Her birth name is Jaymee, and she came into being on August 17, 1988. Born to a doting but doddering couple, she spent her childhood gathering wildflowers on the countryside until her parents left her under the care of a pack of HIV-positive chimpanzees following their untimely demise by freak whisk accident. She overcame the abject poverty by singing show tunes on street corners, but her eleven chimp brethren grew increasingly jealous of her fame and wealth and left her in the desert, taking her amazing technicolor dreamcoat as proof of her death. Forced into child slavery and prostitution at the tender onset of adolexcence, she despised herself until she found merciful refuge in writing. This discovery liberated both soul and body, for she would read her newest compositions aloud to her clients, who would promptly fall asleep. Thus, she was free to pursue her lifelong dream of a threesome with Monica Lewinxky and William Shatner.
If I'm not on Facebook after today, you can probably assume that I died alone, in a corner, with only my books and notes and lamps and coffee. Please don't bury me with any of those things.
Thing the first: This is being imported rather than posted directly to Facebook for two reasons. Reason one is the formatting. Facebook won't allow me to italicize and bold things And the second reason is poor Marlon, who is Facebookless.
Thing the second: This chapter is the result of a vague plot I'd been forming, and was written mostly in Oregon. There is nothing to read in my aunt's house except bodice-ripping heaving bosom novels and books where workaholic career women find love. So expect some influences.
Thing the third: Due to the influences cited above, some of the dialogue is laughably bad. I'm not going to apologize for any lapses in quality, though, because I HAD FUN, DAMN IT. Yay.
Thing the fourth: If you're reading this and are utterly confused (and a bit appalled at my terrible narrative skills), the Peppermint Lane universe was created by me and some friends. Don't ask how, it's a long story.
Thing the fifth: It's storytime!
---
Puppies, Vicki thought. Brad and Angelina adopt their fifth Indian child, and the biggest article in this goddamn magazine is about Jill Heller and her freakshow puppies?
The rest of the article was left unfinished as Vicki Keebler folded The National Enquirer up and fanned herself. The heat was stifling, and since Antonio, Johnny, and everyone else interesting was at work, she lay languidly on a lawn chair in Samantha Partridge's front yard, adjacent to her own. She relaxed, sipping freshly brewed iced tea (Samantha's recipe—she'd never quite gotten the hang of mixing anything other than alcohol) and tanning.
"Funny story," Vicki commented.
"What was?"
"Jill and her kittens," responded Vicki, reluctantly handing over her makeshift fan to Samantha. "It was all over the news last week."
"Oh, right. I'd heard about that. She's new to the neighborhood, isn't she?"
"Yeah. Moved in a couple of months ago. I haven't spoken to her much. Her cat annoys the hell out of me, though. It won't leave my gardener alone."
"Neither will you."
"Well, that's neither here nor there," Vicki coughed, turning over to let the sun color her front. "So…you talked to Jill lately?"
"Um…I made her a JELL-O mold the day she moved in, but she didn't answer her doorbell. So I haven't even met her yet."
"Too bad. She seems like a…lovely…person…lovely…yes…" Vicki's voice trailed off distractedly as her gaze landed on something across the street.
"Vicki? Are you all right?" Samantha's hand tentatively nudged Vicki's.
"Huh?" Her head snapped back towards her neighbor's
"You're drooling."
"Am not."
"Yes, you are. Here, let me clean this up for you." Samantha reached into her pockets and pulled out a moist towelette (here Vicki rolled her eyes—only Samantha would carry around moist towelettes, let alone wear a bathing suit with pockets), dabbing at Vicki's chin. "This happens to my daughter all the time."
"Trust me, there is nothing girlish going on in my head right now."
"What caught your eye, anyway?"
"That," Vicki stated, licking her lips. Her finger singled out a point of interest. A young man, possibly in his early twenties, was mowing the lawn. Under Vicki's lustful stare, he pushed the old-fashioned mower over the grass, pausing to wipe his sweaty brow with the hem of his t-shirt. A glimpse of toned, muscular flesh greeted the two women, and both sighed in appreciation.
"That's Jason Stone. He moved in a few weeks ago, I think."
"Do you know him?"
"Not directly. I wave when I see him, though. He tends to fall down a lot, but he seems okay."
"More than okay, don't you think?" Jason bent over to inspect his lawnmower, and Vicki tilted her head to appreciate the new angle. She set down her glass of tea and unfolded her legs. "I'm going in."
"Go for it," Samantha said, idly flipping the pages of Vicki's abandoned magazine.
Standing up and adjusting the straps of her two-piece bathing suit, she glanced back at her friend before gliding across the street.
"Hello," she purred as she reached her destination. She stepped forward and gave the man a lingering hug, making sure there was pelvic contact, and pulled back slowly.
"Hi," he chirped. "Do I know you?"
"Would you like to?"
"My name's Jason. Jason Stone."
"I'm Vicki Keebler." She searched his face for a sign, any telling detail that would show how much her flirtations were affecting him. But he just kept on nodding, with that annoyingly cheerful expression of his. Clearly, it was time to step up her game.
Jason smiled and said "Nice to meet you.
"My friend and I, we've just been sunbathing all day. It is incredibly hot, don't you think?" The last sentence escaped in a small moan as she pointed towards the yard she'd come from. Feigning fatigue, Vicki stretched her arms in a blissful yawn, sighing in satisfaction as her eyes slipped shut. She opened one eye to peek at him, He was slightly slack-jawed with a glazed-over look in his eye, and his expression was vacant, as if someone had hit him over the head with a heavy blunt object.
Perfect.
She arched a brow innocently. "Something the matter?"
"Huh?" He shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. "Yes—I mean, no—I mean…I don't know. Everything's fine."
"I'd be happy to take care of any problems you have," she purred.
Lucid now, he gave a nervous shrug. "Well…there is one thing…"
"Name it."
"Do you know her?" He pointed towards Samantha's lawn.
"She's a friend of mine, yeah. She lives in that house. Why do you ask?"
Jason scratched the back of his head, looking down. "Do you think you could introduce me?"
Christ, she'd known the guy for about ten minutes, and already he was looking at other women. If this were any other man, she'd be in his pants by now. Gritting her teeth against her irritation, she managed a wide, false grin.
"Oh, you don't want to bother her. She likes the peace and quiet."
He perked up. "So do I!"
"And she has a kid, so you see, she's not much of a partier."
"I love kids!"
Growing desperate, Vicki switched to another tactic. Stepping even closer and pressing her breasts against his arm, she murmured conspiratorially, "And…she hasn't been with a man in years…"
"Neither have I!" He paused. "Woman. Haven't been with a woman. I guess I just haven't found the right girl…" He trailed off, but Vicki could see that the focus of his gaze was on Samantha.
"That's so sweet," she ground out with a tight-lipped smile. Mentally she added die, bitch. "Do you want me to introduce you two?"
"Would you?"
"I'd be happy to." She turned around, rolling her eyes and pulling him forward by the hem of his shirt. She made sure to sway her hips as she walked, hoping that this at least would catch his attention, but one seductive peek over her shoulder told her that it wasn't working. What was wrong with her? Had she lost her touch?
Puzzled, Samantha lowered her Enquirer. "Hey. Can I help you?"
Jason wrung his hands anxiously. "I-I-I, um…" he stammered. ""I'm Jason."
"I know," she laughed. "I'm Samantha. It's a shame we haven't spoken sooner."
"Really?" He blushed at the crack in his voice and cleared his throat. "I mean, yes—" he amended, in an attempt to deepen his voice and maintain composure "—it is a shame. Big shame." He glanced around the yard, apparently searching for a topic of conversation. "I like your house. It's very…homey."
"Err, thanks."
"You'd love my house, too," Vicki piped up. "Especially the furniture in my bedroom."
Ignoring her, Jason went on. "So Vicki tells me you have kids?"
"Yes I do. Just one, a girl. She's eight years old."
Jason's eyes grew soft. "I love kids! I work with them all the time. I coach football at the high school, and on my free time I work with blind children at the community center."
"You do? Wow…that's so…admirable." Samantha was looking at him with more interest now, along with something deeper that Vicki refused to acknowledge.
Initial shyness forgotten, he droned on for about five minutes, explaining the work he did with these amputees, or whatever they were. Vicki wasn't paying attention, really; she was busy watching the way his lips moved. His arm muscles would bunch up whenever he made an enthusiastic gesture, and she was entranced, but she forced herself to focus on his voice. The growing attraction between the two was obvious.
"—and there's Billy, who's stopped peeing on me when I make him do his homework, and Lucy, who brings me dandelions every day, and Joey, who's the best in the class with his Braille...I really love these kids, you know?"
"That's so sweet," Samantha breathed. "Maybe I could join you someday? I'd love to meet them, and I'm sure my daughter would be happy to help out"
"Sure, that'd be fantastic!"
"Where's the community center you work at?"
"The one on Gumdrop Circle, off of Bon Bon Lane. It's not in the best area of town, but these kids have nowhere else to—are you all right?" Jason broke off his sentence, as he noticed that Samantha's face had gone pale.
"Fine. Just…fine. I think I'm going to go inside now, though. I…I'm awfully tired. Bye, Vicki. It was nice meeting you…Jason…but um, I have to go." She got up abruptly, leaving her unfinished iced tea behind.
"What's with her?" Jason asked.
Vicki fingered his shirtsleeve, grateful for this reclaimed opportunity. "I don't know…but I guess now we can get to know each other better, right?"
"Maybe some other time," Jason mumbled, a puzzled frown still marring her perfect face. Damn him. "I need to finish mowing the lawn. See you around sometime." He left without a backward glance.
Looking from Samantha's shut door to Jason's retreating—and perfectly formed—backside, Vicki narrowed her eyes. He deserved a real woman, and she'd see that he got one.
---.
At precisely thirty-two minutes before eleven, the video phone on Vicki's nightstand rang shrilly. She folded the page of her Nora Roberts novel and pressed the speaker button.
"Hello?"
"Honey! I miss you!" Her husband's voice carried through the receiver, but something in his inflection sounded hollow to her ears.
"I…I missed you, too. A lot."
For the next twenty minutes, this was her most meaningful utterance. Small talk and idle chatter filled the gaps, but the conversation teetered on the brink of awkwardness all the same. Their wedding photo stood humbly beside their prom picture, and the glass frame glared at her as she struggled to find words that would bridge the distance between them.
Finally, as her husband's pixelated image blew her a kiss and went black, Vicki Keebler pulled back the silken sheets of her king-sized bed, and went to sleep.
Yay, wasting time! You see, on Myspace something like this would probably be attached to a bulletin threatening to kill your mom if you didn't complete it. Luckily, I did this out of my own volition.
And also, I wish just once someone would make a survey with more interesting questions.
A- Available or taken? Very available, though I'm not actively looking. However, if Hiro Nakamura, Paul Dano, Channing Tatum, or Matt Lewis need someone to carry their children, I will gladly offer my uterus. I'll even deal with the vaginal shredding if it's a particularly hefty baby that I'm going to birth. So if anyone wants to send me one of these boys...
B- Best Friend? I don't think I have a best friend, per se. I have a bunch of very very close friends, but I've yet to share that kind of a bond with someone. Not that I mind. You can't miss what you never had, and I love all of my friends to pieces.
C- Cake or Pie? A certain friend of mine would argue, but I think I'm going to go with cake. Pie crust is tricky to perfect, and I've been scarred by too many bad pie crusts.
D- Drink of Choice? Tapioca pearl tea. Any flavor. And the balls have to be tasty (the tapioca balls, you perv) because some boba tea places use canned pearls rather than fresh, and ick.
E- Essential Item? If I forget my cellphone, I feel very very naked. Also, underwear. Britney, are you listening?
F- Favorite Color? Black, the absence of color. It matches my tortured soul. *is emo* Actually, I don't have a favorite color.
G- Gummi Bears or Worms? Worms. They last longer, since they're bigger, and the thought of eating those cute little bears makes me sad. Though real bears would eat me.
H- Hometown? Santa Clara, California.
I -Indulgence? Probably pearl tea, as stated above. It's a ridiculously expensive habit, and when school was in session I'd walk to Quickly every day to pay $3 for a cup.
J- January or February? What's the difference? I guess February, because it's when birds chirp, bunnies cuddle, and the world just reproduces in general. And on February 15, I go to the grocery store and buy the chocolates on clearance.
K- Kids and names? Kids? We've been over this, people. Immaculate conception was a one-time deal.
L- Life is incomplete without? Love. Corny, yes. But oh so true.
M- Marriage Date? See A, above.
N- Number of Siblings? None. :( I won't have any nieces or nephews to spoil.
O- Oranges or apples? Oranges.
P- Phobias/Fears? Isolation.
Q- Favorite Quote? I have a lot, see Facebook.
R- Reason to Smile? Frowning isn't as fun, and gives you wrinkles besides.
S- Season? Spring and fall, the medium seasons.
T- Tag three people! I already did this on LJ, but if you'd like to do this, feel free.
U- Unknown Fact About Me? I once saved my house from a fire caused by Ricky Martin. I kid ye not.
V- Vegetable you hate? I don't really like a lot of vegetables, but I'll eat them anyway.
W- Worst habit? Err, I don't know. Speaking before I think, maybe. When I'm comfortable with the company I tend to get loud and obnoxious. A lot of habits, really.
X- X-Rays you've had? Teeth. And I think my knee, for some random reason. I've never had an X-rayable injury. Thank goodness, because I'm a huge wimp when it comes to pain.
Y- Your favorite food? Anything Italian, especially stuffed manicotti. My mom's baked potatoes, my quiches...yay, calories! I need to post recipes or something, because this food is the yum.
Z- Zodiac? Leo. Attention-seeking, but not in the traditional ways. I guess instead of being a drama queen, my Leo-ness manifests itself in more subtle ways. Like I'll post my writing or share it with friends, and I'll crave feedback of any kind, even if it's bad. Or I'll call someone if I get the urge, and talk about my issues until I've resolved them, so I feel like someone's listening.
