Read Online Sadie the Sadist: X-tremely Black Humor/Horror by Zané Sachs - Free Book Online
Authors: Zané Sachs
Tags: General Fiction
Ads: Link
usual black yoga pants and a purple tee-shirt from Wal-Mart.
Tracy looks me over. Doesn’t mention my cool shoes.
I wonder how her head would look floating in formaldehyde.
“What was that snide comment about Botox and Restylane?”
“I said , are you doing a detox; you look rested.”
“No, I’m not doing a detox. In fact, I need a drink.” Still frowning, Tracy perches across from me as if she might take off any moment. She works for the Gazette , advertising sales, and patience is not her greatest virtue. Remembering that I’m a victim of rape, her tone changes, as if she’s dealing with a difficult client, “Red hair suits you, Sadie. Really. And red is the hot color this fall.”
“That’s me, always on top of fashion trends.”
Tracy glances around the tavern, eager to find a waitress. “I’m dying for a daiquiri; they’re making a comeback, you know. How’s your dating life?”
“Aside from being raped?”
“Sorry.” Tracy’s face turns the color of my hair. “That must have been awful.”
Tracy’s twice divorced, once from an accountant and, more recently, from a plastic surgeon. Her lifestyle demands a husband with a substantial paycheck. My needs, on the other hand, are simpler.
“I’m looking for a guy who’s into power tools and asses.”
“Me too.” Tracy’s Botoxed face reflects a modicum of interest. “I’d love a guy who’s powerful and into assets. How do you plan to meet him?”
“I’ll know him when I see him, stalk him for a while, then move in for the kill.”
“That’s my technique,” Tracy says. “eHarmony or Match?”
“Home Depot.”
Tracy manages to flag down the waitress and the girl—probably a college student judging by her straight, white teeth—takes her order. Teeth reveal a lot about a person. I run my tongue over mine and realize I need to brush. Floss too. Lately I’ve been using bleach strips, and I’ve noticed some improvement. I pick up my glass of wine then quickly set it down. I should have ordered white; the red may leave a stain.
“Hi, guys!” Krista waves as she walks toward our table, moving past the quiet lady without even a glance.
Sometimes I see her at the gym. She works out and so do I. I take spin and kick-boxing classes, lift weights, do the rowing machine and elliptical. I’m building strength and endurance.
Krista sits between me and Tracy, the only space available due to the potted palm. She’s wearing spandex cycling clothes, and a Pearl Izumi windbreaker. She’s blond and bouncy, has a husband who’s a lawyer.
She gives me a concerned smile. Her voice is saccharine, or should I say stevia-tized? (Krista wouldn’t be caught dead eating artificial sweetener.)
“How are you doing, Sadie?”
“Fine.”
Impulsively (who cares if my teeth turn pink?), I drain my glass and motion to the waitress for more wine.
“I mean, really. Are you seeing a counselor?”
There’s no stopping Krista. She’s a do-gooder. Sometimes bitchiness is easier to handle. I wish Tracy would say something nasty.
“I saw a counselor at Safe Haven,” I say to get Krista off my back.
“Wonderful! We have lots of good people there.”
“I doubt good people can help me.”
“Of course, they can. Think positive.”
My knee is shaking overtime.
“What I need is a good butcher—”
Krista and Tracy have moved onto the topic of appetizers: baked brie or popcorn shrimp. I vote for Rocky Mountain Oysters.
“Sheep balls? Yuck.” Tracy sticks out her tongue.
“My husband eats those things.” Krista rolls her eyes. “Guess he thinks it’s manly.”
Ignoring me, they turn back to the menu.
“Ahi on a bed of greens sounds good,” Krista says.
Meanwhile, I’m thinking about balls, the texture and chewiness. They taste a bit like liver. Add a few herbs, a little sherry, a whirl around the blender, and I think they’d make a fine substitute for pâté.
“I need someone who can show me how to take a body
Tracy looks me over. Doesn’t mention my cool shoes.
I wonder how her head would look floating in formaldehyde.
“What was that snide comment about Botox and Restylane?”
“I said , are you doing a detox; you look rested.”
“No, I’m not doing a detox. In fact, I need a drink.” Still frowning, Tracy perches across from me as if she might take off any moment. She works for the Gazette , advertising sales, and patience is not her greatest virtue. Remembering that I’m a victim of rape, her tone changes, as if she’s dealing with a difficult client, “Red hair suits you, Sadie. Really. And red is the hot color this fall.”
“That’s me, always on top of fashion trends.”
Tracy glances around the tavern, eager to find a waitress. “I’m dying for a daiquiri; they’re making a comeback, you know. How’s your dating life?”
“Aside from being raped?”
“Sorry.” Tracy’s face turns the color of my hair. “That must have been awful.”
Tracy’s twice divorced, once from an accountant and, more recently, from a plastic surgeon. Her lifestyle demands a husband with a substantial paycheck. My needs, on the other hand, are simpler.
“I’m looking for a guy who’s into power tools and asses.”
“Me too.” Tracy’s Botoxed face reflects a modicum of interest. “I’d love a guy who’s powerful and into assets. How do you plan to meet him?”
“I’ll know him when I see him, stalk him for a while, then move in for the kill.”
“That’s my technique,” Tracy says. “eHarmony or Match?”
“Home Depot.”
Tracy manages to flag down the waitress and the girl—probably a college student judging by her straight, white teeth—takes her order. Teeth reveal a lot about a person. I run my tongue over mine and realize I need to brush. Floss too. Lately I’ve been using bleach strips, and I’ve noticed some improvement. I pick up my glass of wine then quickly set it down. I should have ordered white; the red may leave a stain.
“Hi, guys!” Krista waves as she walks toward our table, moving past the quiet lady without even a glance.
Sometimes I see her at the gym. She works out and so do I. I take spin and kick-boxing classes, lift weights, do the rowing machine and elliptical. I’m building strength and endurance.
Krista sits between me and Tracy, the only space available due to the potted palm. She’s wearing spandex cycling clothes, and a Pearl Izumi windbreaker. She’s blond and bouncy, has a husband who’s a lawyer.
She gives me a concerned smile. Her voice is saccharine, or should I say stevia-tized? (Krista wouldn’t be caught dead eating artificial sweetener.)
“How are you doing, Sadie?”
“Fine.”
Impulsively (who cares if my teeth turn pink?), I drain my glass and motion to the waitress for more wine.
“I mean, really. Are you seeing a counselor?”
There’s no stopping Krista. She’s a do-gooder. Sometimes bitchiness is easier to handle. I wish Tracy would say something nasty.
“I saw a counselor at Safe Haven,” I say to get Krista off my back.
“Wonderful! We have lots of good people there.”
“I doubt good people can help me.”
“Of course, they can. Think positive.”
My knee is shaking overtime.
“What I need is a good butcher—”
Krista and Tracy have moved onto the topic of appetizers: baked brie or popcorn shrimp. I vote for Rocky Mountain Oysters.
“Sheep balls? Yuck.” Tracy sticks out her tongue.
“My husband eats those things.” Krista rolls her eyes. “Guess he thinks it’s manly.”
Ignoring me, they turn back to the menu.
“Ahi on a bed of greens sounds good,” Krista says.
Meanwhile, I’m thinking about balls, the texture and chewiness. They taste a bit like liver. Add a few herbs, a little sherry, a whirl around the blender, and I think they’d make a fine substitute for pâté.
“I need someone who can show me how to take a body
Similar Books
