little t&a

down to the bar at the place i'm at

 Paul was still trying to remember the times he'd slept with her even as he looked her over. Brownish hair in a grown-out shag, that sort of dirty light brown color that made it obvious she'd probably been towheaded as a kid, blue eyes, freckles in heaps across her nose and cheekbones. Icepick scars ran down one cheek on close inspection, reminiscent of Ace's, pitting up her complexion. The remnants of measles or acne. She was very small, easily at least a head shorter than him, even now. Skinny figure, accentuated in a pair of jeans and a halter top. So much for the dress code he'd rambled about that morning. Younger than him, if he were going to take a guess. Not—not substantially so, maybe three or four years. She wasn't beautiful at all, but she had that blandly cute girl-next-door look about her that sometimes was its own ticket of admission.

He'd been working towards this for days, and he didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to approach her. The doorman had already backed away, disappearing as soon as he'd realized Gene saw the girl. Paul's palms were sweating worse now than during the dance; he felt like he was about to sing at Shea Stadium. He felt Gene's hand on his back, urging him, and finally he stepped forward and spoke.

"Hi, Carol."

She didn't recognize him. He could tell by the way her eyes flickered from him to Gene, measuring him up. She was probably thinking that Gene was adding up girls for a threesome. She smiled in a distant, vague way, holding her hand up in a wave.

"Hi."

"We need to talk," Paul said, but she shook her head and turned to Gene.

"The guy at the door said Paul Stanley wanted to see me, too."

"I do."

"What?"

"I do want to see you."

She looked at him. Really looked at him, staring him dead in the eye. Her mouth opened. She looked—she almost looked afraid.

"Oh, my God." A breath. "Paul?"

Paul nodded.

"It worked? It really—" Carol stopped herself. Her gaze inched down from his face to his chest, Paul's stomach curdling as her focus moved further down—it had never felt that bad before, being looked at, but being looked at by her felt absolutely awful, like he was a specimen or an experiment. "Did it go all the..."

"Do I look like I've got anything else there?"

She actually flinched, shaking her head. He hadn't expected that. Thought sure she'd be gleeful as soon as she realized who he was.

"We want to talk to you." Gene, still next to him. Paul glanced at him briefly. The lipstick smeared on his mouth and neck had to make him seem far less threatening, but Carol seemed at least a little cowed anyway. "You know exactly why."

"I... I don't want to talk to you. I only want to talk to Paul."

"That's too damn bad," Gene snapped, but Paul raised his hand.

"No. That's fine. We'll talk privately."

"Paul, I don't think—"

"Gene, it's okay."

He didn't really think it was okay, being alone with this girl. No matter how small and timid she was, that didn't change what she'd done, what she was capable of. But he thought he'd stand a better chance of getting the curse removed if Gene wasn't there staring daggers into her. Whatever he'd done to Carol, however he'd hurt her, it was up to him to try and smooth over, not Gene. Gene, who still hadn't withdrawn his hand from Paul's shoulder.

"Paul, don't be stupid."

"I'm not being stupid." He turned to Carol. "Look, we'll go to the basement and talk this over there, all right?" He'd almost bet she was familiar with that basement. Mary-Anne had said she wanted to be the next Pamela des Barres, hadn't she? She'd probably gotten with dozens upon dozens of rockstars.