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nadjaofstatenisland · 5 years

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“You’re late.”

Alice puts on her best stern face, but Gladys pays her no mind. Instead the brunette kicks her bag under the bar and pulls on the collar of her blue work shirt to take a sniff. Alice sucks her teeth and starts pouring another beer for the kid standing in front of her.

“Look alive, Cohen. I said you’re late.”

Gladys steps into her personal space and some beer sloshes onto Alice’s hand. Gladys tugs her shirt towards her.

“Take a whiff. Do I smell?”

Alice slams the wet glass on the bar and snatches the crumbled up bills from the kid’s hand. He’s too young to drink - hell, she’s too young to drink too - but it’s a party going on and it’s the Southside of town and normal rules don’t apply in places like the Whyte Wyrm.

The kid slaunders off looking put out and even younger than he is in his way-too-big letterman. Alice crosses her arms, discreetly wiping her hands on the inside of her open flannel shirt, as Gladys inches ever so close. Her breasts press against Alice’s arm and she can see the smirk on Gladys’ face without looking.

“Al,” Gladys nudges her with a sneakered foot, “do I smell? I think I got some motor oil on my shirt. Well do I? Al? Alice Smith?” She nudges her shoulder. “Can you hear me? I’m right -”

“Yes, you reek. You smell like a goddamn garage.” Alice shrugs her off and takes a step away, taking in the sight of the bar. There were too many blue and yellow jackets for her to be at ease. “Can’t you bother to shower before you get here?”

“We’re fixing up a Mustang at the garage. I lost track of time.”

“It got real busy here for a while, you know.” Alice tries to sneak a look at the four loud boys whooping at the pool table, but Gladys’ gaze is burning a hole in her. “And I was all alone, left to deal with these drunk morons.”

Hog Eye isn’t even ten feet away doing a crossword puzzle at a table. They both know he’d never let the bar get backed up when there were Northside kids here with good money burning holes in their pockets, but Gladys keeps her mouth shut at Alice’s lie. She unbuttons the top of her work shirt, exposing the tank top underneath.

“Please, Gladys.” Alice mockingly covers her eyes, as if Gladys has anything she hasn’t seen before. “I asked you here to tend bar, not entertain.”

The words would cut if she was on the receiving end, but Gladys is all smiles. “This place couldn’t afford to get me up on that stage.” Her expression changes as she pulls her shirt over her head. She looks either way around the bar, grin tilting. “Are we in school or something?”

Alice leans back, finally getting her glance in at the boys hogging the pool table. Fred’s running his hands through his hair in exaggerated frustration, FP has a sour look on his face, and -

A hand in front of her eyes brings her back to the bar. “What’s going on? Why is the entire football team here? I’ve told FP a million times the less I see of those stupid jackets, the happier I am.“

“You know we won that big game against Seaside High last night?” Gladys’ expression doesn’t change. “Well, we did. And since it was an away game, the team got home late so,” she waves her hand around the bar, “they decided to celebrate tonight.”

“Right.” Gladys rubs her bare arms. “And this is their idea of celebrating?”

“I guess they want to live life on the edge.” She rolls her eyes. “A bunch of dumb jocks slumming around a scummy bar.”

“Hey, you frequent this scummy bar all the time.”

“Not by choice.”

“Hmm. Where is FP?” She scans the place. “He can’t be too happy about his football buddies hanging around his stomping grounds.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” She drops her voice. “He’s in disguise.”

Alice head snaps back to the pool table to gesture at them. Of the four boys, only FP is sporting his RHS colors, yet he still looks more in place than the other three. Gladys cranes her neck to look at them and a mischievous grin comes upon her.

“My, my. What have we here?”

Alice bites her lip as she stares down the foursome. Hiram is in the middle of a celebratory dance and Fred and FP look sulky. The other -

“How did FP drag Fred here?”

The fourth boy lines up his shot on the pool table and Alice feels her breathe hitch. “Probably bribed him.”

Gladys laughs. “Oh I bet he did.” She does a rude gesture with her hand and mouth that earns a smile from Alice. “Are they hustling Northside boys?”

“Fred’s a Northside boy.”

“Northside boys with money, I mean. No one would be dumb enough to hustle Fred’s broke ass.”

The boy makes his shot and Hiram claps him hard on the back as he sinks a ball. “Sure looks like hustling to me. But Fred’s selling it too hard. Every time he misses a shot he starts throwing a fit. Good thing Hiram’s too stupid or drunk to notice.”

“Hiram’s not stupid.” Gladys goes about wiping down the wet rings on the bar with a rag. “He’s just cocky, arrogant.”

“That’s worse than being stupid.” Alice catches a lump in her throat. “He’s not even on the football team. God knows why he’s here.”

“Neither’s Fred.” Gladys pauses mid-wipe and looks over her shoulder. “Lodge is friends with Coop, he’s probably with him.” She shakes her head and returns to wiping down the counter. “Poor idiots. They’re going to walk out of here with no shoes.”

Alice clicks her teeth. “Yeah, well. It’s what they get. They’re not from this side of town.”

“Neither is Fred.” Gladys parrots her words for a moment ago.

“Fred is - Fred is Southside by association. Plus he and FP are trying to save up enough to buy a van. It’s as good a cause as any to scam some rich boys, right?”

“Right.” Gladys nods. “Hey, if they make enough tonight I bet I can weasle some two am milkshakes out of them.”

“I’d kill for a rootbeer float right now.” Alice peeks at the boys again. Hal Cooper’s looking in her direction and she snaps her head back so quick her hair brushes Gladys’ bare shoulder. “I’m just craving something sweet is all.”

Gladys raises an eyebrow and looks back towards the pool table. “Something sweet alright. Is that why your panties are in a twist?” She breaks out a cheeky grin. “Fred and FP ripping off the wrong rich boy tonight?”

“I don’t give a shit if Hiram Lodge is stupid enough to fall for the oldest trick in the book,” she scoffs. The heat rises in her face and her voice comes out several octaves higher than she cares for. “The pool scam? How dumb can you be?” She grabs a bottle of tequila from the wall and pours herself a shot. “Hasn’t he ever seen a movie or anything?”

Alice downs her shot and Gladys takes the glass before she can slam it on the bar. “Panties twisted,” she whispers an inch from her face. Alice swats her away and goes to tend to the group walking up.

“You’re so testy tonight, Al. I’m only messing with you.” Gladys hands off the beers Alice fills from the tap. “I know you have better taste than him.”

“Damn right I do.” She passes off the last beer and makes no move to give change for the ten they pass her. She raises an eyebrow and the group shuffles off looking embarrassed. “My type is the exact opposite of whatever Hiram Lodge is.”

“I get it.” Gladys nods. “You don’t go for short, dark, and handsome. Nope. You’d prefer tall, blonde, and boring.”

“Hal is not boring,” Alice hisses. She half glances over her shoulder. “Don’t you call him that.”

“Who said anything about Hal?” Gladys smirks at her confession. “But you did actually call him that last week.”

“I - no. Of course I didn’t.”

“Hiram said something dumb to you and you said,” she clears her throat and tries to mimic Alice’s high voice, “‘You think you’re so tough just because you have tall, dark, and stupid and tall, blonde, and boring with you.’ Ring a bell?”

She remembers the exact moment, coming out of the cafeteria and walking smack dab into Hiram with Marty Mantle and Hal Cooper on either side of him. Hiram falling flat on his ass and telling her to watch her attitude as Hal lifted him back up.

Alice shrugs. “I don’t remember that.”

“Of course not.” Gladys’ eyes search the smokey ceiling. “I just didn’t peg him as your type is all. Alice Smith drooling over some broad shouldered, all American boy who’d look better suited in a Leave it to Beaver rerun than a bar on the Southside. I’ve really seen it all now.”

“I’m not - he is not my type!” she hisses. "I don’t have a type! There is no drooling here! He’s just - just nice is all.”

“Nice and boring.” Alice glares at her. “Sorry. I just don’t get it.”

“Well no one is asking you to.” Alice plays with the loose button of her flannel. “He’s just kind of - of cute. And I like his articles in the school paper. And maybe I like,” she sighs, “caught him drawing in English class one day and we got to talking and everything, but that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t like him. He’s not my type. I don’t have a -”

“Well, your type or not, he won’t stop staring at us.” Gladys peeks over Alice’s shoulder and gives a little wave. Alice pulls her hand down and whips her head around. Hal is looking at them, but Gladys’ wave is directed at FP. Hiram’s bent over the table lining up a shot as FP makes a crude thrusting gesture behind him and Fred fake coughs to cover up his laughter.

Gladys shakes her head. “FP’s so stupid,” she says, but there’s a smile on her face and adoration in her eyes. Alice doesn’t know whether it’s sweet or sickening. “He’s like the teenage version of a puppy.”

“Uh huh.” Alice can feel Hal watching her even though she isn’t looking. “Trying to hump everything around him. Sure sounds like a dog to me.”

“Hey, barkeep!” Alice hears FP scream, even over the music blasting. “Mind bringing me and my boys over here some shots?”

Gladys cups her hands around her mouth. “Sorry, jock. Table service is for fellows from this side of town only. Guess you’ll have to come up here yourself.”

FP licks his lips. “There might be a nice tip in it for you.”

“Yeah? With what money?” She has the attention of half the bar. “You look like you’re about to lose the shirt off your back!”

He winks their way and turns back to the game. The patrons - still far too many Riverdale High students for her taste - slowly turn back to their own business. She catches a glimpse of Marty Mantle by the dart board looking stupid as ever in his varsity jacket, playing against some Serpents who look ready to tear him apart if he says one wrong word.

“I did my part. Maybe they’ll believe he really sucks now.” She turns back to Alice. “What’s with the pout?”

“I’m not pouting.” She wraps her arms around herself even though she’s as warm as anything. “I just wanna head home already.”

Gladys does an exaggerated pout herself. “What about your root beer float?”

“I’ll live.”

“Ah, I know what this is about.” Gladys takes her by the shoulders and spins her around so she’s facing the pool table. “Did my little outburst ruin your chances with Wally Cleaver?”

She shrugs her shoulders up but Gladys doesn’t let go. “I am not Hal Cooper’s type, okay?

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Hey.” Gladys’ voice is softer than normal. She wraps her arms around Alice from behind and rests her chin on her shoulder. She nudges her head until she looks up and she sees their ridiculous reflection in the mirror over the bar. “You see that girl I’m looking at?”

“Uh huh.” Alice tries to go back to wiping glasses, but Gladys tightens her grip.

“That girl right there,” she swings them back and forth a bit, “is one of the hottest girls in town, you hear me? I’d probably sell my soul to get curls like hers.”

Alice snorts. “As if you have a soul.”

Gladys squeezes her harder. “Anyone in this bar would nail her.” She smiles as the corners of Alice’s lips finally twitch. “Present company included.”

Alice finally let out a full smile. “Don’t profess your love to me just yet.“

"I didn’t say love. Just said I’d nail you.”

“Guys like him like prissy cheerleaders. Not me.”

“Oh, I think guys like that love girls from this side of town.” She turns her attention back to the pool table. “Look at him. Boy is a freak waiting to come out. And a virgin to boot.”

“He is not a virgin!” Alice rolls her eyes. “People like him.”

“Alice, please.” She takes her chin and turns Alice’s face towards the boys. “Look. He’s the type who’s mother has probably instilled abstinence and chastity into his head from birth. He’s just waiting for right girl to free him from that. Teach him the ways of the world. Show him a good time.” She turns Alice’s face towards her own, her lips pouted out like a fish. “You can be that girl, Al.”

Alice lets a breath out as Gladys frees her face. “A guy like that would never date a Southside girl.”

“Who said anything about dating?” Gladys scoffs. “You don’t need some suburban prince to save you, Alice. You know that, right? You don’t need to date him. But what you do need is to get laid, so get your ass over there and talk to him.”

She bites the inside of her cheek and fixes her eyes on her scuffed boots. “I don’t want to.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” Alice doesn’t look back up until she feels Gladys plucking at her flannel. “You’re all flushed. Let me borrow this. I’m getting cold.”

“No.” She wraps her arms around herself. “All I have on is a -”

“A t-shirt and I just have a tank top.” Gladys practically takes it off of Alice. “Just give it here.”

A thin line of skin shows between the bottom of her shirt and her jeans, but she’s worn a lot less in this place. Gladys slides the flannel on and rolls the sleeves up. She regards Alice, looking her up and down quickly.

“You look perfect.” She finally meets her eyes. “Hot, but casual. Knock ‘em dead.”

“Knock who -”

“Hey, Cooper.” Gladys glances over her shoulder and Alice freezes, unsure if she’s joking or not. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hey, Gladys.” Goosebumps run up her spine as she turns. He smiles at her and, even in the dim bar light, it’s blinding. “Hey, Alice.”

“Hey.” Her words come out slowly and she forces a smile. “Cooper.”

“Cooper,” he repeats. “You’ve never called me that.”

Her mouth goes dry, but Gladys saves her with a light smack on her shoulder. “Of course Cooper must be your father? You prefer Coop.” She looks over at the pool table. “At least that’s what all your football buddies call you.”

His eyes stay locked with Alice even though his words are directed at the other girl. “Coop is fine. Cooper’s fine. Alice just normally calls me Ha-”

“Did you want something?” Alice cuts him off and his mouth drops at her harsh tone. There’s still a smile there, still more teeth than she can believe, but there’s a slight sense of hurt behind his eyes.

“Drinks, yeah.” He breaks their gaze to pull his wallet out. “FP has requested shots.”

“Whiskey good?” Gladys asks. She pinches Alice’s forearm before finally taking her hand off her and grabs a bottle off the bar by the neck. “Or do you and Mr. Lodge over there have more refined tastes?”

“Whiskey’s great, thanks.”

Alice starts for the shot glasses, but Gladys bumps her hips to stop her, shoving her closer in Hal’s direction. She grabs a rag to keep busy and wipes the clean-as-it’ll-ever-be bar down next to him.

“Coop, is that your Dodge Dart I saw outside? The ‘74?” Gladys asks. She stomps on Alice’s foot but her Doc Martens protect her from Gladys’ sneakers. “It’s a beauty.”

“Thanks.” Hal takes his eyes off of Alice and she finally lets out the breath she’s been holding. “I like her alright.”

“Do you know,” Gladys passes Alice the bottle and sets six shot glasses down, nudging her to pour, “the car was originally called the Dodge Demon until some Christian organizations protested it and they changed it to the Dart for the next model?”

“No kidding.” Hal fixes himself back on Alice as she quickly pours. “My mom would be one of those protesters.“

Gladys gives Hal a lopsided grin. “Your mom would, huh?” She pokes Alice in the ribs. “You don’t say.” She grabs a shot and nudges one to Alice. “Take one with us, Coop. Alice will top you off.”

“No.” Alice nudges hers towards Hal. “I just had tequila. Take mine.”

He starts to shake his head. “I couldn’t -”

“You can and you will.” Gladys forces another shot glass into Alice’s hand. “Tequila for the lady.” She clinks her glass against either of theirs. “To Riverdale High winning a football game.” She regards Hal over the rim of her glass. “That’s why you boys are here, right?”

“Yeah, sure. That’s it.” Hal’s eyes are fixed on Alice again and he clinks his glass against just hers this time. “To the very attentive bartenders at the Whyte Wyrm.”

Alice takes her shot with him and slams the glass down. “Impressed with this hole in the wall?”

“Aspects of it, yeah.” He breaks his smile with her to take his shot. “That is - that is not smooth.” He coughs. “Oh, let me get that.” He takes his wallet out but she shakes her head at the bill he offers her.

“Don’t worry about it, Coop. This round is on me.”

He waves it towards her. “Oh, Alice. I couldn’t let you -”

Her instinct is to snap at his niceness, at him turning down her generosity, but she forces her voice to come out as nice as she can get it. “Hal, I’m serious. My treat.”

“I insist.” He holds out the money. “I couldn’t -

Gladys snatches the ten from Hal’s hand. “Let’s just call it a tip then, yeah?” She folds it up into quarters and slips it in Alice’s back pocket, giving her a sharp slap on the ass before walking to the other side of the bar. Hal raises his eyebrow.

“She is certainly,” Hal thinks of the right word, “friendly?”

Alice bites her lip. “Handsy is the word I normally use.” She lets her shoulders loosen. “And that’s just her after one drink. You have to see her after a few.”

“Right.” He gulps subtly and she knows she’s not supposed to notice. “So do you work here every weekend or -”

“Hal!” Hiram Lodge’s voice rings out across the bar. “You here to pick up girls or you here to play pool, Hal? Where are those shots? Hal!”

Gladys groans. “Cram it, Lodge! Can’t you see he’s busy!” She nudges Alice before ducking under the bar and stomping over to the pool table.

Hal rolls his empty glass on the bar. “I guess I should get back over there.” He picks up two shots with either hand. “I’ll come back when they want another round of beers -”

“They’re scamming you guys.” The words leave her mouth before she can help it and she leans across the bar towards him. “Fred and FP. They’re pretending they’re bad at pool and when your guard is down they’re -” Hal starts laughing. “I’m being serious.”

“Alice, Alice.” He shakes his hands and a few drops of whiskey fall on his sleeve. “I’m not stupid. And no offence, but Fred and FP aren’t exactly subtle either.”

She furrows her brow. “So why are you still playing?”

He shrugs. “We’re having fun. And if I’m being honest,” he downs one of the shots he’s still holding, “I only came out tonight because FP told me you work here on the weekend.”

Her heart speeds up. “Yeah?” He nods and she grabs the whiskey bottle to refill his glass. “That’s - that’s cool. I’m glad you came. Even if my stupid friends are bleeding you dry.”

“Nah.” His smile verges on goofy as the drinks settle into him. “It’s Hiram’s money we’re betting anyway. He has plenty to lose.”

Her nose scrunches up as she laughs. The face her dad says makes her look mousey, but Hal is still all smiles at her.

“I think Gladys has taken my place.” He looks over his shoulder at the pool table. “I’d ask if you want to go hang out, but I drove Hiram.”

“You’re too drunk to drive anyone anywhere right now.”

“I am not drunk.” He looks back to her cross eyed. “I’m fine, really. But Hiram -”

“They’ll take good care of Hiram. Get him home safe.” Alice leaves out the part about them not having a car. “I promise.”

“You sure -?”

“Nice shot, Cohen!” Hiram screams. They turn together just in time to see Gladys ignore Hiram’s attempt to high five her.

“He’s having a blast.” She taps one of his shot glasses. “Lets drop those off and go.”

“You can just leave?” He glances both ways down the bar. “Aren’t you working?”

She shrugs. “It’s fine.”

He smiles at her again, half dreamy and half drunk. “Cool.”

Her leather jacket is tucked under the bar and she pauses before sliding it on. She may have been warm enough in the October air with a flannel, but Gladys is already working up a sweat running around the pool table in it. She slides the leather on and watches Hal’s eyes take her in.

“Let’s go?” He nods obediently and she takes two of the shots from him to carry over.

FP has his hand tucked into the back of Gladys’ jeans as they approach. Alice hands one to FP and leaves another on the table for Fred.

“We’re going to take off,” Alice mutters under her breath to Gladys. FP’s ears perk up and she gives him a death glare before his mouth even opens. “You guys can take care of Lodge, right?”

“Hiram and I are pool buddies now,” Gladys says loudly. “Of course we’ll take good care of him.”

“You’re leaving?” Hiram gives Hal a hard shove in the shoulder, almost knocking the glasses out of his hand. He takes one from him. “Suit yourself, Hal. Gladys is a better partner anyway.” He clinks their glasses together, spilling whiskey to the floor. “One for the road.”

Hal reluctantly takes the shot and claps Hiram on the back. “I’ll see you.”

“Careful, Hal.” Fred finally takes his shot and knocks a ball off the table, narrowly missing his drink. Alice resists the urge to kick him. “Alice bites.”

Pink patches play up Hal’s cheeks. “I’ll take my chances.” He picks up his jacket from a chair - a light blue windbreaker instead of a loud letterman - and follows Alice. When she opens the door, he’s a few feet behind her catching up and Gladys is waving enthusiastically at them.

“My car is right there.” He points as they cross the slew of motorcycles in the parking lot. “The green one.”

He stumbles the last few feet to the car and breaks his fall hard against the side. She can almost feel Gladys cringing at the thump from back inside. He turns around and leans against the door, seemingly grateful for the steady object.

“Remember when I said I wasn’t drunk?” He fumbles through his pockets as she catches up to him. She takes one, two, three steps closer than necessary so there are only a few inches between them. He’s surprised at her closeness when he finally looks up. “I think I lied. I might be a little drunk.”

“No shit?” She throws her head back and laughs. “I think you passed little a while ago.”

“Maybe.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket, a plastic Statue of Liberty keychain dangling from the end. He raises them toward his head. “How about I let you drive if -”

She snatches the keys before he can finish his thought. “If what?”

His hand is still held out and he slowly lowers it as a smile plays on his lips. “If nothing. You drive.”

“You play football with those reflexes?”

“Not well,” he laughs.

“Don’t say that.” Alice shakes her head. “You’re good though.”

“I don’t even like playing,” he admits. “I don’t even really like football. I’d quit if it wouldn’t drive my parents nuts.” He leans through the window of the front seat and she wants to kick him for leaving his windows open on this side of town. Some soft rock comes from the stereo and he hits his head on the frame as he comes out. “I’m okay.”

“I didn’t ask,” she teases. He gives her a smile so genuine and bright, she wants to melt into him in the poorly lit parking lot. Instead, she shifts her weight between her boots and clutches the keys to her chest.

“You don’t mind driving?“ he asks.

"You have a nice car and I never turn down a chance to make Gladys jealous.” She feeds him a wicked grin and forces the words out of her mouth before she chickens out. “So where does Hal Cooper take a girl when he wants to have a good time?”

He bites his lip. “Pops.”

“Pops?” Her voice drops. Her face drops. Her mood drops. “That’s not very,” she searches for the word, “private.”

“Who cares about privacy?” She catches her breath as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. He pulls back, seemingly embarrassed by his own move, and shoves both his hands in his pockets. “I’d kill for a cheeseburger.”

“A cheeseburger.” She slouches and make a mental note to kick herself when she hears the disappointment in her own voice. Desperate. Stupid. She thinks back to Gladys words and smiles. “You want a burger when you have a pretty girl right in front of you?”

“No, I want a cheeseburger.” There are teeth marks in his lower lip when he opens his mouth for a smile. Bright and wide, no doubt a result of the mouth of metal he endured until freshman year. “And you know, I want you to still be in front of me at Pops. I can have a cheeseburger with the company of a pretty girl.”

“Uh huh.” She shifts her weight between her feet. “And what do I get for being your chauffeur for the night?”

He regards her carefully, front teeth digging into his lip again. “A root beer float.”

Alice’s mouth falls open. “How did you -”

“Gladys told me.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head softly. “You prefer root beer floats over milkshakes. She said it would be good to know.” He peeks his eyes open. “For future reference.”

“Right.” She stiffens up. “Well don’t get too comfy yet, Coop. No one ever said this was going anywhere.”

“I like you, Alice.” He smiles softly again. “You know why?”

Her heart beats so fast in her chest, she takes a step away from him. “Because you’re drunk and not thinking straight?”

“No.” He slumps against the car, hands still in his pockets. “I’m good at reading people. At least I think I am. But with you, I don’t know.” He gives her a look that reminds her of Gladys looking at FP inside. Stupid, sappy adoration. “I never know what you’re about to say or what you’re thinking. You always take me by surprise.”

A lump rises to her throat that she can’t swallow. “You like that?”

“Love it. You’re unpredictable. Exciting.” He feeds her that sappy grin again and she doesn’t realize she’s closing in on him until her boots nudge his shoes. “I like you.”

She swallows the lump, swallows her pride. “I like you too, Hal.”

His hands are still in his pockets but she tilts her head up towards him. His mouth opens but instead of leaning down to her, his eyes look to the side and he smiles.

“Do you hear that?” His face lights up. “Your band just came on.”

She hears a familiar guitar rift coming from the car but the song escapes her. “My band?”

Hal hums along for a few seconds. “The Smiths.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She raises her eyebrow. “They’re The Smiths, you’re a Smith -”

With a firm yank on his windbreaker, she pulls his face to her level and plants a kiss on him. It’s not until she lightly bites his lip that he opens his mouth and responds, kissing her back. His arms fumble as he takes his hands out of his pockets and wraps them around her waist. A few moments pass before they break away. Stars are in his eyes and color in his lips, apparent even in the dim parking lot. His hands stay firm on her waist.

“What was that for?”

Alice shrugs, letting go of his jacket and snaking her arms around his neck. “I had to stop you from talking before you said something else stupid.”

“It’s very likely I’m about to say something else stupid.”

They’re both leaning against the car as she kisses him again. She pushes from her mind how close they are to her home and how far from his. How different they are. How they come from different worlds.

All she wants is for this moment to last.

#parentdale #riverparents #riverparent fanfiction #parentdale fanfiction #alice cooper #hal cooper #gladys jones #fp jones #fred andrews #hiram lodge #halice #sorry not sorry #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction

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racingtoaredlight · 5 years

Text

Opening Bell: July 19, 2019

Weeks after a U.S. military drone was shot down by Iran in the Persian Gulf, tensions rose further in the Strait of Hormuz yesterday after the Pentagon and U.S. Central Command announced that the U.S. Navy had shot down an Iranian drone. The drone was allegedly shot down, or taken down in some unspecified way, by the USS Boxer, an amphibious warship which carries up to 2,000 Marines and can put them ashore with landing craft carried in a stern well-deck or by helicopter from its flight deck. The Boxer is at the center of a task force carrying the 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit into the Gulf. The Pentagon’s statement was bare and Central Command did not add much other than to say that warnings were issued before the drone was taken down. Iran offered virtually no statement other than to acknowledge that some sort of incident had taken place. This also comes on the heels of a video showing boats allegedly belonging to belonging to the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps circling and then closing in on an oil tanker that had gone missing recently and which the Iranian foreign ministry announced that the Iranians had reported that it had been disabled. Now it seems that Iran seized the oil tanker for allegedly trying to smuggle stolen Iranian crude oil out of the Gulf. Not even this is completely clear, however, and as both Britain and the U.S. send more ships to the region, the amount of uncertainty going forward is certain to increase.

The night before last at a rally in North Carolina, President Donald Trump continued to rail against Rep. Ilhad Omar (D-Minn.) and, amidst the frenzied energy in the room, the audience began to cry out “send her back,” in an apparent mimic of a tweet the president sent out days earlier and directed at four Democratic congresswomen, including Omar. The cries mirrored in tone and anger those leveled at 2016 Democratic presidential candidate Hillary Clinton. Amidst widespread condemnation, which is somewhat more muted among Republican members of Congress, Trump appeared yesterday to walk back the events of the rally, telling reporters that he did not care for the chant and asserted that he tried to interrupt it by beginning to speak again quickly (something which video of the event, which shows Trump listening to the crowd for a full 13 seconds before saying anything, immediately belies). There is no question at this point that Trump sees more value in throwing red meat to his base supporters, which includes unabashed white nationalists, than in being conciliatory or bridge-building in any way, and yet there are apparently still advisors within the White House and members of Congress with connections to the White House, who are able to get through to the president that, on occasion, his statements or actions go too far. It remains an open question how many such individuals are among his 2020 campaign staff.

Yesterday at a bail hearing in New York, a federal judge issued a 33-page decision in which he denied bail to multi-millionaire financier Jeffrey Epstein. Epstein’s defense lawyers had proposed a rather bold bail agreement in which Epstein would be released from jail but confined to his Manhattan home—a mansion rumored to be worth approximately $75 million—and guarded by private security force paid for by Epstein out of his own pocket. Epstein would also voluntarily give up his passport and have his private plane—though which one is not known since he is rumored to own several—de-registered from the FAA, preventing it from flying. Prosecutors responded to the defense’s bail proposal by rejecting it and introducing evidence that Epstein had a safe in his Manhattan home in which FBI agents discovered, among other things, a Saudi Arabian passport under a fake name and piles of cash and diamonds. U.S. District Judge Richard Berman decided that, under the circumstances, Epstein was certainly a flight risk and would instead remain confined leading up to his trial. As Epstein, who has lived an outrageously luxurious lifestyle, sits behind bars, the question now becomes whether he feels enough pressure to begin working with prosecutors to give up other perpetrators; and over the years Epstein entertained and became friends with dozens of very wealthy and powerful men in this country and outside of it. If so, it is not impossible that some extremely high profile men could stand accused of a litany of sex-based crimes. Either way, it seems like Epstein’s days of using his enormous wealth to escape consequences for his actions, may finally be over.

In 1984, Coca Cola, the original and most iconically American soft drink brand, announced to great fanfare and press coverage the Lincoln Center in New York, that it had created a new recipe for Coke with an improved taste. Anyone reading these words knows exactly what happened next: New Coke almost immediately bombed as a product and Coca Cola was virtually forced to pull New Coke from the market after only two months and reintroduce its old recipe, now branded as “Coke Classic.” It is one of the most well-known cautionary tales in corporate American history: if you change a well-known product, especially one as closely associate with Americana as Coke, there will be consequences. The only problem with this cautionary tale is that it is not true. New Coke was introduced in 1985 precisely because “Coke Classic” sales were slipping and the company was thought to be a hidebound American company unable to adapt to the times. This was compounded by Pepsi’s successful marketing campaign touting its attraction to younger Americans, who were called the “Pepsi Generation.” There are actually threads in the public reaction to and takedown of New Coke that would be familiar to anyone today who has spent time on social media, especially Twitter: one person’s cranky opinion can be used to coalesce with the minority opinion of others in a group setting, opinions that might otherwise have never felt important enough to express. At its core, the demise of New Coke is not at all about whether or not people actually preferred the taste of Coke Classic, but is instead bout individuals looking for and apparently seeing the opportunity for a quick payout and other absurd details that I have left out of this summary; seriously you need to read this to see the pants-on-head level of crazy and existential fear that was invoked because a new soft drink was introduced.

Bob Ross was, and remains to this day even more than two decades after his death, one of the faces most associated with public television. For over a decade, he painted sceneries in oil, standing at an angle to his canvas so that viewers could watch him create “happy little trees,” and marvel at his massive perm. While Ross’s paintings seemed to be created from whole cloth—or blank canvas, if you prefer—in front of our eyes during a recording, each painting made on-air was actually one of three; one painted before the show for reference, the one painted on air and on which Ross frequently made ad-lib changes to, and one that was painted afterward for his instructional books and videos. Collectively Ross’s paintings, because they all exist as triplets, are known as “Bob Ross Triptychs.” By some estimates, Ross painted between 1,100 and 1,300 paintings on his show, and by others he created over 30,000 unique pieces of art. So the question is, where are Bob Ross’s paintings? The New York Times went looking and it seems that finding a genuine Bob Ross painting in public is so difficult that a high-priced market exists for those that are authenticated and available for sale. And while Bob Ross Inc. will investigate the authenticity any alleged Bob Ross painting and issue a certificate of authenticity if appropriate, this can only be done by traveling to their Virginia headquarters; pictures and digital copies will not be examined. Bob Ross never wanted his paintings to be exhibited, but those that are, apparently fetch quite the high price.

Since the 1960s, demographers have shown us that Americans are attending church less, show less inclination to identify with a particular religious confession, and embrace atheism at greater levels. One measure of this is seen, in particular, in the Catholic Church, which depends greatly upon individuals joining the priesthood or a convent and giving up considerable material comfort. In the 1960s, there were 180,000 American nuns, but by the 2000s, there were fewer than 60,000, and more were older than 90 than were younger than 60. As Millennials and the so-called Generation Z that follow them come of age, it would seem that this trend would continue and that certain religious orders and ways of life may cease to exist entirely. Only this may not be happening. There is a surge in young Americans expressing interest in and entering both the priesthood and becoming nuns. This article, rather convincingly, surmises a number of social issues and trends; being told that you can be anything is not as empowering as its proclaimers like to believe, and can instead inflict a serious burden on the receiver of such a homily. The order and tradition of the convent has become appealing to Millennials, as has the lack of personal choice that goes in to committing one to such a life. But what is most interesting about this article is that, like The Young Pope writ large, this young new generation of Americans expressing interesting in the Church and in the convent, are yearning for the most conservative elements of both.

As we enter the latter half of 2019 and all questions related to the 2020 census have now been settled (famous last words with this administration), we can now begin to surmise what the next census will mean for redistricting battles that are sure to follow in 2022 and beyond. Kyle Kondik of the Center for Politics looks at the effects of the Supreme Court’s decision in Rucho v. Common Cause and what this means, and doesn’t mean, for election battles in the coming decade.

Welcome to the weekend.

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