Lunch
By Jayson Payne ©2001
Gothic
Chick © Ray Carlson
Batty and Damien do lunch. Again.
She sits across from him, with her legs crossed and sports a pair of UK Underground knee-high, steel toe boots. Black stockings cover exposed flesh between her knees and the point on her thighs where her Black Rose stretch miniskirt terminates. She drinks with red painted lips (both lipstick and eyeliner courtesy of Urban Decay), from an Evian bottle that she holds with ring-laden fingers. Most of her March Noir jewelry is silver: bats, skulls and a wealth of crucifixes. Her black-dyed hair is an asymmetrical wonder, recently cut at Waxworks, a classy Goth-friendly salon located in the more upscale part of town. Yesterday was her eighteenth birthday-she feels she should have gotten the whole week off from school, but dad didn't agree. So instead, she sits in the high school lunchroom, cutting class.
Damien sits across from her. He's half Asian and a dead ringer for Brandon Lee circa The Crow filming. The look: Fallen Angel fishnet shirt with a PVC cross on the chest, under a motorcycle jacket with spiked epaulets. He wears ripped jeans bought from Retail Slut tucked into thick-soled, steel-toed Doc Martins. The look is completed with black liner under gray eyes and overdyed spiked black hair.
Of course, both are wearing all black.
Absorbed in their own dialogue, the two ignore their fellow schoolmates.
"I have a proposition to make," Damien says.
"What is it?"
"Let's go out on a date."
"Let's not and say we did."
Damien takes a bite from his sandwich.
"That meat will give you botulism," Batty says.
"How do you figure?"
"It's practically raw."
"Hey, the blood is the life," Damien replies as he licks his pointed canines dramatically.
"Vampire subculture is so passe."
"Batty, the term passe is passe. Ever ponder that one?"
"Whatever. I can't believe you spent a week's pay on a pair of stupid fangs."
"Hey, they're caps, not fangs. And they're permanent."
"Is that suppose to be a good thing?" Batty sighs.
Fluorescent light bathes the half-empty lunchroom. Someone opens the lunchroom window curtains. The room brightens.
"So," Batty says, donning a pair of sunglasses, "what are you doing today after school?"
"I dunno. Maybe watch a few Addams family reruns and eventually pass out in front of the Tele."
It's Sixth period. Fifth period lunch ended too soon and so for Sixth the two decided to give lunch an encore. The lunchroom is pitiful, filled with wooden benches and tables filled with mostly Goth poseurs, jocks and geeks.
Damien holds the half-cooked burger in his hand. The bloody juice from the meat shines greasily on his black, lacquered nails. He stares at Batty as he nibbles at the bread.
"What are you looking at?"
"You." Damien says. "Did anyone ever tell you you look like Christina Ricci?"
"Constantly. We were separated at birth. Can't you tell?"
"I love a woman with a sense of humor." Damien says as he eyes her intently. "How do you stay so pretty-looking all day, every day?"
"Genetics," Batty says, yawning. She looks around the room. "I hate school."
Damien nods in agreement. "I only attend because of the food. The cooks are lazy. They don't even cook the meat thoroughly," he says, holding up his sandwich. But that's a good thing." Damien eats the last of the burger and smiles. He licks his mouth, but only succeeds in smearing the grease and blood further around his lips.
"So, do you want to go out with me?" he asks.
"Not really."
"Oh well, I guess it's just me and the VCR tonight. Hey, are you up for a sixties sitcom?"
Batty looks at Damien. Wipe your freakin' mouth, she thinks, but lets the words die. "The Addams Family? I don't think so." Batty hates television. If it isn't playing at a cinema, then it isn't worth watching. "Why don't you do something fun for a change?"
"Like what?"
"Like, take an axe to your VCR. Do something constructive with your life, instead of wasting it at home, like a rat in a cage."
"I like rats." Damien says.
"So do I, but I refuse to live like vermin."
Damien continues to prattle on, oblivious to Batty's loathing. The fluorescent lights in the lunchroom glint off his greasy fingernails.
"For God's sake, Damien, wipe your hands."
"Why should I? You imply that I'm vermin, so what do you expect? Speaking of vermin, look who's coming over," Damien says as he wipes his hands.
The two watch with disinterest as a prep Goth ambles toward the table.
"Wait a sec, I think I know this guy."
"Who is he?" Batty whispers.
"He's only, the Ash Crawford, son of Seraphim Crawford."
"Seraphim Crawford! Why, that's Kitty Wraith's boyfriend!"
"Yes, and Kitty..." "Works at The Vault nightclub for Willow..."
"...who in turn is close friends with the band..."
"Funeral Nation!" they say in unison."
"Funeral Nation. My god, that is like the hottest local Goth group."
"They can't play for shit, though."
"True, but they were in Carpe Noctem magazine. They're part of the in-crowd, babe,"Damien says.
"And we'll be In too, once we hook up with this Ash guy."
Batty adjusts her leather corset. "How's my hair?"
"Your roots are showing."
"Bastard."
"Um, I think he's passing the table."
"No!"
"And now, he is disappearing from view."
"Crap."
"Why did you think he was headed over here anyway?" Damien asks.
"Wishful thinking?" Batty sighs. "I didn't want to talk to him anyway. He sucks."
"Amen to that."
"Did you see what he was wearing?" Batty asks. "Granted, it was all black, but it looked so prep."
"He buys expensive mainstream crap. Of course his girlfriend pays for it all."
"Wonder where she gets the money."
"I hear her parents are rich. When they first met, she bought Ash $1000 worth of clothes. She buys him trash like Dolce and Gabanna."
"I would never buy anything by Dolce and Gabanna."
"What if someone gave it to you for free?"
"What if someone gave you a piece of crap for free?"
"Point taken."
"Apparently, Ash doesn't know any better. He may be Goth, but he's a fashion addict. If it's In, he'll wear it."
"I hear they have support groups for things like that." Damien says.
"Number one on my shit list is Abercrombie and Fitch."
"I think they're number one on everyone's list. So, what's the first thing you put on when getting dressed?"
"Boots," Batty says.
"Sexy."
"No, practical. Try bending over to lace your boots while wearing a corset. It doesn't work."
"You look cute in that corset."
"Thanks. I think."
"My ex-girlfriend use to wear corsets all the time."
"Who was she?"
"Morgana."
"Morgana?"
"She graduated two years ago. I like dating older women."
"Morgana is a guy," Batty says.
"Um, no. She's a chick. I should know. I slept with her."
"I guess you learn something new everyday. She wears so much makeup I assumed she was a tranny. You know how those people go overboard on cosmetics."
"Well, I don't go for imitations. I like getting it on with the real thing."
"How impressive. What a stud. What a Goth pimp."
"That's right, babe. I put the goth in gotham."
"And the jack in jackass."
"You're such a bitch." Damon says. "I think I love you."
"Don't get too attached."
"Face it. You want me. I'm a stud."
"Or dud."
"Tell that to all the Goth hos lusting after me."
"Funny, I haven't seen any."
"Sibil's been trying to get on my jock for the last month."
"So what's stopping her? Your erectile difficulties? Face it, you're a loser."
"Well then console me, baby."
"As a consolation prize, how about this leftover cookie on my plate?"
"I'll eat your cookies any day."
"Excuse me. I need to go whisper to someone about how much I hate you."
*************************************************
Batty continues to nurse her Evian bottle and Damien takes to Goth-spotting. A black guy walks by with white dreads and multiple piercings. He could be from any subculture from sk8boarder to metalhead. It's the black frock coat that gives him away.
"Who was that?" Damon asks as he watches both frock coat and guy disappear into the lunchroom crowd. "Do you suppose blacks are finally giving up the hip-hop scene?"
"If so, then thank god." Batty says. "His name is Necro."
"Nekrow?"
"No. Necro."
"Oh, Negro. Odd."
"I said Necro. N-E-C-R-O. You know, like Faulkner's Rose for Emily type necro."
"Who the hell is Faulkner? Is he a freshman?" Damien asks.
"Nevermind. Necro's a transfer student and I think he's from England. He's got this cute accent. Usually I go for white guys, but I think I'd possibly make an exception with him."
"Funny, I thought you was a lesbian."
"Sorry to disappoint you."
"I always wanted to date two lesbian chicks. At the same time, of course. Menage a trois."
"Um, you mean bisexual, not lesbian. And on the eighth day, god made teletubbies."
"Huh?"
"Nevermind. You know something? I like you Damien. I really do."
"Really?"
"No, I was just kidding. So anyway, Necro's from England."
"The Euro Goth scene is so trashy."
"I'm assuming this is all from hearsay. I doubt you've ever been out-of-state, much less overseas."
"I heard of Euro-trash from other people."
"And you believe them?" Batty asks.
"Don't knock second-hand news."
"Using terms like Euro-trash is unoriginal to say the least. Do you ever think for yourself?"
"The way I see it, it's best sometimes to let others do your thinking for you. Why think? It's a waste of brain-cell activity."
"Please tell me that was a joke. Speaking of jokes, I spoke to Jared today," Batty says.
"Heh. How can a Christian fundamentalist be Goth?"
"I don't know, but he's deluded himself into thinking he is. He invited you and me to church. He told me they're having a 'Christian Goth Nite'. I tried to maintain my decorum, but I couldn't help laughing in his face. He kept asking about you, though. He even gave me a religious pamphlet to give to you."
"Where is it?" Damon asks.
"Take a guess."
"Trash?"
"Yeah."
"Next time Jared asks about me, tell him I'm dead. Say, 'he finally decided to go to church and the congregation stoned him to death.'"
"A lie closest to the truth is the one most likely believed," Batty says.
"Amen. Tell him, the pastor molested me and I subsequently committed suicide."
"He'll believe that one. Hey, if you stop by Marty's today, buy me a pack of cigarettes. This time, make sure it's a pack of Sampoerna cloves. Is that too much to ask for?"
"It is. They only sell Marlboros." Damien says.
"Fine. Get the Marlboros. I'll pretend to smoke them."
"Am I remembering things wrong, or was Jared at one time cool? Remember the time he bought an S&M magazine for Sister O'Connel for X-Mass?
"Sister O'Connel?"
"Yeah, back in junior high when the three of us went to St. Mary's." Damien says.
"Wonder what she thought when she unwrapped it?"
"I'm sure it gave her new ideas for corporal punishment. She was a nice mofo. Imagine, she could have had an exciting career as a female dominatrix. I hear S&M submissives go trolling for nuns nowadays."
"I don't think so. They don't even call it S&M anymore. Try BDSM. Bondage, Discipline, Submission and Domination."
"I thought it was Bondage, Discipline, Sadism and Masochism."
"I'd never go to a BDSM club. Too many pervs."
"And that's a bad thing?" Damon asks.
"Remind me never to go out with you."
"But I like you."
"No need to state the obvious."
"Hey, how about hanging out with me after school today?"
"Um, no."
"I've liked you since the ninth grade."
"La la la la. I can't he-ar yoo. La la la."
"Stop acting like a little kid. Take your fingers out your ears."
"I can't hear you."
"I have tickets to the Bella Morte concert tonight."
"What time do you want to pick me up?"
"I thought you couldn't hear me."
"I was only teasing, dear."
"I'll pick you up at nine."
"Under one condition."
"What?"
"Clean the hamburger blood from under your fingernails."
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Contact Jayson Payne at: sacreban@hotmail.com