Bethany Battles Life
Chapter 11
Onlookers at Emily's
“Such a pleasant surprise! Bethany Beaverbrook! How are you? I haven't seen you for an eternity!”
I blushed as Stewart James wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me in for a kiss. “I've been here often, Stewart. It's more like where have you been?” It was true. I had been at Emily's often – too often, according to my sister who accused me of moping there hoping to find Stewart again and in a good mood, a mood to reconcile with me. She wasn’t entirely wrong.
He stood back and looked me up and down with a smile. “Dressed for success? You look like you're just off to a business meeting.” I inwardly shrivelled at his mild rebuke. Certainly, dressed in heels, a navy skirt, cream blouse and navy jacket set off with a pearl necklace, I was – for once – far more dressy than the middle-aged actor, who was in designer jeans, a polo necked cotton shirt and a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches that looked as if it had belonged to his grandfather.
“In a way I am,” I told him. “Kelly summoned a group of us here.”
“Ah…Then I must not keep you,” he said briskly. “I'm here with some friends. Perhaps we can meet up later, when you’re done with your meeting.” He gave me another smile and walked off to the bar.
I cursed myself for being a hopeless romantic and told myself again that Stewart just wasn’t into me. With a sigh, I went to meet the group Kelly had convened.
“You're almost late, Bethany,” said Kelly Haldane. She sat, tablet on the table in front of her, working through an agenda. She looked around at all of us. “You know I've asked you girls here, because the firm is starting a Roller Derby team, and I want you girls on the team. We will be known as the 'Deadly Poets Society' an acknowledgement of the firm's name…by happy coincidence, three great English poets…for those of you who didn't know, and of Robin Williams great movie.” She turned to me. “Bethany, you are to procure the uniforms.” She rattled off a list of precisely what I was to procure. “I'll confirm the details by email, of course.”
I almost pouted. Didn't Kelly trust me enough to remember that information? No, my inner voice told me. I was too busy mooning over Stewart. But even if I wasn’t, what was the point of being grumpy with Kelly? She was already continuing rapidly through the list of her expectations – an endless string of victories and – to achieve that – hard, continuous, disciplined training.
I was still as astonished as I had been when I'd first saw her email 'inviting' me to Emily's beach bar to 'discuss' the formation of a Roller Derby team. Looking around the table, so were the other ‘invitees’. Everyone – and the group comprised most of the female junior staff at Donne Herbert and Vaughan – wore the same puzzled expression that I did.
Of course, invitation and discussion were the wrong words to use in this situation. Command and decree would have been more apt. Few of us juniors would have dared to openly question Kelly. That hadn't stopped the whispers at the water cooler, though. Comments ranged from the faux high-minded like “Why on earth would the firm want to start a Roller Derby team?” and “What are our clients going to think about us participating in such a trashy sport?” to the downright personal, “There's no way I'm getting into something like that! I might get hurt!”
I was one of those wondering why the firm wanted to sponsor a roller derby team. Maybe the main, or even the only reason, was that Kelly wanted one. I knew from bitter experience that what Kelly Haldane wanted, Kelly Haldane got.
So here we all were, listening to Kelly tell us what we were going to do. “Now, I've invited Mona Nock, with whom I play roller derby to talk to you about the game.”
I mused briefly on Kelly's precise grammar. No one else would use the phrase, “with whom I play” and I doubt anybody in the roller derby world had ever said ‘whom’ before. Kelly was once again drawing a line between herself and the rest of us. She was just better, more successful, ‘Old Money’, ‘Old Family’ too if it came to that. I had wet dreams about her boyfriend. A few months ago I’d been so envious of Kelly for all of that. Now I had to accept it. She was Kelly and I was Bethany and there was a great social gulf between us that could never be bridged.
Kelly brought me back to reality when she turned to the nondescript red-headed woman sitting beside her. She was distinguished only by her poor taste in clothes – a tight top, short skirt and four inch heels - and she looked completely out of place next to Kelly. Her outfit might have been appropriate for a cheap nightclub, but not for Emily's Beach Bar where you could see people wearing almost anything from a bikini top and a sarong knotted around the waist, to semi-formal wear. What you didn’t see was anybody wearing something that made them look like a desperate and dateless cruiser in a pickup joint.
Kelly introduced us as her colleagues in the firm, and the redhead - Mona - as “an unlucky college grad, like so many others right now…she can't find a job that befits her qualifications. Instead she has to wait tables. Just like my friend Kim Curzon did before she got lucky and got her start on the stage, or Michael Tippet, who drove cabs for a while. Makes me think sometimes my Peter is right. All this neo liberal free market stuff is just that…’stuff’.”
Mona began to talk about the rules. I stretched out my legs and daydreamed that I'd meet up with Stewart James after Kelly had finished her harangue, and that we’d kiss and make up. I hadn’t seen him since he cold-shouldered me after I'd fought with that bitch Violet Tennant. I pushed that occasion out of my mind. I didn't want to go there. I'd only get angry and upset. Stew had made it plain he didn't want to see me, being coldly formal and polite when I'd called him. Even tonight it was as though he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. Yes, he’d hugged and kissed me but as Wayne – Emily's barman – had pointed out, Stewart did that to any woman between the ages of eighteen and forty. The old Lothario just couldn't help himself. I shrugged. I didn't know why I bothered.
I looked around at the group Kelly had gathered. While I tried to suppress a yawn, others were less discreet. Jann Scott played with her phone. Odette Luke almost went to sleep as Mona droned on about tactics until she made roller derby sound like world championship chess.
“Really?” I broke in on her monologue. “Roller derby…the aim is so simple. It’s just four girls trying to block one girl from the other team. The rules aren't that much more complicated. What more do we need to know?”
Mona opened her mouth to reply but Kirsten Flagstadt cut in. Kirsten was upfront, just as she always was. “So why do you play? Where’s the thrill in charging around in circles on skates, slamming into each other?”
“You said it,” answered Mona. “It’s a thrill. You let all your aggression out. Like they say, 'if you can't play nice, play derby’.” She chuckled.
“Of course, that’s if you’ve got that much aggression to let out in the first place,” Kirsten sniffed. “Some of us are more self-restrained.”
“Some call it assertiveness, some self-assurance,” Mona shot back, “and I’m sure you needed that to get where you are.”
Kelly smiled. “I think Mona just scored, Kirsten. Everyone in advertising needs some assertiveness. Just as you do in roller derby. Some call it assertiveness, some aggression, some simply ego.”
Mona failed to conceal her smirk of triumph. Kirsten’s face darkened. I l smiled too. The tall Minnesotan, who looked like what I’m sure her ancestors were – a female Viking – was the most egotistical woman in the firm, apart from Kelly herself. But unlike Kelly, she had little achievement to boost her ego.
“Now, Mona...Kirsten,” I looked from one to the other, “in roller derby, you work out your aggression on the other team, not your own.”
Kelly flashed a quick grin at me. I smiled back. I’d scored points, not just against Kristen whom I didn’t much like, and not just against the trampy Mona either, but with Kelly and that was the most important thing.
“But Mona,” I added, more softly, almost as if I was speaking just to her but 'projecting’ my low tones as Stewart James had begun to teach me, “you won't be playing for the Deadly Poets Society. No, from what Kelly and you have told us, you need guts and drive to win at roller derby. It’s just like life really. Being smart, being aggressive isn't enough in this world. We…” I waved my hand around the table, “…are all dedicated to success in our careers and our lives generally. We don't write off failure by saying we’re unlucky. Like Kelly's friends Kim and Michael, we make our own luck.” I looked her pointedly in the eyes. “So we draw the line at girls with college degrees on skate, who wait tables.”
Kelly smiled again, the quiet, private smile that I'd seen when she congratulated me for beating Alison Baur all those months ago. I’d seen it a few times since then, too. I'd never understand Kelly – not if I lived to be a hundred years old – but I understood myself well enough to know that I lived for that secret smile of approval.
Mona flushed to the roots of her hair and looked at me sharply but before she could speak, Kelly interjected sternly, “Mona, I brought you here to tell the girls about roller derby, not to pout.”
“And I've done that. I've explained the rules. I've told you why I like the sport. I've said about all I need to say, Kelly.” Mona stood up. “I'm going to get a drink.”
“On your way Mona, you can get us all a round of drinks.” Kirsten fished some money from her purse.
“And let's see how you skate,” I added. Mona gave me a dirty look and stalked off.
She didn't get as far as the bar. Emily's was full – surprisingly so for early evening in the early spring. The beach bars didn't usually fill up till nearly summer. Mona walked around some thickets of people but just before the bar there was a larger group – mainly - young women and men, all talking loudly. Mona had to all but push through the crowd blocking her way. I heard her voice raised over the hubbub. “Excuse me!”, “Please let me through!” and so on.
Then somebody answered her in an equally loud voice. “No! You can go around! But you expect us to move!” I knew that voice, but where from?
“You're blocking the way,” persisted Mona. “Please, let me pass.”
“We were here first. You could find another way.” The crowd moved a little as I looked and, yes, it was that brat Hannah. She had said almost those very words to me, the last time I was at Emily's, when I’d met up with Stewart James. I got up. This was going to be interesting.
“And you and your friends could stand somewhere else, away from the bar,” Mona shot back.
“We like it here,” retorted Hannah. “it’s easy to get drinks. Besides, Wayne is so cute.”
As I stepped nearer, I saw the barman roll his eyes. He sighed and turned around to load glasses into the dishwasher with exaggerated carefulness before slamming the door closed.
Hannah had not stopped her rain of bratty rudeness. She stood with her hands on her hips, deliberately blocking Mona's way. Exasperated, Mona stepped to the side and forward. Whether Mona intended it, or by accident or by Hannah sidestepping too, Mona's shoulder brushed Hannah's.
Hannah whirled around, “So pushy, so arrogant, so impatient!” She grabbed Mona's top. “You've got a swelled head, thinking we should all move for you, and when we don't you're so rude you just charge through.
So rude!” She shoved hard and Mona stumbled backward.
I was surprised. I'd experienced Hannah's rudeness first-hand, but I didn't expect her to fight. I'd thrashed her so easily and Mona was more solidly built than me. I shook my head and muttered to myself. “Some people never learn.”
Hannah jerked at Mona's top, pulling her close, and slammed her knee up. If Mona hadn't turned sharply, the knee would have caught her square in her stomach. As it was, it hammered her side. Mona gasped.
Before Mona could collect herself, Hannah had grabbed both her shoulders and shoved her back again, keeping her off balance. Hannah started slapping, hard. She swung her arms out and brought them in again on Mona's cheeks. She didn't have much shoulder or body behind her slaps though, so her blows stung but they weren't going to slap Mona into submission. Still they had her retreating, parrying Hannah's shots and at first not doing so very well.
Mona managed to disengage. She stepped back and dodged enough to break Hannah's rhythm. Till then, Hannah had got in over a dozen unanswered blows. Now Mona defended, parrying more and more effectively, and she began to land some blows herself. She showed her greater experience as she slapped back, swinging her whole body and getting her weight behind it. Those tactics began to tell on Hannah. She grunted and groaned with each impact, halting her own attacks and going on the defensive.
I'd learned that you can't slap and defend effectively at the same time – or at least I can’t. Defending destroys my rhythm. You just can't slap effectively unless you're using both hands alternately. But then I'd also learned you can't slap effectively unless you're swinging from your hips and putting your whole weight behind it. Hannah had certainly learned some skills since I'd fought her, but she had a lot still to learn if she was going to have a chance against Mona.
Mona on the other hand, fought hard. I decided then and there that she was one woman to watch and not to pick a fight with. Hannah's earlier barrage had hurt her, leaving her with a puffy lip and burning red cheeks, but she fought back. She too defended, but her slaps were delivered with so much more force – hip and shoulder action – that Hannah was soon reeling.
The bigger Mona struck the blonde high on her left cheek. Hannah gave a long “Ohh”, not a grunt or a groan. She stumbled, her arms flopping around uselessly. Mona proved my point that it really takes two hands to slap effectively, by swinging from her hip and slapping her left hand against Hannah's right cheek. Hannah's “Oooh” was longer this time. Her eyes rolled back, she doubled up, then her knees gave out and she fell to the ground.
Mona closed on her fallen prey. She rolled Hannah onto her back. I thought the fight was as good as over. I almost cheered. Little as I liked Mona, it seemed she had put that brat Hannah in her place almost as quickly as I had.
Hannah astonished me though, kicking hard at Mona. The startled brunette leapt back, narrowly preventing Hannah’s shoe from connecting with her womanhood but not far enough to stop it slamming into the pit of her stomach. Mona gagged and doubled up, spluttering. She kept her feet but stumbled back, breathing hard.
Hannah scrambled to her feet. She didn’t immediately go after Mona. Perhaps she too needed to catch her breath. But she should have pressed her advantage, and not given Mona time to recover. When she finally did attack, Mona had her breath back and counterattacked immediately with punches.
The blonde blocked, dodged and weaved, avoiding most of the taller woman's punches – probably more than three out of four. She struck back but with even less success. She was shorter than Mona and not as skilled. Still she kept an increasingly frustrated Mona at bay till the taller girl tried something rash.
Mona surged forward, ready to grapple. Instead, she walked right into Hannah's leg as it swung up, striking Mona's upper thigh. Mona groaned. She staggered back, just as Hannah surged to her side, firing a barrage of punches which Mona was too slow to parry or dodge. Each one that struck, and perhaps a dozen did, elicited a gasp or a groan. Mona's leg buckled. She faltered.
Then Mona struck with a punch that hit an overconfident Hannah's side hard enough to make the smaller girl stagger.
“Mona was lucky there.” Kirsten had appeared at my side, sneering.
“No, she knows what's she's about. Neither of them is fooling around.” I admitted to myself I was impressed with just how much Hannah seemed to have learned. Not that she'd come close to beating me if we fought, even now. Nor would Kirsten, for all that she was tall and strong. She didn't have the killer instinct that Kelly was drilling into me.
Slowly Mona regrouped. She hobbled back and managed to keep out of Hannah's reach for perhaps a minute – a short but vital moment. When Hannah resumed her attack, worming inside Mona’s defence, Mona was ready with an uppercut that slammed into the smaller girl's jaw and sent her reeling.
Again Mona attacked, a little slowly but determinedly, firing punches, mixing up her shots to keep her foe guessing. She wasn't going for a knockout – not even for the uppercut that she'd used so successfully a few seconds ago. Instead she used lighter blows but they struck hard enough. Not that all, or even most of them broke through Hannah's defences, but those that got through damaged the brat.
Wheezing, Hannah retreated, trying to parry Mona's blows. She didn't succeed. More of Mona's fists hit home and when they did, Hannah's gasps, her 'oohs' and 'ahs' showed Mona's blows did more damage. Hannah's face paled. She knew she was being worked over.
Then Hannah countered once more. Her leg snaked out behind Mona's. She pushed forward, her body slamming into the bigger girl. Completely surprised, Mona stumbled backwards, almost tripping on Hannah's foot.
“That's a surprise,” Kirsten said.
I turned to her. “Yes, Hannah for using that manoeuvre.”
“More so Mona for falling for it. She’s been way too confident.”
Hannah continued to surprise me. She pressed her advantage with another barrage of light punches, constantly turning to Mona's right, the leg she'd kicked before. It was Mona’s weak spot and one Mona tried to protect. The smaller girl made Mona pivot on it. Mona deflected, blocked or dodged most of Hannah’s blows but didn’t seem able to attack hard herself. It looked like Hannah was beginning to wear her down.
For a few moments, the two girls stood trading blows. For all her success in edging around her foe, Hannah couldn't gain a decisive advantage. Mona managed to keep her at bay and what blows she landed didn't do much damage. Mona didn't do much better at first. Hampered by her wounded leg, she couldn’t move as fast as Hannah, who dodged most of Mona’s attacks.
Then the tide turned. Mona kept hitting and began anticipating Hannah's movements. The little bubblehead might have been able to hit harder than when I fought her, but she was still just as clueless. Her movements were predictable, and Mona was getting the measure of her. She began to shepherd her foe towards a corner. For all that Hannah tried to dance around Mona, she was still driven back. Wherever the bubblehead was, Mona was there first, blocking her, driving her back.
Mona seized Hannah's arm, forcing it down, knocking the blonde's attempted punch aside. Gripping her foe's arm securely in her left hand, Mona struck back, her right elbow swinging into Hannah's face. “That's how it’s done, bitch!” she sneered. Hannah swayed and almost fell, but just caught herself and stumbled back.
It wasn't long before Mona had Hannah pinned in the corner. And then the older girl really went to work. She just pummelled Hannah, raining blows on her. Hannah's defence faltered and Mona poured blow after unanswered blow onto her foe. After less than a minute of this relentless punishment, Hannah crumpled to the floor.
Mona stood back. “Are we done, girl?”
Hannah mumbled something.
“Squeal out your surrender, blondie!” Mona ground her heel into Hannah's stomach.
Hannah squealed.
Mona turned and looked over her shoulder at our little group. All of us were on our feet now, even Kelly. “I suppose you've all learned about aggression, self-assertiveness just now,” said Mona. “You don't need any more lessons there. All you need is some practice skating, which I'm sure Kelly will organise.”
Kelly nodded.
“Wayne!” Mona raised her voice and the barman came over. She handed him her cell phone. “Take a few photos please.” She posed as Wayne took shots of her standing with her foot on Hannah's stomach in a classic victory pose, of Hannah's face showing pain and defeat, of Hannah simply lying there, unable to stand.
Mona bent down, looked Hannah in the eye and said in a soft, low whisper, but one that I – and I’m sure others – could easily hear. “Be a good little loser. You're defeated, captured…on the highway to slavery.” She smiled and it was not a kind smile.
I felt a hand around my waist again. “You know Bethany, Mona might be right.” Stewart James murmured in my ear, so close I could feel his warm breath on my neck. “I suspect she’s into the D/s scene, and her little bratty victim there, is going to be her 'submissive' as they say.” He chuckled. “Couldn’t happen to a better person. You know I normally buy the victor champagne after a fight here, but I don’t know Mona and I do know you. So let me buy you a glass instead.”
I smiled at him. My evening was going to work out after all.
a request from Moaner, my apologies for the ages it took to write
