Post by Deleted on Feb 18, 2015 21:29:45 GMT -6
Valentine’s Day:
A time when magic is supposed to happen out of nowhere, and love should be overflowing. In reality, its probably one of the saddest days of the year for most people. For me it’s even more depressing, but not for the reasons one might think. See, Valentine’s Day is also my birthday…
It seemed as though ever since I’ve learned the power that came with being a woman, especially a woman who was aware of her own sexual vitality, there has always been the presence of this sort of looming expiration date. The ever present clicking of a clock. Not the biological clock that most women are preoccupied with; the one that makes them baby crazy or obsessed with finding a man to marry.
No...this was something much darker. I made a deal with the Devil long ago when I decided to trade in on my aesthetic, and with each subtle ticking of the clock I could more and more feel the eerie chill of Death as he gained on me, inching closer and closer to collect a debt that he was owed.
Generally on my birthday I would stay in doors and distance myself from human contact as much as I could, while also avoiding social media (or any outlet that might acknowledge a public person’s birthday) as well as mirrors. Today, however, I would have had to be torn away from one.
I treated this hotel suite as my personal sanctuary...or was it my tomb? That had yet to be decided. Planting myself in front of a mirror in the boudoir and stared into my reflection with disdain.
“Damn it…” I said to myself while inspecting my face which had begun to show very slight traces of aging; The tiniest of wrinkles upon my brow and slight discoloration under my eyes due to lack of sleep and recent stress. “All the craziness of winning this title has aged me two fold! I swear that match shaved at least ten years off my life.”
A few years ago I saw a movie about a witch who had to consume the essence of stars to stay young and beautiful. Every time she used magic to get what she wanted, she would age drastically. That’s about the same thing that happened to me every time I conned a man into loving me, giving me everything, and then bleeding him dry.
It’s the same thing that happened after every big match. It took time to recover, and this ordeal with Roger was twice as exhausting. To anyone else the differences would have gone unnoticed, but to me it was as if I was staring into my own mortality; less vibrant and growing more dim with every breath.
You see, like the witch in that movie I have made it my mission while in NEW to live off of stars that burned much brighter than myself. At least, the types that others considered to be brighter stars than I was.
Yet here I am after what could be touted as my greatest conquest yet and I find myself in a rather precarious position. What does the witch do when she’s run out of stars to consume, and is left with nothing but dust?
“I think you’re seeing things, shugga!” My mother’s voice rang out as she entered the boudoir from the corridor outside. “You’re probably stressed out...why don’t you take Hunter up on his offer and spend some of his hard earned money on a shopping spree. You deserve it!”
“You already lost my baby, now have you gone and lost your mind too?” I asked Denise with wide eyes and sarcasm.
“It was just a suggestion…” She replied sheepishly before taking a seat by the door. “Besides...with things being so tight now because of Roger taking all of your money...I figured you could use the pampering!”
To say that things between my mother and I have been tense would be a gigantic understatement.She was already on thin ice because of her little mishap with losing track of my daughter a couple weeks ago. Unfortunately for her, because of my looming birthday, the very sight of her withering face simply disgusted me. She had the same wrinkle from furrowing her brow that I was just beginning to get. However hers was much deeper, caused by the constant uncertainty of her own future.
It was sickening. The woman who taught me everything I know about manipulating men and taking control was now a mere shell of herself. She had aged, and was now in permanent limbo. There were no more men for her to manipulate. I was her only meal ticket now and the sight of her desperately clinging onto my coat tails for dear life made my stomach turn. Looking at her was like looking at a future version of me. I refused to become that woman.
“I know that I may play dumb very well, mama, but i’m not really as stupid as I want people to think I am. I’m not using Hunter’s money to go shopping. That dipshit is probably trying to get me sent to prison for using bills marked by the government or something. Besides, i’ve already put it to better use.”
“You’re right. Finding Marie should be the top priority right now.” Denise said with a nod.
“Ha!” I practically spat up champagne while trying to take a sip of it. “That little bitch could be half way to China right now. Ain’t nobody got time for that. She’ll be fine...besides, she’s with Roger’s little boyfriend Shane. The only danger she’s in is of being bored to death by that old Queen. No...right now my priority is getting my money back.”
“Oh...of course…” Mama sighed, sounding almost disappointed. “What’s new?”
“Exactly mama. What else is new?!” I hissed after snapping my head in mama’s direction and narrowing my eyes at her. “Unless you want to get out there with that tired old sandpaper twat of yours and try to make us more than the few Pirate Dabloon’s it’s worth, then yes it appears as though once again it’s up to ME to make sure that our heads are kept above water...so yes mama, what else is new?!” Satisfied with the shameful look in her eyes, I backed down and regained my composure. “Besides...I’ve already got a plan.”
“Oh...good.” Denise said. “What is it?”
“Details are for people that don’t lose babies. This doesn’t really concern you. Now...why don’t you make yourself useful and go run my bath water. It’s time for me to go be ‘Blair Buchannan’ again.”
The very idea of my mother suggesting that I use Hunter’s money for anything other than toilet paper was preposterous. However, everything about Hunter Valentyne was preposterous. He continues to go on and on about how he was the one who finally opened my eyes to the fact that I was a real star. It was he that made me see the light. What a load of garbage.
Like Roger, Hunter was just another pawn in my ultimate plan. If he really thinks that all this time I was as dumb and naive as I made myself look then he truly deserves to be locked up in that mental institution. Apparently, he didn’t get the memo that I have been working WITH my mother all this time, and not for her. Meaning I was the one calling the shots. I’m not too upset about poor, simple little Hunter not catching on. After all, I guess that’s what I wanted in the first place.
Still, I had to say that the irony of what I was about to do was not lost on me. Using money that was given to my by my husband for beating up the father of my child. What was I about to use the money for? Well, to go on a date of course!
Hours later I was being welcomed into a massive cathedral by a very old, confused looking nun.
“Hello, sister. I have an appointment with the Archbishop. He should be expecting me.” I said loudly, speaking into what I hoped was her good ear; I heard people that age only had one. She looked me up and down, bewildered. It must have been my outfit.
I stood in front of her with a demure smile as she motioned for me to enter. Dressed in a shortened nun’s habit that ended dangerously high on my thighs, over the knee black stockings held up by lace garters, and a pair of white high heeled pumps, I let myself into the the House of God and awaited the nun’s direction. She looked me over once more before shaking her head and leading me down a long corridor.
I looked around, marveling at the beauty of this enormous church. For a moment, I was thankful. Not because I had found peace or solace in being in this Holy place, or even that I was able to experience such beauty...but because this cathedral only seemed to be illuminated by candles in sconces that were hanging from the walls. Overhead lightning was not my friend. ;)
After being led down what seemed like a thousand different hallways, we finally arrived at the door of the Archbishop’s office. The nun, who didn’t seem very talkative, rapped thrice on the door before looking me over once more. She shook her head in disdain before disappearing back down the hallway.
Moments later the door opened and an older man dressed in a modest black button up shirt and matching trousers peered out from behind it. He looked me over, just as the nun did, only he was a little better at hiding his surprise. At his age, I guess he had seen everything.
“You must be….”
“Sister Valentyne, yes. Bishop Frances, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” I said, extending my hand for him to kiss it. He took one look at my hand and raised a brow before opening the door for me to enter his office.
“Right. Well..please come in.” He said after clearing his throat. I did, and he shut the door behind me. He made his way behind his desk and took a seat.
By now, i’m sure you’ve gathered that this is no ordinary date. You see, going into my first World Title defense I knew I had to leave no room for mistakes. After being married to Hunter, I think it’s safe to say that I knew what to expect from him. I mean, the man has been inside me for God’s sake...and Valora? Well, this wasn’t my first rodeo with her. I could always see right through that bitch, no matter how many desperate plot twists she tried to throw at us.
However, despite barely coming into contact with Father Nathan in the ring a timw or two...I didn’t know much about him. I needed to dig up some dirt. Problem was, the only thing I really knew about him was that we worked for the Catholic Church. So that’s where I decided to start. I guess you could say that I used the money that Hunter gave me for shopping after all, and made a very generous donation to the Catholic church. Unfortunately, you can’t exactly BUY a meeting with the Pope...so they gave me a meeting with an Archbishop. I figured it was better than nothing.
The Bishop watched as I glided across his office in my barely there ensemble, smoothing out the bottom of my skirt before taking a seat on his lap...I mean, on the chair in front of his desk and crossing my legs.
“You must be from a very ….liberal diocese. What church did you say you’re from?”
“Saint Jesse’s…” I lied. “it’s a very small church in a very bad part of Chicago, i’m sure you wouldn’t have heard of it.”
“I see…” He replied, his eyes trailing down to the exposed flesh of my supple thighs and then back up to my lips before finally meeting his gaze with mine. “...and what is it you do there at Saint Jesse’s, Sister Valentyne?”
“Oh, well...you see Saint Jesse’s is one of those old school Catholic Asylum’s like in American Horror Story…” I said, trying hard not to lose it completely.
“Really, now? I thought those were all outlawed by now.” He said, seemingly intrigued which meant he was actually buying it.
“All but one.” I said with a sweet smile.
“Interesting….” Bishop Frances said with a nod. “and, what is it you do at this Asylum, Sister Valentyne?”
“Oh..well I keep all of the lunatics in line.”
“Lunatics?”
“Yes, well most of our patients are people who have been living a life of sin and want to turn their lives over to the lord.” Fuck it. I decided to have a little fun. “For instance, I am counseling this one woman...her name is Valora. Valora is a former crackwhore from the ghetto and she actually suffers from a multiple personality disorder.”
“Oh, heavens…”
“I know right? One day she’s an F.B.I agent...the next she’s a famous professional wrestler. Then she’s a psychologist...which I, being a licensed psychologist myself and all, think is QUITE hilarious!” I tossed my head back and enjoyed a healthy chuckle at Valora’s expense: one of my favorite things to do. “It’s really quite sad. She’s always going on and on about all of these different awards and prestigious titles she’s won. We think she may also be a compulsive liar because she walks around criticizing women for getting plastic surgery when she clearly has fake breasts herself.”
Without missing a beat, I slid my iPhone from underneath my mini-habit and pulled up a recent photo of Valora Salinas to show the Bishop:
“See what I mean?”
“Oh yes..” He replied, squinting his eyes while looking upon the photo. “Those breasts have clearly been altered...and might I add, not very well.”
“I know…” I sighed, shaking my head before putting my phone away. “I mean, if she needed the number for a good plastic surgeon I would have gladly given her one. With all the work she needs done, i’m sure she could get a bulk discount. And to top it all off she shames condemns women who use their sexuality to get ahead. She says women like that are cheap... but look at that photo...doesn’t that look like the cheapest, skankiest crack whore you’ve ever seen?”
“Ahem…” The Bishop cleared his throat. “It seems as though you’ve got your hands full over there at Saint Jesse’s...don’t you have any help there?”
“Well...if you ask some people, they’d say that all I have is help to get things done. But I always say...if you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself. Although, there is a new guy around to help out with this weeks mat-....I mean, meeting. His name is Robert. I guess he used to start Riots all the time or something before he found God. Anyway...whether or not he is going to be helpful..well...that really has yet to be seen. However, that’s not why i’ve come here your excellency.”
“Oh, i’m sorry...what can I do for you Sister?”
“Well...you see.. I’m doing a little bit of fact checking. As you said yourself, I have my hands full at the Asylum and so we need to hire more help. There’s a man who is interested in taking MY job, however. He’s claiming to be a Priest...he goes by the name of Father Nathan O’Connell….I was wondering if you had ever heard of him before?”
“My child, there are over 200,000 parishes under the catholic church...each with varying numbers of priests. It would be almost impossible for me to identify him simply by name.”
“I figured that...perhaps a picture would help?”
I whipped out my phone again, this time pulling up a photo of Father Nathan and presenting it to the Bishop:
“Oh...of course. I know him well. But not as a priest.”
“Oh? Please, go on…”
“I knew him as little Nathaniel O’Connell...He was an altar boy. He’s famous amongst the Catholic’s...but not in a good way.”
“Whatever do you mean?” I asked, inching in closer.
“You see, lil’ Nathaniel used to hop around from church to church...POSING as an altar boy when he was in reality not a minor at all.”
“Oh my!”
“His boyish good looks fooled us all. Nathaniel was exposing Priests all over the world for touching him inappropriately. He would seduce them! My prancing around in little short shorts, not much longer than that outfit you’ve got on. Always wagging his rear end at us suggestively...asking for extra sacrament at communion. We suspect he even tried to get a few of the priests drunk on a strange mixture of sacramental wine, holy water, and something else which he called ‘Jesus Juice!’ He must have had a dozen priests excommunicated from the Catholic Church before he was finally found out!”
“What do you mean, he was found out?” I couldn’t believe the controversial gold mine I had just struck it rich in.
“Well, you see, he was lying. Playing some sick games...of course, nobody would believe a priest over a child. But he messed with the wrong Man of God...because I was the one who finally exposed HIM as a liar!”
“But how did you prove it?!”
“Well, in his testimony he claimed that my penis was a mere four inches...when really, it’s a strong seven! Care to take a look for yourself?!”
Oh how I hate birthdays.
XOXO.