Stories, Stereotypes & Superlatives

"I'll take care of it either way," Allison piped up; she had the Doorman in a pocket she was not wearing. Jennifer and Melissa, when they looked at the Doorman, knew she was right. Jennifer was still allowed to be a bitch about it, though she chose non verbal methods from that point on, using dirty looks and no longer dancing for all to see.

"Yo, sorry, there seems to be a mix-up or something, we'll get in, don't worry bit-ladies." The Chieftain had almost slipped into his true form. Jennifer was going to punch him, but Melissa held both of her wrists, holding on from behind, and whispered "chill" into her ear.

Guinevere just wanted a drink -- anything! - to get thoughts of a specific man out of her head. The thoughts were fun at first while on the beach, but now they had too much power. Worry was winning in her mind.

Allison now had her plan, totally formed in her mind, finally turning her attention to the arrived boys. The Bouncer came back, and the Chieftain put a broad front up, walking right towards the club. The Chieftain knew he was in, and he was being as cocky as he knew how to be.

"Whoa, kid, whoa," the Bouncer had his palm out to stop the Chieftain. It worked. "Wyatt says there is nothing he can do, since you used that favor. He did say the women could get in for free if all of the guys pay half cover. That's the best he can do, and that's doing a lot kid, a lot."

It looked as if someone punched the Chieftain in the taint. The Bouncer had embellished for effect, he really didn't like the kid.

The raised groan came from everyone, including people not in the group waiting to get in behind the ropes. The Chieftain turned around to talk amongst his friends, each reaching into his pockets. The Bouncer had other ideas.

"...and I'll need to see everyone's ID." The Bouncer crossed his arms and waited, watching the spandex and fuzzy boots squirm, along with a few tribesmen. He had been right with most of his assumptions; it was his job to be.

Allison, no longer able to take the failings, walked up to the Doorman, and grabbed the pen off of his clip board. Making a burlesque show out of it, she wrote the house number down on the corner of the top paper on his clipboard, ending with a mouthed "call me" directly at the Doorman.

His jaw fell and he looked at the Bouncer, both men's eyebrows went up. Allison, knowing she'd probably be dancing and drinking, mostly for free and all summer, walked back to her friends and their appreciation for her move.

The skinnies that came along with the Chieftain were losing it.

They were all nineteen, and had plenty of alcohol at their hotel.

Plus, these boys were being jerks.

Seeing bullshit, they started leaving knowing this was failed.

Chaos suddenly ensued. The Chieftain and his group were suddenly yelling "Hey yo baby, wait up, yo baby. Yo! Baby, yo," in varied chorus and chasing after them. They just walked away towards the parking lot, not turning to say goodbye, or go in the club.

Ten seconds after the skinnies left, Allison, Guinevere, Jennifer, and Melissa, were alone at the door again, short of the line that no one seemed to care about.

"You lovely ladies can go right on in," the Bouncer said, smiling to the Doorman as he did, while unhooking the velvet rope that blocked there way. The men and women waiting in line let out a collective groan, there were only two reasons for it.

"Thanks, big boy," Allison spoke first, heading in first, dragging a nail across the Doorman with one hand, and the Bouncer with the other. The other three young women followed suit, knowing it would only add to Allison's ploy. The free-entry-all-summer plan was working.

"Tell Wyatt we said thanks, too, tough guy." Guinevere was the last one to walk through the door. She threw the comment to the Bouncer, over her freckled shoulder, as he thought about chewing on her rump and connecting the spots on her back with his tongue.

"He'll appreciate it..." the Bouncer trailed off, clicking the velvet rope back into place. The Bouncer and the Doorman finally turned their attention back to the line, once the club door had closed, to the people behind the ropes.

The line that did not exist to them until the four hot rods left.

***

The interior of the club was standard fare for the beach. It's stained and worn, pocked hardwood floors made if feel like a dock, but the bar and lighting were extremely professional. The dance floor was built separately, on top of the hardwood, to prevent broken heels and allow for waxing.

It was totally open, save for an unlighted room off to one side and a sign that said "Lounge" above it. The Lounge appeared to have been closed earlier. The bar was off center in the room, and there were tables in one corner marked 'VIP' - with other booths along three of the walls.

The women would have taken notice to this had they all not taken shots as soon as they entered. They downed two shots each, paid for by Jennifer at her insistence, to ease their collective tension. They had the entire summer to be wasted, not their only task, and they were not in a hurry now unless the drinks were free. Loose, and freshly liquored, they hit the dance floor to yell and writhe to the beats of remixed music. Writhe they did as all of the boys, and some of the other girls and women, competed for their affections and rhythms.

Wyatt had been on the other side of the bar, facing the VIP, as he mixed his gin and tonic to perfection, skipping the straw for drinking, but not for mixing. He was trying to figure out where he had seen those brown eyes with green flecks before, but he still could not place it. The woman he had seen in the cute foreign car was stuck in his head.

He resolved to find any one of the group he could, the first chance he had, when he felt the stare of the bartender as the young man came over. He acted like a strange man quite often, but he was a good bartender, so Wyatt left him be.

"Wyatt, man, you should see these girls." The bartender was excited, like a porn star had offered him candy; he always acted like that around the much bigger man. His comment brought one of Wyatt's eyebrows up in an "oh really?" gesture.

"Oh really? Where are they at?" He replied to the bartender, Wyatt always interested in pretty girls. He told himself long ago that other women wouldn't matter, if he found the right one. Never had such a thing happened, yet. He had been close today, but that woman he had never spoken to, and he didn't know where she was.

So far in his life, she was the only candidate able to make him forget the rest.

"Yeah man, they are on the floor. Man you should see the blonde. She looks like a hot Paris." The bartender was shaking his head like crazy. Just as spastically as he appeared though, he disappeared to go back to his job. It was a busy night, and the last two hours brought the best tips.

"No, Jimmy... Those are women..." Wyatt said as he strolled around the corner of the bar, speaking under his breath and to himself. He could not miss them. The four appeared to be the only ones on the dance floor.

"What are the fucking chances?" Wyatt said aloud to himself when he set his drink on the other side of the bar. He stood there, stealing glimpses at Guinevere and doing math in his head, slowly counting on his fingers, shaking his head left to right.

"Told you," the bartender said with speed as he passed just as quickly. He had a huge smile, since he had never seen Wyatt stop in his tracks, let alone gawking. He had always thought Wyatt to be gay, considering the tail that threw itself at the big man was seldom well received. He'd seen Wyatt blow off hundreds of girls in his summers here.

"Too bad," thought the bartender to himself as he brought another rum and coke to the straight guy he was hitting on - successfully. The bartender felt a little sad for a moment, wishing his fantasy with the big man he saw on Friday nights was still possible. Wyatt's growing bulge for the ladies, though, was easing his heartache.

"Oh, my, god." It was Melissa, she had seen him before her friends, and Wyatt was watching them.

"What? What?" Jennifer was looking around. Both she and Melissa had stopped moving. Jennifer was trying to follow her friend's vision.

She succeeded.

"Oh my god is right," was the best Jennifer could muster when she saw what Melissa was looking at.

"This is great..." It was Allison, she had seen him too, but with years of practice, she was better at hiding her affection. "Close your mouths, skanks," she said to the dumbfounded pair as she was already walking towards Wyatt. She was going first, she always was, she always did.

Guinevere didn't notice a thing, caught up in the rhythm, until Jennifer lightly touched her arm, and pointed at Wyatt. Guinevere froze, mid dance step, some of her loosened hairs swung in her face from momentum as she licked her lips and thanking hope in the back of her mind.

"We look like idiots," came from Melissa as she started dancing again, sheer will forcing him from her mind, with little success past movement. The other two began dancing again as well, but all three were watching Wyatt as Allison approached. Guinevere thought he looked sick to his stomach as he took small sips from his drink. She could feel his eyes on her as well, as if he were connecting her freckles, even though Allison had tweaked her own nipples before heading over.

"Shit, wrong one," Wyatt said aloud, under his breath.

The driver was floating his way, her jet black hair bouncing in time with her ill contained breasts. Her nipples were pulling her foreword as she kept stepping into his vision whenever he tried to look at her friend.

"Please don't come over hear and act like a tramp," he said aloud, but muffled. The bartender burst into laughter when he heard it, but steered it towards the bad joke his nightly barstool crush had made.

The sound of laughter only egged Allison on as she approached the separation in the bar, lifting its cool surface, to stand right next to Wyatt who was on the other side. She was dangerously close, the heat from his body infecting hers. He was taller than her despite her heels, and the simply white t-shirt he wore accented him, along with his jeans and sneakers. He was dressed low class, the only person in the club who got away with it.

"Hi, handsome, my name's Allison. Want to buy me a drink?" Her performance was flawless; Wyatt thought she should be an actress. She did not even seem to mind that he flinched away when her index finger touched his hard and defined chest, she was staring at the contrast of his tan skin against the clean white.

"No, I don't. Stop trying so hard. Who's your friend?" Wyatt was ignoring her, and looking at Guinevere, pointing at her with an upheld drink.

"Oh, don't worry about her. You have me to worry about, big man." Allison, emboldened by his brush off, started running a hand from his chest to his abs, and when Wyatt shivered, she knew he was hers.

"No, I don't, and please stop touching me, lady, I don't like it." Wyatt's eyes were fire. Allison had been wrong with her assumptions.

It was the first time Wyatt had looked Allison in the eyes, or acknowledged that she was there, physically. He had turned to Allison in anger; furious that she was doing as she pleased and was ignoring what he said. He looked mean, like he would hit her, though he didn't move a muscle short of small, various twitches. He sent her into a huff. She was confused, then scared, both of which made her angry.

"What... I... What the hell is wrong with you?" Allison's lip quivered as she pulled her hand away to fidget with her other. Wyatt though she might cry as he watched it. He hoped not, his intention was not to upset her, just to make her stop. Making a woman cry in front of her friends was bad news, period, let alone when you liked one of them.

"There's nothing wrong with me, you just are not my type, sorry," Wyatt said his piece, calming down and turning to look back at Guinevere, his mind screaming to figure out where she was from. The bartender, and a few other workers in the bar area, all stopped to watch. The bartender knew what was coming, he'd seen it before, and he hoped the raven haired girl would catch the drift. The bartender knew Wyatt was all man when he saw something he liked, and he liked the freckled one.

"Please don't say it, honey," the bartender said aloud. Allison said what he had hoped, for her sake, she would not.

"You don't know me! Who the hell do you think you are?" Allison was on edge. The words came out like a defense mechanism, one hand on her hip, the other pointed at his face - to remind Wyatt where it was. Wyatt only let out a long, slow, deep breath, turning his head again to face her, without looking at anything but Allison's bright white teeth.

"I know you better than you think, little lady, so it's best that you just leave me be, you don't have a chance." He said it to her in a calm, quiet voice, one that pierced through the club music. Wyatt went back to looking at Guinevere.

The bartender began to shake his head, he couldn't believe Wyatt gave her a second chance, he never did that. One of the waitresses was by the bartender's side now, leaning into him, enjoying the man show with her tray under her arm.

"No you don't, you asshole! You've never met me! You don't know a thing about me!" Allison's fury was making her turn red, and his audacity was at a level that her mind found unfathomable.

"You came over here to throw your body at me and get what you want."

"You want me to do whatever you tell me, as long as I play little games with you."

"I hate shallow little games."

"A woman like you cannot ever know what type of person I am, even if I explained it."

"You could have come over here, introduced yourself, and asked my name, but no, you didn't."

"You just want to fuck me and have me make you happy, so no, I'm not your type."

"Fuck off."

"I don't like sluts or bold women who think only about themselves and flaunt their bodies to get what they want."

"You should have just been yourself."

Wyatt never looked at Allison as he spoke. He only took a sip of his drink when he finished, before setting it back down, watching Guinevere the whole time.

"What did he say?" Melissa, and the other two, had stopped dancing when they saw Allison get agitated.

"I told you he was a jerk-off," Jennifer said, feeling correct in her whole being, though they could not hear a word from Wyatt, just music. The three women were too far away.

"He likes, me..." Guinevere was holding her chest and slowly moving to the music, swooning. Melissa looked her way until Jennifer spoke up.

"Great, what did he say to her?" Jennifer said while she was watching Allison run to the bathroom. Allison was crying, hard. Jennifer glanced at Melissa, who in turn went to chase after Allison, before she started heading straight towards Wyatt, stomping towards him.

As she went, Jennifer was wondering if she could beat him in a fight, knowing she could not. The little bartender and two waitresses had been clapping and cheering behind Wyatt's back ever since Allison had begun to cry. They were going to get a piece of Jennifer's mind as well.

"Here we go again," Wyatt said aloud as he saw Jennifer approaching. Jennifer was using the same trick as Allison, blocking his view of Guinevere so that she could have all of his attention. She was failing miserably, as he was doing math again. He was trying to figure the odds of pissing off three friends, and still trying to marry the fourth.

"Well you shouldn't have made her cry," the bartender said from behind him.

"Yeah, that was mean," said one of the waitresses.

"...but it was fucking funny," said the other waitress.

"I didn't mean to, really..." Wyatt said aloud dropping another extended, lung clearing sigh, aimed at no one in particular. It was like he was talking to himself.

"What the hell did you say to Allison?" Jennifer bellowed at Wyatt, her finger poking him in the chest. Her finger bent, his chest never moved.

"The truth. She didn't like it..." Wyatt remembered this one as the front passenger, noting how glorious her covered breasts looked, knowing the treasure the cloth was hiding. "Too bad she's a bitch, too bad I saw her," he thought to himself.

"The truth about what?! You're just some stoner who can't drive. What the fuck do you know, jerk-off?" Wyatt's calm demeanor and silence were escalating the situation, but he was tensing up, and he was still trying to see Guinevere behind Jennifer's fury. Wyatt braced himself, for he knew what was about to happen, it had happened before.

"You made her fucking cry. What kind of truth, you asshole? What could you possibly know about anything, prick." Jennifer screamed as she slapped Wyatt across the face. This man was too audacious for her. She needed to put him in his place.

"Oh snap," said the bartender, jaw dropping.

"No she didn't," said one of the waitresses, jaw joining.

The other waitress stood in silence, mouth aghast, as did many customers. It was a good show.

"And you!!" Jennifer was looking at the trio of workers, just as furious, finger aiming. She never had a chance to lay into them, though.

"Please, calm down. Leave them out of this, please," Wyatt said as he slowly turned to face her, breaking her fury for a moment from the sheer surprise of his attitude. He was looking at Jennifer with a plain face, his voice calm, not at all angered by her physical force. He didn't even move when she slapped him, he just took it, unflinching. His face never went red, not from anger, nor her force.

"You don't have to fly off the handle. I'm sorry for making her cry. I really am, but she wouldn't listen. I hope you do. I just wasn't attracted to her, that's all. I just want to know who your friend is, nothing more." Wyatt looked depressed as he spoke, his shoulders hunched in the slightest.

"Like I'm going to tell you! You prick!" Jennifer was still mad, only set off her pace for a moment. "You think an apology is ok? First you try to kill us, now you are insulting us? You think I'm going to introduce you to Gwen? You're a fucking crazy guy."

The bartended winced, and began talking slow steps away from Wyatt, only a few feet away.

"Ok, fine, have it your way." Wyatt responded to Jennifer, making her more moody, setting her ablaze in two ways.

"What do you mean, my wa-" Jennifer never had a chance, or a chance to finish, and despite interrupting his response in the same manner, she never got a word in.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch, and learn to listen."

"Why do you have to be so angry because I'm not attracted to anyone but her?"

Wyatt was pointing at Guinevere while looking at Jennifer's teeth as he spoke.

"I thought I made it clear who I was interested in when we were driving, but you're such a fucking bitch that you had to flash you tits at me."

"You've probably spent your day talking trash to your friends so you could have me all to yourself."

"Wake up."

"I don't want you."

"That's the same thing I told your friend, Allison. You are not my type either."

"Get the hell over yourself and your fake dye job. Daddy cannot buy you this one."

He never yelled, and simply went back to sipping his drink casually, as if his work was done.

It was, Jennifer shrank. He knew her, and they never met, and everyone in ear shot knew what she had done. It was the first time in her life that she felt small, and she didn't know how to react. Tears welled in her eyes as her body began to shiver. Wyatt knew she was going to blow.

"Bathroom's over there," he said to Jennifer while still watching Guinevere slowly sway to the music - in a world of her own - and pointing. Wyatt pointed in the direction Allison had run earlier, and Jennifer promptly went, gone, silent, and ashamed.