c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(3-24)
Traci Topps had been in Evergreen Estates long enough to acclimate herself to the general surroundings. Living at the rural, trailer compound made her feel somewhat isolated from regular society. Yet it offered perks that apartment life, in a more urban area like Cleveland, could not deliver. She had her own driveway, where a vehicle could be parked safely. She was able to wash clothes in her own laundry room. Or lounge in a yard that was decidedly small, but private. The cost of living met budget requirements that kept her always pinching pennies. And when she wanted to stay anonymous, particularly after working a shift at the Kinky Kat by Lake Erie, being off the beaten path made her nearly invisible.
Still, sometimes during leisure hours she got bored.
Her redneck neighbors liked to drool and leer, no matter what kind of outfit she had chosen for the day. Spandex and leather and platform heels would have been fairly commonplace at Geneva-on-the-Lake, or adult venues in Cuyahoga County. But so far into the hinterland, they aroused the spirits of unemployed mechanics, truckers and laborers who rarely got to sample such rebellious, feminine beauty one-to-one. This made her an object of whistles and catcalls whenever she lounged with a Seagram’s cooler during warmer months, on her redwood deck. Yet the yield of this attention was underwhelming. Typically, she ended up being pawed by young bucks with no money or social skills. Or sagging, old men who could only brag about adventures from a different century in bed, before falling asleep. Neither option kept her entertained.
She soon discovered that there were other young women in the mobile village with a similar disinterest in this dull social scene, however. Life among the ratty trailers was unsatisfying to all of them, but provided no means of escape. Only the realm of gaming, and fantasy, offered hope. So, they spent hours away from work competing online. And dreaming of betterment through some wild blessing of good fortune that might arrive, by chance.
Traci had been at her video console all morning, on a Tuesday. Instead of the garish grandeur of her work attire, she was dressed in a simple T-shirt and pajama leggings. Her contact lenses had been abandoned in favor of thick glasses with oversized, purple frames. She wore no makeup. Her highlighted hair was tied up with a pink scrunchie.
On the screen, a message appeared from one of her contacts who lived next door. Another dancer she knew personally, at the Kinky Kat. An emoji of a smiley face, with bulging hearts for eyes, danced around as the text scrolled forward.
“Hey chick, are you down for a new fun league? This bummer of a year has got to change! How’d ya like to be a huntress? Like a lioness on the prowl, right? There’s a game going around that we can join. Are ya into having a good time?”
The twenty-something performer sat cross-legged in front of her display. She was mystified by the vague challenge.
“Hey Camber, what the fugg? You’re talking in riddles, girl! Spit it out, mama!”
Her associate from the neighborhood sent a string of four-letter words in sparkling colors. They spun and scattered across the monitor.
“This new game is called ‘Badass Bimbos Bag-n-Tag,’ honey! What d’ya think? It’s a secret, so I can’t say who wrote the program. Or who’s already a player. But check this out – you get jewel points for breaking in when one of these drunken hicks passes out. Do the deed, give them a hook-up kiss in their sleep, you know what I mean! And get a phone pic. That’s your prize claim. That’s the proof...”
Traci turned a bright shade of red.
“ARE YOU FREAKING SERIOUS?”
Camber Faye giggled and tapped her long, red nails on the wireless device.
“It’s a sisterhood, you know? These shitheads can’t back up their rowdy talk. They’re all horny perverts. This is our way of taking charge. We run the tables, get it? I challenge you, and if ya do the trick, then its yer turn. Pass it along...”
The tall, nimble dancer was out of breath.
“YOU TELL ME WHO TO BAG-N-TAG?”
Her friend next door giggled again. She smacked her puffy lips on a piece of hard candy.
“That’s it, babe! I figure yer first game should be bagging that old alcoholic up the street, at Lot 13. You know the guy, Townie Lincoln. The bro with shaggy hair and a gray beard...”
Traci was horrified. She had hoped for a younger, more clean-cut cowboy of a target.
“LINK? THAT FRIGGING GRANDPA? C’MON GIRL, I BET HE HASN’T BEEN WITH A WOMAN IN YEARS! THE POOR DUDE WOULD PROBABLY PISS HIMSELF! ANYTHING I DID WOULD BE WASTED!”
Camber pulled at her blonde mane, and laughed out loud.
“That’s how this works. I make the challenge. If ya do it right, yer the next woman up...”
Her pal from GOTL was still mildly disgusted.
“He’s a good guy actually, I’d hate screwing with him like that! I see him out there every day, rain or shine, even in the snow! He’s always loaded by the afternoon. There are empty bottles of Jack Daniel’s all over his porch! I think he must be lonely!”
Her cohort played the role of instigator.
“Look, if you’re too much of a prude, just say it! I’m a little bit surprised, but there ya go! This is how we kick the blahs and show these hillbillies who’s in charge! I think it’ll be a hoot!”
A whole week passed before the young femme found her courage rising. By Friday, the working weekend had overwhelmed any thoughts of a personal nature. But then, as the doldrums of off days landed on her brain, she weakened.
Late on Monday, she realized that the boozing bum on her street had vanished from his outside bench. A quick investigation revealed that he had gone unconscious on his sofa, in the living room. The front door stood carelessly ajar. Beer cans and liquor containers were strewn everywhere.
Stealthily, she crept up the long, access ramp that ran beside his manufactured boxcar. She peeked around the corner to see him snoring and slobbering in between couch cushions.
A shiny, spandex sheath kept her from being noticed in the moonlight. Her movements looked like a glimmering reflection, from a distance. She slid through the unlocked portal, tiptoed over the carpet, and straddled her prey on the soft furnishing. He reeked of stale brew and Tennessee whiskey. A whisper of pleasure ebbed from his mouth, as she began to work her magic. She gripped his torso with both legs, and started to squeeze.
Suddenly, he kicked like a mule. She was thrown onto the floor, dazed and dumbfounded by this nocturnal bout of rejection. Her conquest had been upended. The inebriated hermit was still lost in a netherworld of strong drink and obliteration.
“NO MORE DIVORCES, DAMMIT! NO MORE JUDGES, NO MORE GARNISHMENTS, NO MORE SUPPORT MONEY! NO MORE HEARTBREAK! I’M A MONK FROM THIS DAY FORWARD! NO KISSY-FACE, NO FOOLING AROUND, NO NOTHING! THAT’S THE DEAL, DIXIE! I AIN’T EVEN GONNA HOLD YOUR HAND!”
Traci was flustered and offended by the unconscious rejection. She did a baby crawl back to the front door, and made a silent dash for the street. Her black sheath glistened in the lunar light. After skipping back to her own trailer home, she sat inside alone, dripping sweat.
Accepting the childish challenge had been an awful decision. One she wouldn’t make again!
Camber was at her kitchen window, in an instant. She had also chosen dark apparel to remain cloaked in the lingering shadows of night.
“How’d it go, honey? Did ya get a picture? Did ya? Did ya?”
Her fellow entertainer from Lake Erie was almost in tears. She trembled with regret.
“HE CALLED ME DIXIE! THE OLD FART HAD PASSED OUT DRUNK! I FELT ASHAMED BEING THERE! HE WAS A PITIFUL WRECK! BUT WHO THE HELL IS... DIXIE?”
Her witchy accomplice shrieked with amusement.
“That was his second wife. She dumped him for a guy with a big house by the water. They were living here when I first moved to this dung hole, ten years ago. It messed him up bad, he’s never been with a girl since. Everybody says that’s why he stays blitzed all the time. I thought maybe this sexy contest of ours might cheer him up, ya know?”
Traci threw her wine glass at the window. Broken shards flew everywhere.
“I hate myself now! And I hate you little bitch, even more!”
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