Insert Chassis Albuquerque: Chapter 6 - The Short Skirt: "Sharnay Serizay"

Chapter 6 - The Short Skirt: "Sharnay Serizay"

My phone rang.
This was maybe the fifteenth time.
Judging by the persistence of the caller, I thought I knew who it was: Sharnay Serizay.
I was walking up the sidewalk to the entrance of my building. Bobbi-Jean was talking to that idiot building superintendent, Ethel Sackball. Bobbi-Jean was wearing another short skirt showing off her legs; they really were beautiful, long and tanned, a nice caramel color.
With legs like that I bet she’d crushed a lot of hearts.
Between them.
The two of them were talking and laughing, sharing some joke.
As soon as they saw me they stopped laughing - obviously I was the joke.
“Ladies,” I greeted them.
“Took a delivery for you a few minutes ago,” Sackball said.
Bobbi-Jean didn’t say anything.
Sackball, I noticed, had maybe ten years on Bobbi-Jean.
But she had quite an engaging smile when she was laughing, or wasn’t being a building superintendent and giving people a hard time.
Sackball was kind of pretty.
And kinda ugly.
She flip-flopped, she was a little of both: Pretty ugly.
And that was the problem, I was always on the fence with Sackball.
Still, I elevated my estimation of her.
As soon as I walked past the two of them, they started their little conspiratorial laughing again.
Not overly obvious.
Not too intrusive.
I just felt: Something was up.
“I’ve been calling and calling you! I called you at work but no one there would admit you even existed!” Sharnay Serizay said when I opened my front door.
Caught off-guard, “How the fuck did you get in here!” I said.
“Your building super - very understanding woman - told her I was your wife,” Serizay said.
She was very proud of herself.
Sackball…! I would have to have words with her.
Immediately I lowered my previous estimation of Sackball by a few notches.
Sharnay Serizay, Albanian in nature, was one of those girls who'd meet you halfway, as long “halfway” was her way.
She could be totally flexible in some ways.
But in other ways she was a massive bitch and had one of those personalities that was entirely subjective. In other words, subject to the fact you were sleeping with her, for a while you could probably rub along with her, but it wouldn't be long before you ran.
And the increasing inaccessible nature of her feelings left me wondering - maybe I'd overcommitted?
She was looking all pretty and polished.
She was also married.
But unhappy.
With me, she said.
“Why? What have I done?” I said.
“You don’t love me,” she said, looking at me.
This was true.
"Look, rather than bore each with details, lets just quit. While we can."
"Quit what?" Serizay said.
"What...!" she screamed.
Well, for the first time in what felt like weeks - other than the sex - that got her attention. She was pacing furiously up and down across the living room, screaming: "Who are you...? I mean, really - who are you...?"
So that's what it came down to, being someone?
That wasn't love, that was vanity and short skirts and legs that went on up for miles…
It seemed irrational really.
I should leave her while I still could.
"Look, be reasonable. I do love you. But I also love cheese, so don't take it to heart. We shouldn’t see each other."
"Why ever not!" she yelled - even the way she said it was a reason not to see her.
She sounded preposterous and as if I’d no choice in the matter.
"Honestly…? I think you're crazy. You may need help."
"Crazy…? I 'll show you crazy...!" she said and grabbed a plate from off the dish-rack in the kitchen and hurled it on the floor. Then she ran at me and I grabbed her up in my arms, while tearing her clothes from her (which was very easy as there wasn’t much to begin with - Sharnay Serizay made very short skirts look long) and we went at it. Later, when we were laying on the couch and I looked at her beautiful face, I thought: Her eyes were like two dead planets the way they regarded me, just floating in their sockets - no life there.

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