Dottie and Bree: Episode 4- Glitter Kittens and Unicorns

Dottie and Bree: Episode 4

Their defeated naked legs with pink and orange toenail polish poked from beneath the non-descript white vehicle reddening in the 2pm desert rays. The Diet Coke was long consumed and Bree attempted to sleep with dry caked post crank mouth smacking and licking her lips for moisture; the ants were biting and Dottie feared snakes. The thumping in the trunk had slowed now to inconsistent taps, and Bree’s heart leapt with anticipation of their coming. The Joshua trees in the distance provided no shade, and they wisely decided to stay put and pray to the universe for hope and salvation.

“Are you asleep?”

“I’m resting my eyes. Fucking universe.” Dottie had taken to cursing quietly every 17 minutes or so, usually when the ants began to scatter over her legs and attempt to reach in crevices she would usually charge good money for.

Bree was still sketchy from the speed and between the trunk, the ants, Dottie’s badmouthing and the vicious sun, she feared death’s grip and felt its tight fingers bruising her throat.

She needed to relax; Bree needed sleep.

“When we get to Mexico, we’ll open a bar. We’ll have Kareoke on Tuesday, backed by a real band, and we’ll have Sunday bathrobe drinking specials. Do Mexican’s wear bathrobes?” Bree stretched and cracked her jaw yawning distantly. “We’ll get the little brown beach boys to dive for scallops and spear lobsters and make tortillas and nacho cheese and we’ll pick delicious pills off the always blooming Quaalude tree.” She stretched her arms out scraping them on the black clumps of asphalt tar and lazily rolled her head to the already sleeping Dottie. “Dream happy dreams filled with fluffy kittens and unicorns and lazy afternoons by the milkshake lake; I love you.”

She stared into Dottie’s serene face and closed her eyes to the fear of the desert afternoon.

Smoke and flames rolled and exploded thickly from his moist nostrils and burned the air forcing Bree to choke and sputter cowering nakedly exposed in the grey dust. It covered her skin and caught in her teeth abrasively. The bull blew orange fire that licked at her toes and legs, searing and blistering the skin, puffing her toes to popcorn. She had no escape, but she would not cry. She lifted her chin, gritting her teeth to the sulfurous beast, snarling directly into his fiery black eyes; Bree stood unafraid to face the demon.

Bright mewing and chittering sounded in the distance. Bree refused to remove her eyes from the angry Beast knowing if she lost focus he would immediately devour her soul. Fuschia butterflies fluttered delicately above her head, swirling and quelling the heat as an army of fluffy kittens ran to her rescue led by Dottie in flowing diaphanous scarves atop a blindingly white unicorn. Iridescent rainbow glitter flew out of their open mouths between their tiny sharp fangs embedding into the Beast’s eyes and skin and fur; he collapsed as the unicorn shoved her spiked horn assward repeatedly.

Dottie and her army of kittens nuzzled and rubbed softly against Bree’s body and carried her into the delightfully shivering milkshake lake with multiple flavors bubbling thickly between her toes.

“You girls alright?” Marge’s trash accent was heavy; she was missing a few teeth, but her kind face and generous smile poked beneath the car as she laid deliciously cold, wet towels upon their feet and legs. “You Kid’s is a little crispy. How long you been sleepin’ here?”

Bree wiggled out; her skirt rode up to her waist and flashed her thin aqua thong. “Our car spun out early this morning. It won’t start. We have one hundred sixty-six dollars. Can you help us?” She looked deeply into Marge’s eyes attempting to determine her soul.

Marge’s eyes locked on Bree’s inner thighs. Her short cropped black mullet spoke of white trash mechanics or lesbianism. Bree was praying on the latter.

As Bree adjusted to the light, she noted Marge’s pink tow truck complete with upside down triangle, rainbow flag flopped over in the breezeless afternoon and a hand painted mural of kittens shooting glitter out of their mouths as a unicorn frolicked in a flowered field.

Marge sipped on a large Styrofoam container with red straw and offered it out to Bree with one thick calloused hand. “Milkshake?”

“Thank you Universe.”

“Not Universe, Marge. Name’s Marge. Margret.”

Dottie slid out gracefully from the chasse, stretched her arms to the cloudless blue sky, then seductively bent over to touch her toes exposing her junk to the attentive Marge. “So, you gonna help us, or what?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I certainly am.”