Washington Horror Blog

SEMI-FICTIONAL CHRONICLE of the EVIL THAT INFECTS WASHINGTON, D.C. To read Prologue and Character Guide, please see www.washingtonhorrorblog.com, updated 6/6//2017. Follow Washington Water Woman on Twitter @HorrorDC ....

Sunday, July 10, 2016

Prince and Prowling's women on the verge of a nervous breakdown!

Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam!

Bridezilla pulled off her goggles as the gun range target sheet flew towards her for review.

"You hit all the vital organs again, ma'am," said her shooting instructor.  "Why don't you take a break?"  She had been there for ten hours on Saturday, and had shown up promptly at 11:30 this morning (after church services) ready to go again.

"What?" protested the Prince and Prowling junior partner.  "I just got here!"

The shooting instructor knew that the gun range owner was going to come in on Monday, see the massively depleted inventory of bullets and target sheets, and seriously reconsider his unlimited target practice membership plan.

"We could try blindfolded shooting," suggested the instructor, trying to slow her down.  "It's good practice for shooting in the dark."

"Blindfolded shooting?" exclaimed Bridezilla, incredulously.  "I'm an attorney!  I'm not going to shoot at somebody I can't see!"  She tore off the target sheet and reloaded her gun for the next one.

The shooters this morning were mostly white people preparing for the spread of the deadly race war engulfing America, though there were also a few people subconsciously preparing to shoot up Muslims, politicians, gays, bosses, or ex-wives.   Bridezilla was uncharacteristically apolitical this week, picturing only one face on the hundreds of targets she had shot up:  husband Marco Pel.  "Don't even know his real name!" she muttered again.

The instructor had tried in vain to figure out if she was really going to gun down her husband or was just blowing off steam:  after several protests about invading her privacy, she had finally told him she had no husband, it was all a sham, and she would get an annulment as soon as all the damned vacationing Virginia judges would get back to their dockets!  The instructor had seen these skinny Virginia belle types before, but usually only for a couple hours the weekend after a husband had purchased them a small handgun for their designer purse.  He had never seen this type of behavior, and was writing up a report for his boss even though he knew nothing would come of it.

Another target sheet flew towards them, with the genitals blown to bits, and he sipped from his water bottle instead of commenting.

Further down the legal totem pole of Prince and Prowling, staff attorney Chloe Cleavage was also becoming increasingly unhinged.  She was sunbathing on her condo building roof with cousin Chloris Cleavage, an actress who had stopped by for a visit after completing a bit part as "Waitress Number Two" in a movie filming outside Baltimore.

"I guess I should take the train up on Monday to New York, to prepare for the audition," Chloris was saying for the tenth time, even though the audition for an antiperspirant commercial was not scheduled until Thursday.  "I could stay with Mitch or Michael, I suppose."  Chloris was always referring to a score of men just dying to pin her down, and Chloe was silently rolling her eyes again.  "Michael is definitely a better cook, tee hee!  But Mitch, well--"

"Whatever!" cried out an exasperated Chloe, who had now forgotten all the gratitude previously felt for the period Chloris had come to stay with her after the broken arm.  "You know how many guys have me on speed dial?!  Two dozen, at least!"

"Well, that's great!" said Chloris.  "What are you hollerin' at me for?  Which one do you like the best?  Wait, two-dozen?!"

Chloe grabbed her thermos to sip from the frozen margarita and stall.  "Well...."  She took another sip, suddenly overcome with bitterness that a prince had never arrived on a white horse for her.  (Well, not a handsome rich one, like she wanted.)  "Devon, I suppose," which was the name of a firm client, and the princeliest name she could come up with.

"Ooh, what's he like?"

Chloe thought about the first time she had accidentally run into an attorney visiting from Devon.  Staff attorneys at P&P were never supposed to mix with clients, but when he saw her silicone enhancements and figured out she was working on his case, he had stopped by her office on the way out.  One thing had led to another, and then he had left her with a fifty-dollar bill on her desk.  Somehow, this had now happened with attorneys visiting from three other clients, none of whom objected when she also billed the time to their employers.  Then she had started getting cellphone calls from other men they knew, and she now had a guy visiting her apartment almost every night of the week!  She had raised her price to $300, but this had led to even more phone calls as her reputation as a "high-priced call girl" spread.  And she turned away ugly guys, which made the guys reaching her bedroom (or office chair) crow about their experiences even more! 

Am I really the sort of girl a man will never want to marry?  She had anguished to herself over and over again.  My cousin is at least out there pursuing her dream!  I can't even remember why I went to law school!  What have I become?

"Chloe?  Hey, slow down on the margarita, girl!"

Chloe put the thermos down beside her.  "Devon is...well, he's hard to describe.  He makes me feel...wanted."

"Goodness, that is not enough, Chloe!  Trust me!  Guys are always wanting, wanting, wanting.  But what are they giving?  You gotta find somebody who will help your dreams come true!"

I don't have a dream, Chloe thought.

Downtown, further down the P&P totem pole, long-time contract attorney Laura Moreno was putting in the repeated weekend overtime hours she needed to pay her health insurance premium, but she was in an uncharacteristically good mood because tonight was another meeting of ASPIRE:  Attorneys Serving Public Interest Radicals Everywhere.  It had been years since her drudgery work at Prince and Prowling made her too exhausted to do pro bono work or look for better job opportunities, but ASPIRE made her feel energized!  The leader--who only went by the name "Max" to avoid harassment from reactionary trolls--was the most charismatic man she had ever met!  She really felt she could move mountains for him!  Though most of the members were attorneys, he had also attracted paralegals, legal assistants, secretaries, accountants, political activists, and scores of other professionals united behind his vision of shifting the intellectual energy of the nation's legal sector away from serving corporate America and towards serving common America.  What neither Laura nor anybody else in the young organization knew was that Max was really serving Evil.

Closer to the bottom of the Prince and Prowling totem pole than she felt she (even though a non-employee) should be, the wife of former Senator Evermore Breadman had followed him to work to spy on him, incredulous that he would pass up a yacht excursion on a gorgeous day like this simply because "it's an election year, dear!"  She was aware of his occasional philandering, and had cheated on him in revenge a few times, but she felt they were both getting too old for that nonsense and needed to get closer to the dignity she saw in others of their age--who were learning to play bridge and taking grandchildren to baseball games.  She had gotten Laura what's-her-name to let her in under false pretenses, and was creeping around on her husband's floor.  Every time she got near his office, she could hear his voice on the phone in what sounded like legitimate calls (though she had never before heard him refer to Donald Trump as a "sperm whale with diarrhea", President Obama as "the Wizard of Clods", and Hillary Clinton as "living proof that voodoo dolls work").  Still uneasy, she poked through his secretary's desk and his legal assistant's files.  She poked through forgotten food in the kitchen fridge and forgotten output in the central printer tray.  She went downstairs to the firm library and upstairs to the penthouse.  Then she accidentally stumbled across the office of Chloe Cleavage--a name she had heard whispered every year at the firm holiday party.  She rummaged through everything until she found the smoking gun:  four boxes of condoms!  "What kind of slut keeps four boxes of condoms in her office!"  [Chloe had ordered a crate of them from Amazon because she had run out of nearby drugstores she was willing to buy more at.]  She grabbed all of them and raced to her husband's office.

"What kind of woman is this?!" she shouted to her shocked husband, throwing the condom boxes on his desk.

"I need to call you back, Mr. Speaker," he said quickly, hanging up the phone.  "What on Earth?"

"Is that what they're called these days?  [Air quotes--]  Staff attorney?"

"Um--"

"Don't 'um' me!"

"Are those from Roderick's office?" Breadman asked, though he doubted it.

"Chloe Cleavage!  How often do you sleep with her?  Are you crazy?  She could blackmail you!"

Chloe had already blackmailed him, but he wasn't responsible for this quantity of condoms, and a surge of testosterone-fueled jealousy rose in him even as he struggled to calm down his wife.

"I don't know what all those are for!" he said honestly.  "I don't have time for that!  Believe me:  I wish I did!"  He regretted that last part as soon as it was out of his mouth.

"Well, maybe I can give you a quickie before you call back Mr. Ryan!" she screamed.

"Um, alright," Breadman said, relieved.

"Ga, you're disgusting!  You think I'm going to do it on a sticky leather chair!  Satin sheets!  Satin sheets!  Satin sheets!  Dignity!"  She kicked over both his guest chairs, then dumped a potted plant onto his couch for good measure.  "Act your age!"

Back at the gun range, a sudden migraine had finally put an end to Bridezilla's personal blitzkrieg across the stack of target sheets.  "Sometimes pets can help with extreme stress," the instructor said to her, surprising even himself.

She looked at him suspiciously.  "Some men are scared of strong women!" she declared, marching off in a snit, determined to find a female shooting instructor, even though she was good enough to be a psycho sniper now.

Nonetheless, an hour later, she was returning home with miniature Siamese-twin guinea pigs, little conjoined freaks she had adopted from the local animal shelter.  "I'll call you Thelma and Louise," she told them.  (In time, she would change their names to "Flower Girl" and "Maid of Honor".)

Outside her window, a catbird wondered whose side they were on. 

********************************************************************
COMING UP:  
A legend in his own mind, a hero in his own heart!

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