West of Mars -- the Meet and Greet

What happens when you take the Poetry Train, the Weekend Wordsmith prompt, and a few hours to let ideas marinate? Read on...

Oreos

Usually, Trevor hated Eric's girls. The guitarist liked them full of innocence and stars in their eyes, still able to believe that good things in life happened all the time. Eric liked girls who were like Mitchell had been before Trevor had and fixed him. Sadly, Eric wouldn't let him near his girls. They couldn't get some Trevor-fixing.

But this girl, this Patsy chick, was different. For one thing, she was a little bit older than Eric's usual girls -- she might have even been over the age of twenty. And while she was still pretty star-struck, every now and then, that glimmer would fade and Trevor could see the tiniest bit of a backbone. Maybe even some cynicism.

Of all of Eric's girls, this one had the most potential.

She caught up to them as they were assembling in the hotel lobby, bags in tow, ready to head over to the venue for sound check. "Do you guys need me to pick up anything?" she asked. Trevor closed his eyes; she had the smoothest Southern drawl. It reminded him of some of those old movies he'd watch late at night when the high from the show hadn't worn off yet.

"You could pick me up," Trevor said, bracing himself for some physical commentary from Mitchell. The girl was, after all, Eric's.

"I was thinking," she said, "of anything you might need from the grocery, for the bus." She screwed up her face, like she was sorting through possibilities. "Staple things, like toothpaste. Maybe someone left their comb behind, or needs some Pop Tarts. That sort of thing."

"That's not as much fun as I am," Trevor said, still waiting for Mitchell. The big idiot only hid a chuckle behind a glower; the guy was not in a good mood. Which was why Trevor kept waiting for the guy to smack him.

"Maybe," the girl said, sounding so vanilla and boring, Trevor immediately lost interest.

"Oreos," Daniel said suddenly. "Four packs of 'em."

"Done," she said. She kissed Eric and left.

Oh yeah, Trevor thought, watching her ass puff up each side of her skirt as she strode out of the lobby, her backless shoes flapping against the soles of her feet in a way that made him hard. A woman on a mission's a hot creature, indeed. Even if she was boring and vanilla and maybe not so far from Eric's usual gaggle of innocents.

She showed up near the end of soundcheck, one of those cutie tote bags in one hand. Trevor hoped the Oreos were in there; until Daniel had said the word, he hadn't thought much about the simple comfort of a store-bought cookie. Maybe he ought to tell Daniel or Mitchell to add cookies to their catering rider.

"I can't stay," she said when Eric jumped down off the stage and removed the four packages of Oreos from the cutie tote bag. "I got called in to work to cover for someone. I'll make the show, though." She gave him a kiss that was more of a peck than anything romantic and was gone just that fast.

Good thing, Trevor thought, as the guys stampeded for the dressing room and barricaded the door shut. If Charlie, their tour manager, found out about the Oreos, he'd be there. As if feeding the tour manager was on the list of band duties.

Eric was one of those geeks who unscrewed the cookie and licked the filling out. Daniel nibbled at them slowly, almost sucking on them. Trevor liked to take his own sweet time with them, the way you'd handle a really exceptional woman.

And then there was Mitchell. The big idiot stuck them in his mouth whole, chewed, and swallowed just enough to have room for the next. He snarfed an entire package in the time Trevor ate ten cookies. You'd have thought the guy was being starved or something and this was his first meal after being released from some cage he'd been kept in.

He stood up, flapping at his gold t-shirt to get the crumbs off. How he managed to get full of crumbs when he didn't take a bite of the stupid cookies was beyond Trevor, but that was Mitchell for you.

Trevor silently counted down from five. He noticed that Daniel was counting along with him, equally as silent, although the drummer's lips were moving.

When they hit one, Mitchell let out a burp that shook the entire room. It was one of those that came from somewhere so deep, it was surprising that the guy's guts didn't come up with it. Good thing it stayed down: Trevor didn't want to see half-chewed Oreo come up.

"Know what I need now?" Mitchell asked the guys.

"Milk," they all answered in unison.

Trevor shook his head. "We are so fucking pathetic, it's scary."

Mitchell grinned and winked. "Just so that door's locked, no one needs to know. Who's got a few extra?"

Trevor hugged the remains of his Oreos to his chest. "Go find your own girl who'll buy you some," he said. Eric and Daniel quickly agreed.

Mitchell shrugged and slipped out of the dressing room. In search of milk, in search of more cookies… Trevor didn't know. He didn't particularly care, either. Just so long as the big idiot stayed out of his stash.

Labels: creative writing, food, outtake, Poetry Train, touring, Trevor