[Braveheart1]

After my fourth Sandbridge story, I didn't know what to do. Originally, the Sandbridge stories were to be a lead in to a series with a bigger scope. I decided to scrap that and stay. I'm still there. This is my longest story so far and introduces two main characters ... the Wild Wests, mother and daughter Sue Ann and Heather, as well as a recurring minor one ... badass private investigator Stan Radevic. Enjoy

Welcome to Sandbridge 5 – the McCalls and the Wests

Country Club Chaos

“That which not kill us makes us stronger” – Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

A Sandbridge Saga Tale 5

Intro

Imagine being an average middle-aged guy minding your own business at the office, making copies courtesy of Mr. Xerox, when a squealing 18 year old hardbody bursts in and tackles you like Lawrence Taylor sacking Ron Jaworski on 3rd and long. Ever been that guy? Neither have I … until this afternoon. I love my job …


My job is as a writer and assistant producer for Hollywood kingpin Drake Coburn. My assignment is to compile and document as many as I can the catfight tales for which the otherwise sleepy suburb of Sandbridge is known. For Drake’s new project and our mutual pleasure. Business is good. Too good in fact.


My name is Nick Sebastian and the multitude of material has led me to get approval to hire an assistant of my very own. My only real candidate has just indicated her own approval with a cheerful rugby tackle. I used to play rugby in college. Marcia Monfort would have made a fine scrum half. “Jesus, girl! I suppose that means you’ll accept the position?”


I’d known this vibrant and wide-eyed young lady almost from the first week I’d set up shop here. She’d impressed me from the beginning with her cleverness, her attention to detail and her ability to spin a story. And of course – her knowledge of the subject matter of my research. She was already beginning to become a catfight legend. Her baseball park brawl with classmate and long-time rival Jillie McCall was a classic and the subject of my first report to the boss. Her mother Carly Monfort had already achieved the Catfight Queen status and between the two of them, they’d been involved one way or another in most of my reports since. I’ve heard she and Jillie had made up somewhat – the slender redhead and I have had a couple of talks, too. We were about to have another.


While I waited, I managed to get the excited Marcia into a chair and explain some things – salary, bennies, her hours and all that happy shit. A week from graduation, she wanted to get started right after that. She would work full time this summer and part time whenever she could when she was at college this fall. Her new school was just a few miles away, so that shouldn’t be a problem. Marcia’s duties would include screening calls, greeting visitors and helping me sort through all these catfight reports to see which ones would be worth my time to investigate further. The fun part would be doing some investigating herself, assisting in editing my reports and doing some writing and commentary on her own. Plus getting to meet all sorts of people. Just knowing what’s going on is half the fun.


Marcia cheerfully agreed to all of it. The 5’2”, 120 something pound suntanned babe with a strong swimmer’s build and shoulder length dark brown curls would be a natural. She signed the papers. “Welcome to Team Coburn, Miss Monfort. I can’t wait to introduce you to Drake. After reading my report on your fight with Jillie McCall, I know he wants to meet you.”


“Oh … my … God! Maybe get a part in New York Nights?”


There was a knock at the door. I knew who it was. “Your first assignment? Answer the door.”


“Sir, yes sir!” she grinned, giving me a left-handed salute. She opened it and I could almost hear two jaws hit the floor. “Jillie?”


“Marcia?”


Welcome to Sandbridge.
Nick Sebastian – June, 1987

1

Private Investigations – Part One

They both laughed. That was good to hear. “Well maybe I should see you later, Mr. Nick …” said Marcia, her face a little red.


“Nonsense. You’re working for me on salary starting in just over a week. If you don’t mind doing a freebie, here’s a little of what I do. Have a seat. You too, Jillian. Come on in.”


Jillie McCall’s fair, freckled face was even redder than Marcia’s. She wasn’t a beauty queen, but she was 5’4”, 112 cutie in a bright, nerdy sort of way with a fine 34C rack and trim build. Lots of dark red hair. Like Marcia, she was 18 and scheduled to graduate in a week. She was still gaping. “No …way! You’re going to work for Mr. Sebastian? Oh my God! Like, I’m even more jealous of you now!”


“Yes … way!” laughed Marcia. “Wanna pull my hair over it or something?”


“Tried that before, girl. Bad idea on my part …”


“Come now, ladies. There’s plenty of me for both of you.” I pulled a manila folder from a desk drawer. I got serious. As in real fucking serious. “Everything you wanted is right here. Jillie. Including the bill. I’ll expect payment ASAP. Not that I need the money myself, but this guy … well. But before I give it to you I want to make one thing clear again: this is going to be a catfight. Not a mugging and sure as hell not an assassination. A catfight. It’s going to have to be something both parties need to agree on. I will *not* be named an accessory to criminal assault … or something worse. Capisce?” I had learned that one from mob wife Katie Pirelli. I thought it appropriate. I was glad I had a witness, even one who was now wearing a look of confusion on her face.


Jillie looked serious but determined. And a little scared. She should be. When I get a guy like Stan Radevic involved …


“I promise. A catfight, no more.”


I hand her the folder, and she goes through the contents, pictures and everything. Then she sees a close-up of the blonde … and the name.”


“Oh fuck me!”


“Yeah, that was my reaction too when I saw it. Guess what? Her office is exactly one floor below mine.”


“I know her bitch daughter! So do you Marcia – the hard way. Are you sure there’s no mistake?”


“Young lady, this sick fuck has made only one mistake in his life. You don’t believe me … just ask him. I say he made it when he got tossed out of the LAPD for beating a suspect to within an inch of his life. He says his mistake was not finishing the bastard. I don’t plan on being his second mistake. Like I said - nothing illegal.” I hoped I’d scared the shit out of her. I really am allergic to jail cells, and I didn’t want to share one with Stan Radevic. I was successful. I told her I’d be seeing my downstairs office neighbor later and maybe get Jillie some helpful information, free of charge. That’s the kind of a helluva guy I am. I got up, shook Jillie’s hand and made her feel better with a little hug. “I’m proud of you. Your Mom should be, too. I guess she’s finally becoming a real Sandbridge lady.”


“Yeah, time will tell. See you around, Mike Hammer. You too, Girl Friday!” The girls exchanged waves and Jillian left with her folder.


“Okay boss. Will you please tell your new assistant what the *hell* is going on?”


Time to fill in the FNG …

2

The New Barbara – Courtesy of Carly

A couple weeks ago Jillie McCall came to see me – her request. She talked about her Mom, Barbara. The tall aristocratic blonde had a temper and a mouth – bad combo. Some time before, that mouth had written a check her ass couldn’t cash to one Carly Boudreaux Monfort, MT (ASCP). Carly had finally given the game Boston lady a bloody thrashing after a tough, even catfight.


Some of the haughty attitude was beaten out of Barbara that day. According to Jillie, her Mom had become more attentive and less self-centered. More humble, yet more confident in herself. After all, she’d nearly won the fight against an experienced and skilled catfighter. Mother and daughter were closer now than they’d been in years. She’ll always be one of the Penobscots of Boston, but maybe she’d discovered what being a Penobscot woman had really been since before the turn of the century – proud, strong and capable of standing up for herself and her family.


She still had a problem, and that problem was her husband Patrick. The CEO of the Second National Bank in Sandbridge couldn’t seem to keep his dick in his pants. Predatory women from around town hovered around him like flies. McCall and his wealth were a gold mine to women like this, and Barbara knew it. Paddy McCall couldn’t resist them and his affairs were notorious. Long business trips, extended lunch breaks and late hours were common. Many of these episodes were short lived, but there were one or two that were long term, and Barbara felt threatened. After all, as she finally admitted to Jillie, she did love the philandering lug for all his faults.


Do not threaten a Penobscot woman. At her young age, Jillie seemed to know this already. Barbara had resolved to do her daughter proud. Maybe it was Carly Monfort of all people, kneeling over her with Barbara’s sweat-slick blond hair wrapped in a skinned-knuckled fist who had convinced her what to do about Patrick. “Find one of those skanks he’s been fucking and do to her what you nearly did to me today – that will send a message,” Carly had said before putting her lights out. But who were these long-term mistresses? Who was her greatest threat? Barbara didn’t know, but she would find one of them and give her a sound beating at her own hands. In public. Everyone would know. These bitches would no longer make a laughing stock of Barbara Penobscot McCall, dignity and fine upbringing be damned. She’d proven even to one of the best she could fight and fight she would. Thank you for at least that, Carly Monfort.

3

Private Investigations – Part Two

Jillian McCall had a proposal from her mother for me that day a while back and she was here to present it.


“You used to be a private investigator didn’t you, Mr. Sebastian?”


“Yeah. It helped make ends meet when I was a lousy script doctor for a lousier soap opera.  I dropped my license after I started working for Drake. Spending your nights at A-list Hollywood parties hanging out with the Man and spending his money was better than skulking in the dark in some seedy alley waiting for something bad to happen. Way better. Why do you ask?”


“You know all the stories about my father. So do my Mom and I. She’s not worried about the strippers and the whores. She’ll never cure him of that. But she thinks he may be involved with someone here in town. Someone who is a threat to her marriage. Marcia’s Mom may have beaten some sense into mine the other day. She wants to find this bitch and catfight her. Fuck her up bad. She wants to send a message. The problem is we don’t know who he’s seeing …”


“And you could use my help.” Okay, this might have been the last thing I expected from Jillie when she’d called and asked to talk to me today. The high-born and proper Mrs. Barbara McCall wanting to track down some broad and snatch her bald-headed? Carly shouldn’t have become a medical lab tech – she should have been a psychologist. There sure is a story brewing here and I wasn’t going to miss my chance to write it.


“Maybe you know somebody. Someone you’d worked with?”


“Well I do know this guy. I worked with him a few times and I’ve hired him once or twice since. An ex-cop. Tough old bastard. Maybe not the sort your Mom would want to invite to one of her dinner parties, but he’s a real pro. Never fails. Professional means he makes his living as a PI and he ain’t cheap …”


“Mr. Sebastian, we’re the McCalls! We ain’t cheap either,” laughed Jillie.


“Alright. I’ll be your middle man. You deal only with me. You don’t have to meet this character or even know his name. He’ll bill me after he makes this gal and I’ll bill you. I’ll do it under two conditions – no permanent physical harm will be done to this woman. An above-board catfight only. Second, I get exclusive rights to the story. That means your mother will swallow her pride, meet with me here in this office, after the fight and tell the whole story to my tape recorder. Personally.”


Somehow, I knew she’d want to talk to me anyway. It’s my instinct kicking in. Time to hold my nose and call Stan the Man.


Patrick McCall was a busy man. A staff meeting had eaten the entire morning. A meeting with the board was sure to take all afternoon. That didn’t leave much time for his regularly scheduled Tuesday “lunch meeting” with a certain somebody. This was the only one he really cared about today. The still handsome 49 year-old bank executive with the greying red hair told his secretary, Miss Hobson, he’d be “out to lunch” and winked. She winked back. She knew what that meant. “Make sure you don’t pass out and miss your 1:30, sir!” He laughed and headed out the door toward the black Benz in his private parking space. Off to the Club …


Patrick was so excited to be on his way to see his mistress, he didn’t notice the electrical contractor’s van a few discrete car lengths back.


He arrived at the Country Club parking lot about 30 seconds before the blonde did in her white BMW. They emerged from their cars and Patrick looked around. No one else nearby, except for an electrical contractor’s van, and its driver was out inspecting the back panel of a dark green metal box on the ground across the entrance road to the lot. No problem. Patrick and the blonde embraced and engaged in a long deep kiss. They reluctantly broke apart and skipped happily toward the Club like a couple of horny teenagers, knowing that a “private room” awaited them. Patrick would go hungry this afternoon at his boring-ass board meeting.


The “electrician” put the camera with the telephoto lens back in the van, and sighed. “Fucking morons. Couldn’t even wait to start making out until they got indoors. Just askin’ for it.”


He waited for a minute or two smoking a cigarette after the couple had entered. He was a stocky guy of about 60 with a gray crew cut and a nose that clearly had been broken a few times. He was wearing work overalls with a patch that said “Stan”. Around his waist was his work belt with all sorts of electrical tools. In the overall’s multiple pockets were the tools of his real trade – a set of lockpicks, rubber gloves, compact binoculars, a blackjack and a short-barreled .357 magnum revolver.


Stan “The Man” Radevic - bounty hunter, PI, and former LAPD detective, sauntered over to her car, calmly writing down her license number. He had to chuckle and shake his head at Mr. McCall’s – 2HOT4U. “Fuckin’ vanity plates.” Stan’s van was equipped with one of those newfangled “cell phones”. A quick call to the state DMV office …


“Yes, this is Deputy Pulaski from the LA County Sheriff’s Department. I need a license ID on a white BMW 3-series blocking the driveway to the ER at Sandbridge General. License number SAW36C. <waits>. Ok. Got it. Thank you.” He laughed as he read again the name given to him by the poor dumb fuck at the DMV. “Well whaddaya know? Another vanity plate!” One more call. “Hey Nick. It’s me. Stan. I do believe I have everything you want. Pictures and all that shit. Yeah. I’ll be by in a couple of days after I get the film developed and printed. Thanks for the business, pal, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”


This had been an easy one. I almost feel bad takin’ Nick’s money. Almost.

4

The Wild, Wild Wests

The Sandbridge Examiner wasn’t exactly the Los Angeles Times. Not many outside of this suburban community read it, but just about everyone here did. It was also well funded by a number of advertisers, the most generous of them being the Second National Bank. Bank CEO Patrick McCall was a big fan of the newspaper, which was housed in of the tallest buildings in town – property owned by the bank. The Examiner had its offices primarily on the first floor, with offices for rent on the upper ones. One of the larger of its first floor offices was currently occupied by Mrs. Sue Ann West, senior editor, just one step below editor-in-chief – a title dearly coveted by the ambitious blonde.


Sue Ann West was a fit, still attractive 44 year-old blond divorcee with medium length hair. She had rather delicate features and at 5’6”, 115 was a little skinny except for her surgically enhanced 36Cs. Maybe she’d had a tuck or two around the eyes, which gave her a somewhat bird-like appearance, but the blue-eyed lady could still turn a man’s head with her firm limbs and tight well-exercised body. There were few things she enjoyed more than turning a man’s head. She could be the lady, but still cuss like a sailor and her alto voice, Georgia drawl and deep laugh had been music to more than one man’s ears.


It had been a slow news day, even though her white BMW had been stuck in traffic and she’d arrived at the office late today. A little bored, she was all smiles when her secretary knocked and announced a visitor. He was a grinning, in-shape, rather attractive man of average height in his early 40s with a neat brown beard and hair. He wore stylish glasses, a Rolex and an orange t-shirt under a dark blue Armani suit. Real Miami Vice-like. He obviously had a little money. Her kinda guy.


“Nick Sebastian. I’m your upstairs office neighbor. I’ve been around talking to some of the guys, and they said I should introduce myself.” He extended his hand. “Please call me Nick.”


“Please call me Sue Ann! Have a seat. Boring as hell today and I’d welcome a visitor. I’ve heard about you … you’re that catfight guy from Hollywood!”


“Yep. That’d be me. Of course in Hollywood I’m known as that hack screenwriter from Ohio. In my line of work, it’s always about perspective.”


“Spoken like a newspaper man. Columbus Dispatch I hear?”


He laughed. “What, am I wearing my history on my sleeve now? Yes, and an ex-PI too. Not Sam Spade or anything. Catching cheating husbands and all that.”


Sue Ann laughed a little nervously. “It’s my job to learn things about people. I have a pretty good idea why you’re in town. I’m a country girl from Macon County, GA and this ‘Catfight Capital’ thing around here is still a little weird to me.”


“I don’t have a real good grip on it either. I haven’t a clue why Sandbridge of all places. Ever been in one yourself?”


“Just one. What a wild thrill! <ding> Believe it or not. My daughter Heather is the real scrapper in the family. She’s going to be a senior in college next year, and she likes to mix it up – even tangled with Marcia Monfort <ding> last summer. I guess living in Sandbridge most of her life has gotten her into the culture around here. As for me, I’m always anticipating one. I keep in shape and take karate. Green belt. <ding> I don’t look for a fight, I’m ashamed to admit that I wouldn’t mind getting into another one. <ding, ding> You know, in this business the frustration and stress sometimes makes me want to work it all out up to the wrists in some other woman’s hair. But I sure don’t want my next catfight to be with your girlfriend Carly over you. <bong!>” Sue Ann had removed her shoe and under the desk was massaging Nick’s shin with her slender pink-nailed toes. <clang> “I hear she loves kicking a blonde’s ass. I don’t want to tango with that dame.” God, she loved seeing a guy sweat!


“My … uh … ‘girlfriend’? Word does get around doesn’t it? As you say in your business – no comment. But listen, if you should happen to mix it up with some jealous girlfriend … or wife … I get dibs on the story. I’d like to hear more about your first one, too. Right upstairs. You never know when a catfight will break out in Sandbridge. I’ll try to make sure my ‘girlfriend’ … allegedly … isn’t your next. You can count on that.”


My first thought after leaving this wild one’s office and going back upstairs to cool off was “Well, Ho-lee Shit!” One night with Carly Monfort and she’s my girlfriend now? What’s up with that? That would make about a quarter of the guys in town between ages 35 and 50 in her boyfriends. Miss Dixie 1987 even thinks I have a thing for feet. Both had to be just wild guesses on her part. Good ones though. And if I had any real imagination today, I could easily make Carly and Sue Ann tied at one-all. I need to introduce them, sit back, sell tickets and let the hair fly – I could fill the fucking LA Sports Arena for that one!


In any event, that was one hell of an intel recon! Lots of great intel – My only problems with it were: 1) was she telling the truth and 3) who was reconning who? I don’t even remember what (2) was. I need to take a cold shower. Then I think it’ll be time to talk with my future employee about one Miss Heather West …


………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….


“Listen to me, Patrick – he knows! No he didn’t actually say so but …” Sue Ann waved her daughter Heather into her office. “All I’m saying is that if Nick does know, how many more peop … I don’t know what he wants. No, it’s not money. Drake Coburn has more money and influence than God. Look, find out what your wife knows … and be discreet about it. Ok, bye bye, lover …”


“Trouble?” asked the concerned Heather. She had been born in Atlanta, but had become the prototypical California blonde with a feathery Farrah-do that cascaded past her sun-tanned shoulders, blue eyes and an athletic yet feminine build. 5’5” and 114 pounds with a firm set of 34Bs, a 23” waist and 33” hips. The 21 year-old college junior, home for summer break before her senior year, usually had a perfect smile but not upon hearing her mother on the phone. Something was wrong.


Sue Ann told her about her conversation with “Mr. Hollywood”. “Good-looking guy. Interesting, funny and smart. Just my type. Sorry Patrick. Yes, I’d ordinarily be interested. But he may be too smart. I just had this impression he knows about Patrick and me. No big deal, right? Well maybe it is if he for some reason he tells Barbara. Maybe someone told him, and then how many others know?”


“Relax! Too many ifs and maybes. And who cares if Mrs. Moneybags finds out. What’s she gonna do? Divorce him? Then that’s good for you. Open season!”


“What if she wants to fight me?”



Heather laughed. “That snooty coward? And so what if she does, Mom? Do what I’d do … kick her in the twat and drag her lazy ass all the way back to Boston by the hair! Either way, Patrick will be yours!”


“You have no idea how much I’d like to fight her, but she may be harder than you think, darlin’. I’ve heard she had a knock-down drag-out brawl with Carly Monfort off all people and she nearly kicked the tough little bitch’s ass!”


“Did she win?”


“Against Carly? Hell no. ”


“Then why worry? When a woman loses her first catfight, she’s not spoiling for another in just a few weeks. I still say Mrs. McCall is just a big bag of wind with little tits. Watch me beat up her snot-nosed daughter and I’ll give you a few pointers. I’m waiting for that graduation party at the Country Club next week. I’m thinking of calling Jillie out then choking her out and taking her hair. We’re club members and we can both be there. I expect the McCalls will be, too. Old Titless Wonder is too dignified an upper-class snot to interfere with all those people around. What do you think?”


“You know honey? Maybe that just might let Barbara know not to mess with the Wild West gals to see her brat get the livin’ shit beat out of her. Or course, she may storm into our house the next day like she did after the Monfort girl beat up the little bitch last month.”


“Then you kick her ass just like Carly did. I’d love to watch you do her.”
 

“Okay, Let’s go for it … and go get her, baby girl!”

5

Heather, Marcia, and the Hadaka Jime

I asked Miss Monfort to stop in the next afternoon and she’d better tell me about her rumored dance with Heather West. Here’s Marcia … nobody does it better - Nick out.


I really didn’t know that much about Heather. I mean, I knew Jillie hated her even worse than she did me. That’s a whole lot. Her Mom and Jillie’s parents were members of the Country Club, and I guess the two girls had some issues there – Heather was older and treated little nerd girl like shit. Jillie said that bitch cheated at tennis and flirted with her boyfriends. What … ever! Jillie and me – we were just freshmen when blondie was a senior. At school, freshman girls didn’t associate much with senior bitches. Heather was the cheerleader captain, on the prom committee, “popular” and all that shit. Real easy for a freshman chick to hate.


My junior year I was hanging with this senior guy Tim. Nothing special. Typical jock – dumb as a box of nails, but he was a great fuck. I suppose I could thank Heather for that … he had been her boyfriend two years earlier when Heather was a senior. Yeah, she seemed to like younger boys, but only football players. So Tim graduates and we say goodbye. That’s it as far as I’m concerned. I guess he gets back together with the bitch.


So last August, there I was. Just turned eighteen and all. I was chilling out on the beach late that afternoon with, Jenny Lee Savoy and Nikki Ogawa - my girls from the swim team. And who should get in my sun but Heather-fuckin’-West, all hair, teeth, sun tan and attitude.


“Get up, Monfort! I have something to say to you woman-to-girl …”


Well, boss, after you’ve been in a couple of real catfights you get this feeling from your scalp to your toes when you know you and a bitch are about to be in each other’s hair. What a fucking rush! You can’t wait for it to start, yet want to prolong it as long as you can just to keep that rush going. You start sizing the girl up if you haven’t already. I love sensing that rush in her, too. Locking eyes with her and knowing she’s thinking the same things– how good is she? What am I going to do to her? What is she going to do to me and what am I going to do when she does it. It must be kinda like when that Indy 500 guy says, “Gentlemen, start your engines!” and you know you’re about to be going 200 miles an hour! I live for that shit.


I get up right in her 20 year-old face and smile. “Why Heather! What a pleasant surprise. What can I do to you … I mean for you today?” I’m in my little turquoise bikini and she’s in a red thong. Our tits and toes are actually touching we’re so close, hands to our sides. We could smell each other’s tan lotion mixed with a little sweat and fear. I knew Nikki and Jenny Lee knew what was up and were staring intently. There were only a handful of others on the beach and they hadn’t noticed us nose-to-nose yet.


“Tim and I are back together again, you cow-tongued, ass-sucking little whore. Yet all he can do is tell me what a great fuck you are and how good you are with your fucking mouth! I’m sick of hearing it and I’m sick of you. I want you to stay away from him, and I’m going to beat you up just to let you know I mean it!”


“I don’t want your pencil-dicked boyfriend, skank! I planned to stay away from him anyway until now. But I guess I’ll have to suck him off and fuck him one last time after I rake the sand with what’s left of you just so he’ll know once again what it’s like to be with a real woman.”


“God I hoped you’d say that, you gypsy-looking Cajun fuck! Not here, not now with these people around, especially not your cxnt girlfriends. Beach closes in an hour. Just you and me. Bring your ass and your hair – there’re both as good as mine.”


“You’re on, blondie! Take a big shit before then, or I’ll beat it all out of you in an hour, and I don’t want to deal with the stench.”


She spits down on one of my sandy feet like a whore, and I spit on one of hers. Yeah, I guess we sealed the deal with spit. Usually that or a face slap trade. Maybe it’s just a Sandbridge High thing. We shoved each other apart and went our own ways. It was a looong hour …


So we hide from the lifeguards until they go home. With all the pot smoking, the fights and the fucking, all the kids seemed to know those hiding places. The sun was setting within the hour but it was still bright enough for us to find each other. We didn’t waste any time.


Heather slapped my face so hard, I thought the stars had come out early. Earth to Marci – this Barbie Doll packs a wallop. I got into that Charlie’s Angels hair with both hands and shook her all over the place. She dug into mine, too and she surprised me again with the strength of her grip. I’ll admit I screamed in pain- not something I usually do at the beginning of a hair-pulling match.


She tripped me to the sand and we rolled around down there, pulling hair like nuts. I’m not crazy about beach fights. All that sand and shit gets everywhere. I mean all over, especially when you get all sweaty. It was still hot out there and we were both sweating like pigs already. By the time we broke apart and got to our feet again, we were a sandy mess.


We slapped it out like big girls, just trading and not blocking anything, dude. Sand and hair were flying. First Heather, then me. Followed by me, then Heather. We just took turns. I mean, not one of us was missing, man. It was like Christmas with jingle bells ringing and sugar plum fairies dancing around in my fucking skull. A lot of chicks just arm slap. That stings, but to really slap the stink out of a bitch, you have to get some shoulder and hip action into it. That’s what we were doing. I caught her with one high on the left cheek and there was a long “Ohhhh!” instead of the short grunts and groans from us up till now. Heather’s baby blues rolled back and her knees gave out. She crumpled to the sand all scrambled up. Thank you, girlfriend. One more from you and I would have been spitting sand instead.


I rolled the bitch onto her back and cross-bodied her belly-to-belly, loving that “wuhhf” sound she made. I may have won the slap fight, but it took almost as much out of me as it did out of her. The sides of my face were on fire and if they looked as bad as Heather’s with her red cheeks and scratches showing through the sand on her face, I must have looked like shit. I wanted to keep this sore face away from her hands for a while. I was just a kid and shorter, but I was a little stronger and about eight or ten pounds heavier than this older college slut so I controlled her wrists, grapevined her legs and wallowed on her, letting Heather carry all my weight, staying on top.


She had slapped me out of my top, so I moved up on her body and got my Big Girls in her face. Even though I’d just turned 18, I was probably a 38C or so, and my tits were making it hard for the blond bitch to breath. Then I felt a sharp searing pain shoot through my whole body, centered around my left boob. I yelped and rolled away … the hungry freak bit me! Shit.  Some dinner tit-steak for Heather. As I sat there stupidly checking myself out, Heather spit out something – I hoped it was just sand- and came up with an overhand right that clocked me right in the eye. Down I went on my back, all sprawled out.


She got up and dropped a leg across my chest just like those rasslers do on TV. OK, maybe she’s not too smart – a goofy blond moment or something. It didn’t hurt that much so I raked nails down her thigh, rolled her off and hauled the whore up to her feet by the hair. I shook the sand out of that golden mess, then let go with my right hand and smacked my fist into that tight little six-pack of hers. She was pretty hard down there, and all I got was a dainty little “Ow!”, so I slugged her in the belly a little lower this time … okay, that was more like it. A big gag and a deep cough followed by a long sick groan. I let Heather sink to her knees, all bent over, wheezing and shit. I knelt down behind her, undid her top and clawed the sand and sun tan off her sweaty bare back with eight red nails. She yowled and sat up. Ow, damn. I know how much a back rake like that hurts.


Heather was tougher than she looked. Bitch surprised me by coming around to her right and catching me with a glancing elbow to the right jaw. I rocked back on my knees and the dirty blond skank threw a fistful of sand in my face! Some of that shit got in my eyes and everything. As I was rubbing, I felt two fists, - bam, bam – one to each of my hanging tits. Another smacked me hard in the in sore right eye, opening a cut. Then I got real sick as one sank deep into my unprepared lower stomach. My tummy started spazzing out, I lost all my wind and I felt like I’d given birth to a horse or something.


Heather got up and stood behind me as I knelt there trying to keep my lunch down. She straightened me up with two handfuls of hair and dropped to her ass, wrapping both legs around my queasy middle. She locked her left ankle under her right leg and squeezed hard. As I heaved and gasped, trying to break the pressure by pulling her strong legs apart, Heather hooked her left arm under my chin and grabbed her right one with her left hand, keeping her right fist twisted in my hair. She rocked backwards onto her back, flattening me out, and tightened up. I was kicking and straining like crazy, but she really had me and I knew it.  Stick a fork in me – I was done.


First, I saw spots then everything was red. Was the sun setting already? The last thing I remember before I faded to black was Heather gasping in my ear, “Nighty night, little girl.”


(Heather had choked Marcia out with a catfight variation of the Hadaka Jime as it’s known in judo and jiu-jitsu back in 1987. Since the dawn of MMA in the 1990s, it is better known as the rear naked choke. Miss West had taken a lesson or two from her college roommate’s Japanese boyfriend – Braveheart)


When I woke up, it was getting dark and I was lying there all buried in sand except for my head. I was all alone. It took me a while to dig my sick and sorry, black-eyed self out and stagger back to the car. Heather had kicked my ass and choked me out like a fucking chicken. Shit. I guess Tim wouldn’t be getting one last mercy fuck from me after all. Props and all due respect to you, girl.


Note to Jillie: If you’re gonna fight Badass Barbie, and I just know you will, my advice is to stay on her and keep on her – you’re quicker, a *lot* smarter and can take a beating, but she’s a little stronger, tougher than she looks with solid abs and is a great hair-puller. Bitch is pretty good with her fists, too. She’s a cocky twat and makes mistakes. But mother … fuck! Stay in front of her, girlfriend, and don’t give her your back!

Continued below ...

[Braveheart1]

6

Born Again Hard

Barbara Penobscot McCall was a Christian woman. She went to church on Sundays, contributed lots of money to charity and wasn’t prone to violence. Despite her hot temper, she’d never struck anyone in anger and certainly never engaged in a rip-roaring catfight – until last month. Then she’d exploded after her daughter had come home badly beaten and bloody at the hands, feet and teeth of her senior classmate, Marcia Monfort. She had stormed over to the Monfort’s more modest home to verbally chastise the other girl, despite Jillian’s pleas that the fight had been her own fault. Marcia’s mother, town catfight legend Carly, had drubbed the arrogant Mrs. McCall, verbally and physically, and had sent her home stuffed in her own Mercedes, naked, battered and bleeding.


She still believed in Jesus. Especially the line about “The Lord helps those who help themselves.” Ok, that was Benjamin Franklin, not the Bible, but it came to Barbara’s mind as she read the report in the folder Jillie had handed her, complete with photos taken by that renowned photography expert and gentleman of reason, Stan “The Man” Radevic.


“I should have known, Jillian! The way she was shaking her behind and batting her eyes at your father right in my face during the hospital charity dinner at the Country Club. Why they ever admitted that old prostitute to the club in the first place … I wanted to pluck her frosted hair one strand at a time even then. But I had no idea they were actually … fornicating behind my back!”


Barbara McCall was a 5’8” slender 44 year-old Bostonian, maybe 128 pounds, 34A-25-36. The cuts and bruises from her fight with Carly had healed, but her expensively dyed blond hair was much shorter now – she’d lost a lot of it to Mrs. Monfort and this new hairdo was the best the ladies at the spa could do with it. She was still very much a looker and her body was fit and strong due to Penobscot genetics and a lot of hard work at the Country Club’s gym. She was strong with big hands and her legs had been hardened from a lifetime of horseback riding. She was no experienced brawler, but as she proved to both Carly and herself, she’d be a load in a catfight with any whore who wanted to take her wealthy husband. And the whore on her mind now was that newspaper editor, Mrs. Sue Ann West.


“I’ll fight this loose woman, Jillian! I’ll fight her barehanded and beat her. I want everyone to know who took this piece of southern redneck trash by the hair and mopped the floor with those big fake breasts of hers. I want the whole town to know! Yes, please tell your Mr. Sebastian I’ll go to his office and talk to him afterwards. I’ll even bake cookies!”


Jillie laughed. “Six cookies and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue! That’s his idea of a $100 seven course meal!” She was proud of her Mom. The beating she’d taken had made her stronger. Jillie wanted to do her part. “Really want to shame this bitch? Fight her at the graduation party at the club! All the club’s Members with graduating seniors will be there. A lot of other members, too – everybody in town who is anybody, and they’ll learn a Penobscot woman is not one to be fucked with!”


“Jillian! How many times do I have to tell you? *That* word is not to be used in my house!”


“Now how many F-bombs did you drop when you were tearing into Marci’s Mom?” laughed Jillie. “I read Mr. Sebastian’s report!”


“That was in Carly’s house, not mine. Wait until you hear what I call that Georgia tramp! Seriously though. At the graduation party? That’s your big night! I wouldn’t want to …”


“Mom, it would be an honor. Besides, there are some things I want to work out with her blond-mopped bimbo daughter, Heather. I’m sure she’ll be there. We’ll beat them both up for you and for me. We’ll give those big shots there a real show … kick both these tramps’ swinging tits all over the property.”


Barbara thought for a little while. “Alright, why not. You two are bound to tangle there whether I want you to or not. But you be careful with that little witch. I’ve heard what she did to the Monfort girl last summer.”


“Yeah, well I’ve been taking boxing lessons for two months. Doing some kickboxing. I’ll teach you some, too - I hear Mrs. West doesn’t have experience, but she should be good with her little fists and feet. I’ve working out and doing my yoga. I’ll be ready for the skank, and Marci has given me some great tips on fighting Heather. She learned them the hard way.”


“You and Marcia, of all people? And it’s ‘Marci’ now? Dear Lord, what is the world coming to? Oh well, It’s not Martha’s Vineyard anymore. It is Sandbridge after all … and not a word of any of this to your father!”

7

A Night to Remember

 I don’t belong to a country club. I guess I’m a little like Groucho Marx – I don’t want to be a member of any club that would have me as a member. But from what I’ve heard, the Sandbridge Country Club is pretty nice. Maybe not as extravagant as the one in Malibu at which I’ve been a guest courtesy of Drake and Annie Coburn, but it’s on a large property and has an excellent bar and restaurant, an outdoor pool, tennis courts and an 18-hole golf course with the 18th green just a stone’s throw from the main building.


Tonight, it’s hosting a graduation party for the SHS Class of 1987. Grads whose families are members, their parents, and prominent community members are decked out in their “casual” finest and mingling around the pool as the music played over the speakers. It was approaching evening and the lights had come on. The party was just getting started and was it ever going to be a night to remember. As things worked out, I’d have given my left nut to be there, Groucho be damned.


The Mayor, the president of the school board, the high school principal and her husband the Chief of Police, the editor-in-chief of the Examiner, prominent business leaders, a judge, a few attorneys, councilmen and assorted society types, maybe fifty or so in all as well as grads and their parents were have a good time. Well, maybe not all of them. A few ladies seemed to be concentrating on different agendas.


The arrival of Patrick McCall, his wife Barbara and daughter Jillian was the spark that lit the fuse to the powder keg. It was a short one. Jillie was in a short green dress that matched her Irish eyes. She knew this one would be easy to slip off. Her long red hair was in a tight French twist – she wanted to force Heather to work to get it out of there. Barbara was in a longer sleeveless white number with slits on the sides to show off those long, strong legs – check these out, gold digger … you’ll have them around you soon enough. As Patrick headed to the outdoor bar to collect drinks, he was intercepted by a smiling Sue Ann West.


Sue Ann was laughing gaily, touching Patrick’s elbow. She was also in a slit dress. A red one and very low-cut, her fair-skinned legs boldly displayed. I’ll take that dress home with me tonight and mount it on the wall above my tennis trophies, seethed Barbara. Sue Ann’s daughter Heather was in a short dress to match Jillie’s, its white fabric contrasting with her tanned skin. Like Jillie, her thick blond mane was in a French twist, doubtlessly for the same reason.


These two had eyes only for each other. As soon as those eyes met from across the corner of the pool, no words were spoken. Heather smiled and nodded in the direction of the 18th green. Jillie smirked disdainfully and nodded in the affirmative. Both then slipped off their high heels and the two experienced young catfighters melted away toward the golf course, barefooted and shoes in hand. Barbara watched them leave and waited for a while glaring at Patrick and Mrs. West. Then it was catfighting time.


Barbara approached her prey like a jungle cat. Sue Ann was chattering away, oblivious to what was coming up behind her. Patrick was busy staring down at his mistress’s ample jugs and didn’t notice his wife until she was standing directly behind the other woman. He glanced up, saw Barbara’s eyes and had a brief “Aw, shit …” moment. It’s going to happen …


(Don’t you hate cutaways? Directors love them. I’m a screenwriter and I detest them. None here. Due to the dual nature of this brawl, each will be presented in its entirety. Keep in mind, both were taking place simultaneously. First, we have the young‘uns – Nick)

8

"If you don't wanna go to fist city.” – Loretta Lynn “Fist City” (1958)

The 18th hole at the Sandbridge CCGC has an elevated green which rises up from the fairway. Only the green itself is visible from the pool area. The approach to the green was well lit this evening in case there were golfers still on the course finishing their round. There were none. Only two young women there stripping off their designer dresses to reveal black bikini briefs.


“God, Heather, I’ve been waiting to pound you into a bloody pulp for years,” admitted Jillie spitefully.


“In your dreams, you mousy little rich girl. Oh .., my … God, look how white you are! I bet that pasty Irish skin of yours tears like toilet paper!”


“Yours is so fucking brown, I wonder if your daddy was a …”


There was a roar, some shrieks and the sound of general commotion coming from the invisible pool area. Heather glanced back then stared at a smiling Jillie with a look of wide-eyed shock on her face.


“That would be the sound of my mother kicking your mother’s skanky old ass back to the whorehouse, shitstain!”


“You mean she actually wanted to…”


“Fight your Mom and beat the fuck out of her? All week long. Just like I’m gonna do to you!” Jillie stepped up and slapped the blonde’s gaping face a good one, stepped back and thudded a kick into her ribcage. She sprayed a gob of spit on Heather’s face and wiped it off with another slap. Jillie’s sharp “catfight length” nails were painted the same dark red shade as her hair and she dug them into Heather’s scalp, trying to scratch that blond hair out of the tight twist. Heather decided to do the same.


Jillie: Sometimes no matter how many fights you’ve had, instincts just take over. I had her going and what do I do? Try to pick her stupid hair out of her stupid hairdo. All those boxing lessons and I do that? What … ever. Now my body’s wide open for her, but the bimbo’s even dumber than she looks and she does the same thing. Just catfighting instincts - “Hair. Must … pull … hair”.


The squealed and cursed as their practical hairdos give way to handfuls of fingers. Heather knees Jillie’s ribs to bring her hands down, allowing her to collapse the redhead’s French twist first. “Yeah baby!” grins the older girl, wrapping her hands into the thick mane and giving it the business. The strong grips and expert twisting make Jillie yowl in pain and frustration. Heather spun her around by the hair and flung her to the ground. As the redhead scrambled to her feet, she’s met with a wicked bitchslap across the face and an athletic spin kick which caught the younger girl flush in the chest and Jillie stumbled ass first onto the fairway grass.


“Get up, nerd girl”, snarled the blond hardbody, her hairdo only half intact, dragging Jillie to her feet with two fistfuls of hair. As Jillie was helped to her feet the hard way, she came up with a right hook to the tanned stomach muscles. Heather grunted, but took it well, and she counted with a stiff little left cross to the cheekbone which put Jillie down again. She tried to stomp Miss McCall, but Jillie rolled away and leg-whipped the off-balanced blonde, sending her to the ground. Jillie pounced on her and the two engaged in a tangled, rolling hair-pulling contest, squealing cries of pain and hateful invectives.


Jillie was using a free hand to pound Heather’s ribs and scratch welts across her back. Heather would untangle a hand long enough to slap the redhead’s face, twist her nose or rake sharp little white-painted nails up her white flanks. All the while hair was being twisted and shaken and their sweaty bodies were getting filthy with wet dirt and grass stains. Jillie was giving as good as she was taking, but the older girl’s strength was beginning to tell on her. She wanted a stand-up fight and this wasn’t it. She went back into Heather’s raggedy mop with both hands, brought the blonde’s cute nose to her mouth and bit.


“Ahhhh! Ow, you little bitch!” exclaimed Heather, releasing Jillie’s wild red mane and rolling off, feeling at her nose. “You bit me! My fucking nose. Shit.” As she rose to her feet, the quicker Jillie slapped her back down with a good one, then stood over her, fists up.


“Get your skanky southern ass up and let’s fight!” challenged the young lass, her face red, her hair a mess and long red scratches down her sides.


“You asked for it, cxnt-face. I’m going to bust you up bad,” panted the blonde, scrambling to her feet her own fists clenched tightly. Heather was good with her fists and she knew it. According to her Mom, she had beaten up a bigger and older girl, a star soccer player, in a college bar fist fight her sophomore year and had knocked the bitch out. This little freckle-faced nerd was meat …


Jillie had been warned about the blonde’s fists, so the talented young boxer used her speed and agility to avoid a couple of haymakers, making Heather pay with a quick and painful combination each time right to the face. She ducked under a roundhouse right and thudded two hard lefts to the ribs and stomach, then followed with an overhand right to the eye. She backed off as a short counter left caught her in the jaw. Jillie felt that one, but jabbed her way back in, making painful contact to Heather’s bitten nose twice, the slugged her hard in the solid abs with an underhand right. That one hurt. Her follow-up short chopping left caught a gasping and bent over Heather flush in the jaw, and the blonde dropped to a knee, all scrambled up. A whacking roundhouse kick to the kneeling college girl’s sore ribcage put her on her back, bleeding from her nose and all puffy-eyed, holding her ribs.


Jillie wasn’t anxious to pile on. She didn’t want to fall into what Marcia had. “Get back up, Heather”, she panted, her skinned- knuckled fists ready for more. I’m just getting started with you.”


Miss West sat up and threw her wet blond hair back and out her face. Wiping at the blood from her nose, she smiled. “Good. You’re really good, Jillie. My compliments. Time to get serious now. I’m just getting started, too.” Heather got up slowly and brought her fists up again.


She waited for Jillie’s stinging jabs to again paint her face, then this time blocked the right she knew was coming. Heather countered with a hard straight right that smacked Jillie right in the middle of her face. She followed with a left size 7 to the ribs and as Jillie staggered back, nailed her with a jumping front kick between the girl’s tits, kicking the bra right off her chest. The stunned redhead managed to duck a roundhouse right kick to the head that would have knocked her out if it had landed. Jillie slapped a little size 6 into Heather’s own ribcage and followed with an overhand right to the cheek. Heather jabbed each of Jillie’s swinging white boobs and cut her knuckles on the redhead’s left cheekbone, slicing it as well. The blonde opened her hands, slapped her face with a left and raked her nails down the reeling girl’s bare breasts and belly. She took Miss McCall by the hair, shook her around a couple of times, then sank her right fist twice into the slim bare tummy, leaving the second one in there for a while, twisting it in there.


Jillie: She found my weak spot and found it real hard and deep. I gagged, man. Really gagged on something. Heather hurt me something awful. I just hate getting my stomach punched like that. What a fucking stupid sound I must have made. I folded over her fist and actually wretched up some nasty shit. I knew I was going to fight tonight, so I hadn’t eaten anything. If I had, we both would have felt my dinner all over our feet. Just gut-wrenching.


Jillie sank to the wet ground on her knees in a ball, weeping and wheezing. “Gawd that felt good!” gasped an exhausted and sore-faced Heather. “I bet you just wanna die, huh?” She took two fistfuls of sweaty red hair and kneed the girl in the back. She knelt behind the sick girl and inserted two fingers into each corner of her open mouth from behind, stretching it into a hideous grimace and scratching around in there. She pulled the suffering 17 year-old’s right cheek into her mouth and scraped it with teeth, leaving a nasty boo-boo on the freckly face, “Close your eyes, okay?” Jillie did and Heather clawed nails across them, making her squeal in pain. “♫ Don’t it make your green eyes red ♫,” she hummed, parodying the Crystal Gayle country song. Time to finish the fucked up little snot. Heather wrapped both legs around heaving middle, tucked an ankle under her other leg and went for the dreaded Hadaka Jime.


As sick and damaged as she was, Jillie remembered Marcia’s advice – don’t let her take your back. As the left arm wrapped around her neck, before it could grasp the right, Jillie used both hands to bring the wiry tan forearm to her mouth and bit down hard. She gnawed on that trapped arm like an ear of corn and Heather was singing a different tune. This one was high-pitched and loud. Heather unwrapped from her and tried to pull Jillie’s nasty mouth away by the hair. The redhead ignored the pain, rising to her feet and bringing the 21 year-old up with her, still latched onto the arm and chewing. She finally spit Heather out and while the blonde was stupidly checking out the bloody bites, Jillie sank her fist deep into the now slack muscles of Miss West’s sweaty stomach. Heather belched like a drunken sailor, gasping and mouth working like a fish out of water. Remember the blinding eye rake, Jillie dragged both sets of sharp red nails down Heather’s cheeks, cutting her up. It was time to go to school, college girl.


Jillie was too gassed and weeping to sing anything, but another old country song, one by Miss Gayle’s sister Loretta Lynn, comes to my mind – “Fist City”. That’s where she proceeded to take Heather. She worked the staggering blonde over with alternating rights and lefts, upstairs and downstairs, doubling up her punches from time to time and putting all she had left into them. The belly, both eyes, both now naked tits, ribs and the middle of her face were all targets. Jillie would mix in kicks to the stomach, ribcage and one big one between Heather’s open legs. When Heather would go down, she’d bring her up again and go back to work. Finally, Jillie measured the bruised, bloody and beaten blonde with the gaping mouth, bleeding face and mousey eyes, steadying her on wobbly legs. With her remaining wind, she snapped a roundhouse kick with her right foot square to the jaw of the 21 year-old bitch and Heather West was flat on her back and out like a light.


Jillie collapsed to her knees, heaving for air. She then noticed that the cheering had stopped up the hill at the pool. There were people calling out her name and Heather’s. … Mom …
 

9

Poolside Mayhem

(My thanks to some of the some of the good townsfolk of Sandbridge for talking to me over the last few days as to what happened amongst the guests – and the parts Barbara and Sue Ann couldn’t remember. Attorney Rita Roberts and Chief of Police Roberto Santana and his wife Connie were most gracious and helpful. First time I’ve ever described a senior police official as “gracious” or a fucking lawyer as “helpful”. - Nick)


Barbara McCall tapped Sue Ann West on the bare shoulder firmly, causing the slightly shorter blonde to turn around. It was all Barbara could do to keep from slapping the perfume and cheap make-up off the whore, or delving into those frosted locks. But she wanted to make this legal around all these people, including the Police Chief. Still she did enjoy the look of surprise in the blue eyes of her husband’s mistress.


“Why Barbara!”


“Good evening, dear Sue Ann. Patrick, would you excuse us please. I want to have a little ‘girl talk’ with my good friend here.”


“Darling. I really think that …” Patrick stopped in mid-sentence as he saw the look in his wife’s eyes. “Yes dear, I think I’ll … uh say hello to Councilman Thomas. Excuse me, Mrs. West …” He then shuffled off like a cockroach.


“Now, dearie, can I’ll tell you what I think of you. You are a cheap, classless back-country skank. A low-born street whore who’s had her smelly old cxnt filled with more tube than you’ll find in the entire Alaska pipeline. I know you’ve been fucking my husband and I’m going to …”


“Whoa! Bitch, I’m the senior editor of the Examiner! I have not ‘fucked’ your husband! I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard, but I will not tolerate this slander. My attorney is right over there and when I tell her …”


“Oh. So you’re not only a slut, but a lying slut as well. No rumors, bitch. I have pictures … photos of you sticking your nasty lizard tongue down his mouth outside this very establishment. I suspected something, so I hired a private investigator, one of the best, to track down his whore, and there you were!” (Thank you, Barbara, for not dragging me into this mess – Nick).


“Hoookay. Got me. What are you doing to do, divorce him?” smirked Mrs. West sarcastically.


“No, bitch, I’m going to fight you. I’m going to beat the living shit out of you right here and right now. Right here in front of God and everybody.”


Sue Ann’s eyes blazed like fire. “You big Yankee drag queen! Yes I’ll fight you and I’ll beat you up so bad, you leave town tomorrow in shame! I’ll make a bloody mess out of you. Patrick will dump your lazy ass and I’ll be the next Mrs. McCall. Even your own piss-ant, pasty-faced daughter won’t recognize you!” Some strange cries were heard in the distance and those not watching the two middle-aged society ladies exchanging words were straining to hear what was going on in the 18th fairway. Barbara and Sue Ann were too busy to notice as they were removing their earrings and jewelry, putting the hardware in their purses.


“It’ll be your daughter who won’t recognize you, sweetie. By the end of the night, you won’t know who that broken little blond tramp is, either.” They hiked up their dresses and kicked off their shoes. Actually, only Barbara kicked hers off – Sue Ann was slapped right out of hers as Barbara plastered the side of the bird-like face with a brutal slap. CFM heels flew as Sue Ann grunted and staggered back off the patio before she sat down hard in the grass.


It was dermatologist Sanjiv Rao, MD who first sounded the rallying cry. “Whoa! Ooh! Ooh! Catfight! CATFIGHT!!” No, Dr. Rao wasn’t really into this sort of this, he’d lie. This was not the first time Sue Ann had been slapped by a woman, but never as hard as that. As Barbara closed on her hair with claws extended, Sue Ann thrust two kicks up from the ground, the first into Mrs. McCall’s thigh and the second time into her stomach in rapid succession.


They now had everyone’s attention.


Both kicks were well executed but lacked power. They were still enough to stop Barbara, make her grunt and give Mrs. West time to shake off the shock of the slap and get to her feet. With a pair of screeches the barefooted but well-dressed wife and mistress slammed into each other, hands going into hair – Sue Ann straight in and Barbara under the Georgia’s arms and in from behind.


It’s a funny phenomenon watching a crowd as a catfight breaks out. When two guys fight, people start looking for cops. But with the women, it’s excitement, cat-calls and cheering. What is it about one that can turn an assembly of well-educated, well-dressed and well-off men and women into a mob of hillbillies watching a B-grade pro rasslin’ event at a county fair in Tennessee? I was at this party one night after the Golden Globes two years ago and … well that’s another story. Suffice it to say that the high-end guests at the Sandbridge CC tonight acted like a bunch of beer-swilling rednecks watching “Wildfire” Tommy Rich and “Maniac” Mark Lewin battle at a taping of Georgia Championship Wrestling.


They circled the two screaming hair-pullers as best they could, each pushing to get a better view. They hooted, cheered and encouraged one, the other, or both with shouts like. “Tear her hair out, blondie!” “We want tits!” and “Scratch her eyes out, (Barbara) (Sue Ann)!” Consummate gambler, Councilman Bob “Shorty” Thomas was circulating and taking bets. One poor voice in the wilderness asked Police Chief Roberto Santana: “Aren’t you going to do something?”


The dress-uniformed Chief Santana, whose high-school principal wife Consuela, an arch-enemy of Sue Ann, was avidly cheering on Barbara, replied, “Let’s see. The bank turned down my son’s request for a loan and the one in the red has accused my department of corruption in one of her rag-sheet editorials. Sure I’ll do something.” He hollers “First sonuvabitch that interferes, I’ll arrest on a charge of Disturbing the uh … Entertainment! Where the hell is Shorty? Twenty bucks on the one in white!”


Barbara had all the advantage in the wild, stumbling hair-pulling match – taller, stronger and less hair to pull. As they danced around the patio, screaming and spitting in each other’s faces, banging into poolside furniture, Sue Ann knew she was losing. Barbara had been re-manicured since her fight with Carly. Here nails were shorter, sharper and lacquered with red polish – made for a catfight. She dug and scratched into Sue Ann’s burning scalp and newspaper woman was losing hair.


Sue Ann desperately kneed Barbara’s thighs and stomped on her big bare feet, releasing her own grips on her enemy’s shorter ruined hairdo to scratch at her hands, trying to get those long fingers out of there. Knowing she’d won the hair-pulling contest, shaming her rival in front of the crowd, Barbara shook her like a rag a few times, then let go with her right hand. She smacked the small freckled face of the shorter blonde a good one and Sue Ann fell awkwardly to the deck, missing some strands of hair still tangled in the wife’s fingers. “Slapped you right out of your frosted hair, you cxnt!” she bragged, sprinkling it on the ground.


Sue Ann was disheveled, dirty and her scalp was blazing. She was too pissed to cry. She got up, blue eyes blazing. “Bitch!” she blurted and slapped Barbara’s face twice. Mrs. McCall slapped back, but she was slow and the more agile Mrs. West ducked under the blow and struck her with a quick three punch combination – twice to the stomach and once to the mouth. That last one hurt and snapped her head back. Sue Ann’s delicate foot thudded into the bigger woman’s ribs and a jump kick to the chin dropped Barbara to the grass. The crowd went, “Ohhh!”


Jillie: The problem with karate in a real fight is that they teach you technique, but not power. That’s because their sparring sessions aren’t full contact – you get points for striking close, but pulling it. (Reminder – this is 1987. MMA wasn’t around yet – Braveheart) When a karate student gets into a real fight, he or she doesn’t finish properly. Mom told me if Sue Ann had put something into that kick to the chin, she wouldn’t have gotten back up. Fucking KO Street. That’s why I prefer kickboxing – full power, baby!


Barbara rose to her knees, shaking her head. Sue Ann wrapped her long fingers in her sweat-matted hair to drag her to her feet. Barbara repeated what she had done to Carly Monfort and slugged to wide open belly with her big right fist. Jillie had since taught her mother how to properly make a fist and throw a punch. She had plenty of shoulder in it and it sank in deep. Sue Ann’s mouth dropped open and her eyes bugged out. She hadn’t been ready for that. A low pained croak accompanied the escape of wind and she crumpled to her own knees. The cheering crowd gasped in sympathy, then laughed as the blond cougar cracked an embarrassing long fart as she folded into a ball.


Still stunned by the kick, Barbara yanked the gasping Georgian upright by the hair and ripped her red fingernails down Sue Ann’s greenish looking face. The fair-skinned Sue Ann was a bleeder, and the red welts on her face were plain to see by all around. She squealed and covered up. The Boston society lady ripped Sue Ann’s red dress to her waist revealing nice white tits. Howls of delight went up from the men in the crowd. Barbara fastened her mouth to one and chewed away. “Oh Jesus! Oh my God!” shrieked Mrs. West, tearing away some of Barbara’s dyed blond hair away as those money-makers took an oral mauling. A long rake of Barbara’s tanned bare back with sharp pink nails of her own caused the other 44 year-old to cry out and spit out the angry-looking and spit-wet boob.


The guests were in a frenzy as they crowded as close as Chief Santana would let them. Scuffles were starting to break out – there was Councilman “Shorty” getting into a shoving match with a waiter, sending a silver tray, drinks and side bets flying. The Examiner’s attorney Rita Roberts had squared off with her rival and the bank’s lawyer, blond Luann Preston, the only other female attorney in town, pulling hair and winging punches until their male law partners pulled them apart. Then of course there was Chief Santana trying to keep his own hot tempered Puerto Rican wife Connie from tearing into Sue Ann herself. He didn’t want to have to cuff her on that dreaded “Disturbing the Entertainment” charge.


It was a pure catfight now, and Mrs. West and Mrs. McCall knelt in front of each other, just trying to inflict pain, cuts and the blues on each other, mindless of the chaos around them and the damage each was taking. Nothing fancy – only raw mauling. Just slap, scratch and bite with an occasional hair shake here and there. Dresses to the waist, tits out and arms flailing. The cursing was sublime – each blow, slash and gouge would be accompanied by a foul invective. Sue Ann was known for her ability to cuss, but onlookers had never heard words like “cocksucker”, “cxntlicker” and “pig fucker” from the lips of a dignified pillar of New England society before. Sue Ann had her bleeding from a bite below the left eye, deep scratches down her right cheek and cuts down her sides and across her chest. Barbara’s teeth had not only marked the other blonde’s right boob, but had left a bloody mouth print on her right cheek and her face and upper chest were red and scratched.


 Sue Ann’s face was also swelling up from the heavy slaps which were more damaging than her own. God this fucking whore hits hard, her muddled brain thought. Barbara knew the other woman was weakening as she rocked her with another slap across the right cheek, drawing a low, guttural groan. She decided to help that process along. Wrapping both arms around the other heaving trunk, she grabbed her other wrist, pressed her face into the sweaty shoulders of Mrs. West to protect her eyes and squeezed hard. “ONNGH!” blurted Sue Ann, her face beet red and wide eyes wet with tears.


Marcia: The bear hug is another one of those holds you see a lot of in the Triumph tapes that really looks sexy, but usually doesn’t hurt as much as they let on. I say “usually”. You need strong arms an especially a strong back to make that sucker work. I helps too if the bitch you’re hugging is a skinny, weak bitch, all gassed out or you’ve really worked on her ribs already. I like it ‘cause I’m a swimmer and have a real bitchin’ back. I’ll admit it. Mrs. McCall’s got a strong-looking back, too. She does lots of swimming. If you’re weak already for one reason or another, that hug will just tear you up, dude. It hurts to breathe … if you can breathe at all.


Sue Ann’s went from cursing and screaming to crying to whimpering as she suffered in the stronger woman’s painful embrace. She would tighten, relax, and then tighten again. Each squeeze brought another croak from Sue Ann’s slapped, puffy lips. Barbara was gasping with effort and was tiring, but she felt the fight ebbing from her enemy. She knew she could hug out the skinny old homewrecker, but that wouldn’t humiliate her enough and she wanted to entertain the crowd – most of them cheering for her now as they saw she was winning. Front-runners …


Barbara released Sue Ann who slumped to the grass, gulping and wheezing. “My ribs. Oh, fuck ...” groaned her husband’s whore and it was music to the wife’s ears. Mrs. McCall got to her feet, knotted fingers in the other bleeding woman’s hair and walked her on all fours like a dog to poolside. “Time for stinky here to take a bath, huh guys?” the suddenly popular Barbara asked the affirming crowd. She managed to get the other half-naked 44 year-old to her feet, squared up her dazed and bloody face and punched square in the left eye with a straight right, knocking her into the pool with a loud splash. As a cheer went up, Barbara stripped off the remains of her dress and dove into the pool herself.


The cool water refreshed Barbara as she swam to Sue Ann who was thrashing about blinking and gasping. She grabbed the floundering Georgian and dunked her head in the water a few times, pulling her up by the wet hair each time after she was sure her enemy had had a few drinks of nasty chlorinated pool water. Barbara hauled Sue Ann to the shallow and, stood up and waited for the other blonde to do the same. Then they slapped it out again, standing waist-deep in the water trading blow for blow with each of Barbara’s twice as heavy now. Her final one sent Sue Ann back into the pool and the guests cheered. She rolled the semi-conscious mistress out of the water and climbed out herself.


Barbara stripped the remains of Sue Ann’s soaked and tattered dress as well as her panties from her beaten body. The Examiner senior editor was as naked as she could be and the onlookers weren’t too surprised to see that the “blonde” wasn’t really blond at all. Barbara sat on her back facing her ass. Sue Ann was kicking until Barbara caught and ankle and made the scrawny and bedraggled broad squeal like a little girl by sinking teeth into her sole and chewing on a set of delicate toes. Then she gave the woman’s bare white ass a sound spanking to the delight of the crowd.


Barbara rolled the beaten mistress onto her back sat down hard on her belly and humiliated her by reaching back and tearing out a tuft of black pubes. A couple of tittie-twisters followed, then she slapped Mrs. Sue Ann West to sleep. There was one last cheer, then Chief Santana announced. “Show over folks. Nothing more to see. Have a nice drive home everybody!”


Patrick was still applauding. He had been cheering Sue Ann at first, then switched allegiance once he witnessed his prim and proper, stick-up-her-ass wife turn into the wild jungle cat he’d always wanted her to be. “Sorry, Sue Ann. You were a nice fuck, but the Queen is still the Queen.” Then it hit him. “Where’s Jillie? Aw shit …”


It hit Barbara at the same moment. “Where’s Jillian! Patrick, Roberto, Connie, where’s is my little girl?”


“Here, Mom!” Exhausted and leaning against a tree was a wild-haired, puffy-eyed Jillie McCall, dirty, scratched, bruised and bleeding, but she was grinning ear-to-ear. She was in her bikini and had in her own dress and Heather’s in one hand. Heather’s black bikini top was around her neck as a trophy as was a big fistful of blond hair in her other hand.
 

“Shit, young lady! You didn’t …”


“No, Chief, I didn’t kill the bitch. I just kicked her ass. She’s behind the green puking her guts up and shitting herself. I didn’t want to kill her and put her out of her misery.” The two men took off in that direction. Jillie looked down at her victorious Mom still kneeling over a naked and thoroughly beaten and half -conscious Sue Ann, pinning her wrists to the ground. As Sue Ann gaped, gasping for air, Jillie dropped a wad of spit in the woman’s battered face and Barbara followed. Not surprisingly so did Consuela. They laughed. Jillie flung Heather’s dress in Sue Ann’s face as Patrick and the Chief returned, half-carrying Heather.


“Look at what you did to that girl, Jillian! I can’t even recognize the little bitch! Are you OK?”


“Never felt better, Mom. I guess we Penobscot women showed the whole town how to tame the Wild Wests!” They gave each other a big hug, Barbara still sitting on Sue Ann.


Patrick said, “Time to take my Princess and my Queen home, Roberto. Thanks for not stopping it. So long Sue Ann. So long and goodbye.”

10

Another Sandbridge Legend Is Born

The new office is sweet. Movin’ on up to the third floor! A real office suite with more space, nicer furnishings and even an ante-office for my new assistant. On top of that, Drake had approved continuing to rent the old office, which we’re going to turn into an “exercise” room. Yeah, baby! Marcia’s idea. Hiring her is the smartest thing I’ve done since signing the divorce papers.


I’m greeted by that bright smile today as I have been ever since she graduated five days ago.


“Hey there, sweetheart! What’s going on today?


“Well boss, the phone’s still going crazy over that big fight at the Country Club last week. Man, everyone in town knows about it! Dude, I would have given *anything* to be there!”


“Yeah. Think about it, From Fightin’ Frankie McGuigan to the Harlow vs Lombard catfight … allegedly … to the Brookside Brawl. And now the “Clash at the Club”. Another Sandbridge legend is born. And, my dear, to think you and I had just a small but significant part in it. Real civic pride I’ll tell ya’. What else?”


“You have that 10:30 with Mrs. West …”


“Good. There’s a fight in her past I want to discuss with her. Besides, I can’t put the finishing touches on my last report without talking to her. Especially the stuff about Heather.”


“There’s one more thing, boss. Like a typical man, you didn’t notice my flowers!”


She’s right – I didn’t. Only a man would miss that beautiful bouquet. Expensive looking, too. “That’s a real beauty, Marci. Some handsome, and rich, young stud I presume?”


“Nope! Read this …”


I read the card that came with it. “Dear Marci: thanks for everything! I couldn’t have beaten the bitch without your help. Tell Mr. Nick my Mom says hi. Your new friend, Jillie! ps Want to come over sometime? Maybe we could go to a movie or something …” That’s sweet, girl. Too bad you weren’t here yesterday when Barbara came over and delivered her side of the deal. Which reminds me …


I duck inside my office and come back with a covered dish.


“Wanna cookie?”


The End


I apologize for the length of this bad boy, but when an event becomes a Sandbridge legend, I do believe it’s justified …


On a side note, the trick Stan Radevic used get the licensee of Sue Ann’s car was a common one back in the days before Caller ID. I know because like Nick, Braveheart himself once upon a time, also had a PI license. I pulled that trick myself more than once. It always worked like a charm.



//Braveheart

© 2013 by Braveheart. All rights reserved. TXu 1-910-919

[peccavi]

thank you for reposting my favourite among your stories!

[Michelle]

I agree with Jenn...this is easily my favorite of the Welcome to Sandbridge series....

Certainly worthy of a Michelle review....LOL

[Braveheart1]

Thanks Kenn and Michelle. I put a lot of work into this one.

//Braveheart