Showing posts with label Sandra's Social. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sandra's Social. Show all posts

Saturday, January 25, 2014

When Sandra met Charlotte

Excerpt from Sandra's Social:

“I bet you think you’re too good for me too.” Charlotte had one of those sexpot voices that was hoarse to the point that sometimes parts of words would fade out to only slightly be heard.  When she got angry or excited it would even squeak out in some places.  And always depending on her mood, slightly tinged with a Southern accent.
Sandra side-glanced her. “I don’t even know who you are”.
“Well I know who you are.  You’re one of those women that look at me, and see a fat girl.  You see a woman who isn’t worth your space.”  She began to weep. “A woman whose boyfriend you can take. That worthless piece of donkey dung, how dare he?”
“I’m sorry you’re having a rough time, but I’m not a boyfriend stealer. I do something else entirely.”
“What do you mean?” she muttered out between sobs as she patted dry her running face.
“Can I buy you a shot?”  Sandra offered out of the blue.
While they had been having their shots, Sandra in an effort to console Charlotte, had made her privy to her theory on men and love, and what she meant to do about it.  At the tender age of sixteen Sandra had already scientifically dissected the nature of every boy in a one-mile radius.  At 18 she had graduated with the knowledge of the social preoccupations of men within the country she was in.  By 21 she had entire nations of men charted and hypothesized for good measure.  Then her adventures with Athol had settled it for her.  She had to use this knowledge somehow.  They couldn’t be allowed to get away with it.
“You see Charlotte it’s very simple.”  She downed a beer.  “Men are predisposed to be cheaters.  Men are trained at a very early age to follow their instincts. Their instincts tell them to be fruitful and multiply with as many women as it takes to propagate the species.  This started thousands of years ago before technology made it unnecessary to make enough humans that nature wouldn’t just wipe out the species.”  She glanced up at the bartender, “Two more shots of Patron mon ami.  The problem is that the mental instincts and training has been continually taught because women have been placed somewhere behind cattle since the beginning of time and only what, 70, 80 years ago we actually started minding it, and doing something about it.  We are combating thousands of years of preprogramming in a span of time that it takes a life to gestate into fulfillment.  All of us girls were being told we’re equal, and we deserve the best, and not to be treated beneath cattle.  On the other side of the fence the boys are being told, ‘Don’t mind her boy, she’ll eventually realize where she belongs.’  And the training is continued.”
Charlotte gave Sandra a startled look of understanding.  “They don’t have to be jerks they’re still being taught that we’re beneath them by their fathers and grandfathers.” She toasted with Sandra, and they downed their shots of tequila.  “I never looked at it like that before.”
“Very few of us do, that’s why we’re in this situation.  We’re uninformed.  It’s in all walks of our life.  The trick is that since they can’t legally keep us in our place they find other ways to do it.  Look at our icons and superstars.  Men like Danny Devito are stars while women like Roseanne Barr are constantly trashed for not looking up to snuff.  Our American Hollywood rewards female actresses for playing whores, adulteresses, and loose women.  Think about your last 3 years of female Oscar winners. Male doctors blow off our symptoms as being ‘silly’ and label us ‘hypochondriacs’.  And guys leave decent caring women like yourself for the sake of barely literate eye candy like that whatever he left you for. Yet when a woman satisfies herself, and her sexual needs and desires she’s labeled a whore, and unfit for motherhood and marriage. The only things we are good for by the by.” She paused looking at their empty shot glasses. “Bartender, another round.” “Well I’m not gonna take it anymore. I have decided on a course of action, and it’s called W.A.R.M.”
“Warm?” She held up her shot to meet Sandra’s clank, and simultaneously down.
“Women Assisting the Reclamation of Man.  If we leave it up to them it’s never gonna happen. We have to take this one into our own hands just like we did with our equality. Not every good-looking girl is as dumb as a post.  Most of us have good heads on our shoulders, and know how to use them. If things are going to level out then this training will have to be accomplished by women, and it has to be done in a brutal, harsh, life-altering way to insure that they don’t revert as soon as the lesson is done. My idea is to gather a group of us, and we systematically start retraining men.” She glanced up, “Bartender,” pointing to their empty shot glasses, “Yo!”
“A group; like AA or something?”
“Yeah something like that I suppose.”  Sandra frowned. “I didn’t intend for it to be that big.”
“Why not?”  Charlotte’s odd blue-green eyes started to glint as her mind raced with the tequila, and the possibilities.  “How is this supposed to happen if you keep it on a small scale?  First thing we should do is get a website.”
“Charlotte, I don’t know—”
“Then we can have meetings, and when we get a membership too high for local meetings there will be seminars.”
“Charlotte, I don’t think—”
“And there has to be a fan club. You know for women who support us, but don’t have the balls to get out there and do it.”
“No fan clubs—”

“Whose gonna train all of these women?” She stared at Sandra. “It’s your ideal, so it should be you.  How does a woman reclaim a man anyway?  In a brutal and harsh fashion that is?”

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

When Alex met Thomas

Excerpt from Sandra's Social:

This morning was the clearest Alex’s mind had been since the accident.  He focused on the girl Danielle as she brought over his breakfast.  She looked like she fell right out of the 17th century. Her skin looked like cappuccino froth dusted lightly with cinnamon.  The long plain beige skirt she was wearing looked made of cotton.  The simple white top was too big for her as the large scoop neck toyed with falling off her creamy lightly freckled shoulders with every movement. It was held to her form by a simple white apron cinched tight to her small waist. She had a brown bandana tied around her gold-laced brown hair holding it out of her face.  With no makeup, and only a freshly washed face with broad evenly placed features, golden amber eyes sparkled mischievously with an even broader smile.
“Morning Beautiful; here’s some eats for you.  Hope this day finds you blessed.”
“Who is he to you?”
Danielle gave him an odd look as she placed the steaming plate of eggs and hash on the table near his bed. “That was a complete sentence. This day sees you blessed indeed.”
“Answer the question.”
“My name’s Danielle by the way.  He told me you were Alex, -”
“Please, answer the question.”
“My brother, now can we move on to more civilized conversation?”
Alex merely regarded her with hooded eyes.
“I suppose that’s a no.  Pity I figured you had something interesting to say.”
“When is Glendel coming back?”
She shrugged as she turned, and started to leave the room.
Alex stewed for a second over Danielle’s uncooperative nature.  He then took a mental detail of his physical condition.  He moved both legs successfully, but the truth would come when he tried to put weight on those legs.  His right shoulder was definitely wrenched.  He had pain in various places; his face, his chest, and back. It was safe to say he truly hurt from head to toe.  He was staring at his feet dangling over the end of the bed when Glendel casually strolled into the room.
“Done with your vacation? Talk about an inopportune time to take a break.” His gold eyes pinned Alex where he lay as the deep smooth voice of the man filled the room.
Glendel stood at the doorway in pretty much the same ensemble he had been in when they had met three weeks ago, but without the hat.  His brown hair was greasy, and lay flat to his skull as if he had been wearing a hat before he came to the bedroom.  
Alex really wasn’t in the mood for this man’s off color sense of humor, and said so. “I can’t say that I’m in a good frame of mind for your particular brand of wit.”
Glendel arched a brow mockingly. “Why that was slightly British. Odd from a big slant eyed Bolshevik like you. What’s your story Stefanov?”
Alex merely glared at the man.
“Okay, I see you woke up in a grand mood.” Glendel commented as he went over to a chair that was by the bed.  It was the perch that Danielle had maintained during her vigil over his prone body.
“Where’s McNeil?” Alex slanted his dark blue eyes at Glendel.
“Back to his charmed lifestyle.” His expression appeared bland at most.
Alex stared at the ceiling as he thought about the places Shane McNeil could hole up. “How did the rest of the IRA feel about Shane’s statement?”
“They claim it, but I happen to know firsthand that it leaves a sour taste in the mouth of many of them.  They want Shane dead.” This was accompanied by an even blander look on his face considering the subject.
Alex fixed Glendel with a hard look. “How do you know so much?  How long have you been working this?”
“Since it started it seems. This is my home Alex. I see to what’s mine.” Glendel ended fiercely, his tone defying the unresponsive features of his face.
“Will you get in my way when I go after McNeil?”
“Not at all, I intend to help.  Unfortunately if I want to maintain my inside you’ll have to be the one to kill McNeil, and then I’ll do the right thing, and kill you.”
“You’re breaking my cover.” Alex jerked wanting to sit up, but flinching instead, and staying prone.
“Yes I want you out of Ireland mate,” he said deadpan.
“My orders-,” Alex started raising his voice.
“Are superseded by mine,” was said softly, but with force.
“No fucking way will I just roll over and let you kick me out.”
“You aren’t being given a choice in the matter.  I’m offering you plenty by giving you McNeil, and a fake death. I could give you neither.” Glendel’s eyes gleamed with malicious intent. The most expression he had showed yet.
Alex frowned at the man that he was quickly beginning to not like one bit. They were on the same side. Why was he being told to run home with his tail between his legs?  It wasn’t even from his superior, but by some CIA field agent. It made no bloody sense.  Then realization dawned on him.  The man being in the right place at the right time, his unreadable countenance, and obvious community ties.
“You’re first wave intel.”
Glendel’s answering smile was dark and cold. “Now you’re catching on laddie; much bigger things here than the IRA.”
Alex closed his eyes in frustration, but knew that he had to heed the man before him.