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"Beauty And The Beast II: One Year
Later" (the twenty-fifth ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (DST), September 15, 2003 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| Beauty and the Beast II: One Year Later by Jenn Malatesta nekrosys@isoc.net http://www.isoc.net/brokeninside/nekrosys/ (Entry #7) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| Hoping to steel her nerves, Belle
took a steaming gulp of coffee from her Styrofoam cup. It did not help. If
anything, the bitter liquid scalded her mouth and made her throat drier. An odd
assortment of women filled in the circle of folding chairs behind her. Although
it was easier to think of the other group members as virtual strangers, Belle
had to admit she had much in common with them. Over the archway beside her hung
a crisp banner proudly proclaiming "Disney Damsels". "Oh, Belle, dear," crooned Cinderella, "are you almost ready? You are the star of our show this evening " Belle turned around, startled at this sudden sound of her name, and focused on Cinderella. As the President of the support group, she sat primly in her seat, a complex tiara of silver and diamonds glittering atop her honey curls. Resisting the urge to backhand her and knock the smug look from her face, Belle sat down in one of the empty chairs. Not waiting for her response, Cinderella continued, "Good, now that we are all here, we can begin our meeting. Both Mulan and Ariel have sent their regrets. Apparently Mulan is off fighting another campaign, and Ariel is busy lobbying for governmental controls on tuna harvesting in the Pacific Ocean." A good-natured snicker filled the room as everyone imagined Ariel, Champion of the Dolphins. Wendy, who, had chosen not to remain in Neverland, took this moment of distraction to take a swig from the tiny metal flask she kept hidden in her velvet purse. Like her ex-boyfriend Peter, she too refused to grow up. She wore a hot pink Hello Kitty T-shirt and a leather mini skirt. Rumors proliferated that her current alcoholism directly resulted from all the medicine Nana gave the Darling children in the nursery so long ago. "As you all know, Walt, our benevolent creator, formed groups like this to facilitate discussion about the special hurdles and challenges we face as part of Disney's elect." Cinderella's face flushed with excitement as she spoke. "We all play a special part in the world of Disney. Each of our contributions to Disney's mystique is unique and irreplaceable. Whether we are princesses," she self-assuredly patted her blue silk gown, "or paupers, all of us are important." She turned her attention again to Belle. "This evening we have the privilege to hear Belle's humble story." The room grew quiet. Belle began in a rush, hoping to fill the silence left after Cinderella's homily. "My name is Belle, and I am a Disney Damsel." "Hello, Belle," they all warbled back. She cleared her throat and continued, "I never really felt like I fit in my home town..." Looking at her fellow group members, she felt even more out of place here. "It was rather provincial, and my father was labeled the town's "crazy inventor". Most of my time I spent reading and avoiding the advances of Gaston, the gun-toting town redneck that had his heart set on me." "Oh, Gaston. I've heard of him, " Aurora said, rolling her eyes, "the typical male." Sleeping Beauty's crewcut and combat fatigues diametrically opposed her past princess garb, and was far removed from her days of living as Briar Rose. "Let me guess. He thought he was Walt's gift to women and couldn't understand why you didn't swoon under his affections." "Well, yes… That's basically it." Aurora crossed her camouflaged legs in a huff. "What is it with these Disney men? They act like we are all trophies to be won! They don't take 'no' for an answer and totally disregard our opinions! I think Prince Phillip would have been much happier if he had not kissed me, and I would have stayed in a mindless slumber forever." Their messy divorce almost expelled them both from Disney's dynasty. Aurora subsequently joined a militant feminist group, putting her under even greater scrutiny. She still came to the support group faithfully, but everyone weeded carefully through her rhetoric. Cinderella's pleasant expression soured. "Well, Aurora, dear, that may be your experience, but we are hearing Belle's story this evening." She smiled condescendingly at Belle and said, "Please, continue." "Well, one day my father decided to enter an invention in a village contest, hoping to reverse our current financial misfortunes." She smiled to herself. It really was a crazy invention. Her father designed it to chop wood at lightening speed, and the machine very likely would have maimed anyone who tried to use it. Until recently, Belle always imagined him to be open-minded, especially from so many years of destitute living. But after a year of marriage, he still did not accept the Beast as his son-in-law. "Becoming lost on the way to the festival, he stumbled upon a seemingly abandoned mansion and was captured by the Beast. After I found my father, I offered to stay with the Beast in my father's place, so he could return to town and receive the medical attention he obviously needed. The Beast was happy to accept me as a substitute prisoner." Snow White piped up timidly from the far end of the circle. "The Beast probably wanted you to live there so he could protect you from your evil stepmother." Belle was confused. "My evil stepmother?" "Yes, who wanted the kindly huntsman to cut out your heart and bring it to her in a box." "I don't have an evil stepmother. I don't even have a mother." "No evil stepmother?" "No." "Then a witch perhaps? A witch who was jealous of your beauty and plotted to feed you a poisoned apple." "No witch, either." Snow White looked at Belle like a freak of nature. "A dragon?" Aurora retorted, "Oh, shut up, you codependent twit! Don't you have some Prozac to take or something?" With a frightened squeal, Snow White started rocking back and forth in her chair, planting her hands firmly over her ears. Belle resumed her story. "I had no huntsman, angry stepmother or witch to be afraid of, but at first, I was very frightened of the Beast. Dark and brooding, he spent much of his time in the abandoned West Wing of his house. One night against his orders, I decided to investigate this forbidden area of the mansion. In a shadowy room I found a single red rose enshrined under a bell jar. It was wilting horribly and I decided to water it. But just as I lifted the jar, the Beast came in and threw an alarming fit." "A rose under a jar!" Pocahontas looked horrified, "How savage!" It was hard to focus on what she was saying. As always happened when she spoke in this way, a cloud of Technicolor leaves materialized and swirled around her. "Does he think the earth is just a dead thing he can claim? Doesn't he know every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name?" "Well, he was very caring with it. I got the feeling he was trying to protect it." She was silent a moment, then continued, "But, despite this and my love for my father, I decided that no one should have to deal with that kind of verbal abuse, and I left. However, during my attempted escape, wolves attacked, and if it were not for the Beast's intervention, I would have been killed. During the foray, the wolves badly wounded the Beast, so I felt obliged to return to his house with him and nurse them back to health." "Ah," Wendy croaked from her alcoholic haze, "you were better off without him. You should've let that little whore Tinkerbell have him!" Cinderella glared at Wendy and shook her head disdainfully. Feeling the sudden need to defend her decision, Belle spat out, "But, it wasn't like that!" Looking over the motley set of damsels around her, she wondered if there was any way to explain the arc of electric desire that sparked between her and the Beast following his convalescence. "As the days I spent with the Beast turned into weeks… I realized that I was beginning to fall in love with him. Yes, he was rough and abrupt, but I always knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling. His moods were electrifying! Being with him was like standing unbalanced on the edge of a cliff. It was like waiting for a twister to touch down or lightening to strike. There was something strangely exciting, knowing that if he wanted, he could tear me to pieces in a second. It did not bother me that he had fangs and fur. His passion, his fury, were intrinsically bound to his appearance." A warm flush crept up Belle's neck. "That's the way I felt deep inside about my Quasimodo." Esmeralda, who generally was very outspoken, was uncharacteristically subdued. "I should have never went off with Phoebus!" Belle shifted in her chair, causing the metal underneath to creak. "Then things began to fall apart. Gaston decided that if he could not have me in marriage, no one, especially the Beast, would. He incited the townsfolk to attack the Beast's mansion, and during the battle the Beast was gravely injured. We happened to be in the forbidden room with the rose. As his breath grew shallower, and the last rose petal shuddered from its stem, I begged him not to leave me and confessed my undying love to him." "It was all downhill from there. By revealing my devotion, I had unknowingly broken the spell that had first transformed him from a prince into the Beast I knew. A glowing fog washed over us and before my eyes, my lovely Beast changed back into a gawky prince. He had the same eyes as the Beast. But this prince had red hair, pale skin, and a totally different demeanor from my precious Beast." "They always change," Aurora said knowingly. "I grew to abhor him. After his metamorphosis, he spent hours each day singing and dancing joyfully. He spoke with the mirthful, twittering animals that lived outside his mansion. He planted garden after flower garden. An expert was called in to help him and Mrs. Potts arrange our living space with the principles of feng shui. He wore gaudy frilled silk shirts and velvet stretch pants. The heavy curtains were swept back and sunlight filled every corner of his home. Gone was the fretting, troubled soul I had fallen in love with." Wendy interjected, "Honey, you should've know the minute you saw him mooning over that damn rose!" "Well, I must agree with Wendy on that," said Pocahontas. "A rose in a jar. Barbaric!" "He's just so… so… civilized now!" Belle moaned, "He spends hours arranging flowers and cooking exotic meals and preening in front of the mirror." This apparently triggered a memory in Snow White because she prattled, "And if you let me stay, I'll keep house for you. I'll wash and sew and sweep and cook and…" Wendy rolled her eyes and took another swig from her flask, no longer concealing the liquor. With a frustrated sigh, Belle fumed, "Oh! Sometimes I wish Mrs. Potts was still a piece of china so I could smash her to bits!" "Belle, dear," Cinderella stammered, turning a sickly shade of gray. "We need to get our emotions under control. I'm sure it's not all that bad. Your prince actually sounds quite charming!" "Maybe for you, you prissy bitch!" Wendy roared, "Some of us prefer our men to act like men! Not like fruity little boys!" "Some of us prefer women…" Aurora added, sensuously leering at Cinderella. Snow White violently rocked now, "Lips red as the rose. Hair black as ebony. Skin white as snow… One taste of the poisoned apple and the victim's eyes will close forever in the sleeping death…" "Girls, girls," Cinderella pleaded, "Walt would not appreciate this behavior! We need to accept what we are – what we've become. Our story lines were written with our best interests in heart." "When she breaks the tender peel to taste the apple in my hand, her breath will still, her blood congeal…" "Well, I'm sorry, Cindy!" Belle jumped up suddenly, her chair clattering shut on the floor behind her. "I will not accept this characterization of myself!" Cinderella bristled at the nickname and at Belle's outburst. "The dwarfs will think she's dead. She'll be buried alive!" "Can't you see?" Belle stared intently at the rest of the group. "They have these meetings to control us! The more we talk about our problems, the less time we will have to fix them! As long we are distraught damsels, the Disney Empire will keep us subservient! We will always have somebody like Cindy keeping us down, with her glass slipper firmly planted on the back of our necks!" Belle drew in a deep breath, hope and determination coursing through her veins. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go home to see if I can change my husband back into the beast he once was!" Leaving shocked silence in her wake, edged with a hint of titillation, Belle swept out of the room. |
| Beauty and the Beast II: One Year Later by topcat@spiritone.com (Entry #13) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| Two horses, sweating and laboring,
pulled the little wooden wagon to the top of the hill where they were allowed
to rest for a while. The occupants of the wagon, Lyudmilla and Gregor, dressed
in loose fitting comfortable clothing adorned by bits of jewelry here and
there, gazed down at the fertile valley where a small village flanked the
meanderings of a lazy river. They only gave it the merest glance for the eyes
of any traveller were automatically riveted on the imposing castle that perched
in a resplendent manner on the far hill. Its fine brickwork and majestic
turrets dully reflected the fading sunlight and spoke of great wealth, as the
two weary gypsies stared at it in awe. "There it is, my lovely lovebird. The manorial domicile of the one they call The Beast, and his beautiful young bride." "It's a pip, even nicer than we had heard all these years." "Yes it is, my splendid sparrow. It should be quite perfect." "Let's just see if what we've have heard about their kindness and generosity is true." "It has been well known for a long time, my winsome wren. We should be poor mountebanks ourselves if we cannot find a way to deprive them of their embarassment of riches." A plan was quickly devised. They would hide the wagon in a copse of nearby trees, go to the village dressed in their finest clothes, and glean what information the villagers could offer. Riding into town on their hastily groomed horses, they soon were directed to the only inn in the village. He was soon buying pints of ale for the few idlers in the inn with the last of their meagre savings, and cajoling them into small talk. Ladies not being allowed in the pub room, his wife went across the street to the market to chat with the local gossips. An hour later, they were once more astride their horses and headed for the castle, confident of admittance, and satisfied they had all the needed information to devise a strategem. "It seems, my sweet skylark, that the one formerly known as the Beast somehow became a handsome man a year ago. He then found he could woo any fair lady in the shire and has been striving systematically towards that end. The remainder of his time is spent on imbibing strong spirits and gambling." "That's what I heard tell also. Her ladyship got a bee in her bonnet about his carrying on and got back at him the same way. Her only other hobbies are spending his boodle on expensive clothes and eating fine meals. I hear she's put on a few pounds and really let herself go." "Very good work, my pulchritudinous peacock. If this once perfect couple has degenerated into libertines, then perhaps we can separately curry their affections and make off with any gifts, jewelry, or valuables they might have lying about." "Leave it to me. I still got my charms, don't I?" "Indubitably, my svelte songbird. Onward to the castle!" Lyudmilla approached the castle first seeking work as a domestic. She was hired on the spot, as the turnover in servants there was excessive. Gregor followed an hour later introducing himself as the Count of Sharpeton. A surly superannuated butler informed him that the prince was in his chambers and her ladyship was out in the garden somewhere. He indicated this with a wave of his gnarled hand as he ambled off into the shabby interior. A trifle nonplussed, Gregor nonetheless brushed his hair back, whisked off some of the road dust from his good suit, and traipsed off to the garden to woo the remains of the princess. As prearranged, Gregor and Lyudmilla met just before dinner at the back door to compare notes. "Well, my captivating little cardinal, any luck?" "I knowed he had a habit of making free with the help so I snuck up to his chambers. He sent me packing with a thump on my bottom saying I was too old, the cheeky old sot. How about you?" "I'm afraid our tales are similar, my fetching finch. I found the solicitous affections I lavished on her ladyship to be returned in a less than magnanimous fashion. In short, I too was dumped." "There ain't much worth anything around here. I think our best bet is to try to get hold of some of their money." "Quite so, my pretty parakeet. We had better switch targets. I shall set my cerbellum to ruminating at dinner and ratiocinate a brilliant gambit, I am sure. And you?" "Don't you worry about me. I'll come up with something or another. Don't I always?" "Indubitably, my ebullient egret. Back into the fray!" A chilly wind was waving around a half-hearted drizzle sometime after midnight as the couple made their way back to their hidden encampment. "Well, my fetching finch, did you have any luck?" "I went to her ladyship's rooms after dinner and passed myself off as a fine dressmaker. After I give her my spiel and show her my samples of beautiful cloth, she gave me this bag of gold coins as an advance." "Quite an admirable accomplishment, my naughty nightingale, but wherever did you get the samples." "I crawled under the table during dinner when no one was looking, and cut swatches off the dresses of some of the ladies there. My, won't they be madder than a nest of hornets when they find out." "Capital, my crafty canary. I myself had occasion to suggest a friendly little game of cards with the prince and I'm afraid his luck was not running too well, especially the more he drank. I too have possession of a fairly weighty bag of gold." "Atta boy. I knew you could do it, lovey. It was tiring work, but sure worth it. I could sleep all day." "And you shall, my little mud turt...er, turtle dove, but first we should hitch up the wagon and continue our peregrinations. I am desirous of being out of this shire by sunup. You see, I fear the prince will be a trifle peturbed when he wakes up and finds that I marked all the cards." |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later by benjamin_401@hotmail.com |
#1 of 13 |
| 87 words | |
| Beauty , I write this on the eve of our anniversary. It has been a year since we wed and I'm still in love with thee. You make me laugh at the silly things you do. Everything you touch your beauty shines through. I love our walks through the garden and our talks at the dining table. I'm glad we're together and I'll be there for you as long as I am able. Love Always, The Beast Dear Beast, I have some news, I'm pregnant. Love, Beauty |
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| Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later by shobantwal@aol.com |
#2 of 13 |
| 1065 words | |
| "Here’s to a very successful and productive year,
my dear." Tom Higginbotham, or F. Thomas Higginbotham III, as he was known in
loftier social circles, raised his wine glass in a toast. He then swallowed a
mouthful of the robust red wine and grinned at his wife of thirty-eight years
across the large and ornate dining table. Sissy Higginbotham quirked a well-shaped eyebrow in disdain at her husband and ran a small manicured hand over her blond curls before she took a dainty sip of spring water from her own glass. "You call the past year a success?" "A roaring success, my darling," replied Tom and guffawed with delight at the look of wry disbelief on his wife’s face. He slurped the rest of his wine, making sure the sound was loud enough to grate on his refined wife’s delicate nerves. He loved teasing his beautiful Sissy. She was so easy to rile and the more he shocked her with his less-than-impeccable manners, the more he enjoyed it. His sweet little wife was so predictable and so damned upper crust. And what an interesting contrast she made to his colossal, uncouth and unattractive self. His trophy wife. "It’s been more like a circus. Get a grip on reality, Thomas. Really!" Sissy offered him a soft, ladylike snivel and dabbed at her coral-tinted lips with a linen napkin. "Our little Amy celebrates her first wedding anniversary in a week and I made another million in the last forty-eight hours on Wall Street. Now, that’s a goddamned successful year if you ask me," he declared with immense satisfaction, then plunged his fork into the oversized prime rib on his plate with the kind of gleeful enthusiasm only a large, famished, meat-loving man possesses. "Stop cussing, Thomas, and I wish you’d cut back on the red meat," Sissy admonished with a frown and went back to eating her meager salad of Belgian endives and artichoke hearts sprinkled with raspberry vinaigrette. "You’re going to kill yourself with all that fat-laden food." "A man’s got to eat like a man, Sissy. If I eat your elegant little French salads and your salt-free Japanese tofu balls I’ll surely die of malnutrition." "But you weigh nearly three hundred pounds, dear. And you’re getting bigger every day." "And uglier," quipped Tom on an amused chuckle. He stuffed his mouth full of dripping beef and chewed for a minute, his mind moving on to a more pressing subject. "So, what anniversary gift are we getting for Amy and George?" "Nothing." "Aw, come on, Sissy! Let’s get the kids something nice and insanely expensive." "You can get it yourself, Thomas. I refuse to endorse this travesty of a marriage." "Be happy for our little girl, Sissy. She’s finally found herself a husband. A real flesh-and-blood husband instead of that repulsive inflatable Ken doll she used to hide in her closet." A startled gasp escaped Sissy’s mouth. "You know about that?" "I may be an unsightly bastard, darling, but I’m not stupid. I know she often slept with that pathetic plastic dummy. Our girl’s got a man in her bed now." "Ugh, that sounds so vulgar!" Sissy sniffed in disgust. "Besides, George is entirely unsuitable for our Amy. And don’t you pretend otherwise, Thomas Higginbotham the third." Throwing his napkin on the table, Tom rose to his enormous height. When his wife addressed him by his official name it meant trouble. She was in a fighting mood. It also meant he’d just lost his appetite. A damned shame, too. That steak was scrumptious. Then he turned to his wife with a scowl. "Now listen here, Sissy. You’re going to be happy for Amy, even if it pains you. She’s our only child and she’s made a nice little life for herself." "But George is a horrid man. Just look at his face and tell me…" "I know you’re disturbed about George’s looks," Tom interrupted. "His looks are not his fault, darling. God made him like that, just like God made me a hulking mammoth with warts, bug eyes and big teeth and He made you in the mold of a fair-haired little angel." He smiled and added, "My lovely angel." Sissy blushed and rolled her big blue eyes. "But you have a good heart, Thomas." "I’m sure George is a good man, too, Sissy." "Bah! That man married Amy for one reason and one reason only." "And what’s that?" Tom’s ruddy face turned a brighter shade of red. He was beginning to lose his patience with Sissy’s belligerence. "You know exactly what it is," Sissy rejoined. "Higginbotham Enterprises will belong to Amy some day and that evil man has been chasing after it for years, even while he’s chasing after every skirt in Boston." Tom shook his head. "Aw, Sissy, Amy’s got a lot to offer besides the money. I bet George hasn’t looked at another woman since he laid eyes on our little girl. The man’s in love." "Love? Let me see if I have this straight, Thomas. A magnificent twenty-nine year old man with a body like Michael Angelo’s David and the beautiful face of Adonis suddenly falls head-over-heels in love with our thirty-six year old daughter, a woman who’s six feet tall, two-hundred pounds wide, has warts over her face, a visible mustache and rather large teeth." Tom let out a painful groan. "Do you have to put it quite that crudely, Sissy? Poor Amy can’t help it if she took after my side of the family and not yours." "She certainly didn’t have to marry George Pennybrain-Steelpecker the fourth. And the stubborn girl most definitely could do something to improve her appearance." "Why can’t you see that George and Amy are sort of like you and I, Sissy, only in reverse-one beautiful, the other not?" A slow smile spread over Tom’s wide face. "But modern medicine and technology can bring about miracles, my dear. Our Amy could turn into quite the little beauty with some body sculpting, a bit of laser hair removal, some minor dental work, a few Swedish spa treatments, perhaps a new hairdo. Why don’t you have another talk with her?" Sissy’s mouth curled into a sneer. "Dream on, Thomas. And while you’re figuring out ways to transform our daughter into a raving beauty, why don’t you find a method to turn pretty boy George into a horned beast." |
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| Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later by mrwrleft@yahoo.com |
#3 of 13 |
| 206 words | |
| After their infamous marriage Beauty and the Beast were
very happy together. One year has passed and they still were very much in love.
The air of the island was filled with love and harmony. During the day they
walked around the island, talked, laugh and looked at each other eyes and into
the sunset. Their nights the air around castle reverberated with moaning and
groaning, until the morning light. The night of their one year anniversary, after first passionate kiss that usually led to array of not lesser passionate kisses in the downward direction, the Beast lifted himself on his elbow and said: "My love, don’t you want to try to make love in a different way?" "Different way? How so?" asked The Beauty innocently and yet with curiosity. The Beast lowered his lips to her ear and whispered something softly. Once hearing it the Beauty sprang out in bewilderment. "Darling, you want to do it like this, but this is beastly!" An expression of concern appeared on the face of the Beast. He scratched his chin and rolled his eyes thinking of how to better explain things to his innocent and beautiful wife. "But darling," he finally continued, "don’t you want to have children?" |
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| Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later by GPain97046@aol.com |
#4 of 13 |
| 1480 words | |
| Mick Crenshaw clawed his way up through the swirling
gray mist that threatened to hold him there forever. Life must exist beyond the
darkness even if he couldn’t see it. He sensed a formidable force not far
behind him and he struggled to escape it. He surfaced, with increasing frequency, from the oblivion into an awareness of extreme pain, so intense, so encompassing. He couldn’t pinpoint the pain’s location but it was somewhere inside and outside his body. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand it another second, he felt a warm rush of relief, a magic potion that chased the pain away. He receded back into the mist and darkness. When his conscious moments extended themselves, muffled sounds reached down to him. Sounds of rubber soles on tile floors, voices talking quietly, beeping machinery, touches to his body forced him back to the land of the living. Standing at the window, a year later from the dreadful times, Mick couldn’t stop the memories from rushing back, not today. He didn’t want to survive the accident and the burns but the doctors brought him back from the brink of death and kept him there. He touched his face, no not his face, but dissected muscle that replaced it. Then he had no ears, no eyebrows, no eyelids, no nose and no hair. After the operations to try and restore some of his burnt skin; it had felt like millions of bees had stung him. The doctors said that, maybe in time, he would have some of his face back but they made no promises. So he had refused any more surgeries. If Carrie could see him now, she would cry and run from him but Veronica had stood beside him during the terrible year. Carrie, with her silky blond hair, her vibrant blue eyes and her seductive body was lost to him. Instead he had Veronica, his wife of ten years, with her dull brown hair, her quiet brown eyes and her flabby body. He should be thankful for that but Carrie filled his head. "Mick, you’re a million miles away. Are you okay?" Veronica said, her loud words brought him back to the present. "It’s been a year since I lost my identity from the accident and fire," he said bitterly. "But you survived. Be thankful for it." "They were sitting in their living room early in the evening after an exhausting day with his therapy exercises. Thanks to Veronica’s designer skills, the room’s furniture and colors blended with the desert environment they lived int. It was Mick’s favorite room. "I didn’t like the speech I made today," he said. "Your face and words had the students on the edges of their seats. Talking about the damages that drunken drivers can do gave them things to think about," she said smiling. He tried to focus on Veronica but Carrie’s face kept pushing her away. If it hadn’t been for the accident, he would be with Carrie now. She had never come to see him in the hospital but had faded away and left the mess for Veronica to clean up. "This face is good for something," he said, wanting his old face back again with his blond wavy hair, his sexy dark eyes, and his dimples. The face that Carrie said she adored. "Not the time for pity. You’re alive and that’s what counts." Veronica gave him a long kiss. "Did you know that people call us Beauty and the Beast?" "So what. I’m not a beauty and you’re not a beast so the words are senseless," she said quietly. "The drunk slop that hit me changed our lives," he said, finally forcing the memories back. "We’re closer from it," she said and gently touched his face. He should feel that way about her but it was still Carrie, it had always been Carrie. When she had run away to married someone else, his heart had been broken. He had married Veronica because her family had money and owned the most exclusive department store in town. Since her father retired four years ago, he was in charge of it. He didn’t do much and delegated the hard and difficult work to the competent people he hired. He was too busy golfing and playing around. "I’ll soon be able to go back to the store," he said. "I wanted to talk to you about that," she said, avoiding his eyes. "What?" he said impatiently. "Dad feels that you’re not ready for it yet. He’ll continue to pay your salary but he doesn’t want you back," she said. "He’s been avoiding me. What’s the real reason?" He got up and started pacing. "He feels that your face would keep people from shopping there since the new department store opened. Give him time." "See how our life has changed into dull boring sessions of therapies and watching people avoid me." He reached for a cigarette. She took it away from him. "You know the doctors don’t want you to smoke. Not good for you damaged lungs." The phone range and he answered it. After a few minutes, his eyes widened with surprise and he smiled. He put the phone down and said, " At last some good news. The insurance company will settle for ten million dollars. I don’t need your father and his stupid department store." "Please don’t say that. He’s been good to you," she pleaded. "Because of you." Two days later, Mick was sitting in the kitchen waiting to go to therapy. Veronica hadn’t been elated over the settlement but he was. It was almost worth all the pain he had but it had cost him his face, his life, his Carrie. The phone rang and Mick answered it. A familiar voice flooded the line and his mind. It was Carrie. "Hello darling. I’m sorry I didn’t contact you after the accident. I didn’t want to intrude since Veronica and her family helped you through it. I miss you," she said. The conversation lasted for almost an hour. When he hung up the phone, Veronica walked in the room. He didn’t care that it would hurt her, he had Carrie back. "Someone I love called me and I want to go to her." "I bet it was your old girlfriend Carrie. The one that works at the man’s insurance company that hit you," she said. "How did you know about her?" All he could think of was Carrie. "I might not be a beauty but I’m not a fool," she said, standing and watching him. "I’ve never stopped loving her. I want a divorce." "What about me and all I done for you?" "We’ll both be happier. I know I will." He put his coat on. "Has she seen you face? She might scream, then again, with ten million dollars she’ll fake it." "She loves me," he insisted. "She has always loved the smell of money." Veronica sat down. "You can’t stand the fact she wants me." "Mick, once you leave, I won’t take you back." "You don’t get it. When Carrie ran away with Ike, it hurt me so I got smart and married you and your money. You were second best." "Mick…." "When I heard a year ago that Carrie was back in town, I started to see her again. She makes me feel alive." He walked towards the door. "I’m having a baby," she blurted out. "A baby!" He didn’t move for a minute and felt suffocated with Veronica’s love. Then he just shrugged it off. "So it doesn’t matter," she sighed. "You’ll have enough money from the settlement to raise the baby." He wanted out so bad he could taste it and he almost ran for the door. "Do you think Carrie will stroke you face with love? Or kiss it with love? All that silly girl ever wanted was money and she has no heart. She ran out on her dying mother," she said. "Whatever she does will be fine." He could hardly wait to see her again. "She’ll run away with the money." "Since the accident, I’ve wanted to live life for today despite the consequences but you’re a stick in the mud and decided I should give those wonderful stirring talks about drunken drivers. I hate doing it," he said. A car honk outside and it brought a smile to Mick’s face. "Carrie is waiting for me. I have to go." "Mick, please don’t go. I still love you," "Don’t gravel. I’m going and enjoy what time she’ll give me," When he went out the door, he didn’t look back, he didn’t want to. Carrie was his future, however long it lasted with her. His beautiful lady waited for him. Now people would have it right when they said the words Veronica hated. Carrie was the Beauty and he was the Beast. |
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| Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later by lee10@host365.com |
#5 of 13 |
| 1442 words | |
| "Stop!" The shout cut the air like a whip as a short, fat man with a red face stormed across to ITV’s anchorman. "That’s the fifth rehearsal you’ve made a balls up of!" he screamed at the reporter. "If they gave out Oscars for total incompetence, you’d win one hands down." The reporter smiled down at his producer. "Sorry," he murmured, "but the crowd is a little off-putting today." He gestured towards the leering, jeering yobs who surrounded the film crew. "If you could just, you, know, sort of move them on, maybe we could…", he waved vaguely around. "We go on air in 10 seconds," the producer snarled. "You’re a professional. Act like one!" "3.2.1. and…" "Today, exactly twelve months after their glittering, fairytale wedding at his sumptuous chateau on the border, the Beast and his bride have moved into their new home." The camera view zoomed from the reporter’s face, over his shoulder, beyond a group of giggling, tarty girls, to the council house at No.4 Acacia Avenue, to which Beauty and the Beast had been driven that morning. A police constable stood in the gateway to keep the media circus at bay, gently flexing his knees in the age-old manner of local bobbies everywhere. The reporter’s words overlaid the picture of the small house in a litter-strewn street. "For the last six months, the couple have been living at the government Holding Camp outside the capital. Last week, the Borough Council of A___ allocated them a 2 bedroomed house on the Antruthers Estate. A Council spokesman said, "They were 86th on the waiting list and had to take their turn.’" The camera shot moved closer, panning in on the front door with its peeling, greenish paint work, then across to the living room window, where a hand could be seen, holding back grey net curtains. The face belonging to the hand was indistinct and not even the cameraman’s skill could bring it into focus. "Beauty and the Beast are only two of the class of the Undeserving Rich whose property was confiscated under the edicts of the Revolution and subjected to Redistribution." The camera lingered on the window for a few seconds then reversed its track, back across the rubbish-filled garden, past the graffiti-covered fence, to the reporter who was winding up his report. "This is Timothy Shaw, ITV News at Six, returning you to the studio." "And," softly….."cut!" * Timothy Shaw’s face faded from the television screen, to be replaced by a picture of the chateau. "Oh, Beast," Beauty wailed, "our lovely home!" Beast let the grimy net fall from his hand and, without being aware of what he was doing, wiped the dust from his hands on the legs of his trousers. He turned to his wife. She was watching the six o’clock news, holding her clenched hands up to her face. A tear lay on her pale cheek and her voice wobbled. "What have they done to it?" The filming had taken place on a dreary, wet day and the chateau’s aspect was as heavy and as overbearing as the day. The parapets were covered in razor wire and armed men guarded the main entrance above the moat. The water in the moat, in which swans once swam, was covered in green slime. The scene cut to the cobbled courtyard where a group of men in prison uniforms shuffled despondently round and round. It was obvious from their hunched attitude that their clothing was not keeping out the chill. A narrator said, "This is the Government’s newest Rehabilitation Centre. Once used as a private home for only two people, it now houses over 500 citizens who have mistakenly opposed our nation’s New Way. Here, they will receive the most sympathetic care possible in order that they may return to their homes as productive members of society." Angrily Beast reached over and turned off the television set. "Thieves!" he growled. "Lying, cheating, thieving, conniving, corrupt…." "Hush, darling," Beauty whispered, touching his arm gently and looking nervously through the window to the crowds outside. "They’ll hear you." She sat down on the sofa and patted the seat next to her. A puff of dust arose. "Sit down," she coughed. "Eat your dinner before it gets cold." She indicated the plates on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Beast sat down and looked at their anniversary dinner, the first meal that his wife had ever cooked. Burned, scraped toast sat limply under a mushy pile of baked beans that had been boiled to a pulp. "Looks delicious," he said bravely and began to eat. Beauty sighed, "I suppose we can get used to living here. It surely won’t be that bad. We will cope." Beast wanted to strike out at something, anything, driven by the pain that had grown as a cold, hard lump inside his gut since the first day of the revolution. Fierce emotion knotted inside him needed expression but he knew that this was what the media people outside his house were waiting for. So instead of screaming, he chewed his beans. Swallowing was difficult and not helped by the thick tar that Beauty had made from government issue tea leaves. He shook his head. "I don’t think I can do this," he said. "Of course we can," Beauty protested. "We are poor now, but we will manage. The house is not ours but the government will pay the rent until you find a job. And we have each other. What more do we need?" Beauty turned to her husband and hugged him. "I love you, Beast, dear. Things will turn out all right. You’ll see." Beast rose to his feet. One of his worn slippers stuck to the patch of carpet on which lemonade or something equally as sticky had once been spilt. He wrenched it free irritably. "It won’t work." He was near to crying. "Come over here." Beast crossed to the window holding out his hand. Beauty went to him and clutched his hand to her heart. Beast felt it pounding in her chest as though it was about to break. Carefully, he pulled aside the net curtain and together they peered through the dust-smeared glass. "I can wash the curtains," Beauty protested, "and clean the windows. It’s not a problem." "No, no," said Beast. "It’s not that. Look at the garden." Beauty looked. Rusting cans were piled up in a corner near the fence, which was leaning like a drunk after a bender. Half a bicycle stuck out from a mound of soil near the front door and an old cast iron bath slumped on three legs underneath the window. Someone had tried to grow flowers in it. Their dead stems quietly rotted amidst smashed beer bottles and crisp packets. The corpse of a pigeon, torn apart by a neighbourhood cat, lay in the middle of a bare patch of earth. Motor engine parts were littered among dying nettles and a dog had relieved itself in the gateway. Each time the policeman changed his weight, he moved that bit closer to the turds that lay on the garden path. "We can surely tidy it up, given time," Beauty said hesitantly. "No," Beast replied. "It is beyond hope. Roses will never grow in this cesspit. How can I ever hope to give my Beauty the rose she deserves?" And he raised his head and howled. * Timothy Shaw and his producer had moved away down the street, towards the Outdoor Broadcast van where they had stashed a bottle of whiskey. The cameraman was taking some background shots for the seven o’clock news. He took pictures of the shabby house that had been assigned to Beauty and the Beast; of an arthritic old woman struggling by with a heavy shopping basket; of the policeman standing in front of a pile of dog shit. The camera’s gaze was lingering artistically on the dismembered bird, concentrating on the detail of a grey-black feather, when a movement at the window caught the cameraman’s eye. He raised the camera and captured the moment when Beast threw back his head and howled. The white palms of his huge hands were pressed flat to the window. His teeth seemed yellow through the dirty glass. As he leant forward, his chin touched the glass and as his anguish was shown to the world, his breath steamed over the window, soft-focusing his sorrow. Like an animal in the jungle caught in a trap, Beast’s anger and pain echoed through the dimming light of a dying day. Reflected on the dark television screen behind them, Beauty clung to her husband and they wept. |
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| Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later by shafferaudrey@hotmail.com www.audreyshaffer.com |
#6 of 13 |
| 2173 words | |
| Beauty woke up and stretched. Her foot found an empty
space beside her. She sat up suddenly, startling Beast. He stood by the bed,
breeches at his knees. "Up already dear? But it’s still dark!" He hesitated, then slipped the pants off and climbed into bed beside her. "You’re right. Bed sounds much nicer right now." She started to snuggle against him, but pulled back. His body was icy cold. She slowly drew away and got out of bed. "You weren’t getting up. You’re just coming to bed." "C’mon Beauty. I was playing cards with the guys, and just lost track of time. It’s the middle of the night! Get back in bed." She wrapped her robe around her. "You don’t spend any time with me. You don’t take care of the lands anymore. You don’t take care of any of your responsibilities. You sleep all day, and party with your friends all night. Your kingdom is falling apart, and you don’t even seem to care!" He rolled up in the blankets, turning his back to her. "Everything is fine. You just worry too much." In seconds, he was snoring. Beauty stepped into her shoes and went down to the library. She poked up the fire and soon the room was warm and inviting. But her Prince wouldn’t be joining her. It would be mid-afternoon before she saw his face. He would wander around the castle nursing a headache, eat dinner with her, then disappear for the night. At first she had been understanding, realizing that he had missed many years of fun while the spell was on him. But it had been a year now, and his drinking, carousing and womanizing was getting worse instead of better. Her heart ached for the beast she had fallen in love with. Beauty dozed. When the sun rose in the sky, she slipped back upstairs and got dressed. Her Prince never moved. It was another busy day, meeting with the men in charge of over-seeing the farmlands, paying the merchants and mediating disputes between her husband’s subjects. At first they had balked at listening to a woman, but it didn’t take long for the people to realize that she was intelligent and fair, and that their ruler had no interest in handling the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom. Now they would probably be worried and uncomfortable if they came in to find the Prince behind the desk. The loyalty of the kingdom had transferred to Beauty smoothly. She was the true ruler now, but it didn’t make her happy. This was not the life she had married for. Mid-afternoon, Beauty went for a walk among the rose bushes in the garden. The Prince would be getting up soon, and she didn’t feel like talking to him. An old woman suddenly appeared, startling her. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" The crone bowed slightly. "I live in the village. I am here to talk to you about my granddaughter. She is unmarried, and with child." Beauty sighed. "I’m very sorry, but I will not force anyone to marry against their will. Hopefully, the man will come forward and do the right thing." The crone shook her head. "The father is married. He should be punished." "What of his wife? Does she know about this situation?" "She does now. Good day madam." The crone disappeared into the trees. "Wait! Who is she? What do you mean she knows now?" Her blood ran cold. The woman’s meaning was clear. The married man who had impregnated the young girl was none other then her own husband. Part of her had been waiting for this news, dreading it, but expecting it. She walked past the garden and into the woods, tears streaming down her face. The light faded and the sun set while Beauty wandered through the woods, talking to the trees and flowers. "Who is he? He isn’t my beast anymore. I don’t know this man, and I don’t even like him." "What has happened to my life? I gave up my family and my home to come here and be with him. Now I’m just a lonely woman, in charge of running this kingdom. Where is the love I wanted? Where are my children?" Gradually, her tears dried and the ache in her heart faded. The Prince was not the man she fell in love with. That man had disappeared before the wedding! When the fur went, so did her love. She raised her face to the rising moon. "It’s over! He can’t hurt me anymore, because I don’t love him. He is a selfish, manipulating user. I will go home and rebuild my life. Maybe someday I can find love again." With that resolution, she turned and headed back to the castle. When she pushed open the kitchen door, the cook screamed and dropped a stack of plates. "My Liege! We thought it had eaten you!" "Thought what had eaten me? I was walking in the woods!" The other household staff was gathered in the kitchen, fearfully clinging to each other. "The monster, ma’am," the upstairs maid whispered. "It’s somewhere on the grounds, and we couldn’t find you or the Prince. We are all afraid to go to our rooms, since it was in the castle first." "Monster? You saw a monster in the castle?" They all nodded vigorously and started speaking at once. "Hold on! Jasper, you explain to me what is going on here." Old Jasper cleared his throat. He had been at the castle the longest, he and the cook having worked for the Beast before the spell was broken. "My Lady, I don’t understand it, but I could swear it was the mast… the beast that used to live in the castle before the Prince came. I saw it come out of the library, roaring, just as dusk fell. It smashed things all through the house, then ran into the garden. We have been hiding in here ever since. I think most of us would run away, but we’re all afraid to go out into the dark." Beauty dropped into a chair. That was the story they had given when the curse was broken. The Prince had returned from traveling the world, bringing his bride home to find a ferocious beast in his castle. According to their story, the Prince had fought the beast, injured it and drove it into the forest. The townspeople still searched for the body. But now…the Beast? HER Beast? How could it have happened? Just at dusk…her mind flashed back to the woods. That was the same time she had made her decision. When she said she didn’t love him anymore. The curse was lifted because she had grown to love him as a beast. Could it be that when her love ended, the curse returned? With Beauty in the lead, the band of frightened household workers searched the castle, barring the doors and windows as they went. When the entire castle was secured, Beauty finally convinced them to go to their rooms and get some rest. She had a feeling that there wouldn’t be much sleep for anyone. +++++ A thin shaft of morning sun fell upon Beauty’s face. She started upright, having dozed off in the library while trying to read a book. Leaping up, she peeked through the crack between the shutters. The sun was rising, bathing the world in a golden hue. She went to the kitchen to find the staff trying to start their day. Before she could give any orders, there was a pounding at the castle doors. About a dozen men from the village were demanding entrance and carrying weapons. "What is wrong?" Beauty asked, "Has the town been invaded?" Some of the men wore blood-splattered clothing. One stepped forward. "You could say that, M’lady. We need to see the Prince right away! Some horrific beast tore through town last night, killing people left and right. There are at least 20 dead, and many more wounded. We remember when the Prince drove out the beast that used to live here in the castle, and we wanted his help with finding and killing this one." Beauty thought fast. "Gentlemen, I would love nothing more then to send my husband with you, but… but we can’t find him." Her audience gasped. "That beast was here in the castle last night, but it escaped before anyone here was hurt. I’m afraid…I’m afraid the Prince may have gone after it." One of the little maids began to cry. Beauty exchanged glances with Jasper, who stepped forward. "We are about to search for the Prince. Could you gentlemen join us?" Weapons were gathered, and the men set out on the hunt. Beauty managed to get a moment alone with Cook. "Do you think it’s really him? But he never killed anyone! He just scared them away from the castle." Cook shook her head. "I don’t know what to think, M’lady. There is a beast, and the Prince is gone. People have been murdered. That’s all I can make myself understand right now. I can’t seem to work out any more then that." She went off to supervise the staff. Beauty moved from room to room, peeking through the shutters. Finally, she lay down on her bed, exhausted. She dozed slightly, but was awakened by a scratching from the balcony. She pulled the doors open to find Beast, covered with blood and dirt. He fell into the room. Locking the door, she dropped to her knees beside him. "What happened? What have you done?" Beast groaned. "I was sitting in the library, and suddenly I fell to the floor. I thought I was dying for a moment, but when I got up, I looked like this. Beauty, I’m a beast again! How did this happen?" He burst into great, heaving sobs. She stroked his huge head, trying to figure out what to say. "Beast, did you go to the town last night? They said there are people dead!" He buried his face in her lap. "I don’t know what I did. I just…I think I went mad! I couldn’t handle being a beast again." Beauty’s heart began to melt, until she saw Beast peeking at her from the corner of his eye. A cold wave washed over her. He was faking! This was an act put on for her benefit. With 20-20 hindsight, she realized that the entire time he had been wooing her had been an act. He knew what he had to do to break the curse, and he had worked very hard to convince a naïve little girl to fall in love with him. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and she was far from naïve. Her mind raced, looking for a plan. "Beast, there was a woman here yesterday. She said you had gotten her granddaughter pregnant." She pulled the tattered, blood-stained remains of his shirt from his body as she spoke. He broke into fresh sobs. "Oh no Beauty! That’s a lie! You are my wife, and you are the only woman for me. I never touched another woman!" That was the answer she expected. "I wonder where that old woman is now?" "She’s dead!" he snarled, then dropped back into his tearful act. "An old crone? I dimly remember…Oh no Beauty, I think I did hurt people last night. I was mad I tell you, mad!" That was expected too. But he wasn’t the only actor in the room anymore. "Oh my dear Beast! That woman must have put a curse on you. But we don’t know what the curse entailed or how to remove it. And if the woman is dead, there is nothing we can do!" He lifted his head slowly, shock filling his eyes. "But…but love…love removes curses. It worked before!" Beauty shook her head. "My darling, I love you. But you are still a beast." He got slowly to his feet. "Then what do I do? There are men in the woods hunting me. They’ll kill me if they find me. How do I become myself again?" "I don’t know, but I do know we have to hide you. Go back out the window and slip around to the old shed in the rose garden. Stay there, and don’t come out until I come to get you." Without another word, he was out the window and gone. Beauty was in the rocker when the hunters returned. They fell silent as she walked toward them with the bloodied shirt in her hands. "The man I loved is dead," she said softly. "The beast is in the old shed in my rose garden. I saw him go in there a few hours ago, and he hasn’t come out. The door latch is broken, and you can’t open it from the inside." "What do we do, M’lady?" She looked at the scrap of material in her hands for a moment, then raised a expressionless face. "Burn it." |
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| Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later by Jenn Malatesta nekrosys@isoc.net http://www.isoc.net/brokeninside/nekrosys/ |
#7 of 13 Winner |
| 2193 words | |
| Hoping to steel her nerves, Belle took a steaming gulp
of coffee from her Styrofoam cup. It did not help. If anything, the bitter
liquid scalded her mouth and made her throat drier. An odd assortment of women
filled in the circle of folding chairs behind her. Although it was easier to
think of the other group members as virtual strangers, Belle had to admit she
had much in common with them. Over the archway beside her hung a crisp banner
proudly proclaiming "Disney Damsels". "Oh, Belle, dear," crooned Cinderella, "are you almost ready? You are the star of our show this evening " Belle turned around, startled at this sudden sound of her name, and focused on Cinderella. As the President of the support group, she sat primly in her seat, a complex tiara of silver and diamonds glittering atop her honey curls. Resisting the urge to backhand her and knock the smug look from her face, Belle sat down in one of the empty chairs. Not waiting for her response, Cinderella continued, "Good, now that we are all here, we can begin our meeting. Both Mulan and Ariel have sent their regrets. Apparently Mulan is off fighting another campaign, and Ariel is busy lobbying for governmental controls on tuna harvesting in the Pacific Ocean." A good-natured snicker filled the room as everyone imagined Ariel, Champion of the Dolphins. Wendy, who, had chosen not to remain in Neverland, took this moment of distraction to take a swig from the tiny metal flask she kept hidden in her velvet purse. Like her ex-boyfriend Peter, she too refused to grow up. She wore a hot pink Hello Kitty T-shirt and a leather mini skirt. Rumors proliferated that her current alcoholism directly resulted from all the medicine Nana gave the Darling children in the nursery so long ago. "As you all know, Walt, our benevolent creator, formed groups like this to facilitate discussion about the special hurdles and challenges we face as part of Disney's elect." Cinderella's face flushed with excitement as she spoke. "We all play a special part in the world of Disney. Each of our contributions to Disney's mystique is unique and irreplaceable. Whether we are princesses," she self-assuredly patted her blue silk gown, "or paupers, all of us are important." She turned her attention again to Belle. "This evening we have the privilege to hear Belle's humble story." The room grew quiet. Belle began in a rush, hoping to fill the silence left after Cinderella's homily. "My name is Belle, and I am a Disney Damsel." "Hello, Belle," they all warbled back. She cleared her throat and continued, "I never really felt like I fit in my home town..." Looking at her fellow group members, she felt even more out of place here. "It was rather provincial, and my father was labeled the town's "crazy inventor". Most of my time I spent reading and avoiding the advances of Gaston, the gun-toting town redneck that had his heart set on me." "Oh, Gaston. I've heard of him, " Aurora said, rolling her eyes, "the typical male." Sleeping Beauty's crewcut and combat fatigues diametrically opposed her past princess garb, and was far removed from her days of living as Briar Rose. "Let me guess. He thought he was Walt's gift to women and couldn't understand why you didn't swoon under his affections." "Well, yes… That's basically it." Aurora crossed her camouflaged legs in a huff. "What is it with these Disney men? They act like we are all trophies to be won! They don't take 'no' for an answer and totally disregard our opinions! I think Prince Phillip would have been much happier if he had not kissed me, and I would have stayed in a mindless slumber forever." Their messy divorce almost expelled them both from Disney's dynasty. Aurora subsequently joined a militant feminist group, putting her under even greater scrutiny. She still came to the support group faithfully, but everyone weeded carefully through her rhetoric. Cinderella's pleasant expression soured. "Well, Aurora, dear, that may be your experience, but we are hearing Belle's story this evening." She smiled condescendingly at Belle and said, "Please, continue." "Well, one day my father decided to enter an invention in a village contest, hoping to reverse our current financial misfortunes." She smiled to herself. It really was a crazy invention. Her father designed it to chop wood at lightening speed, and the machine very likely would have maimed anyone who tried to use it. Until recently, Belle always imagined him to be open-minded, especially from so many years of destitute living. But after a year of marriage, he still did not accept the Beast as his son-in-law. "Becoming lost on the way to the festival, he stumbled upon a seemingly abandoned mansion and was captured by the Beast. After I found my father, I offered to stay with the Beast in my father's place, so he could return to town and receive the medical attention he obviously needed. The Beast was happy to accept me as a substitute prisoner." Snow White piped up timidly from the far end of the circle. "The Beast probably wanted you to live there so he could protect you from your evil stepmother." Belle was confused. "My evil stepmother?" "Yes, who wanted the kindly huntsman to cut out your heart and bring it to her in a box." "I don't have an evil stepmother. I don't even have a mother." "No evil stepmother?" "No." "Then a witch perhaps? A witch who was jealous of your beauty and plotted to feed you a poisoned apple." "No witch, either." Snow White looked at Belle like a freak of nature. "A dragon?" Aurora retorted, "Oh, shut up, you codependent twit! Don't you have some Prozac to take or something?" With a frightened squeal, Snow White started rocking back and forth in her chair, planting her hands firmly over her ears. Belle resumed her story. "I had no huntsman, angry stepmother or witch to be afraid of, but at first, I was very frightened of the Beast. Dark and brooding, he spent much of his time in the abandoned West Wing of his house. One night against his orders, I decided to investigate this forbidden area of the mansion. In a shadowy room I found a single red rose enshrined under a bell jar. It was wilting horribly and I decided to water it. But just as I lifted the jar, the Beast came in and threw an alarming fit." "A rose under a jar!" Pocahontas looked horrified, "How savage!" It was hard to focus on what she was saying. As always happened when she spoke in this way, a cloud of Technicolor leaves materialized and swirled around her. "Does he think the earth is just a dead thing he can claim? Doesn't he know every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name?" "Well, he was very caring with it. I got the feeling he was trying to protect it." She was silent a moment, then continued, "But, despite this and my love for my father, I decided that no one should have to deal with that kind of verbal abuse, and I left. However, during my attempted escape, wolves attacked, and if it were not for the Beast's intervention, I would have been killed. During the foray, the wolves badly wounded the Beast, so I felt obliged to return to his house with him and nurse them back to health." "Ah," Wendy croaked from her alcoholic haze, "you were better off without him. You should've let that little whore Tinkerbell have him!" Cinderella glared at Wendy and shook her head disdainfully. Feeling the sudden need to defend her decision, Belle spat out, "But, it wasn't like that!" Looking over the motley set of damsels around her, she wondered if there was any way to explain the arc of electric desire that sparked between her and the Beast following his convalescence. "As the days I spent with the Beast turned into weeks… I realized that I was beginning to fall in love with him. Yes, he was rough and abrupt, but I always knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling. His moods were electrifying! Being with him was like standing unbalanced on the edge of a cliff. It was like waiting for a twister to touch down or lightening to strike. There was something strangely exciting, knowing that if he wanted, he could tear me to pieces in a second. It did not bother me that he had fangs and fur. His passion, his fury, were intrinsically bound to his appearance." A warm flush crept up Belle's neck. "That's the way I felt deep inside about my Quasimodo." Esmeralda, who generally was very outspoken, was uncharacteristically subdued. "I should have never went off with Phoebus!" Belle shifted in her chair, causing the metal underneath to creak. "Then things began to fall apart. Gaston decided that if he could not have me in marriage, no one, especially the Beast, would. He incited the townsfolk to attack the Beast's mansion, and during the battle the Beast was gravely injured. We happened to be in the forbidden room with the rose. As his breath grew shallower, and the last rose petal shuddered from its stem, I begged him not to leave me and confessed my undying love to him." "It was all downhill from there. By revealing my devotion, I had unknowingly broken the spell that had first transformed him from a prince into the Beast I knew. A glowing fog washed over us and before my eyes, my lovely Beast changed back into a gawky prince. He had the same eyes as the Beast. But this prince had red hair, pale skin, and a totally different demeanor from my precious Beast." "They always change," Aurora said knowingly. "I grew to abhor him. After his metamorphosis, he spent hours each day singing and dancing joyfully. He spoke with the mirthful, twittering animals that lived outside his mansion. He planted garden after flower garden. An expert was called in to help him and Mrs. Potts arrange our living space with the principles of feng shui. He wore gaudy frilled silk shirts and velvet stretch pants. The heavy curtains were swept back and sunlight filled every corner of his home. Gone was the fretting, troubled soul I had fallen in love with." Wendy interjected, "Honey, you should've know the minute you saw him mooning over that damn rose!" "Well, I must agree with Wendy on that," said Pocahontas. "A rose in a jar. Barbaric!" "He's just so… so… civilized now!" Belle moaned, "He spends hours arranging flowers and cooking exotic meals and preening in front of the mirror." This apparently triggered a memory in Snow White because she prattled, "And if you let me stay, I'll keep house for you. I'll wash and sew and sweep and cook and…" Wendy rolled her eyes and took another swig from her flask, no longer concealing the liquor. With a frustrated sigh, Belle fumed, "Oh! Sometimes I wish Mrs. Potts was still a piece of china so I could smash her to bits!" "Belle, dear," Cinderella stammered, turning a sickly shade of gray. "We need to get our emotions under control. I'm sure it's not all that bad. Your prince actually sounds quite charming!" "Maybe for you, you prissy bitch!" Wendy roared, "Some of us prefer our men to act like men! Not like fruity little boys!" "Some of us prefer women…" Aurora added, sensuously leering at Cinderella. Snow White violently rocked now, "Lips red as the rose. Hair black as ebony. Skin white as snow… One taste of the poisoned apple and the victim's eyes will close forever in the sleeping death…" "Girls, girls," Cinderella pleaded, "Walt would not appreciate this behavior! We need to accept what we are – what we've become. Our story lines were written with our best interests in heart." "When she breaks the tender peel to taste the apple in my hand, her breath will still, her blood congeal…" "Well, I'm sorry, Cindy!" Belle jumped up suddenly, her chair clattering shut on the floor behind her. "I will not accept this characterization of myself!" Cinderella bristled at the nickname and at Belle's outburst. "The dwarfs will think she's dead. She'll be buried alive!" "Can't you see?" Belle stared intently at the rest of the group. "They have these meetings to control us! The more we talk about our problems, the less time we will have to fix them! As long we are distraught damsels, the Disney Empire will keep us subservient! We will always have somebody like Cindy keeping us down, with her glass slipper firmly planted on the back of our necks!" Belle drew in a deep breath, hope and determination coursing through her veins. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go home to see if I can change my husband back into the beast he once was!" Leaving shocked silence in her wake, edged with a hint of titillation, Belle swept out of the room. |
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| Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later by Mark Lambert marknutswriter@aol.com |
#8 of 13 |
| 1704 words | |
| Tracey sat on the bed and studied her fingernails. They
need cutting, she thought; but that would have to wait. She wanted to think.
She needed to remember what had brought her to this room, and why her best
friend Wendy, hadn’t visited. Her thoughts turned to months
earlier… # The loud chiming of the doorbell brought Wendy out of her late morning sleep. She climbed from her bed and peeked gingerly between the curtains to check on the identity of her visitor. The man didn’t bother ringing the bell a second time, and with his clipboard under his arm, he moved off to the neighbouring house. Wendy sighed in relief. At least it wasn’t anyone she knew, and she certainly wasn’t going to open the door to a stranger in her current state. She checked the time; nine-thirty. Alan would be at work now. She was glad that he hadn’t woken her, especially after what had happened the night before. They just needed a little time to heal their differences; that was all. Everything would be fine later, just like before. A sharp pain in her ribs intruded while she pulled her T-shirt on, and another in her thigh as she struggled with too-tight jeans. The feelings almost blotted out the aching throb on the side of her face. The phone rang. She let it ring three times and go to voice message. "Hello Wendy it’s…" she snatched the receiver. "Oh, Tracey, it’s you," she said. "… … well, I didn’t know who it might be, but never mind… … no, don’t come round, I’ve got to go out shopping…… well, yes, I know we did that yesterday, but this is for, err, I need to get some plumbing things, you know? Alan’s doing up the bathroom … … yes of course I’m ok… …" Wendy looked up into the wall mirror while listening to her friend.The purple bump around and beneath her left eye stood out fiercely; the edges turning black. She knew from experience that soon more would go black, while the eyeball itself would take days to recover from its deep red colour. "…No, please don’t come round today Tracey, I’m a little tired… … no it’s not that. I’m ok, I am. Please don’t worry. Look, we can go to the gym on Friday, ok…ok bye-ee!" She almost sang the last word, trying to sound cheerful to her friend. She knew that Tracey suspected that Alan had given her another beating, but she didn’t want to admit it to her. Things had been fine for months and she and Alan had sorted their problems out. Wendy was certain that she and Alan could be happy, just like her other friends. There were good moments, and she knew that she had to hold onto them to give herself the pride of having a happy marriage. She was also sure that Steve knocked Tracey around from time to time. That’s what happens when men get angry. Tracey had always denied it of course. An application of soothing cream quelled the swelling somewhat, but Wendy couldn’t leave the house. The risk of being seen like this was too great, so she busied herself with housework. After all, Alan liked the house clean and tidy. The noise of the carpet vacuum nearly drowned out the sound of the doorbell, but Wendy heard it and instantly switched the machine off. She stood stock-still. The letterbox opened, pushed by Tracey. She spoke through the gap."Wendy, your car is on the driveway and you are hoovering the hall; loudly. Let me in, I’m dead worried." Wendy had no choice and opened the door, holding her face away from Tracey’s gaze. Nothing was said as Tracey reached out and gently placed her hand under Wendy’s chin. She turned her head slowly to face her friend. "The bastard! I knew it. It’s started again, hasn’t it? "Come and have some tea and we can talk." They sat in the kitchen while Wendy described the night before when Alan had come home in a difficult mood. Yes, he had hit her, but he didn’t mean to do it so hard. He was upset and tired from work. "Surely," said Wendy, "your Steve gets like that at times." "Wendy, I’ve heard all this before. Ok, he calmed down for a while just before and after the marriage, but he’s an animal, and it’s all coming out again. Don’t you see that?" Tracey looked for a reaction in Wendy’s face. "And I tell you, my Steve doesn’t ‘get like that’ at all." "It’s not that bad." "You’re deluding yourself Wendy. Ok, he used to beat you up sometime ago and then became a reformed character, but I’ve never, ever trusted him. Now look at you! That pretty face all bruised and…I always knew it would start again." "You don’t understand Tracey." "Just what don’t I understand?" "I love him, and he loves me." "If he loved you…" Tracey stopped in mid-sentence and put her arm around Wendy’s shoulder, pulling her close. "You’re my best friend Wendy. I wouldn’t want anything to hurt you and I think you know that, but he is hurting you." Wendy started sobbing, "I love him, I do, and he will change. He won’t be like he was before, I know it. Things will change." She buried her face in Tracey’s shoulder and cried as the tears stung her swollen eye. "Leave him." Wendy shook her head. "Or at least stay with us tonight." "I can’t." "Wendy, he’ll bloody kill you one day." They both looked around to the front door as a key clicked in the lock. "God, it’s Alan," said Wendy, "please don’t say anything." "Don’t say anything? I’m sitting here with my friend battered and beaten, and you expect me to not say anything?" Tracey kept her voice low as the front door opened. "Please," Wendy whispered desperately. The kitchen door opened and Alan walked in. "Oh, hello Tracey, I didn’t expect to see you here," he said as he picked up the electric kettle, "want some tea?" "I’ve got one here thanks," said Tracey. Wendy looked to the floor, wishing that the situation would just go away. "Been up to anything interesting today love?" asked Alan. "No. Just chatting with Tracey." She didn’t take her eyes from the floor. "Just chatting eh? Anything I should know about?" Tracey could take the pretence no longer. "What were we ‘chatting’ about? I’ll bloody tell you." "No Tracey," pleaded Wendy. "Look at her face, you filthy animal! Just bring yourself to look at it and admit what you did to her." Alan finished filling the kettle and put it down. "You sure you don’t want a cup of tea?" he asked. Tracey moved toward him and grabbed his shoulders. "Take a fucking look for God’s sake! There’s no hiding what you are now," she screamed. Alan remained passive as Tracey shook him, trying to get a reaction.His eyes stared at the ceiling, his head shaking back and forth. "Stop it Tracey, stop it!" shouted Wendy. Tracey let Alan go and slumped back against the sink, realising that her efforts had proved worthless. Wendy wrapped her arms around her husband and sunk her face into his chest. "I love you Alan. I won’t let anyone hurt you." Tracey took her jacket and walked to the kitchen door. "You hurt her again, and I’ll be back with the police. Do you understand?" "See yourself out Tracey," said Wendy, her face still buried in Alan’s chest. Tracey closed the kitchen door and made her way down the hallway. She opened the front door, but closed it again, still inside. She crept up a few stairs and waited. No sounds immediately came from the kitchen, but then a few mumbled words were spoken, and Tracey heard a dull thump, followed by whimpering. She couldn’t be sure what was going on until she heard a loud shout. "You stupid bitch! Why did you let her in for god’s sake?" Another dull thump. "Alan please, she was only trying to help!" Yet another muted thump. "Stupid, bitch; you are really going to get it this time!" Tracey ran from the stairs and burst into the kitchen. Wendy was on the floor, while Alan had his belt in his hands, held above his head. His eyes darted towards Tracey. She ran into him, knocking him sideways against the sink. Alan thrashed out a hand, catching Tracey across the side of her face with a stinging whack. She stood shocked for a second as Alan reached out toward her, both hands wrapping around her throat. "Don’t interfere you bitch!" Alan’s hands tightened around Tracey’s throat as she kicked his legs and desperately grasped at his arms, trying to pull them away. Wendy slowly stood and watched the scene, her emotions running wild.She reached to the wall and took a knife from a holder and clasped the wooden handle. She moved towards Tracey and Alan, holding the knife high above her head. Tracey gasped for breath and felt her legs weakening, but she reached out to her left, snatched a knife from the sink-top and thrust it into Alan’s side with all the strength that remained within her. Alan gasped, and his hands became loose around her throat. He stood away from her and felt the knife sticking in him, feeling wetness around his fingers and on his shirt. His eyes bulged and his mouth opened as if to scream, but no sound came, as he slumped to the floor. Tracey held onto the edges of the sink and bent over, coughing violently to clear her constricted throat, but she could hear Wendy begging Alan not to die. # Tracey looked around her private room once more and thought about what had happened. She wasn’t sure why Wendy had replaced the knife she held high, back into its holder. She was also not sure who Wendy meant to attack with the knife that afternoon. She’d heard nothing from her since that day. She looked back at her fingernails. Yes they needed cutting, but those kind of tools are not allowed in her cell. |
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| Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later by bar8484@earthlink.net |
#9 of 13 |
| 1512 words | |
| Glancing around the tastefully appointed room, Beauty
shifted nervously in her chair. Not one to air her dirty laundry in public, she
was finding it difficult to speak or even look directly at the raven haired
woman sitting across the desk. "So, what can I do for you?" asked Dr. Bender. "Well, my friend Camille spoke very highly of you. I guess I was hoping you might be able to help me too," she said hesitantly. Dr. Bender raised a carefully arched eyebrow. "Is this about a man?" "Yes! How did you know?" asked Beauty. " Isn’t it always?" Dr. Bender replied in a husky voice. "Now spill- what’s he done?" Warming to her topic, Beauty began, "Well, for starters, he’s a slob. He never picks up after himself, he’s always leaving the toilet seat up, and he spends hours working on his motorcycle while listening to heavy metal!" "Ugh! What a beast!" shuddered the doctor. "I can’t believe you said that!" exclaimed Beauty, clearly impressed. "That’s my husband’s nickname- "The Beast". You know; kind of like J Lo or Dubya." "Does he remember birthdays? Anniversaries? Things like that?" asked the doctor, taking notes. Beauty snorted. "Are you kidding? Don’t make me laugh." "How long have you been together?" "Next week will be our 1st wedding anniversary. But from the way things are going, it might be our last," Beauty confessed. "Doctor, he’s changed! All he wants to do is lay around watching television. We never go out anymore because he hates getting dressed up. He hardly ever shaves, and you should see his back- he’s got a pelt you could make a coat out of," she ranted. Sighing, Dr. Bender put down her pad. "So, basically, you love this guy, but wish he’d clean up his act a little- am I right?" "Absolutely. Between the burping and the farting, sometimes he’s a little too gross for comfort, if you know what I mean," said Beauty. "Honey, don’t even get me started," muttered Doctor Bender, reaching into her desk drawer. "Luckily, I have just what you need," she said, holding up a glistening amber vial. "What is it? " asked Beauty. "Are you a pharmacist? Or a narc?" "No," said Beauty, slightly confused. "Then what do you care? Think of it as better living through chemistry. I like to call it my own secret blend of seven herbs and spices." "O-o-kay. But what do I do with it?" asked Beauty, determined to save her marriage. "Put a drop of this into his beer every day for a week. He’ll be a new man, I guarantee," prescribed Dr. Bender. I’ll do it, vowed Beauty, clutching the vial to her chest. I’ll start tonight. ******************************************************************************** On their first anniversary together as man and wife, Beauty awoke to find the bed strewn with rose petals. Next to her pillow was an ivory envelope with raised burgundy lettering (their wedding colors) containing two tickets to Paris and an ‘exclusive’ invitation from her husband to join him downstairs for a special breakfast. This was exactly the way she’d envisioned their first anniversary - stylish, elegant and wildly romantic. Dr. Bender’s potion had worked like a charm. The big, hairy lug they used to call the Beast was now a sensitive, refined man who knew the difference between cream and ivory. I should be the happiest woman in the world, thought Beauty. But she wasn’t. As much as she hated to admit it, there was something disturbing about her husband’s sudden transformation. If only she could put her finger on what it was… The aroma of freshly brewed coffee led her into the kitchen where B, as he now preferred to be called, was squeezing oranges. "There you are, sleepyhead! It’s about time; these mimosas aren’t going to wait forever," he fretted, pouring champagne into crystal glasses. "Happy Anniversary," she said, giving him a peck on his stubble-free cheek. "Can you believe it-one year ago today! And they said it wouldn’t last…" joked B, handing her a glass of bubbly. "A toast to us. Cheers," "Cheers," echoed Beauty, seating herself at the exquisitely set table. "This looks amazing," she said, referring to the lavish floral centerpiece. "Oh, that? Just a little something I whipped together at the last minute. Ready for your omelet?" he asked solicitously. "Yes, please," said Beauty, holding out her plate. "Is that a new sweater?" she asked, noticing how the baby blue of the cashmere brought out his eyes. B looked down at his chest. "Do you really like it? I had the hardest time deciding between this color or the mint green, but I think the blue really brings out my eyes." Beauty realized the miracle drug was working a little too well. ****************************************************************************** Storming into Dr. Bender’s office, Beauty raged, "What have you done to my husband? He’s like a different person now!" "You just cool your jets there, missy. You wanted results-I delivered. I was only doing my job," Dr. Bender pointed out. "But he’s acting like a gay man!" wailed Beauty. "Is there something wrong with being gay?" asked the doctor. "Of course not. It’s just that I liked him the way he was. All I wanted to do was smooth out the rough edges… " Dr. Bender leaned back in her chair. "Look, you’re getting companionship, gourmet meals and a clean house. What more do you want?" "I want you to reverse the process! Don’t you understand? Instead of acting like my husband, he’s more like my sister," Beauty complained. "Some people are never satisfied," Dr. Bender muttered under her breath. Rummaging through her desk drawer, she produced another vial, this one bright red. "This will do it. But I gotta warn you; the stuff’s not cheap." "I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes to get my husband back." Dr. Bender began to chuckle. "Spoken like a true breeder," she murmured. "What did you say?" asked Beauty, her eyes boring into Dr. Bender as though seeing her for the first time. "Nothing. I was just thinking out loud." Rising out of her chair, Beauty reached across the desk and yanked down Dr. Bender’s turtleneck. "Aha! Looks like there are some things not even you can change, Dr. Bender –like having a prominent Adam’s apple!" Beauty said tartly. "Why, you’re nothing but an old drag queen!" "Wait a minute, who are you calling old? " Dr. Bender began to shriek. "Gimme a break! Is it my fault I’m a woman born in a man’s body? I was only trying to help…" "I’ll take that vial now," said Beauty, extending her hand. Holding the vial just out of reach, Dr. Bender shot back, "Not so fast, chickee-poo. Like I said, it’s gonna cost you." "How much?" whispered Beauty. Dr. Bender gave Beauty a quick once-over. "Those shoes- Manolo Blahnicks, aren’t they?" "This season’s," Beauty said smugly. "Hand ‘em over." Dr. Bender ordered. God, she loved those shoes! But that was nothing compared to her feelings for Beast. Knowing what she had to do, Beauty unbuckled the kidskin leather straps for the last time. "Go on, take them," she said, tearfully. "Easy now," cautioned Dr. Bender. "You pass me the shoes and I’ll give you the antidote. But I’m warning you-one false move and I’ll smash those stilettos faster than you can say Boy George." "You wouldn’t!" Judging by the expression on his/her face, Beauty knew she’d better do exactly what Dr Bender said. Beast’s future depended on it. Grabbing the vial, she ran out of the office in her bare feet. ******************************************************************************* One week later, Beauty and B were enjoying their regular cocktail hour when B suddenly began to choke. "What’s this crap?" he asked, pointing to his drink. "It’s a Cosmo–your favorite," Beauty cooed sweetly. Pushing the martini glass aside, her husband said, "I can’t drink this stuff. Got any beer?" "Coming right up," said Beauty, opening the refrigerator. "On second thought, skip it. I might just take the bike out and go for a ride. You gonna be here when I get back?" he asked. It was working, thought Beauty, "I’ll be here," she said. Overwhelmed by relief and gratitude, Beauty realized she’d been given a second chance. "There’s something I should tell you…" she began. "I know, I need a haircut," he said running his hands through his hair. "Hey, what would you think if I shaved it all off? " Beauty immediately began to protest, "You mean go bald? Oh, I don’t think that would look …" before catching herself. "I mean, I don’t think that would look bad at all," she said, with newfound sincerity. After all, it was his head Seemingly dazed, he turned away, saying, "OK. Catch you later," before heading out to the garage. She heard the unmistakable sound of an engine being revved up, followed by a blast of heavy metal. "Beast, wait for me!" Beauty called out, suddenly realizing that while she might never have the storybook romance of her dreams, she had something even better –a chance to live happily ever after. |
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| Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later by robndea@localaccess.com |
#10 of 13 |
| 2405 words | |
| Attorney Brad Owens tossed the file onto the table and
rubbed his temple. Headache and nausea were familiar friends, especially
lately. Brad could barely function this morning, not that this client would
notice. Belle de Beaumont stood by the window, staring. Not at anything in particular, just gazing off into the distance. Suffering from catatonic disorder, his client hadn't so much as batted an eye since he entered the room an hour ago, and according to her file, hadn't done so in nearly a month. He'd heard of catatonic disorder, but had not witnessed it first hand. The staring was eerie. A soft knock on the door was followed by the rustle of white slacks and the squeak of rubber soles on the tile. A slimy looking orderly began the process of moving Belle from where she stood staring at the wall to the wheel chair. Brad winced at the high pitched screech as the chair scratched against the table. The noise pushed his headache into the back of his eyes. "Whoa, easy with the noise, Bud." Brad chastised the orderly. Christ! Couldn't the man see he had a headache? He watched idly as the man bent his client over at the waist then turned and grinned at Brad. "Reminds ya of a Barbie doll, don't it?" Brad blushed at how closely the man had guessed his thoughts. "Yeah, whatever, just don't hurt her." "She don't feel nuthin." As if to prove his point, he tipped Belle into the chair with an audible plop then stood back and pondered the result. Belle's legs stuck straight out. Brad pretended to be busy with his paperwork. A shudder crawled up his back as Brad realized the creaking noises he was hearing were Belle's joints snapping as they were forced into a sitting position. It made Brad's stomach roll and he turned aside to fiddle with his cell phone, embarrassed by the wink the orderly dropped him. Brad noticed one delicate, slipper-clad foot drop off the support, and drag on the ground. The orderly was either unaware, or didn't care. Not wanting to encourage further conversation with the man, Brad didn't bother to point it out. The cell phone was ringing in his ear while the orderly twisted the chair around the small space. Brad watched Belle's foot fold over, then catch against the hard tile. Feeling the drag, the orderly leaned his weight into the handles, delivering an extra shove. Brad heard a tiny snap of bone as the delicate foot finally gave way and chair began to move, the foot dragging along bent and twisted. Brad glanced up at Belle's face, expecting the distant stare and was shocked to find her looking directly into his eyes. The chair disappeared behind the door and down the hall. Brad shook his head, trying to dislodge the snapping sound from his brain. The voice of his assistant answering pulled him into the present. Brad snugged the phone against his shoulder and opened the file. "Sharon help me get up to speed on this de Beaumont woman." He ignored the exasperated sigh at the other end of the connection. Brad knew he relied on Sharon far too often lately to handle the background work that was his responsibility. Sharon's voice slipped into a familiar monotone as she summarized the inch thick file on Belle de Beaumont. "Same ol' schtick ...poor family, tough times ... wealthy boyfriend ...marries young ...gets bored and offs the rich dude for his insurance... yadda yadda yadda." Brad tried to follow along in the papers scattered in front of him. "Sixteen? Didn't the parents object to her marrying that young?" "Hell no. According to the neighbors, they damned near fell over themselves to get it made legal. Old de Beaumont was a millionaire, Brad. R-I-C-H. Who's gonna stand in the way that kind of money?" Sharon's voice continued, tinny in his ear. "Hell, the old woman next door told me flat out that they sold her to him. Said Belle's old man had a meth habit, but she couldn't prove it. The neighbor hated the dad, but she thinks Belle de Beaumont walks on water." Brad started to interrupt, but Sharon anticipated his question. "I know what you're thinking, and you're right. The old woman has it in for Belle's dad -- they've got a feud that goes back to the dawn o' time. And yes, I checked with the local yokels and they have multiple complaints from the old woman about the neighbors. Noise, traffic, drugs, you name it. Typical shit." Brad flipped through and found a copy of the police report, "So nothing came of her complaint that the parents sold the daughter to the rich guy." Brad wasn't tracking on any of the names. "Nah," Sharon was sounding bored. Brad was wishing for the thousandth time that he had foregone those last six drinks last night. None of this file made any sense at all, and the lead attorney wanted his recommendation by two o'clock. Today. Brad plucked a piece of paper from the file at random, "So tell me about this childhood friend who saw the de Beaumont girl covered in cuts and bruises..." Brad could feel himself shaking his head in disbelief. In this day and age, not too many kids would go so far as to disguise himself as a deliveryman in order to check on a former girlfriend. " ... yeah, he dressed up like a UPS guy or something and visited her a couple weeks ago. Came back claiming she was being held prisoner, that de Beaumont was some sort of pervert and into all sorts of depraved sex. Personally? I think the kid watches too much MTV." Sharon had an opinion on everything. "So how come he isn't on our witness list?" Brad read the list three times, but the two or three names were all family members. "Disappeared. That's the kind of friends you get nowadays. He was already to holler rape and molestation. Now that the chips are down, he's nowhere to be found. Told ya, watchin' too much MTV." Sharon's voice reminded Brad of a drill he used to own, sharp and whiny. "Didn't the boy have parents? Kids don't just disappear...." Sharon interrupted, "Oh hell, yeah. The parents said he was so shook up when he got back, he started sleeping with the light on. Then they woke up one morning and he was gone, light was on but no one was home." Sharon laughed at her own joke, "Personally? I think she turned him on to some bad shit. Didn't the neighbor say the dad was a druggie? That nut didn't fall too far from the tree. She prolly smoked him up and he went all paranoid and left town." Brad muttered something unintelligible, thinking about the disappearing kid. That sounded like the work of a jealous husband. He wished the headache would go away so he could think. "It was the grandmother who found her..." Huh? Brad had lost his place in the file. He thought they were still talking about the missing former boyfriend. "Gramma hadn't heard from Belle for a few months, and she wasn't getting anything from the parents. The place was unlocked, so Gramma let herself in. "She found her granddaughter wandering around out in the garden, covered in blood." Brad ruffled through the file until he found Belle's mug shot from that day. Someone had wiped her face down for the photo, but her hair was still matted to her skull and the streaks of crimson showed clearly in the black and white photo. "I guess they found pieces of the husband buried all over. Some in the dahlias, a little more in the mums, a few bits under the sunflowers and the rest covered by poppies. The coroner said he couldn't determine cause of death, the pieces were too small and too decomposed. But from the bruises on your little client, I'd guess he put up some sort of a fight." Brad could hear the rustling of papers through the phone. "Yeah the docs found some old bruises, a cracked pelvis and broken rib. Not that she seemed to notice. The responding officers found her in the same condition she is in now. Just standing, staring at the poppies. "But, if you ask me, she's good for the former boyfriend as well as the husband. I guess beauty, brains and money aren't enough for some girls, eh Brad?" Sharon waited while Brad tried to filter this new information through his foggy brain. He had a nutcase client that couldn't or wouldn't speak, who had murdered one of the wealthiest men in the state. Belle stood to inherit millions. And, if she remained incapacitated, her inheritance fell to her next of kin. Brad flipped through the file -- both her parents and the grandmother were being called as witnesses by the prosecution. It looked like the family, smelling a windfall, would prove to be unenthusiastic defense witnesses at best. Brad really wasn't up to another hopeless case like this. "Yeah, looks that way. I don't have any solid evidence pointing in another direction. Like it makes any difference. Belle de Beaumont will be locked up for the rest of her life, one way or another." "Ok, Sharon, tell you what - let's cop a plea and call it good. And hey, do me a favor and call over to Rustynnes' and reserve me a table in the lounge. Say five thirty?" Brad clicked off the phone and gathered up his files. It would probably take all night with old Jack Daniels to get Belle de Beaumont out of his head. The way she just sat and stared, never moving, it creeped him out. What the hell was she thinking? Day in and day out... *** "No!" The scream was in her throat, but she couldn't get it to come out. He pushed her hands down to her sides, and though she knew better, she pulled them up again, trying desperately to cover her bare breasts. "Knock it off." The command was accompanied by a twisting pinch, and she frantically tried to comply. "Give it up, bitch. You know what happens when you don't..." His breathing was getting louder in her ears; she forced herself to hold still and prayed. She prayed to be anywhere but here... anywhere but here. She felt the tearing of his teeth breaking the skin on her breast. It burned with a hot, unbearable familiarity that turned the world white, then red, and finally black. *** Her body relaxed and she opened her eyes to the little rows of dahlias stretched out before her -- well, dahlias and weeds. It didn't seem to matter how often she pulled them, by the time she made a circuit of the entire garden new weeds had sprouted to replace the old. The garden was old and the weeds well established. Cleaning it all out was an ambitious goal, but she thought she was up to it. She grabbed a double handful of the daisy weeds, leaned back and pulled with both hands. Today was a good luck day because the entire clump popped easily out of the ground accompanied by the damp smell of freshly turned earth and the slightly bitter aroma of broken, bleeding stems. Sometimes, she imagined she could hear them screaming little death cries, but it was likely just the wind. She looked ahead, and realized why the daisies had pulled free so easily. A monster thistle had taken root in the dahlias, its massive stalk pushing the daisies into the finer dirt at the surface. Purple blooms swayed far above her head and the stalk was as big around as her arm. She pondered how best to approach the giant thistle then reached forward and worked her strong fingers into the soft soil at its base. With hands that knew instinctively where to dig, she burrowed beneath the top layer of soil, scooping away dirt and bugs, finally baring the white root below. A rock found its way into her hand and with it, she was able to smash and tear at the interlaced weeds that supported this ogre of a plant. They made a satisfying ripping noise as she scraped them away and tunneled deeper into the spongy earth. A slight breeze made a soft moaning sound as it blew through the garden that she found pleasantly soothing. Concentrating, she worked at the plant until she reached a place where the root was narrow enough to get both hands around its base. Wincing a little, she scarcely noticed where thorns ripped her shirt, leaving bloody little trails across her bare arms. Intent on gaining a solid grip on the root, she ignored the blood and the fingerlike branches that pulled and tugged at her hair. Maneuvering both feet under her, she dug in with her bare toes. A flash of pain reminded her that one foot was weak, so shifted her weight to the stronger foot. Her hands slipped a little on the damp root and her heart hammered in her chest. Fearing she might lose her tenuous grip, she clenched down harder, digging her nails deep into the soft flesh. The root gave an inch, and she pushed into her heels, pulling with both hands as if her life depended on it. The unexpected release sent her onto her back, staring at the noonday sun. Black spots danced and flirted in the air above and she feared she might pass out. But the monster thistle was lying in the row, the white root a pale contrast against the dark ground. She carefully picked it up and dumped it with the weeds piled to one side. The flowers nodded and bobbed their heads in the freshening breeze. She sat back and admired her handiwork, She could stare at them all day. *** "For Chrisake don't you dare puke. How the hell will you explain that to the Inspector?" "Jesus. Sorry, Sarge ... but I've never seen ... I mean, his whacker's been pulled clean out... Oh God..." "Goddammit! Get hospital security up here. We'll need this orderly's name to contact next of kin. God, look at this mess. That's what we get for sticking crazy bitches like Belle de Beaumont in a nut house. She shoulda got the electric chair to begin with." |
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| Beauty And The Beast II: One Year Later by walshnyc@yahoo.com |
#11 of 13 |
| 2393 words | |
| "Here he comes." Catherine looked up, scanning the restaurant in the direction that Tony indicated with a nod. It only took a moment to find him, the lumbering figure moving with surprising grace towards their table. It was her erstwhile partner, and her one-time lover; her beast. "Are you sure it was a good idea to invite him here? Will he be comfortable with all of these people around?" "Sure," Tony replied. "He’s a changed man. Wait and see." She returned her gaze to their belated guest, who had paused at a nearby table to speak to the group sitting there. "God, I hope they’re not giving him a hard time," she said. The idea of going to him flashed in her mind, but quickly faded as she watched his movements. "What is he doing? Signing autographs? Why is he signing autographs?" "They probably asked him to." "Nobody ever asks for my autograph." "Patience, dear," Tony said, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. Catherine realized why when she realized that their guest had arrived. "Henry!" she said, rising to greet him. She leaned in as if to hug him, but he deflected her gesture by taking her hand and shaking it. "I’m so glad you came!" "Good to see you, Hank." Tony had risen and extended his hand. "What are you doing here?" The handshake remained unconsummated as Henry glared suspiciously at him. "Relax, big guy," Tony said, sinking back into his chair; "we’ve got some business we need to discuss." Catherine also returned to her seat, settling into it slowly as she studied Henry’s face. When Tony said Henry was a changed man, he obviously didn’t mean cosmetically. His eyes still seemed too small beneath his blunt brow, the bridge of his nose crooked like that of an untalented prize-fighter, his jaw-line still looked undeveloped, dragging his mouth into a perpetual frown. "You look good," she said. "You too," he responded, sitting down and finally taking his eyes off of Tony. "That’s a really nice suit. And you hair looks good like that. Much better than the way you used to wear it." "Thank you." He seemed to consider her for a moment, as if searching for an equal compliment, causing her to crack an embarrassed smile. But instead of flattery, he went directly for the heart of the matter. "So, what is this all about?" "I want another chance. With you." She said. The sound of her voice cracking surprised her. "Forgive me for being brusque, but what does this have to do with him?" Henry nodded toward the third party at the table. Tony responded as if on cue, sliding his chair closer to the couple. "Hank, first let me tell you how happy I am to see you, and how happy everybody at the network is that you’ve done so well for yourself. We don’t think we’re being too modest by saying that we feel as if we had a big hand in making you the man you are today." "Don’t act like Catherine and I didn’t do anything for the network," Henry cut in. "I’m sure you got more out of us than we got out of you..." "You’re absolutely right, Hank. Two years ago, when I pitched the idea of a ‘Beauty and the Beast’ reality show, the network bigwigs thought I was crazy. I said "Let’s match an attractive, seemingly shallow woman with a guy who makes up in inner beauty what he lacks on the surface; let’s send them on dates and romantic getaways, and see if the guy can win her heart. And let’s film the whole thing so the television audience can follow along." It was my baby, but it was a hard sell. They said nobody would want to watch, but they gave in because nobody had a better idea. I fleshed out the premise, landed some sponsors, found you two, and the rest was television history..." "I still can’t believe the ratings we got," Catherine chimed in. "Nobody expected it to be so big, including me. It was the runaway hit of the season. The ‘proposal episode’ did phenomenal numbers," Tony gushed. He studied Henry’s expression for a hint of shared enthusiasm, but the mask of deformities left his face unchanged. Instead, he turned to Catherine, addressing her in a gentle tone. "Catherine, when you called, I came," Henry said. "I thought you needed me. You never said that this was about the show." "Henry, I do need you. I made a huge mistake when I turned down your marriage proposal. I thought that I wanted other things out of life, I thought things would be different. I didn’t think marrying you would be the right thing, but now I realize that I made the wrong choice. I don’t expect you to take me back just like that, but I want to be a part of your life again. Maybe you’ll see fit to give me another chance, or maybe we’ll just end up good friends, but I don’t want to live knowing that I threw a good thing away without trying to get it back." "I’m... touched, but I don’t see why you couldn’t just approach me without dragging the network and that damned show back into it." Catherine shot a quick glance at Tony, who’s silence consented that she answer. "When I signed on to do the show, one of the perks they offered was a talent contract with the network. I signed up because it seemed like an easy shortcut to an acting career, but it just wasn’t what I had hoped it would be." "Did they renege on the contract?" "Not exactly. I thought that I would get a shot at roles on television shows, or even movies for their film division, but things didn’t play out like that. Instead, I did a bunch of talk show appearances, some game shows, and a handful of cameos on other reality shows on the network. Did you see any of them?" "I don’t watch television." "Oh. It was very humiliating. I had to award the grand prize to the winner of ‘Cannibal Island’; they dressed me up like a prostitute for ‘Pimp Eye For the White Guy’; and I had to be a bridesmaid on ‘Who Wants to Marry Your Second Cousin?’. "Couldn’t you just say ‘no’?" "Not really. I was under contract, and they kept telling me that it would all lead to bigger, better things." She sniffled as if ready to cry, but no tears followed. "The better offers never came. And before long, even the humiliating jobs became scarce. And now, I can’t even get work somewhere else because contract stipulations keep me tied to the network." "And this is when you suddenly realized that you needed me..?" "No, she’s been pining for you for a long time," Tony cut in. "She’s just been hesitant to act on it because of the way she left you high and dry last time." He paused long enough to register the disapproving glance from Catherine. "When she mentioned her feelings to me, I got an idea; I thought ‘why not get these two kids back together’ and do a sort of sequel to the original show? It could be ‘Beauty and the Beast: One Year Later’. It would be huge." "It’s obvious what’s in it for you," Henry said, "but what makes you think I would want to do it? My life is a lot different from when you approached me last time." Tony responded by bending down and producing a briefcase that had been on the floor at his feet. He opened it, and pulled out a small stack of papers before setting it back down again. "Let’s see," Tony said, scanning the papers. "Yes, things certainly different for you then. You were a clerk in a hospital records department. When we signed you, we offered a participation incentive of a large sum of money to be used for corrective and cosmetic procedures to, uh, fix your face. Prior to the penultimate episode of the show, you were given a substantial financial bonus. When the show ended, you didn’t use the money to correct your appearance, but instead started a foundation that would benefit children whom had also experienced facial disfigurements due to birth defects, burns, accidents, etcetera. You parlayed the fame acquired from the show to garner financial support, political and celebrity participation and endorsements, and you’ve become quite the celebrity yourself on the talk shows and the lecture circuit." "The wording in the contract was that the money could be used to make my life better. My life is better." "Nobody would argue that, but I have to admit, the network was really surprised that you weren’t interested in our follow up offer." "What follow up offer?" Catherine asked. "If I had chosen to go with the corrective procedures, they wanted do a show following my progress. What did you call it?" "Extreme Beast Make-over," Tony replied. "Which would have led to ‘Bachelor Beast’ and god knows what else, so I passed," Henry mused. "I never wanted to be a celebrity. I just wanted to get on with my life." "Which brings us back to the lovely Catherine, and our reason for being here," Tony said. "She feels as if she made a mistake in her life that is directly connected to how things ended on our last show. She wants to make amends. Unfortunately, or not, depending on your perspective, Catherine’s life as a reality tv property is still under contract. If you are willing to give her another shot, we get to film it and air it on our network. If you don’t want to, then you walk out of here and back to the life you’ve made for yourself, and Catherine goes on with hers, as it is, until her contract runs out." "And when will that be?" "Two more years. But if you do agree to do another show with her, we’ll void it upon the completion of the program. When the last episode airs, she’ll be a free woman." "Catherine, I don’t know what to make of your feelings for me, but how do you feel about all of this?" Henry’s voice held a compassion that his expression was incapable of. "I don’t care about the television show. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll wait until my contract ends and I’ll be there for you if you’ll have me." She reached across and took his hands, and pulled hersel | |