#Leatherette - Fade Away

[thousandisthemaximum]

Puntine #120 - Canzoni da ricordare questa settimana

https://www.dlso.it/site/2023/09/27/puntine-120-canzoni-da-ricordare/

[owmylasagna-blog]

Ed is Thicker Than Mud

Warning: Character development arc may take a couple years to take full effect.

Some random musings on post-BPS Eddy growing pains.

You can also read it over on AO3.

Each mechanical tick of the outdated relic of a wall clock reverberating through the office makes his skin crawl. Wriggling uncomfortably, the naugahyde of the chair releases a series of unnatural whines of protest beneath the restless teen. Don’t they know precious moments of his youth are slipping away with every infuriatingly useless second spent shedding dead skin cells in this room? It doesn’t help that his jeans are still damp. He’s pretty sure his new sneakers are wrecked too.

If being detained wasn't bad enough, they’re probably on the phone with his mom right now, and he isn’t exactly looking forward to his folks tearing him a new one over tonight's chicken francaise. Just as he imagines the yelling match his mom and pop are gonna inevitably start the loose doorknob rattles behind him.

“Here we go,” Eddy grumbles into the collar of his long sleeve polo. He slumps down into the armchair.

The door groans on its hinges, open and then shut. Footsteps click in time as the middle aged man slowly makes his way around the office furniture and sits. All the while Eddy keeps his eyes planted on the linoleum tiles between the desk and his feet. He feigns disinterest as a manila folder and a few slips of paper are shuffled.

“So. Edward McGee…”

Eddy squints, not exactly appreciative of the pause for dramatic effect, nor the emphasis put on his last name.

“Would you care to explain why you're in my office, young man?”

“No.”

“No ‘you don’t care’? Or no ‘you can’t explain’?”

In response, Eddy crosses his arms and slouches even further into the depths of the worn leatherette, the heels of his sneakers squeaking as they skid forward. The principal sighs.

“The silent treatment won't get you very far-”

“You know what I did.”

Boy was this interrogation a bunch of bologna.

“Yes, I certainly do. I’m well aware of the damage to school property you’ve caused, not to mention the cost required to repair it. What I want to know is why.”

“Principal Howard, I didn’t-”

“We’ve already heard your excuses. This is your last chance to plead your case as to why you felt it necessary to tamper with-”

“I didn’t tamper nothin’!”

Eddy shoots to his feet, looking the principal in the face for the first time. His heart thrashes against his ribcage.

“I find that hard to believe.”

Yep. Totally pointless.

The teen and the man exchange steely glares before the elder shifts his gaze behind the younger.

“Please sit, Edward.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddy parks his keister back down, resuming his previous slouch. He watches as Principal Howard leafs through the papers on his desk. Most are a familiar shade of detention slip blue, some more faded than others. It’s a suspiciously sizable stack considering he’s only been in high school for three months. Sure, his track record hasn’t been… great. He’s never been the morning type. Missing homeroom three out of five days in a week will do that. As does skipping out on a detention here and there. Compared to junior high, though, Eddy considers himself a freakin’ angel so far. Barring today of course… just his luck.

But the slips have Eddy curious enough to raise a brow at, sitting up a bit straighter in an attempt to sneak a peek. He’s caught off guard when the name written on the top edge isn’t his own. Well, not entirely. Eddy’s muscles flex with immediate recognition, flashing a fierce look up to find the intent gaze of the older man peering down his sizable nose through his glasses.

No ‘effin way.

“You remind me of your brother.”

Eddy sputters, feeling the air rush out of his lungs. It makes it hard to speak. His brain fills with static. It makes it hard to think.

“Wha- you- you can’t-”

How’s he allowed to say that?

“Before I became principal I taught at this school for many years. Don’t think I could forget a kid like that so easily. Bright, creative, one might say underchallenged, but misguided, difficult, trouble prone. Unfortunate really. I didn’t have much control of the situation then nor the authority. But things have changed, except for the fact that I’m tasked with ensuring another McGee boy doesn’t slip through the cracks.”

“Cool headed” is an accolade foreign to Eddy. It takes every fiber of his being to bite his tongue, stopping himself from spewing expletives that will land him right back in the hot seat for the umpteenth time. More than anything he holds back to prove that he isn’t anything at all like…

“Which is why I’m requiring that you join an extracurricular student activity effective immediately.”

“WHAT!? WHY?!” Eddy finally blows his top. It’s a relief to scream.

“You need discipline, structure, responsibility, teamwork - whatever it takes to preoccupy your idle hours.”

“Believe me, Teach, the mathletes don’t need me screwin’ up their squared roots or whatever.”

“Then choose something else that interests you. D’you like sports?”

Eddy shrugs. Lately, nothing really interests him. Let alone anything school related. Not even marathons of The Ed Sullivan Show or wearing out the grooves in A-tom-ic Jones can seem to pull him out of this slump. And he sure wasn’t jumping at the opportunity to get towel-whipped by the meatheads, that's for sure. The thought of the foot smell that wafts from the locker room like a thick miasma alone makes him shudder.

Eighth grade graduation, the start of high school, and the abysmal summer between them had been a strange fog. Beyond his two best friends, Eddy avoided the other cul-de-sac kids like a plague. Oh yeah, this was cruel ironing as Double Dee put it. All that time vying to get their attention? Ever since they got front row seats to his bro’s assholery on full display, they’d been acting real nice. Too nice.

The remainder of seventh grade, after the groundings ended, was filled with an unprecedented number of invitations to movie nights, birthday parties, and sleepovers. Even though he’d sworn off the scams it somehow felt like he still needed to perform every time he made an appearance. Suddenly, everybody wanted to get to know him more. And that scared Eddy: what if there wasn’t more? He felt he hardly knew himself these days.

“You have until the end of the week to decide, so start asking around. And when you do find a team or club, I will personally speak to the coach or teacher running it to ensure that you are immediately enrolled and actively participating. Do you understand?”

The principal receives a noncommittal grunt as a response. He’s more stern the second time.

“Do you understand, Edward?”

Eddy finally gives a reluctant reply, hoping that this is the end of the conversation and he’ll be off the hook.

“Yeah. Capeech.”

“Good. Because this sort rebellious behavior will not be to-”

“And it’s Eddy.”

The balding man blinks a few times, brows twitching.

“Well, Eddy, another stunt like today and I bring your parents in. Capeech?”

Having his own phrasing thrown back at him makes Eddy feel even more patronized than he already is. Which is saying something, considering this whole freakin’ ordeal feels like it was designed by the universe or some malevolent god to humiliate him to no end.

“Yeah…”

Double doors fly open when the compact teen barrels through. He’s moving fast, on a mission, so focused on getting as much distance between himself and this stupid school that he hardly notices the two figures sitting side by side on the stone stairs anxiously awaiting his release. The leaner of the two jumps to his feet, calling out through the bothersome crack his voice has acquired thanks to puberty.

“Eddy!”

He whips around, jabbing a finger square between Double Dee’s eyes. The taller boy flinches back at the accusatory appendage.

“I aint talkin’ to you, snitch! Let’s go, Ed.”

The eldest of the bunch complies to the command, joining Eddy by his side. Edd huffs, shaking his fists, and with an indignant stomp of his sneakered foot is hot on the trail of his two friends. Seeing as there is a nasty storm cloud over Eddy’s head Ed opts to not ask too many questions. Instead he shares the exciting news:

“Double Dee and me saw two squirrels fighting over a nut while you were gone.”

“Sad story,” replies Eddy, inflection flat as a sheet of paper.

Meanwhile, the speed walking boy approaching from the rear isn’t so quick to change the subject.

“Come now! You can’t seriously think my intention was to smear your academic reputation!”

Eddy keeps stomping the pavement, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, and rolls his eyes in disbelief. The balls on this guy…

“Eddy, please,” Edd pleads, finally gaining, “The entire first floor was flooded. Given my proximity I responded in a manner that anyone in their right mind would. Honestly, are you suggesting I had a plethora of options?”

“Bull! Ya coulda kept your big. Mouth. Shut.” Eddy snarls through gritted teeth, shoulders tensing up to his ears.

“And be a complicit bystander? I think not,” replies Edd with a pout.

“Why do you make it out like I wanted that to happen!?” Eddy spits back, keeping his sights focused on the cracked cement.

“Who says I’m blaming you? It’s causality. You flushed an entire cafeteria tray and its contents down the toilet.”

“Ain’t my fault the lunch sucked mega balls! And why’s the school got plumbing from the Dark Ages? You saw that casserole.” He throws up two skeptical air quotes, “Would have been better off eatin’ rubber cement.”

“I think I saw it move,” Ed adds excitedly, grinning ear to ear.

Ed had eaten his serving of casserole with much relish, though, not before dunking it into his trusty thermos o’ gravy. It’s too bad that Eddy turned down the offer. The mental image of the subpar cafeteria slop alone makes both Edd and Eddy’s stomachs churn, let alone the gusto with which Ed manages to devour it.

“Yes. Well. I must say I was glad to have packed a garbanzo salad sandwich today based on the looks of things,” the teen in the beanie admits, punctuated with a nervous chuckle.

Eddy can’t help but look his friend in the face despite the stubborn front he’s working so hard to put up. Edd’s got a small smile but otherwise he looks ill at the recollection of the foul lunch offerings, his tongue peeking out through the gap as it presses against the back of his teeth. The husky boy cracks his own smile and stifles snort at his pal’s pathetic expression.

“Food so bad, even the crapper couldn’t stomach it,” Eddy throws in just for a kick.

It works - at least he and Ed chuckle over that and Edd shakes his head incredulously - burning off some of the uncomfortable tension that has been growing since the afternoon. The trio continue walking a few yards in the direction of home, lulling their arguing for just a moment to the sound of gravely footsteps, rustling leaves, and the jingle of Eddy’s wallet chain thumping against his thigh.

Sidewalks aren’t exactly wide enough to walk together in a line so it's unavoidable that every now and then, if they don’t split off into a triangle formation, that they bump shoulders. Eddy feels his shoulder nudge into Double Dee’s arm, then awkwardly clears his throat and sniffles against the chill fall air.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” heckles Double Dee with a pretentious sideways smirk.

Before he knows it, Eddy feels the back of his neck burning. For that alone he gives the wiry and historically uncoordinated teen a solid shove, causing him to stumble over his own two feet and step squarely into a soggy pile of street gutter leaves. The feeling of cold damp permeating through his shoe upper and soaking into his sock makes the boy yelp and shudder in disgust, a shiver running up his spine.

“Wet!” Edd wails. He shakes his sodden sneaker like a cat that's stepped in water and skips to catch up.

Of course Eddy laughs at Edd’s theatrics, very openly, which just sets Ed off to join him. Reveling in his buddy’s harmless misfortune, Ed throws an arm over Eddy’s shoulder which the shorter teen roughly shrugs off.

“Very good. I’ve received my comeuppance.” Edd sighs, wincing as his sock squelches with every other step.

A few tsks of disapproval are made by Ed seemingly out of the blue. Edd and Eddy are surprised to see their happy-go-lucky Lump looking uncharacteristically forlorn.

“How sad it must be to be a squirrel without a nut. What cruel, hostile world we must live in where there are not enough nuts to go around.” Ed punctuates the thought with a heavy sigh.

“I’m lookin’ at a nut right now.”

“Oh yeah?” Ed perks up, head whipping violently in search of it as though he can rectify the injustice he’d witnessed.

“Yeah, TWO of ‘em!“

Just as he says it, Eddy’s fist finds its way to the tall redhead’s vulnerable groin with an empty punch.

“DOH!”

Edd puts a bit of space between himself and Eddy.

“Fear not, Ed. Every squirrel has their day.”

“Good for them,” Eddy growls, his earlier gloating soured by envying, of all things, a fuzzy rat.

Seeing as his vapid positivity hasn’t exactly resonated with Eddy, Edd decides to take a more direct approach.

“So, what punishment has befallen you? Another detention.”

Eddy’s brows drop down over his eyes with a snarl. He sees a pebble a few steps ahead and when he reaches it gives it a good solid kick. It skitters wildly into the street.

“No.”

“Suspension.”

“No.”

“Disintegration?” Ed chimes in.

“I wish.”

“You’d make a fine puddle, you would.”

“Thanks, Ed,” Eddy rolls his eyes, shoving his chin down into the collar of his jacket.

He nearly jumps at the shriek-like sound of Edd’s gasp. It looks as though he’s doing a decent impression of that weird painting of the screaming guy.

“Good lord, please don’t tell me you’ve been… expelled!?” Edd can hardly say the word.

“No! Worse! I gotta join some bogus extracaricature.”

Double Dee’s hand flies, grabbing Eddy’s bicep. The sudden physical contact makes Eddy reflexively flinch.

“What a relief! You had me worried for a second.” An offended look on Eddy’s face does worry Edd and he realizes it’s because of the grasp he has on his arm. He swiftly releases it, putting his hand in his jacket pocket.

“Ah- A generously lenient outcome considering the extent of property damage. Participation in a peer activity? Hmm… Why, you could always join me on the junior debate team. What you lack in research skills you certainly make up for with your argumentative temperament.”

“Kill me already.”

Eddy sags under the weight of such a nerdy proposition.

“Oh, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Craning his neck, Ed peers down curiously.

“Join me! We could always use a uh-” Ed pauses, counting on his fingers, “a third member on the team. You could even go by Mr. AV-Eddy.”

With a rough tug, Ed’s head snaps down to match his short-statured friend’s eye level, Eddy’s fist full of the pilling and frayed green jacket collar.

“Call me that at school and I’ll shove an 8 millimeter where the sun don’t shine.”

“Norway?”

“NO way. Don’t even try it.” Eddy threatens before letting go of Ed.

“You got it, Mr. Cool Guy I’d Never Ever Call AV-Eddy, uh, sir!”

To show his deference, Ed removes his monobrow and swears it over his heart.

They keep walking. It’s about a half hour trudge back to the cul-de-sac, but it sure beats the torment of the public school buses. Bottom of the food chain means getting the crappiest seats, or worse even, becoming completely separated. Much better to brave the biting wind for now: Eddy’s ears and nose are already ruddy. Come winter they might reassess.

It’s hard not to think he might be cursed: born with the dark mark. Maybe somewhere down his family line there was some cardinal sin committed that’s the root to all this. If he has to place bets it was probably those damn pilgrims that sold Peach Creek to the Kankers, the lot of inbred nitwits. Eddy sorta gets why his brother is the way he is. He knows deep down his parents treated him different from the jump. That he’s had it better, at least in some ways. Despite his bad luck he’s technically the lucky one. But there is still so much he doesn’t know. Stuff that when he brings it up mom just starts blubbering. He won’t even bring it up with dad. So teachers thought he was smart?

Over the last year, Double Dee has fretted over Eddy’s drawn out silences. Just like the one now. He can’t help but read far too deeply into whatever might preoccupy Eddy’s mind so much to leave him speechless. A more contemplative and reflective streak could be good for Eddy. Except Double Dee knows from personal experience how quickly things can go south inside the echo chamber of one’s own thoughts. He chews his lip as the worry gnaws away at him.

“Eddy? Was there… anything else you wanted to talk about?”

Eddy sniffs his running nose again, scowling. He shrugs.

“S’nothing. Everyone at this school’s got it out for me.”

The feeling of a gentle hand between his shoulder blades makes the back of his eyes burn. Dammit. He blinks hard, sniffing even harder.

“Not everyone.” Double Dee earnestly assures. Ed wraps another arm around him in a lax half hug and this time Eddy doesn’t shrug him off. Instead, he leans in.

“Okay, okay. Fine. Almost everyone.”

And that’s good enough for him.

[invitainvidia]

12/26/22

8 a.m.

i wake up. still half baked of last night. took over a restaurant in the countryside in november.strugglin*

get coffee. roll spliff.read sth.push away the visions of various, unfortunately very probable futures in which this species self destructs and stumble to the bath w][room>

fucked up skin..i had a slight cold just only fading..drugs..sorrow ..no sleep..too bruised and shattered to put a blade to it.

bathing, wanking, drinking coffee. planning that day .

we stopped celebrating christmas when covid started.

my son is 19 and he is beyond white lies.

[thinking of our son always lifts me up]

10 a.m.

must drive to my office to prepare an airbnb check in. restaurant open at 12. i light another spliff to tone me down.

last time checking the mirror if at least the red bruises have vanished after application of loads of moisturizer. i look frail. i dont give a fuck but i realize to be on the brink of a third burnout

11 a.m.

my in law always grants us his old cars. never get stopped by cops with these. perfectly unspectacular. non descript.

the warm leatherette.

this must stop.

11.44

Putting keys into keysafe . change code. print registrastion. write on airbnb. waiter calls. will be late. guy i hired 2 days ago calls. a lady wants a glass of whitewhine.

12.23

hurry to the car. construction work on the tram rails demands your patience like the 1 hour drive i will have to endure now.

we have loads of tourists,roadwork, pop up bicycle lanes and 4 millions idiots using 5 million cars. driving through berlin you cross oceans of time

13.16

to land in the next x_mess adventure.

water flows out of the sink of the kitchen floor- if i get a professional company we all will have worked all christmas just to pay that plumber. it is a small sea inbetween the cold houses.

my waiter works like a machine. a ruddy service soldier in a perfect trance of a hangover to come.

my new crew member is just 20. i already taught his mother how to work a bar. so. love that dynamic.

15.30

Gettin a big steak. i devour entierely and fight with the waiter about him having to wait. he won*t have to fix the music for our backroom x_mess reservation of 17.

16.00

we rent out some rooms there as well. 1 check in.

they complain. i give them another room. the they tell me the heating is off. i check. heating off in the whole house. i panic . i phone a plumber in Bulgaria.I apologize to the old and polite couple with health issues. I start sending pictures to Bulgaria and ask questions.

Finally. Fixed.

18.50

i order calameretti. i will cease to be a fake italian restaurant on new years eve.

I visit my friend markus in room no 9 .works for his rent.

19.45

last table. do the bar.waiter gets message his smallest son has high fever. middle son just had been severly sick. i tell him he may leave as soon as poss. without cleaning up.

find air bnb message that we missed to provide enough bedcloth..1 is missing. promise to supply them around midnight.

22.00

waiter runs off to take his son to the hospital. wont be able to work tomorrow. i will. i start cleaning.

and we check out the new.amp. m. has built. the inmost light.

23.33

Before i drive.i have to change one of the light.bulps of the cars headlights. i left on the parkings lots* flood lights. close down the place. leave it only half cleaned.

00.40

Drive to the air bnb . they sent another message demanding toiletpaper and shampoo.

01.56

home.spliff. tumblr. finished writing this 03.35.

[ccohanlon]

l.a. fragments (from a notebook, 1998)

It is just after ten a.m. on a weekday and I’m sitting in a booth by a window in the diner on the ground floor of The Standard Hotel, on Sunset, sipping an iced latte and studying the geometric pattern of the blue linoleum tabletop.

“You hiding out? Cos’ if you are, let’s order breakfast. I’m starving.”

Without waiting for an answer, the slender black woman in white t-shirt and jeans unslings a Mexican leather bag from her shoulder and slides across the leatherette-upholstered banquette to sit beside me. She moves with the sinuous angularity of a snake.

“They’re looking for you back at your office,” she says.

“Did you tell them where I was?”

She smiles. “Baby, who knows that anymore?” She says it with the weary knowing of someone who, at age 26, has played most of the supporting roles in the repertoire of L.A. cautionary tales.

Her name is Aisha. We met in a café on Abbot Kinney a couple of months ago. She’s was once the too-young wife of a successful hip-hop producer, flashing a black Amex card in the fashionable bodegas off Rodeo Drive. Now she’s divorced, a single mother sharing a ground floor apartment smaller than her ex-husband’s garage with her young son on the edge of West Hollywood. She’s an actress, too, almost too old to hope for a break, but she does what she has to make ends meets — even, once, she confessed, hooking when a girlfriend offered her a thousand dollars for a threesome with a well-known director. “I didn’t mind it much,” she told me, “I was pretty desperate then.”

There’s a faded tattoo, blue-black like a bruise, on her right shoulder. I haven’t asked her about it but I know it’s from a life before the ones she’s told me about.

“You OK?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” Actually, I’m free-diving into a deep, aqueous depression. With luck, negative buoyancy will hold me down until I run out of air. “I lost it today.”

She shrugs. “It’s not the first time.”

“No.”

A pneumatic, not-so-young blonde waitress with a tangled perm and creamy flesh that billows from a utilitarian, faux-‘50s, yellow cotton dress puts a Caesar salad in middle of the table.

“It’s this fucking town,” Aisha says. “It does it to all of us.”

The aging English pop star is silent.

He’s performing tonight but his voice is strained, so he communicates through mime and when that fails, phrases scribbled in pencil on paper napkins. His hands are always in motion, rotating and flicking lightly from the wrists, like a percussionist working the inside of a beat.

There are three of us at a table beneath a bleached calico umbrella on a terrace of the Argyle Hotel. It’s just after midday. Beneath us, partly obscured by a sooty, carcinogenic haze, is West Hollywood: a symmetrical grid of boulevards and streets lined with grubby terracotta roofs, palm trees and eucalypti. Here and there, the glistening, crystalline surfaces of swimming pools.

I don’t even bother to take in the view. Too much of my life has ebbed away in these hotels, restaurants and parking lots. Whoever first said “Hell is other people” must not have lived in L.A. Here, hell is the shiny, empty places, from which all care has fled.

The other guest is English, too. His hollow-chested reediness and nasally Liverpudlian twang, along with the red Prada slacks and black Prada boots he’s wearing, mark him as a common music industry archetype. He has none of the pop star’s long-practised charisma. His name is Nick and together with the pop star he owns a music company in Tokyo that produces elusively pre-pubescent music acts called idoru for an adolescent market weaned on Sony Playstations.

“I was talking to someone this morning and he said I shouldn’t have anything to do with you,” Nick tells me.

I wait a beat before replying. “He’s heard the worst, I guess.”

“So have I,” Nick says. “How much of it is true?”

“Most of it.”

“You don’t seem too fussed.”

“Not much I can do about it.”

And that appears to be the end of it because as we eat, Nick tells me about the pop star’s plans, still in their early stages, to re-form the group with which he gained a rarefied stratus of fame in the Eighties. An hour later, the pop star himself scratches three words on a tea-stained paper napkin: “Come to Japan?”

I peer into the pop star’s famous blue eyes for a moment, then past them, over the low terrace wall, to a grassy reserve verge below that local residents use to exercise their dogs. Police in bicycle helmets, white golf shirts and blue shorts, are rousing several vagrants who were asleep, bundled in blankets. Disheveled, faceless figures rise and begin to wander away like refugees, trailing layers of threadbare wool, flannel and nylon, towards the scrappy suburban flatlands north of Melrose. A few stragglers, probably stoned on cheap crack or Thunderbird, are hurried along with the prods of batons.

I wonder if the hotel pays the police to do this so its guests don’t witness the only mortal sin you can commit in America: poverty.

I am so fucking tired of this place. The realization is abrupt and unexpected.

“Sure,” I say to the pop star. “When do I leave?”

I drive until dusk. With no particular place to go, I helm my reconditioned ‘63 Chevy Impala SuperSport like an elegant boat down La Cienega to Highway10, then west to the turn-off for the Pacific Coast Highway. From there, I follow the wide ribbon of four-lane blacktop north as it unspools along the beach. At Big Rock, the ocean’s shining, stainless steel surface disappears behind fragile homes of wood and stucco clinging to the eroded foreshore; it’s glimpsed again only in shimmering slivers until I reach the old Malibu pier. I hang a u-turn and re-trace my route on PCH until I reach the Topanga Canyon intersection. Turning my back on the Pacific Ocean, I alter course inland towards the grim sprawl of Hollywood.

There’s sometimes a mindlessness in driving around this way, a kind of meditation – a mechanised zazen, if you like – in which time and space pause, consciousness stops, and there is just being, a solitary samadhi experienced on the road. Except it’s not like that this evening. I can feel the persistent itch of psycho-toxins seeping through my brain, corroding reason. I’m unable to slow my racing thoughts. Incomplete images and addled phrases assemble then disassemble in my mind like arcane cryptography, impossible to break.

My body is tense, as if expecting a blow, and every sensation, from traffic noise to a draft of air on my skin, is an unbearable irritant.

A rusted, cast-iron gate, framed by a scraggly bougainvillea, opens from the sidewalk onto a metre-square patch of bare concrete. Four steps ascend to Aisha’s front door. An unprotected bulb at the end of a length of duct-taped flex burns a pale yellow above the door. The windows of the apartment are dark.

I knock on the door. Shuffling footsteps inside, as light as a child’s. The door opens. Aisha’s hand appears, then half her face, to beckon me in.

“Hey baby,” she whispers, smiling, closing the door behind me. She turns on a lamp. Its light is diffused, candle-like, beneath an earth-toned Moroccan veil. “I was waiting for you, but I couldn’t stay awake.”

She encircles my waist with her arms and presses her head against my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. She looks up at me, expecting me to continue, but my eyes are focused somewhere just short of the wall beyond her head.

“I’ll make us some tea,” she says.

The apartment is a large single room. A deep alcove, separated from the rest of the space by a hand-sewn curtain, painted in abstract, earth-toned patterns, serves as a bedroom for her son. A timber daybed in a distressed whitewash, across which are strewn several cushions and lengths of colourful East African fabrics, is set against a wall facing an open kitchen. A djembe, an African drum, is next to it and supports the veiled lamp on its desiccated skin. In front of the daybed is a blood red timber coffee table, of the sort you can pick up cheaply in Mexican furniture stores at the less fashionable end of Third Street.

I kick off my boots and my socks, and lie on the daybed, my head angled so I can watch Aisha in the kitchen. She’s wearing a plain, black satin slip that clings to her skin as she moves. She’s not wearing anything else; her coarse pubic hair ruffles the fabric’s easy flow above the hem. Her slender legs are unusually long.

“Come here,” I tell her. The voice isn’t mine: there’s a gonadal rawness about it, disconnected from anything sensual. Aisha stops what she’s doing and turns to look at me. She doesn’t move from the kitchen counter.

“Come here,” I repeat, less urgently, holding a languid hand out to her, as if reassuring a wary animal. She walks over and takes it. I try to draw her down onto the daybed but she balks.

“Let’s just talk for a while, OK?” she says. I try again to pull her towards me again, moving my body deeper into the daybed to make room. This time, she joins me. She lies with her back towards me, his shoulder blades against my chest, her ass pressed into my groin. She positions my hand where she wants it across her stomach.

“How was the rest of your day?” she says. Anxiety ripples through me. Unable to speak, I bury my face in her hair. Then I thrust my hand between her legs. I slide her light body up the mattress so my mouth can reach the side of her neck and her exposed, tattooed shoulder. “Baby, don’t,” she insists. “This isn’t what I want.”

I ruck her slip up over her belly as I turn her onto her stomach. I take in her exposed body with the clinical indifference of a mortician as I unbuckle my belt. There’s no tenderness, no desire, just this nagging emptiness that I want to caulk with sex.

“I don’t want this,” she says again, more softly – a last attempt to assuage what she senses is the worst of me.

I fuck her hard from behind, my fingers probing, bruising, as she lies still, silent, not even breathing hard. When finally I roll away from her, she stands, strips off her slip, and without looking at me, walks to the bathroom.

I think I hear her crying. I wait for an astringent of self-loathing to sting me but there’s nothing, not even care. Fifteen, twenty minutes go by, then the shower sputters. I get up from the daybed to wipe myself with kitchen paper and get dressed.

When Aisha returns, she is covered by a plain, ankle-length djellabah, with a white towel wrapped loosely around her head. She stands in front of me, just out of reach.

“What the fuck was that about?” she asks. There is an unnerving calm about her.

I want to answer but I can’t find the emotions around which to form the words.

“I am trying to understand – really I am – what would make you think it was okay to treat me like that.” She studies my face like it’s evidence of some un-nameable crime. Contempt flickers in her eyes.

I meet her stare but say nothing. A tear threads down her cheek. She turns away. I want to hold her, to console her, to tell her that I am sorry even though – I realise then, with a sickening jolt – I’m not. I’m not anything. Something is broken inside me and I don’t know how to fix it.

Without saying a word, I go to the front door, open it, and walk out into the empty night.

First published in Hobo Eye, USA, 2008.

[glittermariah]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Loungefly Studio Ghibli Black Spirited Away No-Face Slouch Backpack Floral 16”.

[fighterkimburgess]

Wanted

Summary: After Adam's arrested, Jay and Kim go for dinner and end up realising they've both wanted so much more. (Burgstead)

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: fade to black, case typical talk, mentions of the Infection crossover.

Wanna join my taglist?

--

Kim watched Trudy escort Adam down the stairs, her jaw open as they all stared. It was Adam. He didn’t have a cruel bone in his body. He’d never do anything to jeopardise a case. It couldn’t be true. How the hell could they have enough to arrest him?

Her head just went to the last time a member of their unit ended up in jail, and if anything happened to Adam - if he ended up like Al - she didn’t know if she could cope. Their romantic relationship would never exist again, but he’d become her person. He knew her better than nearly anyone else did.

She sat at her desk, staring at her screen. What even could she do? Her mind was racing, but at least in work she was able to be with people.

“Go home. We’re not gonna get anything done today. Just go home.” Voight stood at the doorway to his office, looking at the five still in the bullpen. “I’m getting in touch with Adam’s FOP lawyer already, he’ll be out on bail in the morning. He’s going to be fine.”

They all stood and began packing up, but Kim just stared at her bag. Her new apartment didn’t feel like home yet, and she didn’t want to be alone. She wanted the last half hour to be a sick nightmare, and she’d wake up and it’d just be a dream she could laugh with Adam and Kev about. But the subtle pinch to the back of her hand proved it was all real.

“Kim, you ok?” Jay stood over her desk, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah. Fine. Kelton’s mayor and Adam’s just been arrested, what could be better?” Her voice was harsher than usual, and she could see Jay’s wince at her words. “Sorry. You get it.”

“I do. Look, I don’t want to go home, I was gonna go get dinner. Let’s go and eat and we can try relax a little? Being alone after today sounds like a bad idea.”

“That actually sounds really good.” She stood, exhaling for the first time in what felt like hours. They went to Jay’s truck, Kim climbing into the high seat, feeling like she was on top of the world in the passenger seat.

They pulled up outside a mom and pop pizza place in Canaryville, Jay parking the truck carefully outside it.

“I used to come here as a kid, they do good deep dish and it’s not really a cop place. I figured it’d be a change,” Jay said as they walked in, waving at the guy behind the counter.

“Halstead! Who do you have here?”

“Lenny, meet Officer Kim Burgess, we work together. It’s been a rough day so I thought she’d want some of the best deep dish in Chicago. Can we get the usual, plus a garden salad?”

“You’ve got it. Kim, what do you want for a drink?”

“Uh, Coke?”

They sat at a booth, Kim relaxing into the worn leatherette seats. It was well cared for and clearly a neighbourhood place. It was silent between the two until the pizza was brought out, cheese bubbling and a salad placed between them.

“I should have asked, it’s meatballs, sausage and pepper. Is that ok? I’ve seen you eat pepper and sausage before.” Jay looked concerned as he spoke, and Kim just laughed.

“It’s fine, seriously. I think I just need food right now. I was going to just go home and open a bottle of wine, but that’d be a bad idea. This looks great.”

Jay cut them both slices, putting one onto Kim’s plate as she watched. It was hot and perfect, exactly what she needed after the day. But even eating made her feel guilty. Was Adam being looked out for? Was he ok? Was he in protective custody? Did they realise he was a cop yet? She pushed the plate away.

“Worried about Adam?”

“I just keep thinking…” Kim trailed off, not sure how to say it.

“Thinking about Al and last year? It’s all I’m thinking of too.” Jay slid her plate back to her. “But Adam would be pissed if you didn’t look after yourself. He’ll be out in the morning. After Al they’re going to keep him safe. We all know about the two of you.”

“The two of us?” Kim laughed. “There’s nothing between us, Jay. There was, but not anymore. Not after Blair and him and Hailey, it’s water under the bridge. He’s my person, but it’s not romantic. I don’t think it could ever be romantic again.” She took a bite, thinking over how to phrase it. “I didn’t realise until recently just how affected by our engagement I was. But I deserve to be happy, and I deserve to be with someone who wants me for me. Someone who I can talk to about things. We let the lust run, and if I’d been thinking I never would have gotten engaged to him when I did. I’m not sorry the relationship happened, but I’m sorry we both got so hurt by it.”

She watched Jay mull over her words, nodding.

“I get it. I feel kind of the same way about Erin. We weren’t engaged, but I had a ring. She didn’t tell me she was leaving. I don’t know how you and Ruzek work together.”

“Are you forgetting he literally went undercover to avoid me?”

They both laughed at that, clinking glasses with their sodas and continuing to eat. When they were full and happy Jay got a box for the leftover pizza, offering it to Kim who refused. He wouldn’t let her pay for the food, he got to keep the leftovers. They were getting ready to get dessert when his cell rang, Kim’s following suit.

“Get to Kelton’s, now.”

It was Kev on the phone, and from Jay’s face he’d gotten a similar call. They left quickly, arriving on the darkened street and walking in to see Kelton’s body on the ground, a bullet hole in his chest and one in his head. The three on the scene started looking, but all that went through Kim’s head was that Adam had gone to jail for absolutely nothing now. They did their search, but there was nothing they could do until the morning. Instead Jay directed patrol to do a door to door, the three of them from Intelligence leaving to go home.

Kim directed Jay to her apartment, but stalled before getting out of the truck.

“Look, I know this is stupid. Can you stay on the couch tonight? After everything I just really don’t want to be alone. If you can’t it’s fine, I get it.”

“Kim, that’s fine. I don’t really want to be alone either.”

She showed him how to get into her parking lot, her own space empty with her car at the precinct. They made it upstairs, Jay bringing the pizza with him for comfort food if they needed it. Once they were in the door, Kim went to her fridge and pulled out two beers, opening them and handing one to Jay.

“To what is officially the worst day I’ve had in years. And I’m including the day Hailey and I were literally abducted in that list.” Jay cringed at her words, memories of realising his partner and Kim had been taken.

“I never apologised to you for that. We should have had your back. When we got back…Ruz was a sight to behold. He was terrified for the two of you.”

“Probably blaming everyone, wasn’t he? You found us. That’s the important part.”

They sat on the couch, flicking between tv channels to avoid the news. Kelton’s face was all over it, and all Kim could feel was that adrenaline flowing through her. To find out who’d done it, to make sure everyone she cared about was safe. Her unit had become her family, and she needed them to all be ok. But she was there with Jay, and he was warm and comforting beside her. His arm was around her shoulders, holding her close, and Kim felt protected and safe with him there.

Once they finished their beers Kim just wanted to stay there on the couch in their own little world. But they were in work in the morning, and she had heard Jay stifle a yawn a few moments before.

“I’ve got the spare room, c’mon and I’ll show you.” She brought him in, pulling out some towels for him to have for the morning. As Kim walked over to the chair to put them down she tripped on the rug. She braced herself to hit the floor, but instead she was pulled up, landing on the soft bed, Jay’s arms around her.

She looked up at his face, at the freckles across the bridge of his nose and the green eyes that she’d known for seven years, that she’d trusted for that long. She didn’t know who moved first, but their lips were on each other, his hand fisting her hair and rolling her on top of him.

Kim didn’t know how long it lasted as they made out like teenagers, gasps and groans between them. She could feel his hand in the back pocket of her jeans, pulling her closer to him as she ran her fingers through his hair. But finally they had to separate for air, breathing deeply and looking at each other.

“Kim…” Jay groaned as they separated, a flare of desire up Kim’s spine at it. When he’d joined the 21st she’d had a crush on Jay, putting it out of her head and doing her job. She’d always known he was gorgeous, but he was a beautiful person. She’d never thought they’d be in this position.

“Jay, please.” His palm was on her hip, fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt.

“Are you sure? I…I don’t want this to be a mistake.”

“I’ve wanted this for longer than I’d admit. Please, Jay, I want you.” She pressed a kiss to his lips, pulling back slightly. “But if you don’t want to, tell me and I can forget this happened. It’s up to you.” Kim pulled away from him, leaving space between them if he wanted it. But Jay kept his hand on her hip, tightening it slightly.

“I want this. I want you. I want us to be sure.” Kim’s immediate move to kiss him again made it clear that she wanted them together.

When the alarm went off on her phone that morning, Kim was confused by the light coming in from the wrong side of her room. But there was an arm around her, and for a moment everything was perfect until the reminder of the previous day hit her solidly. Kelton winning. Adam in prison. Kelton was dead. And they were investigating his murder.

“What time is it?” Jay asked, loosening his grip so Kim could crawl out of the bed to get her phone from her jeans pocket across the room where it had landed.

“Six. We probably need to be in for eight?” She asked, stretching to get ready for the day.

“So we have some time is what you’re saying?” She turned around to see a smirk on Jay’s face, feeling a matching one spread on her own. Normally she’d have worried about morning breath, but Jay pulled her down in a kiss, Kim’s giggles being swallowed by his mouth.

They spent too long wrapped up in each other and had to rush to get ready for work. They didn’t have time for Jay to get home to change, but with the rush of the day nobody would notice, they hoped.

It was in the truck that Jay spoke, startling Kim. “I don’t want that to be a one time thing. I like you, Kim. I really like you. And I think we could have something good.”

Kim reached her hand across, squeezing Jay’s on the shifter. “I think so too. I want this, Jay. I just don’t want to tell anyone until we know what’s happening. I don’t want to wait as long as Adam and Hailey did, but give us a month or so to work out where this is going. Voight doesn’t need to know straight away.”

They made it work, acting normal in work and pretending they weren’t dating outside of it. When she realised Antonio wasn’t coming back, Jay held her while she cried over her guilt on missing her partner’s addiction. If she’d noticed sooner, if she’d spoken up that day at the drug raid, maybe things could have been different. Maybe it could have been easier. Maybe she could have kept him there.

But Jay didn’t make her feel bad, he held her and comforted her, rubbing his hand on her back and kissing her forehead as she calmed. It was the first time in so long that she felt like she could be vulnerable. That night they just held each other, staying close.

When everyone at 51 decided that they should tailgate at a Bears game Kim was all in agreement. She and Jay got ready together, and he nearly didn’t let her go as she put on her shirt, kissing along her neckline.

“Hey, we’ve gotta go. And if you leave any marks I’m going to have to have an awkward conversation with people.” She kissed him one last time, picking up her car keys.

“Kim?” She turned to face him. “I want to tell Voight on Monday. It’s time, and I don’t think we should keep anything from people anymore. You good with that?”

It took three steps for Kim to get back to Jay, kissing him quickly. “We can head in early, be there when he’s arriving and say it quickly. I’ll tell Adam if you tell Hailey? He deserves to know, and you should probably tell your partner you’re dating someone.”

“It’s a date.”

She laughed as she left, driving to Soldiers Field herself. If she’d known what would happen, she never would have gone, she’d have insisted they stayed at Jay’s apartment in their bubble. At least the first part of it was nice, ragging on Kev for not setting up the TV, eating tamales with the girls and chatting, getting to watch Jay out of the corner of her eye as he threw a football with Matt Casey, his shirt riding up just slightly to expose the bottom of his abs. If it wasn’t for a flesh eating virus, it would have been perfect.

It was three days of working and searching, trying to find out what was happening. They didn’t know what was happening, both scared and like ships in the night. Jay would squeeze her shoulder casually as they were in an empty bullpen, or they’d link pinkies in the break room while pouring coffee. It was the longest period of time Kim had slept alone since they’d started dating, and every moment he left the precinct her heart was in her throat with worry for Jay.

When he came back alone, telling them Hailey had been exposed, she could see the worry in his face. Adam, Kev and Vanessa left the precinct to track down a lead, and Voight was downstairs with Trudy. Kim pulled her boyfriend into the hallway at interrogation, squeezing his hand.

“Are you ok?” She looked up at him, fixing his green eyes with her own hazel ones.

“Nope. It’s Hailey, she’s my best friend. I’m worried about her and there’s nothing I can do or say to make it better.” She held onto him for a moment, before deciding to throw caution to the wind and getting on her tip toes to kiss him quickly. They hadn’t kissed since she’d left his apartment, and she’d missed their connection. It was over too quickly, neither really wanting to separate but knowing they had to. Jay wrapped his arms around her, holding her close for a moment and pressing a kiss to the top of her head, a silent reminder that they were there for each other and they had each other. Kim could have stayed like that forever, but the noise of the gate closing made them separate, Kim going to the vending machine to have an excuse to be there. When she came back she put a bag of popcorn on Jay’s desk, his fingers brushing hers in thanks.

They were on the trail, but then the terrifying text from Jay that Will had been abducted by the guy they were trying to find, the rest of the unit racing to Med to find them and make sure they were safe. Kim’s heart was in her mouth as they entered, vests on and weapons close to hand. But then Jay was coming out supporting Will, and she could relax. He was safe. He was fine. She put on a brave face, pretending that she wasn’t so ecstatic while they were around their coworkers and so many people they knew.

That lasted all of thirty seconds, because as soon as Jay spotted her and Choi took a hold of Will he came running, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her in front of their entire unit. Kim stiffened for a moment before relaxing into him, her usual response to being beside Jay and knowing she was safe. Knowing he was there and they were ok and things were going to be fine.

They separated, Jay’s eyes searching hers, and Kim could see the unasked question in them. I know we were gonna tell Voight first but I needed to know you’re ok are we ok?

“We’re good.”

They separated, looking at their unit, Trudy, and most of 51 staring at them as Jay held her hand.

“Have you never seen someone relieved their girlfriend is ok? Really?” Jay looked at them as their joined hands were spotted, Kim leaning into him for comfort.

“I can safely say I don’t think anyone put a bet on the two of you ending up together. There’s been bets on Burgess and Atwater since they were in patrol, and Burgess and Ruzek since they split up.” Kim had known about the bets that Trudy ran on Intelligence, she’d ignored most of them. But her and Kevin? He was like her brother!

“Actually, I did.” They turned to stare at Mouch, standing there with his hand raised like a schoolchild. “When Trudy told me she was keeping the Intelligence Relationships Betting Pool book, I asked if it was betting about anyone, like Burgess and Halstead or Ruzek and Upton. I made a killing on the second one, I didn’t think this would pay off too.”

Kim just shrugged, feeling Jay’s arm around her shoulders. They were sent home for the evening, paperwork could wait until the six were back in work the next morning. She and Jay went to her apartment, laughing at the result of his impromptu kiss.

“What were you even thinking?” Kim asked, looking at his easy smile on her couch.

“I was thinking that the woman I love was in front of me, and we were safe, and I just needed to hold you and know you’re alive.” Kim grinned at his words.

“You love me?”

“You’re incredibly easy to love, Kim Burgess. But yeah, I love you.”

“That’s good, because I love you too, Jay Halstead.”

They decided that they wouldn’t do PDA in work, but they’d arrive in together in the mornings. When they walked in Trudy beckoned them to her desk, the two feeling like they were about to attend their own funerals.

“When did this start?” Platt would never be a woman who would beat around the bush.

“The day Adam was arrested,” Jay responded, standing staring at her, giving the truth. “We went for dinner, got called to Kelton’s murder, left and went back to one of our places. I thought we’d be found out when I wore the same clothes to work the next day.” The look of confusion on Platt’s face was worth the worry that day, the realisation that the group of elite cops had missed such a clear slip up from the new couple.

They went to leave, but Platt called Kim back to her.

“Is he good to you?” The Sergeant asked, looking into Kim’s eyes.

“I’ve never been this happy in a relationship. Ever. Sarge, I’m really lucky to have him.” Platt smiled at the soft expression on Kim’s face, squeezing the officer’s hand.

“You deserve this, Burgess. Go fill out the forms, but I hope you stay this happy.”

When Kim arrived upstairs there was a mug of coffee on her desk, along with some overturned papers. When she turned them over, the thick letters at the top said DISCLOSURE OF RELATIONSHIP. Jay had already filled out his section, and Kim filled out hers quickly, signing and knocking on Voight’s door.

“For you, Sarge.” She handed the forms over, getting a nod from him.

“I never expected this between the two of you, but I know what I saw yesterday. Be happy, Burgess. The two of you deserve some happiness in your life.” She nodded, going back out to her desk. When Jay got sent out on a stakeout that evening he nodded at her, her smile in return. While in the precinct they were in work mode, but as soon as they left they could be soft with each other.

If you’d told Kim she and Jay would have ended up together, she’d have called you a liar. But she couldn’t be happier with him.

[eirabach]

Steady As You Go [2/3]

The further adventures of Gordy’s leather trousers for @olliepig and @mrmustachious and @badthingshappenbingo. TW: Implied Drugging / Spiking, Drinking, and the aftermath of violence. 

It’s actually not as bad as it sounds, honestly, I’m just cautious as fuck.

Prompt Gordon + Caught in an Explosion + Penelope (+ jealousy + disaster bisexual)

Gordon doesn’t bring the next bottle to the table, nor the one after that. They just seem to appear, dropped from the darkness by a large, calloused hand to be poured into glasses and down throats at a rate that would make even the most rum-hardened sailor of Gordon’s acquaintance quake with nauseous horror.

Well, some throats.

One throat. Probably.

Penelope, for her part, tips the glass to her lips often enough but her eyes are sharp, her bursts of laughter far too perfectly timed to be anything but by design.

Gordon's playing it a little more -- fast and loose.

Playing is probably the operative word.

He really can’t drink any more of this stuff though, because otherwise he’s likely to fall right off his perch on the arm of the sofa and Penny -- Penny will be mad. Penny kinda already looks mad. Huh. She lifts the glass to her mouth again, narrowing those over-dark eyes as she does so. Mr Gonna-Be-Arrested turns to beckon at one of the two giant goons that are lingering at the edges of Gordon’s vision, and Penny tosses the majority of the glass over her shoulder where it lands - presumably - in a puddle of other sticky, liquidy stuff that some poor sap will have to mop up in the cold light of day. Her eyes flick to Gordon’s own glass and one tightly drawn eyebrow ticks up. Oh. Oh.

He flicks his wrist.

It’s uh. It’s the wrong wrist.

Mr International-Crime jumps up, shaking little sparkles of champagne from his hands. The goons move in closer, fists tight in the flashing lights.

“Oh dear,” Penny sneers. “What an awful mess!”

Gordon would stick his tongue out at her, but there’s a soggy guy blocking his view and anyway it was her idea.

"Oh, whoops!" He pats at Marc's -- because that's his name, apparently, and apparently he thinks Gordon ought to use it -- freshly dampened trouser leg, "Oh man, gosh I'm so sorry boss! Uh --"

“Now, now,” Marc tuts, and one sticky hand covers Gordon’s. Holds it there, against the damp heat of his thigh. “That wasn’t very nice was it?” He smiles, leers, and half of Gordon knows that this is not at all a good thing. The other, somewhat tipsy, half thinks it looks like quite the promise. He might be Penny’s mark, with all the associations that Gordon’s spent several months trying not to think about,  but it’s Gordon who finds himself caressed by one of those sticky hands. Marc’s cool fingers step down his throat, tilt his chin up, and this -- this really wasn’t the plan at all, but Gordon is nothing but adaptable. In every sense.

Either way, he’s gotta get this guy out of this club somehow.

He licks his lips, sends a silent prayer up that Scott never ever hears about this. “Maybe I just want to get you out of the suit.”

“Oh, is that --”

It’s not the first time he’s had a demijohn of very expensive alcohol poured over his head. 

At least it’s not televised this time.

Gordon splutters in shock, shuddering as leatherette sticks uncomfortably under the unexpected shower. Marc for his part, is staring at something over his head, mouth agape. Gordon twists around, but his protest dies on the tip of his tongue.

“As entertaining as it is watching you flirt with the lower orders, we have business to attend to.” Penelope tosses her wig over her shoulder, and drops the empty bottle onto the couch beside him. Gordon blinks champagne out of his eyes and tries to catch hers, but her focus is entirely on Marc, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol she hasn’t drunk. “Or is my money not as interesting as this -- “ her eyes finally flick down to meet his for half a second. “Boy.”

“Hey lady,” Gordon snaps, “it’s the twenty first century, don’t get jealous.”

Penelope’s cheeks flush a little darker. 

“Marc?”

“Of course -- I --” Marc pushes a damp curl off Gordon’s forehead and honestly it’s kinda a shame that he’s a bad guy because there would have been a time -- still. Marc pulls a keycard from his pocket, pushes it into Gordon’s hand. “Here, go upstairs. When I get back we can have a little chat about your career prospects.”

He bites back the FAB, but doesn’t quite manage to restrain himself from a sloppy sort of salute as he half staggers to his feet. There’s an unpleasant squelching as he does so, and he must have drunk a lot more than he thought because he sways on the spot, the room blurring in and out of focus. Someone, a large, calloused, someone, takes hold of his elbow. 

“‘K, I -- hey, I can -- I can --” Penny and Marc fade into the shadows at the edge of his vision, and then he’s outside, released to slide against the rough brickwork of the alleyway, the night air freezing against his exposed skin. “Hey!”

The dark mountain of a man who’s dropped him outside pauses, but doesn’t turn around. 

“Where’s -- where’s the stairs?”

“If you can find ‘em, up you go,” grumbles the mountain, “Otherwise, I suggest you watch out for the wildlife.” 

A door opens into a world of light and sound, slams behind him, and Gordon thinks -- Gordon thinks --

“What the bleedin’ ‘ell happened to you? Get that bloody thing off!”

Gordon squints into the darkness. Something grey and grubby looking floats in front of him. Two somethings. One and a half. There’s a sharp pain in his neck, and his vision clears enough for him to see the grubby grey things coalesce into Parker, his face screwed up in disgust, a clear bit of plastic hanging from one gloved finger. Gordon rubs at the sore patch and glares up at him.

“What was that for? What’s that?”

“What’s --” he rolls his eyes. “For a group of smart young lads you ain’t ‘arf sheltered. Someone took a shine to you, did they?”

Gordon’s never been ashamed of who he is, never, but he finds the thought of coming out to Parker while wearing wet leather in a grubby alleyway is just a little bit beyond his comfort zone. 

“Uh, he --”

“Take an old man’s advice, lad. Don’t go on a second date,” Parker says sagely, and taps his nose. Then he stands, peers out toward the main road. “Where’s ‘er Ladyship?”

A sharp drill seems to have started up right behind Gordon’s right eyebrow and he forces his fist into his temple as he gets to his feet.

“Leaving, I think. Deal’s on.”

Parker drops the square of plastic to the floor and crushes it beneath the heel of his boot.

“Grand.” He claps his hands together, and shrugs off the battered old overcoat he’d been wearing. “I’ll be orf, then. You ok lad?”

Not really, is the answer, but Gordon has Marc’s keycard in his pocket and he knows that if Penny’s operation is to come off she’s gonna need all the evidence she can get. After all they know from hard experience that catching them red-handed rarely seems to be enough.

“Yeah, sure.” Parker holds out the coat, but it smells kinda funky and Gordon shakes his head. “S’ok, I got -- got a plan.”

Parker peers at him, then sighs. “If you say so. Miss Kayo nearby?”

“Totally,” Gordon assures him. “Go. Penny will need you.”

Parker hums, hesitates a moment longer before grabbing at a nearby rusted shopping trolley filled with more of the funky smelling grey fabric. As Gordon watches the fabric shifts, falling away to reveal a complex looking piece of flashing, bleeping electronics. God, his head hurts. 

“Don’t you fret, Mr Gordon,” Parker assures him as he pulls a remote control from the machinery. “I’ll see to her.”

From high, high above them comes the whine of engines, and they both look up to see FAB1, black as the sky above, hovering over the alleyway. Her VTOLs fill the alley with an unearthly blue light, and in it Gordon sees the carefully cut staircase that leads up and away and into the shadowy building above. 

“Right,” he says. “Right.” 

--

He’d lingered long enough to see Parker and his fancy machinery safely away in FAB1, waiting until he’s sure that he’s alone before approaching the staircase. His head is pounding and his legs are still feeling strange, but he presses upward regardless, keeping one hand on the brick wall to steady himself as the ground falls away. He doesn’t even see the door at first, only the flash of a red light then the green as his keycard passes over it, and he’s not beyond admitting the relief that he feels as it opens inwards and he half falls in.

How long do arms deals take, exactly? He could use a nap.

Except -- Except, oh. Someone may have beaten him to it.

“Hello?”

The feet at the end of the hallway don’t move from where they’re pointing up to the vaulted ceiling. Smart shoes, but not over polished. The cuffs of a pair of dark trousers just visible over navy socks.

When they were kids John always used to say that Gordon was too stupid to feel fear, and sometimes, sometimes that was probably true. Sorta. He's always been more about the rush, the adrenaline, fear to him has rarely been a baseline negative anyway. It works for him. Mostly.

Thunderbird four surveys the corridor. Spots the darkly spreading stain on the wooden flooring. Slows his pace to a stop. The air smells like rust and sulphur, the silence is thick as blood.

There’s an old style umbrella stand just beyond the door, and he takes hold of it, grips the central pillar tight as he takes another step forward.

“My name’s Gordon,” he calls. “I’m here to help. Can you answer me?” 

He reaches the end of the corridor, umbrella stand extended like a rapier and the answer -- well, the answer is no.

The man, or what’s left of him, lies sprawled on his back, glazed eyes and mouth wide in a silent scream, russet dried in thick rivulets around the gaping wound in his chest and where it had poured from him to pool around his feet. There’s a gun still loosely held in one blue hand. Safety off. One in the chamber.

He’d been prepared, but too slow on the draw. Poor bastard.

Gordon drops his umbrella stand and reaches down to peel the stiff fingers away from the gun, He clicks the safety back on, and stuffs it, as best as he can manage, into the waistband of his trousers. Unsure of what else to use under the circumstances, he unbuttons his sticky, sodden waistcoat and lays it gently over the staring, screaming face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am.”

He has to bodily force himself back up to his feet, his body aching something rotten, but it doesn’t matter, not compared to the spark of absolute dread that burns through him as he looks around the apartment proper.

It's wrecked.

Every drawer, every table is tipped over, their contents scattered far and wide and battered by what looks like several pairs of boot prints. There's gunpowder streaked up the walls, smatterings of red brown across overturned sofas, and maybe Gordon ought to give his dead guy a little bit more credit. 

Maybe he's just a shit shot.

Glass crunches underfoot as Gordon cautiously pushes on the closest, half shut door. Behind it lies the bedroom, simple enough with bare brick walls and a grey coverlet on the king size bed, but it's not much better than the rest of the place, not really. The wardrobes are open, contents spilling all over the floor, a pair of handcuffs and a sheet of those funny little bits of plastic hanging from the bedside cabinet -- and wires, dozens of wires, pulled from the ceiling, from the walls and amongst it all, the only life in the whole godforsaken place, a tiny, holographic image of Penny with the words sale agreed flashing above her dark head and beside her, scrawled on a light type by another hand:

That damn girl.

And half drunk and half naked, sticky and cold and yeah, probably coming down from something, with a dead body in the next room and in the middle of a gangland battlefield, that’s the moment Gordon Tracy finally, truly feels fear.

[passionate-reply]

THE NORMAL - “T.V.O.D.”

The writings of science fiction author J. G. Ballard were all the rage in Britain during the late 70′s and early 80′s. Ballard’s works dealt with the ugliest elements of human sexuality, crumbling urban blightscapes, and the menace of modern technology, warping the landscape and rebuilding both our world and our inner selves in its own image. Most famously, in his 1973 novel Crash, he wove a tale of a cult-like affiliation of individuals who literally fetishize automobile crashes. For Ballard, the car crash was the ultimate symbol of the catastrophe of the modern--the shiny, beautiful, perfect machine, meeting its end and ending those within it in a gruesome spectacle of shattering glass.

For the music artists of the early industrial, cold- and minimal wave scene, Ballard was particularly indispensable. His fingerprints are obvious in the work of Gary Numan and John Foxx, of course, but perhaps the clearest representation of his ideas in musical form was the one-off single “Warm Leatherette,” created by Daniel Miller, the founder of Mute Records. It was the only thing ever released under the name of his musical side-project, “The Normal,” created for the purpose of being the first thing Mute released. 

Well, actually, the single was “T.V.O.D.,” but people loved “Warm Leatherette” so much that it eclipsed the popularity of the intended A-side, and later pressings of it would reverse which song was which. “Warm Leatherette” remains iconic and beloved, having seen a great many covers and reinterpretations over the years, most famously by Grace Jones, who replaced that harsh sting of the synthesiser with a pretty rhythmic reggae guitar hook. (Although my favourite cover is that of Slovenian industrial outfit Laibach, which adds quite a bit of complexity, even Classical touches, to the minimal track.)

Times have changed, and the strange anxiety over automobiles spurred by Ballard doesn’t seem to have the same appeal as it did in the 20th Century. With people looking forward to futures with alternative fuels and self-driving vehicles, the muscle car as totemic icon of independence, masculinity, and sexuality is quickly fading away. But I think that “T.V.O.D.,” about a person who uses and abuses popular media like a dangerous street drug, couldn’t feel more relevant in a world where the escapism and fantasy of “TV” are available in our pockets all the time, and the budgets and esteem of television shows have risen to parallel cinema. It’s got a little bit more going on musically than “Warm Leatherette” does, but it’s still icy, morose, and frightening as ever.

[antiques-for-geeks]

LCD Golf Games

Somebody, somewhere has to review these things?!

OK, first a little context. While my wife was in hospital waiting for the arrival of our daughter my brain desperately looked for some sort of worry release valve in the long hours between hospital visits. I did what any normal man would in this situation. I set about trying to put together the best damn collection of handheld LCD golf games the world has ever seen! They were mysterious! (nobody was interested enough to discuss them). They were plentiful! (as unwanted gifts often are). They were super cheap! (the sellers could barely give them away). Now, a couple of years later I have a happy and healthy daughter but also, crucially, a box full of assorted unplayed handheld golf games.

…and I’m going to tell you lucky people all about them!

Outside of the Nintendo’s Game and Watch series, LCD handheld games are often disregarded in the world of retro gaming. In a lot of cases this is fully justified; they lack the appealing mini-arcade aesthetic and bright colours of the larger tabletop VFD games, and there’s so much low quality landfill to be found, especially in some of the later licensed efforts from companies like Acclaim and Tiger. Let’s be honest - we only ever played them for want of something better.

Despite this I still find something fascinating about the attempt to create engaging gameplay using such limited technology. LCD games can only display their images in a series of fixed positions, so that’s a pretty severe limitation. This goes doubly for something like showing an 18 hole golf course with a variety of hazards like bunkers and lakes. Yet here are a handful of games that attempt to do just that - recreating your favourite ruined walk with what amounts to a slightly beefed up watch display.

Pro Golf 

Bandai / 1985

The first, and earliest of my collection is this effort from Bandai, a well respected and prolific handheld game maker back in the 80’s. Many of these golf games were aimed squarely at the bored executive market, and were therefore often found in plastic-leather slip cases. This one has a nice little ring bound course guide attached, filling in the details that an LCD display can’t. This is definitely the simplest of these games; your only input is to select your club and time the swing. There are no complications like shot positioning, wind direction or the camber of the green to contend with. The courses do have a selection of water hazards and bunkers to avoid. This simplicity really works in the game’s advantage, because there’s a pretty clear relation between what you think should happen and what gets shown on the screen.

All these games seem very similar when it comes to taking a shot, with a single action button. You press the button, you see your little LCD golfer take his swing, you press again (or maybe release) at the end of the up swing to select power, then again when the downswing reaches the ball for accuracy. Between this and club selection there’s enough going on to make this 100 times more engaging than what the majority of arcade style handhelds could offer at the time. It’s also worth noting that all these golf games have a two player mode where each player alternates their shot, adding to the longevity. In a twisted sort of way golf is the perfect subject for the humble handheld!

Despite this I would like to see you have tried to make me choose this over my Astro Wars tabletop back in 1985.

Summing up, there’s enough variety for this to have been a decent time waste on a long train journey (assuming you didn’t hate golf) and the graphics are nice and clear. The sound is just beeps and a crappy tune, but you can switch if off to avoid a riot in the quiet coach. A thumbs up!

World Challenge Golf 2 

Bandai / 1991

Here’s another effort from Bandai, and this one is quite a bit more involved. It’s stored in another leatherette slip case …but this time there’s a set of laminated cards provided, with the hole numbers written on each side. One end of each card has a background for the course, with the par and length to the pin, as well as a small map. The other end has the layout of the green, with some arrows showing which way it runs. Before playing each hole you slide these cards into a slot so they show behind the LCD screen, providing scenery ‘graphics’. This is exactly the kind of thing I find very cool about old tech - an ingenious solution to get around the inherent limitations of the LCD handheld. Ignore the fact that the classic Gameboy had already been released by this point and Nintendo’s Golf kicks all of these dedicated handhelds right into the gutter… using laminated cards as the background is awesome, and should be applauded.

Anyway, back to the game, you can now select shot direction, though in a very limited way. You can also see where you ball lies on the small course map, though the 3D view of the course and the swinging golfer are smaller and less detailed than the earlier game. Once you get to the green, you can see the ball position in a top-down view against the background card, and need to adjust for the camber.

Despite my admiration for the sheer ingenuity shown by this game, I have mixed feelings about it. It feels like the designers have bitten off more than they can chew. It is playable, but in trying to provide all the features of a fully fledged computer golf game it only highlights the fact that you’re not playing something better. It’s also significantly less easy to pick up and play than before.

Despite my misgivings, I like this one a lot as a collectible curiosity and it does come the closest to feeling like you’re actually in control of where the ball is going on the course. The sound is still beeps and a crappy tune which can be turned off.

Championship Golf 2

Radio Shack / Tandy / Late 1980’s?

I’ve seen various different re-branded versions of Radio Shack’s Championship Golf, but this one is a larger two screen effort, with individual buttons for club selection. No slip case this time, but it does have a built in screen protector with the course maps in a pouch on the underside. It’s less pocketable than the Bandai games but on the upside it takes AAA batteries, and it feels robust and well built. This one has 2 different 18 hole courses - apparently these are Japan and the USA. You can’t see storks dipping in ornamental koi ponds in Japan or try to nail Trump with a wayward drive in the USA, but the course layouts do change. The left screen shows a top-view of the course, while the right shows the traditional behind-the-golfer view.

You can’t select the shot direction, though your shot can wander into the rough if you mistime your button press on the down stroke. Though the golfer view is slightly lacking in detail, you’re shown exactly where your ball is on the overhead map screen, and this really adds to the playability. There is a wind indicator, but it’s only ever toward you, behind you or calm.

This is a really nice effort, with most of the simplicity of the earlier Bandai game, but with sensible additions to add some extra depth.

The sound is still beeps and a crappy tune which can be turned off.

Tournament Golf 

Radica / 1999

This Radica unit has a nice big screen, with lots of detail on the golfer and the course, though I don’t like the plasticy case much - I miss the fake leather and solidity of the earlier games! The swing button is shaped like a golf ball, and is fairly satisfying to press. There are 4 different courses to play though, which is very generous.

The representation of the golfer’s swing is the best yet here, with a large and very clear meter prominent in the bottom right of the screen. This shows power, indicates fade and draw (your shot veering left and right) and gives a power indicator for putting. This game features a really detailed wind effect, with direction and strength. The wind even changes as you wait to take your shot for extra realism. Choosing power and correcting left and right for the effect of the wind should a lot to this game, but the limitations of that LCD display spoil the effect for me. Because there’s no overhead course view it’s quite hard to reconcile what you can see on the screen with what’s happening in the game, and that really matters when you’ve got so many game variables to deal with. It’s also a pig to time a shot when you’re close to the pin without pinging out the other side.

One excellent feature of this game is the sleep mode. There’s no off button, but if you leave it alone for a minute the screen turns off, and you can pick up your game at a later time. This is perfect for gaming on the go.

I’m perhaps being unduly harsh, but this is probably my least favorite so far. Despite the clear graphics and greater complexity it lacks the charm of some of the earlier efforts.

On the up side, this one at least has a digitised swoosh when you hit the ball. You’ll still want to turn it off though…

Talking Golf Master

Systema  /1997

On to the final of our selection of games, this effort is from Systema, a well known maker of really average LCD games. This one has a plastic flip cover, with course maps and club distances on the inside. It doesn’t exactly feel premium, sharing that cheap plasticy feel with the Radica game. Worse, the action buttons are recessed little behind the cover, making it slightly awkward and uncomfortable to press them. I figure LCD game designers had given up trying to impress anyone by the mid 90’s.

The game itself is largely OK, with a very basic direction control and simple wind conditions, but the graphics are about as basic as the two screen Radio Shack game, without the benefits that the overhead course screen brought. The sound seems to be a real selling point for Systema, but it’s irritating beyond belief, with constant super loud bleeps punctuating your play. There are some sound samples; a brief compressed second of bird song or occasional encouragement from your caddy. You’re sure to love the attention you get on the bus as he waxes lyrical about how good your hole was.

You can turn it off, and you’ll want to. I’d give this one a miss.

The 19th Hole

At last we’ve come to the end of our review! Back to the clubhouse for a steak pie... I feel like a complete golf casualty now. The games can lie safely in their boxes for another few years. My daughter is sure to love LCD golf time with daddy, no?

[vicky643]

Sofa Care Guide for New Sofa

We recognize the significance of preserving your couch in ideal situation via the years. That’s why we’ve accrued a few hints and hints that would are available on hand to make certain that your new piece of furnishings will offer the identical degree of consolation and incredible seems for longer.

Fading Protection

While all textiles fade with time as a part of their herbal antiquing process, we pretty much endorse fending off putting the leatherette sofa direct solar or different warmth reacts like radiators. If you need to position your couch close to a window, hold the curtains and blinds drawn or dipped whilst the solar is shining the brightest.

Cushions Protection

Cushions free quantity with time – that’s additionally a herbal process, to make certain they’re toughness after each use plump them firmly after each use. If your couch has designer cushion covers, it’s additionally a great concept to rotate them every so often simply to keep away from choppy wear.

Stains and Spills

Doesn’t count number how cautious we’re going to be subsequently It’s certain to happen. Once you spill some thing to your couch it’s crucial to behave immediately. Soak the spillage with a smooth material or towel after which use a hairdryer and dry the region from a secure distance (round 30cm) to keep away from the watermarks. If you’re at risk of this sort of accidents, it’s additionally a great concept to shield your couch with the aid of using treating it with upholstery protector.

General Cleaning & Advice

You have to vacuum your sofa on an everyday foundation to minimise dirt accumulation, that could bring about everlasting blemishes at the fabric. If your couch wishes a radical cleaning, as opposed to trying to smooth it yourself, rent a nearby professional to do it. We don’t endorse sitting at the couch's hands or the front edge, considering that this could quicken the wear and tear process. Also, do not practice any weight on a couch's facet panels, specially the outer hands and again panels.

[decentfurniture]

BUNK BED FABRIC, Looking for the perfect bunk bed ? You’ve come to the right place! Choosing a bunk bed online might seem like a daunting task, but we make it easier to shop online at www.decentfurniture. The Gemini bunk bed is the perfect choice for your bedroom, the matt-finished black frames with a touch of colour adds that fun element to last for all their growing years. With the addition of an easily accessible ladder, you will love nap time more than playtime. Our bunk beds are available in many colours: bright orange and bright pink etc, If you have a small space and you're looking to make sleep fun, our bunk bed is a steal! Avoid keeping very hot or very cold materials on the wood directly, always use coasters or mats. Any spillage should be wiped dry with a soft cloth immediately as there is a chance of staining. Colour/polish can fade due to prolonged exposure to sunlight. Avoid using abrasive materials like scrub pads for cleaning metal surfaces as they may scratch the surface. KeeP sharp objects away from your sofa. A little tear on the fabric cover may be hard to repair. For Leather and Leatherette furniture, avoid exposure to water or prolonged moisture. In case of a stain, a water-free fabric cleaner can be used. However, avoid applying the cleaner directly on the stain. Pour the cleaner onto a clean cloth and test its effect on a hidden area of the furniture before cleaning the stain with the For any queries call on this no 9619855061 #decentfurniture #furniture #furnituremaker #livingroomsofa #homefurniture https://www.instagram.com/decentfurniture101/p/CYBfpdRodF4/?utm_medium=tumblr

[gtexfabrics]

All you need to know about Leatherette

Leatherette Manufacturer - GTEX Fabrics

Leatherette, also referred to as faux Leather, synthetic Leather, artificial Leather, or pleather, is not real Leather but a man-made replica of original Leather made from vinyl or a type of plastic designed to look and feel like natural Leather. Leatherette is used to make sofas, shoes, belts, wallets, purses, vehicle upholstery, and other lifestyle products that we use in our everyday life. Leatherette or artificial Leather does not fade during the long run, whereas the expensive genuine Leather, on the other hand, will get faded when exposed to sunlight.

Leatherette is much cheaper than Leather, making it the best option for household furnishing at an affordable price. The plastic used in the process gives the Leatherette products a shiny look, which the original Leather lacks. Besides, even the Leatherette's cutting edge is cleaner and smoother, so the finished product is very tidy and polished.

GTEX Fabrics is one of the best manufacturer of Artificial leather and also, they are the among the biggest exporters of Synthetic Leather. Some vehicle proprietors select Leatherette over real Leather on the grounds that the engineered material conveys a lot of advantages. These days, the automobiles have Leatherette, which mostly looks much like genuine animal hide that it is too difficult to differentiate.

Image:-

PVC Leather Exporters- GTEX Fabrics

Since Leatherette is certifiably not a permeable material, it is waterproof, making it simple to wipe away filth with just a wet cloth. It is also the most appropriate option for people with kids since it comes with low maintenance and does not require tedious support or cleaning specialists. Besides, it is also less porous than the original Leather and consequently, it becomes easy to clean and maintain.

Processing of Leatherette is simple yet complicated because of the chemical compound that manufacturer of synthetic leather use different types of chemical that can be proceed to make the leatherette.

Going for Leather or Leatherette is a personal choice, depending on the climate conditions, lifestyle, maintenance and other concerning factors.

But the best thing about Leatherette is that it comes in many different colors. The material that you need to manufacture Leatherette is processed chemical, so this prevents animal hunting. And because no animals are harmed in the manufacturing of Leatherette, Leatherette's production becomes very animal-friendly.

Because of these impressive features, Leatherette is the most preferred lifestyle necessity choice. Besides, with timely maintenance, Leatherette is bound to last good for a minimum of ten years.

GTEX Fabrics are the Manufacturers of Leatherette for every occasion and Exporters of Leatherette worldwide. So if you are looking forward to buying high-quality Leatherette products, feel free to reach out to us.

[mclartynissan-blog]

Watch for more info on the 2018 New Armada SALE!!

Here’s a brand new 2018 Nissan Armada:

New 2018 NISSAN ARMADA 4X4 SL All Wheel Drive Sport Utility        

501-550-4268

           All Wheel Drive

           https://www.mclartynissanbenton.com/inventory/new-2018-nissan-armada-4x4-sl-all-wheel-drive-sport-utility-jn8ay2ncxj9555762 for more info!

Heated Front Bucket Seats w/Driver Memory -inc: 10-way power adjustable drivers seat including 2-way power lumbar and 8-way power adjustable passenger seat including 2-way lumbar

60-40 Folding Split-Bench Front Facing Manual Reclining Flip Forward Cushion/Seatback Rear Seat

Power Tilt/Telescoping Steering Column

Fixed 60-40 Split-Bench 3rd Row Seat Front, Power Recline, Power Fold Into Floor, 2 Manual and Adjustable Head Restraints

Leather/Metal-Look Steering Wheel w/Auto Tilt-Away

Front Cupholder

Rear Cupholder

Valet Function

Remote Releases -Inc: Power Cargo Access

HomeLink Garage Door Transmitter

HVAC -inc: Underseat Ducts, Headliner/Pillar Ducts and Console Ducts

Illuminated Locking Glove Box

Driver Foot Rest

Full Cloth Headliner

Leather Gear Shift Knob

Interior Trim -inc: Simulated Wood/Metal-Look Instrument Panel Insert, Simulated Wood Door Panel Insert, Metal-Look Console Insert and Metal-Look Interior Accents

Leatherette Door Trim Insert

Driver And Passenger Visor Vanity Mirrors w/Driver And Passenger Illumination

Day-Night Auto-Dimming Rearview Mirror

Full Floor Console w/Locking Storage, Full Overhead Console w/Storage, 3 12V DC Power Outlets and 1 AC Power Outlet

Front And Rear Map Lights

Fade-To-Off Interior Lighting

Full Carpet Floor Covering

Carpet Floor Trim

Trunk/Hatch Auto-Latch

Cargo Area Concealed Storage

Cargo Space Lights

Integrated Navigation System w/Voice Activation

NissanConnect Services Tracker System

Smart Device Integration

Memory Settings -inc: Door Mirrors

Instrument Panel Bin, Driver / Passenger And Rear Door Bins and Audio Media Storage

Delayed Accessory Power

Outside Temp Gauge

Analog Display

Manual Anti-Whiplash Adjustable Front Head Restraints and Manual Adjustable Rear Head Restraints

Front Center Armrest and Rear Center Armrest

1 Seatback Storage Pocket

Perimeter Alarm

Engine Immobilizer

3 12V DC Power Outlets

3 12V DC Power Outlets and 1 AC Power Outlet

Wheels: 20" Machined Finish Painted Alloy

Tires: P275/60R20 AS BSW

Aluminum Spare Wheel

Full-Size Spare Tire Stored Underbody w/Crankdown

Clearcoat Paint

Body-Colored Rear Step Bumper

Body-Colored Front Bumper w/2 Tow Hooks

Colored Fender Flares

[glittermariah]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Loungefly Studio Ghibli Black Spirited Away No-Face Slouch Backpack Floral 16”.

[perksofwifi]

2020 Mazda CX-30 First Drive: Recipe for Success

The 2020 Mazda CX-30 hopes to make lemonade out of lemons. In this case, the lemons are the growing number of American customers who continue to look away from handsome sedans and hatchbacks such as the Mazda3 in favor of crossovers. And with that in mind, Mazda came up with a new recipe, one that uses the Mazda3’s chassis to create the new CX-30, set to arrive in showrooms just in time for Christmas.

Slotting in between the CX-3 and CX-5, the 2020 CX-30 also borrows styling cues from the Mazda3, showcasing the automaker’s latest iteration of Kodo design with clean lines and smooth curves. The thick plastic cladding bordering the wheel wells may be controversial, but necessary to reduce the sheetmetal’s visual mass. The round LED rear turn signals that fade out are a cool and unique touch.

Under the hood is the same 2.5-liter four-cylinder engine found in the Mazda3. Rated at 186 hp and 186 lb-ft of torque, it’s mated to a six-speed automatic transmission driving the front wheels. Our tester had the optional all-wheel-drive system. The CX-30 puts down power in a noticeably more peppy and responsive manner compared to many of its competitors saddled with laggy turbos and continuously variable transmissions. The CX-30 isn’t much heavier than the Mazda3 from which it’s based, so power feels adequate, though more oomph at highway passing speeds would be welcome. We’re crossing our fingers that Mazda’s 2.5-liter turbo eventually finds its way to the CX-30. With EPA estimates ranging from 24-25 mpg city and 31-33 mpg highway (depending on trim), the CX-30 won’t be the most miserly among competitors, but it’s a small sacrifice to pay for those who value performance.

With a ground clearance of 7.9 inches, the CX-30 sits 2.4 inches higher than the Mazda3. Thankfully its taller stance doesn’t have a negative effect on handling, as it seemingly tackles sweeping corners with the control and balance of the fun-to-drive Mazda3. Brakes are excellent, befitting of a Miata, with firm feel and short travel. Suspension tuning is on the firm side, but overall ride quality is relatively smooth, especially considering our tester’s 18-inch wheels (16s are standard). The rear end occasionally dances a bit at highway speeds above 70 mph, but not often enough to be a nuisance. Road noise could be quieter, but seems to be on par with the segment.

Where the CX-30 excels, however, is interior design and quality. Like the Mazda3, the soft touch surfaces on the dash and door panels wouldn’t be out of place in an Audi, and the same goes for the knurled HVAC knobs and the instrument panel’s digital screen. The infotainment screen placed high on the dashboard also looks premium and is operated by a fairly intuitive mix of buttons and a rotary knob that sit just below the gear shifter. Highlights from our fully loaded test car include a head-up display, powerful and clear Bose sound system, and a power rear liftgate.

Price of entry for a base model, front-drive CX-30 is $22,945 and the list of standard features is impressive: LED headlights, rain-sensing wipers, lane-keep assist, emergency brake assist, and adaptive cruise control that remains active in stop-and-go traffic. Apple CarPlay and Android Auto will require a step up to the Select Package ($24,945), which also includes 18-inch wheels, dual-zone climate control, rear HVAC vents, privacy glass, and leatherette seats. Preferred Package-equipped CX-30s cost $27,245 and add heated front seats, power-adjustable driver’s seat, Bose sound system, and satellite radio. Finally, the range-topping Premium Package ($29,245) throws in more tech and luxury including leather seats, the head-up display, paddle shifters, sunroof, and power liftgate. All-wheel drive is optional on all trims for $1,400.

So why should you spend the extra coin for a CX-30 over a Mazda3 aside from its higher seating position and pseudo off-roader looks? For starters, there’s more room for rear passengers. Its 36.3 inches of rear legroom provides 1.2 inches more than the 3, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but it’s definitely noticeable. Cargo room behind the rear seats is on par with the Mazda3 hatchback, but interestingly enough, the CX-30 provides 1.9 cubic feet less space than the Mazda3 with the rear seats folded down. It can also be optioned with roof rails for your outdoor gear, and the CX-30 debuts Mazda’s new Connected Services system (standard across the lineup), which includes Wi-Fi hotspot and over-the-air updates for the infotainment system. Mazda Connected Services also interacts with the CX-30 via your personal device, allowing you to start the engine remotely, lock/unlock doors, send destination details to the navigation system, and monitor vitals like oil levels, tire pressures, and more.

With sharp styling, fun driving dynamics, loads of tech, and an impressive interior, the 2020 CX-30 should have no problem attracting would-be Mazda3 buyers who are better suited for a crossover. The automaker thinks it can snag Lexus UX and Buick Encore prospects, too. And based on our time with the small Mazda, that goal should be fairly easy to reach.

The post 2020 Mazda CX-30 First Drive: Recipe for Success appeared first on MotorTrend.

https://www.motortrend.com/cars/mazda/cx-30/2020/2020-mazda-cx-30-first-drive-review/ visto antes em https://www.motortrend.com