Stars in His Eyes

Marty couldn’t believe that he was just propositioned by this beautiful blond model standing in front of him.  Olga was six foot four, without her heals, six foot whatever with them, and she had a body that would have made Michelangelo forget all about carving David.  Yet here she was hitting on little old Marty.

“Are you sure you haven’t been drinking too much?” asked Marty in his head, but he didn’t have the nerve to ask it out loud.  Instead he just sort of shrugged his shoulders and faintly gestured with his rum and coke, hold the rum.

Olga gave him a pouty look.  Damn, that look had to be trademarked by some company.  “So what do you say?  We can talk more in my room,” she said.

Marty’s left thumb drifted to where his wedding band had been.  It had been over a year, and yet…   “Sorry, not tonight.  I’ve got to get ready for a meeting in the morning.  Maybe tomorrow?” he asked.

Olga let the pout evaporate and replaced it with a heaping helping of I can’t believe you just did that.  Without saying a word she left the reception and headed off into the bowels of the hotel, alone.

Marty drifted out into the night.  The glare of the manmade neon from the strip hid the heavens above, but still Marty looked up and stared into the emptiness which matched what he felt inside.  “I love you Brenda,” he said before going back inside.  He did have a meeting in the morning after all.

Conflicted Thoughts

Thomas looked at the screen in front of him, not knowing where to go next.  Should his hero pursue the woman of his dreams, or the woman he needed?  What about the aunt who adopted the hero when he was three, and loves him like a son, but has been pushing him away because she knows she has cancer and doesn’t want to have him see her suffer?  What about his boss and the problems he is having with drinking rum and coke to wake up in the morning, but nobody calling attention to it since he is the President of the United States?  Or for that matter the cabinet member who happens to be a scout assassin from a race of space beings who are still trying to decide if earth needs to be recycled?  So much power as a writer, but should he save his universe or trash it and start with a clean slate and hopefully another big bang of inspiration?  Thomas wondered if God was similarly flummoxed at times.