Continuing the repost of Braveheart's stories, here is Welcome to Sandbridge 7 – One Day at the Mall: Jenny Lee and Teena.
Enjoy.
Welcome to Sandbridge – Jenny Lee and Teena
One Day at the Mall
A Sandbridge Saga Tale 7
Intro
Guess What? - Part 1
I came in Monday early. Last week was a blur what with helping my new pal Sue Ann West deal once and for all with the “Sandbridge Police Affair”. Then I had to finish up my report on it and on Sue Ann’s catfight with the Police Chief’s wife. Of course there was my boss and benefactor, film and TV producer Drake Coburn, showing up in my new Sandbridge office for the first time. I showed off the place as well as what we planned to do with #215: the old, smaller office downstairs. I say “we” when I should say “she” – my assistant Marcia Monfort. This was going to be her project.
She wanted to turn #215 into an “exercise” room. Mats on the floor, maybe some extra soundproofing even a couple of brackets in the upper corners for video cameras, sound equipment and so forth. The words “catfight room” were never mentioned – it was understood by all of three of us what the room would be for. Ladies around town who were into that sort of thing, my assistant and her mother Carly amongst them, had frequently mentioned the need for some quiet private place to go to settle their differences without drawing a crowd or dealing with interference. Drake thought it was a marvelous idea. After all, that’s why he had sent me here in the first place.
My name is Nick Sebastian and over the past seven years as Drake’s assistant producer and lead screenwriter, we had learned this about each other – we loved catfights. The town of Sandbridge was for some reason a magnet for this activity, and I was there to document as much of as I could for him. He was delighted with Miss Marci as I knew he would be. Awe struck as she was to be in this famous producer’s presence, she handled herself like a pro. I introduced him to a number of others mentioned in my reports and took him to The Sandbar where he regaled the early- arriving staff with Hollywood stories. Then he was off to New York, London, Tokyo or wherever.
Now I had a backlog of work to do. All sorts of shit from going over catfight reports to finishing a screenplay for Drake’s new TV series and script-doctoring others. Neither my workload nor I were prepared for the daily arrival of that 18 year-old bundle of energy named Marcia Monfort.
“Boss! You’ll never guess what happened this weekend!”
The two most feared words in the English language might be “guess” followed by “what”. I imagine “Guess what?” is what FDR heard from his aide on the morning of December 7, 1941.
Welcome to Sandbridge …
Nick Sebastian, July 1987
1
Huh?
“So Jenny Lee was at Pizza Shack and there this bitch was and they started fightin’ and WHAM so then me and Jenny were at the Gallery and the bitch and a biker chick were there, then …”
“Whoa lady! Slow down, take a breath and complete a sentence for Christ’s sake!”
The well-muscled and even more well-stacked 5’2” brunette hottie closed her big brown eyes and breathed deeply a couple of times. She then gave me the abbreviated version of her adventures with her quirky blond friend Jenny Lee Savoy this past weekend. It’s never a dull moment when these two get together. What she related was another spirited catfight that just screamed for a write-up and report. Marcia had been spoiling for a chance to write a report of her own ever since she had started working for me after graduating last month.
This private brawl appeared to be pretty straight forward without much involvement from multiple sources or side stories, so I figured this was as good a chance as any. I had plenty of other stuff to do, so I let her have at it. Here’s my girl Friday’s report with some editing from me …
Jenny Lee Savoy pulled into the parking of Pizza Shack Friday evening after her shift at
Los Pollos Hermanos, the South American chicken joint where she worked the summer between her junior and senior years. The lanky, lean muscled 5’8”, 119 pound blonde had just turned 18 and was still growing. Jenny Lee wasn’t what even she called a beauty, but she was a real cutie. She was a standout on the SHS swim team, a photography nut and plenty book-smart but she was I guess, a little “different”. A real Valley Girl. I wouldn’t call Jenny a dumb blond bimbo, at least unless it was to her face. We called each other all kinds of shit. We’re like that – that’s because she’s my best friend.
She was picking up her pizza to bring it home to her mom. Her dad was an airplane pilot and was away on a flight. Mrs. Savoy, like her daughter, was a gadget freak and she’d bought one of those newfangled Beta tape thingies. Jenny Lee’s boyfriend Kyle was coming over and they’d have pizza while the three of them watched a movie on it. Jenny Lee was still wearing her light blue LPH uniform with the silly cartoon figure of a sombrero-wearing chicken on her breast. As she stepped in, she noticed a gum-chewing bleach blond chick, real trampy-looking, about her own age behind the counter wearing the red, white and black uniform of Pizza Shack.
This wench was about 5’5” and seven or eight pounds lighter than Jenny Lee, but her 36Cs made Jenny’s still developing 32Bs look tiny. She might have been real pretty if it weren’t for too much make-up, the black eye shadow, lipstick and nails, the inverted crucifix earrings, and her habitual open-mouthed gum-chewing and snapping. As it was, she looked like a teenage tramp going on 35. I learned later the bitch’s name was Teena and at age 18 her nickname at Watford High was “The World’s Oldest Sophomore”.
“Excuse me, miss. My name is Savoy and I’m here to pick up a large pizza to go.”
“Huh?”
Not “I’m sorry, could you repeat that please?” No … just “Huh?”
“I said … My name is Savoy and I’m here to pick up a large pizza to go!”
“Huh?”
“Oh … my … God! Earth to Pizza Shack girl: I have a pizza! I’m here to pick it up!”
“Huh?”
Jenny’s mom was from some country in Europe – Russia or Sweden or something (She’s from Finland, actually. Close enough. – Nick). Jenny had learned some of the language from Mrs. Savoy, so she said …
“Oh wow. I mean, wow! You really are a special kind of stewpid aren’t ya’? Well I guess you can’t understand English, girl, so let me try another one …
Minulla on suuri pizza makkaralla ja paprikat mennä!” (I have a large pizza with sausage and peppers to go.)
Now, the “Huh” girl stopped the gum chewing and her mouth dropped open wider than usual. She turned and hollered “Mr. Williams! Mr. Williams! This chick wants a ‘minnow on a sorry macaroni pizza’ and then she says, ‘yeah, papercut man!’ Slag called me a papercut man! Mr. Williams!” (Okay, maybe Finnish wasn’t her strong suit either – Nick)
“What is going on here?!” asked the clearly frustrated manger, Mr. Williams.
“Sir, I’m just trying to pick up my pizza, and like this … this mo-ron of a bimbo hasn’t a clue! My name is Savoy and I bet that’s my friggin’ pizza right over there! God!”
“I’m truly sorry, Miss Savoy”, he sighed, taking Jenny Lee’s money. He growled at his still outraged, soon to be former, employee. “Get her pizza. Now!” Mr. Williams walked away, shaking his head and his hands in the air.
As Jenny Lee went to take her pizza from the counter, the future atomic scientist said. “Oh miss! You forgot your free mint!” With that, the tramp spit her gum right in Jenny’s scowling face, with plenty of wet stuff right with it. Then she grinned.
My girl Jenny Lee is really cheerful … most of the time. Not now. She reached over the counter, grabbed this chick by the lapels and slapped her face like she meant it. Jenny Lee slaps hard. How hard? Read Nick’s first report (
Meet the Monforts: Marcia). Bitch slapped me stupid, and we were just playing. She wasn’t playing this time, but she couldn’t slap this Teena critter stupid – she was already there. If she thought the Pizza Shack girl would run off bawling with the LPH girl’s red palm print on her white face …
The wench just hissed at her like a cat, cocked her left fist and hung one right on Jenny Lee’s jaw. Ka-pow! Like a pro. Just like that. Girlfriend went stumbling back almost to the door and hit the deck like that ton of bricks you hear about. Shoes went flying and all kinds of shit. That little vixen came around the counter, took up a fistful of my friend’s medium-length golden curls and was about to pound on her like Jenny Lee owed her money. That’s when Mr. Williams and a couple of customers pulled her off.
Jenny Lee sat up with a real stupid look on her face, found her shoes, and then waddled up to the counter for her pizza. With her shoes on the pizza box, she staggered back to her car like she’d had way too much to drink, wondering why the stars were out so early. How she made it home without picking up a DUI, I don’t know. The “Huh?” girl by TKO over Jenny Lee Savoy? I’ve never been to Vegas, but wouldn’t have bet on that, that’s for sure.
2
I Got You Babe
Well, the next day was Saturday and Jenny Lee and I were walking through the Galley. It’s a mall about halfway way between Sandbridge and Watford, so a lot of kids from both towns hang out there, showing off what they’re wearing and checking out ones there from the other town. You get tired of the boys you’ve known for ten or twelve years, so girls like to check out the candy store – and I don’t mean Martha’s Confections in the west wing. Boys are doing the same with the chicks. Watford is a big rival of ours in basketball, so all of that leads to fights for sure. I got into one with this black babe from Watford myself a couple of years ago. Yeah, close fight but it was Marci by decision. Security gets pretty tight here, so if you want to fight or fuck, you have to pick your shots.
Anyway, we’re coming out of Rene’s Couture de Paris in the East Wing, with Jenny Lee still yapping about getting her lights dimmed by that little skank’s bony fist yesterday. It’s first thing that morning so the crowd was still pretty thin. With the elevator music in the background, we’re heading for Pop Daddy’s for a soda. I’m in an AC/DC t-shirt, a pair of denim shorts. Jenny Lee’s dressed similar in a pink tank top and black gym shorts. We’re both in high CFM sandals to show off our swim team-conditioned legs. She’s doing most of the talking as usual when suddenly she stops and grabs my arm.
“Oh, fuck me! Shit, bitch! Look!”
She’s pointing toward these two tough-looking chicks across the walkway coming out of Linc’s Leatherware. One is a skinny skank with big tits and black roots showing through her bleach blond hair. She wore a black leather skirt, a cut-off t-shirt and black biker boots with lots of chrome buckles. A real sleazy-looking little whore. Her friend was about Jenny Lee’s height, a little older and heavier and in a black Harley-Davidson tee with leather shorts, big hoop earrings and high gladiator sandals. She had nearly waist-long jet black hair, a nice tan and sharp red nails. Kinda exotic looking with a long nose and high cheekbones – a real beauty in a rough sort of way.
Jenny Lee is all wide-eyed and pointing. “Holy shit, Marse! There’s that little shitbird from Pizza Shack! The one that punched me out of my shoes last night!”
About that time, they noticed us. The blonde was all animated and pointing toward us while her friend stood there with hands on hips and staring. Then they started walking toward us.
“Yeah! Here they come! Come on Marci, let’s kick some trashy biker ass! You get the one on the right – I got the ‘Huh?’ girl!”
“Hold on there, Calamity Jen! We’re in the mall, bitch, not the fucking OK Corral! Let’s hear what they have to say first.”
Did I mention how much I love catfights? Got that from Mom, I guess. I’m like her – when I meet this chick, or see one in the mall, on the street or even watch some celebrity on TV, I find myself asking how tough she’d be. How she’d do against this other one, or against Mom or me. Can’t help it … I’m a Monfort. I’ve become real good at it. I figure the blonde would be an okay little fighter for her weight class, but the black-haired bitch would be pretty fucking awesome. Just a guess.
“So! We meet again!” announced the nasty little blonde like a villain in a cartoon, grinning evilly as she chewed a wad of gum. She says to her girlfriend, “This is the dumb bimbo who cut my knuckles on her glass jaw last night. Knocked her the fuck out! Bitch, you got me fired! I’m gonna beat your Sandbridge ass, man. I’m gonna take your scalp, you big stupid cocksucker!”
“Huh? Huh? Sound familiar you grody fuckin’ loser? Lucky punch, bitch! I want to pound you until all that’s left is a big pile of dust, loose greasy hair and a wad of gum. Then my friend Marci and me, we’ll sweep it up and dump it into that trash can over there.”
Her pal has never taken her eyes off of me. She’s just sizing me up, wondering what I’m all about as these two bozos threaten each other. I know because I’m doing the same thing. What the hell - I extend my hand. She takes it in a high handshake. You know, like the way two arm wrestlers lock up, feeling each other’s strength. I hope she was impressed by mine – I sure was with hers. Our brown eyes were still locked. “I’m Marcia”, I smile … kinda.
She nodded her head and broke a little smile of her own. “Nice to meet you Marcia. I’m Cher.”
That’s right – my girl Jen just had to fucking laugh. “No shit! Hey Cher, where’s Sonny?”
Cher sighed, then rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah. Like I fuckin’ never heard *that* one before. She’s a real keeper, Marcia.”
Sorry, but that one cracked the badass look I was trying to maintain and I had to chuckle. Cher surprised me with a good-natured laugh of her own.
The other two were oblivious to our sarcastic merriment.
“Watch what you say to my girl Cher, gum-face! She’s my brother Charley’s old lady and he rides with the Mighty Lords of Tomorrow! I’ve seen her kick some tough biker babe ass. She could beat three of you, two of your girl and one of me all at the same time!”
“Oh yeah? This is Marci fuckin’ Monfort, skank! I’ve seen her go and she’d tear Miss Look-a-Like’s head off and shit down the hole! I remember the time …”
Cher and I just shook our heads and rolled our eyes at these bimbos as they tried to drag us into it. Finally the biker chick had enough. “Look! Assholes. We get it already. God! You two want to beat each other up and Marcia and I are Supergirl and Wonder Woman. If you’re gonna keep running your pie holes, Marcia and I are going to go to Pop Daddy’s and have a soda. Otherwise, let’s find you some quiet place for you settle your differences while we two go somewhere and “discuss” things ourselves. Okay?” I was starting to like Cher more and more by the minute.
There are certain words and phrases within the catfight culture that are codes. The term “discuss” frequently meant “fight”. We all knew this. Does Cher want to fight me? Maybe just to prove which one of us is top bitch? I hope not, but if she does, it’ll be a long day for both of us. Certainly our friends thought that was what she meant – I could see it in their faces. In the meantime …
I saw the little hallway that led to the restrooms. Right outside that hallway was a busted drinking fountain. Are all mall drinking fountains busted? Seems like it. This one had one of those yellow “Out of Order” signs in front of it on the floor. I remember Mom telling me about when she fought the manager of The Sandbar. The big bitch had done something like this to make sure they could brawl in the ladies room without interference. Worked then …
I went over when no one was looking, picked up the folding sign and put it down in the little hallway in front of the ladies room. Cher raised an eyebrow, smiled and nodded. She checked inside to make sure no one was in there and said to the two blondes, “Your arena awaits. Have a nice time, ladies!” Teena and Jenny Lee practically pushed each other inside.
“Well I guess that’ll keep ‘em occupied for a while. Sit on the bench and chase people away if you have to. I’ll go get us something to drink and we can talk. What do you want?”
3
Tale of Two Encounters
(I mentioned once before that we screenwriters hate cutaways. Directors love them. As a catfight fan, it drives me apeshit to see a great fight broken up by shots of a couple of guys at the bar, two dudes fighting too, or like they do in the soaps, some long-ass ten minute scene of something else altogether. I’ve only written one screenplay of a dynamite catfight that aired – on the soap
As the Days Go By when Jackie Manning-Sebastian’s character and the one played by Lucy Trammel had a terrific brawl, but the hack director fucked it up so bad with cutaways, I was ashamed to admit it was one of mine … even though my wife at the time was one of the actresses.
Having said all that, this is Marcia’s project, and I’ll admit, her cutaways actually make sense, add to the plot and all that shit. So Marci: as Elvis once said to President Nixon, “You have your show to run and I have mine.” Take it away, girl Friday … it’s catfightin’ time – Nick)
It wasn’t the biggest restroom in the world, but it was big enough for their purpose which of course was to beat the stuffin’s out of each other. Three stalls and sinks and just enough room to roll around on the tiles. Clean enough this time of day. Jenny Lee put away her bag, kicked off her shoes and ditched her shirt and shorts – they were the only clothes she had with her. The same was true for Teena. It took the shorter blond a while to unbuckle her boots and while she did the two kept up a constant chatter about what they’d do to each other … and what their girlfriends were doing on the outside, wondering where Cher and I were going to fight it out. Teena spit her gum in the sink and pulled off her boots and Jenny Lee wrinkled her nose. “Pew! Girl! I can smell you from over here! If you must wear those clunky old boots, wear some socks on those nasty little feet!”
“Bitch, I’ll have ‘em in your ugly face before long. Just wait till your stocky little busted up and hairless girl sees what I’ve done to you.”
“Oh yeah? Your Cher-wannabe cxnt-buddy won’t be able to see what I’ve done to you with both her eyes swollen shut and out like a light, you smelly shitstain you.”
With both now in just a pair of thongs, they took no time to size each other up. Their bodies slapped together and down to the slick floor they went. Neither had much catfight experience, so they did what was natural – they kicked, flailed and pulled hair like crazy. A while back I had taught Jenny Lee how to pull hair effectively – twist a fistful tight before yanking, dig in close to use nails on a girl’s scalp, or out further it you want to crank her neck or pull some of it out. You can wear her out fast by using both hands and shaking her head like you mean it. If you’re tired and she’s killing you, hang on tight to that hair and control her head. That will keep her from butting and biting.
Jenny Lee may have been a space cadet is so many ways, but she was a quick learner. She mopped up the smaller, longer-haired “World’s Oldest Sophomore” on the floor, using her superior strength and big hands to savage the nearly bleached white hair of the squalling punk chick. She stayed on top her hands pumping until the nasty Teena got a hand up into her face and went after her big blue eyes with digging fingers. The bitch’s black-painted nails were short, but they were good for gouging and she got a couple digs up in there on the bigger 18 year-old’s left eye, drawing a fearful squeal of pain and causing the hair-puller to let go and roll off.
The got to their feet gasping and stated the obvious. “You tried to pull my hair out, cxnt!” “You tried to scratch my eyes out, you creepy little twat!”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“So what do you think they’re doing to each other in there, Marcia?”
Scuffling sounds and muffled cries could faintly be heard from the bench on which Cher and I sat, sipping our Cokes. The bench was just outside the hallway leading to the ladies room.
“I dunno. Jenny Lee is probably pulling hair. I taught her how to do it proper and with her big hands she ought to be good at it. Your girl, Teena is it? Teena looks mean. I bet she likes to bite, scratch and fight dirty. I’m not sure Jen can handle that shit. Love your shoes, Cher!”
“Thanks. I bought ‘em at the Shoe Palace. Not cheap though. Yeah, Teena’s a mean little bitch. Outside of that and being a decent left-handed fist fighter, she’s not that great. Jenny Lee’s bigger, athletic-looking and she looks like she has retard strength. My money’s on your girl.”
“It’ll be close, Cher. I imagine we would be, too. Don’t want to go with you though. I think I’d hurt too much.”
“Don’t want to dance with you either. I just wanted to make those two birdbrains think we would. Had you pegged as a real catfighter from the moment I laid eyes on you. Monfort? You’re Carly’s girl? Don’t look surprised … she’s got a rep. Even in Watford … the Land that Time Forgot.”
“Mom’s a celebrity! You looked like a real load too, even before we shook hands. And a biker chick, too! Cool!”
“Yeah, it’s fun. The Lords aren’t the Angels or nothin’. I mean we’re not one-percenters. We’re just an MC, you know? I’m only 21, so I haven’t been with them long. I like to ride with Charley, even though I have my own bike, too. It’s a 1985 Harley Sportster. It’s in the shop for a new chrome fuel tank. It’s gonna be sweet. Had to take Teena’s folks’ beat-up Ford to the mall today. Bummer. Hey, you ride?”
“Believe it or not, I’ve never even been on a bike!”
“Surely you can’t be serious?”
“I am serious … and don’t call me Shirley!” We point at each other and squeal at the same time, "
Airplane"! "Oh… my … God! Girl, that’s my favorite fucking movie!”
“Mine, too!”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jenny Lee slapped Teena like a red-headed stepchild and rocked her head to her right. A swift kick to the belly caused the girl to gasp and drop her hands, allowing the taller gal to whack her face again, this time with a bitchslap from the left hand. Jenny Lee grabbed her by the hair before she could fall, and walked her around the floor shaking with both hands. The wild child squealed and cursed, gripping the strong wrists as she slipped and stumbled barefooted on the tiles. Releasing her grip, The Sandbridge girl threw a wild right designed to knock the Watford chick into next week. The quicker Teena just managed to duck it and come up with a right hook to Jenny Lee’s hard bare stomach followed with a big slap across the face with her dominant left hand.
Now it was Miss Savoy’s turn to stagger back. Teena stayed on her, snapping right jabs into Jenny Lee’s confused face and a big left into her wide open belly. That one really hurt and the bigger gal thought she’d pass a turd as she belched and farted, all bent over. Teena went to work on her hair and now it was her turn to thrash her enemy around the room by her Pride and Glory. Once she had her properly scrambled up, Teena released her and delivered a sweet left cross to Jenny Lee’s right eye. Again she caught the girl before she could fall, dug a right uppercut into her tanned stomach and watched Jen sink to the floor. Teena piled on and pulled her gaping face a chewing nose bite. Jenny screamed bloody murder and scrabbled at the skanky biter’s white back with her clear-polished nails. She had trimmed her long, sharp ones when she took typing class last winter – now she wished she had them back. Teena released her tooth lock on the other blonde’s nose and spit out something. “Yew! Snot!” she laughed. Then her face again approached Jenny Lee’s, mouth wide open for another bite.
Jenny Lee: First it’s all that gum, then it’s me! This wench chews! Grody old mouth smells like bubble gum and cigarettes, Marse! Holy shit! I mean is there anything scarier than seeing a stinky, cootie-filled mouth with all those sharp teeth closing in on your face? Like Night of the Living Dead, man!
Jenny Lee squealed like a little girl, catching Teena’s hair before the teeth could close around her left eye. She pulled and twisted as the other blonde snapped at her, the front teeth just grazing and scraping the skin on her cheekbone. The terrified Jenny Lee finally drew a pained cry of “My hair!” from the pale-skinned wench and bent her head back, The stronger girl rolled her off, and as they both got to their knees, Miss Savoy cracked Teena across the face with a solid slap, gave both big tits a hard crank and butted her solid on the noggin. She got a surprise when Teena took her sweaty gold mop and gave her a wicked return head butt. The two hard butts made both the goofy chicks even goofier than usual, their eyes rolling.
“What?” asked Jenny Lee in response to a question no one had asked, rubbing the knot on her head. Teena had literally been conked silly - she had a stupid grin on her face – amused at a joke no one had told. They sat there on their knees, holding each other upright for a while gasping and clinging until the voices in their heads died down.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.”
“The cornfields, Ted! The cornfields!”
We were quoting our favorite movie and just howling. Then I realized the scuffling sounds from the ladies room had died down. “It’s mighty quiet in there. Think we ought to check on them?”
“Nah,” replied Cher. They’ll come out when they’ve had enough. Say, what are you doing this summer before college?”
“I’m working for this guy who’s a Hollywood screenwriter. He’s researching a project for Drake Coburn, the movie producer, about all the catfights we have in Sandbridge. I’m his assistant!”
Cher thought that was hilarious. “Oh bitch, come ON! Wait, you’re serious? Holy shit! I mean, for real? You’re a fucking catfight researcher? Well you’re in the right place today.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The two still dizzy blondes broke apart and looked at each other, each with a blackening eye and Jenny Lee with a clown nose. Teena still had an idiotic grin on her face. Jenny Lee thought she had to be amused at something, so one broke out on hers, too. She slapped Teena’s face. Teena slapped her back. They were too close and too tired to generate much power, but they stung. They kept trading slaps until both eventually realized they were in a fight, not watching a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
They wiped the grins off their faces with a round of mutual tit twisting. Teena had clearly done this before and she just tortured the other girl’s small boobs, cranking them like knobs, scratching the undersides and digging nipples with her thumbs. A sobbing Jenny Lee fought back – her big strong hands were a match for the larger 36Cs of the Watford girl. She squeezed and kneaded them like dough until tears were flowing from Teena’s eyes, but the meaner chick just tore Jenny Lee up and had her bawling like a big baby, begging for a release.
When she did, Teena sent her tight little left fist into Jenny Lee’s bare belly. “OOPF!” explained the Sandbridge girl, gaping at her like a moron. Up came Jenny Lee’s big right fist into the softer white tummy of the punk chick. “Awww! Fuck, man!” blurted Teena, spit dribbling from her mouth. She recovered and just sickened Jen with another brutal low punch, keeping her fist in there and digging around. Now Jenny Lee was heaving for air between sobs, gulping to keep everything she’d eaten for breakfast down. Her return punch wasn’t as hard as her first couple, but sinking it into the already tenderized middle of the weaker-bellied Watford chick caused Teena to fall into Jenny Lee’s arms coughing and hacking.
As they held each other weeping down each other’s backs, they knew they didn’t want to do that shit any more. They unwrapped and looked each other in the face, mouths wide open. Jenny saw that Teena’s face was paler than usual – green almost. Teena belched in her face drunkenly. Then she belched again longer and deeper. Her breath stank not only of gum and cigarettes … something else.
Teena gasped, “I think I’m gonna be …”
Jenny Lee: Baby, there’s nothing in this world that will snap you out of a beaten stupor faster that knowin’ some slut is about to barf in your face! Not near you or on you even. I mean right in your kisser! Aw shit. I went into action. I got up and got the sick little tramp into that stall by the hair, aimed her face at the bowl and stumbled out of there. Then she let fly. I don’t get grossed out by much. But I draw the line at puke. And turds. Snot maybe, but puke and turds for sure. Girl’s goin’ to town in that stall with these deep ‘Hluk! Hluk! Hluck!’ sounds and man, I just lost it. I mean I just got into the next stall in time. It was like in that movie with those hillbillies cornholing Ned Beatty. You know, the one with the retard playing ‘Dueling Banjos’ with that dude? That was the bitch and me. We played ‘Dueling Barfos’ in there. She’d let go with a heave. I’d hear her and that would trigger one from me. And so forth. I paid for all that pizza last night and the scrambled eggs and bacon this morning.
(Thank you, Jenny Lee Savoy. There goes my appetite. I guess that saves me lunch money today. I know Mr. Beatty. I’ve worked with him. Next time I see him, I’ll give him your compliments on his performance – Nick)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“With me it’s teeth and nails. I’m allergic to them – they make me break out in bloody cuts all over. What is it that just kills you in a catfight, Marci?”
“My feet. I have real sensitive feet. You wouldn’t think so looking at these stubby wide things, but they can really hurt. I can’t stand some whore working on my feet. And down here …” I tap my belly. “I’ve got a fairly hard tummy, but it’s still a weak spot.”
“Yeah, I know. Same here. After enough fists, feet and knees down there, my stomach muscles just break down and the next one goes all the way in. I get sick. You ever throw up during a fight?”
“Not during. Came close, though. Afterwards sometimes. I can’t imagine still fighting after a good hurl. Gawd, that takes so much out of you. Hey, I have to ask you. Is Cher your real name?”
“No. It’s just what everyone calls me because I look so much like her. You don’t want to know my real name.”
“Oh, yes I do! Please!”
“Okay, but you have to promise not to laugh. I mean pinky swear promise.”
In girl culture, the “pinky swear” is the most sacred oath you can take. I pinky swore I wouldn’t laugh. How bad could it be? We locked pinkies …
“My first name is … Euphenia.”
My lips clenched. I stifled my laugh … but it wasn’t easy.
“My last name is … Tarkesharikhian!
“Hmmm! Mmm!” My face had to be getting red.
Cher leaned in close, our pinkies still locked. “I have a middle name, too. Do you want to guess what it is? No? It’s … Lulabelle!”
“Hmm! Hmmm! Hmm!” Murder. Absolute torture.
“That’s right, I’m Euphenia Lulabelle Tarkesharikhian. Okay, you can laugh now.” She released my pinky and we fuckin’ laughed our asses off.
Then they came out of the ladies room.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After the dry heaves finished, things were finally quiet in the ladies room except for the gasping sounds of two totally spent, bruised and naked young blondes sitting on the tile floor with backs against the dividers between the stalls. No words were spoken for some time until Jenny Lee asked …
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“I guess. Do you wanna go again? I don’t, but if you still want to …”
“Fuck no. I’m done. Who won?”
“I made you puke first.”
“I made you cry first. Shit. I dunno. I hope Cher and your friend are okay.”
“Me too. I bet they beat the crap out of each other. We can’t face them without both of us agreeing on which of us won.”
“Yeah. How do we decide it? I’m broke-dick. I can’t fight for shit anymore.”
“Me neither, bitch. I’m all fucked up inside, for sure.” Jenny Lee wasn’t a rocket scientist but she figured compared to the “Huh?” girl, she was Norman Einstein. Or was it Henry? (It’s Albert, girl Friday. Albert Einstein. <sigh> - Nick) It would be up to her and the skanky little bleach blonde would have to agree. Every deciding contest she could think of was either two painful to contemplate or to one girl’s big advantage … except for Rock, Paper and Scissors, which was too dumb. Besides, she figured it might take her hours to explain the rules to this bimbo. Then the little chick surprised her.
“Bitch! Why don’t we do this? We go out and try to find our girlfriends. I’m guessin’ they fought it out in the parking lot or whatever. We see who won. If Cher won, so did I. If your girl did, you did. That’s what we tell ‘em. You and me, we know better. That’s all that matters. Okay?”
“Know what? Not a bad idea, nutsy. Not bad at all.”
A few minutes later, they were dressed and applying a little make-up to replace what they’d slapped off of each other and to recover as much of their hairdos as they could, though those two black and swollen eyes would take days, not make-up to fix. The Watford girl turned and said, “Know something? We’ve been beating the shit out of each other since last night and I don’t even know your name. How fucked up is that? Mine’s Christina Riguzzo. You can call me Teena.”
The surprised Sandbridge girl grinned at her for the first time since they met. She was right. “Jenny Lee Savoy. Pleased to meet you, Teena!” They both laughed as much as their aching bodies allowed. “Say. Go a little lighter on the make-up, okay? I mean you’re a really pretty girl. A little less would make those beautiful violet eyes stand out.”
Teena smiled, looking a little embarrassed. “Okay, Jenny Lee, and thanks, man! Let’s go find those dumb bitches of ours and chew ‘em out for fighting over nuthin’!”
“Yeah, baby! Boy is the joke gonna be on them!”
They didn’t have to look for long. There I was with Cher on the bench outside the ladies room, laughing hysterically. That was even before we saw their bruised and gaping faces.
Not a bad day at the mall after all. I can’t wait until next Saturday when Cher comes over to show me and Mom her Harley. She even promised she’d take me on my first bike ride ever! How cool is that?
4
Guess What? – Part 2
Hi, I'm Drake Coburn. By now, most of you know who I am and what I do. I usually stay in the background and don't butt in. I like letting Nick and the ladies do the talking. This time, however, in the interest of maintaining some timeline continuity, I thought I should tack this onto Nick's latest report.
When I got back from London this week and read the latest
Variety, I wasn't thrilled. A soap opera based out of NYC had recently been cancelled. Not surprising really - it was a turd sandwich of a production and ratings had bottomed out. But that meant there was plenty of talent out there looking for work.
Variety said that a good part of it, actress Jacqueline Manning, had just been hired by a much better soap produced here in LA.
Good for her. While she wasn't the next Meryl Streep, she wasn't a bad actress and she'd be moving her two sons closer to their father. I know he'd love to see them more often. They're 10 and 12 and need to have a real father around: not a slug like her recent boy toy, a former soap stud: a never-was who spent most of his free time in Manhattan nightclubs with a spoon up his nose. Lord, how she’d received custody of the kids with that cretin around, I’ll never know. That’s what her ex gets for hiring the Three Stooges as his attorneys. I wish I’d known him then – my legal team would have made dog food out of her case. I digress …
The real problem was this: Her ex-husband is now an employee and a friend of mine.
His name is Nicholas Alexander Sebastian.
My own Lady Anne wasn't thrilled either. She'd heard gossip reports that Jackie, or the Red Riot as Nick called her when he wasn't calling her "that fucking bitch", wanted him back. I dearly love my wife to death, but she's a hot-tempered, two-fisted lass from County Kilkenny, Ireland and has earned her nickname - the Kilkenny Cat. Annie wanted to beat Miss Manning witless as a warning to leave her friend alone. I told her that Nick was a big boy and was clever enough to handle the cheating redhead himself. Of course he had a lady friend or two in Sandbridge that might be able to "assist" him.
How about "The Red Riot vs Cajun Carly"? Yeah, that's Hollywood, baby!
I still wanted to warn him about the impending shitstorm so I called Nick today.
"Hey pal! Glad I caught you. Guess what?"
The End
A couple of notes. Those of you who are fellow “Breaking Baddicts” may recognize Jenny Lee’s place of employment. I guess Gus Fring’s first
Los Pollos Hermanos franchise outside of New Mexico was in Sandbridge …
This story was based on a real encounter I had with a slack-jawed wench working at a popular pizza chain (you know, the one with the red roof) a few years ago. The encounter was authentic from the time Jenny Lee asked for her pizza until she started speaking Finnish. I made that up – I spoke German. The rest of the story is, of course, fictional.
//Braveheart
