A tale of Three Dinners
1 A Private Dinner at the Brownstone
“This is a wonderful apartment!” Kirsten Fulcher was in raptures. She’d said the same thing – or something similar – at least a dozen times as Kelly took our guests on a tour of our newly refurbished brownstone. That had become something of a routine in the few weeks since we’d moved in. Every guest – and there had been many – had to have the tour.
On this particular night, we were hosting Harriet and Calvin Stowe, Gus and Bea Holst and one of my engineering colleagues, Gavin Souter, along with his partner Kirsten. In truth, Gavin was more than a colleague – he was a good friend. We'd studied together and before I'd joined the family firm, I'd worked with him for a while. Until early last summer, we would meet for lunch or dinner at least once a month. Then he’d met Kirsten and I’d met Kelly. There was an old adage – ‘a bachelor’s friends are not those of a married man’ and Gavin and I had proven that to be true even though neither of us was technically married.
Perhaps – as Kelly said – it was largely my fault. I didn’t like Kirsten. She was an attorney in a suburban law firm which specialised in challenging wills. I thought that, and the way the firm advertised its services, was akin to those ambulance chasing attorneys who gave lawyers a bad name – maybe even worse since it was macabre, even ghoulish to twist people’s grief into greed and use it for profit. I'd said as much to Gavin when he first introduced me to Kirsten and though I’d been careful to do so when she wasn’t around, I’m sure she sensed my hostility.
Kirsten's appearance didn't endear her to me either. The poor girl was fat. She had multiple chins– or rather it seemed her chin was sunk in her jowls and neck – a big stomach and a huge ass, so much so that all three of her vital statistics were probably identical. Not that there was anything wrong with being overweight, but she was constantly harping on about her latest fad diet, while never sticking to any of them for long. I didn’t endear myself to her – or Gavin – when I suggested that all the money she spent on diet pills and herbal remedies might be better spent on a gym membership. What was worse, she had no dress sense, certainly not for a woman of her size. She dressed like one of Elena Savoy’s trashy friends, in tight outfits that didn’t flatter her at all, and with a lot of bling.
What really repelled me though, were her manners, or rather her lack of them. Call me old fashioned but I always referred to my seniors – whether work colleagues, the parents of friends or just casual acquaintances – as Mr or Mrs until they invited me to use their first names. It showed respect. And – although unlike the rest of my family I was no churchgoer – I always referred to ministers in the same way, with the exception of my sister Joni's husband. ‘Mistering’ my brother in law was taking respect too far.
The first time Kirsten met my parents, at an Institute of Engineers dinner, she began using their first names from the outset. Even worse, she treated them as elderly people who were simply not up to date. My parents didn't have smart phones or carry tablets around with them, but my father presided over a company that specialised in robotic machine tools; and it had been his skill and drive that had made us a major force in that industry. Neither he nor my mom deserved to be condescended to.
No, I didn't like Kirsten Fulcher. “Nor did you make any attempt to like her,” Kelly had reminded me, “and by doing so, you've almost lost a friend. That, Peter, is why we’re inviting them to dinner.”
So far the dinner party was going well. Kirsten was as taken with the apartment as we had been. Kelly concluded her tour saying, “Most of the work had already been done by the time we moved in. We were lucky – Vic Hely Hutchinson found it for us at a good rent, and negotiated an option to purchase it at the end of the lease if we want.” I'd been delighted when Kelly asked for the option. It showed that she was as committed as I was to the idea of ‘us’. It might soon be time to think about buying a ring. Kelly went on, “Vic's wife Marjorie had done some of the interior design and decoration. She told us what we needed to do to finish it, and we did so. It didn't cost a lot.“
“It's so spacious! All the rooms are large and airy…it's wonderful! You’re so lucky!” Kirsten said. She was right. It was a large brownstone with three bedrooms, a refurbished bathroom and kitchen, a large living room and, through an archway, a separate dining room into which my grandparents’ sideboard and dining table – designed for 12 people – fitted comfortably. They had given me the dining room furniture when they downsized a year or so back. I'd been paying storage on it till we moved here. It was good to have the old mahogany polished and gleaming in the candlelight once again.
The apartment even had a balcony overlooking attractive gardens on the apartment block's property, though in late November they were covered in snow and we'd put up double glazing to keep the cold at bay from the balcony. “But in summer you could hang hammocks and laze there in the evenings. Look,” Kirsten pointed, “there are hooks there already.”
Kelly nudged me gently. I took her message and offered everyone cocktails. We sat and chatted till Kelly asked for some help in the kitchen. We brought out the soup and then, over a joint of roast beef and baked vegetables, Gus began telling us about their recent trip to Europe. He and Bea had gone for a month's vacation in late summer on what was billed as a culture tour. I commented that seeing operas and plays, visiting art galleries and historic buildings would have been a little sedate for my tastes.
“No Peter,” he waved his fork to make his pint, “you and Kelly would love it! Lots of walking…we got quite fit, and some of the more elderly people were so exhausted the tour company had to lay on a coach.” He concluded, “The worst part of the trip was airports. O'Hare's a nightmare.”
“Flying's always a nightmare,” Calvin agreed. “We should have fast trains like they have in Europe.”
“Oh, and let Congress waste more money on Amtrak,” Kirsten retorted.
“It's not a waste, it’s an investment,” Kelly replied.
“It's a boondoggle,” said Kirsten firmly. “It’s a waste. No other transport is subsidised.”
“That's not true,” argued Kelly. “The Feds built the interstates, and today the Highway Fund only provides less than two thirds of the costs of roads. The rest comes from general taxes. Sure, airlines are privately owned but the airports are state run and therefore subsidized. Besides, Homeland Security and air traffic controllers are totally federally funded. When you take all that into account, trains are no more subsidised than any other form of transport.”
“The Northeast Corridor actually makes money. It’s more popular than flying, and it’s faster too, if you allow the time it takes to get to the airports,” added Harriet. “Our kids love train travel and so do we. There's nothing quite as romantic as a long distance train trip. People even write poems about trains. I don't know of any poems about planes or freeways.”
“Still, Congress shouldn't subsidise trains – it’s just one more cost. The government wastes enough money as it is,” Kirsten repeated. Then – thankfully –she changed the subject. “What lovely prints…Turner, aren't they?”
Kelly smiled. “Yes, they are. Have a look while I get dessert.”
She served sticky date pudding with clotted cream and custard. Kelly accepted the compliments on her cooking with a gracious smile. “Peter helped. He's one of those men who know how to cook. I made a good choice with him.” She leaned across and kissed me.
Bea giggled a little. “Yes we heard how you chose him too. The same way you chose some other men in the past…spoils of combat.”
Kelly cut her off. I don't think she wanted Harriet and Calvin, let alone Gavin and Kirsten, to know just how often she had fought in the past. “These spoils were worthwhile.” Again she kissed me. “Now if you’ll excuse us, my spoils and I are going to clear the table. We'll serve coffee and liquors out there.” She pointed to the Davenport sofas in the living room.
In the kitchen, Kelly whispered to me so that the others in the dining room wouldn’t hear, “Poor Kirsten. She's a delight, saying all the right things about the apartment, but she really needs to do something about her weight…and her clothes! Whatever possessed her to wear a top that tight? She’s got rolls!” She shook her head. “Perhaps I should take her in hand. Nicely of course…just a few suggestions.” She handed me a tray, ending the conversation.
A few moments later we were again seated. I poured brandy, cognac or port for those who wanted it. There were cheeses, mints and fruit on the small table and people were sitting chatting.
“Those Turner prints you admired were Peter's idea,” said Kelly to Kirsten. “He bought them with some of the profits from his sideline.” She turned to Gus and Bea. “You two already know about the CD's Peter and Double H – ” she used her pet name for Vic Hely Hutchinson “ – put out. You were at the launch.” She went on, “Harriet, remember the day we met you?” Harriet nodded. “Peter and Vic went exploring, they found this delightful pond just a little way inland from the cove where we'd pulled up in our boats. Vic had the idea of a relaxation CD showing scenes of the cove and the surrounding forest. They’ve sold really well…so well in fact, that they've gone on to make another two CD's. The latest is a fitness program. That's their most ambitious yet…they had to pay a fitness trainer…but it's been successful.”
“Who are you selling them to?” asked Calvin.
I explained that our marketing plan had three pitches; firstly to 'people like us', then to young professionals without as much money – people with 'more class than cash' like Bethany Beaverbrook at Kelly's office, and finally to poorer people – mostly girls –such as office staff, sales clerks and so on who couldn't afford gym memberships. “And,” I concluded, “Vic and I were surprised to find we sold more to those people than anyone else.”
“Why surprised?” asked Calvin. “There are more of them than people like you and me.”
“Because so many people are really struggling. People on minimum wage who work full time are on food stamps. It's not fair,” I replied.
“Why should we pay them anymore?” Kirsten snorted. “They have minimum education, minimum motivation, minimum skills…so they get a minimum wage.”
“It’s not fair to us…the taxpayers. Why should your tax dollars, or mine, go to subsidise Wal-Mart’s wage bill? That's what it amounts to. Their profits would be about half what they are now if the minimum wage was set so a full time worker's wage was above the social security level. It's Wal-Mart that's the welfare queen, not the workers.”
“Nonsense,” Kirsten snapped. “The workers are low paid because they’re deadbeats. They don't have the initiative to get a better education or a better job.”
“You're missing Peter's point,” Calvin replied. “It's not about the workers on the minimum wage. It’s about us…our tax dollars subsiding the profits of the companies that employ them. In any case, if the minimum wage had increased at the same rate as productivity, then it would be way above the poverty line.”
“They’re a pack of deadbeats,” repeated Kirsten with even more conviction. “No motivation, no skills.”
“Some have college degrees. They just can't get a job.”
“What sort of degrees? Probably something useless like ‘creative writing.’ Why do we pay welfare anyway? We…people like you and me…are taxed enough already. Anyway, they can get tips. I went to Australia last year and no one tips there because the wages are higher, but the standard of service is abysmal. You wind up paying the same for a meal or a drink, but you get lousy service.”
“When did you last tip someone at Wal-Mart?
“I never have. They don't deserve it. I'm surprised those people wanted to buy your CDs. It’s not like they’re into taking care of themselves. Most of them pig out on junk food and laze around. Still, it’s good to see some of them making an effort.”
“It’s actually rather a lot of them,” I added. “Sales are good. So good that Vic wants another spinoff. He’s asking Kim Curzon to do the voiceovers.” I looked at Bea, hoping she’d say something to get Kirsten off the subject before somebody at the table lost their temper with her. I was a prime candidate.
Bea took the hint. “How is she? Has she recovered?”
“Physically she’s on the mend, but she’s very subdued…not like the normal Kim at all.” I turned to Kirsten and explained, “We’re talking about Kim Curzon, the actress. You may have seen her in some of the New Globe productions. She was rather badly hurt at a mutual friend's place a few weeks ago.”
“Michael Tippet took her home after that incident,” Kelly added. “We called round the next morning. He'd slept on the couch. Kim shares her apartment with a friend but Michael wanted to make sure Kim didn't need to go to the ER.” She grinned. “He was making breakfast when we arrived. He and Kim's roomie had her tucked up in bed.”
Bea smiled too. “I can imagine Kim holding court from her bed.”
“Yes, all four of us…Michael, Odette, Peter and I…sat in her bedroom eating breakfast. Kim was still in a lot of pain but she loved the attention. Peter's right though…she was very subdued, very quiet. I think it hurt her to speak.” She smiled again. “Michael's a good man…better than Kim deserves. He’s been looking after her, driving her to rehearsals and productions, even doing her shopping for her. Yes they’re dating but in an odd way. I don't think they’ve actually gone on a date. Kim is way too depressed. No, that's not quite right…it’s more like she's scared of another incident.”
Bea shook her head. “That might be good for her. She might be more careful next time.”
“Kim doesn't how to be careful,” said Kelly. “But it’s more than that. She's drained.”
“Perhaps it’s part of being an actress,” I interjected, “and having to be ‘up’ in public all the time.” I turned to Kirsten to try to involve her in the conversation again. “Trial lawyers must have the same experience. Some of the great ones seem to have been almost actors themselves.” Kirsten nodded and the conversation went on.
At the end of the evening when everyone had gone and we were almost finished cleaning up, Kelly said to me, “Peter, you were right. That Kirsten Fulcher is a stuck up bitch. All that stuff about people on minimum wage being worthless. Besides, she completely missed the point. It’s us who are paying through our taxes to make Wal-Mart and McDonalds more profitable. I'm not looking forward to the Institute of Engineers dinner.”
“It’s too late to cancel now. The dinner is in three weeks. We've got the tickets already and my father's making a speech so we have to go, to support him.”
“It's odd that you mentioned Kim Curzon,” said Kelly, changing tack. “Next Sunday night is a benefit concert…the Wirtz Centre Gala. The drama school at Northwestern is raising money for some Feinberg research programmes.” She smiled wryly. “Typical Northwestern…they win both ways. Their dramatic arts programme gets kudos while their medical programme gets the money.” Kelly had gone to University of Chicago. “I wonder if Kim will be there…she always has in the past. Perhaps we'll see her at the supper afterwards.”
“You can always ask her to come,” I suggested. “You've been going round to her apartment a bit after work, since Wendy Armstrong flattened her.”
“I needed to check up on her, to make sure was ok.”
“Oh?” I looked at her inquiringly.
“Yes, it comes with the territory…the same way I've been meeting with your ex, Margot, ever since Elena flattened her. She needs her confidence restored too.” She smiled. “I look after them.”
I shook my head. Kelly's comment, reminding me that Margot was my ex, was so typical. Our college romance had been over years ago. We'd both been seeing others since then. Margot and Elena had come to blows over Malcolm Sergeant, whom Margot had been dating for a while until Elena stepped in. Reminding me about Margot was Kelly's way of shutting me up. Her last words – I look after them were equally typical. It was as though she saw herself as the lady of the manor.
*****
2A Supper at the Wirtz Gala.
Kelly whispered, “Stop looking at that woman that way.”
I grinned at her. “Kelly, I’m astounded! It’s not every day you see an English college lecturer wearing what looks to be a leather corset.” I hadn’t expected to see anyone like this at the Wirtz Centre Gala, certainly not within a few minutes of arriving. Holly was certainly a sight. She was fairly short, no more than five feet four inches, but was wearing high heeled calf-length leather boots that made it difficult to judge. She had shapely, pert breasts – B cup, I judged – that were put brazenly on show by the corset. Her wavy dark brown hair was cut short in a bob style . Her most striking feature however, was her big, piercing blue eyes. They seemed to bore into you when she looked at you and almost – almost –distracted one’s attention from her chest. “She looks like she’d be more at home with a whip and some toys in a D/s dungeon than in a lecture theatre.”
“Peter I’ve given up expecting you to keep your mind out of the gutter, but you could at least pretend…just for now.” Kelly’s words were scolding but she giggled softly to soften her tone. I knew she was kidding. She turned to Holly.“Sorry…a private joke. You were talking about Trollope. I’ve always thought The Way We Live Now to be a most unusual book for him…sad, somber, almost despairing.”
“He was writing about the end of the squires…the end of a long era,” replied Holly who was clearly well versed in history as well as literature. “In the last twenty years of Victorian England some 80% of country estates changed hands, either sold outright or leased because the squires couldn’t afford them. Trollope identified with these people…so did Tennyson. Remember how he wrote in Locksley Hall 60 Years On:
Silent echoes! you, my Leonard, use and not abuse your day,
Move among your people, know them, follow him who led the way,
Strove for sixty widow'd years to help his homelier brother men,
Served the poor, and built the cottage, raised the school, and drain'd the fen.
The Way we Live Now, in part, laments the loss of that class . ‘Mr Carbury the last of his family to be Carbury of Carbury.’”
I had to revise my view of Holly, realizing as she talked with Kelly that she would definitely be at home in the lecture theater. I was equally sure however, that she’d be at home in a D/s dungeon, administering punishment. I relished the thought that someday I might see her there. All too soon for my liking, Kelly turned to greet another long-standing friend, and Holly sashayed off to get a drink.
I stood alone for a short while, listening and watching the crowd, before I noticed Kim Curzon, also alone. I wasn’t surprised to see her at the Gala. Kelly had forcefully impressed on her the importance of coming and the consequences if she didn’t turn up. But I was surprised that she was on her own. She looked pale and drawn, her eyes fixed in mid distance. I followed the direction of her stare and smiled inwardly. I guessed Kim might draw the line at following Michael to the bathroom.
“Why hello, lovely lady. How are you?” Stewart James greeted her, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her into a kiss.
“Stu! Don’t do that!” Kim protested, though rather unconvincingly. “It’s embarrassing.”
“You look even more beautiful when you blush,” my old friend drawled, taking no notice of Kim, kissing her again. Stewart James – Stu to his many friends – was like that. An actor who normally played villains – everyone from Iago or Shylock or Richard III to the Prince Regent in the Prince and the Showgirl to Tony Wendice in Dial M for Murder, he looked the part. Never really well nor poorly dressed, he was always seen – except when acting – with a little stubble on his face and a wisecracking manner, a drink in one hand and a girl's waist in the other.
Tonight it was Kim's turn. They chatted quietly, Kim trying to distance herself from Stewart, but not so much as to stop the conversation. She may not have wanted to flirt but I knew that - like the entire performing arts world in Chicago – she admired and respected Stu.
So did Kelly, though for different reasons. As she'd said to me when she found that Stu was a mutual friend, “He could have gone to Hollywood and been a great character actor, perhaps as famous as Vincent Price or Joseph Cotton, but he stayed here to look after his sister.” I had met his developmentally delayed sister who was a little ‘simple’. She'd never be able to live independently. Ever since their parents had died years ago, Stu had lived with her and looked after her. It wasn't a full time job, of course. He worked at his acting career, he went to parties like this, but always he went back to his sister. Kelly, who worshipped her own family, approved of family piety in others. “Let him play the bad boy, let him pretend to be Casanova because that's all it is,” she said. “I doubt he's bedded a woman in years. He's always going back to his suburban house and Helen.”
I was quite sure that Stu wasn't as chaste as Kelly liked to imagine, but she had the right idea about him. Behind the drawl and the flirting was a wise, gentle if somewhat tarnished soul. Many of the girls he flirted with recognised that, and they'd confide in him.
Such confidences were not on Kim’s agenda tonight, however. As soon as she sighted Michael’s shock of white hair emerging from the men’s room, she rushed off to wrap her arm round his waist. Stu, shaking his head and with a wistful expression, stood looking after her.
I intercepted Holly as she walked back from the bar. “Come and meet a friend, one of our leading stage actors. “ I introduced her to Stewart and left them talking for a while.
At least a half hour later, I was chatting with Stu, speculating about Holly whom he'd taken a shine to, when I noticed Kim again. Stu spotted her too, sitting at a table with her roommate Odette. Both of them were drinking what looked to be hard liquor and Kim was smoking.
“Storm front approaching,” Stu muttered to me as Hildy Johnson approached them. It was an apt warning for the slender, ‘early twenty-something’ Hildy had been a ‘weather babe’ on a local TV news channel until she had gotten a better offer as an investigative reporter on some show that delighted in cheap exposes…crooked used car dealers, overly pushy door to door salesmen, internet fraudsters and the like. As Vic Hely Hutchinson said one evening “Hildy’s a younger…much younger fifteen years younger …wannabe Heather West. She’s got the same temper, the same beach bunny looks and almost as much sex appeal.. She likes to think she’s just as big a mantrap as Heather. The only things she lacks are talent and experience.”
Now Hildy stormed up to Kim’s table. “So someone finally put you in your place!”she declared loudly. “You’ve always been an arrogant bitch, with your oh so superior nose in the air! Always looking down on just about everyone, always ready with the put downs…trash, you call us!”
Kim paled but replied, “You deserved it. Imagine a film critic not knowing the storyline of Pride and Prejudice. How anyone could confuse Colonel Fitzwilliam with Mr Wickham is beyond me.” She broke off and giggled, though the giggle seemed very forced to me. I could see her hand, holding the cigarette, tremble slightly and I wondered if Hildy saw it too. “Well, I suppose the fact that they had both been in the army was good enough for you!” She puffed on her cigarette and exhaled a long slow stream of smoke. “You deserved what you got, honey.”
I smacked my thigh. I’d forgotten that Hildy had filled in for the resident film critic between her weather babe slot and joining her present job. I hadn’t heard about her sticking her foot in her mouth over Pride and Prejudice though.
“And if that wasn’t enough,” continued Kim, “you thought Aslan in The Chronicles of Narnia was a tiger. I’d have thought a children’s story was right up your alley.”
Stu whispered, “Kim did a rather scathing satire of Hildy’s film critic faux pas in a comedy routine at some fringe festival back in the summer. Apparently Johnson’s boss saw it and shifted Johnson to some dead end job that afternoon. I don’t know how she managed to wangle another…and better….job after that. She probably fucked the station head.”
Hildy leaned over Kim, her face as black and menacing as the actress’s was pale. “And you deserved what you got recently,” she sneered. “You’ve been good at pretending to be a tough brawling bitch. I hear you got drunk…not that that’s unusual for you…picked on someone in a beach bar and got what was coming to you.” She laughed, more confidently that Kim had done. “Anyone with even an average mind might have learned from that, but no, not you…not the so very clever and witty Kim Curzon, Actress. You had to pick on someone else at a party, and again…like I say…you got what you deserved.” Her lip curled. “I hear you had to eat your words…or should I say drink your words.”
Kim was visibly trembling, her face white as a sheet, her eyes as big as saucers.
“Not so tough now are you Kim? Not after you got the crap beaten out of you…twice. What happened? They tell me you retched up all the booze you’d drunk. Serves you right. I only wish I’d seen you put in your place.”
I wondered about the ‘twice.’ I knew Kim had taken one pounding, but two?
“No one would be ‘tough’ after what happened to Kim,” Stu murmured. “It’s not even a month since Wendy Armstrong smashed her up. I should stop this.”
“No, you should not,” Kelly appeared at my side and put a restraining hand on Stu’s arm. “Kim needs to learn from her mistakes. She's way too arrogant. Until she learns a little humility, she needs to fight her own battles.”
Hildy reached down and grabbed at Kim’s blouse, half dragging her up from her seat.
“You can’t be serious,” argued Stu. “You don’t want Kim to be a punching bag for whoever comes along.”
“Kelly's right.” Michael entered the conversation, returning with a small tray of drinks and bar snacks. “Kim got herself into this mess. She has to get herself out of it.” He looked almost smug and I wondered at that for a moment before it struck me – he wanted to see another fight. Perhaps he expected to pick up the pieces of a broken Kim again.
“Stop bullying her!” Odette slapped Hildy’s face hard. The startled journalist let go of Kim’s blouse. Kim shrank back in her seat as Odette stood up and stepped between them. “You want to pick a fight, you pick it with me!”
“I don't have a quarrel with you,” Hildy said ominously. “This doesn’t concern you, so why get involved?”
“She's my friend, that’s why. You don't have a quarrel with me?” Odette suddenly seized a fistful of Hildy's hair and dragged the blonde journalist’s face down, bending her over the table until her face was at the same level as Kim's. “Now apologise to Kim and you won't have a quarrel with her either.”
Instead of apologizing however, Hildy twisted in Odette’s grip and lashed out, her nails scoring furrows down Odette's cheek. As surprised as Hildy had been a moment ago, Odette let go of Hildy’s hair and put her hand to her cheek. “You drew blood!” She squealed as Hildy slapped her other cheek. “Ouch!” She tried to slap Hildy back.
“Stop it! You can't go on like this here!” Stu tried to intervene.
“Yes you're right,” agreed Kelly, “but they can fight in one of the rooms on the next floor. They’ll be empty now.” Kelly was always ready to promote a fight.
Hildy sneered, “If she's game! But she's like Kim…all fuss and feathers. Another chicken!” She squawked and made a show of strutting around her hands tucked under her armpits, cackling.“Chicken!”
“Keep to reporting…you might convince people you can do that. You can't act at all.” Odette retorted. “I'll teach you not to bully others. Come on!” She stepped past Kim.
“Odette, don’t do it!” Kim tried to stop her friend. “Don’t let her drag you down to her level.”
“What’s that…’her level’?” Hildy sneered. “Who started those two fights, Kim? I know who finished them…and it wasn’t you. But who started them?”
Kim flushed but repeated to Odette, “Don’t do it, dear.” She clutched Odette’s arm.
“Afraid your friend’s going to get her ass kicked, like you did?” taunted Hildy.
“No girls…Kim’s right. Don’t do it…don't do something you'll regret in the morning.” Stewart was still trying to play the peacemaker.
“There's too much bad blood,” replied Michael. “There's got to be a bloodletting.”
“That tramp cost me my job!” Hildy stabbed a finger in the air at Kim. “I want her blood!” Then she turned to Odette. “But tonight I'll settle for yours!”
“You got a better job! How many blowjobs did it cost you?” Odette snapped back. She gazed at the rest of us. “Come on, we're wasting time. I want to get stuck into this bitch.”
I lagged a few paces behind the others as we walked up the sweeping marble staircase .I thought Odette was bold – almost foolhardy – to be taking on Hildy. Vic hadn’t exaggerated – the reporter was known for brawling. She had all the skill and enthusiasm that Heather West had. She was strong too. The muscles in her long legs rippled as she climbed the stairs and as she climbed, she showed off her biceps as she pinned her long corn coloured hair back in a bun. She was about 5ft 7, almost the same height as Kelly and probably 130 pounds. She wore a hot pink pants suit and a cream blouse.
Odette was a good couple of inches shorter. At about 5ft 5, she was midway between Hildy and the elfin Kim. She was slender and, like Kim, a little pale with short brown hair that clustered in tight curls around her head. She didn’t look nearly as fit as the beach bunny Hildy and her tartan skirt – almost a kilt – and form fitting tight top were much more restrictive than Hildy’s pants suit.
Still, as they squared off in a reading room, I had to give Odette marks for courage. The paneled room with its leather couches, marble topped tables and heavy drapes around the window was an unusual location for a fight but as Kelly said, no one was likely to disturb us here.
The women came together. Odette bobbed under Hildy’s slapping arm and the slap kissed only the air. Odette came upright, stepped forward and drove her knee into Hildy’s stomach. Hildy belched, but swung her arm lower this time and slapped Odette’s small oval face hard, which sent her staggering back. Hildy advanced, only to have her gut hammered again by Odette’s other leg. Again Hildy seemed unfazed, pressing on and trying to grab a fistful of hair, but again Odette bobbed down, this time scurrying to the right to avoid her attacker. She dodged another slap by pivoting to her left. Hildy swung with her other arm and this time it hit with a hard thud.
Odette attempted to sidestep the next blow but Hildy anticipated the move and Odette took another solid slap to her face. Her head snapped back, and she began to falter, but then she responded in kind. For a moment the two women stood trading slaps. Each slapped with both hands, swinging from the hips with all their weight.
Hildy stood and took the smaller girl’s blows on her face while Odette bobbed and weaved, yet though she avoided many of the blonde’s slaps, the smaller actress was clearly suffering more. Hildy’s blows were harder, delivered with far more force than her own. Hildy’s height and reach advantage meant she was able to stand almost outside Odette’s range yet comfortably within her own, and rain slaps down on her smaller opponent. Odette's gasps, increasingly loud and long, told the story. Hildy was hammering her. She tried blocking Hildy's slaps instead of avoiding them, abandoning any attempt at slapping back. Even so some– and perhaps more and more – of the blonde's blows hit.
Finally, after only a little more than a minute, Odette could take it no more. She broke away and retreated, moving to the side and then back pedaling as quickly as she could. “Wimp!” Hildy jeered as she swept forward, her hands still slapping at – and hitting – the actress's face.
I glanced across the room. Kim sat on Michael's lap. She was even paler than usual, and was puffing hard on a cigarette, her free hand holding Michael's waist tightly. Michael's hand played with her hair.
A moment later, Kelly was proven wrong about us not being disturbed, when the door opened. Holly stuck her head in. “I saw you go upstairs and wondered– ooh!” She gasped. She quickly stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. “Let me watch!” She sidled up to Stewart. “I heard some of what happened downstairs, but it took a while to find you.”
Odette used the distraction – Hildy had turned to see who had come in – to launch a counterattack. She ducked low and punched from the shoulder, a full blooded blow that Hildy could have avoided if she'd been watching. Instead, Odette’s fist slammed into the blonde's stomach.
Hildy folded like laundry, doubling up, clutching her gut. Odette grabbed a strand of blonde hair, pulling it out of the bun. She yanked Hildy forward and the blonde tottered, almost losing her balance. She reached out to clasp Odette's sides but the actress slipped out of the blonde's clutches. Odette used her grip on Hildy’s hair to drag the blonde’s face down onto her own upswinging knee, but Hildy turned her head in the nick of time and took the blow on her cheek.
“Odette wanted to break her nose!” Holly gasped, her eyes wide.
“Perhaps you're right,” replied Stewart. “Chicago has a savage performing arts community. Our artistes don't just lampoon their enemies, they beat them up. Perhaps I'd best protect you.” He half bowed in mock gallantry.
Odette yanked on the blonde’s hair, again trying to pull Hildy off balance but Hildy punched at the smaller girl's side. Odette gasped at the impact and her grasp weakened. Hildy came upright and seized some of the actress's hair. The two women staggered around the room, their hands locked in each other's tangled tresses. I expected Hildy to have little trouble winning this round by using the same height and weight – and probably strength – advantage she had used to win the slapping.
As it turned out, I was wrong. Hildy found it hard to get a grasp on Odette's short, tightly curled hair, Odette made it even harder by swinging her head around. Whenever Hildy managed to grab hold of her, Odette would bob down or twist herself sideways. Hildy would lose her grip and have to start all over again. Odette had no such trouble with Hildy's long blonde locks. She wound some around her fist. She yanked and pulled, controlling the bigger girl. Her knee pounded the blonde’s stomach and thighs. Hildy began to gasp and pant. She squealed as Odette detached one hand from her hair and raked four sharp lacquered fingernails across her face, scoring deep furrows which oozed droplets of blood. Odette repeated those scratches everywhere her nails could reach, her foe's shoulders, neck and upper chest as Hildy screamed and cursed in pain and anger.
“Oh! Oh yes!” Kim cheered her roomie on. She lit another cigarette. Holly’s eyes were wide, her face flushed. Her chest rose and fell inside her tight corset as she breathed. She gripped Stewart’s arm tightly.
Hildy gave up her futile attempts to rip into Odette's hair, and instead tried defending. Here she was more successful. She seized Odette's hand, stopping those scratches. She stepped back, making it harder for the smaller girl to hit her, and fired a kick that hit home on her enemy's stomach. Odette's face paled, spittle erupted from her mouth and for a second, her body went limp as she tried to suck in air from her suddenly empty lungs. Hildy stepped back, fending off Odette's attempts to close with slaps that made the smaller girl – clearly remembering the damage they had done to her earlier–keep her distance. The blonde worked her way free, breathing heavily, her chest heaving.
Odette tried to attack again, ducking below Hildy's slapping arms, trying to tackle her bigger foe. The blonde sidestepped and the actress stumbled, almost falling flat on the carpet. She picked herself up, but too slowly to avoid a kick that hammered into her side, almost knocking her back to the floor. She scurried sideways in crab fashion as Hildy tried to close, then got to her feet.
Hildy allowed her no respite, stepping up and slugging punches at her. For a while, Odette's nimbleness kept the bigger girl frustrated as she danced around the blonde, avoiding the heavy punches and firing her own lighter ones into Hildy’s sides. Singly they did little harm but collectively they were beginning to soften the reporter up.
Odette allowed herself a brief smile as Hildy let out a groan of pain. Panting, Hildy began to defend more and attack less, keeping one hand tucked in close to her body, dodging and weaving more to avoid Odette’s fists. The defense paid dividends as Odette hit less often.
Odette's attack began to slow down. She was redfaced and her bosom heaved as she panted for breath. She ducked under another of Hildy's massive punches. While the blonde was stretched out, she lunged forward and crashed her head into her enemy’s stomach. Hildy rocked on her feet, staggering back, trying to keep from falling. Odette tried to press her advantage, firing punches into the blonde's midriff. Hildy gave ground and then suddenly kicked out. Her foot hit the little brunette in the belly, not hard but hard enough to make Odette step back and regroup.
For a tense moment the two women stood glaring at one another, their eyes oozing hate. For all the damage she had inflicted on Hildy, Odette looked in a pitiful state. She was wheezing, her mouth lolling open as she sucked in air. Patches on her red face foretold the bruises she would bear in the morning. She limped.
The reporter wasn't in the same condition. I'd been right –she was fitter and stronger, and as Vic had said a while back, she was probably a much more experienced fighter. Indeed I was surprised how well Odette had fared against her so far.
I looked around. Kim was silent, her face drawn as she clutched tightly at Michael's waist. She stubbed out her cigarette and then, her hand trembling, lit another. She could see how much damage her friend had suffered.
Stewart stood with his arm wrapped protectively around Holly's waist. She looked up at him. “Surely they can’t fight much more.”
“That little bitch is lying, Peter,” Kelly whispered in my ear. “Look at her. She wants to see someone destroyed…someone begging for mercy. You were right about her. She’s a little Dominatrix all right, but you were wrong about the corset. She wears that for protection…armour when she fights. And oh yes, I am sure she fights.”
I tightened my own arm around her waist and whispered back, “She’s not the only one who wants to see Odette…or Hildy…destroyed, is she Kelly? I’ll be honest…I want to see a victory, where the power shifts finally and conclusively, where one girl abjectly surrenders…and so do you.” I could almost feel the quickening of her pulse, but I definitely heard the little intake of breath that told me I was right.
“Ooof!” Hildy suddenly gagged, clutching her stomach. Odette had stunned her, and the rest of us, with a high kick that struck home. She struck twice more with her fists, a left-right combo, hammering into the blonde's gut. Hildy doubled over, backing away as quickly as she could. Odette didn’t let her though. She grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked Hildy forward, trying to repeat her previous success.
She almost did so. Hildy stumbled to her knees but punched out, hitting Odette in the chest. She punched again and Odette twisted her body, trying to keep her grip on Hildy’s hair while avoiding Hildy’s fists. Hildy lashed out again and again Odette evaded the blow, but it gave Hildy the chance she needed to regain her feet.
Odette still held onto Hildy’s hair and she tried to jerk the bigger woman around as she had earlier. Hildy kicked and punched vigorously. Her blows weren't well aimed, as if they were intended not so much to hit her foe but to make Odette let go – and they did.
The actress stepped back out of range and Hildy came after her, slapping hard. Odette bobbed down and punched at the blonde's stomach. The blow hit solidly and Hildy gagged as spittle flew from her open mouth. She stumbled. Odette attacked again with light punches aimed at the blonde's ribcage. Hildy stood back and fended her off with equally light punches aimed at Odette's midsection, delivered with her right fist while she kept her left in close to deflect the smaller girl's blows.
Gradually Hildy's punches started to hit home and Odette went on the defensive once more. She still fired punches but found it increasingly hard to overcome Hildy's defense and longer reach. It was Hildy's blows that hit home more often now, and each hit home hard. Odette winced and gasped each time the blonde’s fist thudded into her body or face. She did her best to evade, her hands up to deflect Hildy's punches but she was slowing down and failing more often than not. Her feet dragged as she tried to dodge. The blonde mixed up her blows – one to the head, the next to the midriff, a third back to the head and then one or two to the shoulder. Odette tried to parry, but her hands were all too often a split second behind Hildy’s fist.
Odette's eyes grew wider, her face redder. She tried to react faster but her movements were frantic, disorganised. She was beginning to panic. She knew that Hildy was in control of the fight now, and she knew she had nothing left with which to fight back. She tried flinging herself forward, as if to body slam or head butt the bigger girl but all she achieved was to impale herself on Hildy's upraised knee. She gagged and stumbled back spluttering.
Smiling grimly, Hildy hit home with unanswered stinging light punches to the actress's face and middle. Odette turned side on, trying to present as small a target as possible. Hildy moved around her, jabbing at Odette's ribs. Odette tried to punch back but Hildy pivoted aside and then, as the punch brushed her side, she swung back and fired a heavy blow of her own into the actress's chest. Odette eyes went wide, as did her mouth, and her red face suddenly went pale. She shook with fear.
Hildy punched again, aiming for the brunette’s midriff. Odette managed to parry the blow but up came Hildy's right and slammed into Odette's jaw. Odette's eyes rolled back in her head, showing nothing but whites. For a second she stood there trembling, then her legs collapsed under her and she crashed to the floor. She didn't try to get up.
Hildy didn’t waste another glance on her. Instead she strode over to where Kim sat, shaking almost as much as her friend had done a moment ago. The blonde hauled the elfin actress up out of Michael’s lap with her left hand, and slugged Kim hard in the stomach with her right. Her fist seemed to bury itself deep in Kim’s gut. Kim, stunned like the rest of us, wrapped her hands around her stomach as she buckled at the knees. Hildy swung her by her titian hair in a half circle until she had her back to where Odette lay, still gasping, on the floor. Letting go of Kim’s hair, Hildy punched her squarely on the point of her jaw. Kim went over backwards, falling across Odette’s quivering body.
Hildy stepped forward and stomped on Kim’s stomach. The redhead made a piteous gargling sound. “Like I said…you can’t act and you can’t fight. Goes for you both.” With a dismissive toss of her head, she turned her back on them and strode from the room.
Holly, Michael and Stewart went to help the two battered actresses up. I went to get water and towels. When I returned, they were sitting on chairs, both pale, both hurt. “Nothing that a few days rest won’t fix,” said Kelly. “We…Peter, Michael and I…will take you home.” She added under her breath, “That worthless bimbo…that talentless reporter…hasn’t heard the last of this. Poor Odette…she really had no chance of winning. She sacrificed herself…and for Kim of all people!”
“‘It’s a far far better thing I do than I have ever done’,” I replied. “Odette’s much more like Sydney Carlton then you’ll ever be…precisely because she stood no chance…unlike you. You’ll flatten Hildy without breaking a sweat, or you’ll find someone who’ll do it for you…and you’ll enjoy it.” Kelly looked at me but for once she had no answer. She knew I was right.
3 The Institute of Engineers Dinner
“She's just a muckraker! It's sensational journalism at its worst!” Kirsten Fulcher was on a rant. It was impossible to avoid her. She'd roped us into her circle when we arrived at the Institute Dinner, and what I'd hoped would be Kelly's chance to meet many of my colleagues was turning into a disaster.
“Heather West has blown the story…if there is a story…out of all proportion!”
“Surely there is a story,” asked Steven Cotterill, an engineer working for an electricity corporation and whom I’d known for years. “West has interviewed witnesses, produced documents…it’s all on her website.”
“It's a beat up,” insisted Kirsten. “Those so-called witnesses you mention, there's nothing to say they weren't the best candidates for the jobs they got. West hasn't shown there's any political patronage.”
“Not yet perhaps, but she keeps telling us the story is still unfolding. She's getting more information all the time. Just like the Watergate story started as a simple burglary and snowballed. This one is beginning to do the same.”
“You're comparing a suburban township council in Chicago with the Presidency?” scoffed Kirsten. “Medici with Nixon?” Her tongue dripped with scorn. “Wake up! There's not much story, and West isn't interested in it except as a way to boost her show's ratings and her own reputation. She's just a muckraker like I said. She made her name with a few freelance reports when Communism collapsed in Europe. Even then she was more interested in herself than the story.” She shook her head and corrected herself. “No, that's not right…she always made sure she was the story…like the time she stood on the Berlin Wall and sang the national anthem. Attention seeking bitch! The real story, the one no one knows, is why she was in Europe anyway. Her mom…another muckraker, I might add…packed her off there when California got too hot for her.”
“Have you any evidence for that?” Kelly asked acidly. “You’d better be careful. Heather West has some good attorneys.”
Kirsten flushed, “Well…West is a self publicist.”
“And you think that’s wrong?” Kelly smiled. “So do I. They should employ marketing consultants.” There was general laughter.
And then Kirsten Fulcher crossed the Rubicon with her pudgy foot irretrievably in her mouth. “Marketing consultants…a blot on humanity! Completely unnecessary.”
Kelly made a small gesture with her hand. “Quite unlike lawyers who make their money by encouraging people to fight over the wills of their dead relatives,” she said scathingly. “It’s like vultures squabbling over a carcass…and the lawyers – ” the disdain in her voice made Kirsten’s scornful comment about Heather West seem like a mild rebuke “sit on the sidelines like carrion crows, eager for a piece of the action.” She gave Kirsten a withering look, in case there was any doubt who she was talking about. “Pardon me, did I say lawyers? I meant bottom feeding worms. Not even the vultures would stoop that low.”
“You bitch!” Kirsten’s face twisted in fury and she swung her arm at Kelly.
Kelly parried her attempted slap easily, catching her by the wrist. Still holding the fat blonde’s hand, Kelly went on, “No…not here. Not even vultures would fight over a corpse here, though an estate lawyer might. If you still want to fight me after the dinner, I’ll be waiting for you at the back of the parking lot. It’s underground and out of the snow.”
“I’ll be there!” Fulcher hissed.
“It’s settled then. Peter, come with me. We’ll find some civilized conversation for a while.”
I did my best, but I really wasn’t in the mood for the run-of-the-mill Institute dinner conversations about new inventions, projects and so on. No, I could hardly wait until we could head down to the parking lot.
It seemed an age before we did so. This was one of Kelly's few fights without an audience. There were only the two couples – Kelly and I, and Gavin and Kirsten. The two women kicked off their shoes, Kelly handed me her few pieces of jewelry and waited while Kirsten remove all her gaudy, tawdry bling, which took quite a bit longer. Finally she was done and the two women squared off.
They circled for a short time, then closed suddenly. Kirsten buried her hands in Kelly's hair, yanking and twisting while Kelly grabbed at Kirsten's dress, trying to pull the heavier girl forward, into her rising knee. Kirsten's weight was too much though and she stayed put, so that in fact it was Kelly who was jerked forward, as much by her own momentum as by Kirsten yanking at her hair. Kirsten sidestepped and jerked hard. Kelly staggered past her as the bigger blonde, letting go of Kelly's hair, smacked her open hand hard into Kelly's lower back. Kelly broke into a half jog as she lurched forward, coming to a stop just a foot or so before hitting the wall. She spun round to find Kirsten blocking her way.
The big girl kicked hard, striking Kelly's thigh. Kelly winced, then grunted as Kirsten's fist struck home on her side. Kelly sidestepped but again Kirsten moved with her, blocking her, keeping her close to the wall. Kelly changed tactics and went for a direct attack, lunging forward and slapping Kirsten's face hard. The big woman’s head snapped to the side, but she shrugged off the blow and stepped forward herself, firing punches at Kelly's ribs. Kelly defended well – only a few punches got through – and struck back, her fists aimed at Kirsten’s stomach. Most of the blows hit, sinking deep into Kirsten’s flabby belly, but they seemed to do little harm. Kirsten gasped or grunted with each impact, but kept hitting hard.
Kelly suddenly bobbed down. A startled Kirsten swung at where Kelly’s head had been a moment ago, but struck only empty air. Kelly sprang up again and her head struck Kirsten just below her breasts. The big girl groaned and stumbled back. Kelly used the opportunity to scurry away to the side and into the open.
The two women spent a few moments trading slaps, both swinging from their hips, using their whole body weight. Despite her size, I could see that Kirsten was no stranger to a fight. Her sweeps were slower than Kelly's, so that Kelly ducked under some and dodged others, but those that hit hammered my girl hard. She didn't just grunt or gasp when one of Kirsten’s blows hit. She literally cried out in pain.
Kelly’s own slaps hit more often, since Kirsten stood almost fixed to the spot, as if she was contemptuous of Kelly. She blocked some, but didn’t attempt to block others, and most hit home. At first they elicited no more than a grunt but as the slapping match continued, Kirsten began to curse as the blows hit. She began to spend a little more effort in defending. Just as her slaps were slower than Kelly's, so were her movements. Still she blocked many of Kelly's blows and increasingly she hammered home her own.
Kelly's face and neck were beet red. Panting hard, she ducked under another of Kirsten's blows and retaliated, sweeping her arm toward the bigger woman. For the first time, Kirsten too ducked. Kelly's arm skimmed over her foe’s head. She had expected to check herself by hitting something solid and the momentum made her stumble forward a step. She was still stretched out when Kirsten rose and swung her own arm. The blow that landed against the left side of Kelly’s head didn't seem any harder than those she'd fired before, but it had far more effect. Kelly's eyes rolled back and her face went slack for a moment. She lost her balance and staggered. Her legs all but gave way.
Kirsten pressed her attack, this time with closed fists, but Kelly managed to fight her off. She retreated, but now she wasn't trapped against the wall so she was able to trade space for time. Though she limped slightly from the effect of Kirsten's kick, her enemy moved even more slowly, deliberately as if husbanding her strength.
Kelly regrouped, ducking the heavy blows that Kirsten aimed at her head, weaving her body back and forth to dodge those lobbed at her body. She succeeded in avoiding most. She began to hit back with her own, aiming at Kirsten's face and chest.
Kirsten just kept hammering away. There was little finesse to her fighting style – she was just a slugger, relying on her weight to put force behind her blows. Despite the crudeness of her approach, it worked. Like her slaps, the punches that landed did damage to Kelly. My girl groaned out loud and stumbled each time a hard blow hit. Her mouth was open, gulping in air. For once,- no for only the second time- the first had been her fight with Jenn Peccavi the first day I met her- Kelly was in real trouble.
She kicked at Kirsten's thigh. The kick missed but it made Kirsten back away. Kelly used the space to step forward, and kicked again. Kirsten stepped to the side this time and then, moving faster than I'd seen her, she darted forward with her arms outstretched. She crashed into Kelly, who might have fallen had Kirsten's arms not encircled her, enfolding her in a bear hug.
Kirsten squeezed hard. Kelly arched her back, her teeth clenched tight in pain. She squirmed and wriggled violently, trying to break free. It didn't work. Kirsten increased the pressure. Her face was brick red with the exertion, Kelly's face was pale, either from lack of air or because she was panicking. I didn't know.
Kelly’s arms flailed at the heavy blonde's ribs. Kirsten hissed with pain and rage, and spat in Kelly’s face. Kelly's fist swung up, striking Kirsten in her fleshy chins. Kirsten seemed to rock back and I thought she would release Kelly but instead she used the motion to lift Kelly off her feet. Kelly screamed– the first time I’d ever heard her scream in a fight – and tried to head butt Kirsten in the face, but the big woman swung her head away. Kelly's forehead hammered her cheek but failed to break the pressure.
Kirsten shook Kelly like a rag doll and spun partway round to face the wall. I knew what was going to happen next – she would charge into the wall and crush Kelly against the unyielding concrete. That would finish my girl.
Then Kelly did just as I'd seen her do to Peccavi when that big brunette had her in the same predicament. She bit, hard, sinking her teeth into Kirsten's neck. Kirsten’s eyes opened wide with shock. She howled with pain as Kelly let go, spitting out some skin and flesh, then bit again, this time on her enemy's shoulder. Kirsten's shriek of agony was even louder this time. Her grip slackened and Kelly wormed free, backing off, again spitting out flesh and skin.
Kirsten stood there dazed for a moment. She twisted her head to look down at her shoulder. Blood flowed freely from the two bites. She looked back at Kelly with horror. There was blood on Kelly’s lips and chin, too. For the first time I saw fear in the big blonde’s eyes.
Kelly stood for a few seconds, her chest heaving as she collected her breath before renewing her assault. Despite the punishment she had received, she recovered quickly and attacked, slapping hard and fast. Kirsten more reacted slowly now, allowing Kelly to land several unanswered blows which hit the bigger girl’s face and rocked her head from side to side. The third slap seemed to wake Kirsten up though and she closed, her arms up. Kelly stepped back, keeping her distance, and swung a kick that landed squarely in the pit of her foe’s stomach. For the first time the blow to the belly seemed to register. Kirsten’s breath came out in a rush and she checked her attack, backing off with a hand across her middle.
Encouraged, Kelly drove first her left, then her right fist into Kirsten’s upper belly, just above her guard. Each of her punches seemed to sink in deep, almost to the wrist. Kirsten seemed to falter for a moment. She took a step back and stood there with a bemused look on her face. Kelly kicked out but Kirsten retained enough wherewithal to step back again, out of range.
The big blonde seemed to snap out of her daze and rallied, coming forward and firing her own punches. They came more slowly than Kelly’s fists but, with all Kirsten's weight and strength behind them, they were full of power. Any that hit were going do a lot of damage, but Kirsten's problem now was that almost none of them hit. Kelly had reserves that the bigger woman didn’t and she darted around Kirsten, firing a barrage of light, stinging punches. Each by itself wouldn't do much harm but the score or more of unanswered blows that hit Kirsten made the bigger woman rock on her feet.
Kirsten finally got lucky though, and one of her punches struck home. She had aimed at Kelly's midriff and though Kelly dodged, she was too late to avoid it altogether. It slammed into her side. Kelly groaned and staggered back. Kirsten pressed on. Kelly retreated and Kirsten came after her. Neither could move quickly now, both worn out by the fight but Kelly was clearly in better shape, weaving around and dodging the ponderous, puffing Kirsten. Kirsten kept at her however, pursuing the elusive Kelly, clearly frustrated.
Kelly began to attack again with light sparring punches that seemed designed to test Kirsten's defense rather than do any real damage. And they found it wanting. Kirsten was increasingly slow to react. Kelly intensified her attack, moving fast, stepping in and then out again, but hitting Kirsten more and more often. Her fist struck the fat girl's nose which burst into blood. Kirsten spluttered, tears in her eyes. Her mouth hung slackly open for a second as her hands flew to her face.
Seizing her chance, Kelly struck again at Kirsten's now unprotected midriff. Once more her left and right fists seemed to sink in, wrist deep. Kirsten gave a long sigh. She staggered, her face pale. Kelly stepped forward and delivered a slid punch to her enemy’s chin. Kirsten's head whipped back. She swayed for a second, then her legs gave out and she sank to her knees.
I thought it was over then, but after Kelly looked at Kirsten for a moment, she stepped forward again, swinging her foot forcefully at her foe's face. The kick caught Kirsten under the chin and I expected her to go over on her back, but though she swayed backward on her knees, she didn’t fall. Then, to my amazement, she came upright again and threw herself forward into a tackle, clutching at Kelly's knees. As surprised as I was, Kelly just managed to step back out of the big girl’s grasp.
Kirsten got to her feet and lurched, rather than charged, forward. Kelly was too close to avoid her and Kirsten body slammed her. Already off balance, Kelly went down under the pressure of her foe's weight and size, hitting the ground and rolling. Kirsten came after her, again moving faster than I would have thought she could. As she went to dive on Kelly – another move that would be the end for my girl, Kelly pulled her knees up into her chest then thrust her legs out straight, driving her feet into Kirsten's belly. The big blonde reeled back as a spray of spittle erupted from her mouth. She turned away and doubled over, clutching her gut, gagging.
Kelly rolled and got to her feet. She lunged at the gasping, moaning Kirsten, hitting her hard in the side and knocking her to the ground. Kirsten rolled onto her back and Kelly stomped a foot down on Kirsten’s belly. Kirsten spasmed and rolled onto her side, groaning softly.
Kelly wasn’t done with her. She knelt, straddling Kirsten, wrapped her arm round her weakly struggling victim’s neck and squeezed tightly until Kirsten’s face turned from red to blue and she finally went limp.
She stood up and looked at Gavin. “Remind your girl…when she wakes up…that she shouldn’t pick a fight with me in the future.” She raised an eyebrow. “That’s if she’s still your girl, of course. I thought you might have better taste.” She turned away from him and the unconscious Kirsten, and slipped her hand in mine. “Come, Peter.”
I went.
On the way home I asked Kelly, “Why didn't you ask her if she gave? You'd clearly won.”
Kelly looked at me pointedly. “I'd won? Was she still conscious?”
“Well…yes; but – ”
“Then I hadn't won,” she interjected. “There's a difference between 'was winning' and 'have won'…look it up sometime.” I glanced sideways at her, surprised at the venom in her voice. “Peter, I never offer terms. Like Grant, the only terms I ever accept is unconditional surrender, and while there's a breath of fight in the bitch, I'll crush it out of her.”
I said nothing. I’d seen her let a beaten enemy surrender, on many occasions, but I wasn’t going to argue with her now. I’d never seen Kelly act so ruthlessly as she had tonight toward Kirsten. Then again, I’d never seen a woman push Kelly to the brink of defeat before, either. I kept my silence on that too.
My thanks to Elena, Kim and to the newcomer Holly for letting me use their fictional characters and for their help in writing this, to my friendly and wonderful editors Braveheart and The Scribbler for their patience and their comments which make this a much better story than it would otherwise have been. I hope you enjoy it.
