The melancholy promise of a storm hung over Frederica's head as she trudged uphill to her house. Two weeks ago it was 80 degrees, and now we have the sludge at the bottom of a dish drain for a sky. She shook her head in disgust but she was, after all, reconciled by now to the fact SoCal always had a few false starts before it could actually commit itself to a season. Fickle, indecisive, wishy washy SoCal weather. Tonight on the news they'd be interviewing a pack of indignant tourists from the rest of the States who'd believed the Hollywood hype of SoCal's perpetual sunshine and come a runnin' for their spring break.
Freddy skirted a puddle to avoid the agony of walking home in soggy Converses. Her headphone was sliding out. She tucked it into the shell of her ear more securely.
The news was already on when Frederica plopped onto her sofa with a bottle of Coors and a bag of corn chips.
"…and I’m here with Scott Madsen, a Senior at Duke, who just arrived for Spring Break. Scott, you chose SoCal after consulting a travel agent. How much did your agent tell you about Callidia Beach?”
“I mean, did they warn you about our lousy, unpredictable weather? Or the fact that you can’t smoke in any of our over-priced, watered-down bars? Were you warned about the ocean rip-tides, or the shark attacks?”
“Perhaps they mentioned that the only girls in town during spring are from out of town, and they whore around as much as the guys, and the locals call this Chlamydia Beach?”
“Well, I’m here with my girl--”
“Keep an eye on her, Scott. Chances are she’ll put out for the local news producer; they all do. This is Frederica Gillard for News 12 at Chlamydia Beach.”
Frederica sighed, reached for the newspaper, and turned to the help wanted ads.
Opening: Moth.....Continuation: ril