THE COLOR RED | DALLAS WINSTON

xiii. 99 CENT DREAMS

RED, THE BLOOD OF ANGRY MEN. Dallas was an angry man, especially when he didn't get his way or had spent the weekend in jail. He was all sorts of red when he appeared at her home one evening. Charlotte's mother was of course missing. A slumber party of sorts. Perhaps an LSD fueled sex party. But Alice looked too worn for such a thing. She was in her early forties, but she looked as though she was in her late fifties.

Charlotte was having difficulty sleeping. It was nearly the end of the schoolyear and work was piling up. She was losing motivation to study and put forth her edition of 100%. She looked at the ceiling and imagined stars dotting the white paint. Stars that shone bright, stars that smiled with the brightness of the sunshine. Smiles of the people in anyone's life that never gave up, that constantly forgave and forgot, who treated every person with respect.

She heard the hum of a T-Bird pull into her driveway. Charlotte had no reason to look out the window to know whose it was. To know who could possibly be pulling in. It certainly wasn't her mother. It was the owner of that damned red T-Bird. Dallas. Charlotte slowly rolled out of bed, automatically feeling more awake and alive than she had laying down. She heard the horn honk, before hearing the clunking of boots. She continued sitting in her bed, rubbing her eyes with a little yawn as she waited for the boy to crawl his way through her window. He had nerve. But his nerve was something she could almost admire.

"I figured I'd have to wake you up." Dally said, swinging a long leg in.

"I'm full of surprises." Charlotte replied, forcing a smile. He had no reason to be there. What did he need?

"I know y'are." He replied. He looked exhausted, he had bags that looked purple in the moonlight. Purple, humility, power, wealth. Power was the only thing that could have related to Dallas Winston. Powerful. Perhaps power hungry. "Wanna go on an adventure?"

"Where to?"

"Nowhere... everywhere. To uh, New York if we get drunk enough."

"Sounds like an exciting adventure." Charlotte responded thoughtfully, "I'm in."

"You got liquor anywhere?" He asked before hopping out her window

"Alice locked it up."

Dallas muttered profanities under his breath, rubbing his forehead. He looked as though he had no reason to be driving or to even be awake in the first place. "Fuck it," Dally sighed, "I'll see if my damn I.D. I got from Charlie's in the glovebox." Charlie? Who the hell was Charlie?

Charlotte left her house without jumping out her window. She was careful to make it look like nothing was out of place. She closed the window and drew the curtains. Charlotte escaped her house as though her mother was sleeping in the next room. She needn't have snuck around the way she did, but Charlotte viewed it as practice if Dallas continued to decide that she was entertaining.

She walked towards Dally's car, feeling the night breeze tousle her hair. She didn't bother trying to smooth it or give it a better appearance, Charlotte had just rolled out of bed for god's sake. Charlotte closed the car door and fought to keep her eyes open.

"Why the long face?" Dally asked as he pulled out of her neighborhood

"It's half past two, Dallas. What's your guess?"

"I didn't invite you out with me for you to be a wench, sweetheart." He muttered, loud enough for her to hear.

"Where'd you run off to?"

"You ask too many questions."

"Sorry." Charlotte replied, leaning her head on the seat. She hoped if she fell asleep, Dallas would take her home and forget the entire idea of an adventure. There were moments of silence. Silence that choked Charlotte, making her wish that sleep would come and find her.

He pulled into a 24-hour liquor store, grumbling as he searched for what Charlotte presumed would be his false ID. Dallas grabbed the white hand-sized document and left the car, slamming the door behind him. The blonde girl in the passenger seat slowly fell asleep, suddenly able to find herself tired despite the inability to in her own bed. Charlotte looked over at Dallas. He was unshaven, and he scratched his chin, putting a brown bag near her lap.

"You never answered my question." Charlotte said softly, looking over at him

"I was in jail, sweets. Happy?"

"If you'd like." She mumbled, almost retreating into her seat. Dally drove around the dead city for a while longer. Long drives through Tulsa made Charlotte like it less and less. Sure, the nightlife could be exciting, but she wasn't the type to go out and have that kind of night that was so great that she couldn't remember any of it. She lowered the window and stuck her head out the opening.

"The hell are you up to?" The nefarious greaser asked the artist hanging out of his window

"I wanted to feel a rush."

"If you want a rush, you ought to spend a whole night with my buddies and me. Hell, go to the back alleys of New York for one of those. You'll never want a damn rush again."

"Maybe that kind of adventure's worth it." Charlotte replied in an exhausted flirty voice, getting back in the car

"You wouldn't much like it." Dallas replied, pulling into the gravel driveway of Buck Merril's shithole

"And why do you say that?" Charlotte replied, staying in her seat since Dallas wasn't bothering to get out of the car.

"Because I know you, Lottie. It ain't your speed. You should be lookin' for rushes by drinkin'."

"That just sounds like a baby step for me." She told him, her shoulders practically shrugging on their own

"I like your enthusiasm, toots." Dally said with a smirk, opening a beer. He sipped it as though it were the fountain of youth. He never drank liquor like a glutton, but he certainly didn't drink sparingly. Charlotte was frankly amazed by his tolerance.

"Don't you want to go inside?" The blonde asked after several quiet minutes

"Nah, Buck's got a bunch o' weird people over tonight. A bunch o' wackjobs that're crazed on country culture."

It really didn't sound like his scene. Dallas knew his place. He never bothered to enter a different kind of stereotype. He knew his place. And Dally's place was amongst the misfits. He looked for fights and he looked to belong. But how can you belong with a record like his? How could you expect someone to respect you without any fear without a record like his? With the reputation he had. With the rumors about him. The stories.

Time ticked by. The rock and roll turned into sleepy anthems that Charlotte had almost never heard of. There wasn't anything appealing. And she couldn't change the radio because there wouldn't be anything better.

"I got a blanket in the backseat." Dally told her when her eyes began to droop.

"Alright." She hummed, not inclined to argue or even notice that for someone as cold-hearted and iron-guarded as he, Dallas Winston had indirectly offered to let her sleep in his backseat. Charlotte curled up with the threadbare blanket in his backseat, just as he likely expected. Clearly Buck's friends weren't the kind of people she should have known if Dallas wasn't willing to let her sleep inside the inn with him. Not that Char would have wanted to sleep there. She couldn't imagine the sheets had been cleaned in some time.

For someone who couldn't afford to care about anyone, who was so guarded he wouldn't allow himself to care about someone, he seemed to care about her... even if it was a little bit.