Iven is her name. Her curly blonde hair and bulging cheekbones gave her the nickname Goldie. The daydreams and fantasies she had consisted of men who were deceased, middle aged, or old. She liked that about them none, only how they looked as her age and younger. Take James Dean for example. He was a young handsome man who died in '55. Little did she know, she was destined to meet one of those men she idolized and fantasized about.
One cold black night, Iven went in a bar on the country side. She sat on a tall wooden stool and leaned her long torso over the edge of the counter, where her elbows rested. It was one in the morning, and other than herself, sat two men in the bar. “Anything else, Goldie?” asked the bartender. “No thanks, G.” she said while drinking the last drop of beer. She wore a black fitted shirt and baggy high waist denim jeans with a leather jacket lying over the counter.
Iven had a Marlboro pack of cigarettes sitting under her shirt sleeve like Matt Dillon in Little Darlings. She took one from the pack and lit its tip with her lighter. “Now you know I like you Goldie, but you can’t smoke in here.” said the bartender. “Alright old man.” she set the cigarette in between her lips and slid her jacket on and stood outside. Stars decorated the sky and the moon was full. It was beautiful, and it felt nice to her. “Got a light?” someone said. She looked and her eyes widened in shock. It was Mickey Rourke. “Are you-“
“I’m your everyday person, c’mon light this for me.” he said
Iven reached inside of her jacket for a lighter and lit his cigarette.
“Thanks.” He said. He looked like he had in Homeboy. Spiky hair and dark full eyes that looked to dominate his face. He wore the black and orange motorcycle jacket that he wore in Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man.
He inhaled from his cigarette and said, “Nice boots.”
“How can you see them?” she asked
“I saw them inside the bar.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“I sat in the back.”
It was quiet for a few moments. Iven tried to stop shaking from anxiety.
