She's a Good Girl

“Fuck off!” he exclaimed with a laugh he couldn’t help. Yeah that was the biggest waste of time he’s heard. He thought the exact same thing when he saw that his brother had enrolled to do Art at some university as well. You wanna learn to draw? Pick up some paper and just go for it. “Why even study it? Didn’t like some painting by a horse go for a stupid amount of money? I have a sneaky feeling that he didn’t go to some arty school.”

“I… God I’m judging you harder than I’ve judged anyone in my life. Literally go watch Sunny instead. Its fucking better.” His amusement was instantly back when she mentioned her talking in a British accent. “Let me hear this accent, doll. If it’s damn good, I’ll buy you your next drink.” He shook her head at her defence. “Really? With Colin Firth right there looking like the biggest Daddy going? Your type, aside from me, is bloody awful.”

“Hey, you know what Picasso said?” Mick asked, raising her brows at him as she took a sip of her drink, “you gotta learn the rules like a pro so you can break them like an artist. or something like that.” she said with a laugh and a shrug of her shoulders. “But whatever — a degree from NYU looks good on any resume, no matter the major, am I right?” And having your father’s connections will get you any job in the music industry, but she doesn’t like to mention that. 

“Wow, and here I thought this bar was a judgement free zone,” Mick slouched on the bar stool, propping her elbow up on the bar and resting her chin in the palm of her hand. She raised her eyebrows in consideration — though attempting a British accent in front of someone actually British seemed like a risk. “Shit man, I don’t know if it’s any good. What if you never let me live it down?” She smiled. This, of course, implied that she’d be seeing him around again. But it was a small town, and he was quite cute, so she didn’t really mind it. “You think Colin Firth is better looking than Hugh Grant?” Mick crinkled her nose, shaking her head at him. “No way. No way. You’re the one with bad taste, man.”

“You’re right. I forgot about the Nashville bit. When I worked for Atlantic in New York, the 40 and 50-something execs partied harder than everyone else. Put us to shame.” It had been a wild time, that was for sure. He missed it somewhat. “But I also got a gun pulled on me there by the friend of a rapper I worked with, so yanno, ups and downs.” 

“Hey, don’t forget Faith Hill,” he added, not that he particularly listened to much country, even now. It was just working with Avery had exposed him to more than usual in recent times.

 In almost no time at all, they were pulling up at the half-empty parking lot of the joint. “I hope you brought your ID, cause Mickey, you look like a high school sophomore.” He had never used the nickname before, just trying on something new.

“That doesn’t even surprise me a little bit,” Mick said with a laugh, “record executives are fucking crazy. I mean, Christians are like the biggest hypocrites out there, so who knows. Maybe Jake is secretly a crackhead.” She said with a laugh. Her eyes widened at his story and she furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry — what? Why?!” 

Mick scrunched her nose and shrugged her shoulders. No one could convince her to listen, and to enjoy, country music no matter how hard they tried. The closest she’d admit to enjoying is The Allman Brothers. 

She shot him a look as they got out of the car. “Come on, I don’t look that young,” she replied with a frown. She did — she did look that young, but she hated when people said it out loud. She had never been the type of girl who tried to use makeup and skimpy clothes to make herself look older. “My brother is a high school sophomore,” she said with a look of disdain, “if I look like I’m his age just kill me.” 

                              Mikaela “Mick” Sydney Noble. 

“Goat yoga…” Ben mulled over that for a moment, his brows lifting. “I hadn’t heard of it until now, but I think maybe it’s something we should look into.” He shook his head as he thought about it. “Now that’s something I bet they do back in the city,” he said, “I feel like they do everything there. Unlike here… which is the complete opposite.” Mick’s words caused him to laugh. “Six, but I guess it does look like seven to you,” he mused playfully.

“It absolutely is something we should look into,” Mick grinned as she nodded her head eagerly. It was one of those Instgram fads she had seen, probably via the Kardashians, and she was pretty sure the goats peed on you but it still seemed fun. “Yeah, they don’t do much here, do they? I’m still getting used to the pace of things,” Mick sighed. “Shit, really? Either way you’re like, half a foot taller than me. Might as well be a mile.” 

“Yellow Submarine?” Nico laughed, good-natured and easy. The thought of a little kid singing the Beatles without really being able to say all the words properly was cute, the kind of endearing that people’d upload onto YouTube these days. “Seriously? Then again, I guess it’s got the easy kind of tune all nursery rhymes do.

“But hey, if all you listened to growing up was that kinda stuff, you and I basically spent our developmental years listening to the same music. It’s not that different.” He shrugged. “Besides, you have it easy with all the streaming that goes on now. I’d have to sit by the radio in the afternoon to record things on casette tapes, and lemme tell you– not an exact science in the least.” The number of tapes he had with people talking over the intros to his favourite songs was simply embarrassing, and Nico didn’t like thinking about that too much.

There was a way Mick lit up, though, as she spoke of her father, and so Nico thought maybe it was important to say– “Your dad does sound pretty wicked, I’ll give you that.

“I’d say being a photographer’s nifty too, though.” He made a brief jerk of the head, chin pointing at Mick’s camera where it was. “You must be having fun with that, right?”

“Yep! It was my favorite. So much so my parents said they couldn’t listen to that album for years later.” Mick said with a laugh. She’d heard the stories so many times she had begun to think she could actually remember them. 

He sounded just like her dad. Which she knew was probably not something she should admit to him — telling someone they sound like a dad might not necessarily come off as a compliment, even if, coming from Mick, it was meant to be the highest of honors. “Okay, fair enough. Do you still have those cassettes? I feel like you could make big bucks selling it as something vintage,” she said with a grin on her face. She’d done her fair share of research in the sector, having sold some of her dad’s vintage shirts and trinkets without permission when she needed money as a teenager. 

“Yeah,” she looked down at her camera, then back to Nico, “I love it. I know the whole a picture’s worth a thousand words is so cheesy but like — there really is a story behind every photo, so,” she shrugged her shoulders. 

“What about you, Nico,” she looked at him with her eyebrows raised, “what do you do?” 

Do you watch porn?

“People who say no are straight up lying.”

Is there anything you do after sex? (for example, smoke, eat, drink)

“pee, always. do you know how many uti’s i have gotten? and i fucking hate cranberry juice.”

Something that will never fail to get you horny?

“big hands. ugh — like, yes.”

Most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you during sex?

“so i’m not good with blood, right? and i was like, riding this guy or whatever, and i look down and he’s got blood on his chest. so i was like, oh my fucking god, man, you’re bleeding. and he looks down at his chest and starts freaking out. and then he looks at me and he’s like, oh shit, you’re bleeding! turns out i got a bloody nose, and when i realized i was the one bleeding i got all woozy and light headed and — well the night pretty much ended there.”

Are you into dressing up for sex?

“sure, like roleplay? i could be into it.”

      the young girl was laying down in bed and watching a movie when she heard her friend’s voice calling out for her downstairs. it was so weird to be living apart from her after sharing such a tiny apartment for years, and more than once she’d contemplated offering her one of the two spare bedrooms in her home, but never really got around to it. “going !!” she yelled out as a response, fumbling to put on some shoes and slipping into one of her ex boyfriend’s left behind long sleeved tshirts to hide the bump. she went down the stairs, putting her hair in a ponytail. “dragon fruit juice ? are we gonna drink or something ?” the blonde asked, a little anxious about having to tell her about the baby in such an underwhelming way.

Mick couldn’t help the look of slight disappointment that appeared on her features at the sight of Lana in a shirt that she recognized as Miguel’s. “Why do you still have that shit head’s things here?” she furrowed her eyebrows, making her way to the kitchen as if she were in her own home. “I mean, I’m not opposed. Why, you in the mood? Shall I make us Mick Noble’s world famous Dragon Fruit Cocktail?”

Do you have any unusual kinks/fetishes?

“Nope, nothing outright unusual — though I love a bit of light bdsm and edging. And honestly? Anal is pretty underrated.”

Do you like to be dominant or submissive?

“I kind of switch that up, but like, I don’t mind taking the reigns.”

Have you ever had sex in a public place?

“In too many nasty New York dive bars to count.”

Is there anybody right now you’d like to have sex with?

“It’s a long list but like, Beto O’ Rourke, if your wife isn’t satisfying you...”

@rcwes

“It’s not really subjective. If no one cares, then you’re not good enough,” she said, and she firmly believed it as well. None of that starving artist bullshit ever did anything for her. If your art was worth anything at all, someone would discover it. Of course for Noreen Innocent, it was never even a possibility not to be in the spotlight. Might as well bask in it. “So what do you shoot?” She was mildly interested to know. Not because she knew this chick or felt like she was supposed to, but to be fair, there were many real photographers that she hadn’t worked with and couldn’t pick out of a line-up. “You got like, a portfolio?”

She did have a point, but Mick was a believer that all art was subjective. “But haven’t you seen bad art that people care about?” she countered, raising her brow. “Like — all those shitty Soundcloud rappers. They’re bad, right? But people care. So,” she shrugged. “Yeah, online. The name’s Mick Noble — you should check it out. I used to work at Rolling Stone, so I was pretty much exclusively shooting musicians and actors. But — no offense — shooting celebrities takes all the fun out of photography.”

“Is he? Really? Man, I’d never have thought it. He seems so cool.” Granted, Jude hadn’t spoken to the guy for more than five minutes at a time, and that exclusively about Avery and his music. “How does a dude like that get to head up Sony Music?” Jude turned onto the main road, knowing that soon enough, they’d be parked outside Magic City. Just how close everything was in Beaumont still blew his mind a little. It was convenient, for sure. “Man, I’m fucking starved. I hope they serve hot wings there too, or something.”

Mick snorted. Cool was a generous term for Jake. He truly lived up to his middle aged dad status. “It’s Sony Music Nashville,” Mick rolled her eyes, “He may as well be running a Christian music label. The coolest artist they’ve got is like, Dolly Parton.” She said with a shrug of her shoulders. Then, remembering where she was and realizing that many of those in Beaumont actually liked country music, she quickly added, “no offense.” As soon as they pulled up in front of Magic City, Mick grinned. “They have to, what kind of bar doesn’t have hot wings?” She said as she pulled open the passenger side door. “I want fried pickles. And a beer!”