1989: a story of two misfit kids from mid-west america making it big in the big apple. and in the true sense of the american dream they find themselves in a life of sex, money, drugs, and a little rock n roll too.
warnings: adult content, mature rea...
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1989
It was an early chilly autumn morning in New York City when Bill drove his all-black '88 Impala through Midtown. The sky was slowly fading from navy to a soft shade of lilac. Through cross streets to his east, he could see the orange glow of the morning sun slowly make its debut. Despite the chill, he had his window down while he took a deep drag of his third cigarette out of annoyance. He was up late on his own at home after a long day of work but just before he could climb into bed to call it a night Alma had called the house phone begging for a ride.
"Bill! Billie! Please!" She whined into the pay phone's receiver. "I started walking but it's freezing!"
"You should have thought about that before you left the house in nothing but fucking fishnets..." he chided but he still went on his way to get her.
As he got closer to her approximate location, he scanned the street corners and benches for her. Finally, he saw her leaned against the pay phone she called from outside a Korean restaurant which to his surprise was open at 5am. He pressed his palm flat against the middle of the wheel, honking the loud horn to gain her attention. He couldn't be bothered to park, she was going to have to weave through traffic since she needed the ride so badly. He looked on amused that she had to hustle to his car looking like a wreck compared to how she left the apartment.
"Hurry, close the door I got half of New fuckin' York honking behind me," he said to her when she got in.
Alma groaned and curled into her seat with a shiver. "Can I have your jacket?"
Bill slightly frowned and glanced at her. "Look at you," he said taking note of her smudged eyeliner and faded red lipstick. Her brunette hair was flat, no longer teased to high heaven as it was before they parted for the evening. She was partying at a popular club kid spot all night. Despite her near all fishnet attire, she was dressed relatively tame compared to the rest of the crowd there. "I give you a night off to relax but you went partying with a buncha freaks in Chelsea?"
"I just asked for your jacket. Not a lecture, dad. Look," she reached towards him and snaked her freezing hands under his shirt to touch the warm skin on his hip.
"Christ," he pushed her hands away, his reaction making her lightly laugh. "Hold the wheel," he sighed.
Alma steered the Impala while he shrugged out of his gray mink for her. He passed it on, taking control of the wheel again. A light chill went through her as she appreciated his warmth that lingered in the coat.
"Thank you," she said with a yawn.
"Mhm," he hummed while another cigarette perched between his lips.
Bill had his long arm slung around her shoulders when they silently walked into their shared apartment in Hell's Kitchen. It was a decent place despite the location. They kept it clean, it was furnished with the essentials, they never bothered to really decorate with anything other than various record sleeves pinned to the beige walls. It was pointless to make it homey, since she arrived in New York, they've moved every year and besides, they would sleep their days away before heading to work all night to even enjoy it.
