10-26-2020, 10:19 PM
Vickie Meyer stood five feet and nine inches off the ground. Slim, yet sturdy. Her appearance was
like that of most the other women of her time; a mother, secretary or nurse. It was her demeanor
that set her apart. When speaking to her on friendly terms, you'd swear she was a Sunday school
teacher but peel back the layers, find that terrifying lioness that lived just below her deceiving
surface and you'd be hard-pressed to find a more fearsome or formidable enemy.
You did NOT want to get on her bad side!
Mrs. Meyer casually walked about the room as Gail sat rigid in her coma-like nervous
breakdown. To be a fly on any of those walls.
"Do you know the importance of consistency, Gail?" asked the lady of the manor.
Atwood, still frozen in her dissociated state, followed Vickie around the room with her eyes, unable to speak.
"Do you know what it's like for many people, many very important people, to depend on you?" she asked.
The ice that buried Gail was still solid around her. The lump in her throat swelling, sweat beading.
"I'm not in a position to lose, Ms. Atwood. Far too much is at stake. Do you understand?" Vickie questioned.
Atwood was all but drooling. Fear had her locked away inside of herself. Taunting her with the only key.
"Do you have anything to say?" Vickie asked sharply.
Gail could only muster the small whimper of a scared child. Vickie then stormed towards her.
"Hey! What's the matter with you? Are you drunk? SPEAK woman!!" yelled the angered socialite.
The sheer overwhelming force of those words slammed against Gail's barely-hanging-on consciousness
and as though by involuntary cue, she turned to the side and vomited all over Mrs. Meyers fancy
imported Persian rug. As embarrassing as it may have been, it did bring Atwood back to reality.
"My sweet God, you ARE drunk!" Vickie accused.
Trying desperately to gain enough composure to state her case, Gail wiped her mouth and searched
for the right words.
"I am so sorry, Vickie, I don't know what's come over me! I just... I feel, so unwell" cried Gail.
Vickie stood at a safe distance from the accident, looking down onto Gail's face with disgust.
"Perhaps tonight was not the best time for our little talk" she said.
"There's a lavatory in the hall, second door on your right. Go clean yourself up" Vickie said sternly.
Gail rose from her seat and hobbled towards the hallway. Fear still had its claws in her, but it was
now accompanied by shame. If karma were real, Gail Atwood just received a double dose.
Now in the washroom, Gail looked into the small mirror mounted just above the antique basin.
She looked terrible. Every bit the picture of Death warmed over, twice. Eyes, bloodshot. Face,
flushed. Teeth, chattering. Heart, racing. If this were a drug, it would be called Imminence.
Upon returning to the study, Gail witnessed the butler cleaning up the mess she had made.
Vickie walked over to meet her in the doorway.
"I'm having Clive take you home" she said, almost assuringly.
Gail was trembling. It was obvious that the night was too much for her.
"I'm so sorry for this, I can't..." she said as Vickie spoke over her.
"Get a good night's sleep. Take tomorrow off, get rested. Then we'll..." Vickie's words cut short by Gail's
continued apology.
"I'm just so sorr..." Gail tried to say before Vickie cut her off.
"Do. Not. EVER. Interrupt me. Understand?" she said through angrily clenched teeth.
Gail shook her head yes as tears began to flow. Vickie placed her arm around Gail's shoulder
and walked her into the hallway. Once to the front door, where Clive was waiting, she had a few
parting words.
"We'll just pretend tonight didn't happen, okay?" Vickie said reassuringly.
Gail pawed at the tears running down her face. Mrs. Meyer took on a monstrous expression.
"You will fix this" she said in words that felt like stone to Gail's ears.
Vickie then turned and took two steps before stopping and turning back around.
"Get her home safely, Clive" she said in measured kindness.
"Yes ma'am" was his reply.
like that of most the other women of her time; a mother, secretary or nurse. It was her demeanor
that set her apart. When speaking to her on friendly terms, you'd swear she was a Sunday school
teacher but peel back the layers, find that terrifying lioness that lived just below her deceiving
surface and you'd be hard-pressed to find a more fearsome or formidable enemy.
You did NOT want to get on her bad side!
Mrs. Meyer casually walked about the room as Gail sat rigid in her coma-like nervous
breakdown. To be a fly on any of those walls.
"Do you know the importance of consistency, Gail?" asked the lady of the manor.
Atwood, still frozen in her dissociated state, followed Vickie around the room with her eyes, unable to speak.
"Do you know what it's like for many people, many very important people, to depend on you?" she asked.
The ice that buried Gail was still solid around her. The lump in her throat swelling, sweat beading.
"I'm not in a position to lose, Ms. Atwood. Far too much is at stake. Do you understand?" Vickie questioned.
Atwood was all but drooling. Fear had her locked away inside of herself. Taunting her with the only key.
"Do you have anything to say?" Vickie asked sharply.
Gail could only muster the small whimper of a scared child. Vickie then stormed towards her.
"Hey! What's the matter with you? Are you drunk? SPEAK woman!!" yelled the angered socialite.
The sheer overwhelming force of those words slammed against Gail's barely-hanging-on consciousness
and as though by involuntary cue, she turned to the side and vomited all over Mrs. Meyers fancy
imported Persian rug. As embarrassing as it may have been, it did bring Atwood back to reality.
"My sweet God, you ARE drunk!" Vickie accused.
Trying desperately to gain enough composure to state her case, Gail wiped her mouth and searched
for the right words.
"I am so sorry, Vickie, I don't know what's come over me! I just... I feel, so unwell" cried Gail.
Vickie stood at a safe distance from the accident, looking down onto Gail's face with disgust.
"Perhaps tonight was not the best time for our little talk" she said.
"There's a lavatory in the hall, second door on your right. Go clean yourself up" Vickie said sternly.
Gail rose from her seat and hobbled towards the hallway. Fear still had its claws in her, but it was
now accompanied by shame. If karma were real, Gail Atwood just received a double dose.
Now in the washroom, Gail looked into the small mirror mounted just above the antique basin.
She looked terrible. Every bit the picture of Death warmed over, twice. Eyes, bloodshot. Face,
flushed. Teeth, chattering. Heart, racing. If this were a drug, it would be called Imminence.
Upon returning to the study, Gail witnessed the butler cleaning up the mess she had made.
Vickie walked over to meet her in the doorway.
"I'm having Clive take you home" she said, almost assuringly.
Gail was trembling. It was obvious that the night was too much for her.
"I'm so sorry for this, I can't..." she said as Vickie spoke over her.
"Get a good night's sleep. Take tomorrow off, get rested. Then we'll..." Vickie's words cut short by Gail's
continued apology.
"I'm just so sorr..." Gail tried to say before Vickie cut her off.
"Do. Not. EVER. Interrupt me. Understand?" she said through angrily clenched teeth.
Gail shook her head yes as tears began to flow. Vickie placed her arm around Gail's shoulder
and walked her into the hallway. Once to the front door, where Clive was waiting, she had a few
parting words.
"We'll just pretend tonight didn't happen, okay?" Vickie said reassuringly.
Gail pawed at the tears running down her face. Mrs. Meyer took on a monstrous expression.
"You will fix this" she said in words that felt like stone to Gail's ears.
Vickie then turned and took two steps before stopping and turning back around.
"Get her home safely, Clive" she said in measured kindness.
"Yes ma'am" was his reply.
