Woman to woman moments "Make Mine a Heel"

Banner grabbed his forearm. “How dangerous is whatever it is you’re doing?”

He sat back on his haunches, and Banner inwardly groaned knowing this was the precursor to him jacking with her. “You worried about something that isn’t real?”

“Don’t be an ass Keith, how dangerous?”

“One to ten about an eight,” he answered slowly.

“What do you classify as a ten?” she asked sharply.

“Smart woman,” Jason tossed in.

Keith crunched his face pinching one eye closed. “Anything involving open flames.”

Banner knew she paled. “What about something that draws blood?”

They both stared at her as if she was insane. Keith threw up his hands with an inscrutable look on his face. “Ummm, doesn’t get to register, that’s standard issue babe, like getting tackled in your tongue.”

Banner held out her hands trying to calm her rising temper. “Don’t call me babe, and what’s a one?” she finally got out.

“Any drop that’s more than ten feet.”

“So let me get this straight, much more dangerous than a drop from more than ten feet, but not as dangerous as open flames, just really close.”

Jason smiled. “I think that’s how he described it to Mr. Cassidy verbatim.”

“Not quite, but damned close.”  He took Banner’s shoulders.  “Look I love it that you are freaked out, but don’t be.  I’ve done much stupider things, trust me.  This is a baby bump in comparison.”

“You aren’t going to tell me what it is because it sounds really bad,” Banner guessed.

He gave her a slow meticulous smile with a chaste kiss on the cheek, and walked away with Jason.

“Good luck with that”, she heard from behind her.

She turned to face Sheryl Cassidy. “That man doesn’t heel worth a damn,” she finished with a knowing look.

“Part of the appeal,” Banner begrudgingly admitted. 

“Damn shame isn’t it? We only want the ones we can’t tell what to do.”

“How is Scott?”

Banner felt bad about asking the question as Sheryl’s face clouded with pain. “I wouldn’t know,” she admitted softly. “I haven’t spoken to him since I left him at the hospital.”  She cradled the clipboard she was carrying, and shook her head. “I don’t know what to do with him. He’s put me in such an awkward situation with the business and my family.”

Banner stepped up to the woman, and put a hand on her arm. “Still love him.”

“More now than before. I almost lost him.”  She sighed long and heavy. “But every once in a while a girl has to ask herself the same question that Anna Mae Bullock had to.”

Banner grinned recognizing Tina Turner’s real name. “What’s love got to do with it?”

Sheryl met her eyes, resolve spreading over her. “Honestly, can women like us afford it?”

They stood there for countless moments staring at each other understanding what was really being asked.  Could women in positions of power with the ability to change things for the better make any other choice than the one that benefitted them and those around them the most?  Could they just refuse the pull of advancement, and follow their hearts anymore?  Maybe a decade or two ago, but today.  The only women that truly wanted to be housewives already were, and loved the job.  The rest just weren’t cut out for it.

“So tempting to be selfish,” she whispered. “To just chuck all that could be done, and chase after that man.”  She shook her head. “I can’t drop the ball like that. Too many people suffer for it; and why, so that I can feel like everybody else.  Husband, 2.5 kids, the American Dream.”  She humphed harshly, and looked around. 

The noise was deafening.  There was a match going on in the ring.  Guys were running around yelling orders.  Her father had signaled her, and she had unconsciously made a notation to her clip board. With an ironic look on her face she met Banner’s eyes again.

“I’m not like other women. I’ll never be like other women.  So it just makes sense that my dreams are different.  I want it all Bay; the husband, the kids, the career, my life, my mark on this place.  For so long men got to do this; have it all.  The home and the career, and women were relegated to making it happen; being the crutch. It’s not fair, and it takes women like us to change it. But it’s hard; we have to do it the way that hurts the most. You cannot forsake one to have the other. They have to all find a way to coexist, so you stay with the one that needs you the most when it needs you.” She took a deep breath, and looked around. “This one needs me the most right now. Scott needs only himself.  If he’s worthy, he’ll see to it.  If not, I’ll find another.”

Sheryl stared at Banner for a moment longer and started talking mostly to herself. “If he’s the one, he’ll understand. Maybe not today; maybe not tomorrow, but someday. Don’t be tempted to stray.  You’ve got a job to do.” With a slight nod she continued past Banner, and took the reins of the backstage production.

Sheryl Cassidy was very good at her job.  She had what Teddy had referred to as good vision.  Banner had seen behind the scenes production for television, people that worked the mechanics of it all. She had seen people that were, okay, good, outstanding and clairvoyant.  Sheryl Cassidy was almost a level beyond clairvoyant.  It was easy to see why Keith had fallen in love with her.  Why all the guys were obviously crazy about her.  Besides being the bosses’ daughter she was humble, but not so much that you didn’t respect her.  She knew what she was talking about, and wasn’t afraid to follow through on it.  Whether Daddy approved or not.  If he didn’t, and she knew it was right, she changed his mind, or did it without him. 

Banner felt her head tilt as with stunning clarity she realized that she was practically looking at herself.  Just under different circumstances.  But unlike Banner, Sheryl had acknowledged instantly that she was in the presence of an equal.  They were women who didn’t focus on what women couldn’t do in their chosen fields.  They had instead made strides so that one day women could do anything in their fields, and thus anything in the world.

Banner took a deep breath feeling the plan take hold.  They could have it all couldn’t they?  God this was a gamble, she thought to herself.  The fallout initially would be immense, and Keith may not ever forgive her.  There was a story here, as a matter of fact there were a few. And while very compelling, the most important story here wasn’t Keith Daniels.  Banner stared after Sheryl for a few moments more.  With a deep sigh, she checked her tapes, and started to set aside paper for a different line of notes. 

With a nod she left her spot. “Hey Sheryl, wait up.”

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Opened Doors

"Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby."  

She hummed softly to the melody as the song blazed through the room.  Always she kept the stereo just too loud.  When it was just too loud, it drowned out all else. Even thought.  "Said you'd be coming' . . . But this song, reminded her of everything.

Like everyone else, she had heard the stories about the groupies, the women who follow and chase bands and celebrities.  She hadn't been one of those women.  She stretched her back at an awkward angle and continued the task of washing dishes in the sink that was never big enough.  In the kitchen that left her wanting for more, in the house that seemed to never hold enough space to be comfortable.  She stayed because it was hers, and no one else's.

"Baby, baby, ohhh, baby, I love you."

The floral skirt she was wearing dusted the floor, leaving only a sliver of her naked foot barren before toying with the hard tile.  As she swayed to the music it danced with her, gilding her moves like an echo, ruffling the air trying to remain still around.  The black tank she wore was nearly threadbare from repeated washings.  One of those items of clothing she would wear till it fell from her form.  As most of her clothes were.  

The tears came quickly, as they always did, not unexpected, they never were unexpected.  Most days saw at least one outburst of misery from her soul as it cried out the unfair fate that was forcing her to be so very strong.

The heartbreak wasn't a normal one.  She didn't cry from bitterness of being abandoned.  She cried for having tasted just enough joy to make her long for it for the rest of her life. He hadn't lied, never made one false promise.  So the song actually didn't fit her situation.  But it made it all the worse in truth. He hadn't cared enough to tell her pretty lies.  So unimportant to what he desired in the grand scheme of things she had been that he hadn't bothered to tell her anything.  Not a hello, not a goodbye.  No baby this, baby that, one day soons, or when I come back. Not a don't wait for me, we end here, this was a mistake, or never agains.

For six days and seven nights he had filled her with all that he was.  For three of those nights, she had held onto herself, the fourth she pretended that she was still whole, on the fifth she had stopped lying, and the sixth and seventh opened up another door.

As she discovered the real problem with opened doors wasn't in getting them open.  That had been almost too easy.  It was the closing that proved to give the fit.  Silly waitress in a bar was all she had been.  A foolish girl that had no idea of who he was.  No man had ever made her  . . .feel.  That was who he had become.  Nothing more, nothing less.  

More than just touch, words, expressions, the color of his eyes, the length of his hair.  She knew where he was in the room at all times, as he did with her.  The melting promise of joy would hum through her when she knew he was near.  Damn that opened door.

"Long ago. . ."

She didn't count how much time had passed in years, they seemed insufficient when the number was tallied. Instead she felt his absence in moments.  As the sun slid to rest.  Heavy footsteps approaching. The feel of freshly washed sheets.  Morning dew falling from leaves onto her skin.  Phrases that matched his cadence. Catching musky scents in the air.  Accidental contact with a stranger.  Fresh strawberries against her lips.  And songs bemoaning loving an entertainer.

What he had left was possibility without hope.  She didn't wonder if he would come for her, never dared dream that he still even thought of her.  He ruled her waking thoughts and dreaming nights. Soon it became insanity to pretend that this wasn't the case. She knew that this door in her was wide open now and oh so hard to fill.  A few brave had tried, only to be told, "That damned door only seems to be the right size for one man."

". . . .I thought it was you, it was only the radio."

The dishes were done, the kitchen finally clean.  The baby was sound asleep and the song filled the space.  She turned and held up her arms as if holding onto a partner.  With great confidence she began to move slowly to the soft strings of the song playing. Gazing upward fondly she smiled, sweetly, softly beautifully.  "I love being in your arms", she whispered to the sound pulsing air around her.

Those With Sight

Book one of the Life Goes On series Arc One The Artists Book One "Those With Sight" Shuttered Vision

“What are you doing here?”  She snapped.

He smiled at the little beauty, she felt him as soon as he showed up this time.  She was getting better and better at it. He loved her dress.  It looked like it was patched together like a quilt. All those lovely loud and soft colors that did wonders for her dark skin. It fit her like a glove. She was shorter than him by five or six inches.  She wasn’t a very slender woman. Not fat by any means but she wasn’t one of those super slender super model skinny numbers he had gotten used to in Hollywood.  She had full breasts a slim waist, ample hips and thighs.  He was willing to bet the backside was as well thought out as the front. Her blue black hair fell in soft wavy curls to her shoulders thick and full. Those amazing gray eyes were on him.  She was furious.

“Mad at me for the stolen kiss?” he teased her.

“No I was mad at you for interrupting me with my father.”

“Your father, so you were talking to somebody.  Here I thought you were nuts.”

“You’re in my dream, I’m not the one that’s nuts.”

He laughed at the matter of fact way she said it. “How is that possible huh?  I can be in your dream but you can’t be in mine? I think you have that wrong.”

She just stared at him confused.  He tried to imagine her near him again.  It worked all of two seconds and then she stopped and stared at him.

“Stop that. If you want me to come over there, ask don’t demand.”

It was something about the way she said it made him ask instead. “Would you, if I asked?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

Seemed simple enough. “Will you stand closer to me?”

“How much closer, be specific.”

His hands itched, his mouth watered. “Close enough to touch.”

He watched spellbound as she shifted her hips stepping lightly and smoothly walking over to him.  The motion of her hips was distracting him.  She flowed like water, well set music.  He felt himself respond to her.

“Will you listen to what I have to say to you?” she asked.

“Why do women always need to talk, we have nothing to talk about.” He placed his hand on her face cupping her cheek, it felt like the smoothest silk. “Touching, that’s what we need to do.”

She cupped his hand in hers as she looked him in the eye. “Why are you here?”

He stared at her oddly as the question vibrated in his head like an echo.  Her eyes expanded and started to glow a bit.  He saw a part of her, like a shadow or illusion of her shift away from her and fly into him. He could feel her in his head starting to tear around.  His childhood flashed briefly in his mind and was passed on to his first sexual experience.  He was in his bedroom when he was 17, Janet Tully taking him into her hand for the first time.  He has his first realization about Hollywood as two skinny blondes with fake tits offer him cocaine on their exposed breasts.  The strips of his mind peeling away as he started to lose control of his motorfunctionality lying in the middle of his gameroom.

“No.” Colan sat straight up in bed naked sweating, breathing hard.  

He dropped his head into his hands, the dream vivid in his mind.  The feelings of helplessness and vulnerability were stark in his person. He threw himself back down on the bed with a thud, then gave a disgusted look at his sheet tenting over his erect penis.

“Well good to know you still work in moments of crisis.” He muttered.

He couldn’t blame it, she was gorgeous, that creature he had dreamed about constantly for months now.   Really it was the dreams before that had eventually led to her. It had started sometime after his nervous breakdown.  He would be sleeping and have the most horrific nightmares.  He was in hell and all around him were roaming beasts and fire breathing creatures.  And always some new lamb for the slaughter would drop from the sky and be unmercifully eaten.  He had tried to defeat the beasts and they would come back stronger, more evolved.  After months of these dreams he had resorted to trying to escape.  One night he had gotten to the top where people were dropped in and he had heard singing.

He closed his eyes and recalled the dream.  She had been singing Amazing Grace.  Simple lovely and it had actually sounded like salvation.  He had waited till she finished and then pulled himself up and he had been in that odd field.  She hadn’t seen him.  Just continued about her way.  She would lay in that field humming to herself.  She would do such odd things there as if she was somewhere else seeing something else.  It was like this odd form of pantomime. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago she had sensed him and now they actually spoke to each other.

He got out of bed to start his day.  It was such a silly foolish thing, his dream woman.  Everything about her was completely different from what he usually looked for in a woman.  She was a dark skinned brunette he usually went for pale blondes.  She didn’t mince words, his women where usually cunningly coy.  She stood up to him, he hadn’t had a women tell him no in a little over a decade.  The oddest part of the whole thing was that every once in awhile he had to work very hard to convince himself that what happened in his dreams wasn’t real.  That she wasn’t real.  He had done all kinds of research on it.  Dreams were just an extension of repressed desires.  Really he wanted something different from what he was and where he was and she represented it.

He stood in the shower letting the hot water fall over him.  He dropped his head and felt it running through his hair down his neck and shoulders. She was an interesting creation he had to admit. She was black from what he could tell, but those eyes and her hair, the black women back home had never looked like that, not women of any of the races he had grown up around.   There were things that were still considered taboo in Oklahoma, especially in the country.  Dating someone not of your same color was one of them.

Honestly he hadn’t ever really thought about it.  His mother hadn’t raised him to care.  But the people surrounding you always ingrained it in your make-up.  White privilege is what it was called by people who studied it.  This whole dichotomy of entitlement and empowerment. He knew about the theories, those with power and all that. He also knew that they were one hundred percent true.  This had been part and parcel to his breakdown.

All his life he had told himself that he wasn’t a racist.  That deep down inside he wanted equal rights for all people.  But the world was the way that it was and nothing could change that.  Such a scapegoat that was created with that one thought.  Colan knew better, he made movies, he created and recreated the world everyday, every week every hour as a new person was exposed to what he was directly responsible for creating.  

The world is not the way that it was because it just was, it was the way the people in power created it to be.  Through all open forms of media, radio, television and film Americans are being told what to do, how to do it and most importantly who to do it too.  It wasn’t too long until books and magazines converted and now you even had to second guess what you read in the newspaper.  Then the internet came along and changed the face of the game.  There was information out there for those willing to look for it about the true face of things in the media and the world.

Colan realized that he had gotten lost in his thoughts but like a well trained automaton had dressed himself, drank his morning health shake and was firmly seated behind the wheel of his jaguar.

Coming June 2015