The Handbook

by H. P. Mallory

  Simple, because he didn’t love her. And he was a total and complete narcissistic asshole. “He doesn’t deserve you, and you know it,” I answered.

  “I’m not ready to hear all that shit yet,” she responded with another sob.

  Instead of saying anything else, I climbed onto the bed and wrapped my arms around her as I thought about The Femme Fatale Handbook and how useful that information could have been to Dani. Maybe I’d been selfish in keeping it to myself? Of course, Dani hadn’t seemed especially interested in it when she’d found it unattended in my drawer. And I had a feeling that in order for Jane Doe’s words to really resonate with you, you had to open yourself up to the possibility that she knew what she was talking about.

  “Why do guys do this to us?” Dani sobbed, pieces of her jet-black hair stuck to her face. “It would have been so much better if he hadn’t led me on like this! If he’d just been honest with me!”

  “Do you want the truth?” I asked, even though I wasn’t sure she could handle it at this point. But, had it been me in her spot, this time around I would have wanted the truth. I would have wanted to know where I’d gone wrong, what mistakes I’d made so I made sure to never make them again.

  “I’m not sure I can handle whatever truth you want to tell me, but go ahead,” Dani replied, taking the tissues I offered her.

  “Guys are out to take whatever they can get,” I started with a shrug and a sigh, looking at her matter-of-factly. “And once they get it, they get bored because there’s no thrill left. The game is all played out, and they start looking for their next victim to conquer.”

  “I knew I wouldn’t like the truth,” Dani replied with a frown. She blew her nose with audible force before dropping the spent tissue on top of the heap of other wet tissues that were overflowing from the top of the trash can.

  Resting my head down on the pillow, I stared at the wall without saying another word. I deliberately remained silent so my words could sink in, and in sinking in, make sense. Neither one of us said anything, we just lay there, holding each other in silence while I was sure we both were man hating. Or, at least, Craig hating. I glanced up at the Minnie Mouse clock with a pendulum tail that hung above Dani’s bed as the time registered with me.

  “We’ve got to get you ready for class,” I urged.

  “I’m not going,” she flatly replied.

  “Well, that’s problem number one,” I started as she looked at me quizzically. “That’s where you’re wrong, for at least three reasons,” I argued as I flipped up my index finger. “One: after Dickface dumped me, you insisted that I get up and go to class when I didn’t want to, and I intend to return that favor.” I flipped up my middle finger next to my index finger. “And two: I know you have a test today, and I refuse to let you blow your grades over some prick, which is something you’ll thank me for later.” I took a deep breath. “So, come on, let’s get you into the shower, and put some clothes on you, so you at least appear presentable.” I stood up and reached down, grabbing Dani’s arms as I pulled her closer to the edge of the bed.

  “You said that there were three reasons,” she reminded me as she finally stood up with a sigh and made her way to the other side of the room where she peered into the mirror, ostensibly to assess the puffiness of her face. She frowned at herself and then sighed like putting herself back together was going to be a big ordeal.

  “Did I say there were three reasons?” I asked, doing my best to feign innocence.

  “Yes, you said ‘at least three reasons,’” Dani frowned over at me. “Bad Memory on aisle nine.”

  “Oh, I guess I did,” I laughed. “But, first, let’s get you into the shower so we make sure you aren’t late to class.”

  “No,” she responded as she shook her head and crossed her arms against her chest. “I’m not going anywhere until you give me the third reason.”

  “Okay, I’ll make you a deal,” I started as I eyed her narrowly. “I’ll only give you the third reason if you promise to take a shower, get dressed, and go ace your test.”

  “That’s a pretty tall order, Nikki,” she responded. “Especially considering I haven’t been able to study at all today.”

  “Suit yourself,” I replied with a shrug as I started to turn away. “But the third reason was a pretty good one.”

  “Ugh, you drive a hard bargain,” she muttered as she started gathering her shampoo, conditioner, razor and body soap.

  “Does the fact that you’re collecting your stuff mean you’re going to go to class?” I asked while I studied her narrowly.

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m going to go to class, Nikki!” she faux-yelled at me. “You talked me into it, okay?” she continued with a frown and a pout. “So now tell me the third point you were going to make.”

  “Have you ever heard of the string theory?” I asked, remembering the passage I’d read from The Femme Fatale Handbook.

  “You mean like in physics or whatever?”

  I searched my brain for a second as I tried to remember what string theory in physics was. But then figuring I’d missed class on whatever day that had been discussed, I shook my head. “No. It’s a different kind of string theory.”

  “Okay, then, no, I’ve never heard of it,” she responded as she continued to stand there, balancing her showering items in her arms. “So please enlighten me.”

  “Think about the last time you played with a kitten,” I started and then laughed as soon as she gave me a frown.

  “What?” she started, throwing out her hip to show she wasn’t amused. “A kitten?” she repeated. “What the hell does that have to do with …”

  “Just listen!” I interrupted. “Remember how a kitten goes completely crazy when you dangle a string in front of her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, good,” I said with a nod. “So do you also remember how much crazier a kitten gets whenever you make it harder for her to get the string?”

  “Yeah,” Dani repeated, not sounding interested in the least. “What does playing with a kitten and a ball of string have to do with anything?” she demanded again. “I feel like you’re just pulling all of this out of your ass because you really didn’t have three points to make.”

  “Nope, that’s not true,” I insisted with a firm shake of my head. “I did have three points.”

  “Then what the hell does a kitten have to do—” she started again.

  “It’s the only way we can take back our control.”

  “Control?” she repeated, shaking her head. “What are you talking about?”

  I smiled broadly. “Give me a second,” I started as I turned to my backpack and pulled the notebook from its hiding spot. Then I flipped through nearly half of the pages until I found the passage I was looking for. I cleared my throat and read:

  The “String Theory”

  One of the elementally human traits is never being satisfied with what we have and incessantly wanting what we can’t have. This behavior has been coined by some experts as “the string theory,” and is the quintessential concept behind all methods of seduction. Surprisingly, however, this theory has little to do with physics, and everything to do with kittens. Have you ever dangled a string in front of a playful kitten? The more you tease the kitten by pulling the string away, the more ferociously your fluffy friend will lunge for it. Now take that little trick, and apply it to men.

  I glanced up at her then and smiled broadly because I now had her total and complete attention. “Do you remember how much control you had over the kitten when you had that string?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “You and I, dear sister in arms, have been voluntarily surrendering control over to men for the entirety of our dating careers and that’s why you are where you are and why I was where I was a few months ago.”

  Dani exhaled as she dropped her eyes to the floor and she nodded, understanding beginning to appear all over her face. She was finally getting it.

  “Instead of dangling the proverbial
‘string’ in their faces, they’ve been doing it to us!” I continued. “And that’s the shit part, because we’re the prizes, Dani! We’re the ones who have to be won, not them.” I noticed that my voice started to rise as I became more convinced about what I was saying. “We can’t allow men to have that kind of control over us anymore. We have to take hold of the string, and dangle it in their faces, and make them dance to our music. We have to become the puppet masters, get it?”

  “I get it,” she said with the same frown. “But I don’t see what this has to do with me going to class?”

  “It has everything to do with you going to class,” I answered as I put The Femme Fatale Handbook back into my backpack.

  “I don’t see how,” she started.

  “It has to do with you taking back some of the control you’ve given away. It has to do with your attitude. And it’s that attitude which is going to put you back in control of your own life or not. Dani, if you don’t take a shower, get dressed and go to class, you’re surrendering all of your power to Craig. You’re elevating him to a position where he can dictate how your life will be played out.” I took a deep breath as her eyes widened. I could see that my words were finally registering with her. “I completely get the fact that you don’t feel like doing anything right now, but you’ve got to take this step anyway. I promise you: it’s the best thing you can do.” I took a deep breath before continuing. “The last thing you want to do is do what I did and lose month after month of your precious life by feeling sorry for yourself because some asshole didn’t have the intelligence to see how much better his life would be with you in it.”

  Dani stood there quietly for several moments, apparently allowing my words to sink in. Of course, I wasn’t completely healed from my breakup yet, but that didn’t change the fact that what I was saying was true, and I knew it deep inside me as well.

  I watched Dani contemplating my words. From experience, I could tell she was at a turning point. Why? Because I’d been there myself. I knew that Dani could either step up, heeding my words and putting them into practice, or collapse from her deep feelings of hurt and sink right back down onto the bed. There was nothing more I could say to help turn her around, so I walked up to her and took her handful of shower things. Then I opened the bedroom door and started down the hall. It was only a moment before I heard Dani’s footsteps obediently following me.

  Awesome! She made the right choice!

  “So, all this newfound wisdom of yours and your new attitude is all coming from that notebook, right?” Dani asked as we stepped into the bathroom together. She put her “Hello Kitty” robe and her towel on the counter in front of us.

  “Yes.”

  “And it’s working for you?” Dani asked, although I was fairly sure she already knew the answer to the question.

  “I’m taking it step by step,” I responded honestly. “I haven’t finished the entire thing yet, but I’m taking heed of everything Jane Doe, the author, says. I’ve promised myself to adopt at least one piece of Jane’s advice every day, and I would say she’s helped me a lot so far. Don’t get me wrong, I still have moments of self-doubt and moments where I start to think about Brandon.”

  “But mostly you’re over it,” Dani filled in for me with a shrug. “It’s obvious. I’ve noticed it for weeks. You’ve basically healed yourself.”

  “Well, I’ve had some help.”

  “Jane, huh?” Dani asked before she sighed deeply. “I think it’s about time you introduced us.”

  SIXTEEN

  The Femme Fatale Handbook

  Chapter Three: The Coquette, Mae West

  “I never loved another person the way I loved myself.”

  –Mae West

  Ah, the coquette—the ultimately playful example of a seductress. While the coquette can be confused with the innocent, there is a subtle difference between the two; the innocent appears to be just that—innocent. There is no guile or artifice to her game. The coquette, on the other hand, feigns innocence but she is merely playing a role. Coquettes are the definitive players of the game; they enjoy the chase above all else, and no man can resist the charm and allure of a true coquette. After all, there’s nothing more enchanting than a woman who can beat a man at his own game.

  And who better to represent this type of seductress than Mae West? With her absolute strength of character and sexy, lighthearted double entendres, she not only bucked the conservative social system of Depression-era America, but she did it while maintaining her breezy sexual independence. She busted through the constraints of censorship, but she did so in a purely coquettish way—by never showing upset and merely laughing in the face of adversity.

  So what makes a coquette?

  Love the game and play it to win. He who succumbs first, loses. And, remember, while playing cat and mouse, you must give and take, but never give too much. Coquettes are the ultimate practitioners of delaying gratification. They are adept in the game of hide and seek—they offer affection and then they just as quickly take it away.

  Play hard to get. The greatest lesson we can learn from the coquette resides in her sense of scarcity. Rule number one (and this applies to all forms of the seductress): Never suffocate a man. No, I’m not talking pillows and kinky sex here, girls. I’m talking about always being in his face, calling him or texting him 24/7 and, in general, constantly being available. The more you pursue a man, the more you will push him away.

  Keep him off balance. Think of this in terms of being in battle, aka advance and retreat. Respond to his advances with sweet interest on one occasion and with cold indifference on another. Play with his emotions and never allow him to think he’s figured you out. At the point at which he can predict your actions or the point at which he thinks he’s figured you out, that will signify the beginning of the end.

  Be unpredictable! A coquette is never predictable. She is forever flowing like the tide of the ocean, forward and backward again. Giving and rescinding. She is the epitome of a mystery because she can never be solved.

  ***

  NIKKI

  Rocking fashion was never a problem for me. I’ve always known how to dress and I mastered the art of looking good at an early age. It wasn’t until I started reading the handbook, however, that I began to understand the infinite power women had at their disposal, and a lot of that power centered around the way in which they present themselves to the world. I was now at the point where I wanted to exercise that power to see for myself just what I could do with it.

  Jane had said that the first step was confidence. Granted, I had always considered myself a fairly confident person, but lately that confidence was flagging. Well, now it was time to build it up again.

  With Women in Literature tucked under my arm and an evil grin on my face, I decided to put some of Jane’s advice to work. And who better to practice on than the boastful geek at the library whom I’d affectionately dubbed Robin Hood? Granted, he might have been an easy target since he’d already expressed interest in me, but I didn’t deter from my plan, figuring it would set me up for success if my first attempts at this seduction business were met with reward.

  I strode into the library with my head held high and a smirk on my lips.

  Obeying the directions of the handbook, I was dressed to the nines, sporting a pair of red, strappy stilettos, a body-hugging, black skirt and a red, white and black patterned blouse. I buttoned up the sleeves above my elbows and left the top button undone, just enough to offer a glimpse of the delicate lace of my bra, peeking out from underneath my silk blouse. The wide, red belt around my waist matched my stilettos as well as my lips, along with the dangling earrings that hung from my earlobes. Granted, I wasn’t exactly dressed for a library visit, but I imagined Robin Hood wouldn’t ponder that fact for long.

  Turning more than a few heads, some of them looked at me quizzically like they thought I was lost or something. But I wasn’t lost. Far from it. I was right where I wanted to be. As I opened the double doors and
started for the stairs to the second floor, I held my head high and reminded myself that I was a seductress in training.

  I was headed to the third-floor stacks where my friend would be sitting at his desk. When I took the steps to the third floor, I felt a rush of excitement flooding me and I had to hold back a giggle as I thought of what I was about to do.

  Approaching the desk, I saw the object of my intentions almost immediately. He was sitting behind his desk, his nose buried inside a book, just as I’d imagined it would be. He didn’t notice me as I walked towards him, and he also didn’t bother to look up right away, even as I started to speak.

  “I need to return this book,” I announced.

  “You return the books downstairs,” he replied in a bored tone, not bothering to lift his head. Hmm, I was off to a bad start. I was fairly sure that in order to woo my “prey,” as Jane termed him, I had to first get said prey to look at me.

  “Oh,” I answered with a pout, dropping the cadence of my voice to make it sound a bit throatier. “I was hoping you might be … able to help me,” I continued as I took a step closer to him and ran my fingers across the top of his desk, mere inches from his hands. “I’m afraid of getting lost down there,” I added with a little, intentionally nervous giggle.

  “Well, I can’t leave my post,” he started before glancing up from his book. As soon as he saw me, his eyes widened. He made no motion to hide his gaze as it traveled over me—it was almost as if he couldn’t help it.

  “Oh,” I started, pouting even more deeply. “I just have no idea where I’m supposed to go downstairs,” I started and then sighed. “And I’m already running late for my class.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “I’m sorry you’re late.”

  “Yeah,” I continued. “And the professor already has it out for me. He isn’t very nice,” I whispered the last part. I sighed again. “Can you tell me where I’m supposed to go again?”

  “I, um, well, I could return it for you, just this once.” He stumbled over his words while sitting up straighter, as if to appear more presentable.