Thursday Night Bad Movie Club Ch. 02byMaxart414©
(This will not make any sense unless you've read part 1....)
On the drive over I am getting ready for disappointment. Arthur acts totally goofy, like a little kid going to see a stupid movie with his stupid friends. Not Dom at all, like he was last night. He wouldn’t let me dress up or anything – I am just wearing a denim skirt and pink simple top (3 buttons open at the top so can show a little bit of cleavage at least). He wouldn’t let me wear any kind of heels at all, just some cheap flats. He’s in jeans and rugby, totally boring.
I am trying to picture Deedee and Johnny who I do not see often at all, unlike Miranda. Deedee is pale with great big brown pretty eyeballs and a high forehead. She has dark red hair that is a waterfall of little curly ringlets. It is natural; all the boys love her hair, including Arthur. She looks like a young Elizabethan duchess, like she would look fine in a museum portrait. She is always laughing.
Johnny is big, big and tall and with the huge shoulders and pot belly of a former college jock. He has a big steam shovel jaw, the jaw of a super hero and talks loud like an ex jock, like a sales manager which he is. He is always friendly and looks at my breasts whenever I have been around him, which is not often. Lots of boys look at my breasts, I wear stuff so that they do. I am smart and hate stupid boys but I am stupid because I still wear things so they look there instead of my big round butt or my plain happy face.
It is late summer and warm, but an early fog is out even as the sun is setting, around 8:30 by now. It’s a good one, settling thick in the dips of the landscape, and it collects at the edge of the streets, growing thicker and bolder as the sun retreats. The fog (steam?) gathering like the promise of romance…or better yet, mystery. Worse yet, like a zombie movie. Ugh.
We pull up to Johnny’s house, not too large but modern and with a generous curving driveway, in one of those newer subdivisions where you have to pay extra for them to add grass and trees. Miranda’s familiar white 330i is there, as well as a gray Subaru wagon which must be Deedee’s.
Arthur pulls in and the Jag slows then stops quiet as mist. He won’t let me dress up for tonight, but the son of a bitch drives the Jag over even though ninety percent of the time he just slums around town in his old shitty Explorer. Show off. A show off to the Thursday night bad movie club.
Johnny comes to the door waving us inside with big huge gestures. He is even bigger than I remember, must be close to six and a half feet tall and weigh better than an eighth of a ton. I wonder what it would be like to have a man that big on top of a little woman like me. I just wonder shit like that all the time.
“Hello, hello, come on in guys!” his voice is a booming low cannon. “Come on Arthur, come on Trixie!”
Trixie. He called me Trixie.
Oooh – trouble.
I have met Johnny maybe four times at company functions, and he would know my name because salesmen remember those things and he would know me as my actual name Maxine but he called me Trixie and this is very naughty.
Arthur set him up for this.
Trixie is a private word, a secret and Arthur has set me up. Oh hell yes, baby, there has been trouble brewing all right and I knew it KNEW it all along with the Thursday night bad movie club.
But Johnny just called my Trixie and there is no practical way to show how pissed off I am right now at my wicked manipulative husband because I am suddenly, pathetically damp. Yes. Warm and damp in my underpants and I am embarrassed but I have to tell the truth. And because he called me Trixie and now there’s nothing to say I just have to listen and do what I am told.
God I hate it but love it when my husband is a bastard.
We are in the kitchen now with Miranda and Deedee. They are making popcorn the very old fashioned way – cooking and almost burning it in a big skillet with coconut oil and real butter. They talk loudly over the rattle and smell.
I am hungry.
When you are a girl with a big butt, you just hate to hungry in front of other people but the smell is warm and buttery and I am hungry for everything now, a physical sensation pulling at me.
“Hi guys,” says Miranda, jiggling the skillet, not looking up.
“Hi Arthur, Hi Trixie,” says Deedee, loud and laughing, holding one of several big stainless bowls full of popcorn.
Shit! Another jolt that she calls me this too. I am the butt of a joke maybe and want to be mad but that word…that word. My husband has planned this. She calls me that name and she is not even big or scary like Johnny and she calls me that name and I am distracted away from my empty tummy and feeling my pussy again, it’s so humiliating to say how a word can make you wet. A magic word, not benign magic.
They are chatting and I pull Miranda aside and she says all friendly like “Hey Trixie, what’s up?”
I tell her, voice low, “That is a secret word.”
“Not if you want to join the club,” and she says it real smooth, smooth and shimmery, all stainless steel, like the girl equivalent of how Arthur talks business.
We are down in the basement of Johnny’s house now. It’s a beautiful and expensive home theater room, decorated much too tastefully – all warm beige and dark green accents – for Johnny to have thought up himself. A huge monitor on the wall, as wide as I am tall (although I am not tall, only a little over five feet) with lovely recessed lighting.
There are drinks in hand for everyone. Arthur is drinking expensive scotch and Johnny drinks a beer and has more of them close at hand. Deedee is drinking something pink and foamy and Miranda has something clear in a tall fluted glass – vodka I would guess. Arthur puts something in front of me, a glass as short and round as Miranda’s is tall and thin. It is amber colored and syrupy over ice. Drambuie.
I have no tolerance for Drambuie because I like it too much. Thick and honeyed and rich, like me, like how I look. I should not, I hesitate. I estimate that two out of every five bad decisions in my life involve Drambuie.
“Drink up, Trixie,” says Miranda so I just do it because she says the word Trixie and it goes down hot and sweet and already I start to relax.
Johnny is fooling with the DVD thing, and some credits come up on the screen for some horrible movie which I will hate. All that expensive equipment to render some movie made for less money than what Johnny’s TV cost him. The movie is called “Dead and Buried” and looks creepy and nasty. They – the movie club – immediately start whooping their approval for the opening credits and yelling at the screen.
I am so hungry now, I try to tune out the movie and start stuffing popcorn into my mouth, salty and hot and burnt and moist. I hope I do not look like I am trying to eat to fast like a fat girl and I purposefully stop to take another sip of Drambuie and then I am fading, fading.
“Trixie’s sleeeeepy,” I hear my husband say, but he is miles away now.
I fade to gray, dreamless gray but not black. There are voices in the background, some movement around me. The movie sounds are gone now, just the sound of voices.
Someone is pulling me up, up on my feet. It is a thing I feel, I observe with my eyes closed, like watching a movie without seeing it.
“Trixie,” a voice, not mean but kind. “Trixie, Trixie, baby,” a voice, light and silvery, familiar. Miranda
My eyes are fluttering open. We are in the same room, the lights still dim but the movie has stopped and it is quiet. “Up and at ‘em Trixie,” says a low booming voice, Johnny speaking. I am getting awake now, a sort of awake state. I feel woozy but not bad. Not sick or gross or anything. I feel detached a bit, ironic or something, the way I think Arthur feels all the time about life. Detached and amused.
They keep saying it, over and over, Trixie Trixie Trixie like it was my real name or something and even though I know it is stupid and manipulative, I just hear it like Trixie (sub) Trixie (sub) Trixie (sub) and then just Sub sub sub sub sub.
“Who drugged me?” I ask, quiet, not even mad.
“We all did, sweetie,” says Deedee happily.
“It’ll wear off shortly, Trixie,” affirms Johnny in a loud agreeable voice, it is he that is holding me up although now I feel okay to stand by myself.
“Initiation, Trixie,” says husband. That prick. I love guys like that. Cocky and confident like Johnny and husband are right now. I love them both. It doesn’t make sense, I don’t defend it. Maxine is a confident modern college educated woman, but Trixie is just a stupid bimbo that just does whatever, needs guys around as long as they are great big like Johnny or maybe super smart and mean like Arthur.
I am steadier now and I am walking by myself, following them down a little corridor in Johnny’s basement, to a plain white wooden door. They all go in ahead of me and close the door behind them, save husband, who is now standing behind me. He has quietly, without me really realizing it, pinned my hands behind me as I am facing the plain white door. I hear music behind it.
“I love you Maxine,” he whispers behind me, into my ear, his breath warm. “I love you so much. I love everything we’ve done and regret nothing.” I am swooning a little, I love him, I am dependent on him for everything and he called me Maxine again.
“I love you,” I say (whimper?).
“If you step in through that door, you will step in as Trixie.”
“I know, I know”
“If you step in through that door, I will not be your husband in there, I will be your initiator.” Calm as snow, he says it.
“Do you know what happens behind that door?”
“Naughty stuff,” I say, almost breathless now.
“Worse,” he says calmly, “wicked stuff…might hurt.”
I just groan now, and that motherfucker’s free hand is under my skirt, pushing against my pussy, and the other hand still pins my hands behind me.
“If you step in there, I won’t help you.”
“Yes, I know.”
“If you want to leave right now, I’ll just take you home and we can forget about all of this.”
“What do you want to do, Maxine? What do you want to do, Trixie?” He says crisp and plain as fresh white paper.
“I want to go in there.”
“I might hurt you in there, might tease you.”
“Are you sure you want to go in there? This is the last time I ask you as your husband that loves you.”
“Let’s just GO” Trixie yells.
“When we come out, I’m your husband again.”
“Okay okay” whining now.
“So be it, Trixie,” he says, and with that he spins me around and yanks me hard through the door. Vertigo….