Classic Rock One Shots

Ray Davies I "Papillon" {Meet-Cute}

Muse: Spanish Singer and Actress Marisol
Musician: British Musician and Lead Vocalist, Rhythm Guitarist & Songwriter of the Kinks, Ray Davies
Time: Mid Sixties

[Request]

Lynnette always found rainy days particularly wonderful. Maybe it was the earthy smell, or perhaps the overall lazy feeling, but something about the sound of the raindrops patting against the roof gave her a deep comfort.

Or maybe it was because Dave always seemed to come in those days.

She worked at a quiet little private library snug on the corner of a rather slow block in her neighborhood. Only one other girl worked there, Alice. She was tall and blonde and liked to keep things short when it came to conversation. Lynette didn't mind, though. She'd spend most of her work day sitting in the back room inspecting returns to the hum of her aluminum box fan.

But whenever the door opened and the little bell rang, she'd peak her brunette head around the heavy wooden door to see who'd payed them a visit. If it wasn't the one she'd hoped to see, she'd quickly return to her work without a uttering a single word.

She had a little portable radio sitting on her window sill, the station playing only the most sorrowful pop of the now-gone fifties. The sappy and self-pitying lyrics made her mind wander to only one place — well, to a person, actually. Someone who'd payed her many visits in the past weeks leading up to that slightly gloomy day.

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't expecting him — Dave, was his name. She was more than expecting him, if she was being honest. She was waiting for him.

A part of her was even a little hurt that he hadn't showed yet. After all, her shift ended in only 40 minutes, and Alice was the type who wanted the door closed and locked at 6:30 on the dot — so long as there weren't customers browsing. That being said, even if there were, she'd find a not-so-subtle way of hurrying them along.

With an unimpressed huff, her ring finger absentmindedly bounced on the E key of her aging typewriter. The letters had all but worn off and it had to be the noisiest thing in the entire ill-decorated room. She knew when the boredom finally cleared she'd hate herself for wasting a perfectly good sheet of paper, but in the moment she simply couldn't care less.

The sight of black ink stamping both uppercase and lowercase Es rather amused the girl. With her hand resting on the shift key, it was almost like she was playing a game of trying to figure out which E she would get. But however fun it was at first, the game quickly became uninteresting, and that mixed with the repetitive sound of the keyboard clicking slowly began to seduce her into a tense and shallow rest.

A few crawling minutes later, her long eyelashes fluttered open with the jingle of the silver bell above the entrance, but the girl didn't bother to leave her little nook. Dave never came this late into her shift, so it surely wasn't him.