Endeavors and Endgames: Black Bliss, #3

By Fallen Kittie

Play to win. Play for keeps.

Edith Black champions those ideas. Victors venture for the prize and she prospers with perspective. She never loses sight of her priorities but likewise, she never forgets her truth. That’s what makes her. Her flare is fierce, frank, and frugal. In the concrete jungle where such flare is supplanted by fashion, truth tends to elude the elites. For Edith, business is booming albeit budding as she barely breaks even next to her competitors. But that can change under the influence of an investor. Too bad the one she pitches is a traditionalist who insists an independent woman is less admirable than radical.

As the old-school opportunity swims out of her sights, James Charles fades into view. The attraction is instantaneous, almost as raw as her resolve. But he isn’t keen to the confines of commitment—unlike his father who thinks he must become a family man in order to take on more of the family business. Lucky for him, Edith is a winning woman with no desire to land a leading man and his connections to her potential investor set some very lucrative stakes. James never counted on her raising them. Cast as his convenient counterpart, she seems content to play house since she knows the score. Edith enacts the plot but refuses to act upon the attraction. The distance is devastating but doable.  

If they brave the business of pleasure, can the victors truly enjoy the spoils?    

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fallen Kittie
• Release date: Feb 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781519963338

Fallen Kittie

ABOUT FALLEN KITTIE Fallen Kittie is a freelance writer and sociologist currently studying existentialism and supernatural folklore. Her characters are avenues in which she collates her own realities and musings upon sexuality within fiction. Midway into her academic career, she started to consider writing as a means to escape the miscellaneous monotonies of her syllabi. Her escape became story bound illicit intimacies and other imaginings. As she continues writing, she cultivates a preference for erotica over the emptiness of the empirical.   Follow her on Facebook: http://www.fallenkittie.com  

Book preview

Endeavors and Endgames

Black Bliss, Volume 3

Fallen Kittie

Published by Fallen Kittie, 2016.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

ENDEAVORS AND ENDGAMES

First edition. February 1, 2016.

Copyright © 2016 Fallen Kittie.

ISBN: 978-1519963338

Written by Fallen Kittie.

Endeavors and Endgames

by Fallen Kittie

Table of Contents

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More Bliss

1

I’m just going to die!

Edith Black highly doubted that. Ashley Maine, her present and premier patron, was the picture of health. Okay, maybe not so much health as fashion. And drama.

As she launched into another rant, her face dropped right down to her chin. In a way, Edith figured she should’ve been thankful. After all, Ashley was the one who’d set her up—even if she also simultaneously dragged her down. Edith had broken out of her shell and into independence. But at the end of the day, she was mired in the same mould. Ashley had been fixing to thrill. Together, they’d managed a modest gig on the town. It was Edith’s idea to open a shop. Her boutique enjoyed the bustle of the downtown district. She owed that to Ashley. Well, she thought she did. These days, she wasn’t so sure.

The more she thought about it, the more she found herself stewing in circumstance. Ashley had more or less staked her claim in the shop which made sense granted how many customers she’d brought, but some digging led Edith to discover that Ashley wasn’t exactly the cause as much as the effect. Edith owed every attraction to her endorsements. Ashley just flaunted her friendship which led to customers crossing her threshold. She’d work the connections, not her loyalties.

It wasn’t like she had any real stake in the business either. She’d just appointed herself the unofficial face of the store. So when she’d stormed the front crying about some crisis, Edith was more than a little unfazed.

Ashley embodied every cliché that came with her crust, the errant elites. For every pricey perfume that pinched her nose, she stank of a superiority complex. It didn’t take much to start her up. She could’ve caught a whiff of slight and suddenly, the sky was falling. Now, she wrinkled her nose and minced her manicure by the checkout.

Edith braced herself for a morbid monologue. Luckily, it was close to closing. What’s wrong, Ash?

Ashley paled. Her hesitation harbored hatred or bad news. Since it was hardly the latter, Edith prepared for pitchforks. She couldn’t imagine which airhead piqued Ashley’s anger this time around. Last week, it was some spoilt sorority head who she’d duly dragged by the weekend.

It’s Jun, she pouted. He’s...

Edith blanched, Jun? So, it was a guy? Well, there went her night.

The guy I told you about, she drawled, each word driving her delirious. Jun Charles, the—

The guy who owns some chain of hotels, Edith remembered. And Ashley had set out to own his heart, but she’d be happy to settle for his wallet.

Sarah was all over him today, she snapped. "All over him." She spoke slowly, as if stressing that could’ve conjured a clearer visual. Even though Edith hadn’t seen either of them in her life.

"Wasn’t some other chick all over him last week?"

For a minute, Ashley brightened. Yes, that’s right.

Crisis averted? Because the fact that this guy was a serial sexpot coarsened some consolation.

Edith, you always know what to say, she beamed. Looking around the dim shop, she added, You always know what to wear too. No wonder this place is—

Don’t mention it. Edith beached that banter before it could start. Before when she’d just started out and floundered to find her footing, she’d swam along that cascade of capricious compliments. Watching Ashley work her charm on others murked those waters.

That still never stopped her from tiding along another tangent. Jun likes to say he’ll never settle down.

People liked to say a lot of things. A lot of those things tended to be fictional. Edith bit back that inconvenient truth. Her tongue turned as she thought on all the things she’d left unsaid. Obliging Ashley and everyone else in her life had been marked by mountains of silence, because what was the point? A voice of reason wouldn’t have made any difference.

Edith should’ve known that better than anyone. Once she’d made up her mind, everything against it was just white noise. Yet there were people like Ashley whose selves sung to a  symphony of superficiality where reason was relegated to sparse sound bites. It wasn’t like they had to listen either. All that money made up for meaning. Or lack thereof. Too bad pride and principle didn’t pay as much.

Edith fumbled to change the subject. Whatever happened to Alec? Wasn’t he—?

Alec got engaged last month, Ashley rolled her eyes. His fiancée trips over herself to flash her ring. I don’t know what I saw in him.

Probably the same thing she saw in every other man who’d caught her eye, including this Jun guy. She saw a Prince Charming who could queen her into his castle. She’d seen what she wanted to see. Edith had seen what was there. Whether they wore some suave suit or ragged rebel without a cause, they were all losers. Enough of them had reluctantly wandered into her shop behind their wives or girlfriends on their latest spree. Ashley liked to say men were dogs, but Edith saw them as wolves. They were precarious playboys, prowling in packs well beyond the altar and honeymoon. Dogs could be tamed. They couldn’t.

This Jun was no different. Ashley would eventually see that too. But right now, candy dreams clouded her vision. Edith calmly crossed the floor to adjust the evening display. Ashley followed and muttered—no, muttering was unbecoming for women like Ashley. More like cooed. Yes, Ashley cooed her contentions while Edith modeled the mannequins in the window.

I’ve tried everything. I don’t know why he—

Have you tried that test? Edith countered over her shoulder.

Well, maybe tried wasn’t the word either. More like retried, then groveled for another try until donating a chunk of charity choked out another chance. That was the saddest thing about people like Ashley. People like her were served the world on a silver platter only to shove it aside and crack for the dessert cart. Nothing was ever enough. No one was ever enough. Which was why every guy Ashley clamored to keep was—and always would be—just another phase. Just like her latest major in college. Or soon-to-be major if she could pass those tests and be done with her final course set.

But Ashley had more important things to think about. Like Jun. That prof has it out for me, she grumbled. It doesn’t matter if I retake it...

It matters more than this Jun asshat, Edith shot back. A degree is something you can count on. Even if it was just a basic bachelor’s. Even if it was earned after bouts of indecision, marked by deadlines and dropouts. Even if it was about ten years too late. It was still something.

Edith should know. She’d been the one to fast track her degrees. A fierce sense and means of independence were what she had to show for it. Of course, Ashley and every other female fixed in this postal code thought she was nuts. If she didn’t have a man, she had to be miserable. Because men—marriages, flushed flings, aimless affairs—were what mattered, right? No matter where she went, her achievements were always underscored because she didn’t have a man to show for them. Almost a quarter of a century into the new millennium and people still clung to that caveman bit.

I can count on Jun, Ashley argued. He’s always come through. I mean, he’s built his business—

I’m sure he’s very dependable, Edith pitched a plastic elbow. But so are you. You need to start looking out for number one. Because Christ knew Jun and every other loser like him smelt like number twos.

Ashley angled an ankle. I’m not like you, Edith. I can’t... I just don’t see myself getting by alone.

I’m not alone, she chuckled, opposed to the exaggeration. But I might be a pariah at bachelorette parties.

That’s what I mean, Ashley’s eyes shrank, unusually shrewd. "You need a party or a promise. I need a wedding a ring. Either way, we both need something."

Something, Edith sighed. Not someone.

So, it’s all just a matter of timing?

You could say that, she offered. "Sex boils down to a scene and a stimulus. So does love, or whatever you want to call it."

Ashley perched on the platform. Whatever I want to call it?

You know what I mean, Edith shrugged, adjusting the accessories. "People tack names onto anything. It’s all good as long as it sounds cool—and cool doesn’t have to be believable."

So, you think I made it up then? You think anyone in love is living a lie?

I think people are impulsive, she amended. I think you should set clearer priorities. You are number one, Ash. I wish you’d remember that. Just like you’ve got to remember all those pretty faces at the bar. How many shots do they owe to being some guy’s number two or three, or five?

Or seven, Ashley grimaced. I can’t stand when they act like they don’t have a problem with it.

Just like I can’t stand when people try pushing me into an early grave, Edith snorted. God knows I’ll die young from a hasty marriage or settling for some idiot otherwise.

Edith, it’s not that bad, she smirked. You make it sound like we’re still in the Stone Ages.

We might as well be.

I had the time of my life with Slade, Ashley wistfully whispered. Even if we didn’t make it, I can’t deny the fun we had. I won’t beat myself up about it either. The game of love has no guarantees, just stakes.

Slade Atkins certainly showed that some stakes were higher than others. The man had been a testament to the ruination of romance. Just after their freshman year, he’d shot into the city on a custom Harley. Slade had replaced Ashley’s gold, glamorous standards with his smoky eyes and diesel dreams. That fairy had tale led her to an indefinite pause on college, a furious family fallout, and tribal tremors living in a concrete commune. Too bad Slade’s ex loomed beyond the sunset.

The last thing Ashley—or any woman—needed was another Slade. Which could work in Edith’s favor. So, you think this Jun guy is like Slade? You think he can give you what you and Slade shared?

Of course not, she frowned.

So, why bother? Edith crossed her arms. Slade gave you the best so, settling for anything less would be worse.

Sometimes, less is more, she recovered.

I’m not going to pretend I know what that means.

Sighing, she resigned. I can’t explain it. You just have to see for yourself.

I’ve seen enough, Edith whipped a wig.

She’d heard enough too. But that didn’t stop Ashley from droning her devotions. You haven’t seen Jun.

She hadn’t seen the parade of princes Ashley had prattled on about since Slade either. The lack of sight didn’t obscure the obvious. I saw Slade, she said. And I still don’t see—

"Jun is so not Slade, Ashley flushed. He’s... He’s in a whole other league."

Was he? He sounded like every other princely prospect Ashely put on the table. For all those finishing schools and fine dining, every one of them reverted her back to a giggly schoolgirl.

Edith couldn’t remember the last time she’d giggled. Her life revolved around grades and graces even back in school. If she ever caught sight of a handsome face, a textbook or cautionary tale soon replaced it in her line of vision.

When I first saw him, I could’ve sworn he’d walked out of some Oki Konosawa movie, Ashley swooned. You know, those movies you’re always talking about.

It took Edith a minute to place the reference—and correct it. "You mean, Akira Kurosawa." She could’ve meant Kiyoshi Kurosawa, but Edith doubted it. Akira was behind the black and white classics. Kiyoshi commanded a contemporary sublime. Not that Ashley managed to stay awake for either director.

Whatever, she waved. You know who I mean, the black and whites.

So, Akira it was. You’ve never compared a guy to film—and with me, you know it’ll get your point across. This is a first, Ash. Well, the first since Slade. Ashley had sworn he was ripped right out of The Outsiders. Edith got a mild vibe but never saw the resemblance. Considering Edith’s specialty was media studies, that counted for a lot. Considering her focus was Japanese film, a reference to Akira Kurosawa counted for even more.

Which meant Ashley was serious even if she was exaggerating. You have to see him, Edith, she crooned. He’ll be at the company luncheon this weekend.

The luncheon. She almost forgot. Not that she’d planned on going anyway. Work had shown her a fair share of the guest list and she couldn’t stand them as it was. The luncheon would be like every other lunch or bite of conversation she caught scaling the streets. Everyone had that silver platter but gorged on gossip as they fettered over the feast of food at their fingertips. Edith couldn’t stand the condescension, the corporate turnouts.

What got her most was the actual food. As people clicked their forks less than their tongues, her stomach would curdle in remembrance. All those cereal lunches and dinners, if she could even afford to eat at all...

And it reminded her just why she could call Ashley her friend. She might’ve lacked vision, demanded more doting than discipline; and more than once, her melodramatic monologues made Edith want to play in traffic. But Ashley was still a fine friend. Even if these days, Edith saw less of that confidante who’d shared her heart and lunchbox on their school steps.

Sighing as she set a steady hand on her shoulder, Edith leveled Ashley’s wistful gaze. "You are number one, Ash. We both know when the chips are down, there ain’t gonna be some saving grace like those Hallmark specials. Everyone knows that, even this Jun guy. Remember who’s number one here. Don’t ever settle for second place."

She spoke softly albeit seriously. Ashley’s wandering eyes told her she may as well had been speaking to a brick wall. Everything’s a competition to you, Edith, she pouted, refusing to retcon the romance. You can’t just cast everyone as winners or losers, or just contestants bouncing from place to place.

Edith had to pause and gape. That sounded oddly insightful. In fact, that sounded too insightful. It wasn’t parsed in platitudes or rounded by rhetoric instead of reality. Whenever Ashley resisted her rigid resolve, she got artsy. Most of the time, she painted herself as a pariah in broad and bleak strokes. Other times, she sang the blues. Her