Ecclesiastic Skin
"Angels Never Came Down...There's No One Here They Want To Hang Around.."
-Melissa Etheridge
"Angels Fall"
"Rack 'em up."
He smiled at her as she chalked up her pool cue, "You really wanna beat the hell out of me one more time?"
She laughed, "Yeah. I'm used to it, but yeah."
He leaned over, mindful of his back as he set up his shot, "Eight ball, corner pocket." She wasn't surprised when it bounced right out, and he muffled a curse.
"At least you broke even this time," She teased gently, then bent to task. Without calling her shot, she sank her ball neatly into the corner pocket.
"Every time," He laughed, sitting back and taking a good, long draft from his beer, "It's damned good tonight," He noted idly.
"The band?" She asked.
"Yep," He said, "You. The beer..."
"Everything's good but the business," She joked, in a voice that let him know that she was doing anything but. He frowned.
"Oh yeah." He sad flatly, "How are things under King Vinny Mac?"
She smirked, "Not bad. Not that I don't miss pulling my top off for Vince Russo.."
"Oh no, never that..." He said, in mock-horror.
"Excuse me? Which one of us did time with an eyeball in a jar? Did you get the mud out of those overalls, by the way?"
"Three letters, baby," He smirked, "P-M-S." His shot broke smoothly, and he couldn't help but notice her sweat.
She winced, "Damn it.."
He laughed out loud. The game continued on, as the longnecks became shots and their talk moved on to old company gossip.
"Come on; no one had a worse gimmick than Tony Anthony!" He laughed.
"The Dirty White Boy?" She asked, incredulous.
"Don't you remember TL Hopper!?"
She burst into gales of uncontrollable laughter, laughter that sent her tumbling into his open arms. Briefly, their mouths touched.
Eyes wide in surprise, they separated. Between the noise they had produced and the friendly embrace they had fallen into, they had gained the attention of a group of glowering drunks. Ten years in the business served Jackie well. A lifetime in the southland had trained her, sadly, in the school of humanity. It served her better than a judo kick ever had.
She took her inebriated friend by the hand and walked him out a side exit.
***
He knew how upset she was, and didn't even have to look at her to know why.
"I'm sorry."
"It doesn't have anything to do with you." She said, her speech clipped and almost aristocratic in an attempt to take herself a notch above the condemning rednecks.
"Damn drunks," He muttered. She didn't have the heart to tell him that they were sorry drunks themselves at the moment. When the arrived at her front door, nonetheless, they feel into a surprisingly heated embrace.
His mouth lowered for a kiss, but she pulled away. "You won't remember this tomorrow." Her eyes focused on his tattoo, waving from a bared arm.
A Confederate flag.
Her head was suddenly, painfully, clear. She pushed him away, sharply, and her harsh expression caused him to stagger backward.
"Sleep it off." She said, plucking her keys out of her front pocket, then entered the building without another word.
Alone, she could not forget the feeling of his mouth on hers.
Her mother had always called fur a venial sin. It was a minor indiscretion, next to kissing a boy who was not her kind. Miserable, she buried her face in her mink.
Her lips burned on, heedless.