Foovay's Cauldron

She was a small town girl who thought she was wise to the ways of the world. He could tell by the little crows feet at the corners of her eyes, and the weary downturn of her lips as she sipped her rum and coke. She was petite, brunette, with a faintly exotic duskiness to her skin and big, dark eyes. His mother used to call eyes like that “bedroom eyes” and predicted sure marital disaster with any woman who had them. He married her anyway.

He sat next to her at the bar and ordered a beer. Ignoring her for the moment. He knew he had to be careful, or she would spook like a skittish horse and be gone. Running away from him again.

Sensing she was watching him from the corner of her eye, summing him up and deciding if he was safe tonight, he smiled. He knew she saw that most innocuous of men. Not a big man, not too ugly nor too handsome. Regular features that you would forget in a minute or pass by in a crowd without a second glance. Although he didn’t appear to be as over muscled as those steroid popping freaks on TV, he was toned and without any spare flesh. He was stronger than you would think from looking at him.

Dressed in a black t-shirt with a cigarette logo and jeans, wearing well worn athletic shoes on his feet, he looked like pretty much every other guy sitting in a small town bar having a beer on a Tuesday night. She wouldn’t recognize him. She never did.

Finally, after assessing his threat level as well below orange, she turned to him and said, “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Nope.” He kept it short, but not in an unfriendly tone, inviting more curiosity on her part. He knew her well. Knew her inquiring mind would want to know. He smiled a little at the old joke they used to share – “Inquiring minds want to know” – her excuse whenever he caught her reading that awful rag masquerading as a newspaper. How he hated to see her waste her mind with junk like that. Just like all those stupid reality TV shows. Junk.

She paused for a few minutes, staring at him but looking inside herself. Wondering if it was worth pursuing a conversation with this nondescript stranger. It was a small town. Not much to do. She was bored.

“So – just passing through?” she inquired.

Almost got her, he thought.
“Maybe. Looking for work. Got any?” He turned and smiled at her then. His lopsided quirky smile always disarmed her, made her forget her caution, and lured her into trusting him again.

She laughed, of course.
“I could probably find something for you to do.” She flirted.
“I’ll probably do anything you might want, for free.”

He laughed. She laughed back.

Got her.

Now to reel her in slowly.

They sat and drank. He told her his life story, as if she hadn’t heard it before. He left out all the unflattering bits, of course. She’d find them out soon enough anyway. Couldn’t hide anything from her – she was just too damn smart. Too smart for her own good.

She was a small town girl who thought she was wise. She was bored and he seemed so harmless. Just another loser down on his luck. There were a hundred of them in this town (she knew them all), and thousands going down the road looking for work. The world is no longer kind to the jack-of-all-trades who can fix anything, build anything, and do anything but have a degree in nothing. The corporations won’t hire them, and even if they did – anyone over a certain age is throwaway. They want new kids to work until they burn out. Not “old” men of forty-something.

He treated her to breakfast at Denny’s, the only place still open when the bar closed. By then she was a little giddy and giggly and figured a meal would do her good. Of course, he agreed when she wanted to take their separate cars and meet at the motel on up the highway. He didn’t blame her a bit for being careful – there were dangerous people on the road these days. Luckily, he just happened to have a few condoms in his truck. She thought he was considerate, at least, even if the fact that he was prepared also said a bit about how often he might do this sort of thing.

Oh big deal, she thought, it’s just a fling and he’ll be gone and I’ll never see or hear from him again. No one in this incestuous little town will even know, let alone gossip. That will make for a nice change, at least.

He rented the room, he opened the door, and he helped her with her jacket. He seemed like such an old fashioned gentleman. She luxuriated in feeling so spoiled. Slowly, he undressed her as if he were unwrapping a particularly pleasant surprise package, caressing her with his breath, the tips of his fingers, his tongue. She reached to undo his belt and their hands met. Together they undid the buckle. He slid it out of the belt loops of his jeans and slipped the tongue back through the buckle. She thought ‘how meticulous and neat he is’.

He struck like a snake. First a slap so powerful she felt her head might come off as her neck muscles were wrenched to the side. She fell and before she could draw breath to scream he was on top of her, kneeling on her breasts with his full weight on his knees. She couldn’t breathe. Whimpering she tried to wiggle to either side, to roll, anything to get him off her so she could gasp for air. His hand was over her mouth and nose, making it even harder.

She drew her knees high, trying to hit his back but only succeeding in making him laugh. She felt his belt going around her neck, his fist wrapped around the tongue jerking it tighter and tighter.

The last words she heard were, “You fucking cunt. You thought you’d get away from me. Nobody leaves me. Nobody.”

By early morning he was gone, down the road to another small town with another little bar. A nondescript man, not too handsome, not too ugly. Looking for satisfaction he will never find.

Written in about 45 minutes, rough edited, 1078 words

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