The Cougar's Date pt. 1

[tinhuvielartanis]

Okay….The Horriblewood Walk of Shame xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /?

This one is dedicated to the following who compelled me into this mess: Xandy (my writer friend. Visit her at http://www.covermyscript.com/), Kanike (the Abbott to my Costello, the Butthead to my Beavis, and the Webmonster who hides under everyone’s bed. You can see her work at http://www.rancidrainbow.com and http://www.thejokerblogs.com) and Blog Boy (Little Bro. You can’t visit him yet, but you can see his genius at work at http://www.youtube.com/thejokerblogs or check yourself into his asylum at http://www.thejokerblogs.com ). One of Xandy’s short stories inspired the idea for this, Kanike hounded me to doitdoitdoitdoit, and Blog Boy had me keep Word open waaaaay too long during my Grieving process for me not to take virtual pen in hand. Then there’s the cheerleading team, Megs, Jilldo, and Sweet Sophie (with her wretched little tree rhyme…she should be set aflame and thrown into that four-story sink hole in Toronto!...okay, well maybe that’s harsh. I love my Sweet Sophie….I just want to punch her once..really hard..right between the eyes….) Each of you (except for Xandy) deserve a swift kick to the tuckus. Or maybe reading this will be punishment enough.

Musical nods to the Everly Brothers (who gave me the Cougar’s name with their song “Cathy’s Clown”), Dave Matthews Band, Kasabian, VNV Nation, The Prodigy, Taco (not the food, youngsters. Look him up on You Tube, along with the word ‘Ritz’ and get edumacated), Sting, and Three Dog Night.

The Cougar’s Date

She watched him from across the street, this strange little man in the clown make-up and the almost-Zoot suit. He carried a knife in each gloved hand, and he was backing out of a pawn shop with two of his partners bagging money, guns, jewelry, pretty anything of any worth. He popped his head back in the door and said loudly enough for her to hear across the street, “Oh, and, don’t forget ~ tell the Falcone, Maronis, Zambonis, Macaronis and whatever other onis that are temporaaarily in charge of this town that Joker was herrre…and I’ve only just begun. oohaaAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

And with that, she watched him almost dance down the street behind his two henchmen, shoving a knife in each of their backs and catching their bags as they dropped to the ground unceremoniously. He jumped up and it looked like he may have clicked his heels as he hopped into the old sky blue AMC Gremlin and sped off into the dimming Gotham twilight.

God, he was hot….in a strange, clownish, murderous, psychopathic way. She’d been trailing him for days, watching how he worked, wondering what his motivations were. Surely he took some downtime, maybe went to a bar or somewhere, where she could chat him up. That was the idea. She knew that, if she could just get him alone, she’d have him out of that strange thrift store suit and grease paint before he knew it. He wouldn’t know what hit him.

She’d been present at one of his robberies, this was how she’d come to know the man who referred to himself as Joker. Browsing a jewelry store on the Eastside, she was surprised by the clown bursting into the small shop with two thugs at his side in painted stockings masking their faces. She was instructed to lie down on the floor along with all the other customers and clerks. And she watched this crazy, angry agent of chaos burst through the glass to take all the jewelry he wanted, filling up the bags while the thugs held everyone in the store at gunpoint. She didn’t care that she might be living the last few moments of her life. All she cared about was looking at him. She was instantly enthralled with this dangerous young man and she decided right then and there that, should she survive this heist, she would find out everything she could about him and she would pursue him until he was hers. She dared not look at him too much for fear that her directness would get her killed, but she admired him on the peripheries of her sight, and she wanted him like she’d never wanted a man before.

Cathy Callahan fumbled with her keys as she rushed to start her car to follow this odd man. She kept a safe distance, following him down Derry Avenue, then onto Corcorram, left to the corner of Vespers and Vine, then onward to a more deserted industrial division of Gotham City, going down the long and lonely Grey Street. The window to her old Plymouth Reliant was down, letting the wind of her of steady acceleration to keep up with her prey muss her strawberry hair. She was certain she looked a fright right now, especially with her hair in such a state, allowing the crinkly white hairs that were gathering like mating rabbits where her hair naturally parted to stand up and wave hello to the world. It didn’t matter. This was a scouting mission after all. The seduction would come later when she found out where he spent his downtime in a social setting. She had a feeling that tonight would be her lucky night in that respect.

From a safe distance, Cathy stopped her car and watched this man in the face paint leap out of the car like long-limbed jungle cat, slinging the sacks of loot over each shoulder and dashing into what looked like an abandoned warehouse. She waited, watching, never letting her eyes leave the door her prey had disappeared into. She could barely contain herself with the overwhelming desire she felt for this man she’d only seen close-up once. All she knew was that he was delightfully young, undeniably sexy, and irresistibly dangerous. For Cathy, this was the recipe for divine physical unity.

She was just about to nod off when the door suddenly opened and out dashed the object of her desire, still dressed in the mis-matched threadbare suit he’d worn earlier. He was down the stairs and in the car before Cathy could even get her car started again. The Gremlin’s tires squealed as he the Joker sped off to who knew where. Cathy trailed him.

They turned left off Grey Street onto Flagg Avenue onto Dees, then an immediate right onto Ouelette. He pulled into an overgrown parking lot directly across from a bar called the Ritz. How original, she thought. She watched the Joker lock up his car and head across the street to the bar. He stopped for just a moment, looking around him as though to survey the area. His eyes landed on Cathy for a split second and she found herself ducking behind the wheel of her car, her heart in her throat. Did he see her? Could he have seen her? Slowly, she moved her head up to peek over the edge of her steering wheel. The Joker was gone. Cathy let out every ounce of air in her lungs as she collapsed with relief. At least now she knew where he went to unwind…or whatever he did. She’d be at the Ritz tomorrow night, dressed to the nines.

She arrived early, excited by the prospects of being in the presence of the Clown again, and planning her whispers of seduction in to his painted white ear. She didn’t see his antique car in the parking lot across the street, so she was hoping he’d show up again tonight. Clad in a sparkling red evening gown, she laughed to herself, thinking that she wasn’t bad, she was just “drawn that way.” Even though her hair wasn’t as lush or as red as Jessica Rabbit’s, Cathy still fancied herself to be that kind of kittenish femme fatale, especially in this particular dress, which slimmed where needed and accentuated where important. She’d retouched her hair colour, carefully eradicating every white hair, leaving only the natural strawberry. She’d teased and feathered it to frame her face in a diaphanous halo. Her aquamarine eyes, once brilliant in their beauty and clarity, still seemed a little wan, despite Cathy’s expert application of make-up to pull out that spark. Maybe she was having a little bit of an off day, but she was still gorgeous and she knew he’d think so too.

When she walked into the Ritz, she found the place to be a bit drab and herself to be a bit out of place. That was okay. No doubt, she’d stand out even more when he saw her. She lit this place up! Looking around her, Cathy surveyed the bar and the dozen or so wooden tables dotted along the floor. In the back were a couple of pool tables with some men playing an unremarkable game, and a round table adjacent to them hosting a Poker match. All in all, there were maybe forty people there, none of whom looked up with Cathy made her celebrated entrance.

Refusing to get it get her down, Cathy strolled over to the bar and sat down at the corner, facing away from the door. She didn’t want to appear too eager. The bartender walked over to her, his face pinched with what looked like frustration. In fact, on a second scan of the bar, everyone seemed a little…blue. Maybe it was the music coming from the Wurlitzer-style juke box standing in the corner next to the blond fellow watching the card game. Dave Matthews was singing “Grace Is Gone” in the sad, gentle way he had with sad, gentle songs.

“What’ll it be?”

“Cosmo,” she said, and was a little offended by the subtle eye roll that earned her. What a prick.

The song was drawing to a close and Cathy was looking forward to something a little jauntier. But the oddest thing happened; as soon as song finished, it began again. The bartender was walking over to the juke box so, apparently, there was something wrong with it. Instead, though, he stopped at the table where the blond man sat hunched and silent, and he set a new glass down in front of the man.

“Listen, man, that’s the fifth time in a row. How many more times do we have to listen to it?”

The man at the table turned to look at the barkeep and Cathy’s breath caught in her throat. It was him. The Joker grabbed the bartender by the collar with his left hand and, as if by magic, had a knife placed in the man’s mouth with his right.

“Listen..to..me,” he said in a voice that carried, despite its low register. “Do I not come in herrre and pay your godawful price for Laphroaig? Do I not keep your juke box hot-t from constant-t play? Really, Carl…do I not keep your little shit-pit here in business just from the two measleee nights I visit each week-k?”

The knife was suddenly gone.

“J, it’s just that…what’s so special about this damned song?”

“Shut-t…up-p… And don’t come back until I’m ready for another drink.”

Carl backed away from the Clown and the Clown watched him return to his post, his black-stained eyes narrowing in what may have been malice. Cathy really couldn’t tell. She had to get closer. Before she could slide off the bar stool, though, Joker flicked his head a little more to the left to catch her in his sights. She watched as the Clown slowly turned in his chair and looked directly at her.

Cathy’s stomach rolled over with a combination of fear, excitement, and full-on lust. It literally tumbled when she saw the young man suddenly stand. The Joker dipped his head and cocked it to one side, his dirty blonde hair falling into his blackened eyes. It was as though he were trying to figure her out, or wondering at her full-on sexiness. That had to be it. This may be easier than she had initially thought and, honestly, she figured it would be a cinch to bag this exotic beauty. The Clown picked up his Scotch and ambled her way, his head never moving from that odd angle and his eyes never blinking. The people in the bar all froze and watched him in a kind of amazement. Arriving at the bar, Joker plopped down at that corner seat and crossed his arms, on over the other in front of his drink, as if he were protecting it from Cathy.

This was the first time she’d seen Joker up close. She could see now why he wore the clown make-up. He’d been cut on his cheeks, like someone had carved a giant smile on his face. The wounds had healed badly, leaving terrible scar tissue that marred the features of an otherwise pleasant-looking man. Something about the clown make-up covering those scars and the man who carried them made him strangely irresistible to Cathy.

“Hmmmmm,” he buzzed at her in a barely audible vocal vibration. The Clown then picked up his glass again and drained it of the Laphroaig. He slammed the glass down on the bar. “Carl!”

Carl came over with another glass about half full of the Scotch Whiskey. About that time, “Grace Is Gone” began again. A quiet groan rose up from the small collection of people in the bar. A couple of people got up and left, eying the Joker fearfully. It was as if everyone in the Ritz was held in thrall by the psycho clown version of Anthony Fremont and they were all in terror of being sent to the cornfield. This was ridiculous. Cathy steeled herself and leaned in slightly.

“Hi there,” she said in her sultriest voice. “I’m Cathy.”

“Well, hi there Cathy,” Joker replied, his voice a low, whining burr. He licked this lips quickly, like a snake tasting the scent of prey. “What brings a…loveleee lady such as yourself to this deelapidated dive?”

Cathy was caught off guard a little by this question. How could she explain her being dressed like this and showing up at a place like the Ritz? She thought quickly and said, “I’d been at a party and things were a little uncomfortable for me there, so I decided to strike out on my own. And here I am!”

“And here you are!” the Joker exclaimed loudly, laughing. The song began again.

“J, I’m serious,” Carl said. “This has got to stop. I’m taking the juke box out.”

“Do that, Carl, and I’ll burn your fucking dive to the ground…with you in it-t.”

“Goddammit…” Carl muttered as he shied away.

“What is it about this song?” Cathy asked the Joker.

The Joker’s eyes got a little hazy, as if he were travelling into his mind so deeply, he may never return. “I’m trying to remember something,” he said, then clicked his tongue as if to emphasise his answer.

Cathy waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. Instead, Joker took another giant gulp of Scotch and winced as the hot liquid tumbled down his throat and into his stomach. Cathy found herself in envy of the alcohol. She wanted to be what made him wince like that. She wanted to see that face tense up not in the pain of burning liquid, but the pleasure of liquid lust. Taking the chance, Cathy moved a little closer to Joker. He leaned back a little, narrowing his eyes, but smiling almost imperceptibly. She took at this as his only being coy, so she flashed him a winning, close-lipped smile, giving off those I’m no threat to you vibes. “Anything I can do to help?”

Joker gave Cathy a flat look before moving in a closer to her. He smelled clean to her, despite his unkempt appearance. Before she knew it, the Joker had his hand at her face. Cathy remained very still, frightened that he may have a knife. But he didn’t. It was just hand. His index finger extended and brushed up against her cheek. “I don’t think so, Ladybug.”

“Well, what made you forget?”

“I just had a bad day once,” Joker replied easily, getting that glazed look in his eyes again. “Or maybe it’s a Gypsy curse. ‘Course, I’d much ratherrr have a Gyspy than the curse!”

And again, the Joker lost himself in peals of laughter. Cathy decided to join in. Everyone in the bar kept their eyes averted. As the weird merriment died down, Joker leaned in even more, his face just an inch away from Cathy’s. “Hey, Petal, what say you and I ditch this dive and relocate to a more agreeeeable nest, hm?”

Cathy couldn’t believe her good luck! She breathed at him, almost overcome with wantonness. What was it about this man? Maybe he was under a Gypsy curse and it was affecting everyone around him as well. Whatever it was, she was ready for it. All of it, in all its undiscovered glory! “I never thought you’d ask,” she whispered.

And just like that Joker was away from her. He finished his drink in one last giant gulp and slammed the glass down on the bar. “Carl! I’m leaving. Enjoy the music. It should play about ten more times. HAHAHAHAHA!”

The Joker continued to laugh like that as he offered Cathy his elbow and they exited the Ritz in a shower of $100 bills that the Clown threw in Carl’s general direction. As soon as the door closed behind them, the Joker stopped laughing. He spun on Cathy and pushed her up against the building, taking her hand and guiding down to the front of his pants. “Do you feel this?” he asked, rubbing her hand up and down the hardness underneath his worn slacks. “This is how exciiited I get just thinking about the things I’m going to do to you….”

As he continued stroking her hand up and down the front of his slacks, he hooked the front of his chin underneath Cathy’s, tipping her head back to where she had to look down into his eyes. She watched as he sucked in his lower lip and began to breathe and chuckle through his nose. It was an eerie, high-pitched whine that disturbed Cathy only a little. She knew she had him if he was eager to go before they could even get to her car. “Joker… May I call you that?” she began. When she got no response other than the heavy, strangely amused breathing, Cathy continued. “Why don’t we continue this at my place?”

Just as suddenly as he’d pushed her against the wall, Joker let Cathy go and began walking away from her. “Sure, Pea Pebble. But it’ll be my place.”

Cathy hesitated. When she collected a boy, the seduction locale was always her penthouse. It had always been an unspoken rule in her world. Having the boy in her own bed communicated to her that he had truly been collected. He saw her raw, savage superpowers as a blossoming woman in her mid-40s and he surrendered to it utterly in her bed, on her sheets. But she desperately wanted the Clown. And he seemed to be all about breaking the rules, so maybe she should break her own.

“Okay,” she said, her voice coming across as kittenish as she could muster. “Your car or mine? You seem a little tipsy to be driving…”

“Miiinne…” the Joker growled, continuing to walk away from Cathy. She sighed in frustration and set off behind him, once again in pursuit. He trudged ahead of her, his head down and his shoulders raised and set in a tense position. She knew it had to be sexual tension. He wanted her so badly. If she didn’t see it the Ritz, she knew it by what she felt in his pants. They rounded a corner and there sat his car, the sky blue Gremlin. She couldn’t believe any Gremlins were still on the road. It was piled high with bags, sacks, and boxes, but the front seat was empty.

“Get in, Cathy. We’re goin’ for a riiide!” The Joker said excitedly. Cathy waited for him to open her car door, but the Joker jumped in behind the wheel and slammed his door. A little put off by his rudeness, Cathy puffed up a little, but got into the uncomfortable little car and prepared herself for the beautiful event that was to come. She reached for her seatbelt but couldn’t find it. She was still looking around as the Joker started the car and pulled away from the curb.

“May as well forget it, Bubble. This car has no seat belts. If I were you, I’d sit down, shut up, and hang on.”

The Joker pressed the gas peddle to the floor and the Gremlin lurched into action. It was obvious he’d had some special work done on the vehicle. He pressed a button on the dash and music blasted throughout the car. Cathy instinctively threw her hands over her ears. Joker looked at her out of the corner of his eyes and smirked sidewise before slowly licking his lips.

“Obviousleee not a Prodigy fan…” he shouted over the music, then he began singing along as he sped down the nearly deserted Gotham streets. “’This baby’s got a tem-per, this baby’s got a tem-perrrr.”

After that song came “Mama Told Me not to Come” by Three Dog Night. Joker sang the entire song and kept shooting Cathy furtive glances as he sang. She knew they had to be drawing near to his lair as they were now shooting down Grey Street. A third song came on, a lilting electronic song with pretty, but very sad, lyrics. The Joker turned it down to where he could talk in a normal tone of voice.

“You don’t know who this is, do you, Kitten?”

“I…I’m afraid not.”

“Just too far outside the generation, hm?” he said. Was that a shot at her age? Cathy was mildly affronted.

“Not at all. I like to stay current on my music; I’m just not familiar with this artist..or band.”

“VNV Nation, ‘Further,’” the Joker said, using a mock instructor’s voice. “Vee Enn Veee… Got it? The letters. Then Nation. I’d say remember that, but doesn’t matter if you will or won’t-t.”

“What do you mean?”

All she got was another furtive glance and impetuous smile. It made her want to wrap around him forever and just absorb him. She got lost in his lingering gaze and half grin, not realizing they’d arrived at the old warehouse where Cathy had been staking Joker out for the past week.

“We’re heeere, Button Box! Ready for some fun?” he asked, bouncing a little in his seat like a kid. Grabbing Cathy’s wrist again, he pulled her hand to his pants, stuffing her fingers down the front of them. She felt the head of his cock there, soft skin stretched over a maddening hardness. It rested expectantly against the Joker’s lower belly, just waiting to be pleasured by an experienced and wise lover like herself.

“Let’s go in,” she said, the huskiness in her voice a dead giveaway.

Joker loosed his grip on her wrist and retrieved his CD from the car’s installed player. Flipping the CD between his fingers, he let it rest briefly on the tip of his index finger, where he spun it like a plate. As the CD slowed and began to falter, the Joker flipped it once again, caught it securely, and placed it in his breast pocket. “Gotta have our toooons,” he said with utter seriousness. “Been wanting to get one of those iPod-ds they keep raaaving about. We’ll see… C’mon, Pineapple! Lemme show you my pad-d.”