Werewolf Chronicles

by Traci Briery

  "I'll get it!" she said, as if Phyllis had even made a move toward it, which she hadn't. Roxanne answered it, and she beamed; it was Linda. Phyllis listened to her excited cooing for a little bit, then turned back to the mirror that showed a tired, frustrated, twenty-five-year-old wash-up. She checked the reflection for blemishes, of which there were none, but frowned at herself, anyway.

  Don't know where Mikey gets his "good vibes" about me, she thought to herself. Maybe I can borrow some of them.

  Phyllis brushed her teeth for no reason as her roommate lowered her voice to begin the "private" part of her phone conversation.

  Chapter Two

  The apartment door opened, and Roxanne's body partially blocked the space it made. Phyllis tried not to listen to the smooching sounds that Roxanne and her girlfriend made. It wasn't that two women kissing bothered her, but she tried not to be the nosy kind when it came to couples.

  Eventually the kissing stopped, and Roxanne made her goodbyes. Linda poked her head inside and waved at Phyllis.

  "Hi, Phyllis," she said. "Bye, Phyllis."

  "Oh, hi," Phyllis said, smiling and waving back. "Aren't you staying? Don't mind me."

  "I would, but she needs her rest," Linda said, pinching Roxanne's bottom on "she." Roxanne yelped and swatted her on the shoulder.

  "I'm getting up at five, you know," she said. "Or would you rather be my alarm clock?"

  "No, thanks," Linda said. "But good luck tomorrow."

  "You, too," Roxanne said, and gave Linda a quick goodbye smooch. She closed the door a little bit to whisper sweet nothings to her girlfriend, then shut the door and sighed.

  "She is such a sweetie," Roxanne said, and smelled the red and white roses Linda had given her. "Look, she gave me these," she said. "Her garden is in bloom."

  "I didn't know she had a garden," Phyllis said.

  "Just some rose bushes," Roxanne said, and pulled out one of the white ones and presented it to her roommate. "White, for friendship."

  "Oooo, thank you," Phyllis said, taking it and smelling it.

  "She took off the thorns, too," Roxanne said while heading for the kitchen. She set down the roses and started looking through cupboards. Phyllis turned off the television and let her head lean back.

  "We don't have any vases, do we?" Roxanne called from behind a counter.

  "I doubt it," Phyllis said. "Just use a really tall glass. Oh, and could you find one for my flower, too?"

  "Yeah," her roommate said. "So, how was your night?"

  "I didn't have one," Phyllis said. "I just sat here. Oh, actually, I finished my book, then vegged out."

  "Oh," Roxanne said, examining a potential vase substitute, then shrugged and tried to cram her flowers into it. "Well," she continued, now looking for some scissors, "Linda talked a little about her new piece, but wouldn't show me any of it. She hates showing things that aren't finished. God, performing artists are so fickle, aren't they?" she said, then laughed.

  "I'm glad you're in a good mood," Phyllis said. "You know," she said, rising from the couch, "I think I'll get in a workout before bed."

  "Where?"

  "The club, of course."

  "What; they gave you a key?"

  "Ahhh, I explained things to the owner," Phyllis said. "She's been pretty cool about it. I guess she 'understands' us performing artists."

  "Go for it, then," Roxanne said, snipping off the bottoms of her flowers. "Just keep it down when you get back. I'll definitely be asleep."

  "I know," Phyllis said, grabbing her sweatshirt from the closet. "Ooh, just thought of something."

  "What?"

  "I think some of my problem may not be how 'angry' I am at the world," Phyllis said. "I'll bet I've just been channeling it badly. I think I'll start up my karate again. God, why didn't I think of it before?"

  "When did you study karate?" Roxanne asked, a hint of disgust in her voice.

  "Oh, it was back in high school," Phyllis said. "But hey, I made it to orange belt."

  "Is that good?"

  "It's a pretty low rank. I think somebody's gonna be starting a self-defense class at the club. If that's true, I can take it for like half off or something, since I work there."

  "Kind of a violent sport, isn't it? So unbecoming of you."

  "It's not 'violent,' " Phyllis said. "They teach you self-defense, not how to beat up on everyone. You should take it, too. We are women, you know."

  "I know; believe me, I've memorized the rape statistics for about every major city," Roxanne said. "I know it's a good idea, but—I can outrun just about anybody, in the meantime."

  "What if you can't? What then?"

  "I also carry mace.

  "You? Since when?"

  "Since… a long time now," Roxanne said. "Pretty soon after I got here, actually. Not because something happened to me, thank God, but… something bad happened to one of my friends, so… I don't believe in violence, and certainly not guns, but I'd like to be ready."

  Phyllis nodded thoughtfully.

  "Maybe I should, too," she said. "But you know me; I'd want to kick the guy's ass first, then mace him."

  "G'night, sweetie," Roxanne said.

  "I thought Linda was your sweetie," Phyllis said.

  "You both are. Well, okay; g'night, darlin'."

  "That's better," Phyllis said, smiling.

  Phyllis used to be afraid of being alone in her old house in New York. It was not a big place, but had plenty of dark corners and things that made strange shadows. To get rid of the shadows, Phyllis usually turned on every light in the house until someone returned home, only to get a lecture for wasting electricity. She was not an only child, but was what some call a "miracle baby," or a child born to an "older" mother. Her two sisters and one brother may as well have been two aunts and an uncle, for all that they had in common with Phyllis. Needless to say, Phyllis had been made to feel more like an "unwanted" baby than a "miracle." Which is why she left home as soon as she was able, and skipped college to flee to Los Angeles, home of the stars and the never-will-be-stars. To her dismay she quickly discovered the huge ratio between the number of stars and the never-stars.

  This frustration fueled her anger, as well as the anger of the thousands like her. But she was going to make it, just like all the thousands would, too. It wouldn't be long before she could say "Thank you; we'll call you" to the jerks begging to direct her movies and videos. This thought, and the loud music, fueled her workout tonight.

  She no longer feared the dark or being alone, but thrived on them in times like this. No one knew she was there, nor could anyone see her in the darkened studio. She liked it that way, for then there was no concern about her appearance, and she could just let her body move to its own inner choreography. She didn't have to look in the mirrors to know that she could get any gig, as long as they didn't scrutinize her every movement the way they did. Oh, right, like they cast them with their eyes shut, but even Phyllis could have a fantasy here and there, right?

  The music was done, and no one had discovered her there, so Phyllis switched it off and gathered her things to head for the showers. This time she left the light on in deference to "that movie's" shower scene. That she would probably never recover from.

  She did not wake up Roxanne after returning, but did watch a little bit of the news while preparing for bed. More of the same: fatal car accidents, fatal shootings, fatal whatever. Unemployment the highest in California, which was no news to her. Phyllis shut it off after a few minutes and fell into bed. She had a dream about being naked in public, but grew bored of this and forced herself to dream about some strange picnic where Michael brought raw frogs' legs.

  Michael had no news about the soap yet, but he did try to "make it up" to Phyllis. She was still tense that night and had to fake her climax. Michael had performed well enough; she was the one having trouble enjoying herself. Usually he had a smoke immediately afterward, but that night he seemed content to just hold her. That was fine with her. Maybe he was rea
lly trying to quit this time.

  "Hey, guess what?" Michael murmured. "I get tomorrow night off, too."

  "Do you?" she murmured, snuggling close. "I don't, though. It's a class night."

  "Well, come by afterward, then."

  "It gets out at like 9:30," Phyllis said. "I can come by, but I'll be too tired for sex."

  "Maybe we'll rent a movie or something," he said. "What do you like?"

  "God, it's been so long since I've seen anything," she said. "You pick something. Nothing bloody, though. I like funny stuff."

  "Ahh, we'll both look," he said. "We'll be real 'together' about it."

  Phyllis chuckled, then sighed and shut her eyes. After sex she always lay on top of him and let him rub her belly from behind. That almost always relaxed her, and when she was relaxed, he usually was, too.

  "Mikey?" she said after a time.

  "Mmmmm," he said.

  "I was kinda wondering," she said, playing with his hands. "Do you think we should live together?"

  Michael let out a half-sigh and half-groan.

  "Mrnmmm, you think it'd be safe?" he asked.

  "What do you mean, 'safe?' "

  "I don't know," he said. "You know, I've sometimes kinda thought about it, too, but—I don't know. What about your roommate?"

  "What about her?"

  "Well… she'd be okay, wouldn't she? I mean, if you just suddenly left?" he asked.

  "Roxanne can take of herself," Phyllis said. "I'm talking about us, not her."

  "I've got a 'single,' though."

  "I assume we'd be getting a one or two-bedroom first, wouldn't you?" she asked. "Just give me a straight yes or no. Do you think it's a good idea?"

  "A straight yes or no? No maybes?"

  "Never mind," she grumbled. "You don't need to say, in that case."

  "If you insist," he said.

  "No, actually, I do need to hear," she said. "Do you think we should live together?"

  "If you don't want any maybes, then I'll have to say no," he said.

  "But why?"

  "Because… I don't think we're ready for it yet."

  "We've been together almost two years," she said. "That's more than enough time to decide if you love someone."

  "I never said I didn't love you," he protested. "It's just that… it's a big step, you know?"

  "It's not like we'd be married or something," she snapped. "It's just living together. You're an actor; you were supposed to marry me after two months."

  "Yeah, but then we'd have to be divorced by now," he said.

  "Seriously, though," she said. "I figure Roxanne is gonna commit to Linda pretty soon, so she'll move out, and then what about me?"

  "I thought she had nothing to do with this," he reminded.

  "Roxanne can take care of herself, but I can't," Phyllis said.

  "Yeah you can," Michael said. "Or are you saying you just want somebody to take care of you?"

  "Nooo, I'm not saying that," she said. " 'Course I can take care of myself. It's just that Roxanne has a better shot at a big break than I do."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "She's just more talented, that's all. She can sing and I can't."

  "I can't sing or dance," he said.

  "I can't believe you don't want to live together," she grumbled. "It's like I've got a curse on me or something."

  "You don't have a 'curse' on you," he said.

  "Seems that way," she said. "Nothing decent has ever happened to me."

  "Oh, thanks."

  "Well, how can I even say you are if you won't make any commitment?"

  "Hey, come on, woman," he said. "You're just not asking me at the right time."

  "What will be the right time, then, huh?" she asked.

  "I-I don't know! Look, why don't you let me think about it a while, okay? I mean, you were pretty sudden about it. Let me think about it."

  "You should have been thinking about it as long as I have," she said.

  "So I'm a typical guy, okay?" he said, holding out his hands in exasperation. Phyllis rolled off of him and lay on her side. "Typical guys are afraid of commitment and drag their butts about it. So just let me think about it, okay?"

  "And drag your butt for a while," she said.

  "I promise not to drag my butt, though," he said. "Seriously, I'll give it some thought."

  " 'Some' thought?"

  "A lot of thought," he corrected himself. "Every waking moment will be consumed by it."

  "You're such a liar," she said. He kissed her quickly and smiled.

  "Not when I say I'll think about it," he said. "The other stuff was a bit exaggerated."

  Phyllis seemed unamused, but allowed him his kiss. She was contemplative a moment, then rolled out of bed and onto her feet to fetch her clothes. Michael sat up on one elbow.

  "Oh, come on, you're still mad at me?" he asked.

  "Not really," she said unconvincingly. "I just feel like sleeping at home tonight."

  "Come on," he said, patting the bed. "I promise not to snore."

  "You don't anyway."

  "See? It's a promise I can keep," he said. Phyllis smiled quickly, but continued putting on her clothes. Michael watched her a moment before climbing out of bed. He went to her and held her shoulders.

  "I'm not mad at you," she insisted. "I just… feel like being at home tonight."

  "You sure? Do you want a ride home?" he asked.

  "No, I've got my car," she said. "I'll be okay; it's not that late."

  "Sure?"

  "Yeah."

  "Sure sure?"

  "Now you're starting to bug me," she said. Michael pouted, then pulled her closer into a kiss. Phyllis wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back for several minutes. When they finished, she leaned into him briefly before parting from him to finish reclothing herself.

  "Actually, one of the reasons is that I do have another audition tomorrow," she said.

  "Why didn't you just say so, then?" he said. "Let me know how it goes."

  "I will," she said, and pecked him on the cheek after finishing with her blouse. Michael returned to bed while she slipped her tennis shoes on.

  Chapter Three

  This director wanted "sexy and aloof." Most directors wanted this, except for the occasional "angry" video. Phyllis had once been in a video requiring ballroom dancing, but that was a long time ago. Roxanne was not there with her, for she had her previous job to attend. This director actually showed some fluctuation in his "thank you's," leaving Phyllis somewhat hopeful. She knew she had been exceptionally sexy and aloof, as had all the other hopefuls.

  The rest of the day was spent at the club, topped off with the overweight housewives in the beginning jazzercize class. Phyllis had long ago learned to ignore how ridiculous they looked in their baggy sweats and/or too-tight leotards; now this was her favorite class, for these women seemed to have more fun. Still, few of them actually made much progress, especially since this class was about the only exercise most of them got all week. That, and cutting down on their food was somewhat important, except that they rarely did. But Phyllis understood these women's plight; she may have been in great shape, but she had to work her butt off to stay that way. Some of the women in her advanced class made her want to puke, as they obviously had no need whatsoever for exercise or cutting down or anything else to keep their fabulous bodies. She sometimes wondered if they took the class just to torment her.

  Rent was due in a few days, so once again Phyllis had to ask for an early paycheck from the club. The owner, Chris, was pretty much used to it by then and was usually ready with a check for Phyllis. Chris was very understanding of her various quirks and difficulties, but she never became much friendlier than that. Phyllis used to take it personally before learning that the owner was deliberately that way with all of her employees, most likely to avoid the turmoil of having to fire a "friend," if it ever came to that.

  Roxanne was still gone when Phyllis returned to the apartment, and was
likely to stay at Linda's for the night. Roxanne almost always went there after jobs. Phyllis called Michael and told him she was too tired to see anyone. Afterward she took a long bath in lieu of a shower. She was very tired, but she also wasn't feeling up to seeing Michael after last night.

  The next morning Phyllis called up her agent and chastised him for not getting her more theater auditions. Again, he explained how difficult it was to do so because Phyllis didn't sing. Not that she had never taken lessons, but all she had learned then was that a singing career was beyond her. He did have yet another video cattle call, which she accepted. No phone calls came about the other auditions; back to the jazzercize for survival pay.

  Fortunately there was a self-defense class being offered. There was no karate or otherwise to speak of, but Phyllis had not the money to find such a class outside of the club. So she learned all about gouging out eyes with car keys, but this was no way to work out her aggressions. Roxanne may have hated the violence of it, but Phyllis needed to hit things. Some of her old training came back while learning about throws and holds and whatnot. After two lessons she realized why the pure martial arts had appealed to her before she devoted all her time to dance. The martial arts, when properly practiced, could be just as beautiful as any dance performance. This "Women's Defense" class wasn't satisfying that at all.

  This need to work out her aggressions was, of course, growing. She got one shot at a video over the next few weeks, but as a non-dancing extra. Definitely not her next big break.

  Michael's good news was his new steady job. He had made it to the soap's callbacks, and was not "Louis," but had been hired as "Derek," the hot-shot lawyer for some character's rape case. Or maybe it was a murder or custody battle. Phyllis was going to have to start watching the soap, of course. Michael's fifteen-hour days began almost immediately, so he couldn't see much of Phyllis for a while. Nor did he have an answer for her about the "c" word.

  As a purist, Roxanne tried to refrain from such pollutants as cigarettes, drugs, booze, meat, and swearing. Nevertheless Phyllis was gradually becoming what even her roommate would call a real bitch. Normally Phyllis would be taking out her anger on Michael, but he was never home, so she had to let Roxanne have it for various stupid reasons. As a result Roxanne spent more and more of her time at Linda's, leaving Phyllis a little bit more alone than before.