The Chocolate Fix

By Kevin Farran

An Eminent Domain land grab development in New York throws four women into conflict when they struggle to renew themselves after personal disappointments. The women collide at the Renyou Retreat where they explore themselves past, present, and future resulting in the formation of an unlikely cabal. They waft through the four days of mudpacks and mayhem wanting to save and slaughter each other. A humorous and candid exploration/exfoliation of the vanities and luxuries all women should afford themselves. A sisterhood both gracious and gory against the backdrop of the inevitable struggle to defy Eminent Domain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin Farran
• Release date: Nov 3, 2010
• ISBN: 9780986727344

Book preview

The Chocolate Fix

The Chocolate Fix

Kevin Farran

K. Farran

Contents

Foreword

Introduction

1. The Decision to Go

2. Twelve Weeks After the Retreat

The Players

3. Patty

4. Sinead

5. Thelma

6. Simone

The Play

7. Renyou

8. Six weeks Later

9. The Final Fix

About the Author

Feedback and contact

Also by Kevin Farran

Coming soon by Kevin Farran

All rights reserved and are the sole property of the author Kevin Farran.

Reproductions of this work in whole or in part are forbidden without expressed written approval from

Kevin Farran the author

Contact [e-mail].

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Cover image and cover licensing provided through Dreamstime.com

Contributing artists:

Girls in tub /Yoga images by Jane Guothova

Girl in Spa image by Elena Akinina

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ISBN: 9780986727344

Copywright: Kit Publishing

and Kevin Farran

www.kfarranauthor.com

Created with Vellum Created with Vellum

Foreword

Author’s Note

All characters within this work are fictitious. Any resemblance or similarity expressed or implied is purely coincidental. The work is completely constructed from the author’s imagination, research and is a fiction.

However

Eminent Domain is not a fictional phrase and is a real threat to populations, lifestyles and entire neighbourhoods in their profile, history and future. Though I have taken the liberty of using Eminent Domain as a background feature of the book it is in no way meant to belittle the traumatic affects of this policy. Throughout history the victors in battle have split the spoils of conflict and enforced change on the vanquished. From the Romans, Ottomans, to the Conquistadors and to today’s modern military exercises, there is a desire of those in power to trample the hearts and histories of those they oversee. It is unfathomable that Eminent Domain is empowered to inflict the same inconsiderate manipulation and subjugation by democratic decree, as enforced by personal and economic political agendas, on those whose lives pale to the personal ambitions of a select few. These elite few hide behind the curtain of ‘the greater good’. Yet that alone is not answer enough for the destruction being wreaked on various neighbourhoods for the benefit of those elite few.

I urge that all readers not turn a blind eye, that they make an effort to raise their awareness and conscience against what is an orchestrated attempt at profiteering to the expense of countless individuals and their history.

I personally admire the efforts of; www.brooklynspeaks.net, atlanticyardsreport.blogspot.com

Introduction

The unusual formatting of the book has prompted me to include a basic time line or program to enjoy the book.

Dreams are often jumbles can a book be?

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The Decision to Go

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Twelve Weeks After the Retreat

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The Players

Their background story

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The Play

The Renyou Clinic

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Six Weeks After the Retreat

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The Final Fix

1

The Decision to Go

Simone

N o, I haven’t told you, and I have no intention of telling you either.

Why not?

Why not? He glared in the rear view mirror at his boss. You gotta be kidding. You’re worse than my Greek mother, always trying to pair me off. Though you, at least, have the right gender.

So what’d he say?

Well, he paused for effect, Randy said—

That’s his name – Randy!

Do you want to hear or not? He turned the rear view mirror up and pretended to pout out the front windshield over the hood of the white Jaguar.

Sorry. She reached forward and touched his shoulder affectionately, she loved winding him up. For all his mass of muscles, he was little more than a ten year old. Come on, tell me, please.

He turned the mirror down, anxious to continue. In a gush he spilled his news. He had a girlfriend who went to the clinic and said it was absolutely fantastic. She said the treatments are dynamite, seaweed wraps, exfoliations, mud casings, and there is this otherworldly-type mask exercise that just blows you away.

Enough already, the expectation is too much.

Well, you asked. He paused and glanced at his boss as she had resumed her distant impatient stare out the window. She’d been burned again, he thought. Don’t worry, I’ll check by the studio daily. If there’s anything odd, I’ll let you know. But let them handle it, really. You need this.

Thanks. I know. I know it’ll be fine. You’re a star.

Patty

Usually she never had a problem with maps – though he had been useless. When they were newlyweds, it had been his idea to travel across the States to Yosemite. He said they would spend the entire two weeks running the trails every morning. It seemed now, after eighteen years, she had somehow contracted his inability to tell which way was north. Her commitment to the whole event was decreasing with each and every wrong turn she made. She only agreed to go to this clinic to keep the batty old girls and her teenage daughter happy. They’d paid for it, mostly anyway, and if it had been refundable, well, then she would not be as frustrated with this stupid fold out map. It was not as if she needed a renewal retreat anyway. She didn’t need the ‘Betty Ford’ treatment for God sake. She had a little cellulite on her arms, not on her brain like they were suggesting.

Ah shit! The sign for the retreat and corner came out of nowhere. She tromped on the pedal causing the vintage brakes on the old VW van to squeal in protest. Well, she thought, they knew she was coming now.

Sinead

She looked at it and shook her head in total disgust. ‘Of all the pages to fall open! Why did it have to be this one? Waterbeds – so seventies!’ She could still see that harlot floating on the pale, fatty, hairy raft as they rocked on that Goddamn waterbed! She glowered at the page but was jerked away with a distracting tug of her earlobe. Why did her mother still do that! It was one of her more annoying traits that had come over with her from Ireland. As a twenty-eight year old, soon to be divorcee, she had grown out of the bloody ear tugs!

You should bin that bloody ‘ting

Yeah, I know.

Waterbeds! Load of bollocks! Her mother leaned in reading over her shoulder. Oi was this ‘ere? A retreat? It’s one a them spa ‘tings, just the ‘ting fer you.

No, Mother.

"Yes, dear.

No, Mother.

Yes, dear. You’re on yer way. Oi’ve decided. You’ve got that two t’ousand from fat ass. You’re on yer way.

That money needs to go back into the shop, she protested.

Bollocks! Mee sister and the little ’uns can help around the shop fer a few days. Get downstairs and do extra prep then pack yer bags, deary yer on yer way.

No mom.

Another word and you’ll get a flea in the ear! The front bell of the shop jingled and the old Irish tyrant turned and headed downstairs to the counter.

Thelma

She had avoided that cement spot for a decade. She focused her stare on the dry grey patch with a mixture of triumph and trepidation. The memories were not good and had hounded her to achieve success. Those memories were vanquished now. She gazed down at it, expecting it to somehow seethe vicious, vile insults at her, but it was just cement.

She looked around, there was no one nearby, no one in the take-away, nor on the basketball court across the street. The corner of her smile tweaked and she went for it!

She landed her big broad butt right on that spot and squished the hell out of it! Right there, right in front of Chang’s take-away, she smothered that ten-year-old insult. Contentment, like a Caramilk chocolate, burst inside her and she savoured every morsel. She opened up the magazine she bought. She could sit and gloat until midnight, if she felt like it.

The page of the glossy women’s magazine fell open to an article on the Renyou Clinic. As she read it the greasy smells of the Chinese take-away washed around her. She slapped the magazine closed. She was passed all this. She reached for her phone and with one last sneer at the dry cement wall, she walked down the street and dialed the retreat. She had a few days and she’d earned it. She would arrive at her new job fresh and alive.

2

Twelve Weeks After the Retreat

Patty

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When she first came in, Danny thought the place seemed normal enough. Bernie, Ethel and the other old girls were in the back chattering away. Their banter was like a pack of chipmunks feeding at a banquet – a sound wash of plastic bead rummaging and cackled laughter. Then she heard the rustle of papers. She was sure that’s what it was. She listened. Her mother was here somewhere. There was another rustle, it was light, wrapping paper or maybe tissue paper. It came from her cradle. She was up there again. She climbed the scaffold steps to the glass-encased haven that her mother called her cradle. She could just see her mother’s head as she approached the top steps. Her back was to Danny as she leaned over the whiteboard used for planning. Over her shoulder she could see the intricate array of lines and patterns of the bead design she was trying to conceive. In the middle of the table was the pile of wrappers. There was more than a dozen. It was unholy. She took two more quick steps and lunged for the box. Wrappers went everywhere as she scrambled back down the steps.

Bernie! Ethel! I’ve got’em.

Get back here, Danny, damn it! Patty raced down the stairs after her daughter.

God mom, how many have you eaten?

Bernie and the other old dears came running out of the back room. Danny tossed Bernie a chocolate and turned toward the front of the studio. Patty raced up to Bernie but the old girl unwrapped it and popped it playfully in her mouth. Oh my god. The old girl feigned a swoon. I’m in heaven. Patty turned away and ran to the front of the studio where Danny was trying to get a wrapper off.

I can’t believe it mom, you are such a pig. Who’s it from? Who’s it from?

Stop it, Danny. Give’em back. Danny ran, evading her mom.

Not ‘til she tells us who it is! Yelled Bernie. Toss one over to Ethel and a couple for the girls. Danny tossed a chocolate to the laughing hens, they were howling at the panicked state of her mother.

Hey, Patty screamed. Patty being smaller was getting closer to the lanky Danny who had to cope with throwing the chocolates to the old bats as they cheered her on. Fits of laughter were also a problem as her short assed mother became more and more desperate.

Come on Momsy. No secrets here. She popped a chocolate in her mouth.

Oh yeah, what about Eddie and the running club party on Saturday?

She stopped short and turned on her mother. How d’you know about that? She mumbled through her mouth full of chocolate. She held the chocolate far out of her reach, behind her. Patty lunged for them. Ethel passed along behind her at a high paced waddle and snatched the box from Danny’s hand.

Give me the chocolates while you fight. At sixty Ethel was motoring around the tables as best she could. Got’em girls.

Patty had grabbed her tall skinny daughter by the waist and pinned her against the glass brick partition. The teenager crumpled in fits and slid to the floor as her mother tickled her.

No, no, please no. The giggles were ripping through her. Give her the chocolates back. Bernie make her stop. No, Mom. We know who it is anyway. Mom. She was in tears as her mother sat on her. Neither of them noticed his dark dress shoes peering unimpressed at them.

That’s a pathetic way for Zoro to behave, reduced to tickling. You were better with the umbrella.

They were frozen in the middle of the floor at the studio entrance. Embarrassed at their state, both girls stared up at the tall figure looming in the doorway, who somehow had come into possession of the chocolates.

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Sinead

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There you go, fifty-three dollars.

Wow, said Angelina with a huge smile.

Now, you know our arrangement. Sinead was not letting the little business girl off the hook. So ten percent of that stays in the shop yeah? And another ten percent goes in your doggy bank. She put five dollars and twenty-five cents into the porcelain bank. So what does that leave you with?

Just over forty-two dollars. Angelina said a little deflated.

And your costs are all written here. She turned the little black ledger book to the taller thirteen year old. These are all the things you ordered through the shop for your chocolate brownies. Comes to eighteen dollars fifty cents. Sinead extracted that amount from the pile of cash on the counter.

Wow. Toby who had been waiting for his sister on the other side of the glass meat counter jumped with excitement. So Angie made twenty-five ninety in a week!

That’s amazing Toby, how d’you get so good at math? Sinead asked. She put the cash in an envelope and gave it to Angelina who held it with near reverence. And I talked to my friend Suzy, she has a shop over on the other side of Pacific. She wants to carry them too. She has ordered fifty a week. Starting Sunday. You have to deliver them.

Really, really! She jumped up and down. I got a business.

Plus you have stock already paid for to make more brownies and I’ve ordered more chocolate, nuts and flour for next week.

Six-year-old Toby’s short frame dashed around the counter and hugged his sister and Sinead. Mommy’s gonna be so proud of you Angie.

Angelina? Mrs. O’Leary called as she wandered from the back of the butcher shop. She had put on her special bingo sweater and was heading out for the evening. How many brownie squares ‘uld you be having?

Nine, Mrs. O’Leary.

Well, it’s Bingo night and the luck of the Irish is in. So Oi’ll take ‘tem all and feed them to the other girls.

Thank you, thank you. She turned to Sinead. I’ve sold out!

How much might that be?

It’s ah— Angelina looked for a note pad.

Six seventy-five. Toby blurted.

Toby you’re so bright you outta be a light bulb. Mrs. O’Leary said.

Yeah, it’d be black light. They all laughed, the little boy was coming out of his shell more and more.

Here, ‘av one you lil tyke. Oi’m off, see you tomorrow with all me winnings. She paused at the door. Sinead are you staying home tonight then?

Of course, mother. Why?

Oh, just wondered. She gave a sly look at Angelina and shuffled through the front door. Sinead saw the conspiracy. Angelina had already begun to back away.

Why? What have you been saying Ang. I’ll give you a flea’n the ear, I will.

Gotta go and bake, homework too. She pushed Toby around the counter toward the door. Run.

Angelina! She dashed around the counter but the tall black girl and her little brother were already giggling as they bundled out the door.

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Simone

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Hold her hand. No, not like that Andrew. Simone repositioned his hand.

God, you’re useless Andrew. Randy called across playfully.

What? Andrew could not understand why his friends thought it was a great day to harass him. The whole morning had been a nightmare, from kicking Randy out of bed, to driving over and dressing Chin, to nearly castrating himself on the tricycle Randy had bought and left at the foot of the stairs. It was hopelessly oversized for a two year old.

Like this. Simone took his muscular wrist and twisted it. Like this, so it looks like she’s eating.

Yeah, yeah. He was getting tired of the nagging. They had been trying to get this pose for almost ten minutes.

No, we still have to see her face. Randy was exasperated with his lover. Who gives a crap about the first chocolate ice cream anyway? Andrew called.

Andrew look happy. God you look like your knob fell off. Andrew put on a fake smile and Randy refocused. Okay, okay, I’ll zoom out then.

What? We aren’t even in the picture? Simone asked.

Well you are now, before you weren’t… so much, Randy said.

Randy this is my Jaguar she’s walking on. Sometimes Simone wondered how she had got not one, but two gay fathers for her child. I want to be in the picture. Christ I’m her mother!

Yeah, I’m her father, Andrew added.

We’re her father, Randy corrected him with a peevish grin. There, hold it there. There was another long and painful pause as Randy fiddled with the camera. Andrew rolled his eyes and sighed over all the fussing.

Then like a slow painful yawn, the top scoop of chocolate rolled to one side and toppled across Chin’s shoes. The ungracious glob then slithered on the hood of the snow-white jaguar. Chin screamed at the travesty. The camera clicked.

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Thelma

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It’s art.

Bullshit, it’s total bohemian decadence, Thelma said.

Keep your voice down, he said.

What? We get all dressed up so we can walk around and just salivate all night?

Alan waved a finger at her. It’s not my problem, it’s you who has the chocolate fixation.

Crap. It was your idea to come here. Thelma was getting more than irritated with the evening.

I was thinking of you. He turned to his massive cohort. Have you ever been to a chocolate exhibition? Paris is the only place you ever could find one.

Your level of bullshit is as bad as your level of destruction.

Look, I’m happy to leave as long as we get a bit of a fix. Alan was eyeing the room of chocolate connoisseurs. I’ve never had a Ferrero Rocher chocolate. It’s sad I know. I mean everyone talks about them.

Thelma wiggled her head and waved a finger in the air with a French flourish. I am going to check out zee chocolate fountain.

Oh my God, I never saw that.

How could you not see that?

I’m scared, I mean look at this mountain of gold balls. It’s like a three-meter pyramid, having me in here is like ten pin bowling. I’m so scared I might knock them over. I’m just focusing on walking, you know, head down, just trying to stay clear. Alan pointed at the gurgling mass of luscious calories. But that, that’s amazing. Pure chocolate. I could swim in that.

She waved a cautionary finger at her skinny balding colleague. Hell, you’re so clumsy you probably will before the night’s over.

A waiter walked by with a tray of frozen strawberries on skewers and three flaming fondues of different colored chocolate.

Thelma stopped him. Excuse me, what’s this?

The young Parisian waiter, decked out in white, paused before the huge black woman. She dwarfed him as she drooled over the fondues. The strawberry slices are soaked in peppermint schnapps, then frozen. His accented English was as rich as the chocolate. The idea is to dip them in the three different chocolates.

My god, can we try one? she asked.

Of course.

They both grabbed a skewer and submerged the strawberry in one of the melting chocolate fondues.

It slithered down Alan’s throat. Oh my god. This is fantastic. It’s better than sex. Alan reached for another skewer and popped it in his mouth, swirling it around on the end of the stick.

It’s a chocolate orgasm, Thelma said. Can I have another?

Another what? Orgasm? The waiter asked slyly.

Alan erupted in laughter and spurted his strawberry across at Thelma, the icy strawberry hit the top of her breasts and it slithered down.

She raised her arms to rescue the chocolate before it slid down to her white silk top, but her arm clipped the tray and the fondues slipped to one side of the silver tray. Alan tried to catch it but he and the waiter collided. The waiter fell to the left, his back knocked the leg from the corner of the table, which supported the chocolate fountain, sending it cascading over the floor. Alan had tried to maintain the tray but lost it tipping it behind him toward the gold mountain. The fuel in the fondue burners on the tray splattered across the tissue paper skirting that surrounded the base of the pyramid of chocolate balls. The table burst into a rage of flame. The gold and brown wrapping