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”Intelligence and genius are two different things. Intelligence is the ability to learn and maintain facts and skills, especially when highly developed. Genius is more like its bat shit crazy cousin…” –Delia, darling if you must
Another Climax Control has come and gone, and as Delia predicted, she had not yet been foiled. She was nowhere near ready to concede to the pompous ass who is Head of Talent Relations, better known to the fans as Erik Staggs. Any time she felt like she was about to give in and allow Jessie Salco to get the better of her, she would imagine the light colored mole on Erik Staggs’ right ass cheek, and she found her second, third, and even forth wind. Imagining the humiliation for someone of her standing to kneel down and publicly kiss Erik’s ass was enough motivation for her to take down the most serious of adversaries. The thought makes her want to vomit all over the audience… again. There was only one cure for this ailment…
We focus in on a sipping glass full of an amber bourbon as it is roughly set down on the bar. The liquid sloshes around as one drop finds its way over the edge of the glass and onto the black marble bar top. The delicate, porcelain hand of Delia quickly scoops it up as she lifts it to her nose, taking in a sniff of the nauseatingly grotesque American trash bourbon. However, it pales in comparison to the image of the middle-aged butt that has now began twerking in her mind. She needed to get over this quickly, so she downs the liquid in one fast motion, slamming the glass back down to the bar, holding up her hand for another. The music in the background switches over to “Do What U Want (Featuring R. Kelly” by Lady Gaga, and Delia rolls her eyes. She turns around to see the half naked men dancing with one another. The bass bounces off of the glass of Jack Daniels that comes her way next.
Delia: Lady Gaga? So disgusting how z’e gay boys idolize such z’e poser…
Delia scoops up the glass and downs it almost as quickly as the last one. She places the glass down on the bar once more and stares at the bartender as if she doesn’t feel she should have to ask for another. He smirks and shakes his head, sucking at his teeth with a flamboyant hand gesture.
Bartender: You lezzies and your bourbon… Any fairy would be cut off after three, you know…
Delia: Pardon moi? Did you just call me a lesbian?
The bartender turns around to grab the bottle of Jack Daniels from behind him as he sighs. He turns back around with the bottle, ready to pour it when Delia pushes the bottle away, putting her hands on her hips.
Bartender: Oh, I’m sorry. Tell me, what is the appropriate term these days? Turtle bumper? Carpet…
Delia holds her hand up in his face, looking disgusted even more than she was previously. She takes in a deep breath through her nose, blinking slowly to make sure she has the frosted tipped, glitter eyed, sequin shirt wearing bartender.
Delia: Let me be z’e one to tell you z’at I am not a lesbian. I like dick, same as you, sunshine.
Bartender: Well then… you sure coulda fooled me, Princess PFLAG, with the way you’re slamming Jack. What will it be then? A Banana Daiquiri? A Sssslippery Nipple? SCREAMING Orgasm?
Delia: Don’t tempt me, darling. I have a s’ing for men who pose a challenge. But z’en I am reminded z’at you are nos’ing more z’an a poor imitation of Emmet Honeycutt, who has failed to join us in 2014, and I feel as if I should go back to daydreaming of my forty year old bosses flabby ass, because it would be an improvement…
Delia snaps her fingers as she points at the bartender, almost causing the snappy queen to drop his jaw in surprise. He quickly rebounds, raising an eyebrow in her direction, but she tosses her hair over her shoulder as if to challenge him.
Bartender: I apologize if I’ve offended you, miss… I didn’t realize that the tightest ass in here tonight would be on a female.
Delia: And z’e thickest head would be on such a backward s’inking man who is more of a lady z’an I am. How do you expect z’e simple minds to stop calling you sissies and faggots when you walk around calling each other sissies and faggots? It is demeaning and counter productive to equal rights movements.
Bartender: Let me guess… that’s supposed to be my most rewarding tip of the night?
Delia almost seems to tune him out as she focuses in on Alex Jeffries (Holly Wood out of drag), dancing by himself, watching the bartender from the corner of his eyes. He is shirtless, his chest glistening with oil in the many colored lights that are flashing around him. Delia notices this immediately and she turns around to face the bartender with one final smug expression.
Delia: No… his is…
Delia points Alex out and then waves him over toward the bar. Alex quickly rushes over as Delia walks in the opposite direction. She brushes past a muscled tanned Adonis as she walks up the steps to the upper deck. As she goes, she passes several couples of men who are making out, feeling each other up, and she smirks, finding it thrilling to watch, but doesn’t want to disrupt it. She reaches the top to find Angelica dancing in the center of a group of guys cheering her on. Delia smirks as she cuts through them, coming up on Angelica, dropping it low as she rises up. Angelica looks as if Delia had just challenged her to a duel. She drops down low as well, giving her toned backside the proper display it deserves. She gives it a few slow bounces, running her fingers up her tanned legs slowly, popping her backside out for added flare. The men cheer her on, wishing they could emulate her, rather than be with her. Delia shakes her head, admitting defeat early on. Instead, she grabs onto Angelica and pulling her close from behind.
Delia: I s’ink we should show z’ese boys how to grind.
Random Guy: (Whispering) I saw those two chick kissing on the internet earlier tonight.
Delia doesn’t stop, not worried about what people think of her. She smirks and runs her hands up and down Angelica’s sides as she grinds back on her. Angelica seems surprised, but she goes with it. The crowd starts to dissipate, and Angelica’s need to be the center of attention goes unquenched. She growls in frustration as everyone quickly disappears.
Angelica: What the hell, Deelz? I was having fun and…
Delia: We need to talk, especially after what happened last s’ree weeks ago.
Angelica: Well, I’m not going to apologize for punching you. You were being a total beyotch…
Delia shrugs her shoulders as if this weren’t any kind of news to her. She slowly pulls off of Angelica, turning around to look into Angelica’s emerald eyes, taking it in for a moment.
Delia: I do not expect you to apologize, darling… Actually, if you did, I would have no respect for you. Z’at is what I like about you, Angie… You are as cold and heartless as I am. You shouldn’t have to apologize to me for anys’ing.
Angelica: Yeah, because you should apologize to me…
Delia laughs at the absurdity and holds a hand up toward Angelica. Angelica wastes no time in smacking it down, glaring at Delia for a moment. She looks utterly disgusted with Delia.
Delia: Did anys’ing I just said register, darling? I respect you for not apologizing, even if you should, and…
Angelica: Okay, fine! I’m sorry for punching you. You’ve manipulated me into feeling sorry for what I did, but do you know why that is?
Delia: No I do not, but I expect you will be enlightening me, no?
Angelica looks frustrated beyond repair. She growls loudly at Delia and leans in, biting onto her lower lip out of anger, trying to hold back from shouting and causing a huge scene. She can’t hold back all of the venom as she continues.
Angelica: GOD! Can you, like, not be a bitch for five minutes and listen to yourself? You sound pathetic.
Delia: I’m sorry if you must find acceptance from any man who will stare at your tits and ass, straight or os’erwise… But, you had a point, darling…
Angelica: It’s because I’m a fucking human being… I do have a heart. I can’t say the same for you on either count, though… Sorry ‘bout it, Delia… Darling… Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some men who enjoy watching me dance, and not having to worry about them trying to get in my pants…
Angelica brushes her shoulder against Delia’s as she knocks her out of her way. Delia wants to object, but she almost seems to choke on her words. She kicks the railing nearby as she grits her teeth. She turns around and nearly bumps into a man in his thirties. His chestnut brown hair messily forms around his head, curling just slightly in the back. She soaks in ever detail of the man, from the light scruff covering his cheeks, chin, and lightly over his upper lip, to the broad chest, and hulked up forearms. He smirks as he sees Delia standing there, almost starstruck.
Kraven: Don’t worry, I left the chair in my car.
Delia: Pardon? I’m afraid I don’t understand some American slang, and…
Kraven takes a step closer, taking Delia’s breath away as her lip quivers in a mixture of sensual fear. She tries to straighten her posture, trying to seem unaffected by his glorious stature, despite his height or a mere 5 feet and… 11 inches?
Kraven: Delia… Darling, because I must! I was referring to the steel chair that I used to incapacitate Spike Staggs earlier tonight… no? No recognition at all? Well, that’s a shame.
Delia: Pardon me for being so forward, but I don’t pay attention to matters z’at do not affect me, and z’at certainly does not…
Kraven: Oh, I beg to differ… Your performance tonight was simply stunning. You might have earned a shot at his fiancée based on that match alone. Just imagine, an opponent in a fragile state… long hours spent at the hospital, helping to heal him with her love. Or staying up late to fetch him a glass of water at 3am when he can’t sleep, because images of this boogeyman dancing through his head.
Delia stares at the egomaniac, and his attractiveness drops from a 10 to a 6 in just a matter of thirty seconds. She rolls her eyes and places a hand just an inch from his face as she walks past him.
Delia: You bore me wi’s your attempts at getting in my lace panties. Coming to a place like z’is, I would not expect to be hit on…
Delia is surprised when Kraven grabs onto her hand gently, bringing it to his lips as he plants a tender kiss on it, causing her to tremble. He might have gone up to an 8 in her eyes with this display. She tries her best to look annoyed as she spins around, but the smile on her face lets him know that she is intrigued, at least slightly.
Kraven: Who said I would even need to try? Besides, I didn’t come here on my own merit, after all. I was trying to get your attention, but it seems that such a prize is hardly afforded to a man of simple tastes such as myself.
Delia: If you believe z’is, z’en why do you s’ink you can invade my underwear so easily? Why bos’er trying to sweet talk me, telling me what I already know… z’at my performance against Jessie Salco was anys’ing less z’an spectacular? I already know I am amazing.
Kraven: Ohhh, beautiful and modest to boot? Any man would be lucky to breach those sugar walls on a regular basis, even if it meant tolerating your undeserved arrogance. You’re a real prize, darling…
Delia looks offended by Kraven’s rather crude and explicit comment. She hauls back and slaps the taste out of his mouth. Kraven softly touches at his cheek as a surprisingly high pitched, maniacal giggle escapes his lips. Delia raises an eyebrow at him in pure and utter confusion. Kraven smiles as he shakes his head from side to side rapidly, doing a Roger Rabbit impression in response.
Delia: You are mad as z’e hatter, darling. I’m afraid I must insist on excusing myself from z’is conversation now before I wind up in a bas’tub somewhere, missing my kidney or somes’ing…
Delia brushes past Kraven, showing what is likely to be fear, for the first time in front of a viewing audience. She walks to the steps, but finds it too crowded with couples making out to even attempt getting down them. She turns around to see Kraven waving at her. She quickly turns around, lowering her head as she storms around the upper balcony area. She occasionally looks back, but doesn’t see Kraven following her. She breathes a sigh of relief as she walks to another set of stairs leading to the main floor. While it is still littered with male on male sexiness, there is enough of a path for her to walk down. She traces her way through the crowd and back over to the bar. The bartender is speaking with Alex still, but Delia interrupts as if her friend wasn’t even there.
Delia: I s’ink I will take you up on your offer of z’e Banana Daiquiri now, monsieur…
Bartender: Coming right up sweetness… Oh, I’m sorry. Is it okay to call you something like that, or will it set my “people” back a decade?
Delia sneers at him as she takes a seat on a barstool. She waits as the bartender quickly blends the ingredients together with a loud whirring noise. After a moment, he pours it into a tall glass. He turns around to bring it over to her. No sooner than he can set it down on the bar in front of her, a voice comes from the far end of the bar.
Kraven: Hey, Evan… Go ahead and put that on my tab for the evening.
Delia looks up and hugs onto Alex’s arm as if he would protect her from Kraven. Kraven chuckles in a high pitched manner once more as he simply shakes his head.
Alex: He, tall, dark, and ferrrrr-eaky! My girl here might be a drag queen with a vagina and an affinity for gay boys, but clearly she isn’t interested or else she wouldn’t think I could stand a chance defending her against you. So why don’t you take yourself over to the door, walk out of it, and stop by JC Penny, because they want their clothes back, kay?
Delia watches Kraven as is eyes narrow at Alex. His mouth opens slightly as his mood immediately switches from delight to anger. He twitches and slaps his face while muttering underneath his breath.
Alex: What part of that did you not understand? Would you like me to put on captions for the hearing impaired? She’s… not… in-ter-es-ted!
While Alex speaks, he begins drawing squiggly lines in the air underneath himself, giving one final line of sass as he waves his finger at Kraven for emphasis. Kraven’s eyes widen as the light reflects off of the beads of sweat forming on his eyebrow. Delia leans in softly to whisper into Alex’s ear.
Delia: Alex, be careful… he’s z’e man who broke Spike Staggs’ knee earlier tonight…
Kraven: I thought you were soooo FUCKING SPECIAL, that you didn’t have to pay attention to things that don’t *air quotes* concern you…
Delia straightens her posture and squeezes onto Alex’s arm even tighter. Alex tries to play it off as boldly as he can, but he nudges Delia and mutters “oww-uh” at her so that she might loosen her grip. Delia swallows hard before licking at her lips, and dropping a pair of lady balls once more.
Delia: Well, it appears z’at someone took out Vixen’s fiancée, and as a future contender to z’e Bombshell Championship, I must look for weaknesses of my opponents, no?
Delia snubs her nose up at Kraven, pasting a smug smile across her face. Kraven narrows his eyes further at her as he slowly stands up from his seat. He takes one step closer to Delia, causing her to go back to hugging onto Alex’s arm. The two of them take a step backward for each step that Kraven takes forward. The two of them finally bump into a man who mutters obscenities at them before he goes back to dancing. This gives Kraven time to catch up to them, getting nose to nose with Delia. Alex lets go of Delia and backs off a few feet.
Alex: Sorry honey, you’s on ya own babygurrrl!
Delia: Asshole…
The only thing left for Delia to do is to do what she does best and shrug it off. No matter how crazy this guy might be, he wouldn’t dare do anything too terrible with such a wide audience, right? Not unless he has a gun, and decides to mow down the entire place, OH GOD! Her fear doesn’t have time to manifest as he grips onto her cheeks and plants a cartoon-like kiss on her lips, pulling away with a delightful laugh, and a smile to match it.
Kraven: And so it appears I was right all along… You were listening!
Delia: What z’e hell, man?! You are z’e mindfuck of z’e century… But you kiss like a Frenchman…
Kraven smirks at the comment. Delia looks over to see that her friend is nowhere to be seen. She rolls her eyes and does what she does best, getting in Kraven’s face, standing up on the tips of her toes, she looks right into his eyes, daring him to try something.
Kraven: These games are getting very old, very quickly Ms. Delacourte… er, Ms. Darling. And that says a lot coming from someone who rather enjoys mind games. I have a proposition for you, and…
Delia: Save your breath, Mr. Moorehead. And save z’e games for someone who cares. Anyone wi’s access to Wikipedia will know my birth name, so I am not impressed nor am I scared z’at you have figured z’is out. As for any hopes you had for invading my panties, you may as well forget it. I’m not interested, and I’m not afraid to bitchslap you into z’e next decade.
Kraven takes a step back, keeping a close and calculated eye on Delia, all while maintaining the impression that he is captivated only with her eyes. His cold exterior goes unchanged as he takes about half of a step backward to give her space.
Kraven: You must know that I didn’t come here to intimidate you. That was just a bonus! And trust me when I say that a diving expedition into your Barges Canal was not the reason I tracked you down either. My proposition is strictly plutonic, I can assure you of it.
Delia: What business could you possibly have wi’s me z’at doesn’t involve sex? You are new here, so you haven’t made any female enemies. And besides, if you had, you could smack her around yourself for only but a mere fine. Z’ere is no reason you could possibly need me…
Kraven: Oh, there is. Trust me.
Kraven reaches over and picks up his cocktail glass, slowly sipping at the red, fruity liquid inside. Delia looks a bit confused as she places her hands on her hips, her head bobbing to the left as she waits for some sort of explanation.
Delia: Oh? Do tell, darling…
Kraven: Look, you are an amazing talent. Your charisma and nerve make up for any skill you may be lacking. You are bound to do very well in Sin City Wrestling. I’m pretty sure of it.
Delia: Oh, but z’is is mere flattery. What do you want, to put on z’e wig and join Mean Girls for a quick ride to z’e top? I hate to break it to you, but you just don’t have the feminine touch…
Kraven smirks and bats his eyelashes at Delia as if he were some sort of pretty princess, running the tips of his fingers up and down his face to show her otherwise. All this gets from her is a chuckle and a look of dismissal.
Kraven: I have face… for… years, darling!
Delia: Is z’at your impression of me? If flattery is your goal, I s’ink you set your sights just a little too low…
Kraven: Look, I want you to drop the ball in your match against Odette Ryder and Steve Ramone. Simple as that…
Delia’s jaw drops as she looks at Kraven, her eyes sparkling in the multi-color flashes of light resonating from the dance floor. She offers him little more than a chuckle, setting her drink back on the bar in a show of defiance. She mutters under her breath in French as she pulls her coat check ticket from her pocket, ready to storm off.
Kraven: You’ve already exceeded people’s expectations of you, Delia. Nobody expected you to make it past the first round, and here you are, entering the third. You’ve proven your worth to SCW, and I guarantee you will get a shot at the Bombshell Championship in the very near future.
Delia spins around on her heels, allowing her dress to flutter out into a perfect cone shape before she comes to a halt, staring right at Kraven with a look of death spread over her face.
Delia: You want me to purposely lose to… to… that… AMERICAN PIG and the fans’ precious Aussie dumpling? If I am outclassed in z’is match, z’en so be it… but I will be damned if I am going to sit down and LET it happen, Mr. Moorehead.
Kraven: And I will not stand by and let the same people run amuck over SCW any longer. It is getting old, and the fans will start throwing their money in different directions. It’s bad for business.
Delia: Oh yes, because Odette Ryder has not had her many successes here? I must have dreamt up her two Bombshell Championship reigns? And it must have been a hallucination z’at she won z’is very Tournament last year? Pardon me, I must be mistaken…
Delia turns around once more and walks toward the exit of the club. Kraven isn’t quite done yet as he follows closely behind her, trying to talk sense into the diva as she just continues to walk.
Kraven: I want to see chaos, because chaos sells out the seats! Imagine Steve Ramone becoming SCW’s Heavyweight Champion. It would have been a ludicrous thought to anyone… until NOW! It could be huge for him! And the fans!
Delia: First off, fuck z’e fans, Kraven. Second, I do not give a shit about Steve Ramone, or chaos. I care about me, myself, and I, in case you hadn’t noticed. I care about Es’an Brody, only because we have somes’ing to gain from each os’er.
Kraven: Forgive me if I don’t buy it. You must not realize one of my many talents is reading people. That or you must find me completely and utterly stupid…
Delia: And you must s’ink I’m stupid enough to be talked into lying down so Odette Ryder can stampede over me z’e way she has every os’er Bombshell SCW has ever seen. I will not. Not for you, not for Steve Ramone, not for z’e fans, not for z’e merchandisers, not for z’e management. Not for anybody! Are we clear, Mr. Moorehead?
Kraven’s persistence gives her the opposite answer of what she was looking for. She shakes her head, placing the ticket down at the front desk. A quiet, otter type man smiles and nods his head as he goes in search of Delia’s jacket and purse. She continues to stare forward as Kraven refuses to leave her alone.
Delia: Did you not hear me? I know my English is not z’e best, but damn…
Kraven: No, I heard you. And I do understand the qualms you must have, but trust me when I say that things are about to unravel, and you will reap the rewards if you do this one, teeny tiny favor for me.
Delia closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath to think it over. As she opens her eyes, she sees the young man standing with her purse and jacket in hand. She takes them gently, nodding her head as she slides the jacket around her body. She slowly begins walking to the door. Being the gentleman he is, Kraven runs two paces ahead of her to open the door for her. She smirks, giving him a wink as she prepares to pass. He sticks his arm out, blocking her from leaving.
Kraven: Will you at least consider my offer? Pretty please? With sugar on top?
She giggles under her breath at his dashing, charming façade. She gives him a nod and he slowly raises his arm. Delia walks underneath it and off to a black Jetta sitting near the doors of the club. She stares back at him and pulls her keys from her purse, getting inside. His smile widens in victory as she starts the engine. He is prepared to go back inside when Delia rolls down the window.
Delia: Where are you going, darling? Z’e straight clubs are a few blocks z’at way?
Kraven: Like I said… I didn’t come here for you…
Kraven chuckles as Delia smiles deviously. She starts to roll the window up, but she reverses it, causing Kraven to stop dead in his tracks.
Delia: Kraven! I have s’ought about your offer!
Kraven: Yeah? And?
Delia places the palm of her hand against her lips firmly, blowing him a genuine kiss. He reaches into the air as if he is grabbing the invisible kiss. Before he can get to sentimental about it, Delia’s face sours and she flips him off abruptly. She shoves her foot down on the gas and brakes, causing smoke to come from her tires before taking off down the street. Kraven’s face sours and he shakes his head before returning to the club’s interior.
[*Fade*]
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”Hair is most beautiful at its tip. This is the part that most people see and admire. You can shape and mold it any way you like. However, when the hair begins to deteriorate, it isn’t the tips that you tend to. It is the roots, because this is where it all begins. It is what shapes the health and appearance.” –Delia, darling if you must
Paris is a city renowned for its culture, its beauty, its architecture and its fashion houses. It is the City of lights…the city de l’amour… People will tell you that Paris is enveloped in a magical invisible cloud full of smells such as fresh baked baguettes, a wafting scent of perfume carried on a springlike breeze, and flowers everywhere. There is never a cloudy day in Paris, and even when the sun goes down on the city of love, the moon makes it just that much more romantic. They are full of shit, much like the city itself. The smell of urine and stagnant water that constantly lurks, and let’s not even begin to talk about the body odor that resonates in almost any building you enter. The condescending remarks from the unfriendly patrons of the city fall upon the deaf American ear, unless you have the money to pay them to be nice, and even then, it is a gamble. And the food…a potent Parisienne gamble that could land you in the bathroom for the better part of an evening if you aren’t careful.
This surely sounds like the remarks of a bitter person who has never been touched by the love bug in Paris, right? Let us consider the fact that it could also be the opinion of a Parisian native, such as Delia Darling. But, upon pondering the question, it is a safe bet that it could be both. After all, Delia had not been home to visit in nearly seven years to date. Something inside of her wishes that she hadn’t, and wonders what could have possibly made her decide to come back.
The cool morning breeze whips at Delia’s short and simple dark brown hair. She grabs at the edge of her jacket and pulls it closer to her body, shivering in the shadows on this bright and sunny day. She shivers as walks along the streets, thinking to herself about what she might do now that she is back home, in the place that she claims to be so superior to the United States. As she turns a corner of the historic neighborhood, she sees a shining beacon of hope… Centre Georges Pompidou. It looks as if it is a building undergoing construction based upon the outside with the scaffolding surrounding it. Delia shades her eyes from the bright sunlight, and her frown turns itself upside down in 0.2 seconds. She stands there, just taking in the wondrous view as her scarf blows back in the wind. Her breath can be seen as she hugs her jacket even closer to herself. She rushes over toward the building like a child running toward a magasin de bonbons, her eyes filled with pure, unadulterated joy.
Delia: Merci Dieu! (Thank you God!) Oh, how I have missed you!
Delia comes to a halt as she notices a tall man who is balding slightly, with his head shaved close to help make the balding look minimal. He is tall and lanky, dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of black slacks. He is seen leaning against part of the scaffolding, talking to a young lady who is laughing. He looks suspiciously to us like Ethan Brody gone “avant garde”, even as he turns around to looks in Delia’s direction, the resemblance is almost uncanny. Delia freezes, dead in her tracks as their deep, dark eyes meet one another. Delia feels as if the life is being sucked out of her once more, and everything fades into the background.
*
Queue the old timey style camera footage. Queue the accordion music. Queue the moonlight sparkling off of the Seine River, reflecting in Delia’s eyes as she slowly raises her glass of red wine to her lips in this silent film short. She smiles coyly as she stares into this gentleman’s eyes, a million words unspoken, nor do they need to be, as her chest heaves in her light blouse. Around them are a dozen people, also enjoying the scenic moonlight cruise. However, as far as either one can tell, they are the only ones in the entire world. Delia breaks the stare, for hope that she might be able to break the loss of control she is beginning to feel with the man who has stolen her heart. He lifts her head up as he moves in closer, forcing her to surrender. Thankfully, we have been afforded the English subtitle version…
Delia: Oh, Guillaume… This just doesn’t feel right.
Guillaume’s masculine hold over her is too much as she succumbs to his charm. He softens his expression as he looks deep into her eyes, watching his own dance within them.
Guillaume: Cordelia, we are two halves of the same soul. When will you realize this?
The music seems to soften a bit as the grainy film picks up a hint of the Eiffel Tower in the background. Guillaume runs his fingers up and down her cheek as she looks away, a tear rolling down her cheek.
Delia: Guillaume… a name I cannot keep off of my tongue. Such sweet poetry, from your name, to the gleam in my eye just from speaking it. Do you fear we are going too fast?
Guillaume: The only thing that is going too fast right now, is my heart, darling. We have only known each other such a short time in this life, but what of the dozens of others where I am sure we have known one another?
A tear rolls down Delia’s cheek as she turns away so not to show him her vulnerability. He would much sooner jump overboard, drowning in the Seine himself than to let this tear disappear into it, like the thousands of others. He wipes it from her cheek, holding it as the second greatest treasure he has aside from her affection.
Delia: It is foolish. We are both from opposite sides of Musee d'Orsay. You are a wonderful modern artist, and I am but a mere waitress, trying to make something of herself.
Guillaume: Life is a series of foolish moments. Every risk we take is foolish. But what are we if we do not take risks? What do we have to gain? Challenges await us around every corner, so why don’t we face them with a partner rather than alone? If anything ever made sense, it would be this, darling…
Delia wipes another tear, but this time she smiles. She takes another sip of her wine before Guillaume takes her lips against his own, as if he were trying to get just a small taste of the wine before she had consumed it all. He feels intoxicated by her lips more than the wine, and the feeling continues to course through his entire body until he can think of nothing more than to dip her over the railing of the small boat. Her chest heaves in pure ecstasy as she surrenders herself completely to this. She wraps her arms, feeling the thrill of this surrender coupled with the thrill of hanging over the edge of the boat, and knowing that no one else on this boat could ever match the passion that she feels in this very moment. She never wants it to end, and for a while, she actually believes that it never will. That is, until he finally pulls his lips from hers, and they look deep into one another’s eyes once more as he slowly lifts her back to a standing position. Her breaths are shallow and hopeless as she feels the withdrawals.
Guillaume: I swear to you, by the time we reach Normandy, your heart will belong to me… After all, it is only fair since you stole mine a week ago at Chez Eudo.
Delia: Oh, Guillaume, it was always yours. My head just convinced me that I hadn’t already served it to you with your mille-feuille.
Guillaume: Then you will give me your hand, forever and for always, darling?
*
Delia: Oui… oui!
She opens her eyes, seeing that there is no Seine River, no boat, and no old timey camera effect to blind her. The only thing that remains the same as her vivid memory is Guillaume standing in front of her, albeit looking rather confused. Delia clears her throat as he joyful smile fades from her face, shrouded by her typical “bitch” look. She pulls her jacket closer to herself, although now it seems as if it is to keep the frigid cold radiating off of her heart from turning Paris into an Antarctic tundra. She purses her lips as Guillaume smiles warmly at her.
Guillaume: Ma chère?
Delia: *Scoff* No… And show some fucking culture, you disgusting pig! Or did you compromise your principles z’e night you compromised z’at filthy pute?
Guillaume: I see your hostility has not faded much since we last spoke eight years ago…
Delia sticks her tongue out at him in a taunting manner as if to goad him, however he is unaffected by this display. Instead, he takes up her hand and brings it up toward his lips. He prepares to kiss it gently when she rips it from his grip and begins stomping, getting as close to his face as she can as she makes a public spectacle out of the situation.
Delia: GET YOUR FILTHY FUCKING LIPS AWAY FROM ME YOU… You… *mutters* swine…
Guillaume: Okay, okay… calm down, Cordelia… I can see z’at I am upsetting you, no? So I will go. But not wis’out letting you know what a… pleasure it has been just to see your face, up close and personal again.
Delia: You lost z’e right to call me z’at when you impregnated z’at disgusting bitch you called your work partner. Besides, I had hoped not to see your face, but I guess you have sold your self-righteous soul to z’e mainstream Devil afterall?
Guillaume’s face turns solemn the second Delia responds, and he remains quiet so that she can unleash upon him. After all, it was the least he could do for betraying her the way he had. He simply nods his head at her, for almost a minute after she had stopped speaking. Finally, he breaks the silence, once he is sure that the short lived spectacle had dissolved enough.
Guillaume: Z’ere is no excuse for what I’ve done to you, the heartache z’at I’ve caused you, but believe me when I tell you z’at I have not let a day go by where I didn’t s’ink of you, missing you.
Delia: Pas’etic…
Delia shakes her head in disgust as she nearly vomits on his shoes. She pulls a cigarette from within her jacket, a long, thin white stick that she presses between her lips. Guillaume reaches into his jacket to pull out a lighter, but Delia snatches it from his hand, tossing it to the ground as she pulls out one of her own to make a point. She lights it as Guillaume scoffs at her.
Guillaume: It’s z’e truth, and I will not apologize for it.
Delia: If I meant z’at much to you, I would have s’ought you would come find me in Miami. You know, z’e place I almost abandoned to be wi’s you. And judging by z’e shine of your head, it seems I made z’e right call.
Guillaume: I wanted to, but I got a deal wi’s z’e gallery here, and…
Delia rolls her eyes as she takes a deep drag off of the cigarette. She blows it to the side, letting the wind waft the smoke off into the clear Parisian sky. She shakes her head, laughing at him.
Delia: Z’e sad part is z’at you inspired me in so many ways. I would still be waiting tables at Chez Eudo if I didn’t view my body as an artistic expression. I would still be living in z’at filthy little apartment wi’s you, filling you head wi’s bullshit about how brilliant and talented you are. Z’e tru’s is z’at you have gotten nowhere.
Guillaume smiles smugly as he slowly brings his hand back, presenting to her the museum behind him. She rolls her eyes again, shaking her head quickly to let him know that she doesn’t buy it anymore.
Delia: I’m supposed to drop my panties right here over a pretentious, censored piece of garbage littering z’e name of art for z’e mainstream? Your artistic integrity hasn’t only shrunk… it’s disappeared altogez’er… I make people listen to what I have to say. I don’t give z’em a choice. I don’t care if z’ey buy it, because I’m not selling my soul… only z’e message. You sell pictures of fruit bowls and naked ladies you recently put your penis in.
Guillaume: You are just bitter because you will never have a long lasting relationship. You want to blame me, but z’e fact is z’at you don’t know z’e word forgiveness. Z’at is not my fault. Even if it is not me, I hope z’at one day, you find z’e meaning in someone else.
Delia: You disgust me. Even after eight years, you cannot admit to being wrong? I s’ought you were a man, but you are just a Lost Boy, stuck in Neverland for all eternity…
Delia takes one last long drag from the cigarette between her fingers, blowing it directly in his face as a showing of defiance. She drops the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and stomps it out firmly with her heel. She starts to walk away when Guillaume grabs onto her hand, stopping her. She is fuming at this gesture, so much so that she cannot seem to even react right away.
Guillaume: I still believe z’at you are z’e oz’er half of my heart, Cordelia. I will never love anyone as much as you ever again. And anys’ing less z’an z’at simply will not do for me. I have but half of a heart now, darling.
Delia slowly widens her hand, opening his hand enough so that she can slide it out with ease. She flips her scarf back over her shoulder, letting the wind take over control of it once more as she ever so slowly turns back around to face him. She places her hand on his cheek tenderly. She runs her finger up and down the cheek so slowly that he can’t help but to close his eyes and savor the moment.
Delia: Z’at is as sweet as z’e words you used to speak to me as we lied in bed at night, waiting to fall asleep. Unfortunately, all of z’ose words were bullshit, and I’m afraid z’at z’is is too… I took back all of my heart six years ago, so I guess z’at leaves you doomed to walk around as half of a man for all eternity… because you will never walk around wi’s me, ever again!
She rears her hand back and slaps Guillaume across his face, making sure to leave a rosy hand print on his sun-kissed skin. He places his hand to his cheek, almost as if he were savoring the pain. However, Delia decides to give him one last parting sensation as she wraps her arms around him, embracing him long enough to dig her knee deep into his crotch. As he kneels down before her, she narrows her eyes and stares down into his for one last time.
Delia: Z’at sinking feeling you have is only half of z’e one I had eight years ago. Sadly, yours will fade in a few moments, and mine did not fade for two years. Even leaving z’is cesspool wasn’t enough to forget you. At least our last memory will be a pleasant one… for me at least.
Delia reaches up near her earlobe, flipping her brunette hair out as a show of how pained she is to see him like this. She offers him a pleasant smile as she turns on her heels, walking off into the sun as he simply groans on his knees, clutching at his stomach.
[*Fade*]
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”Charity is good for the soul. It reminds us that, no matter how big our egos have gotten, we are still human beings who can have everything ripped away from us at any time.”-Delia, darling if you must
”One More Time” by Daft Punk plays over the speakers in the small New York art gallery for the Annual Concept Fashion Art Show, sponsored by Delia Darling, with all proceeds going to spread awareness. Such a vague concept, isn’t it? The proceeds actually go to Delia’s pocket for her to split amongst several charities of her choosing. Ultimately, they are spread out between LGBT Initiatives across the country, as well as the Art Institute of New York, funding their premier fashion department. Despite what one might think of Delia, she certainly does believe in two causes, and will do anything to promote them. But also, it gives her an excuse to be a frigid bitch while others simply accept it because she is paying them.
Delia: WHERE ARE Z’E SPOTLIGHTS?! And who z’e FUCK picked z’is music?! Did we time warp back a decade? Is z’is a retro piece? I’d ras’er hear “Time Warp” from z’e Rocky Horror Picture Show…
Delia holds onto her clipboard as she storms through the back. She is wearing a simple hairpiece tonight, platinum blonde with waves for days. She is wearing a black silk robe and house slippers as the tech guy shouts up from the rafters.
Tech: We’s just waitin’ on the models to arrive to the stage. And I’m only playin’ what I was told to, Deelz!
Delia: Well it fucking sucks… Next year, I plan z’e playlist as well. Great, one more s’ing to worry about.
She shakes her head in frustration as Angelica comes up from out of nowhere, looking less than pleased to see Delia. She approaches the preoccupied diva Bombshell with caution, partially because her red gown is skin tight against her legs until it flows outward in a lacy, frilly number. The other part of her is still upset from the events of the last few weeks, and this time, she doesn’t appear ready to come crawling back to Delia, despite what Delia might think.
Delia: Are you scared, darling? Come. Come to mama.
Angelica: Scared of you? Puh-lease! This dress is just a little too tight.
Delia: I s’ought you knew better z’an z’is, Angie. Check z’e fit, and widen your hemline before you hit z’e runway…
The music begins pumping as the tech guy puts on the spotlight. A group of women in the most outrageous outfits line up at the burgundy curtains, waiting for their cues to come from the stagehand. Angelica slowly shakes her head, gulping as the gravity of the situation has just come to light for her.
Angelica: I just came to you to let you know that one of your models had a freak out and ran out the back door. Some Sophomore Fashion student from the institute who was in over her head.
Delia:WHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!?!?!?!
We switch to see the capacity crowd of fashionistas and otherwise pretentious (rich) assholes as they all seem to simultaneously place reading glasses upon their faces, chattering indistinctly about how brilliant these shows always are, or how sizeable their contribution was this year. The booming, deep, and masculine emcee for the evening’s voice booms through the speakers over the music.
Emcee: Llllladies and Gentlemen… it is my pleasure to welcome you to the Forth Annual Concept Fashion Art Show, sponsored by Darling Fashion Incorporated. We ask that you put your hands together for the Art Institute of Fashion and our models for this evening!
The audience does as they are told, gently clapping their hands as if they were robots following a simple command. The talking lowers down to a murmur for those who are “rebellious” enough to talk for five seconds after the show has been kicked off. The music fades into “Part of Me” by Katy Perry, which for a moment, if you listen close enough, you can hear Delia having an aneurism from freaking out again. Our first lady comes out in a conceptual piece made entirely from silk flowers of white, pink, and yellow. The slim fitting piece contours the six foot tall model’s small curves, leading up to the bouquet worked into her lovely up do. She gives a slow spin, letting the dress fly outward as she twirls, a sign that Spring is coming in full force. As she reaches mid runway, the curtains open once more to show off a woman in a simple pleated mint sundress and an umbrella… simple until you notice that it is far from it. She runs her left heel up her right leg, and the waistline seems to rise with her leg like an umbrella. The audience is wowed by this as she gives a slow spin, showing the matching unitard underneath. She poses, leaning on the umbrella before looking at the ceiling as if it were the sky. She opens the umbrella and then sashays down to the end as the flower girl is making her way backstage.
Emcee: Shandra Williamson is the brilliant student who designed this rainy day couture gown, soon to be available in a variety of colors through Darling Fashions Inc…
The audience gives a polite clap in response to this proclamation as the next model works her way from backstage. She is wearing a yellow and black pinstripe business pantsuit with matching sunglasses. She stops and brushes her blonde hair from her face as she pulls a cell phone out of her pocket. She moves her lips as if speaking into it as she struts along the runway. She stops, lowering her glasses to look out into the audience before walking forward to the end. Next up, Angelica walks out in her red gown, wearing a blue sequin jacket with white stars, and a sparkling “Uncle Sam” style top hat. She slowly walks as if she were simply “amber waves of grain” blowing in the wind. She gives a slow turn, just enough to let the lace at the bottom to flare out for a moment.
Emcee: Show your patriotism in style at your next Memorial Day gathering, but only if you haven’t lost the “winter ten” and don’t want to show off your fabulous swimsuits… These three stunning outfits designed by Eduardo Mendez.
The audience gives an emotionless chuckle at the attempted joke. Even the Emcee doesn’t truly find it funny as he goes back to being quiet. Umbrella and bee lady work their way back up the runway as the spotlight returns to the curtains. After a moment of elongated anticipation, the curtain flies open to find the shimmering beauty of Delia, wrapped in a turquoise robe. Thin strips of a satin-like material traces it’s way up her legs, draping from underneath the robe, but the color matches perfectly. Delia has her eyes closed, and her eyes are painted in the same sparkling color. She slowly opens her eyes as she struts forward. The audience is caught in awe at the simplicity of this outfit as she works her way to the center of the stage. Once she is there, she stops and bows her head modestly. As the people murmur at this display, she rolls her shoulders around, allowing the robe to slip down them, showing her bare shoulders. Within a few seconds of this, she soon drops the robe to the ground, showing off an intricate swimsuit with strips of fabric tracing along her body. She looks up and raises her arms, allowing the fabric to form into wings. She waves her arms as she quickly spins, causing an almost orb-like effect to surround her. The audience gasps at the pure beauty of the piece, and Delia’s graceful moves.
Emcee: This stunning piece was designed by Stacey Zucklemann, a first year student in the fashion program. Delight your friends with this graceful and beautiful piece at your next pool party to become the centerpiece of the gathering.
Delia slows down her spinning to allow the fabric to glide back down to its original form. Delia walks to the edge of the stage, passing Angelica with a smirk, which is returned. Unbeknownst to the audience, she locks hands with Angelica for a brief second in passing as a show of unity before coming to the edge of the stage. She lowers herself to the ground, the fabric spreading out around her as she begins doing a faux backstroke. This only draws more and more applause from the audience. This is when “Applause” by Lady Gaga begins to play. The camera slowly spins around Delia as she swims on the ground, a smile upon her face as she delights the audience…
Backstage:
Delia makes her way through the burgundy curtains as the audience cheers her on. She is now wearing a corseted top made of Christmas Lights and green garland, with a large ornamental star placed on top of her head, and a literal tree skirt for the skirt. Around the bottom of the skirt is a small battery operated train set. As ridiculous as the outfit looks, one thing is certain…
Angelica: You made that piece of shit look like a million bucks!
((TBC Below))
