The Blooming of Delilahs | Teen Ink

The Blooming of Delilahs

October 12, 2014
By Ella Gallego BRONZE, Orland, California
Ella Gallego BRONZE, Orland, California
3 articles 0 photos 6 comments

“Look at them, all of them. It’s like being in a f'ing Discovery channel episode,” Robbie remarks, eyes scanning the club.
I glance over at Robbie, my eyebrows seesawing. The cold glass in my hand tinkles sweetly as I swirl the water within. “What are you talking about?”
He swivels in his chair, resting his elbows on the edge of the bar as he watched the scene behind us. Legs extended, lazy and loose. Sharp blades of light cut through the sweaty darkness, illuminating pieces and body parts. Long arms raised; heads rolling, hair sashaying; pale palms exposed to the ceiling; hips swaying with the fluidity of wheat fields in the wind.
“Look at all of them,” he repeats, taking a sip of his drink. “Look at their eyes and hair and body.”
“I have been,” I respond with irritation. I was done with his drunken ambiguity.  
He places a heavy hand on my shoulder and turns my chair around, so both of us are facing the dance floor. “Naw, man. You haven’t been looking. See how their bodies move; it’s like sign language. They’re speaking, man. Speaking with their hands and arms and hair and legs. Look at her.” Robbie points at a woman with his glass, nodding in her direction. “See how she moves? She’s like an exotic bird; they all are. The colors, oh man. The colors.” His pupils dilate as a curtain of purple light slides over his profile.
I watch the woman dancing. The way her eyes are closed, her face tranquil. But her body speaks differently; smooth and alive like a rippling ribbon. Her torso is leaning back, away from her partner, but her hips are pressed forward, never losing contact with him. Grating, bumping, swaying; sensual. 
“The bright colors give me a headache. This place gives me a headache,” I reply.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Robbie continues, mouth a pressed line. Another sip. “They’re here, all calling out a different call and dancing a different dance. Wanna know why it’s all different?”
“Why?” I ask, although I don’t really feel in the mood to entertain Robbie’s train of thought tonight.
“Because they’re looking for someone to answer back. In that specific call, with that specific dance. They flash their colors, plastering on bright eye shadows and fitting themselves in tight clothing for attention. It’s all a cry for attention.”
I roll my eyes. “You couldn’t be more right.”
“Ah, you say that likes it’s a bad thing. It’s not. Because it works. It’s caught my attention,” he murmurs into his drink, grinning.
“Why don’t you ruffle your feathers and fly out there?”
Robbie tears his eyes off the dance floor, the women. His black eyes spear me. “You make fun of me, but I know what they want. I can give them what they want. And so can you. In fact, I learned all this from you.”
“Oh really? So, young padawan, tell me. How do you know they want it?”
“Body language, weren’t you listening?”
“It’s hard to listen in here,” I retort dryly. Which was true. The music thumps over head, the vibrations felt through every step and touch. This was not a place to talk.
“Come on, Connor. Lighten up and forget about it. Katie was a b****; I saw it from the beginning.”
I didn’t. “Did you? Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I thought you already knew; she was just like all your other types Connor. You just kept this one around long enough to bite.”
“What’s my type?”
Robbie turns his head back to the floor, jangling the ice in his now empty glass. His teeth look bright and sharp in the flashing darkness. “Dangerous.” He swivels in his chair anxiously before lighting a cigarette between long fingers. He takes a long drag. “You and I like them dangerous. We like to catch the tigresses by the tails. Come on, Connor. Tonight is for you. Come with me into the tigers’ cage,” he beckons, lips stretched.
“Who says that they want us in there? Who says they won’t bite?” I look at the women, with their soft hair and smoky eyes and rose petal lips. I remember the way they smell, like perfume and sweat and allure. How they felt underneath my fingertips.
“Connor, what happened to your balls? You’re game is off! Since when are you hesitant? Since when are you afraid of rejection? Katie couldn’t have seriously done all of this to you--”
“—f*** off.”
“No, listen to me. F*** Katie. No--in fact, you should be thanking her. She taught you a lesson. A hard one, but a lesson none the less. These women, you can’t trust them. All women. Look at them!”
“Stop telling me to look at them!”
“They will use you. For anything. Sex. Money. As long as you know that, it’s okay to have a little fun. It’s okay to play. Just don’t get attached, because the moment you do they turn.
“Now, look at them. Look over there,” Robbie nods his head to the corner of the building, where two women stood at a tall, shiny table with a handsome man. “Look at how they laugh. You know they like him. Look at how they tip back their heads and expose their throats. That’s a clear sign! It’s like when a dog turns over and shows the dominant dog its belly. They’re trusting him, showing him it’s okay to stay and woo them. They touch him too. They’re looking for a f*** as much as he is. As much as we are.”
“You are,” I correct.  
Robbie gives a yelp of laughter. “Right, like you don’t want to nail any of these women. Like you’re not interested,” he says sarcastically. “I know your type,” Robbie repeats.
I roll my eyes. “Yah, I know. Dangerous.”
“Well, yah. But redheads too. Fire crackers,” he smirks. “Like her.” He thrusts his chin out at a redheaded women drinking by herself. She looks out at the crowd, bored, tapping purple manicured nails on the surface of the table. Her arms and cheeks are covered in a fine dust of golden freckles. “Look at those legs,” Robbie continues, moaning. “Good god man, she’s hot and you can’t deny it. And I bet that beneath that sexy dress, there are more freckles. A goddamn galaxy of freckles across her body.”
I smile faintly, eyes falling up and down her body. “Hm. Maybe.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“Why don’t you find out? Sounds like you would like to.”
“Naw. She’s not for me; she’s not singing my song. That girl isn’t singing any song or dancing any sort of dance. She is, though.” I tear my eyes from the redhead and look towards the direction Robbie has turned.


The author's comments:

This is just a beginning of a piece I thought would be interesting. It's based off of the biblical story Samson and Delilah; very fasinating story. So, I thought of perhaps of a modern tale would be interesting. There is some mature language in it, so, just a warning.

 

Also, if anyone is familiar with the tale of Samson and Delilah I would love help brainstorming. I'm still thinking about how to execute this story. 


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