He was all lanky limbed, cowboy on the town shiny, with just a little edge of mean. She wore too much make-up, too tight jeans, acting twenty, looking forty, and feeling a hundred. He had that easy way of flirting. He threw out the lines and she caught them, smile painted on in Luscious Pink. A couple of hours later they were both nineteen again, heading out the door to his red pickup and her apartment.
There was no good reason to get up except she had to pee. She ran her hand down the empty side of the bed and found the slip of paper with her phone number on it. She picked it up and dropped it in the trashcan with the picture of Elvis on it. She added another regret to the pile already lying on her pillow. The stack of regrets, drunken pledges of love, promises to call, was big enough that old mattress ought to be sagging to the floor. She fluffed up the lacy pillows and straightened out the pink comforter.
She started the coffee and dry-swallowed a couple of aspirin. Her mouth tasted like morning-after alcohol and she could smell Old Spice and sweat on her skin. While the coffee pot worked its magic she stood in the shower washing the night before down the drain. Too many nights, bars, and men. Maybe she had been going about this all wrong. For a moment that hole in her heart opened up and it was filled with broken glass. She slammed that door shut — didn’t want to go there. She turned off the water and stepped out, dried off and used the towel to wipe the steam from the mirror that had stopped loving her a while ago. The bright light was not kind and she frowned. Maybe she should use some tips to go down to the department store and buy that red jar of age-defying moisturizer she had seen advertised.
She brushed her teeth and hair and pulled on a tee-shirt and sweats. Barefoot she imagined cooking bacon and eggs and morning laughter and quiet talk. All the things she wished for. Coffee cup in hand, she curled up on the wooden swing on her back porch, and wondered why she kept trying. The faces of all the men blurred together. They had each taken a piece of her but they had left a tiny bit of themselves behind too. Did that make her less for what was taken or more for what was left? Didn’t feel like more. If mama was alive she would have told her to get herself to church but she didn’t need a preacher to tell her she wasn’t living right. She was sitting here on the swing alone and that was enough indictment right there.
She brought the cup up to her lips and realized it was empty. Glaring at the cup, she realized she could sum up her life in that piece of china. It was crazed and cracked, a leftover from her mother; it didn’t fit her, but she didn’t know how to let it go and if she just continued the way she was going it would end up broken and useless. Wishing wouldn’t fill it up.
Standing up on the back porch, a tear ran down her cheek as she squared her shoulders and threw the cup as hard as she could. It hit the old oak tree and shattered. “Time for a change!” she thought. She went in the house and found the flyer advertising night courses at the junior college. She tugged on a pair of jeans, grabbed her purse and the flyer. It was time to do a bit of upgrading on her own life. She was going to get out of the cafe, get out of the bars, and get out of this town.
Her mama used to say if you wanted to have a friend, you had to be a friend. Maybe the same principle worked with men. You want to meet better men? Be a better woman. After she got herself registered in some business classes she just might shop for some new dishes.
Dee Martin has lived in seven states and has stories to tell about all of them.
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31 Responses to “LADIES NIGHT • by Dee Martin”
Comments
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December 3rd, 2009 at 4:26 am
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December 3rd, 2009 at 5:12 am
Dee, this is a wonderful story. A great character who’s been doing everything the wrong way but we know she’s really going to make it right.
One small thing. I suspect there should be a comma before the word ‘shiny’? That threw me at first read and very nearly put me off. I’m pleased I read on.
I loved the cathartic destruction of that symbolic cup. Terrific. A worthy five.
December 3rd, 2009 at 5:59 am
A lovely way with words in this one. You set just exactly the right tone, used the perfect voice throughout. I found myself holding my breath, waiting for the inevitable misstep, which never came.
Oscar, I think he was “cowboy-on-the-town-shiny”, a specific kind of shiny. It’s a funny thing, that first sentence hooked me right from the start.
I too loved the destruction of the cup, although I could have done without the tear; but that’s just me.
December 3rd, 2009 at 6:02 am
I agree….that first sentence had me hooked! Good job!
December 3rd, 2009 at 6:30 am
I found this story to be an enjoyable read in terms of character development.
But Mister Nitpicky became confused by certain elements of the story. Here’s what he told me:
He got lost trying to figure out how the protagonist ended up back at her apartment with the cowboy and then, after she wakes up and he’s long gone she suddenly has a home with a back porch and a swing and then goes on to smash her coffee cup against a tree in her backyard. I told him that maybe the main character lived in an older house that had been chopped up into a duplex apartment or that she was imagining that setting like she imagined cooking and eating some bacon and eggs.
Then he started asking me about the wooden swing. How does one curl up on a wooden swing? Mister Nitpicky wants to try it so he was hoping to receive instructions on how to do so.
Lastly, Mister Nitpicky told me to tell you that he thinks that your story and main character both have ample potential but you need to vigorously edit your own writing and rid yourself of cliched and muddled expressions such as the one about having a hole in your heart full of glass that you slam the door on.
Personally I’m trying to ignore Mister Nitpicky and you might want to too. He just quit smoking and he’s a real bitch to deal with today.
Ouch!
December 3rd, 2009 at 7:12 am
Matthew and Mr. Nitpicky have covered just about everything needing covering, but I’ll toss in two more.
First, this was good. It had a bit of an old school feel to the writing, which I enjoyed. I actually thought the broken glass in the heart line was appropriate since this story was the fodder of every sad country song ever written, and so it “fit.”
What I thought was missing was the “ah ha” moment for the MC. She’s been through nights like this before, had these regrets, why was this one any different? If it was just the proverbial back-breaking straw, well, okay, but I wanted something with more umph. The writer is clearly skilled enough to pull it off.
Second issue is the lack of a name. Personal preference, writer’s license, blah blah blah, but names help us identify with characters. This girl was a C.J. or a Beth-Ann or maybe a Charlie. Something other than a pronoun.
Enjoyed. Thanks,
–John
December 3rd, 2009 at 7:16 am
I very much enjoyed this. I know many people –of both genders– who should read this story.
Thanks
December 3rd, 2009 at 7:20 am
I knew I was in for a ride when I stutter stepped my way through the first paragraph. I obviously don’t know the difference between a shiny town or a shiny cowboy, or what they are like when not shiny.
I did like ” Did that make her less for what was taken or more for what was left?” It’s a question I had to ask myself in divorce court.
I too wondered where you got an apartment with a swing, a tree, and a back yard. Every one I’ve ever lived in the patio barely accommodated a chair and a pair of work boots.
This read more like a country and western song, and I’m more of a Beethoven or Sinatra or Ozzy kind of guy. (How’s that for diversity?)
Still, not a bad read.
December 3rd, 2009 at 7:25 am
Good luck quitting Mr. Nitpicky, it’s not easy.
Anyway, I hate to be the unfriendly face, I do, but I just didn’t get into this. Sorry.
That’s it! It might just be me, but I would have liked it the reason for the glassy hole in her heart, or some more background, so I can understand how she was distraught and unhappy.
December 3rd, 2009 at 7:36 am
Fabulous! It was more like watching a movie than reading a short story! This lady has major potential…we will certainly be hearing more from her.
Loved the story…reminded me of one of my sisters.
December 3rd, 2009 at 7:49 am
Nice story.
December 3rd, 2009 at 7:51 am
“…cowboy on the town shiny, with just a little edge of mean” – I think I was married to this guy. Great imagery!
December 3rd, 2009 at 7:55 am
I see some people liked the opening sentence/paragraph … not me! The beginning of the story definitely tended to turn me **OFF**. Not much story here, mostly just a character sketch. No idea why she’s been doing this for who knows how long, and suddenly THIS TIME it’s different. Didn’t really go anywhere for me.
And I think I have to agree with Mr. Nitpicky, was there a magic word that turned an apartment into a house with a backyard?
December 3rd, 2009 at 8:00 am
Dee,
You can always tell when you’ve written a great story when the nitpickers enter the stage and start discussing the use of pronouns and the way the characters are sitting, standing, etc. In a recent story on a critique forum, the grammar police attacked an author who wrote a one character story for using too many pronouns when the author should have used her name more. Go figure. I like this story.
December 3rd, 2009 at 8:17 am
I loved it – you nailed it very nicely, and I am intuitive enough to enjoy a concise story when I read one. Some of the nitpickers here forget about the word limit and how difficult it is to write detail in a flash format. Thanks for this story. It does not need further exposition.
December 3rd, 2009 at 8:51 am
Great. Now you’ve riled up Mister Nitpicky Joe.
He’s driving me so crazy I just want to shove a pack of cigarettes down his throat and be done with him but he told me to say that the critiques and criticisms of today’s story generally have nothing whatsoever to do with him or anyone else (from what he has read in the “Comments” section) being grammar cops. Almost everyone enjoyed the story. His criticism of the story and almost everyone else’s had to do with its incongruities and are being directed towards the author in a constructive fashion.
For example:
Apartment? With a backyard? Plausible as Mister Nitpicky’s suggestion of a house that’s been converted into a duplex but please tell me as a reader if this has happened. It would have only required adding “duplex” in front of “apartment.” Saying “the ground floor of a duplex apartment” would have been even better.
Now don’t be going and making Mister Nitpicky put on his grammar sheriff’s cowboy hat. He’s liable to turn the key and start up his horse and start editing you too. Not a pretty sight to behold!
Please!
December 3rd, 2009 at 9:36 am
Here we go again. What is it about Mister Nitpicky that everyone hates so much?
Mister Nitpicky shares your feelings Kate regarding enjoying the story and understands the limitations of writing detail in a format like “flash fiction” but will not tell an “ugly duckling” that it is beautiful until it has finally become a “swan.” The problems with incongruities in the details of this story are the ugly duckling. Fix them and you would have a swan to behold in all it’s thousand word glory.
This author has talent and could easily turn her ugly duckling into that thousand word swan but only through constructive criticism. Telling the little ugly duckling that its beautiful is a lie. Telling the little ugly duckling that it has the potential to become a beautiful swan is far more accurate and ultimately more beneficial to any aspiring author.
Cigarette Kate?
December 3rd, 2009 at 10:16 am
I gave the story a 4. “Mr. Nitpicky” gets a 1 for being passive-aggressive and too cute by half.
December 3rd, 2009 at 10:39 am
I agree with you Bob.
I don’t like Mister Nitpicky’s behaviour today very much either.
What should we do about him?
Get him a pack of smokes?
December 3rd, 2009 at 10:50 am
This one reads like a country song. Nice character study, but the incongruities mentioned above threw me, too.
December 3rd, 2009 at 11:14 am
I guess I’m the weird one here. No problemo with the story line , it all made sense to me..Hmm guess not many have been uptown dog dirty with substance abuse Hmmmm
Or just floundering through life, Breaking point , hitting bottom….something changes and then the people do also. Awww whats the point I give it a 5 *****
December 3rd, 2009 at 12:40 pm
Hello again,
After seeing the #15 I worried that I might have stated my point wrongly.
I did liked the story, but thought there should be more to it. Thats not a bad thing.
But Kate, while I recognise the difficulties of the word limit I think it’s odd to say a story is controled by them. If it went over a 1000 words there are publishers who handle that sort of thing. A story should be as long as it has to be, long or short.
December 3rd, 2009 at 2:44 pm
The story read like an old-fashioned detective novel. . .but for me, that’s a compliment. I like the way the authors wrote back then. 4 stars.
December 3rd, 2009 at 4:30 pm
I was sure that by the end of the day I would be crying but no tears here. Thank you all of you. I appreciate the time you invested in reading and commenting. I am happy if you enjoyed the story.
I appreciate the constructive advice and need to work on the living arrangements problem. That was something I totally missed. Thank you for hiding it in between my ample potential and talent!
The “cliched and muddled expressions” smarted a bit but at least I’m not in the throes of nicotine withdrawal. I’ll deal.
A name and an “ah ha” moment would clearly improve the story. I have a tendency to leave my flash fiction characters with no names and I’m working on that. I have a sneaking suspicion that I don’t know their name when I begin to write about them but I should at the end. I like C.J. Her mama named her Catherine Marie but C.J. suited her high heeled cowboy boot life style better. Perhaps after she completes her education she will become Catherine again. C.J. will have to change her musical preferences to go with her new lifestyle. The bad country song thing has so not been working for her. Kind of like that guy Jim she met last time around. That one wasn’t going anywhere….
Thank you again. You are all marvelous and made for an interesting and not soul crushing first experience. I will try to do better and bring it next time around.
December 3rd, 2009 at 7:26 pm
I would’ve rated this higher had the character been named. The constant “she” bugged the daylights outta me.
December 3rd, 2009 at 9:05 pm
Dee,
You are a classy and talented lady! Keep writing; your potential is high.
I, too tend to cringe at how harsh some people can be with their critiques. Giving your opinion on a piece is one thing (that is what thais type of place is good for, as it can help you grow as a writer), but, to beat someone down with near hateful criticisms is uncalled for. We all have our own voice as writers, as well we should; if we were all the same, can you imagine how bored we’d become with the literary world??? Hone your own unique talent and keep singing in your own voice.
December 3rd, 2009 at 9:07 pm
yes, I know I made a typo. Bad Margie!:)
December 5th, 2009 at 7:47 am
Good morning, Sister Dee: looks like you didn’t need any of the old folks, after all. Plenty could see the beauty and treasure of your wiley ways, you old duckling, you. Seems to me, as I was reading this gem from your trove, that flash fictions are more prose poems than we may like to admit, and prose poems (any kind of poem) allow for much less fastening down than more standard prose might. Yes, there’s a lot of emotional ground to cover here, which assumes artifice from the start: we’re singin’ a song, and you’re one of my favorite country and western singers. The lack of a name, a ploy of which I am, as you know, particularly fond in my own writing, means that we can all slip inside “her” skin, should we care to. As for the “spark” that ignites her change, I don’t think you could have been any clearer than you were. Any acting twenty, looking forty woman who finds herself bedding down with Old Spice is gonna have to make a change as of yestiddy, gotta run not walk right on down to the dean of admissions at the college to get that stink out. Peace/out, amiga.
December 6th, 2009 at 11:14 am
To Paschal (#28): once again we come up with a very fundamental difference in viewpoint. You seem to view a flash piece as a “prose poem” (whatever the heck that is!!), and consider that a good thing.
I, on the other hand, expect a flash piece to be a STORY with plot, action, things happening. I expect it to be exactly the same as a regular short story, except that we have pared it down to the bare bones so it will fit in the allotted 1000 words.
Often when I start writing a story, I have no idea how long it will turn out to be. If I can do everything needed in 1000 words or less, it goes in the flash pile. Way over 1000 words and it’s a regular short story. I have had some come out right near the boundary, and had to decide whether to trim it down for a flash, or flesh it out for a regular short story. The key here is that I do NOTHING DIFFERENT except to worry about the length.
Whatever a “prose poem” is, I don’t write them, and I will probably have a negative reaction when reading them (if this was an example). And … I am sure we will continue to disagree in the future
December 7th, 2009 at 11:35 am
Pulled me in and entertained so well I didn’t notice the inconsistent location until I read the comments. Masterful style.
December 15th, 2009 at 6:24 pm
I thought this was great. Very consistent flow. Made me interested, sharing regret and resolution.