. There was something about this one additional element, this one simple accessory that perked his interest. She seemed to be hiding something, or so he thought; the eyes, of course, but something more: the doorway to the soul, perhaps. Trane noticed her long before his life went skidding into a ditch and had often thought about her; now, free to explore the dark places within himself, he was drawn to her like an alcoholic to a brown-bagged bottle.
Is she just another hooker, but with a gimmick? Something to set her apart from the others who make back-alleys and back-seats their sweat stained offices? (And, yes, funny that I call her a prostitute in the story, man, what's with that after I go on about the sub-level class of streetwalker prowling about in Hayward? Ah, well...)
No, not at all. [insert Evil mad scientist laughter here]
This one was inserted at this stage in the collection to bring us back to a more defined horror vibe. Where “Plastic” is fantastical in an urban, nuts ‘n’ bolts kind of way, this one remains in that weary landscape, but with a completely different perspective. This one enjoys amping up the dread…blood…death…
One more teaser left. Kind of a kid brother to the theme that runs through “Make Pretty”—overlapping themes and such criss-cross throughout the collection, always with a purpose--though with a more humorous, yet twisted, really twisted mindset.
Black, soulless eyes that might be much like those of "The Sunglasses Girl."