14 Carat Fool

My second mistake was wearing those shoes.

My first mistake was listening to Ronnie. 

Would you do it? She was purring, her freshly-dyed spikey black hair glistening in the streetlight glare.  Ronnie’s mysterious velvet coated question hung between us only for a few seconds before she answered it herself, by handing me a can of spray paint. Gold Dust.

Silly me.  That I’d misunderstood what Ronnie meant when she’d called this morning and said Let’s go out.  Silly me.  Wearing 4” leopard heels.  We were, at present, sitting in front of her boyfriend’s apartment building, her ‘65 Chevy convertible parked behind his truck.   She was eyeing it dangerously. 

He told me he really prefers blonds. 

She threw the remark at me sideways, scrunching down low in the driver’s seat as I held the can of paint.  It felt more like a grenade.  Her purring sharpened, turned drill sergeant, and a lock of spite colored hair shadowed her face. I don’t care what you write,  just make it good, and then she pinned on a final sugary Pretty please.

Why should I? 

I wasn’t about to swallow her plan, even with the added sweetener. 

Well, her voice was back to purring.  If somebody sees us, they’ll remember me.  And also?  Because if you don’t, you have to walk home… 

My stilettos hit the moon gray pavement, and I teetered over to the pickup.  I felt sick, but what choice did I have?  And then I had an inspired moment-one of my best, I might add.  As I pressed the little white spray button down, watching Gold Dust letters monogram green paint, I was the very picture of someone who wants nothing more than to be utterly forgettable.

RONNIE WAS HERE!!!

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