I have decided to give you a look at one of my works in process, something I have never done. Keep in mind that I often begin a story with a certain concept in mind but it takes a detour. The nut of this story is this: For the last 100 years – perhaps from the beginning of time, literature and the visual arts have been nothing but a study of men behaving badly, with its primary goal to be the brainwashing of women into thinking that it is inevitable and should just be accepted.
When Casey Lipton puts two and two together, she decides to wage a one woman crusade to spread the truth.
Having said that, don’t be surprised if the final product looks NOTHING like this. It has happened.
Men Behaving Badly
She wiped the back of her hand across her ruby red lips. Yes, ruby red; the lack of imagination was astounding and, for the life of her, Casey couldn’t recall what had possessed her to buy this shit in the first place. She rarely wore anything but clear lip gloss. The guys she had been hanging out with lately preferred it that way – less explaining to the wife. This guy was different though, he was all about the presentation…so, ruby red it was.
She put her hands on his thighs and hoisted herself to her feet. The day would come when this was going to get old…well, truth be told, Casey thought that day had already come and gone and yet, here she was.
He just lay there, like a beached whale. “That was great, babe,” he grunted. She just turned her back to him, picked a pack of menthol off the small table and shook one out.
“Don’t do that, babe. This is a non smoking room.”
Casey nearly choked on the smoke in her lungs at the absurdity of it. This guy was a career criminal who’d been breaking laws for profit since he was 16. Hell, they’d broken a few since they’d walked in the room. “If you’re worried about the hotel police, I’d think you might be more concerned about all that coke on the coffee table.”
He laughed. “They don’t mind that. Shit, the cleaning staff will be crawling around the room with straws, lookin’ for the residue. They know I get the good stuff.”
“Okay then, I’ll leave you and them to clean up. I’m out of here.”
“Oh, baby, no. I’m just getting my second wind. Come on back to bed.”
What he meant was, get back on your knees, and that wasn’t gonna happen. “I’ve got to go, I’ve got a thing.”
“Ok, babe, your loss,” then he rolled over and started snoring.
Casey thought, if she tried hard, she’d be able to contain her grief.
She scooped two of the packets of coke off the coffee table. This would help ease the pain. She got as far as the door, turned back and blew two lines off the glass top table. Two for the road. It was good stuff, damn good stuff.