malaveaux (malaveaux) wrote,

“Doesn’t everything end badly?” Her words haunt him as he thinks to the night before.  When the dancers left the stage, he realized he had been sitting on the edge of his seat.  He had settled back into the leather chair and sipped the scotch, wondering what to do next.  A trumpet heavy jazz number had begun to play and another blonde began to twirl around the pole in the center of the stage.

He had watched her for several minutes, appreciating her curves and the skill and practice it must take to make the lifts and swings around the pole look so natural. A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder and a whiskey sour voice filled his ear.  “Come with me.”

He had looked up to see the brunette dancer, who was now dressed somewhat conservatively, all things considered.  She held a hand to him and he had frowned, feeling unsure, but had taken it and allowed her to gently tug him from the chair.  She smiled a little and had inclined her head, seeming to want to reassure him.  Her hand still holding his, she led him out of the showroom and back towards the corridor of the club.  Dropping his hand, she had pressed the door open slightly, looked both ways and had apparently saw the coast was clear.  She beckoned him to follow her, taking his hand once again they began walking down the hallway.

He's pulled from his reverie as he hears Marisol's voice singing again.  He looks around quickly, his eyes searching for her.

"Wise at last
My eyes at last,
Are cutting you down to your size at last,
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered no more.

Burned a lot,
But learned a lot,
And now you are broke, though you earned a lot.
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered no more.

Couldn't eat,
Was dyspeptic,
Life was so hard to bear.
Now my heart's antiseptic,
Since you moved out of there."

She appears on the stage but starts walking towards him slowly, her red hair bright against her creamy white skin and wearing the black dress he had first seen her in.  Daniel can only stare as she struts, her hips shifting alluringly, placing one foot out and then the other, taking her time to reach him.

Your chance-finis,
Those ants that invaded my pants-finis.
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered no more."

She stands before him again, her crimson lips parted seductively as she finishes singing.  She tilts her head and looks at him quizzically.

"You won't help me?"  She finally asks, her eyes full of sorrow.

He can't bear her gaze and looks away and thinks a moment.  He sighs once and starts to sing himself, his voice hesitant and low, stumbling as he tries to remember the words.

"Call me irresponsible,
Call me unreliable,
Throw in undependable, too!

Do my foolish alibis bore you?
Well, I'm not too clever,
I just adore you.

So, call me unpredictable,
Tell me I'm impractical,
Rainbows, I'm inclined to pursue!

Call me irresponsible,
Yes, I'm unreliable,
But it's undeniably true,
That I'm irresponsibly mad for you.

Go on and call me unpredictable,
Tell me that I'm so impractical,
Rainbows, I'm inclined to pursue,

Go ahead call me irresponsible,
Yes, I'm unreliable,
But it's undeniably true,
I'm irresponsibly mad for you."

She smiles as he says the last word, him nodding his head emphatically.  He can't help but smile in return, a little embarrassed and shy about having sung, and crazy to have said what he's thinking.  Impulsively he reaches out to her, lifting her in his arms, startled to find her solid, one hand clutching her shoulder, the other hand and arm keeping her aloft.  She stares at him intently, her hand going to caress his hair and she parts her lips to whisper.

"I don't have much time."

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