Gerry

Gerry’s dreadlocks fall below his shoulders. With a new tattoo on his ass and the west coast rave clothes, he might be 42 but he is still cool.  He thought about putting a teardrop under his eye but the old man said he would cut him off from his funds if he got a tattoo on his face.

Just a regular trustafarian peacock at a prominent film festival, Gerry goes to any party he wants. It is late in the evening, Thursday night, and the party is slow. Some crazy fools get up in the morning to watch films. 

Gerry and his crew watch the end of the night movie and then PARTEH! All the players, hangers, climbers, backstabbers, lovers, haters, dancers, singers, you name it show what they got to one another.

In walks this redneck, the crowd is already subdued and the background noise drops another decibel. Sandy red hair cropped short, reddened skin, a beak of a nose untouched by a scalpel, his blue green eyes contract as if absorbing all that he sees. 

"Alright folks, what did you think?” the man says.

The hot chick sitting to Gerry's left hops off the bar stools and sashays to the rube. Gerry had his eye on her. He had turned and winked at her and got a little smile. When he finished scanning the crowd, he was going to talk to her. If she could hold her own with Gerry, he was going to take her home for the night.

The server walks past him to the rustic yokel.

A clean-cut black dude walks in with a woman who is probably his wife. She is wearing a corsage. Is this an alien invasion or 1956? You would think they could spend a little money on clothes.

“How did you get invited to this party?” Gerry bellows as he swaggers up to the odd group.

“Make a good movie and if the sun is shining bright, a door will open for you boy.”