Those of you who have read my stories know I'm a bit of a mob history junkie. This is the first story to combine my two passions. It wouldn't be my last. It introduces "mixologist" Katie Pirelli who becomes another main character in the saga. She manages the club known as The Sandbar ... a joint that becomes a character of it's own. Like that place in Boston ... "where everybody knows your name"
It's also the story in which Nick finally meets the elusive Carly. So here it is ... story #3 in the Sandbridge Saga ...Welcome to Sandbridge – Katie and Carly
Married to the Mob
A Sandbridge Saga Tale 3
Intro
Wherever I’ve been, in this country or abroad, if there’s a village, town or city, there’s always at least one legal establishment where adults gather after dark to have fun. “Fun” usually involves alcohol. No, actually it *always* involves alcohol. Yes, even in a suburban community like Sandbridge. And when it’s a town referred to as the “Catfight Capital of Southern California”, and you’re there to research that phenomenon, you’d not be doing your job if you didn’t find that place
muy pronto. Let’s face it - catfights and alcohol seem to go hand-in-hand. Throw in dancing, flirting, men and women looking for hook-ups and cheaters doing what they do behind their spouses’ backs, there’s bound to be some action.
My name is Nick Sebastian and that researcher would be me. What is it about Sandbridge and catfights? Why here? I have no fucking idea …
I take a stroll down to the beach front. There’s this place called “The Sandbar” and it has a certain rep. Been here a couple of times, doing my research. Or just drinking. One or the other or both. I used to drink a lot and it cost me my job with the
Columbus Dispatch. Not so much drinking anymore. But when people drink, they like to talk. When they do, it’s my job to listen. My other job is as a screenwriter and bagman working for Drake Coburn. That’s right, *the* Drake Coburn, the big shot producer and fellow catfight fan. He’s the one who sent me here and he pays pretty well. Finding catfight stories around here is like shooting fish in a barrel. And Drake had given me a lot of bullets.
Today, I’m stalking my prey, the biggest fish in that barrel. I’m looking for the elusive living legend, Carly Monfort. It seems that about every catfight story here involves her in some shape or fashion … and this is her hangout. Her daughter Marcia has come by my office a few times with fantastic stories of her own. We’ve become pals. If only I was twenty years younger (sigh). But Carly is hard one to catch. Now, like any good reporter, I want access to the primary source. Where better to start than The Sandbar?
It didn’t look like much from the outside. In fact it looked like shit. One of those temporary buildings that became permanent over the years. But inside, it was way better than most of the gin joints I’ve been drunk in. It’s clean, with more room that it looks to have from the street. It has enough space for a dance floor and a small stage for live acts. A long, well-stocked bar and large clean restrooms. That’s how you tell a nightclub from a dive – clean restrooms.
It’s a weekday and the time between Happy Hour and when the regulars come in. Not many patrons, and that’s why I picked this time of day … I wanted to talk to the staff. One of them was standing inside the door and he recognized me.
“Hey! If it ain’t Mr. Hollywood!”
“Yeah, I’m a regular Martin-fuckin’-Scorsese. What’re you up to, George?”
“Oh don’t know. I imagine about 285,” he grinned.
I laughed. You always wanted to laugh at George’s jokes. After all, George Hendershot was a former NFL bench-warmer, a black guy with pointy ears, a bullet shaped head and about 6’4”. You didn’t want to make him mad. His official title was “Greeter”. Sounded more benign than “Arm Breaker”.
“Listen, I have a question for you. You know a gal named Carly Monfort?” I gave him a little piece of green paper. You’d amazed at the things people will tell you for a little piece of green paper.
“Sure! She comes in here a lot, but only on the weekend. She works late shift someplace. She’s usually with a guy or a couple of girlfriends. Likes to have fun, dancin’, flirtin’ and shit. Carly’s a real babe, nice too. Had to throw her hot little ass out of here a couple of times though. I mean, I like a good catfight as much as the next guy, but the Management don’t like no busted furniture – or cops comin’ round. At least till they’re off duty. So I usually just toss ‘em out into the lot and let ‘em have at it out there. But if you wanna know more about Carly, see that gal behind the bar. She’s got some stories.”
“I haven’t seen her here before. She new?”
George laughs. “Oh hell no, man! She usually don’t work the bar. Katie’s the Management!”
Welcome to Sandbridge … Nick Sebastian, May 1987
1
Katie
As I sit down at the bar, I check out the woman tending it as she shines a couple of glasses. She’s a tall gal, maybe 5’9” with curves in all the right places, big boned and in pretty good shape. I’d say about 145. Looks to be pushing 40 but with the body of a 30 year old. Big tits in the 38D range. She’s no beauty queen, but rather what I’d call “handsome” with Mediterranean features – Italian, Greek, Jewish maybe with a prominent nose, high cheekbones and dark brown eyes with fairly straight hair to her shoulders. Her hair? Brown with blond streaks? Blond with brown steaks? Some blue and red in there? I don’t know what the hell. Who knows what it was to start with. She sees me sitting there and in a husky voice says. “What’ll you have, mister?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’d like to have … a new car, an ex-wife that’s not taking me to the cleaners. Maybe an Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay? But for now, I’ll start with a Heineken.”
She gets a laugh out of that, displaying nice white teeth. She takes my money, pops a cap, hands me a beer and gets this sardonic smile on her face. “Say! Aren’t you that guy from Hollywood?”
“No, actually I’m from Ohio … I just work in Hollywood.” I hold out my hand. “Nick Sebastian - writer, assistant producer, and all that happy shit.”
She takes it and shakes it. Strong grip. “Katie Pirelli. Mixologist and Manager of The Sandbar. Nice beard … real Francis Ford Coppola-like.”
“Well thanks. If you’re going to go Hollywood, you might as well …Mixo what?”
“Mixologist! (you big dummy) See?”
She points behind her and sure enough, she actually has an “I Love Me” wall of her very own! What kind of egotist would have an “I Love Me” wall? Oh, yeah. I have one in my office. Hers has documents of certification as a nail salon operator, a beauty school graduate, her high school diploma for God’s sake, pictures of her with people I should know but don’t, and autographed portraits of Elvis and Sinatra. And yes, there it was … a degree cum lauda from the Oxnard School of Mixology. That one sure puts my one lousy Emmy nomination to shame! To think they used to be called bartenders …
“I’m impressed”, I lied. I noticed her wedding ring. “What does your husband do?
“He’s doing a dime sentence upstate for racketeering. He says he was framed. The jury didn’t buy it and neither did I. I had told the bastard not to get involved with the Antonelli crew. Rats. Every one of them.”
Hoo boy! Gotcha a live one this time, Nick! My instincts told me that Mrs. Pirelli here would be hell-on-wheels in a catfight. Well, let’s find out.
“I’m interested in a gal that comes in here on the weekends. Big George said you know Carly Monfort?”
She raised one eyebrow like that guy on “Star Trek”. “Carly? Sure, I know her. Kinda short, nice rack, lots of black hair, maybe a couple years older than me? Yeah, I know Carly. Likes guys, sometimes other chicks' guys’ Great left hook to the body and can pull hair like she wants to take it home with her. I hear sometimes she does.”
Stay down Woody. Stay down. You’re a pro, Nick. Get it together and act like one. “Sooo I guess maybe you know about that left hook from uh, experience?”
“No shit. And her right, too. Her nails, her teeth, feet, all of her.” says Katie with a wry, knowing smile. I suppose she’d noticed Woody. “Me and Carly go back a ways. Gone to war a couple of times. I’d say we’re about even. I think I’m ahead a little on points after two rounds. She disagrees. I just smile. I want it to stay that way. Never again, mister. That makes it good for both of us. She hurts, man. I mean, real bad. She can tear a bitch a new one. We’re cool now though. When she comes in anymore and I’m working the bar with another employee or two, she actually waits for me to be free so we can chat. She just loves my Singapore Slings.”
“That’s why you’re a Mixology professional.”
“Yeah. Say, I’ve got some other customers. I know why you’re in town – in my line of work, you get to know all kinds of stuff, and I’m into Carly’s thing … and yours … a little myself. Maybe I’ll have time to talk to you about it sometime, Mr. Sebastian.”
“It’s Nick and here’s my card. Give me a call and I’d love to have you come by the office when you have the time. I’ll make it worth your while.”
There’s that throaty laugh again. “If I only had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that from a guy … or a girl.”
Or a girl? Well Holy Shit, this keeps getting better and better. “You give me your story and this project gets a green light … you’ll get more than a dollar and that’s no lie. Nice meeting you, Katie.” I finish my beer and stuff a ten into the tip jar. Ten dollar tip for a two dollar beer. I’m a big tipper … so long as it’s Drake’s money. It’s going to be a fine spring day …
2
“I heard you wanted to meet me …”
Yes, it did get even better. The next morning as I was sitting in my office, dreaming about Big Katie the Bisexual Mixologist and the wildcat about whom I’ve heard so much from her daughter – Carly the Catfight Scientist – twice going tooth and nail at each other, it was hard to finish that screenplay I was working on for Drake’s new pilot for CBS. I was waiting for Katie to call. I also had another interview coming up with Marcia’s former enemy Jillie McCall, whose Mom had been trashed by Mrs. Monfort a couple of weeks ago - an interview Jillie requested. What the hell was that about? On top of that, I keep hearing shit about a female doctor at the hospital and a hospital administrator’s secretary mixing it up. Jesus H. Christ!
I’m going to have to ask Drake for an assistant! An assistant for an assistant – that’s Hollywood. And when I tell him why, he’ll probably give me one. I’ll need a bigger office. Oh, screw this screenplay for now … I need a cup of coffee.
I was in the process of pouring one when there was a knock on the door. “Come in.” Suddenly there she was. I remember Marcia Monfort saying …
“Mr. Sebastian, you don’t get ahold of my mother. When she’s ready, she’ll find you …”
She must have been ready.
She was in a neat cream-colored blouse and a black hip-hugging skirt. Early 40s. Strappy high heels and no stockings – she sure didn’t need any. Lots of curly black hair and a gold necklace. 5’3” and about 128 with, as Katie had said, “a nice rack”. Red nail polish and a big wide smile. There was something in her brown eyes and the way she posed in my doorway that … oh hell, she didn’t have to introduce herself, but she did anyway.
“Good morning, Mr. Sebastian. I’m Carly Monfort. I heard you wanted to meet me.”
My ship had docked.
I poured her a cup of coffee and we chatted about small stuff for a while, mostly about her daughter. Was she ever a proud mother. She’d read my first two reports already and pronounced them 95% accurate. She was thrilled with my description of the verbal fight with Mrs. McCall in which she really shamed the high-bred banker’s wife. Just tore the frigid blonde to pieces before the first slap was thrown. “Do you speak French, Nick?”
“I’m fluent in only three languages – English, Profanity and Sarcasm. No French. Marcia just has a great memory.”
“Marci’s a bright girl. She lost her dad when she was a baby, and she really misses a father figure in her life. I’m indebted to you for being that to her. Thanks.”
Now I hadn’t thought of myself that way but maybe she was right.
“I know you’re divorced, Nick. What happened?”
“Well, sometimes you just grow apart … other times she runs off with some actor in a soap opera you’re writing for. One or the other.”
“That … bitch! Does she let you see the kids?”
“When I get back to New York, which isn’t often enough. Oh no, I will *not* sanction you flying there and kicking her cheating ass for me!”
Carly’s head rocked back with laughter. “Oh my God! You are indeed as clever as Marci says you are. You read my damn mind, you bastard! But if she ever comes to So Cal ...”
“Then I’ll have to ‘introduce’ you. In that case – you’re on your own my dear.” Great. Now I have another dream to jack off to tonight. “I need to ask you something. I went to The Sandbar yesterday and talked to Katie Pirelli …”
There is that cheerful laugh again. “My pal Katie the Mix-It-Up Mixologist! Talk about ass-kicking! That big broad is a load … it was two years ago and I still hurt just thinking about it. I will never … as in fucking never … tangle with that Italian she-devil again! Girlfriend can go all day and all night! You talk to her again, ask her about that ‘special drink’ she mixed for me in the ladies room back then.”
There goes Woody again. “Pretty much her sentiments toward you.” Out comes the trusty tape recorder. “If you have the time …”
“Then you better have the dime, mister, if this project ever goes green. Where do you want me to start?”
Here it is. I took both Carly’s story and Katie’s as well when she dropped by the next day and put them together. It’s catfightin’ time!
3
“Lavare sempre dopo aver usato la toilette!”
It was spring of 1985 and business was picking up this Saturday evening as it always did about this time at The Sandbar. Assistant Manager Donatella Katerina Martello Pirelli, known as Katie to everybody, was in a foul mood. Her husband Michael “Big Mike” Pirelli had been shipped off to his new digs in Folsom yesterday after his conviction on racketeering charges. He would be spending the next ten years or so in the slams after his partner, one Tony “The Tiger” Antonelli, had flipped and gone state’s evidence, testifying against him in court. What would she do with her wild teenaged son without her old man around?
Then an old boyfriend had showed up at the club on the arm of that whore Carly Monfort. Carly the cxnt of all fucking people! Katie didn’t really want Eddie back. Fuck him – he palled around with the Antonelli boys. She doubted Carly wanted him either. She had to know Eddie and Katie had been an item and she was throwing it in Katie’s face – an old boyfriend whose rat buddy had put her man in the can. She might as well have just spit in the younger gal’s drink or in her face.
Katie and Carly had never gotten along. They had been two alpha females in the same pride for a long time. Snide comments, dirty looks and the rest. After Carly had a few drinks, it would always get worse. Big George Hendershot had to step between them twice. The “Greeter” knew his boss wouldn’t tolerate brawling in her joint, even if she was one of the brawlers. Neither would her boss, the manager. Katie wasn’t going to do anything to get herself fired, not with the old man in Folsom. But she had to teach this 41 year old whore that you do *not* disrespect the daughter of the late Salvatore “Sonny” Martello, God Rest His Soul, by flaunting that worthless sack of shit Eddie Baldelli in her face and laughing every time the two women made eye contact. That slut’s ass would be hers before the night is up and she’ll won’t dare show her ruined face around here again.
Carly danced with her new friend as the old style disco ball turned. She was dressed in a hot little white designer dress that accentuated her great legs, as did the killer 3” heels. Eddie wasn’t really a “friend”. He was more a partner. He’d met Carly at a nightclub in LA last week when she was there for a class on advanced medical technology at UCLA. Carly was shocked that Eddie used to be the boyfriend of that bitch whore Katie Pirelli at The Sandbar.
The two women simply did not like each other from the day they’d first met. It started with something really stupid – she’d called Katie a “bartender” and had been coldly corrected – she was a “mixologist”! Carly thought that was hilarious and laughed … until the tall 38 year old had added the word “bitch”. Then it was war. Since then, Katie had been promoted to assistant manager and Carly promoted herself to Katie’s worst enemy. She never passed up the chance to use her sharp wit to cut the other woman to pieces in the presence of friends.
Now, she had met a new weapon – Eddie Baldelli. She let him in on what she had planned and the aspiring wiseguy couldn’t wait to play the game with her. Tonight was the night and Carly threw it in Mrs. Pirelli’s angry face at every opportunity. How fun is this? Eat shit, bitch!
“George?” asked Katie, her arms folded as the music played. Her high-heeled toe tapped the floor and there was a black scowl on her face. On top of everything else, her boss had taken the night off and left her in charge. He was probably at the Rainbow Club in West Hollywood giving blowjobs to all the male models.
“Yes, Miss Katie?” The big man did not like that look at all. Somebody was in deep shit trouble tonight, and he prayed to Jesus it wasn’t him.
“I want you to do something for me. What do we do if there’s a serious plumbing problem in one of the restrooms?”
“We shut it down, lock it off and allow the men or the women to use the staff one for the night until we can get it fixed the next day.”
“Well, fella, I say we are about to have a serious plumbing problem in the ladies room. When I go in there, and run the other gals off, I’ll give you the sign to block it behind me and don’t let anyone in who doesn’t have a fucking badge until I’m ready to come out. There will be only me and one other person in there. Capisce?”
George wasn’t much of a student at Fresno State – he was a defensive end, not a Rhodes scholar. But he wasn’t stupid, and it didn’t take long for him to capisce. A shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Sure, Miss Katie. Can I watch?”
She laughed for the first time that night. “Hell, no you can’t watch! This between just me and that Cajun bitch.”
They waited quite a while, intently watching Carly as she had the time of her life, flaunting her new boytoy. Then the time came. The skank excused herself and headed into the washroom. “Showtime, big man,” growled Katie. “Good luck, Mrs. P. And keep your left up.” advised her “Greeter”. Katie smiled and walked slowly toward the ladies room, greeting customers as George followed close behind. Her earrings and other jewelry were off even before she reached the door.
“Don’t worry, George. I won’t kill her. Much.”
Katie dropped her jewelry into his hands. “Í want this back when I come out. All of it!” George laughed and after his boss went in, he parked his massive frame in front of the door. “Sorry, ladies. The restroom is out of service. Use the one through that double door yonder and to the right.” Yes, no one, not even Eddie Baldelli, was going to get past him.
There were only two ladies at the sink and one in a stall. Neither of the two reapplying their make-up was Carly. Perfect. Katie hustled them out the door, gave George’s shoulder a squeeze and ducked back in, quietly waiting for Carly to finish her business. Her stomach was full of steel butterflies and she was sweating like crazy already.
“Look, I know the bitch had been drinking pretty good. She may not be at her best. Maybe.” Katie told me. “I’ve been in lots of fights. Maybe not as many as she had, but a shitload. Except for the ones that come outta nowhere, I always get the jumpies and stomach knots before a fight. Anticipation. Fear. The rush. All that shit. And this was Carly Fuckin’ Monfort! Sober or not, six inches shorter and fifteen pounds lighter than me. It was still Carly Monfort. If you’re a woman and about to fight this little bitch and you’re not sweating bullets and about to jump out of your skin, you’re not even human.”
“So, I finish my pee, open the door, and there she is. Big Italy.” Carly said. I’ve had a couple too many Mai Tais, my stomach is a little queasy, my legs were tired from dancing and there is Big Katie Pirelli, hands on hips, barefoot with her shoes on the counter, no big-ass hoop earrings or cheap mob-wife jewelry, and this look on her face that said, “Your hair is mine tonight, Monfort.” She began unbuttoning her blouse with our eyes locked tight. There wasn’t anyone else around and I knew George was probably barring the door. She’d set me up like a bowling pin and this was going to hurt. I figure maybe she’d let me come back another day when I was ready. But I am just too damn stubborn and proud to back down now.”
“Well, sweetie. All dressed up and nowhere to go but down, huh?” she mocked. Katie wasn’t that clever – she must have heard that line in a movie or something. I kicked off my shoes and put my earrings in my purse. “I’ll let you ditch that Come Fuck Me dress, too. I’d hate to see you bleed all over it.”
“You’ll bleed all over your K-Mart line shit, too,
cochon baiseur (pig fucker). Not that anyone would notice.” I peeled off my dress and she finished removing her blouse and skirt. That was some body, I had to admit. But a woman of her age with fun bags like those needs to be wearing a bra, for God’s sake and I told her so. I undid my bra – she’d just tear it off of me after my last smartass comment anyway.”
Then it was on. Katie slapped Carly’s face full and so hard her knees buckled. She dug deep into those black curls and shook her like a rag. The bigger gal with the long arms kept most of her body out of range of the shorter-armed woman’s fists and hands, except one tempting target – those swinging 38Ds. Carly was suffering with the strong blue-nailed fingers tangled in her hair, but reared back and slapped Katie’s hanging left boob with a loud smack. “Oww! Shit!” yelped Katie, shoving Carly away.
Here’s Katie: “A lotta guys who’re into this think that big tits are an advantage in a catfight. Well, as a full-figured gal myself – that’s bullshit. Sure. If you get her down and stick ‘em in her face, you can smother a bitch down there – if she doesn’t get a mouthful and have a quick snack. Otherwise what do you have? Two big-ass parts of you, all fat and nerves and no muscle, swinging around getting in your way and giving the other broad a nice, painful target for everything she has. I’m sure Carly would agree – though mine’re bigger. And nicer. <laughter>
Carly whacked a hard kick into Katie’s thigh and her front push kick in the ample chest sent the bigger woman into the wall. Katie came off the wall and right into a left from Carly which sank deep into her bare belly. As Katie belched and folded up, Carly grabbed fistfuls of the two-toned hair and dragged her to the tiled floor. The rolled around pulling hair, grunting and cursing. When a hand came free, it would be used to slap a face, scratch a cheek, pound on a back or ribcage or twist a big bare tit. It wasn’t pretty down there and neither was the language. Three different ones were being used, mixed with groans and cries when something really hurt.
Carly: This is where I wanted to keep this big
pute lesbienne. When you’re fighting a tall hard-fisted bitch like Katie, it’s a good idea to get her on the ground and keep her there. A height and reach advantage mean nothing if you’re all tangled up together on the floor, mauling and brawling. The problem was – girlfriend is as strong as an ox, she’s a dirty streetfighter, brawling like this wears you out and I had *way* too many drinks in my system. <laughs>. Other than that, I had her right where I wanted her ...
Before long, most of the groans and cries had become Carly’s. Katie’s hair was even more of a bizarre mess than usual and her scalp was killing her. One cheek had been scratched pretty deep and there was a painful bite along her right jawline. But Carly was in worse shape. Her left tit had been bitten and was bleeding. Her eyes had taken a nasty gouging and they were bleary and red. Her hair had been brutally savaged and she was sweating and gasping profusely. More and more, Carly was finding herself at the bottom of the heap.
“Piece of shit
succhiacazzi (cocksucker)!” “Get off me,
mangeur de merde Italien (Italian shit eater)!” Neither knew what the other was saying, but both were getting the message. Katie freed a hand and drove her big right fist down into Carly’s heaving belly, drawing a pained and frustrated “Ohhh! God!” from the fading woman. Mrs. Pirelli got her face into that of Mrs. Monfort and gave her nose a painful bite, making her cry out fearfully. Carly’s hands released Katie’s hair, much to the relief of her enemy, who sighed audibly at the easing of the burning in her scalp. She mounted Carly. Sitting on her stomach and bouncing as the older woman thrashed and kicked, trying to get the big bitch off of her.
Katie: It was like, “OK whore, your ass is mine now. I’m gonna enjoy this shit.” This woman had been cruisin’ for a real bruisin’ for a long time now. All the catty little insults and digs were getting paid back tonight. This is Sonny Martello’s little girl sitting on you, sweetie, and we have a word for this – vendetta.
Katie proceeded to give Carly the face-slapping of her life. Forehand and backhand. Left and right until Mrs. Monfort’s face was red and swollen and bleeding from a few places. Katie wore herself out on Carly’s face. Then she sat back on her, gasping for breath. Katie reached down and cranked on Carly’s nice tits like doorknobs, and got some fingers under her panties and worked around in there for a while, but the sobbing and groaning woman was beyond caring much.
Carly: I’ve had people ask me “When do you know when you’ve won a fight?” They usually don’t ask when you know when you’ve lost one. Well, I know when I’d lost this one … after the third or fourth slap down there. I don’t remember a whole lot after that shit.
“God, look at you, Carly,” gasped Katie, brushing the hair out her eyes and feeling at the scratches on her face. “You are seriously fucked up. Stay right there, sweetie. I gotta pee, then we’ll continue our discussion. OK?” With an exhausted groan, Katie got off of Carly, allowing her to curl up into a weeping ball. She stripped off her panties and made her way into a stall, keeping the door open so she could watch Carly. After emptying her bladder, she went back to the other woman, who had risen to all fours, still sobbing. “That feels better! Now it’s time to walk the dog.”
The magnificently naked younger woman dragged the beaten older one to the stall and john she’d just used and hadn’t “bothered” to flush. Lifting the seat, Katie stretched Carly’s arms behind her back, grasped the hair on the back of her head with her long blue-nailed toes, shaking her hair to make sure she had a good grip. ”You look thirsty, Carly. How about a drink? As a certified mixologist, I know just what you need. Drink up and tell me what you think. Leave a tip in the jar …” and pushed the kneeling gal’s face with her foot toward the filthy, yellowish liquid below it.
“I’ll admit I’d had my head dunked and toilet-washed like that during a ladies room catfight once before. But dude, seriously, … piss water? This was piss water! All yellow and shit! What the fuck? Yep. First time even for me, Nick. My girl Katie had slapped me stupid, but I was awake enough to experience the whole thing – sight, taste and smell. I was just lucky the sleazy grease-ball hadn’t dropped a nasty old log or two in there and made me bob for Snickers bars!”
Atta, girl, Carly! Make ol’ Mr. Hollywood laugh his narrow ass off!
Katie: “Yeah. I pushed her face in there deep, watching the bubbles and holding her hair with my toes. Shook her messed up face around in there for a while. I’m good with these things. I have toes like fingers. Big Mike says I have monkey feet. I kept her down there long enough to make sure she was out of breath, then pulled her out by the hair. Carly’s mouth was wide the hell open, so I pushed her in that mess again, and this time she had to drink a shitload of it. Pretty fucked up, huh? Geez, she was coughing and gagging big time.” I said in Italian …“
Lavare sempre dopo aver usato la toilette!” (Always flush after using the toilet!), pushed her face in again and flushed ...
Katie lifted the bedraggled and drenched Carly to her feet by the unruly wet mop and propped her against the side of the stall. She waited until Carly had stopped coughing and gagging, and gave her a little lecture, holding her up by the shoulders.
“Nod if you can hear me! Good. Listen, bitch. I don’t care that you brought an old squeeze of mine here tonight. Fuck him. What I care is that you brought a man into my establishment who was one of a nest of fucking rats that put my man in the joint, just when my son needed him most. A man that my father would have planted in the ground if he was still alive. And you, you
miserabile vecchia puttana, brought him *here*, disrespecting me, my son and my father. Do you know what Sonny Martello would do to you if he was still alive? He’d cut off your ears and nose while you were still alive and feed you to the sharks.”
“But know what? I’m over all that mob shit and I suspect … I hope … you didn’t know what Eddie the Rat had done to my family when you flaunted him in my face. I’ll give you a pass. Just remember tonight, sweetheart. Think about this night before you play your little games with some woman when you don’t know her whole story.
Capisce? You do? Good.”
Carly: “It was like, oh my God! I didn’t know. I guess I deserved all this. Shit ...”
Katie released Carly’s left shoulder and came up with two brutal uppercuts to her sick stomach and followed with a knee, let go and let the battered and heaving woman sink to the floor of the stall. She sat there clutching her sick belly and bawling, as a very sore and exhausted mixologist went to the sink, bringing Carly’s expensive designer dress with her. She washed her face and body with it, including her crotch, which she had “forgotten” to wipe after taking her piss. The other woman had put her face over the bowl, knowing what was about to come up from her guts.
“You might want to clean up with this,” said Katie, throwing the soiled dress at her. She arranged her hair as best she could, covered the bruises on her face with make-up and made sure the scratches had stopped bleeding, all to the sound of wet retching, spitting and cursing from the stall. “Don’t forget to flush down all that nasty stuff when you’re done in there, you belly-sick old hag.” Katie knocked on the door and George peered in wide eyed.
“Ohhh, shit! You OK, Miss Katie?”
“Nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t fix. Have Christine and Celine go in there and clean the garbage out of the stall on the right. Where’s Eddie?”
“Over there. I got Rico and Lamar watchin’ him.”
“Good. The three of you make sure he’s not packing, then toss him the fuck out. And tell him if he ever comes in here again … I’ll kill him. His date is going home later … and the dry heaves should be settling in right now. It’ll be a while.”
4
A Weird Way of Apologizing
For two weeks, employees at the regulars at the Sandbar, and quite a few people around town, were talking about “The Brawl in the Stall”. No one knew the details. All anyone knew was this – the female acting manager of The Sandbar had gotten fed up with the antics of town temptress and catfight legend Carly Monfort, had taken her to the ladies room and kicked her ass big time. Business picked up. There were those who were proud of “Our Katie” for putting the controversial Mrs. Monfort in her place. Others opined that if Carly hadn’t been well medicated with Mai Tais, the result would have been different.
The only person around who knew what happened was Katie Pirelli, and she wasn’t talking. She admitted that there had been a fight between the two and she’d won. That’s it. Katie came from a certain Italian-American “subculture”, one that had created the concept of
omerta, the code of silence, and in that respect anyway, she was her father’s daughter. She too had her doubts. What if the tough Cajun had been sober? Hadn’t have been dancing like a fool all night? She supposed she’d never know for sure.
Oh wait … this is Sandbridge.
Katie was working the bar that Saturday night. They’d just opened for the evening and there were just a few hard core patrons there. Katie was taking stock of her inventory when she got this “Hi Katie.” She turned and …
There was Carly Monfort.
Everyone in the club was staring with anticipation.
Katie recovered and coldly replied. “Well, Mrs. Monfort. Come back again for that ‘special drink’ I served you last time you showed up here?”
Surprisingly, Carly laughed. She was dressed modestly in a conservative black blouse and slacks. “I suppose I deserved that shot. Good one. And I think that drink could use just a hint of lime. Look, I’m here for only two reasons tonight. First I want to apologize. Trust me, I had no clue that Eddie had anything to do with Mike being sent to prison. Jesus, if I’d known that, there was no way I would have disrespected you by bringing him here that night. I have a teenager myself, and I know what it’s like to lose a husband. This has been killing me worse than all the pain, blues and agony you handed me. I don’t even care if you believe me or not. I had to talk to you for my own peace of mind. Again, I am truly, truly sorry.”
Through narrowed eyes, Katie thought about it, looking into the brown ones of the other mother. Then she sighed. “I believe you. You wouldn’t have known. Okay, apology accepted. Wanna drink?”
“Just a club soda thanks. Gotta stay sober tonight,” Carly’s expression hardened. Which brings me to the second reason I’m here … I’ve come here tonight to mop the floor with you.”
Now it was Katie’s turn to laugh. “Bitch, you have a weird way of apologizing!”
“Hey, it’s not personal. It has nothing to do with Eddie, revenge or even that unique facial treatment you gave me last time. I’ve gotten my ass kicked before … humiliated before. No big deal. But you’ve heard the bullshit, too. You know, ‘What would Katie have done with a sober Carly?’ You’ve probably been wondering that too. I know I have … and the question is killing me. Well here I am. Beat me up again and it’ll be over. Same if I beat you. No more mind games and no hard feelings. What do you say?”
“We’ll both be hurtin’ for certain, baby doll …”
“We’ll heal.”
The well-known Pirelli sardonic smile returned. “No more ‘Who’s the top bitch in the valley’ mind games? Flaunting old boyfriends? Smartass comments behind each other’s backs?”
“None of that shit, honest.”
Katie extended a hand and Carly took it. “You’re on bitch!” They both laughed and chatted like old friends.
Patrons and employees saw the handshake, the happy faces, heard the laughter and assumed it was over. There was a collective groan of disappointment and they turned back to doing whatever one does at The Sandbar.
*****************************************************************
They had a few things to discuss, and Katie did most of the talking. Last call was at 1 am. She would talk the boss into leaving on time – she’d lock up for him. Carly could come in before then and rest up in Katie’s locked office so the boss wouldn’t notice her. At 2 am, Katie and her waitress friend Christine would lock the door, haul out an old tarp from the back, spread it out on the dance floor, and have Carly come out. Nobody in – nobody out after it started. They’d fight buck naked, and fight until one of them couldn’t fight anymore – she’d have to quit. Christine would leave before they had at it, and return after the fight was over, taking each lady home – the assumption was that neither would be able to drive. Only the three of them would know about it. The two Sandbar employees would come in Sunday and clean up. Not even the boss would know. “Sweet plan! Girl, you missed your calling. You should have been a criminal mastermind,” laughed Carly.
“Like father like daughter.” winked Katie.
As the clock approached 2 am. Katie wondered how many times she’d looked at her watch that night. She only hoped Carly, sitting alone in her office, was just as nervous (she was). At two, the boss said goodnight. Katie and Christine ushered out the last remaining drunk and locked the door. They called for Carly to come out and help them with the tarp. The dance floor was plenty big enough for a brawl and both were satisfied.
Christine Leung was a striking long-haired little hottie of about 30. She was a big hit with all the male customers and a few of the women. She was flattered by the guys’ attention but that was it. You see, she “played for the home team”. She was more interested in the attention of those few women, and didn’t really care who knew it.
“Are you two crazy birdbrains sure you want to do this?” she asked as they stripped down. It was a rhetorical question. “Okay, call me when it’s over. I’ll pour what’s left of both of you into my car and take your sorry kicked asses home.” She walked up real close to Katie. “Good, luck, babe,” and kissed her. Not a peck on the cheek, either. Full on in the mouth. Lots of tongue action going on in there. A gaping Carly could see their jaws working and Christine’s hand inside Katie’s unbuttoned blouse. As the two “friends” broke apart with a wet smack, the sexy Chinese-American said, “Beat the shit out of her. Make her say ‘I Quit’ for me.” She turned to a most bemused Carly. “No offense, Mrs. Monfort” as she licked Katie’s spit off of her lips and checked out the older gal’s half-naked form.
“None taken at all, Miss Leung!”
Christine smiled sweetly, and gave Carly the finger. She walked to the door, hips in action.
Carly grinned at the now naked Katie.
“What!?” smirked Mrs. Pirelli.
“Sweet girl. I think she likes me!”
“Well, fuck you bitch. Fuck you very, very much.”
“I’m sure you’d like to, m’dear. You’re just afraid you’d find that once you’ve tasted
cuisine cajun, you’d never eat Chinese again!”
“God, you really are an asshole, aren’t you?” laughed Katie. “Everybody in town knows it. I am so looking forward to mopping you up again. Get those shit-stained panties off and let’s get started.”
5
“Had enough?”
They both knew it was going to be a long night, and neither wanted to wear herself out early. They threw a few jabs and an occasional slap across the bare breasts as they circled each other on the makeshift mat. They raised their hands, engaged, and had a test of strength, going chest-to-chest with clasped hands extended to each side. Katie won and brought their arms downward, bending Carly’s wrists painfully. “Ow! Bitch.” hissed the shorter woman, up on her toes, and Katie snapped a quick head butt into Carly’s forehead.
They untangled fingers and plunged hands all the way to the scalp into each other’s hair. They danced around the floor, shaking each other’s head, twisting and pulling, and making the other groan and gasp. Katie had the early advantage with her height and her lesser expanse of hair. Carly had to reach up to get at the tall Italian, but get at her she did, expertly bringing her head down to Carly’s level. Slowly it became advantage Mrs. Monfort – she had Katie bent at the waist and was painfully twisting her head to the side, her fists tightly entwined in the two-toned locks of the younger woman. Carly also had longer and sharper nails and she scratched up the scalp of a gasping Katie, digging up strands of hair by the follicles. She also was kicking bruises into Katie’s long legs and stepping all over her big feet. A particularly brutal yank brought a yelp from the big woman and down she went, still buried in the thick black hair, bringing Carly to the mat with her.
As in their first fight, they got into a rolling, twisting floor tussle. Their legs were flailing and neither would release more than one fistful of hair. The other hand was being used to pound ribs or a back, slap at a face or scratch and dig at a tit or a facial feature. The biggest difference was that unlike the first time, there was a noticeable lack of taunting, name-calling and trash talk. Just a lot of groaning and panting with an occasional quiet curse or cry of pain.
Katie: Yeah. By now, we’d figured we were two tough bitches who weren’t gonna be reduced to tears by something the other was sayin’. Why waste the energy? Besides, this wasn’t about hate or vendetta or any of that crap anymore. This was about two ornery middle-aged broads just kickin’ the shit out of each other because we needed to. Besides, we’d pretty much said all there was to say to each other in our first catfight.
Katie didn’t want this type of fight, though. Unlike the first fight, she couldn’t feel Carly fading at all. Bitch was ready this time and she wasn’t tapped out from alcohol consumption. This was her opponent’s kind of fight. She needed to get out of this tangle so she could use her height and reach – and she sure as hell didn’t want it to evolve into the dreaded “catball”. (More on this brutal phenomenon in the next story.)
She managed to untangle from Carly and tried get up, but a thrust kick from the other woman to the swinging boobs put her on her ass again. Carly caught an ankle and twisted from a sitting position, making the big woman yelp. One of Carly’s bare feet was within Katie’s grasp, so she took up the challenge and did some foot-twisting of her own. Carly brought Katie’s big size 10 to her face, licked her lips and opened her mouth. Mrs. Pirelli saw it coming. “Oh no! Please! Not my … Owww!”
Carly: Okay, I like feet and I admit it. I’m pretty straight, but I think a woman’s well-pedicured foot is one of the sexiest things there is. The other thing I’m a freak for is biting in a catfight. So guess what? I like to bite feet. Soles, the ball of the foot and especially toes. It’s great when something you like to do is so effective in a fight. There may be more painful places to bite, but I don’t know of many. There are a lot of sensitive nerves in the feet and they all hurt like hell when another gal is chewing down there. I know firsthand it’ll really kill you every time you take a step for the rest of the fight if you chew those toes up good. Katie has really nice feet, well, they’re big with some really weird nail polish sometimes, but she always has a great pedicure. It must be her nail salon experience.
She now had her chance and Katie bawled as Carly’s knowledge of foot anatomy allowed her to find all those nerves in Katie’s sole and long toes. The stricken gal sat up screaming, still clutching the shorter woman’s left foot. Instinctively, she brought it to her mouth and began working Carly’s toes with teeth of her own. Now it was Carly’s turn to scream and by unspoken consent, they both released to check out what the other had done to her.
Katie: Swear to God, Nick. Never had a woman’s toes in my mouth before in my life. Well, at least I haven’t used my teeth when I did have ’em in there. Holy shit, Carly’s chewing on mine was scary. And it hurt like a motherfucker.
The shock and pain from the toe-biting exchange caused the two experienced catfighters to pick up the pace. Katie slapped Carly viciously across the face, sending sweat and hair flying. Katie stood there and accepted Carly’s own slap, making no attempt to avoid it. They traded like that for several cycles with each big slap resulting in a grunt from the recipient. Finally a brutal left one from Carly sealed the deal as Katie’s knees buckled and she sank to the floor, a glazed expression on her face. “Get up, bitch,” growled Carly her own face as red and swollen as Katie’s. She locked her fingers in the younger woman’s wild hairdo, but she was wide open as Katie came up with a gut-busting right fist to the stomach from the floor.
All Carly’s wind left her as she folded over Katie’s big fist. “Awwwf! Shit!” Katie stood up timing her rise with a left uppercut which landed flush on the jaw. As Carly staggered backwards, she caught a big left roundhouse kick to the ribs that nearly bent her sideways. A sweet spinning heel kick just missed the top of the older woman’s head but a stiff overhand right caught her flush in the nose and it was first blood to Katie. Carly grabbed her face, leaving body open for a snap kick to the belly and a kneelift to the 38Cs that sent her sprawling in a heap.
Carly: Seriously, I have no idea where this martial arts skill came from. Big girl didn’t show me this in the first fight. All I know was that Katie was kicking the shit out of me and I was in big trouble.
“Oh no, babe! I’m not diving in there. Get the fuck up!” demanded the big Italian. Carly wiped the blood from her nose and got back to her feet and managed a smile. “Okay, girlie. Let’s go!”
Katie fired two quick jabs at the middle of Carly’s face and one of them got through to her bloody nose. But Carly jabbed Katie in the mouth, drove a straight right into Katie’s hanging left tit, then doubled up with two left hooks to the breadbasket which beat the breath out of her, An enormous slap across the wide open face was next followed by a cruel stomp of Katie’s chewed bare toes. Two hands dug into the mixologist’s ratty hair and gave her the business until Katie took her by the wrists and lifted a thigh into Carly’s naked cxnt.
It was only a glancing blow, but it shocked and scared Monfort. She backed away and Katie thunked her belly again with another front kick. She tried one more kneelift to the chest, but Carly was ready for it this time – she sidestepped and landed a sweet right cross to the cheekbone, another left to the belly and a two-handed fingernail rake of Katie’s big money-makers. Katie looked Carly in the face and howled, then took a roundhouse kick to the ribcage and a nice
savate kick upside the jaw. The big woman went down like a ton of bricks, and unlike Katie, Carly was more than happy to mix with her on the floor.
She actually jumped up and splashed Katie on the tarp. Her body landed on the other naked woman with a wet splat and Katie was windless. Carly was gasping for breath, too. She’d taken a pretty good beating and she wasn’t as young as she used to be. The black-haired battler decided they both needed a rest. She just had to make sure it would be less “restful” for Katie. She quickly wrapped Katie’s sweaty bare trunk up in her strong legs and began to squeeze. “Ohhh!
Dolce Madre di Dio”, blurted Katie as those well-exercised thighs applied the pressure.
“Well, we’re speaking
Italien again are we?” Carly said sweetly. She relaxed her hold a little so Katie could speak … and breathe. “Come on, say something else, Katie!”
“Okay,” gasped Mrs. Pirelli. “How about you f
iglia di puttana dai capelli neri!” (black-haired daughter of a whore).
Mrs. Monfort re-applied the pressure, drawing a long groan. “My, my. I don’t know exactly what that means, but that just doesn’t sound too ladylike does it? Especially that
puttana part!”
Carly: You see a lots of body scissors in the Triumph catfight tapes and in those posed catfight pictures in that wrestling mag. It’s not as devastating a hold as they make it out to be. But if you’ve already winded your opponent and you’ve worked her ribcage and belly like I’d done to Katie, you can make it hurt. Also, you’re controlling her down there and that’s always a good thing. It can free up your hands to mess up her face and tits. It’s also a great rest hold when you need a breather – you can increase or decrease pressure depending how gassed you are. I love this hold myself, especially as I’ve gotten older and needed a break more often.
Katie wheezed under the pressure of those well-muscled thighs. She couldn’t pry them apart with her hands and beating on them may have hurt, but not enough. Carly would tighten, relax then tighten again. She shook Katie’s hair, got fingers up her nose and pulled on it for a while, twisted her tits and placed scratches across her forehead and chest. And there was the constant cycle of tightening and relaxing – rinse and release. “Wanna quit? I’ll let you go if you give up.” “Hell … the fuck …no!” gasped the big woman. Katie glanced over through watery eyes at the crossed ankles of her tormentor. Her left arm was just long enough to reach the still red and chewed toes of Carly’s left foot. She cranked on a sore-looking red-nailed big toe and Carly yelped. Katie rolled out of the scissors and to her knees.
Carly got up to hers just to meet a slap to the face from the exhausted Katie. She returned it even harder. She took Pirelli by the hair and rared back for another, but Katie beat her to it with a clawing rake of the face. Her nails were short, but they hurt and surprised Mrs. Monfort. Then she dug into both of the sweaty tits before her. Carly screamed and returned the favor. Carly grabbed, scratched and gouged harder and Katie screamed louder. The Cajun gal released one big boob, slapped her face and as Katie let go of her tits, raked her sharper nails down both sweaty flanks. A right to the belly sinks in, a left down there sinks in deeper. Carly measures the gagging Mob Princess and hangs a sweet right on her jaw. Katie drops to her back, legs splayed out awkwardly.
Carly is aching all over and nearly spent. Her ribs and belly were bruised and beaten, her nose was bloody, her cheeks were red and scratched and her tits were killing her. She literally hurt from head to toe. But Katie was a real mess and she was on the floor nearly out. There were scratches all over her, she had a blackening eye and her body looked worse than Carly’s. Both women’s hair had been reduced to sweat mops, but Katie’s had taken more damage. Christine had been right – neither was driving home tonight.
Carly crawled on up of the groaning Katie and gasped as her felt her throbbing nose. “Here’s for my nose, girlie.” She knotted hands in the stringy mess of Katie’s hair, bent down and chewed the big nose until it bled. Katie could only moan. “I’d really fucked her up. It’s finally over.” She mounted Pirelli and rested, ribs heaving painfully. Carly shook her head a little by her hair and slapped the red cheeks lightly until Katie was awakened, but Carly could see she was still on Queer Street. Then she pulled the crying younger woman’s head back up by the hair.
“Wanna quit? Had enough?”
Amazingly, she groaned out a “No”.
“Oh Katie! Please girl!” Carly reached back and felt around with her free hand for the other woman’s vagina. She got a couple of fingers in there and applied just enough nail pressure to make it hurt. “Don’t make me do this to you. Just admit you’ve lost. That’s all. No disgrace in that. If I have to shred you … I’ll hate myself in the morning, but I’ll do it. Please. Just say it!” To emphasize her point, Carly dug a little deeper and Katie yelped.
“Okay! I quit! You win. I’ve had enough of you. Jesus.
Merde. Scopare.”
Carly collapsed in exhaustion on top of her and they hugged and wept together.
6
“Don’t tell her I said that!”
“So, she called Christine and Lil’ Hot Pants came back. Girl was pretty shaken by what she saw, but she wasn’t surprised. She patched us up a little, fixed us each a drink, cussed us for being stupid bitches and commiserated … especially with Katie. Then she took me home and the two of them, I imagine, went back to Katie’s together. I’m really glad Katie had her friend with her that night. Since then, Katie and I have gotten along fine. Except for The Sandbar, we’re living different worlds … and I’m glad I’m in mine, not hers. We may never be best friends, but I really respect that big lady. And, yes, I admit I like her, too. But for God’s sake, Nick, don’t tell her I said that!” – Carly
“No shit. Carly beat the stink out of me. I guess I mix a pretty potent Mai Tai! I mean, man, did we ever prove that a sober Carly Monfort can fight better than a shit-faced one or what? As for me, I missed a few days of work recovering. But then the boss moved up to Frisco to manage some male strip club on Castro Street. What a big surprise, huh? The owner named me Manager. Go figure. Carly still comes around but she doesn’t fuck with me anymore. And I sure … as hell … don’t fuck with her. We’re pretty cool now. I mean maybe we’ll never be like sisters or anything, but I really respect that little lady … and yeah, I like her, too. But for God’s sake, Nick, don’t tell her I said that!
Capisce? ” – Katie
The End
//Braveheart
© 2013 by Braveheart. All rights reserved. TXu 1-910-919
