Tuesday, June 07, 2016

I Love Dialogue from My Lifeguard

Drew Carlson is a lifeguard with a terrible love life. Every woman he's ever dated has ended up married to one of his friends instead. Then he meets Magda Yarkowsky, a Georgian from Georgia (The country near Russia and a state just to the north of Florida) His life changes from somewhat routine to far more exciting. On their first date, Drew takes Magda to dinner at a comedy club.

The lights dimmed and the owner of the club stepped onto the small stage to introduce the first act. The comedian took the stage and started talking. He was moderately funny, but Magda didn't really even crack a smile after the first few minutes. As they were sitting right by the stage, her silence was fairly obvious and it was making the comedian nervous, throwing off his timing.
"Hey, lady, do you have a problem with me?" He stepped forward, pointing at Magda. His New Jersey accent wasn't entirely for his act. "I'm working hard up here."
"My English is not so good. I not understand you."
Drew wanted to laugh at the exchange, but the set of Magda's shoulders told him not to.
"This your boyfriend?"
"This is only our first date—well, unless you count yesterday. Can we count that?" Drew asked Magda. "You know, at the beach?"
"Oh, no we can't count that. I was unconscious most of the time."
There was scattered laughter.
"What's your name, honey?"
"Magda," she enunciated clearly.
"And your date?"
"Drew."
"You're a big, jacked guy. What you do for a living, Drew?"
"I'm—um—a lifeguard."
"You had to think about that? How hard is it to say lifeguard? Duh! So, are the chicks all built like Baywatch babes?"
"Most of the guards on this beach are built more like me."
"Shit, that's some ugly women!"
"He means they're guys, moron," another customer heckled.
"I knew dat—," the comedian said loudly. "So, Drew, the um—lifeguard. How'd you meet?"
"I rescued her."
"Huh? I would have loved to see that. Blond Bomber going after Russian Red. Must have been a sight to see. Where you from, um—Lifeguard?"
"Grew up around here, Funny Boy. You?"
"Jersey." He held his arms out waiting for the cheers. There weren't any. "You know what we call folks from Florida up in Jersey? Crackers. Bam!" He said it like it was the worst insult in the world.
A huge man who'd been on the football team in high school, stood up nearly knocking over his table. "You know what we Crackers call you folks from Jersey?"
The comedian looked rather intimidated. "Uh—uh—."
"Lunch!" He came at the stage like The Terminator.
The comedian dropped the microphone with an electronic squeal and ran from the stage toward the accordion doors separating them from the restaurant. The Terminator didn't change direction. He went to the stage, picked up the microphone, pointing to the comedian who had finally opened the doors. Watching his retreating back, he held out his hand.
"Let's hear a round of applause for our entertainment for this evening."
Everyone clapped and cheered for him instead of the comedian. Eating up the attention, he held the stage a few minutes, talking to them. He made Drew come up and introduce himself. Talking like a reporter, he held the microphone between them.
"Mr. Carlson," he began.
"Mr. Simmons."
They nodded in unison setting the room laughing when they did a knuckle bump.
"You said a few minutes ago that you rescued this lovely, seductive, Russian beauty from the ocean?"
"Actually, she's Georgian."
"She's from Georgia?" His voice rose to an irreverent squawk as he pointed north.
"Not the state to the north. The one near Russia."
"Ooh, dat Georgia. Gotcha. Tell us the tale. Inquiring minds wanna know. And we got inquiring minds."
The audience cheered, clapped and stomped their feet. Drew blushed slightly, taking the proffered microphone.
"Hi, y'all. Not much to tell, really. I was at work yesterday and saw something in the water. I called for backup, jumped in and found Magda there with a head wound. I pulled her to the boat and she's fine." He shrugged. He'd never been much for speaking in public, preferring not to draw attention to himself.
"That was terrible," Trey Simmons shoved him lightly, nearly knocking him over.
"I agree." Magda rose gracefully from her seat. "I tell it."
Trey helped her on the stage, handing her the microphone as he stepped back. Drew, unsure of himself, tried to do the same. Magda grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him back beside her.
"Is good story. I tell. Yesterday is still a bit fuzzy." She gestured languidly. "I am knocked in the head. Was not his fault." She pointed at Drew. "I was diving and was hit on head here." She showed the stitches. The room exploded in stifled gasps.
"Is fine, no longer hurts. But in these waters, bleeding? I had moments only. I find myself on surface, floating, dizzy, in pain. I was too weak to call for help and fell unconscious. Suddenly, I feel strong arms around me, and this comforting voice say, Are you alright? I am unable to answer. The arms go around me so." She demonstrated the hold on Drew, her arms barely going around his chest. "Only his arms are longer and I am not so big and strong."
Magda felt his muscles through the lightweight shirt. Liking what she found, she ran her hands over his upper body, dropping her fingers lower with each pass. Drew was in agony. Her long fingers left tiny trails of sparks in their wake. Her hand moved to his shoulder, going down his back with lingering slowness, dropping to his ass, which she grabbed. The women in the room went wild, stomping and cheering. They stood at their tables, swinging their napkins as they hooted and danced.
"Yes, most delicious. Unfortunately, I was like this." She demonstrated by putting his arms around her, letting her head loll to the side. "They take me on boat and I am not breathing. This the man in ambulance tell me. And Drew brought me back to life! He is miracle man, no? He is not just gorgeous body with beautiful eyes and hair...."
She licked her lips, eyes stripping him naked as they raked him up and down. She inhaled slowly, exhaling in a low, moaning gasp. "Is magnificent!" She walked to the front of the stage, talking to the women in a stage whisper. "And girls, is not a hammer in his pocket!" She winked expansively, making thrusting motions with her hips.
© 2016 Dellani Oakes

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