Buttered Popcorn

Chapter 4: November 21, 1986

I groaned at the incessant ringing that was interrupting my sleep. "Les, can you get that?" No answer. "Les! Grab the phone!" More ringing. "Fuck me." I huffed, trudging to the living room where the landline stopping ringing as I had approached it. "You're fucking kidding."

Just as I began walking back to my room and return to the comfort of my bed, the phone began to chime once again. "Holy hell." I walked back to where the wired phone sat on its receiver, buzzing ever so slightly from the vibrations.

"Yes?" My voice was still hoarse from sleep and filled with annoyance. It was too early for this. "Jimmie?" the voice asked from the other end. "You got her. Who's this?" "Oh, great! This is Steve. From the strip club? Then the record store? Then the halloween party at my band's apartmen-"

"Yup. I got it. What do you need, dude? You woke me up." "I can tell," he laughed, "I was just wondering if you and Les wanted to spend Thanksgiving with the boys and I." My face contorted with confusion just as Les walked in, sporting one of my large shirts and no pants. "Who's that?" she mouthed.

"Steve." I rolled my eyes and pointed to the phone, covering it as I answered her question before putting it back to my ear. "How'd you get this number, dude?" "Oh, your roommate gave it to me. Said you wouldn't mind." I gave a unamused glare to Les, who stood with a blank expression. I didn't care enough to start a fight at this hour.

"Yeah, course she did," I mumbled, "Y'know, we've got families, Steve. We can't just ditch them for some street rats that I've met once." He sighed, "I know. I just thought I'd ask. It'd be nice to spend a holiday like Thanksgiving with some new faces. The band doesn't really have any family that we'd like to go see this year. So, our plans, as of now, consist of doing drugs and probably going to a strip club. You can still swing by, but I don't think you'll want to. Forget I asked. Sorry, Jimmie."

With that, the phone call ended his rambling. The line rang dead and I stood with furrowed eyebrows and parted lips. "What happened?" Les asked, holding two waffles that she had just pulled out of the toaster. "I'm, uh, not really sure."

"Well, what'd he say?" "Um," I placed the phone back onto the receiver and watched as Les hopped onto the counter of the kitchen, "He asked if we wanted to spend Thanksgiving with them. I told them we have families and we can't ditch for them and all that shit."

"Jimmie! You know damn well we don't have family that we're going to see!" she whined. "Hey, don't get loud with me, Paul. We barely even know the guys! Plus, I have a dad, y'know. I'd like to see him." I countered, leaning against the wall opposite of her.

"Get real, Jimmie. You're not going to see your dad. Even if you do, I'm sure you can do it before we go see the boys." "Don't call them that." I muttered.

"Call who what?" she asked. "Steven and his band. You called them 'the boys' like we're friends with them." "We are! I like being around them." "No, you like the attention they give you. You just want to fuck them. And that's fine, Les, really. But don't try and mask it with acting like you genuinely want to be their friend. Being a whore is fine, but faking a friendship is just low. Even for you."

"Are you fucking serious, Jimmie? Me being a 'whore' pays your fucking bills. Excuse me for using the body I have to my advantage. I want to see Steven and them, I'll go whether you do or don't. It's your call. Schedule your dad for another time or stop bitching."

"Don't talk about my dad like he's some chore that I can sweep to the side. He's my first priority, whether you like it or not."

"Jimmie, that's not what I meant. You know that. Shit, he's practically my dad too-" Before she could finish, I quickly cut in, "Then you should know how important it is that we see him. I'm all he has left and ever since moving out, I've been pushing boundaries with our relationship. I'm going to see him. I don't care if you come or not." I huffed, leaving her sitting on the counter.

"Jimmie!" She scurried down the hall to my room, just missing me as I shut the door in her face. "Fuck off, Les." I sighed, leaning against the wooden door that separated us.

"I'm sorry." she whispered, her soft voice slightly muffled. "I know." "Then you know that I care about your dad, too. I love him, Jimmie. He's a great dude. It's just-" she breathed out before continuing, "Spending time with new people like Axl and them.. it's refreshing. I'm not saying you get old, or anything, but I haven't met anyone like them before. I'd like to see what they do. Even if they are only hanging around me for my body."

"No, they aren't." I huffed in defeat, opening the door to reveal Les, leaning her head against the doorway. "I shouldn't have said that. You're not a whore." I refused to make eye contact, thinking it would make her perceive me as vulnerable. That's one thing I wasn't.

"No, it's alright, Jimmie. I get it-" "Well, you shouldn't. Don't let anyone call you that. Even me. If I ever say something like that to you again, slap the shit out of me." At that, she gave a small chuckle. "Honestly. You're not a whore. It was shitty of me. I suck. You're hot and you know it and use it. That's good. You own you, doll. No one else."

She smiled through watery eyes at me. "No, please don't cry. Jesus fuck. Stop it." I pleaded. I hated seeing other people cry. I didn't want to see them sad, I didn't know how to react, and they would think I didn't care. It sucked for everyone involved.

"I know. I'm sorry." She sniffed, wiping away her tears. "Well, fuck, don't be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for." She knew I didn't like when people said sorry when they didn't have to. She was the type of person to do that, though. I was okay with it.

"Listen, I'll see my dad before Christmas next month. It'll be fine. I'll call up Steve and tell him we'll show. Yeah?" I looked to her, waiting for her to argue back. I knew this would go on for a while. "No, Jimmie, you need to see your dad." "It's alright, I'll see him in a few weeks. I've lived with him all my life, I'm sure he needs the time away from me. How about we call him for Thanksgiving? Okay?"

"Okay."