Novel Podcast: A War Between States, Part 15
This week’s installment of A War Between States has my esteemed colleague Stephanie Thornton reading a different part than she usually does. When she came over to read for me, she told me that the voice she’s been providing for the character of Tamara Granger has gotten her several offers for dates and even one marriage proposal. She does sound kinda sexy, doesn’t she?
Well, this week she plays the part of Tabitha Green. I’m curious to hear what the men who made offers to her think of this.
A War Between States Part 15:
Chapter 8, Part Two: Campaign: Sarah
September 5, 2003
Their next stop was down the street from Mrs. Mobley’s, as was the next one and the one after that. Each stop met them with either a wistful noncommitment, earnest confusion, or a half-hearted assurance that indeed, the people of the household old enough to vote would vote for Sarah when the time came.
“November sixth,” she would say, and they would wave I know to her and say good-bye.
The warm, invigorating morning sun, which had dazzled their eyes and delighted their anxious senses through the haze of cigarette smoke rose high into the sky. Later, it sank behind the countless oaks and pecan trees which shaded the lawns of Washington Street, then Hunt Street, then Hancock Street. It hinted and winked at them between branches and browning leaves as they made their way up one street and down another, leaving an occasional trail of yard signs behind them.
“Stop here,” Sarah said at around five-thirty, pointing to a low, ranch-style block house on the corner of Hancock and Kendrick Lane. The house was painted sunflower yellow with white trim, graced with yet another screened-in veranda, this one filled with a porch swing and a jungle of dark ferns and hanging vines.
“Who’s this?” Nancy asked.
“The Greens.”
They stopped, got out, and crossed the yard.
Betty Green came out of the house to meet them, her face dancing indecisively between a wary frown and an inviting smile.
“Hey, Betty,” Sarah said with a wave, and finally Betty’s face came to settle on a place halfway in between the points of its fluctuation — on what could only be described as a wary smile.
“Hey there, Mrs. Dobson,” Betty Green said. She had always addressed Sarah as Mrs. Dobson, despite the fact that both women were roughly the same age. Betty’s youngest son Terminius was six years younger than Sarah’s youngest, and Sarah had been secretary at the school up until the year Terminius was going to go into the 11th grade. That was the only explanation Sarah could think of for the formality with names.
Quietly, almost slyly — as if they were cats stalking a cautious mouse — Betty’s two daughters slunk out of the front door and came to stand just behind and on either side of their mother. Sarah recognized both of them, although she could only remember the younger one’s name. Tabitha.
Tabitha Green was twenty or so, pretty despite her too-red lips, her scraggle of untoward hair (which usually had braided extensions in it but today did not), and the unfriendly scowl that was on her face. Sarah couldn’t remember a time that Tabitha didn’t wear that scowl, and she thought maybe Tabitha offered it to her all the time because of something Sarah had done or said to the girl back in high school. Sarah did remember Tabitha struggling with school. Sarah also recalled the girl being trouble.
The other girl — or woman, Sarah corrected herself — appeared much older than Tabitha, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties. She was fat and a little careworn, but unmistakably Betty Green’s daughter and Tabitha Green’s sister. Her face wore a blank expression. But her eyes followed Sarah — with occasional flitters in Nancy’s direction — through the whole conversation which ensued.
“Been a while, Mrs. Dobson. What brang you way out here?” Betty Green said.
Sarah smiled. “It has been a while. How’s Terminius?”
Betty’s own half-hearted smile disappeared. Tabitha’s scowl deepened so that Sarah thought the girl might pounce on them, tearing at Nancy and herself with her Lee Press-on nails.
“Terminius done got arrested,” Betty said.
Now there were no smiles on any of the faces in Betty Green’s front yard. It seemed like the chill of winter — which in Marionville usually came in late December and left about mid-February — had settled in prematurely, threatening to crack their stark, still faces like ice if any of their expressions changed again. The silence that came between them was so pervasive that a nattering squirrel in a nearby tree all but roared in comparison.
Sarah decided this was a test — and she was determined to pass it. “Well,” she said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Tabitha’s eyes narrowed, and her sister grunted in a deep voice that could have been a man’s. Betty’s face remained unchanged, but her own voice now sounded strained and tense.
“Oh,” she said. “Is that the first you heard about it?”
Sarah nodded. She felt nervous suddenly, and she couldn’t think why.
“I heard there was a teenage boy got busted a couple of weeks back, down at the Underground,” Nancy volunteered. “That was the same time they got that Williams creep.”
Tabitha didn’t quite lunge at them, or swing her Press-on claws, but she did go on the offensive right then. Sarah was surprised by the young woman’s virulence, and even more surprised when she found herself taking a frightened step back.
“Coach Williams ain’t no creep!” Tabitha all but shrieked. “He was set up to go down — to make some high-up man at the po-lice happy! He ain’t no drug dealer, and our Terminius ain’t neither!”
Betty regarded her daughter with a look that Sarah couldn’t place, at least not at first. Later, when she had time to think about it, to ruminate over it, she decided the look was weird mix, and that was why it was so hard to pin down — a weird mix of sympathy, of defiant agreement, and strangely, of pity and disgust.
“Shush, Tabby,” Betty said. “Mrs. Dobson and her friend done said they didn’t know the whole story. Mrs. Dobson even said she didn’t know T been arrested.”
Tabitha threw up her arms, revealing hairy pits caked with whitish-yellow deodorant. “Fuck that! She know! She part of the system! She part of the problem!”
Tabitha’s sister lifted her own flabby arms and stepped between Tabitha and Sarah. She uttered a stream of something, mostly incomprehensible, though Sarah did pick up the words blame and Jesus. Tabitha didn’t calm down — in fact, she seemed further provoked, and a stream of profanity spewed out of her mouth and filled the air. She did back away, though, herded by her sister back into the depths of the house, still waving her arms and screeching foul words.
Sarah and Nancy only watched, bewildered, until the two sisters had disappeared, letting the screen door slam behind them. Betty watched Sarah and Nancy timidly, as if she was afraid of them now that they were alone.
“I’m — I’m sorry about Terminius,” Sarah offered.
Betty waved her off. “Ain’t nothin’ you coulda done. Terminius got mixed up with the wrong crowd. Jamal and Elgin are bad examples of the black race, and I told Terminius to stay away from ‘em. Now I reckon he will.”
“And I’m sorry about what I said about Williams,” Nancy said. “It really set your daughter off.”
Betty hesitated, looked back at the house, then sidelong at the two of them. “Yeah, well, Tabby got a thang for Coach Williams. Has since high school. She was there when the po-lice carried him away.”
“She’s wrong, you know,” Sarah said, hoping that what she was saying — was about to say — wouldn’t set Betty off, too. “I’m not part of any system. And that’s why I’m here.”
“You runnin’ for office,” Betty said. It wasn’t a question. Nancy raised her eyebrows, reflecting the surprise that Sarah felt.
“How did you know?”
Betty smiled and chuckled a little. Pointed at the Aerostar.
“Says so on yo’ van. I ain’t stupid. Or blind.”
Now both Sarah and Nancy laughed a little — albeit uncomfortably.
“Yeah, I’m runnin’ for office,” Sarah said. “For city council to be exact. And you’d be one of my constituents if I won.”
Betty was silent. The nattering squirrel nearby still bellowed at them enough to fill the silence.
“Do you want to hear any of my platform?” Sarah asked.
Betty stared off in the direction of the squirrel — or maybe the tree it was in. Or maybe the sky above the tree.
“Betty?”
The woman turned back to them, her wary smile back in place. “Ain’t no need, Mrs. Dobson. You ain’t gotta ‘splain anythang to me. I know what all’s wrong, and I guess I know how you ‘tend to fix ‘em.”
The wariness on Betty’s face, the unease and distrust in her eyes, belied the earnestness that Sarah thought she heard in her voice.
“You know I’ll do a good job, don’t you?”
“I don’t doubt it,” Betty Green said, but she was already backing away. Sarah watched her go, and couldn’t think of a way to keep the conversation going. Betty opened the screen door, backed inside. As she retreated, she never took her eyes off Sarah and Nancy.
“Well, bye, Betty,” Sarah said as the woman’s face faded away into the shadows of the closing back door. Sarah caught a glance of a slim brown hand adorned with Lee Press-ons pulling Betty deep into the darkness of the porch, into the lushness of the countless plants inside.
“That was abrupt,” Nancy said behind Sarah, who jumped at the sound of her voice.
“Yeah,” Sarah said, recovering. “Let’s go. It’s dinner time.”
They climbed back into the Aerostar. They were finished campaigning for the day.
The Cast
- Sarah Dobson - Jennie
- Betty Green - Candace Cain
- Nancy Walker - Paula Towry
- Tabitha Green - Stephanie Thornton
- Narrator - Will Kenyon
Will Kenyon’s Most Memorable Moments at The World Boardgaming Championships! Part TWO!
I’ve been thinking even more about how much I liked Michael “Malloc” Buccheri’s assortment of friends, who are my friends now. Ironically, before I left I HAD been feeling a little down, because I’d just had a guy tell me that he didn’t want to hang out with my gaming group anymore because he thought I (we) were – and I’m almost but not quite paraphrasing here – vulgar, sarcastic, and apparently needful of making myself (ourselves) feel good at the expense of others.
Believe it or not, and this is gonna surprise even the people who know me well, I’m sometimes prone to crippling self-analysis. So that guy’s remarks actually made me stop and wonder whether me and friends were too vulgar, sarcastic, and downright mean.
Then I met Malloc’s crew and I fit right in, even with Rob Olsson, who’s about the sweetest guy you could ever meet. In fact, now that I think about it, I’ve never had much of a problem, even though I’m a 30+ gamer who likes fart and sex jokes and who has no problem with banter and bravado as long as everyone’s sensitive to those gray areas that are occasionally off limits (like, no mama jokes at a table where one of the guys has lost his mom, and no fat jokes unless you’re ready for them to come right back at you).
So now I offer thanks to Malloc and the others. The bravado and bluster is (almost) universal. And that guy who said that crap about me and mine? Well, he’s just a giant pussy.
Good riddance.
The Hotel
The place where all but the sleep happened.
As I indicated in my first post about this, I was staying in a separate hotel thanks to Jay. My room was GREAT, but the hotel itself was a typical chain hotel – lots of comfort but no character. The Lancaster Host, where the WBC took place – had character in spades. While we were there, the whole place was teeming with people, all of whom shared a common interest – games, and many of whom had no problem with having a beer or six with friends. The hotel offered us daily buffets of artery-clogging food which we devoured without remorse. There was a pretty cool bar where you could get a decent beer after yours were “lifted” and you got tired of Natty Boh. And there were rooms – spacious, well lit rooms – full of games and people playing games, laughter and shouting and fun.
Absolute Heaven. I knew I was in for a treat when Malloc met me at the door with a Dogfish Head 120 Minute in hand.
First Session Report – Fucking Wormholes
Now, if you don’t know Twilight Imperium, some of this next bit is gonna make your eyes glaze over and your tongue loll out of your mouth. So I’ll use as many swear words as possible to make it interesting to the layman.
On Tuesday, after getting some much needed sleep, I sat down to play my first “qualifying heat” of Imperium, heretofore to be referred to as TI3 (Twilight Imperium 3rd Edition). I was playing the Mentak – one of my least favorite alien races, but the most “militaristic” that I drew. At conventions, I gravitate toward military races instead of peaceful ones, because a strong military is your best deterrent for those fuckers who think they’re playing Risk and who’ll just attack you because they think that’s the way to win.
To my left was Jack Jaeger, who looks like the dude from The Mentalist. And yes, his last name is Jaeger - that was not lost on me. Across the universe was a hybrid of newbie (Jeff Arnold) and Malloc, and to my right was Rob Olsson.
To understand how I eventually lost the game to my favorite asshole, Malloc (and the guy who was essentially just rolling his dice, Jeff), you have understand the game board/map. In TI3, there are Wormholes – a lot like the ones in Star Trek – which establish adjacency between two “systems” or spaces, even if those systems are across the table from each other. Well, in Malloc’s special map, there were 4 “Wormhole Nexuses” – spaces that were separate from the rest of the game board and only connected via Wormhole. And in each one of those was a planet which carried a Technology Specialty. To win, I needed SIX planets which had Tech Specialties, so it made sense for me to lurk in the Wormholes. By Round Five, I had pretty fucking big fleets of ships sitting in a couple of those spaces.
I was poised to strike the two planets I needed to round out my six, therefore scoring my “Secret” Objective as well as a “Public” one AND taking an Artifact (worth a point) from The Mentalist. Game over.
But the Mentalist must have read my mind, because when the next Political Agenda got presented to the Galactic Council, he and Malloc and Rob (and Jeff, sort of) voted to CLOSE THE FUCKING WORMHOLES, thus cutting my two big ass fleets off from the rest of the universe for the REST OF THE FUCKING GAME.
Game over.
Second Session Report – Divorcing my Wife (Not Really, But Still….)
I took second in that game – a strong second which eventually guaranteed me a place at the final table. But I didn’t know that at the time, so on Wednesday I opted to play another game in hopes of winning a first place slot in the final instead of my then tenuous second.
This time around I faced Ben Stephenson, a guy named Jason, and a British? guy named Andy. We started late morning, and this time I was the Barony of Letnev – my favorite race. Also, I had an EASY Secret Objective (Expansionist). This game, like the first one, was in the bag.
Now, I will not cast aspersions unless provoked (OK, I will, but not in a public forum), but to give you an idea of some of what I had to deal with in this game, let me describe one particular situation that occurred.
A Political Agenda came up. It went like this: If we voted FOR, and it passed, then Mecatol Rex – the most important planet in the game, and one that is vital to a significant number of Secret Objectives – could NEVER be invaded the rest of the game. What that meant was that if it passed, Jason and Andy could NEVER score their Secrets, because both of their Secrets had to do with Rex. Ben and I had already made it abundantly clear that our Secrets had nothing to do with Rex, so naturally we were gonna vote for it.
And yes, at this point none of our Secret Objectives were not so secret.
Anyway, Andy votes FOR.
Jason is livid. He asks Andy WHY he would do that. He explains to Andy the ramifications of voting FOR – it will pass and they’ll be shut out of those points for good.
Andy says, yes, okay….
Jason asks Andy how he’s gonna vote. Andy says… FOR.
I swear to God, Jason was gonna come across the table. WHY, he asks, would you vote FOR?
Andy stares at him. Blank face. A face that would become familiar to us over the course of the game.
TI3 gets a bad rap for being a long game, but we’ve found that when everybody knows what he or she is doing, and pays attention, and moves quickly and decisively, the game usually only takes about an hour per player.
We started at around 11 a.m. We finished at 8 p.m. And you understand now part of the reason why.
And if that wasn’t torture enough, I spent the last 4 hours of the game at 7 points (out of the 9 needed to win), with fucking Ben sitting in my Home System.
And THAT was my wife’s fault. I’ll tell you why next time….
What I’m Thinking About, 2nd Edition
My previous “thought process” post went over so well, you know there had to be a follow-up. Here are some more random thoughts that have occurred to me since the last post. This time, not only am I sober, but it’s 6:30 in the morning and I woke up thinking about this.
- Does anyone else hear a frightening similarity between North Korea’s current “diplomatic” posturings and Nikita Kruschev’s “bury you” rants?
- We need less gun control because how else will the common man defend himself against a zombie holocaust….
- Text message I saw recently: fuckin A dude. Now, should there be a comma or not? Ah, the power of proper punctuation.
- I don’t and never have liked Tom and Jerry cartoons. They’re sadistic and mean-spirited without being clever. On the other hand, I think sadism and mean-spiritedness can be okay as long as you’re clever.
- You can skip class because of a hangover. You can call in sick to work if it’s too, too bad. But when your kids want breakfast, by God, you better get your hung-over ass up and make waffles.
- It takes a certain amount of arrogance to point out how arrogant someone is.
- Henry Louis, Bill, and Defense Secretary Robert: Just six more Gates to go!
- Every religious person should have a crisis of faith. If your faith survives, I can guarantee it’ll be stronger.
- A zombie holocaust could never happen, unless it took place in a nation of complacent, self-involved, lazy whiners.
- I think I’m sometimes vulgar because my parents always told me that vulgarity was indicative of stupidity, and I’m trying to prove them wrong. Is it working? Well, fuck it.
- I spent a lot of money on my lawn so I wouldn’t have to spend so much on toys.
- If you’re a writer, then I recommend the movie Adaptation. A critic once said it was “Too smart to ignore but a little too smugly superior to like….” I think he missed the point.
- With the advent of Facebook, Twitter, Digg and the like, mailing lists are becoming less important. So saying “please take me off your mailing list” just doesn’t pack the punch it used to.
- Michael Jackson isn’t dead. Neither are Elvis and John Lennon.
- Why does War and Peace have to be so LONG?