she wants him bad

part 6

At the Choke & Puke Bar and Grill he found her, Mary Louisa, on the open mic stage standing like Gary Cooper, hands on hips and gazing over the nonplussed heads of seated patrons. She'd just delivered her epic poem “Out of the Lips of Eagles” and was triumphant in the roar of hushed silence. Mary Louisa curtsied and stumbled off the platform to a wave of more increased wanting aplomb and vanished into the crowd, where she took a seat and sipped from a straw. Pasta-louis clapped in the doorway, then sidled up to the bar to order a frou-frou aperitif, something with a cherry or an umbrella floating in it.

The walls here were brick, but painted black, and from floor to ceiling they screamed graffiti epithets and obtuse colloquialisms that only whiskey softened sots believed. Pasta-louis watched her from the glossy bar, and in the shattered light her legs seemed to separate under the curve of the booth and protrude like stuffed dummy limbs from beneath the cushions. Unaware of her silly appearance, Mary Louisa continued staring vacuously into the void while sipping what looked to be a dark soda. Pasta-louis ordered her a refill and when the waitress set it on her table, gesturing to the bar, he lifted his colorful drink in the air and dipped his head appreciatively. She blushed, and unsurely motioned to the opposite bench. He swiveled about and crossed the darkened floor to join her.

Up close her legs were more than normal, and not at all contorted. Pasta-louis shrugged happily at this wonderful turn of events, and wiggled into the seat. He found booths uncomfortable and restricting, but this wasn't the time for callous rebukes. Here was an obviously talented and intelligent young lady. She was the perfect start for a home grown legion. He introduced himself.

“Your verse is uplifting. It's poignant too, so ironic... for eagles are lipless!” Pasta-louis bent an elbow and smacked his lips. 

“Oh, yes. They are!” she blurted. “My name is Mary Louisa,” she said and reddened again.

Pasta-louis peered at the woman suspiciously under heavy brows. Pleasantries accomplished.

“I have some very important business here, and at my home some very inspiring art, it is an homage to a great overlord who is going to come here, to the Earth, and rule us all. I am to be its mouthpiece, and a great leader here, on the Earth. The art is more than art, and at its center is a wonderful relic. It will be sticky, so don't be alarmed at the sticky appearance. I want to take you there, to see it, and of course be assimilated into its purpose, here on the Earth,” he said. Pasta-louis had thought about what he would say, and it came out pretty well, almost word for word. “Are you up for it?”

On stage a gross, sweaty couple had begun plucking their ukuleles and singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Out of tune.  Mary Louisa didn't notice; she grinned happily and shrugged a little, and blushed. “Oh yes,” she squeaked, and grabbed her big purse from the booth. “I'd love to see your house!”

Pasta-louis reached across the table to take her trembling fingertips, and together they left the bar. He looked around to scan the other patrons, but they were too engrossed in themselves and their sweaty drinks to notice greatness, so Pasta-louis left, with his first disciple in tow.