The Bad and The Beautiful - Under Major Editing

Chapter 1: Deals With The Devil.

"Fast life livin', yeah we still tippin', Codeine cups paint a picture so vivid.
Codeine cups, Co-Codeine Cups, Co-Codeine Cups paint a picture so vivid..."

The music sends a powerful ricochet off the multi-colored walls that makeup up Santo's Party House. People are stumbling over one another, grinding on people they've never met before, and throwing up cheap and/or expensive alcohol.

How lovely.

I can barely hear the clicking of my heels as I practically fight my way through the crowd of sleazy women, and overly touchy hands of drunk bastards. Despite hearing that nagging angel on my shoulder that's desperately telling me to leave, I still make my way to bar feeling the need to fix the parched feeling in my throat.

Or the feeling of sober that consumes me. Either way, something needs to be done about this.

I reach for a leather cushioned bar stool and pull it out from the counter, clutching my bag close to my thigh. I swing my left leg around the two front legs of the stool and plop down on it, making the men scattered around the bar, aware of my presence.

Before any of them can make an advance, the screeching of a bar stool next to me makes their eyes dart in another direction.

There went my free drink, or drinks possibly.

I shift my head rightward to snap at the person who denied me of free alcohol, but nothing comes out as I let his features soak in.

His eyes seem to reflect a blue-green but it's hard to tell in this environment, his wavy textured brown hair is messy but in a 'I took at least 5 minutes to get it this way' kinda style. His face is chiseled out pleasantly, pretty solid cheek bones and a nice jaw line to accompany it.

If my thoughts were correct, I'd say he probably works in a nice little office, towering over NYC looking down on people like me.

People that aren't successful.

I take the time to situate myself so that I'm facing towards him, "Plenty of other seats in this bar." I gesture towards the group of giggling school girls in the corner that have suddenly materialized, and coincidently have an open seat right in between them all.

He does a double take at the girls, and provides them with a subtle wave.

They erupt in some sort maniac laugh, that makes my skin want to crawl into a tight ball and die. Although, It's apparent that Mystery Man and I didn't hear the same laugh because he just simply smiles at them and turns back to me as if he wasn't affected by their obnoxiousness.

Maybe it's just me.

"Yea, that may be true..." He says waving the bar tender over, "But there's only one seat next to you."

He's smooth, I'll give him that.

I give him a simper in exchange for his flattery, "You gotta name? Or are we just gonna play the anonymous thing?"

"Asher, Asher Evans. And your name is?..."

"Ril-." Before I can finish, I'm cut off by an overly energetic bartender.

"What can I get started for you two?", she says as bubbly as ever, while clicking the back of her black inked pen.

"Can I get a Kahlua with creamer, on the rocks?" I say tapping my French tips against the glass counter.

"Of course, extra cream with that?"

"Yes, please."

"And for you, sir?" She says scribbling the last of my order on a post-it.