Boa Constrict Her

14 January, 2007

Boa Constrict Her

By Scott Murphy & Jeff Ludlum

"For Sale" she says, "Ignore the cracks, they're just surface."
He thought he noticed her snicker as she reassured him.
Sinister bitch. Who does she think I am?
She'd noticed his fly was down as he'd approached her in the car park. Might be a Sucker, she'd thought. Delicious.
The dollars haven't come easy in the cold season.
Many of the regulars had said, "Fuck it", and gone to Florida by now.
She could wear less, wear more. Hell, she could swallow. It just didn't matter this time of year.
The last guy hadn't taken fifteen minutes to shell out the cash and be on his way. Just then, the other shoe dropped.
A customer. But not just any customer.
He was completely shaved, wore black eye-liner beneath dark sunglasses, and was drapped in a long, down overcoat and faux feather boa. Lime green.

I think you know what I want as he peered over the tops of the dark glasses
"Hey pal, I was talking to the lady first!" the Sucker protested.
"No, I was here first. Before you, before her, before this," looking all around him. "Before that," pointing straight down.
"Bastard", she whispered.
Coming is one thing, but coming back. It's been a helluva long time, to say the least.
"Look, I don't give a shit what kinda drama you two got goin' on. I gotta get this deal done TODAY." He sneered at the queer and grabbed her arm as he finished his sentence.
The audience leaned in. They love confrontation, fireworks, assertive lead characters, and blood. Especially blood.
He stared for a long while at the Sucker and then gave the slightest of smirks. "No problem", he dismissed. “I can wait.”
They sat back, aghast. At first with relief, then with frustration, then with elation as he walked away with the confidence of a leopard.
"So...", she said, gathering her composure again, "where were we?"

Lights dim, the thick curtain comes down and the audience begins to buzz and growl.
"That's bullshit", someone yells from the balcony.
"That's ART," a woman fires back.
From somewhere backstage a shot rings out.
Followed by a shriek and a limp body falling between gap in the curtain.
A crimson pool began to form beneath the Sucker's head.
Audience members in mid stride, mid sentence, mid life, SILENCED! All eyes drawn to the front of the stage.
The feather boa floated out between the curtains from an unseen hand and dropped across the deadman's chest.
From the"balcony, a first voice rips the silence. "No, baby...THAT'S fuckin art!"
Someone in the front row threw a dozen roses on stage, and a thunderous applause filled the hall; Opening Night was over.