Waiting For The Muse

My intention is for this to be a short story in three parts. I am making progress, but as of yet, it remains unfinished. In order to respect the deadline, I decided to post what I have up to now, like David did below. I will complete the story hopefully within the next week.

I

Tristan sat staring into the white porcelain mug in front of him. He had hardly touched it in the last half hour and the black liquid had become undrinkable. It seemed to have congealed as it cooled. Patchy stubble had sprouted on Tristan's otherwise youthful cheeks and his softly rounded chin.

"I'll have something for you soon," Tristan said to his coffee. The man across from him overhead Tristan and interrupted. "When, Tristan?" It wasn't so much a question as a plea, like an exasperated parent talking to a willful child.

"It takes time, Joe." Tristan's eyes darted up from the coffee when he pronounced the man's name. "I just haven't had anything yet, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." And he did know. This was less of a confrontation and more of a well-rehearsed scene. "The thing is, Tristan, I can't wait much longer. To you this is art. But to me, well, it's a business, Tristan. And if you don't work, I don't have a business. I have to go somewhere for results. This dry spell, this isn't good for business."

"You know I'm good for it, Joe." Tristan pounded the table and the silverware rattled against each other. Startled at the noise his fist made, Tristan gripped the table, as if to stop it from shaking. "I've never let you down, isn't that right?" He was whispering again. "I've given you the best stuff."

"You have, Tristan, but it's been too long."

"I'll have something for you." Tristan had grabbed onto his butter knife and was pressing the handle into the checkered table cloth, right next a small burn hole. The blade stuck straight into the air and he was twirling it between two fingers and his thumb.

"You've been back for almost a year now, and you've given me nothing, Tristan." Joe stared straight at him. He hadn't moved the whole meeting. His dark suit and black tie gave him the appearance of a pallbearer. His glasses rested low on his nose and his metal blue eyes peered at Tristan over thick black frames.

"I know, Joe. It's just ..."

"It's what, Tristan?"

"It's just this place. I haven't had any inspiration since I've been back. This place is dead."

"That's not my problem, Tristan. I need something. I don't care about how you feel." That wasn't true, Joe thought.

"Can you give me more time?"

"You've got another week, Tristan, and then you're on your own."

Tristan reached into the bread basket in the center of the table. He stuffed his knife into the bun, tearing it in two. He stuffed one half into his mouth and chewed on it violently. The pallbearer across from him smiled slightly.

II

That night, Tristan decided to go out looking for inspiration instead of waiting for it to come to him. If this city wasn't forthcoming, perhaps he just needed to look deeper into the crevasses and chase something out.

He splashed cold water on his face and dragged the blade along the skin of his face. A slight knick caused him to gasp and a red spot grew larger in the white foam on his cheek. Tristan ignored it and he rushed to finish up. It was getting late and he could feel himself getting impatient.

Stopping, he looked at himself in the mirror. "Relax," he whispered. "You need to be patient." He breathed the last word several times as he slowed the pace with which he drew the knife along his skin. Once he was finally satisfied, he splashed his face with warm water and buried his face in the white cotton towel to his right.

He knew the perfect place to go, an obscure dive called Oasis. He had been there once or twice when he was younger, before he had started his career. He hadn't known then that it was the type of place he would grow to rely on for inspiration, but now that he found himself back in this city, he immediately remembered it and decided to see what it had to offer.

A pink neon sign flickered above a metal door, the O had burned out. To the right, a squat, muscled man in a tight polo shirt perched on a black stool. He was chatting with two young girls. One, in a short, pink skirt and bright green pumps and the other in crimson fishnet stockings had forgotten their IDs and were mustering up their charms to try to convince the bouncer to let them in anyway. The one in a green skirt, who Tristan decided was named Pink, had cropped hair dyed to match her pumps and a lip ring. The other sported a fierce mohawk. He wasn't sure what to call her just yet. He wanted to talk to her first.

"I don't know, girls," the bouncer wavered. "If you don't have your IDs, I could get in big trouble for letting you in." Pink giggled while her companion jutted her hip out to the right and firmly planted her hand on it. She cocked her head to one side.

"Is this man giving you trouble, sis?" Tristan said as he walked up behind Pink. She turned her head and caught Tristan's steel blue eyes and hesitated. Even though he had just shaved, his tie and suit jacket gave him the appearance of age, especially next to the two girls. The bouncer immediately looked at him. "You with these two?"

"Yeah," Tristan said. "Pink here's my little sister."

"I can't let them in without their IDs," the bouncer explained. Pink studied Tristan's face for a moment, trying to pick up on the game.

She gasped slightly when he suddenly turned to her. "I told you not to forget your IDs, girls." He turned back to the bouncer. "Silly kids. She just turned 21 a few months ago and I'm back in town. So she was excited to take me out when I visited." His voice grew cold and he locked his eyes on Pink's. She shuddered.

"I'm sorry," she slowly exhaled. "I messed up again." She shrugged her shoulders and let her head droop. "Well, sis, you always seem to mess it up." Tristan's voice cut her and she held back an urge to hit him. Instead, she focused more intently on the ground and sheepishly wrung her hands together.

The bouncer was moved. "Look, I don't usually do this, but I'll make an exception. You guys can go in." He watched Pink as he said it. She clicked her shoes together and kissed the bouncer on his ample cheek.

"Thanks! My brother will be so happy!" Tristan put his arm around Pink and smiled at the man on the stool. He also grabbed the other girl's hand. She resisted an urge to pull back. She wasn't going to let her friend go in there alone. And have all the fun.

The three of them disappeared into the dark club.