The Other Woman

The Other Woman

There she was, Amy Gerstein, over by the pool, kissing my father. My mother had only been dead for two years. Who did this woman think she was trying to worm her way into our family? What was my father thinking? Didn't he love my mother? I looked away, filled with anger and grief. Two years didn't heal the pain of losing a mother. Watching them, I felt like he was cheating on his spouse. And it wasn't the first time. I couldn't stand the last woman he'd dated either. That's why I always secretly sabotaged his relationships. It had only taken two weeks to get rid of the last woman, but this time would be much harder. He seemed to like this one a lot more. I needed a good plan. I needed to dig up some dirt on Amy.

After a lot of searching on the Internet I found an interesting tidbit. Amy had an ex-husband who was a drunk. I had to track down this Mr. Gerstein and learn more. I found him in the Terminal Bar and Grill. He was sober, for a change. I played it cool as I walked up to him and started a conversation. I had to use my fake ID to get in. It wasn't hard to get him to talk. I was good at manipulating people to get what I wanted. When I found out he still wanted Amy and what a jealous man he was it only took a few well chosen thoughts planted in his head. He was putty in my hands.

A few days later Amy disappeared. My father, distraught, reported her missing. The police searched for weeks. They finally found her body buried in her ex-husband's back yard. She had been strangled.

After a lengthy trial Mr. Gerstein was convicted of murder. I had attended the trial, and even testified. As they led him away, I allowed myself a small smile. Amy was gone. No one would ever know the part I had played.

This is another Writer's Toolbox story.The sticks I drew were:
1. There she was, Amy Gerstein, over by the pool, kissing my father.
2. Watching them, I felt like he was cheating on his spouse. And it wasn't the first time.
3. I found him in the Terminal Bar and Grill. He was sober, for a change.

The Exotic Dancer

My sister has a game called The Writer's Toolbox Game. The object of the game is to write a short story. At the beginning of the game, each player draws a stick with a sentence on it. That is the first sentence of our story. We write for 3 minutes, then draw another stick which is used to continue the story. We write for 3 more minutes, then draw another stick, and have 3 minutes to finish the story. All sticks are drawn randomly. At the end we read our stories. The results can be funny or interesting. This is my story.

The Exotic Dancer

After only two months, Helen decided to become an exotic dancer. The previous two months she had tried River dance but it was too rigid having to keep her upper body stiff while only moving her legs. Her whole body wanted to move. She kept messing up the neat line of River dancers. There they were in perfect unison tapping out a complex rhythm and she would throw it off with her added arm movements and wiggles. Her fellow dancers complained and her dance instructor recommended she learn another style of dance. Exotic dancing sounded interesting. She didn't know anything about it. She assumed it was a dance that came from a tropical place, like Hawaii.

Imagine her surprise the first day she walked into her exotic dance class. On Tuesday, she asked her new dance teacher a most peculiar question. "What is this pole for? Is it for those who don't have a dance partner?"

Her teacher gave her a funny look. She was standing behind the counter, giving her this root beer-float kind of smile. "Helen, have you ever seen someone do exotic dancing before?" her teacher asked.

"No, I had never heard of it before last week when I read it in a list of dance styles offered in a brochure. But I can learn any type of dance, don't worry. I'll work hard." Helen was afraid of being kicked out of another dance class.

A short time later Helen joined a group of other girls. She was surprised at how scantily dressed they were. At least there were no men around! The teacher called the class to order and started some music. Helen watched the other girls, not quite sure what to do. She became confused at the girls' body movements. As they removed what little clothing they were wearing Helen became shocked. She wanted no part of this. She ran out of the building with a very red face. This was not the dance for her.

The End

The 3 sticks I drew were:
1. After only two months, Helen decided to become an exotic dancer.
2. On Tuesday, she asked her teacher a most peculiar question.
3. She was standing behind the counter, giving her this root beer-float kind of smile.