Buttered Popcorn

Chapter 1: September 18, 1986

"This fucking bites, dude. I'm so bored." Les groaned dramatically while she hung upside down on the couch.

"Then go do something." I stated simply, continuing to read my book. I was currently reading 'The Godfather' by Mario Puzo. My father had given me the book before I moved out and begged me to read it. I was only about 50 pages in and by the looks of it, I wasn't going to get much further into it tonight.

"I can't go do something by myself. That's even more boring! Come on, Jimmie, let's go do something fun!" she sat up, tugging on my sleeve. "Oh, for fuck's sake, can I ever get a moment of silence around you?" I finally looked over to her with a deadpan expression in my eyes.

"Not at all," she chirped, "Plus, you'll get totally shit-faced and meet some hot guys! It's gonna be great, you'll be fine." I closed my book and placed it on the coffee table in front of me where my feet were rested, "Don't you have to work in a few hours, anyway?"

"Yeah, that's what I mean! You can come along and watch while I'm working, then we'll go somewhere after! I only work until midnight, and my shift starts in like an hour, so we have to hurry."

"I'm not going. It's not 'bring your roommate to work day', so I'll stay here." "How about if I get you drinks on the house?" she offered. I began making my way to my room calling down the hall back at her, "You know I don't like drinking." And it was true. Every time I got drunk it felt like I was underwater in the worst way possible.

She broke the silence in our apartment after a few moments, "I'll score you drugs." I stopped in my tracks- literally- and turned back around to face her, "You're fuckin' on."

"Yay!" she squealed, running over to hug me. "Woah, alright, easy tiger. Hands off the merchandise." I pried her arms from around me and dusted off my shirt. "God, it's like you're allergic to people touching you. I haven't seen you hug someone since the day you moved out and said bye to your dad." she groaned. "It is allergy season." I shrugged.

"You're such a drag." "Keep whining, maybe someday it'll change." I shut the door behind me before she had time to shoot back with another complaint.

Even after living with her for over a year, it surprised me how we could tolerate each other.

Les was a bouncy blonde with a nice figure and a bubbly personality. She loved men, bright colors, showing off her tits, and makeup. She saw the best in everyone and was very optimistic. She was a lover. She mostly spoke before she thought, and had no regrets. I respected her in a way for how she was. She lived free, and I liked that.

I, on the other hand, was practically the complete opposite. I was a fighter and made it my personal duty, as her friend, to make sure she stayed safe. Sure, I would party and do drugs, but I'm sure my temperamental attitude and bitchy remarks totally ruined any chance of a relationship with anyone. I wore dark clothes, stayed locked in my room playing my guitar and sleeping.

It baffled me how one of us hadn't ditched and moved out yet. In the end, we were close, and nothing could change that. In a way, I guess we balanced each other out.

"Jimmie! You ready, hun? Come on, we gotta go." she tapped on my door with her long acrylics. "Yeah, yeah, give me 5 minutes tops. I'll be out in a sec."

I adjusted the black lacy bra I wore under my faded black jean jacket. The black leather pants were on the verge of being too tight for comfort, and the combat boots that laced up my feet were nearly worn to pieces from years of rough days. Silver jewelry glimmered in the dim lighting of my room and the dark makeup I wore made my features stand out a little too much.

I opened the door and was met with Les leaning on the opposite wall of the hallway. She wore a large sweatshirt and baggy pants, no doubt going to be wearing some piece of skimpy lingerie later. "Cute fit, babe! Your tits look great." she smiled and bounced to the door.

I didn't believe her, of course. I was a B-cup (at best) and my slim figure didn't exactly give room for curves on me. I wasn't complaining, though. Physical beauty was something that I believed was a social concept. I dressed for myself, and occasionally Les when she would beg me to wear something of her choosing.

"You're going to change there, right?" I asked, snatching the keys from the table beside the door and following her out. "Yeah, I think Brandie's going to let me borrow one of her tops. I lost the red one."

"Ah, that's your favorite one." I muttered while locking the door and continuing to go after Les. "Yeah, I know," she pouted, "It's okay, though. I knew I needed a new one, anyway. I'm sure it was getting old on stage." Always seeing the bright side.

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe you should try pink. That'd be a good color on you." I shrugged. "That's what I was thinking! Ugh, sometimes I swear we're like connected or something."

"Right." I chuckled quietly. She continued to ramble on about some drama between the girls at work, I only caught on to a few names and added the occasional "Fuck, really? That blows," to the conversation.

The drive was short and once I stopped beside the dark alley so she could use the back entrance for workers, I got out as well. I always walked Les to the door. It was our thing.

"Go to the bar after my time's up. I'll get whatever from Chris and slide you something across the counter." I nodded, "Make money and pay our rent tonight."

"Love you." she hugged me and kissed my cheek before unlocking the door with her keys. I opened the door and held it for her as she walked in. "Love you too. Do good in there, Miss Paul." I winked at her when she turned around and giggled at the name I called her.

Though I was quite aware that her last name was Thompson, I called her Paul. I mean, her first name was Les, it was practically inevitable.

I shut the door once I saw she walked though the curtain to get ready. Once I pulled the car into the parking lot and began walking to the entrance, the bouncer saw me and nodded. "Hey, Tiny." I nodded up to the giant that guarded the doors. "Hello, Miss Jimmie. Here to see Henny?" "You know it. How's your night been so far?"

"Quite alright, thanks for asking. And you?" he gave a small smile. "I've been alright as well. I'll see you later, T-Bone." I nodded to him as he opened the door for me. "Keep Henny safe, Jimmie." he called after me. Instead of responded, I threw a thumbs up over my shoulder.

Tiny was actually one of the biggest dudes I've ever seen. He was probably about 6' 6" with a mass of muscles. He had tattoos all along his cocoa skin. I called him Tiny because I liked to make fun of him, thought we both knew I was only joking. I considered Tiny one of my friends, and I assumed he did the same.

As for 'Henny', that was Les's stage name. When I called her Paul, she called me Hendrix- also due to my first name, though it was spelled differently. My guitar's name was also Henley, so she met a happy medium and gifted herself the name of 'Henny' for the stage. I was honored- on behalf of my guitar as well- when she told me.

I found a secluded seat, sipping on an ice water until Les came on. The girls before her were alright, but I knew my Les would bring in the most money of the night. She was a skilled and flexible girl, which the guys loved. Les had picked up this career when she turned 18 right before we moved in together in L.A. Since then, she had stuck with it.

"And now, straight from the shining bottle, please welcome Henny to the stage!"