THE LITTLE INSANITY – MEET BRAD

People think he’s a self-absorbed jerk but that’s not how Brad sees it. He’s got everything he could want and why shouldn’t he have, he’s worked for it. If you want something in this life you have to get out there and take it. He’ll leave the rat race to the rats.

BRAD —

“Here is her information. The accident was at the corner of Curtis and Broad.” Brad handed over the neatly transcribed notes. He looked around the deserted police station. ‘Yeesh,’ apparently even the criminals wanted nothing to do with this pathetic little town.

“You know, you’re supposed to call us from the scene of the accident. At this point all I can do is file a report. If she decides to contest any of this, it will just come down to a big ‘ole ‘he said, she said.’” Jason grabbed a sheet of paper off of a tall stack and started writing.

‘Good grief,’ this guy didn’t even have a computer. Brad felt as if he had traveled back in time. “I know, but I don’t think she’ll contest it. She seemed pretty ditzy, but honest enough,” he said.

“Famous last words,” Jason chuckled.

“Well, I was already late for a big meeting. If I had waited any longer, it would have cost me ten times the price of the new paint job.”

Jason let out a prolonged whistle. “What the heck do you do?”

“Mergers and Acquisitions.”

“I guess you mean takeovers. Sounds pretty lucrative,” Jason said.

“It can be. If you do it right,” Brad said.

“Ahhhhh, there’s always a catch.”

Brad finished filling out the form in silence. What the heck was he doing in this backwater burg? Who in their right mind moves from New York to Connecticut without any coercion involved? Talk about a giant step backwards.

“I’m not very familiar with this area, is there anything to do here at night?” he asked. He was pretty sure he knew the answer already. Brad was a high energy kind of guy. This move to Connecticut was going to be like slamming on the brakes while you were going 150 miles per hour. He braced himself for Jason’s answer.

“Where are you from?” Jason asked.

“New York City.”

“Oh, hell, you ain’t gonna find anything around here to compare with N.Y. night life. But hey, I’m getting together with a buddy of mine tonight. You’re welcome to come along.”

“Okay, sure. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“That’s the attitude,” Jason said with a grin. “I get off duty at 7:30 p.m. How about you meet us back here then?”

“Sounds good, do I need to bring anything; cowboy hat, spurs, six-shooter?”

“Better watch it,” Jason warned. “Not everyone is going to appreciate your sense of humor.”

“I’ll try to tone it down,” Brad said. “Are we all set here with this paperwork?”

“Looks like,” Jason said. “I’ll see you back here at 7:30 p.m.”

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THE LITTLE INSANITY – MEET BETH

All she does is work…and eat. Is this really her life? Why do the simple things in life that everyone else seems to take for granted keep evading her? Beth isn’t sure how to change it or even if she wants to.

BETH —

‘Could this day get any worse?’

“What the hell were you trying to do?” he yelled through her car window.

Beth should know better than to ask herself rhetorical questions that she didn’t want the answers to. This day promised to be a real bottom-feeder. She rolled the driver’s side window down an inch. “I’m so sorry. It was totally my fault. I was rushing to work. I guess I got distracted.”

“Yeah, yeah, save the sob story. I have a meeting in 20 minutes.”

Beth stepped out of the car, fishing in her bag for her license. “Is there a lot of damage?”

“Are you kidding? I just picked this up from the dealership two weeks ago. It’s a custom paint job. Do you have any idea what a custom paint job on a new Beamer costs? It probably costs more than your annual salary.”

Beth stood there looking despondently at the scratch that ran along the right side of the otherwise pristine car. She had been daydreaming when she pulled out to pass. When she heard the screech of metal on metal she had panicked and sped up in an attempt to extricate herself from the mess. Beth looked down at the bumper of her 15 year old clunker. With the exception of the black paint transfer from his vehicle, there was no damage to her car at all. ‘Figures!’ She opened the passenger door and shuffled through the crammed contents of her glove box. “Here we go,” she yelled as she pried open the compact ball that was her registration.

“C’mon already!” he fumed. “I thought I made it clear that I don’t have all day for this.”

“Sorry. I had to find my registration. Here it is.”

“I’m impressed, a ‘93 Ford, the perfect demolition car. Why the heck did you have to pick me as your victim?” he said with a sneer.

“I said I was sorry.”

“Yeah, right, you seem to make a habit of that.”

“I’m sorry, I mean… Oh, never mind,” Beth said. “Do you have everything you need?”

“I guess so, except for the name of your insurance company,” he said.

“Oh, right, it’s Liberty. No wait a minute. I think I switched to INCO last year. Or maybe it was two years ago.”

“No problem. Just take your time,” he said. “I’m only losing about a thousand dollars a minute here, but I’m really enjoying the witty banter, so don’t rush on my account.”

Beth hurried back to her car to find her insurance card. She pawed through the debris that had fallen out of the glove box and intermingled with the clutter that had fallen from the front seat when she stopped short. ‘Thank God.’ Finally. “I’ve got it!” she yelled, waving the card in the air.

“Yippee, I’ll notify the parade committee.”

‘This guy was a real jerk. Well, it was almost over,’ she thought.

He handed her insurance card back to her. “Don’t you want my information?” he asked.

“The accident was totally my fault,” Beth said. “I’m not going to contest it.”

“Fine, but your insurance company may still want my information.”

“Okay.” Beth took his paperwork. License, registration and insurance card, all in a neat sleeve, and all laminated for God’s sake! She took a closer look at his license. This guy even looked good in his driver’s license photo. Beth flipped over her registration and started writing.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to write on that,” he said.

“Oh well, too late now.” She didn’t care. They could cite her, fine her, throw her in jail; she just wanted to get out of here. Now! “Finished,” Beth handed Brad Trenton his paperwork and their fingers touched. A shiver raced up her arm. She really looked at him for the first time. Waves of jet black hair lightly brushed the collar of his silk shirt. He had deep brown eyes and a smooth mocha complexion that was either a by-product of his ethnicity or hours in a tanning bed. Beth couldn’t tell which. No question about it, this guy was very easy on the eyes. His finely tailored suit certainly did justice to his slender waist and broad shoulders. Beth gave her head a brisk shake. It was precisely this kind of daydreaming that had gotten her into this mess. Besides, this guy was a bona fide prick. “Well, I guess we’re finished here. Sorry again for the inconvenience.”

“Sure. Just do me a favor and give me a five minute head start,” he said. “I want to put some distance between us before you get back behind the wheel.”

Beth headed back to her car, cheeks flaming red with embarrassment. ‘What a jerk.’ She sat down and leaned back against the headrest. It was going to be a very long day. She had just finished her shift at the E street house. In an hour, she was scheduled to work a five hour shift at her telemarketing job. How was it possible to work three jobs and still be knee deep in debt? Beth tilted the rear view mirror. Brown lack-luster hair and sunken hazel eyes; her tired visage stared back at her, silently asking her; ‘how much longer?’

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THE LITTLE INSANITY – MEET KYRA

This wasn’t what her life was supposed to look like. Kyra should have had her 2.5 kids and a picket fence by now. What do you do when fate turns your Greek god of a husband into a couch potato?

KYRA —

She handed the customer her change as she turned back to Beth. “I never thought I would say this but I think I am starting to hate him.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” said Beth. “After all, he’s not the first guy to come home drunk. It’s hardly a unique problem.”

“Oh, it’s not just that. I wish it was. It seems like it’s everything. I hate the way he chews his food and that he picks his teeth afterwards. I despise the way he belches and passes gas when we’re in bed and how he laughs as though he’s just told a hilarious one-liner. I’m sick to death of cleaning up after him and begging endlessly for him to do something, anything, around the house. Most of all, I’m tired of watching him continue to act like a 17-year-old.”

“I don’t know Kyle all that well, but on the few occasions I have seen him, he hasn’t struck me as being overly immature. Lets face it; in general, the male population doesn’t set the bar too high on that score.”

“So, I’m just supposed to accept it? I can’t! I’m living with it day after day, and it’s driving me crazy!”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” Beth asked.

“I’d get more response from this cash register. Take last night for example. He came home after two o’clock in the morning, stinking drunk. It was almost funny, listening to him in that condition, trying not to wake me up.”

“It sounds like he was going out of his way to be thoughtful.”

“Thoughtful would have been a phone call at 11:00 p.m. – when he said he’d be home. Then, at least I’d have known he was alright. Instead, he lets me worry for three hours about where he is and if he’s okay.”

“Why didn’t you go out with him? It was Friday night after all,” Beth asked.

“Kyle’s idea of a great night out consists of us going to one of his buddy’s houses.
I get to sit around, for hours, watching them work on cars or play cards while they talk about girls and suck down one beer after another. In the unlikely event that we actually go ‘somewhere’, it’s to some blood and guts movie or a sports bar. Not my idea of fun.”

“Why don’t you insist that he take you somewhere you want to go once in awhile?”

“It isn’t worth it. Last year he took me out for dinner and dancing on my birthday. But he made it clear that his heart wasn’t in it. He said he wanted to surprise me, so he just piled me into the car and off we went. It was a fiasco. I was dressed in a ratty old pair of jeans because I had been working in the garden. Kyle hadn’t bothered to make reservations at the restaurant, so we ended up going to Denny’s. I was so uncomfortable about being under-dressed for the nightclub, that I asked him to just take me home. He was more than willing to comply.”

“Well, that does sound pretty bad. I don’t know what to say.”

“And then there’s the sex. I really used to enjoy sex with Kyle. That was when he used to put some effort into it. These days I get more satisfaction from my shower massage.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“It’s worse. Foreplay is a forgotten word in our house. Kyle’s idea of getting me in the mood is 15 minutes of the porn channel. Once he’s ready, he flops on me with a glazed look in his eyes and five minutes later it’s over; for him at least. Within minutes he’s fast asleep. I usually spend the rest of the night tossing and turning with a pillow wrapped around my head to muffle his snores.”

“Wow. That does sound pretty bad,” Beth said.

“Well, I just don’t know how much more I can take. I truly believe in my wedding vows, but I don’t know if I can resign myself to spending the rest of my life in purgatory.”

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THE LITTLE INSANITY – MEET KYLE

Kyle and Jason are brothers in every way that counts but Jason just doesn’t understand what it’s like when your life takes a wrong turn at 28.

KYLE —

He tripped up the back stairs, slamming his head into the wooden screen door. “Shiiiiiit, shhhhh – don’t want to wake Kyra up,” Kyle muttered to himself as he manhandled his key into the lock. After 20 seconds he realized the problem. Kyle was trying to force the Chevy’s ignition key into the door lock, with only limited success. Okay, maybe he had gone one or two beers over his limit, but he was home now. All Kyle had to do now was get upstairs and into bed without waking Kyra up.

He stepped on a shoe that was lying in the middle of the floor, wrenching his back. ‘Dammit’, he groaned through clenched teeth.

From all appearances, Kyle was an incredibly fit 28-year-old. Beer drinking and the recent forced inactivity had failed to relax his taut abdominal muscles. His shoulders and biceps continued to display the sculpted physique that was the product of years of quarry work. How cosmically unfair life was; this body, which looked so capable of moving mountains, had now betrayed him so completely.

Five years ago, Kyle’s body had told him, in no uncertain terms, that it was tired of throwing around 100 lb. slabs of granite. The ultimate rebellion came when he blew three discs in his back. For almost a year, Kyle had divided his time between bed rest and physical therapy as he watched his workers’ compensation insurance run out. Ultimately, the doctor had rendered his final decree. If Kyle was fond of walking, he would have to find a career where the heaviest thing he could lift would be a phone book. That was kind of a tall order for someone who had spent his life using his brawn rather than his brain. So far, it was an order he had been unable to fill.

He moved more cautiously, looking for any other pain-inflicting land mines. Kyle went back and took his shoes off in the mudroom. Five years of nagging had accomplished that much at least. Kyra should be happy about that. God, how had things gotten so screwed up?

Kyra had been so much fun in the beginning; adventurous, energetic and up for anything – no matter how crazy. Being with her was like being with one of the guys, with the added benefit of unlimited sex. That bubble had burst pretty quickly. Now, after eight years together, Kyle was living with a scaled-down version of her mother. An involuntary shudder raced up his spine at the very thought of it. Kyra had morphed into her mother’s clone. The transformation was not a pleasant one.

Nora Blakely was an embittered, shrewish woman. Her one true joy in life seemed to be in creating a hell-on-earth for her husband, Byron. Apparently enough was never enough for Nora, who needed little or no provocation to turn nagging into an Olympic event. Sadly for Byron, Nora’s gold medal standing in this event was unchallenged. A picture of Byron’s thin, bent frame flooded Kyle’s mind as he wondered if that would be him in 20 years.

Kyle made his way up the stairs with one hand on the wall and the other on the banister. If the ground didn’t stop wobbling underfoot, he was gonna hurl. That would be a real crowd-pleaser he thought, smiling to himself. The smile was quickly replaced by a grimace, as he thought of what retribution would be in store for such a transgression. Yelling, pouting, the silent treatment and withholding sex; Kyra would use her full arsenal.

Kyle had embellished a little for Jason’s sake. Sex once a week was when things were going well. Things hadn’t been ‘going well’ for a long time. Catching him coming in drunk like this could easily mean a month-long dry spell. That was okay with Kyle. Tonight had been worth it. After all, lately the sex had not been anything to lose sleep over. Given the choice, he often chose a nap over their recently uninspired romps in the sack.

They used to have mind-blowing sex. Now things were different. When Kyra did relent, she did little more than just lay there until he was finished. Kyle had seen packages of ground beef that were livelier than Kyra on these occasions.

Kyle paused at the bedroom door, listening for Kyra’s breathing. It sounded regular enough. Hopefully she was asleep. Quietly, shedding layers of clothes as he went, Kyle walked across the room until he was beside the bed in his underwear. Moving the blankets aside, Kyle sat on the edge of the bed. He rejected thoughts of taking off his socks. Bending over to perform such a task in his current condition could have disastrous results. He eased himself down, gingerly raising one leg and then the other into bed. Hugging the edge of the mattress, Kyle struggled against any movement that would disturb the current calm. Little by little he allowed his muscles to relax.

“So…it seems like somebody had a good time,” Kyra said from the darkness.

‘Crap,’ all that effort for nothing. “How long have you been awake?” he asked.

“I haven’t been to sleep. How could I? I was too busy wondering if you were wrapped around a tree somewhere. Would it have killed you to call?”

And so it began.

Kyle got up to use the bathroom. If he had to endure this, he wouldn’t do it with a full bladder.

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