The Gemini

10 - Play

October 22, 1988

"So when is your play toy gonna put us on?"

"I wish you wouldn't call her that."

Red mouth fixed into a disgruntled pout, Riot shrugged nonchalantly while rolling her eyes. "Okay fine. Your blow-up doll, then."

"Lay off that." Roger admonished.

At the pool table, he bent into stance preparing to take his next shot. "Her name is Jody."

Cue tapped at a white ball, sending it clacking into an orange one. Standing straight, Roger walked halfway around the table.

"And who is this us you keep speaking of?"

Riot screwed the cap off of a raspberry soda and poured a small portion of it into a glass. She leaned against the bar taking a leisurely sip. "Me. Tommy. Dez. Bobby. The ones who keep your little dream running."

Roger took another shot. "You ain't running nothing but that mouth. Always."

The blonde pressed her lips against the rim of the glass. Grinning, "You didn't complain when it was running up and down your dick an hour ago."

Roger smirked, shaking his head. It was a pretty mouth, he'd give her that. But along with a skill for delivering a decent blow, the woman could sing. He knew that's what she was getting at.

"I'm a solo act, sugar."

Roger used Riot and the others when he needed additional vocals or effects on his tracks here and there. That was it though, they lived in the background and nothing more. That fact didn't stop Riot from pressing the idea of a group effort, however.

"You're full of broken promises, you know that? A bunch of bullshit. You think you're the master of everything. Nothing but lies." She downed the rest of the drink and slammed the cup onto the counter.

Roger paid no mind to her words, she's said them all before. A liar he wasn't. He gave her what she wanted. Maybe not everything, but the woman had more now than what she did when he first found her.

Back then she was Jill Bennett, a brunette down on her luck whose occupation was swinging around a pole at a two-bit night club. On a theme night, Roger walked in while she was doing a musical striptease. As she crooned an old school tune, My Heart Belongs to Daddy, Roger's interest was caught and immediately his wheels churned. After meeting, he learned that Jill wanted to be a star. She accepted his promising offer to get her there.

Roger had it all set, he would make her a modern day Gypsy Rose Lee. Jill protested, wanting more Debbie Harry than "some dated burlesque queen". The two went back and forth until Roger gave in. Jill gave herself the name Riot. After a hefty string of gigs, she became a moderate success around the city. It wasn't Hollywood, but it was something and it didn't involve taking her clothes off. Roger saw that as a promise fulfilled.

Two years later, here she was playing backup for Roger in hopes of riding his wave to real stardom. To Riot, his talent was undeniable and he talked such a big game that she couldn't help but fall victim to his charm. Still, she settled in her mind that he was a liar. She should have a hit record by now.

Having cleared the table, Roger went about collecting the colored spheres from their cubbies. "Pour me a drink, will ya?"

Riot directed a minute glare at him before going to task, filling a new glass with orange juice, vodka, and club soda. Placing it before her on the counter, "Come get it." She clipped.

Finished with arranging all of the game pieces inside of the wooden triangle, Roger strode over to the bar. "Thank you." Taking the cup, he drank.

"What's so great about this chick anyway?"