Unleash Me, Vol. 2 (Unleash Me, Annihilate Me Series) by Christina Ross

’ ve fallen into a
sinkhole of your own. ”

“ Impossible. ”
    “ Really?   Then
allow me to take you back to class.   When women of a certain age —”
    “ A certain age? ”
    “ That ’ s right, a certain age.   Since one can be painfully deluded when
it comes to seeing what one ’ s become in the wreckage of one ’ s
downhill slide toward the depths of death, let me just break the news gently to
you — you,
my dear, are of a certain age.   When I see older women, such as yourself showing off too much d é collet é ,
as you are now, I always smell a whiff of desperation.   A cougar on the prowl.   And I want to weep for the world. ”
    “ Save your tears, Iris.   If you don ’ t, you ’ ll just salt your cocktails with
them. ”
    “ Isn ’ t that clever?   And news to me.   Might I point out that ’ s
information only a weeping drunk would know? ”
    “ I ’ m far from being a drunk, Iris. ”
    “ You ’ re also far from being twenty-five,
so perhaps you should stop dressing as if you were. ”
    “ I ’ m wearing Chanel. ”
    “ Then the French hate you.   And why shouldn ’ t
they?   With all of that horse hair
on top of your head, not to mention all the whale bone and foam rubber you ’ re
using to give yourself something that resembles a figure, I don ’ t
know whether you ’ re a woman or a five-piece living room set at Frank ’ s
Warehouse. ”
    “ This from a woman who typically dresses like a man, ” Blackwell said.   “ Oh, how your words cut through my
heart. ”
    “ And this from a woman who places her self-esteem in the
cold clutches of couture.   Oh, how I
wish my words could even find your heart. ”
    “ You wouldn ’ t recognize couture if it bit you on
the ass. ”
    “ Maybe not all the time, but as a sensitive person who can
tap into the ethereal at a moment ’ s notice, I always can smell that
faint scent of sorrow that enters the air when one ’ s
youth has left them forever.   And
that scent?   Oh, it ’ s
all over you, Barbara.   It ’ s
practically fumigating this place. ”
    Blackwell gave a light, easy laugh at that, waved a hand in
front of her face, and glanced around at the rest of us.   Did she see our mortified
expressions?   If she did, I don ’ t
think she cared.   And I was
confused.   I thought she liked
Iris.   What was their problem?   Had something happened between them
before we got here?   I was about to
say something — anything — to change the conversation when
Blackwell stopped me with a warning look.
    “ OK, everyone.   Now, tell me the truth.   Don ’ t
worry — if
you don ’ t agree with me, I can take it.   You won ’ t hurt my
feelings.   So, I need to ask.   Do I look a day over forty-five? ”
    “ Oh, please, ” Iris said.   “ Really?   Now you ’ re just looking for
sympathy.   And from your friends, no
less.   Here ’ s a
tip.   If you ’ re
looking for sympathy, you can look it up in the dictionary — right
along with ‘ death, ’ ‘ shit ’ and ‘ suicide. ’”
    Blackwell turned back to Iris and was about to say
something when Iris lowered her gaze and bit her cheek.
    “ That ’ s right, ” Blackwell said.   “ Look away from me in shame like your
mother did when she gave birth to you.   And while you ’ re at it, put your dentures in backwards and bite your head
off. ”
    And with that, Iris ’ head snapped up, she was about to say something to
Blackwell, but then, inexplicably, the two women started to cackle with
laughter.
    “ What the hell was that? ” Jennifer said.
    Blackwell took a sip of water while Iris dabbed at her eyes
with her napkin.   They were still
laughing.
    “ The shame on my mother ’ s face when she gave birth to me! ” Iris said to
Blackwell.   “ Oh,
that was priceless. ”
    “ The French hate me!   A five-piece living room set! ”
    “ Salting my cocktails with my tears — that
has to be your best line ever.   And
so off the cuff.