from Chapter II, TRAILER
TROLLOP ROMP & MARTIN'S COMEUPPANCE,
of the first Angie & Ella Epistolary Novel
Robert Scott Leyse
return to Chapter Index click: HERE
for: Angie & Ella's Weblog
and Ella are second year associates at a midtown Manhattan law
firm. They are fast friends and fond of reliving their escapades,
as well as concocting new ones, via email. Angie is 5' 7"
and has wavy chestnut hair. Her brown eyes easily flare with emotion,
and she has a reputation for being somewhat excitable. Ella is
5' 5" and has raven black hair. Her blue eyes easily flood
with silver light, and she has a reputation for being somewhat
adventurous. Both, on account of their beauty of face and shapeliness
of figure, routinely attract lingering glances.)
Sent: Monday, June 30, 2003 2:03 PM
why on earth would you fail to show up at work today? I thought
we had the maul-Martin's-peace-of-mind project all planned out!
I was thirsting to hike up my skirt and get him salivating without
you but, of course, that would preclude having the added dimension
of yourself posing as sympathetic confidant and providing advice
as to how he's to court my favor. But I want to punish him in
the worst way! Want him languishing in the toils of violent desire
he's unable to satisfy! Want him thirsting for me while showing
him nothing but cruel disdain! And you know this! So why would
you call in this morning saying you needed to take a "personal
day" (Oh, yeah, I know about that: Sturmheld's secretary
informed me!) and deprive me of my revenge?
expect an answer before midnight! I need to know if you'll be
here tomorrow! That creep has got to blaze in his very own personal
hell of an inflamed body that he's unable to escape from! What
he did to Linda's inexcusable, and he's going to suffer miserably
let me know, Miss Unreliable!
Sent: Monday, June 30, 2003 10:46 PM
I apologize profusely! And don't you worry, we'll have arrogant
thoughtless Martin incurably melancholic by the end of the week!
I'm definitely coming in tomorrow, as much to assist you in your
project as to justify Sturmheld's confidence in me. (I've been
busy pacifying him for the past three hours for today's absence
by faxing in some new matter work on the [____] offering.)
why was I absent today? Simple: I had another Stevie adventure!
They seem to be coming thick and fast of late, taking up all of
my spare time and intruding on time I don't necessarily have to
spare; but why shouldn't they? Stevie's a bottomless well of imagination-stimulation
and there's no sense in letting such abundance go to waste; because,
if my imagination's stimulated, my svelte lil' body's stimulated
and la petite mort truly becomes a fountain of life!
Stevie's always willing and I'm always willing: not a chance am
I going to say no to another installment of our ongoing rollercoaster
ride in fantasy-becomes-flesh! Stevie makes me feel sultry and
seductive, as if a dead man would spring to life at the sight
of me: such feelings are irresistible to a vain lil' fashion plate
plaything like me! I apologized for missing work today, but I'm
actually not sorry in the least bit! And before you get annoyed
at that lil' confession, let me tell of today's fantasy fun: maybe
then you'll understand why the mess-up-Martin's-manhood thing
had to be placed on hold! I'm sure you will, because you're a
funloving fantasy-fest mongering floozy too!
fun as follows:
finally fulfilled one of my most treasured ambitions: indulgence
in a trailer trollop fantasy fling! Dressing for the fling was
a delight-unto-itself: I had a fine doll-myself-up time of it
in the bathroom, with the CD player blaring dance music, an organic
health bar and plate of mixed berries for nibbles, fizzy spring
water with lime juice infusion for quaffing (Ha, ever notice how
annoyed some people get at our finicky health food diet? - accusing
us of being food snobs simply because we have the good sense not
to cram our gullets with saturated fat soaked garbage? - simply
because we refuse to undermine our energy with empty caloried
trash? Well, we eat right to play right, don't we? There's nothing
more essential to having fine sex adventures than a clean bill
of health; and if one makes oneself ridiculously healthy...
Oh, ho ho! I eat right to lust right! Good nutrition keeps the
slut fires soaring! Good nutrition brings about that itching-to-rut
bouncing-off-the-walls feeling of empowerment I love so much!);
I didn't step from the bathroom for at least three hours, being
as how I also did plenty of trail-and-error mirror star stuff
for the pure joy of it! After all, why bother to get ready for
a date, if I can't play like a little girl who dreams of growing
up to have the boys falling and fawning at her feet?
for what I wore: 1) a polyester leopard print skirt, with slits
very sloppily cut up each side with a pair of scissors; 2) a pink
pullover, sleeveless and of faded cotton with some bleach splotches
dribbed on; 3) a God-awful wig, dirty mousy brown and piled up
in some sort of circa 1950s do; 4) the cheapest brassiere I could
find at the drugstore, with the tan staps dangling down my arms
(A discomfort I was willing to endure for the sake of trailer
trollop autheticity.); 5) plastic gold bedroom slippers with the
toes cut off (Not the easiest things to saunter down the sidewalk
in; but, again: for the sake of having the best trailer trollop
getup ever.); 6) bright blue horn-rimmed sunglasses; and 7) pink
stockings with lots of runs. And then there was the makeup, layered
on like I've never done in my life! Just take my word for it:
I was something of a hybrid of clown and witch, fit for a carnival
or Halloween! There was enough of it on me to make me feel like
my cheeks were being pulled down my face! In short, I didn't just
look like a trailer trollop, I was a satire of what a city girl
like me thinks a trailer trollop looks like! By the time I was
done, make up was spilled all over the vanity and floor - nail
polish splattered, sparkles scattered, a compact shattered! 'Twas
a labor of Hercules, and I was like as not to orgasm just from
the delight of making that kind of mess...
so I'm ready and it's nearly eleven o'clock. Stevie's not at his
apartment: he's taken a room at the Essex house, a brilliant ad
lib of setting (He called at about nine-thirty to tell me.) that
lends more of a myself-as-a-trampy-out-of-towner feel to this
grand event. It was worth it for what happened in the Essex House
reaction from the man at the front desk is priceless: first, there's
a drop-jawed gaping-eyed look of utter astonishment – "His
eyes opened up to swallow the sky," as they say; then there's
a huffy gathering up of his dignity, a look like he's about to
shoo me away. So I speak up and, in my very sophisticated (If
I say so myself!) attorney voice, say: "Mr. Bergendahl is
expecting me in room 1544. Please tell him the girl from Arkansas
is here to discuss the legal matter." Well, the deskman's
face is contorting every which way; the shoo-away impulse makes
an embarrassed retreat, and confusion reasserts itself. "Yes,
Ma'am," he finally manages while continuing to look me up
and down, "I'll let Mr. Bergendahl know." He makes the
call while exchanging a sort of, "She seems to actually know
someone who's staying here, so I guess I have to do this."
look with his coworker, a fiftyish woman. She's looking at me
as if I'm some sort of riddle to solve – undecided as to
whether I'm a hooker, lunatic, bonafide hick, or bright girl playing
games: no real way for her to know, right? Ha ha ha!
during the deskman's ring upstairs that Stevie distinguishes himself
in the gratuitous pranking department, asking (as I quickly discern)
the man to describe me.
What?" the deskman manages to articulate, becoming extremely
uncomfortable. His eyes scitter every which way, as if seeking
to locate someone to pass the phone to; obviously, he doesn't
dare bother the woman, who's probably a superior. There's no one
nearby, though - what a shame: he's stuck with the unpleasant
situation. (And how I do adore being an unpleasant situation that
some pompous dolt must deal with!)
obviously reiterates his request more emphatically, because the
deskman answers: "Sir, I realize it's a simple question...
I wasn't sure I heard you right... No, Sir, I'm not trying to
be difficult... I don't doubt you, I..." Again he trails
off, treating me to a glance of alarm; you'd think he's being
asked to provide intimate details of his sex life, or lack thereof...
a look of relief comes into the deskman's face; he tells Stevie:
"I'll just pass her the phone." and extends it towards
me in a manner that I find insulting, because there's an implied
command to take it from his hand.
no!" I quickly say, taking a step back in horror. "Public
phones are contaminated - unsanitary, covered with germs! I just
got over a bad cold, and I know a public phone was the cause!
I'm never touching a public phone again!" Ha ha,
as if I'd ever allow a conceited clown like this deskman to wriggle
out of a ticklish situation! As if I'm the sort of girl who's
going to do violence to her dignity by blindly obeying the laughably
fake firmness of manner with which he holds the phone to me while
giving me one of those pathetic meaningful looks! I'm thinking:
"The moon will tumble into the Atlantic Ocean before I'll
take that phone from you, buster! Not a chance am I letting you
off the hook, cringing unmannerly coward!"
I add in one of those evil-polite, laced-with-poison, tones: "Sir,
I am very surpised that a man in a professional situation would
thrust a phone at me as you have. In the first place it's rude;
in the second place it's not your place to ask me to do your job
for you; in the third place I have no idea where that phone's
been or whose lips it's touched or what sicknesses those lips
might be transmitting (Here I give him a particularly derisive
look.) and... Sir, it's a health hazard and I am truly astonished."
of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say. Now our deskman
stammers: "Ma'am, I meant no disrespect...the gentleman asked
me to describe you... All due respect to him, he's put me in an
embarrassing circumstance... I thought it might be indiscreet...wanted
to cause no offense, Ma'am!"
just do your job and describe me, then - I won't be offended.
Mr. Bergendahl's an important man who must guard against unsolicited
visitors - he's just being careful. Go ahead and tell him what
I look like."
Angie Honey! I had to turn my head away and pretend to cough to
conceal the grin that flared onto my face! And I know what you're
thinking: a shameful instance of failing to maintain my playacting
front! But you had to be there! An icy-miened hanging judge would've
laughed at the deskman's twitching face! Plus Stevie starts speaking
on the phone so loud I can almost make out the words and, in his
haste to bring the receiver back to his mouth, the deskman butterfingers
it, drops it on the desk.
And then the deskman's saying: "Sir, there's no problem here...
I dropped the phone, I apologize... No, Sir! There's not a robbery
going on - no commotion here! Yes, of course... She's wearing
a leopard dress...a pink shirt... Yes, Sir, I think her hair's
a wig... What?"
now Stevie might be going too far; it wouldn't do to give the
stockings, Sir?" And here the deskman turns to the fiftyish
woman, saying: "I think something's funny... He wants to
know what kind of stockings she's wearing!"
begging your pardon, Ma'am," he quickly adds turning towards
me. "I can't be held responsible for what Mr. Begendahl's
asking me to tell him..."
then, turning back to the woman: "Will you please take the
phone, Claudia? I'm not going to do this!"
Claudia can take the phone I say: "Sir, here's my company
ID - just tell Mr. Bergandahl, then this will be over." I'd
already fished my ID from my wallet for the purpose of eventually
treating the deskman to some brain-straining contradiction - always
good for a laugh. Now I'm forced to use it prematurely...
a gesture of impatience - because he's beginning to wonder if
he's being toyed with, thanks to Stevie's pushing the envelope
too much (Doesn't he always?) - the deskman brings the
phone back to his mouth and says: "Mr. Bergendahl, she's
handed me her ID. That's right... It says that she's an attorney
at [____]. Sir, it's her picture. Her name's Ella Jody Wishingrand,
Esq... I wasn't stalling, Sir! I would've done this to begin with
had you requested it. We're not in the habit at the Essex House
of asking for the IDs of vistors of our esteemed guests, Sir.
Yes, Sir, she's on her way up."
deskman stares at my ID for a moment longer, then back at me;
he's not bothering to conceal the question in his eyes - a rather
bare-faced look of baffled curiosity. Obviously, he's perplexed
by the contrast between my present appearance and that of myself
in the ID photo, where I'm dressed immaculate New York corporate
in my navy suit - a perfect balance between conservative and sexy,
courtesy of Janine (style consultant extraordinarie!) at Bergdorf's.
Choosing to be a lil' bit miffed at the man's presumptuous look,
I say with calm coldness: "Sir, I do not feel it behooves
you, as an employee of a world class hotel, to concern yourself
with matters that are none of your business. I will not tolerate
being stared at in that way."
is all he can manage, looking for all the world like he'd dearly
love to sink into the floor.
hardly a response that does you credit, Sir," I say in my
best native Manhattanite manner, with contempt echoing between
the enunciated words. Ha ha! He's completely forgotten to wonder
if he's being played with; he's suddenly in a waking nightmare
and is only wishing it to be over; and that's what he gets for
being rude from the get-go - that's what he gets for displaying
traces of shoo-away impulses, thrusting phones at me, seeking
to not speak to me! Now he's fully aware of the fact that he has
no idea what he's dealing with - now he's unable to compute the
contrasting evidence concerning yours truly - now he isn't going
to venture to even so much as blink, lest I get further offended!
Honey! What a nice aphrodisical way to kick off the festivities!
Pranking always wets my pinkling, makes me juicy and loose! Being
the center of attention in the immaculately interior-designed
lobby of the Essex simply because of my clothes? Ha, and acting
the opposite of my look? Being Miss Corporate in intonation, mannerisms,
and carriage while decked out in polyester trash? Ooooooo! It's
pure scrumptuous prepping-of-flowerpuss-for-pollination fun!
I'm on my way to the elevator bank when it occurs to lil' Miss
Mood Shift me that
my dealings with the deskman have been too one-dimensional: it
won't do to only be a girl who's annoyed at the treatment
I've received. So I do an about-face, stroll back to him with
a smile, place a five dollar bill on the desk, and say: "Notwithstanding
your shortcomings, this is for your trouble, Sir. I trust you'll
work on your manners a bit? Have a nice day."
Oh, Angie! The look of fear on the deskman's face when I turned
back towards him - the flinching backwards impulse that half-seized
his body when I extended my hand (As if he thought I might treat
him to a slap!) - the wind-gone-out-of him look of utter surprise
when the five dollars materializes... 'Twas money very well spent!
so let's get me upstairs:
from Chapter II,
& MARTIN'S COMEUPPANCE,
of the first Angie & Ella Epistolary Novel
Copyright © 2004
Robert Scott Leyse
All rights reserved.
return to Chapter Index click: HERE