Chapter 7

Terri looked up from the small kitchen table. She swallowed the mouthful of waffle.

“You wouldn’t, you were crying and just couldn’t stop,” Terri said, spearing the last bite of waffle.

“God damn you,” Pam hissed, raw hatred bubbling up.

She threw plates and mug and juice glass into the sink, shattering them. She glared hatefully at a shocked Terri.

“How dare you?” she screamed.

Pam grabbed a handful of Terri’s hair, pulling Terri’s head back. Terri struggled against Pam, but the struggle was futile.

“For years, for years, you torture me, call me hateful names, laugh at me,” Pam screamed. “Then you come in here and act like it never, like we’re lovers? God damn you!”

Pam suddenly released Terri’s hair.

“You’re fired. You are fired. You no longer work here, you no longer work at the station, you God damned bitch,” Pam screamed and stormed from the kitchen.

She slammed her bedroom door shut. She slammed it so hard that it bounced open again. She slammed the door a second time, then locked it shut.

An hour later, Pam emerged from the bedroom and stormed to the living room. She did not care that it was only ten twenty three in the morning. She poured herself a vodka and tonic and gulped it down. A second one disappeared as quickly as the first.

She carried the tall glass to the kitchen. The shattered dishes and broken coffee mug and juice glass were no longer in the sink. The kitchen garbage can had a fresh trash liner in it. The small dishwasher hummed merrily.

“God damn it, did you not hear me?” Pam screamed as she carefully put the glass into the sink.

She marched to Terri’s bedroom, preparing to pull the insolent bitch out of her house by her hair. She flung the door open and stared.

Terri was not in the bedroom. The sheets and comforter had been removed from the bed. The closet also stood empty. Pam pulled open a drawer of the chest of drawers; it was empty.

Terri’s bathroom sparkled, but Terri’s few cosmetics were not on the small vanity. Terri’s hairbrush was not on the vanity. Her toothbrush was not in the holder.

A clean towel and facecloth were draped over the simple towel holder next to the shower stall. A small hand rag was draped neatly in the towel ring next to the vanity.

Aside from the humming of the dishwasher, the house was eerily silent.

At lunchtime, Pam made herself a peanut butter and blackberry jam sandwich. At dinner time, she made herself another peanut butter and blackberry jam sandwich, using the last of the jam.

Then she made herself a vodka and tonic. She ground her teeth angrily when she realized there was only enough vodka remaining for one more drink.

Then she remembered; Terri had quietly told her, she would not buy alcohol.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Pam snarled bitterly. “Oh boo hoo, Daddy’s a drunk so it’s okay for Terri to be a self-righteous little bitch.”

She grabbed her keys off of the side table by the front door. Then she saw Terri’s house key. The solitary key lay on the edge of the table, on top of the credit card Pam had given to Terri.

Sanity intervened. Pam didn’t believe that she was drunk, but really could not risk getting a DUI.

She put her set of keys back down and touched Terri’s house key. She picked the key up, then put it back down again.

Sunday morning, Pam wearily roused herself out of bed. There was no smell of coffee to greet her; she had not expected to smell coffee and it puzzled her that she would be upset that there was no coffee.

She made a pot of coffee and sat at her kitchen table. She finished the mug, then made herself a breakfast of cold cereal.

After her unsatisfying breakfast, she moved to put mug and bowl into the dishwasher. The latch was on and Pam remembered that Terri had set it to run just before leaving.

“Could have emptied it, bitch,” Pam called out.

Putting the dishes away, Pam saw that she only had five plates left out of the eight person set she’d originally purchased. There were no more K.I.T.N. mugs remaining.

There was no more vodka; Pam grabbed the bottle of whiskey and debated with herself about cracking the seal. She hated whiskey; it always made her so violent, nearly psychotic in her rage.

“And it’s not like you need any help there, huh?” Pam snarled out loud.

But rum made her so morose, so damned emotional. There was a bottle of gin. Pam stared at that bottle, trying to remember why she’d bought it. It had been opened; the paper seal was cracked.

“Oh, oh yeah, little Miss ‘I’m Not Sure,'” Pam thought, then giggled.

Rose DeMarco was a cute red headed cheerleader at Myndee University. She had posted a notice in the University’s ‘People Meeting People’ column on-line newspaper. In the little profile, Rose admitted she was curious about making love with another woman.

Pam had bought the fifth of gin for the girl. They had a few drinks, chatted, laughed. Pam had put on some soft music and they danced in her living room.

Rose was a taker. She lay on her back and let Pam lick, caress, and finger her to three orgasms. Then balked when it came time to return the favor.

Pam had bound Rose’s hands to the legs of a heavy wooden chair. The girl actually reached orgasm from the belt flailing her creamy white buttocks. She’d had a second screaming orgasm when Pam had fisted her drooling pussy.

After the beating, after being fisted to another two orgasms, Rose was more than happy to lick and suck Pam’s dripping pussy to orgasm. Then the girl cried, deep racking sobs when Pam declared there would be no follow up dates.

And now, Pam had a fifth of gin with which to remember the little bitch. She grabbed a tall glass.

Monday morning, Pam nearly called in sick. Her hangover was brutal; even her hair hurt.

But she had called a meeting of all their on-air personalities. Second place in the ratings was good enough for the shareholders, but it wasn’t good enough for Pam.

“Oh, Bobby, call that, that, God, what’s her name? The big woman?” Pam mumbled, wishing her office would quit spinning.

“Oh?” Bobby asked. “Who’s out?”

“Ter, Honey Bee,” Pam said, unable to look at the scruffy looking engineer.

“Huh? No she’s not,” Bobby said. “Came in at six, recorded her whole show.”

“Came, what?” Pam asked, putting her aching head on the top of her desk.

“Yeah, said she had something else do at ten, taped the whole thing. Peanut butter waffles. My mom’s got a waffle iron; think I’m actually going try it,” Bobby said.

“Came in at six? What time you get here?” Pam asked.

“Uh, five. What time I get here tomorrow? Five. What time I get here every day? Five,” Bobby said.

“What time the package store down the street open?” Pam asked.

“In Clarkston County? Can’t open until eight,” Bobby said, looking up at the clock. “Yeah, they’re open.”

The clerk smiled when Pam demanded two half gallon bottles of vodka. He placed them onto the counter, along with her large bottle of tonic.

“Hmm, having a party. Guess my invitation must have gotten lost,” the man joked.

“Must have,” Pam said, smirking. “But, you know what? It’s a self-defense class for lesbians and we need a male volunteer, you know, to demonstrate where to kick, where to gouge. Want to come?”

“Have a nice day, ma’am,” the clerk said.

Terri Triche was not in the meeting; Pam had not told her about the meeting. But even though Terri was not physically in the meeting, her presence was felt. Finally, just before twelve noon, Pam called an end to the fruitless meeting.

“Just, just try think of something, anything get us out of this second place slump,” she ordered her employees.

Sitting in her office, Pam listened as Terri talked about making an apple compote to go on top of the waffles. She could feel the coffee rising up in her throat.

“Especially if you do the sour cream in the waffle mix?” Terri’s voice happily said.

Pam retched into her wastebasket, but nothing came up. Finally, she turned the speaker down, turned down Terri’s beautiful, bubbly voice.

Home again, finally, Pam fixed herself a tall vodka and tonic. She gratefully drank the burning alcohol down. Then her hands shook horribly as she argued with herself about fixing a second drink.

“And I am not fixing dinner,” she said out loud.

“Homemade pizza is always a winner, especially if it’s just you and a few friends over for movie night,” Terri’s voice bubbled. “After Hell Yeah, I’ll tell you what you need for your thick and chewy crust.”

During the broadcast, Bobby inserted commercials during the breaks. He listened as Honey Bee’s voice told how to make a tangy pizza sauce, how to arrange the toppings for that perfect ratio.

Even though her voice was bubbly, cheerful, Bobby had seen Terri’s pained eyes that morning. But the beautiful woman refused to talk about it.

“Phones are lighting up,” Serenity, their receptionist cut into the broadcast.

“What you want me do about it?” Bobby barked at the girl. “Huh? She’s not here. I keep telling everyone this is a pre-recorded broadcast.”

“Don’t have to yell at me; I’m just telling you,” Serenity snapped.

“Let Pam handle it, huh?” Bobby snapped.

Serenity was terrified of Pamela White. The eye patch made the woman look sinister. And Pamela’s attitude was sinister.

But one more caller yelling at her prompted Serenity to buzz Pam’s office.

“Ms. White, there’s a bunch of people calling, wanting talk to Honey Bee,” Serenity said.

“And? She’s not here,” Pam snapped.

“I’m sending them to you; YOU can put up with them,” Serenity said in a rare show of bravado.

Pam got to her feet, bound and determined to have a little talk with Serenity Castillo. The girl was on probation, possession of Schedule IV narcotics, and needed this job as part of her probation plea. Pamela White was the manager, not Serenity Castillo.

Then her phone rang. She set her jaw firmly and answered the phone.

“Pam White,” she barked.

“Uh, yeah, this Honey Bee? I mean, that girl said she was out today, but uh, my girlfriend? Says something’s missing in us,” a male voice begged.

“She’s a disc jockey. I mean, she’s a cook, she’s not a counselor,” Pam sputtered.

“Yeah, I know, but the other day? She was talking about kissing her girlfriend? And my girlfriend said I needed be more like that and I was just wondering…” the caller asked.

“You love your girlfriend?” Pam asked.

“Well, yeah, I mean, she’s got this really nice, juicy ass and…” the caller said.

“Not her ass, idiot. Her. Do you love her,” Pam snapped.

“Well, yeah,” the man said, obviously confused.

“Then imagine you got all your love, every itty bitty fiber of your love, and it’s all in your lips,” Pam said. “Put your lips to hers and see if you can tell her, with just your lips how much you love her, care for her, need her, want her. And thank you for listening to ninety two nine, the kitten that roars.”

“Yes ma’am?” Serenity cringed when her phone buzzed.

“Handle the next one; I need a potty break,” Pam said, almost cheerfully.

“Uh, yes ma’am,” Serenity agreed.

In the bathroom, Pam did use the facilities. Then, as Pam sat and listened to Terri’s voice cheerfully talking about the different cheeses she used to make that perfect blanket over the sauce and toppings, Pam searched for and found Terri’s phone number. She then hit the button.

“Hello?” Terri’s voice answered after four rings.

“This is Pam,” was all Pam could think to say.

“I uh, could you, could you please come in tomorrow morning? For an interview? Nine o’clock?” Pam asked.

Pam was shocked; she felt a tear trickling down her cheek. She grabbed a wad of toilet tissue and wiped her cheek.

“I uh, yes ma’am,” Terri agreed.

“Thank you, Pam said curtly and ended the call.

“I’m back, Serenity,” Pam said when she returned to her office.

“Yes ma’am; line three’s asking about Honey Bee,” Serenity said.

“This is Pam,” Pam answered line three.

Pizza Hut, Domino’s Pizza and Benito’s Pizza all had a thirty to fifty minute wait. The girl at Benito’s Pizza told Pam that Honey Bee had broadcast a recipe for pizza that day and ever since then, they’d been swamped.

“Hope she does one for cheesecake; we got a cheesecake here to die for,” the girl enthused.

“Terri Triche, I hate you,” Pam smiled and waited patiently for her pizza order.

At eight fifty the following morning, Pam heard a squeal from the reception area. A moment later, her phone buzzed.

“Honey Bee, Terri Triche is here, Ms. White,” Serenity said excitedly.

“Send her in,” Pam said.

A moment later, there was a soft knock. Then Terri opened the door and walked into the office.

Pam’s heart caught in her throat. It had been six days since she’d seen Terri.

Obviously, in those six days, Terri had gone to a hair stylist. Her long blonde hair had been softened, framing her beautiful face.

She’d also bought some new clothes. Terri was wearing a simple red silk blouse, a cream colored skirt and cream colored pumps.

“Ms. White?” Terri said, standing in front of Pam’s desk.

“I’m interviewing a new housekeeper this afternoon,” Pam blurted out.