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Over for Drinks

copyright 2006 by J. Crispin-Ripley

Everyone else laughed at Donald's joke. Sandi just smiled to herself. His delivery was better than ever. He'd had a lot of time to practice that one though; she'd told it to him three years ago. But now he was the senior anchor at a major cable-cast station and she, well she wasn't supposed to be here. She'd crashed the party--her gleaming smile and mane of blonde hair had fooled the security guards into thinking she belonged--to someone. Sandi didn't; she was her own woman.

As Donald checked his circle of admirers, he saw her. His smug smile wavered and then became wider. "Well, lookee who's here--my old weatherbunny, Sandi." The crowd parted to let him through. "I must say, you look hotter than ever." As always, he talked to her breasts. She'd had them enhanced since he'd seen her, thinking a bit more cleavage might get her out of the boondocks. It hadn't, not yet--they seemed to worked for Donald though. Then again, he'd always been easy. "Still back in the old stomping grounds, love?"

"Just down on vacation," Sandi answered. "Thought I'd drop in and see how you're doing. I miss you, Donald."

Sure she did. Since he'd left, she didn't know what to do with the time she'd spent massaging his ego, among other things. She'd taught him how to dress, encouraged him to have his teeth straightened, and every night, before the newscast, spent an hour going over it with him--making sure he could pronounce the difficult foreign names like Putin and Bush. Donald had been supposed to be her ticket out, but when he'd been hired in the big city, he'd left Sandi behind.

"I've missed you too," Donald answered. "I didn't realize how much until now." His eyes hadn't moved. Good, the implants were finally beginning to pay.

"I understand," Sandi said. "You've been busy." Busy trying to make the contacts that would take him the next step up, to a national newscast. Trouble was, Donald wasn't smart enough to do that on his own. Worse, he wasn't even bright enough to know he needed someone to manage him--like Sandi for instance. No, Donald thought he'd got where he was on merit. Sandi laughed to herself--without her, he'd have been lucky to find work as a used car salesman. She moved closer, brushing his arm with one of the objects of his attention, and felt him shiver.

"Later, you can show me exactly how much you've missed me," she continued in a throaty voice. Which had never taken him more than ten seconds; lovemaking had never been among his very few talents and, from what she had learned, it still wasn't. She'd put up with his fumbling at the time, thinking she had him where she wanted him. She wouldn't make that mistake again.

"Well, I don't know," Donald said. His eyes frantically searched the room. "I'm involved with someone else now."

"So I've heard," Sandi said. With Hillary, who read the news on weekends, and who had thought the main newscast would be hers until Donald had been hired. Sandi had met Hillary in California, in the clinic where she'd acquired the breasts. Hillary had been there to have her face tightened. She was older than Sandi, approaching the age when, if a woman hadn't made it to the top, she got dumped in favour of younger, firmer flesh. "Matter of fact, I know her fairly well," Sandi continued. "She might be interested in a threesome. Would you?"

From the look on Donald's face, Sandi knew he'd taken the bait. Time to set the hook and reel him in. "Let's find her and ask," Sandi said.

"Well, I don't know," Donald said again. It was his mantra. His brow furrowed with worry--maybe, even to him, this seemed too much. Perhaps he had learned something in the time he'd been away from her. Even if he had, it wouldn't be enough to save him.

"Actually, she suggested it," Sandi said. She saw Hillary beside the bar, where Sandi had told her to stand. The outfit Sandi had recommended brought out how sleek Hillary was, while making the sweet thing seem even more feminine and delicate. Sandi had known Donald would like that as much as she did. As they approached the bar, Sandi noted with approval that Hillary had also lightened her hair, in the process doing away with the few grey strands she'd been showing.

Hillary smiled at Donald. "I see Sandi found you." Her eyes met Sandi's. "Is he all you remembered him to be?"

"Every bit," Sandi said. As empty-headed, and as always, addressing her cleavage--although with more reason. Hillary inched towards Sandi, who ran a practised hand down the older woman's silk-sheathed side. Hillary and Donald both quivered.

"I could sure use a drink," Donald said. His eyes had finally lifted and he was undressing the two blondes with them, imagining what they'd look like twisted together.

"Get one for me too, stud," Sandi said. Stud? Right! She managed to not giggle.

"For you, chickie--anything you want." Donald turned to the bartender. "I'll have a beer, and for the little lady, a Bloody Mary. Make it with Frangible Vodka."

He'd remembered her brand? Sandi was surprised, and touched, but it wasn't enough. She wasn't going to forgive him, not now and not ever. The drinks came. As she took hers, Sandi slipped the poison into Donald's beer. Hillary would be grateful when she found out what Sandi had done for her.


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