W&D chapter draft

[jones]

I just finished this a few minutes ago. It may be a little different come Saturday (or maybe not), but I thought some people might like to see the original version. Here are a few pieces of information for those who aren't familiar with the story:

The Val mentioned is a friend of Irene's who was recently assaulted by her now ex-girlfriend Becky. Becky was then repaid in kind by someone close to Val. Irene, who had gone to Becky's apartment to do the same thing, found her on the floor, gave her an ice pack and called the hospital.

Steve Greener is a jerk who has the hots for Irene.

Here we go:

Whither's groceries, 1.37a

"I-- I'd just like ssssss-- some change p-please."

Irene did not even glance up from the book she held before her. The girl who belonged to that voice, she decided, was obviously strung out on something. Junkies did not often come into the store on Irene's shift, but when they did, they came with an arsenal of wheedling tactics in pursuit of liquor, cigarettes or sometimes lottery tickets for free -- tactics which always seemed to start with the ritualistic request for change. And though none had ever been successful in wrangling any merchandise from Irene, the most tenacious among them would accept nothing less than an angry security guard thundering down the baby food aisle toward them as impetus to retreat. Irene, who had no desire to witness such a confrontation, found it most beneficial to all involved to make of herself a brick wall from the very beginning.

"We don't make change after ten."

"Pack of c-cig... cigarettes?"

Inwardly, Irene winced -- the girl must be new at this. Still, she did not look up.

"No hablo ingles, senorita."

"Would y... you look at m-me please?"

"Whatever you're after, you came to the wrong place. Get lost."

"B-but--"

"Do I have to call the fuckin'..." Finally raising her eyes, Irene felt the rebuff die on her lips, yet this was due neither to the deep red and brown scars that streaked the customer's features nor the bruising that still held her right eye swollen half shut. It was, rather, the identity of the customer (whom, despite the injuries, Irene recognized immediately) that paralyzed her tongue.

Cautiously, Becky raised her right hand in salutation but dropped it again self-consciously as Irene's eyes went directly to the splints that held her pinkie, middle and index fingers rigid.

"H-Hey."

Irene's eyes became slits.

"Out."

"I j-jus--"

Dropping herself to the floor, Irene advanced until she stood directly opposite Becky with only the cold linoleum countertop between them. Blood throbbing in her temples, she felt a pleasantly hot sweat break out on the back of her neck and between her shoulder blades.

"Say one more fuckin' word, and I'm over this counter. They'll carry you home in a bag."

Becky did not move.

"Y...," She pinched her eyes together, cocked her head slightly and took a breath before continuing, "You won't do th-th--"

Irene shrugged once. The next moment found her fist crashing squarely into Becky's already swollen eye. With a sharp cry, the girl staggered back and fell in a heap on the rubber mat in front of the twin glass doors. Though gasping for breath, Becky made no attempt to flee or even speak as Irene rounded the open corner of her cubicle and approached her.

"And out the door you go," she muttered, seizing Becky's wrist. "Try not to crack your head on the sidewalk. I can do that myself."

Whether or not Irene would have made good on this promise, no one will ever know. For as she reached out to grasp the door handle, her fingers closed on air. Looking up, she found a bewildered Steve Greener staring down at her. Though frozen for one instant, in the next he leaped over Becky and, clasping Irene about the waist, pulled her back as she raged against him.

"I don't know what you did," Steve cried to Becky, who slowly pulled herself to her feet, "but you better go and I mean fuckin' now. I can't believe I held her this long."

Steve's warning, however, came to late. In the next instant, Irene had broken away and rushed toward Becky. Disdaining to halt her own momentum, she collided with the girl hard enough to carry them both back against the glass doors. Seizing Becky's shoulders, Irene tried to force her out but Becky managed to keep the door from opening by wrapping her functional fingers around the handle of the other door. Straining against one another, the two locked eyes.

Becky's voice was strangely calm. "Ssssstop, or I'll go t-to Val."

"And I'll beat you to death."

Eyes raised in alarm, Steve took a step forward but stopped in obedience to some impulse he did not understand.

Becky shook her head, "Y-you won't."

Scowling, Irene roughly shook herself free. She took one step back and looked Becky up and down. For a long while, only the frightened gasps of both women could be heard.

"Maybe not," Irene nodded finally, "but you know who might."

Blinking once, Becky inhaled sharply and nodded in agreement.

"Who?" piped Steve's voice.

Irene's eyes flashed upon him. "Take a walk, asshole!"

Steve almost laughed, "I think I better stick around. I'd rather not have to visit the love of my life behind bars." He paused before adding casually, "Then again, there's always conjugal vis--"

"I said FUCK OFF!"

Steve and Irene stared at each other for what seemed like an hour until with a shrug Steve announced as if to the air, "Guess I'll fuck off now. But I'm not going far, and if you kids can't play nice, I'm gonna turn this car around and nobody's going to Wally World."

Irene said nothing but watched as he disappeared at an easy pace down the closest aisle. Satisfied he was out of earshot, she turned back to the girl who had moved away from the door and was now standing with arms folded sullenly near the cash register.

"I--..." Again, Becky closed her eyes, swallowed and breathed in slowly before resuming, "I'm just here to talk. I don't w... want--"

"Why are you talking like that?" Irene snapped. "Please tell me it's crippling brain injury."

Unphased, Becky answered, "I-- I've stuttered s-since I was a kid."

"How stupid do you think I am?" Irene rolled her eyes. "You think faking a speech impediment's gonna win you _my_ sympathy? You were at our house, you lying little psycho! How come I didn't hear your oh-so p-p-p--," sneering, she imitated Becky's previous facial ticks, "pathetic stutter then? How come Val never mentioned it?"

Becky swallowed, "Shhh-she never heard it. I had speech thhhh--erapy in high school, and I take m-meds. But I had to... g-go off them for a while, and I c-couldn't do my exercises w-with my jaw wired."

Frowning, Irene folded her arms and measured Becky with a long stare before announcing, "I don't believe one goddamn word. Go ahead and spew whatever you came here to spew, and then disappear before I knock your teeth out."

"T-too late." To Irene's surprise, Becky grinned ever so slightly as, lifting her good left hand, she gripped her front teeth between thumb and forefinger. With a click that seemed to echo seconds afterward, she removed the dental replica that occupied the space where her four front teeth should have been and held it up for Irene to see.

Though shuddering inwardly at the inch-long gap between Becky's incisors, Irene steeled herself and said only, "Four down, twenty-eight to go. You got one minute."

Nodding blankly, Becky replaced the dentures. "I only c-came to say 'thanks.'"

"For what?" Irene snapped.

"Ffff... for helping me. For being so n-nice when you found me. For calling nine-one-one and the ice and s-stuff."

Seething, Irene took a heavy step forward, hissing, "You are _not_ fucking welcome. Now get out."

"I w-was also wondering," Becky drew an envelope from her pocket, "if y-you'd give this to V-Val... for me."

"Sure thing," Irene shrugged and casually took the envelope in Becky's outstretched fingers. Taking a hasty second to look it over, she then tore it several times and thrust the pieces into her back pocket. "I'll make sure she gets every little bit."

Her Upper lip quivering, Becky's eyes began to moisten.

Irene exploded, "Don't you fuckin' cry! You don't have the right! Did you really think I was gonna do anything to remind Val you even exist? For your information, she's doing just fine, no thanks to you. She's not looking back. Follow her lead. That's the best thing you can do for her."

"I j-j-just--"

"You j-j-j-just what?"

Sobbing, Becky only shook her head, muttering, "Nevermind..."

Stepping forward again, Irene brought her face to within inches of Becky's and whispered, "Understand something Beck, I'm not moved at all by your Porky Pig stutter, those revolting scars on your cheeks or whatever heart-wrenching tragedy turned you into the sick freak you are. If I see you... if Gene sees you... if Sylvia or any of our other friends and especially if Val even _thinks_ she sees you, I'll make your life dog shit."

What happened next could not have surprised Irene more if the girl had sprouted a tail and bounced away upon it. Raising her arms, Becky wrapped them gently about Irene's shoulders and clasped her tightly. Burying her eyes in Irene's shoulder, she soaked Irene's shirt with her tears. Overwhelmed by the immediate pathos of this act, Irene found her own arms drifting to return the embrace with genuine sympathy.

In a moment, however, she regained herself. Thrusting Becky rudely against the glass door, Irene took several steps back but only after delivering one hard slap to the girl's swollen cheek.

"Your minute's up!" Irene declared coldly. "Start walking."

Head lowered, Becky disappeared out the door. Irene caught the scent of woodsmoke on the gust of October night that shot in, chilling her to the bone, as the door shut slowly in Becky's wake. Exactly how long she stood in that spot staring blankly at the spot Becky had occupied, she could not say. At length, however, an languidly paced series of hand claps like gunshots broke upon her ears.

"That was beautiful, Ms. Hepburn. You ready for your close-up now?"

Spinning about wildly, Irene's eyes widened as she gazed at Steve, seemingly in horror. "What did you call me?"

Steve, who found himself even more taken aback by the look on Irene's face than he had been by the what she had been doing when he entered the store, blinked once or twice.

"I...," he stuttered, "only meant you weren't exactly... honest with that girl. What's her name? Beck?"

"Becky," Irene nodded. She folded her arms and only stared.

"She's the one who messed with your friend."

"Where'd you hear--"

"Gene told Faye."

"Yeah," Irene admitted, "that was her. So what?"

"Well," he shrugged, "you came off pretty harsh. But I don't--"

"You know what she did, right?" she replied sharply.

Steve lifted two hands peacefully. "She deserves it. I'm not saying otherwise. What I'm saying is you don't hate her as much as you want her to think you do, as much as you _wish_ you did."

"Really?" Irene snorted. "And I guess you pulled me off her because you were afraid I was gonna treat her to International Coffee?"

"No way!" Steve denied vigorously. "I did that to cop a feel!"

"Fuck you, Steve," said Irene, though she found herself grinning just a little, "just... fuck you."

"Seriously though," he pursued, "that shit about making her life dog shit: well dog shit is just what it was. You're not gonna do that."

Irene glared at him, "I will if she fucks with Val."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, "but she's not gonna do that and you know it."

"I wouldn't put anything past that sick freak."

"Okay okay," Steve nodded dismissively, "_if_ she messes with Val, I'm sure you'll rain down sulphur. But she got to you... some... or a little at least."

"She didn't--"

"She did," he pronounced with unassailable conviction. "You," Steve gestured broadly to encompass Irene's entire figure, "wanna be Val's defender, but this girl Becky's got you tied up in knots. You hate her for what she did, but there's something about her that just drags that simpering, noodle-spined Irene, who's just spilling over with compassion and forgiveness, out of your gut."

Face blank, Irene approached Steve cautiously as he went on, "I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the way she looks. Maybe it's the way she talks. Shit, you practically screamed, 'I feel sorry for you!' every time you made fun of her stuttering. But it's more than that too. It's something... well, it's something I can't put my finger on, but it's still--"

"Stop," said Irene quietly and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Consciously allowing it to remain there, she added, "I'm not saying you're right, but I get what you're saying. You don't need to say anymore."

Trying hard to bite his tongue, Steve still found himself too caught up in his train of thought to halt himself. He did, however, make an effort to soften his tone.

"It's uh...," he swallowed as Irene's hand exerted tender pressure on his shoulder, "I need to tell you it's not a good thing, whatever you're thinking about Beck. She's got plenty of people -- her parents and whatever friends she has -- to feel sorry for her."

"I know."

"She doesn't need your sympathy, but your real friend Val does. She's been your friend longer, and she deserves it. Nobody else should matter."

Irene lowered her head in deference. "You're right. It's all true."

Steve chuckled slightly, "Think of all the time you'd save by just keeping that idea in your head all the..."

He fell silent as Irene, taking his hand in hers, pressed her lips very softly against his knuckles. In mute amazement, he felt her forehead come to rest gently against his collar bone. Remaining completely still, he took a long moment to savor this small bit of warmth and pressure, the first she had offered in the year he had known her.

At length, however, the unrealistic promises implied by her act grew too much for him to bear. Wishing them apart, he spoke again to further that desire.

"So...," he muttered. "You're gonna tear up that note then?"

Irene did not move as she murmured, "Already did."

"No," Steve shook his head, "not that one." Grasping her shoulders, he thrust her gently back and nodded in the direction of the cash register, "That one over there."

Following his direction, Irene's gaze alighted tentatively on a thin white envelope abandoned on the counter. Even from this distance she recognized her name written across the face of it in malnourished, gossamer strands of ink.

thanks for reading

take care

---jones

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[dwim]

That was good there... I like the conflict and the characters are so well drawn... good job

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I try to be humble but this guy threw my greatness in my face! I'm trying to deny my greatness!

"Everything belongs to me because I am poor." - Jack Kerouac Visions of Cody