This is a piece I wrote a long time ago for a friend. She was going to an acting class and needed a pros piece to perform in a dramatic reading.
She gave me a picture of a thin woman with long, black, curlyhair, just past her shoulders. She was looking out over a city street at night. She had a slinky black dress on, a hard determined nose, and she gazed with a look of challenge over the nightly city.
This is her story as seen through my eyes.
Samantha Myer had everything she could’ve ever hoped for, a quaint job as a school teacher in New York, a tabby cat named Oscar, the smell of fresh baked goods lacing the air on her morning walk for coffee. She was a simple woman with simple dreams and she was content with that… or so she thought.
There was something not quite right that day, she didn’t know what it was; couldn’t quite put her finger on it. There was something odd while she pulled her hair into its tight, practical bun, and in the click her shoes made on the side walk, making her way to school, something deeper in the desirable, rich, doughy smells of that bakery, a longing there as she approached that building which contained all that she thought she was.
Her job was her life, it defined her, and she toiled so hard to keep its comfort. The functions on the board that seemed to calculate into the sums that never changed; numbers, more like shapes, scrolled and scratched into a pity of theory that concluded there supposed importance. Something was very off today in the life of Miss Myer, what it was she wasn’t quite sure, but one thing she knew, it excited her.
On that cold autumn night in October, nothing strange happened. The door didn’t open, the television was off, the bed in which she had laid in, each night at 9 o’clock for the last sixteen years was still made and undisturbed. Oscar, her tabby cat and best friend, waited eagerly for his evening meal, but this night, for the first time, Oscar went hungry, and just as Miss Myer’s favorite Soap would begin, a strange woman entered Hank Brosk’s annual Halloween party.
She was beautiful, curled hair, black as onyx, and a gorgeous Maxi Mara over coat, line at the waist left only enough for a shadow to obscure and entice. She wore mystery like negligee, and crimson lips that challenged.
They all stood with secret curiosity, gazing at this, some how familiar, beauty.
Hank was the first to approach, unashamed and more than a little drunk. He said she looked “hot”, not exactly how she envisioned her first real compliment, but there was something beyond his half wit stammerings in her mind, something lingering and dark.
“Sadie…” she said, “…the most important word you’ll ever hear.” Just then she grabbed him by the collar and some how this slender woman managed to drag the star quarter back down a hall and up three flights of cold, metallic steel.
The air was cold on the rooftop of the Lafayette Sky Luxury Apartment Complex, but Sadie was some how warm, Sadie was hot, steaming and writhing, sweating, doing something she had never known she wanted to do, and now she wanted it bad…she wanted to be bad. She wanted more and more, greedy with desire she couldn’t stop, she had been stopping her whole life and now she just wanted to go….. go…. go. And she did, and she did.
She would say it was all a blur, it probably was, she couldn’t seem to remember how she found the strength to hurl a half naked football star off a roof top that night, as he was crying like a baby, and begging her to stop what they were doing.
You see Hank had limits, limits she could no longer comprehend. He was all talk, but she didn’t care, all that talking didn’t mean a thing, she was still warm, and she was still ready to go….. go…. go.
Even at the police station, where she couldn’t find much use for words anymore, or at the court house as they copiously threw angry four syllable words in her direction; they all meant the same thing, they all meant nothing.
A few months later the lights dimmed in the not so nice places of the city, and women shielded there children’s innocent eyes as she bled, but she loved to bleed now, people screamed when she smiled, the smile of satisfaction.
Samantha Myer might have died that night, but Sadie, she was still warm, she was steaming, and she was still ready to go….. go…. go.