Billy

     The tall lean - jawed man in the tuxedo smiles handsomely to himself and walks coolly towards her. Her back is turned as she stares through the window out across the well lit city. Her reflected image is superimposed over the skyscrapers. He gently spins her around and touches her face. She meets his gaze with wide eyes filled with passion and fear. He clasps her face with both hands and pulls her to his lips. She resists slightly before crushing her lips onto his, submitting entirely to the throes of passion. They embrace deeply. "Don't, DON'T" she shouts. He pulls away, shocked and disappointed, I'm sorry", he says, palms outspread, "I..." She pulls him towards her and purrs, "Don't.... stop, I meant"

Billy flipped the channel over to Rage and Nick Birdwitt lead singer/guitarist with Hacker snorted;

How come your eyes are so red ?
your so fucking stoned
Have you been on the piss again?
Can't you leave it alone?

"Load of manure.", Billy said and zapped Nick in the act of sexual innuendo with a mike stand, replacing him with pictures of Russian tanks and exiled peasants in koshered colours. He watched for a moment-all shawls and sad eyes, forced pilgrimages through mud and snow, the dull dramatic commentary-clichéd to death.
Flick! Billy reaches for a Bart & Felchs beer-pops it-spraying refracted droplets on to the screen. Some woman is doing sit-ups with the AB Sculptor whilst the commentator is asking her how she feels. "Wonderful, she drawls." "Wannerful", Billy mimics her American accent, shoots her with the remote and slugs down another mouthful of beer.
There is a faint knock on the door, barely audible above Nick Birdwitt's cavorting doggerel. .

Have you been at that glue again?
knock
You're so fucking high--
knock knock knock!

"Billy, you there?" "It's me, Jenny" "Billy...?" He drags himself off the sofa and opens the door, remote still in hand. " Hi Billy" she beams, as a gust of cold air blows in from outside. "I brought back your CD's." "Um, thanks", he mutters, "It could have waited, I forgot about all about them anyway." She smiled at him, her face half concealed in shadow. "Well, aren't you going to invite me in?", she says, shivering as much for effect, as from being cold. Without waiting for a reply she pushed past him into the untidy living room, set the CD's on the sideboard and took off her coat. "What are you watching?" "Eh nothing much", he mumbles and plunges back on to the beat-up sofa. Nick Birdwitt was jumping up and down on a staged battlefield of smoke bombs and coloured strobes-

Orange, green, electric blue,
you're brain's lost in the sky-

"Got any tea Billy"? "Nah, only caffeine and I'm out of milk", he replies. She strides confidently into the kitchen and starts rattling about in the cupboards looking for clean cups. Billy can hear her humming and filling the kettle. "Billy, you want a coffee?" "Uh, bring us a beer.", he grunts and flicks over to channel ten.
Jenny closed the heavy fridge and paused at the living room door to stare at Billy. "Christ, he's totally oblivious" she thought. "I must have been 'round here a dozen times in the last fortnight and he still hasn't got the picture." Billy lay spread over the couch, his face lit with TV colours, like a contented child.
Jenny notices the state of the place. Perhaps for the first time she really sees what she's up against. All the furniture is dead kitsch, the ancient wallpaper patterns looks like a series of ornamental Victorian vomits, not to mention the fact that Billy hasn't washed his hair for weeks. "Still", she thinks, "It's worth one last shot." She moves towards the sofa and hands Billy his Bart & Felch's. He takes it, mumbles and changes the channel without removing his gaze from the set. Nick is really cooking now,

Razor blades and cigarettes,
zits are everywhere,
Leather suits, ill reputes,
and fucking shocking hair.

She sits on the arm of the sofa next to his feet. Billy, ignoring her, switches back to the romance on nine... "I will always love you Angela, no-matter where you are in the world." They turn and kiss- two lovers entwined- black and white silhouettes against a wild moonlit ocean. The music rises to a crescendo. Flick!, and Nick Birdwitt, covered in sweat, heroically finishes a disgusting guitar solo before staggering up to the mike,

His mother says he's such a nice boy,
it's just a passing phase.
He's going to be a brain surgeon
one of these fucking days.

"Billy are you blind or something?", she says good humouredly. He loses concentration and stares at her with a vague half knowing surprise. "Whaddaya mean?" he slurs, staring back at the telly. Nick Birdwitt concludes by doing an impression of a windmill with his guitar and the crowd goes wild. The wildness continues as he violently launches into 'Spurred Sleech.' "C'mon Billy, how obvious does it have to be?" "I have been coming over here on any bloody excuse-doing your dishes, tidying this dump up, helping you look for jobs out of the paper and all you do is lie in front of the box and switch channels. Surely, it doesn't take a genius to realise that I'm up to something." "Like what ?" Billy replies, feigning ignorance. "Well", she smiles, "Guess, dummy?" Billy sits up, scratches his head and looks at her. "You like me.?", he offers, knowing full well this was a ridiculous understatement. "I love you ", she strains between clenched teeth, throwing her hands in the air and rolling her eyes back in mock exasperation. "Love me?" he answers timidly. "Yes you idiot, love you." Jenny could see that made Billy uncomfortable as she watched him drag his hand through his hair, as if suddenly realising he was on camera. She stood up abruptly dipping into her handbag and pulled out her lipstick. "Well, Billy..", her tone had suddenly changed--cooler, more businesslike, "To coin a well trodden old phrase--.the ball's in your court." She moved towards the TV, stooped in front of it, and with her lipstick, she plastered her phone number in crude characters across the screen. She stood up, dropped the lipstick confidently into the shoulder bag, smiled, and spun towards the door, "You've got one week to get it together bud.", she said, and left.
Billy, confused, stared at the screen. The images danced stupidly behind the dark lipstick.