Slut Monologues

interlude

***
there's a monstrous-looking organ
attached to me

Someone who is new in town, perhaps one who has just moved three days ago, might fail to recognize The Martinis and Gins at night. The club's façade in the morning is far more different than what it actually is when the darkness looms, covering the town in blotches of light.

The Martinis and Gins is full of pretense, at 7 AM it is a quiet and calm café, playing soft acoustic music, the kind that has a melody same as to lullabies. The people that come at this hour are more corporate looking, more sophisticated, more... normal.

It was the same reason why Melkor Escobar extended his business during night hours, and he swore to himself he'd do it differently. He grew tired of seeing his customers living, racing against time, as though they could somehow win with a coffee in hand. Mel wanted to see nothing of this sort, he wanted to look at people who are alive. Not just living and moving, but alive. And that was when a club was born; the start of how people heard the voice of Adelaide.

Mel never did missed praising Adelaide, flattering her, maybe a little too much, after her performance. His face usually turns brighter the moment Adelaide stepped inside the club, an hour earlier of its opening time.

"You look gorgeous tonight, Adelaide," he said, eyes gaping at her face.

She playfully did a curtsy and said with a smile, "Thank you, Sir."

"I would call you pretty girl but you don't like that. Gorgeous, I think, could compensate," he teased.

Adelaide's expression turned murderous. She walked to his side and leaned in to the counter, her right arm resting on the cold marble bar counter. "Don't you dare, Escobar. I wouldn't mind stabbing you right in the heart," she then shrugged, "who knows, your blood on the floor might be a good design to this bar."

Mel couldn't help but to chortle. "Ah, it's damn amusing to hear such threats in a beautiful mouth."

Adelaide frown in annoyance, she gave him a glare, a warning to stop from talking. "Seriously, Mel, if you don't stop calling me names, I would kick you in the place where it hurts the most."

His baritone laughter filled the almost empty—except for them—room.

Mel cocked his head, staring at her, eyes glinting with mischief. "Why, my lady, are you in such an awful mood tonight?"

A short chuckle came out of Adelaide's lips, which are now covered in crimson red lipstick. "You're trying too hard, Mel. Stop it before I punch your perfect teeth."

She'd always tell him how ridiculous his perfectly lined up teeth look in the dark. That even when she's performing on stage and he's standing by the counter, when he smiles, she could still see his pearly white teeth in the crowd, shining brightly through the dimmed light.

Mel adjusted his posture, shifting his weight on his right foot. "I'm just going to pretend you're grateful that I made you laugh."

Adelaide smiled weakly. "Well, I didn't ask for your efforts."

He stared at her eyes, trying to guess if she's fine now. Adelaide felt conscious of his intimidating stare she averted her gaze, not letting him see through her. At least not now.

"How is she?" he asked.

She blinked and ducked her head, now, she was looking at her dress.

"Adelaide," he called, his tone serious.

"I don't want to talk about it, Mel." Her voice sounds small, like a murmur of the wind.

"Well, that's what you said to me last week."