Ok, enough with the nagging...

It's been determined that I am a complete slacker. I think I mentioned this in an early post. I shall now try to get on track by adding to our little "share-a-story" idea. Beth has mentioned that she would finish it her self, so I've been guilted into continuing! We'll see if she wants to continue from my addition or proceed on her own....

Anyway, the complete story thus far, then the additon: (cue lights)

The Soon-to-Be Titled Story as it Stands

Bridget had three sisters, but you'd never know it by looking at her. She seemed a mess from afar, and when you zoomed in close, you could see the wheels were about to fly right off of that train. It was no fault of her own, however. She had been unceremoniously dropped right into the middle of things, her husband of three years deciding that what he needed more then a loving, committed relationship was an underage girl with an "ass that wouldn't quit" and a sports car that no matter how fast it was driven would never get him back to the youth he was now trying to emulate.

The middle of things was where she'd started, so she should have been comfortable enough in the position. Her entry into the world had occurred during the middle of her mother's pregnancy, rather than towards the more traditional end, causing no end of bother. She'd grown up right smack in the middle of Indiana, a midwestern girl in a middle-class family that had little enough time for its middle child. Her older sisters, twins of a flamboyantly similar nature, kept themselves to themselves, and her younger sister was too much of a tomboy to pal around with Bridget.

Her real trouble, it seemed, was with the number three.

Nothing good ever came of that number, and she resisted the urge to spit as she closed her eyes and saw it there, a giant number three seared deep in her unconcious. Her hatred had gone way past obsession and landed deep in disorder territory.

Last week, the women's group had thrown their annual barn dance and charity auction at the Miller farm in Stuartville. Mary had convinced her that she needed to take part in the bacholerette auction. A bachelorette auction! Who does these things anymore? And with her entry, wouldn't it be more of a yard sale - showing used goods going for a low price.

Still, she played the socialite role, put on a smiling face, and a dress that helped cover some of her softer exterior, and stood in line waiting her chance to strut the catwalk - a piece of cattle being eyed by the eyes of fat, disgusting butchers.

As she waited, Nan came over, that smile of hers trying to cover the vacancy that existed behind her eyes. As she whispered some cooing remarks about how radiant Bridget looked, she pinned a number to the front of her dress.

That number was three.

She looked around quickly, her eyes scanning the room for the nearest exit. Palms sweaty, the scarlet "three" burned on her chest like a brand, Bridget sidled over to the drinks table. Damn midwestern values, she thought as she picked up her plastic cup of warm kool-aid. Somebody could have at least sprung for a keg, anything to help ease the anxiety that was building as she pictured her upcoming turn on the catwalk.

There is no escape from Stuartville, Bridget thought. Every person in the room had known her since she was born, probably knew that story, too, and would certainly notice if she was absent from the auction. Her eyes lit on a huddled group of the town's finest boys in blue. Just great. The last thing she needed tonight was to run into Carl.

Carl was the typical mid-western stud, with the usual resume. High School quarterback, voted all American, Blond-hair, blue eyes, chiseled physique. Father's wished he was their boy, and Mother's wished they were 20 years younger. And, to Bridget, one giant asshole.

She was sure he'd be out there with his pals, slapping each other on the back, and blatently drinking cans of some sludge that they tried to pass off as alcohol. Even though they'd all be in uniform, there was no one who would put think that there was anything illegal in their actions. These were the boys in blue and in this town, they weren't just the law, they were above it. Lesser dieties who blessed the town by walking the streets.

Carl smiled inwardly at the thought. No, there will be no trouble tonight. He felt like he had the situation under tight control. He sighed as he stole a look at a couple of girls with numbers pinned on their dresses. Stuartville had quite a small pool of good-looking women and most of them were already married.

His eyes caught a familiar face as he turned his attention to the drinks table. Missus Bridget Millett was looking at him across the room. Her short jet-black hair swung in the air as she abruptly turned her head towards the front stage. Look who we have here, he thought, a soon-to-be-divorced beauty and she was checking me out. He then noticed the number at the top of her dress and he couldn't repress a broad smile. He might place a bid at the bachelorette auction tonight after all.

Bridget noticed his return gaze and the smirk that came along with it. Turning away in disgust, she tried to shake off the chills that crept up her spine. If he made any move towards her, any attempt to talk to her, she was out of there, no matter how it might look to the rest of the town. Wasn't it enough that she had faced them all after Barry's adventures in babysitting were common street corner gossip? That she'd kept her chin up through the messiness of it all, even when he'd taken the teenage tramp off to Chicago, where everyone knew Bridget had always wanted to move? Now he'd ruined that dream for her, too.

She pushed Barry and Carl to the back of her mind and focused on the events unfolding on the stage in front of her. Nan was standing up to the microphone, tapping it lightly with one perfectly manicured fingertip. She cleared her throat delicately a few times to get everyone's attention, although her efforts were lost on the teenagers, who were steadily growing noisier with every sip of their drinks. When most of the eyes in the room were on her, she launched into her well-practiced spiel.

"Now we all know why we're here tonight, and it's not just to win a date with one of our eligible young bachelorettes." At the mention of the word 'young' Bridget lapsed into a sudden coughing fit and was rewarded with an arch look from Nan. She continued. "This is about helping out our schools, and we all know they need it. So dig deep, citizens of Stuartville, and let's make a difference together." She finished a flourish of the arm and waited for the polite applause that followed.

Helping our schools, sure, thought Bridget. Helping them pour more money into that stupid football team while the music and art programs are going out the window. Not to mention that stink about the book the grade 11th English class was reading last spring. More money for the censors' pockets. If there was one thing she hated, it was censorship. As if a few curse words nullified the value of a great American novel.

But she'd promised Mary. She gritted her teeth and managed to flash a smile across the room at her younger sister. The other bachelorettes were reforming the line, so it looked like the auction was about to begin.

She took a careful step out onto the runway, where last night the local 4H club had marched their prize pigs back and forth for judgement. She was having trouble disccerning the difference between last night and the present. She looked down at the jet black pumps that she was wearing, and trying not to stumble. As she made her way to the end of the plywood catwalk, she heard Nan's voice over the PA system.

"Here she is, gentlemen, one of the catches of today's auction. You know her and love her, the soon to be legally available: Bridget Millet"

Thanks, Nan. You bitch.

"Take it off!" This was from one of the teenage punks. At least, she thought it was. With that bunch of cops in the back, you could never really be sure.

"Five Dollars." There was no mistaking Carl's voice there. She tired not to concentrate on the proceeding, putting full effort into keeping the smile upon here face. It was difficult work.

"Twenty Five." Not sure who that was, she really didn't care. It wasn't Carl.

"Fifty." Carl again, damn it.

"One Hundred Dollars." Mystery voice again, and suddenly there was no other sound. Money like that being thrown around in this town was a very serious ordeal. Suddenly, the aucion was fun for no one.

"One Hundred and Seventy-Five Dollars." Uh oh, Carl. Bridget knew him, and she knew this wasn't about Bridget at all. Someone had the balls to go against him. Now it was about winning, about saving face. She was doomed.

Silence.

The moments ticked by, moments in which she could envision Carl's sadistic smile as he came up to her to claim his prize. Where that smile led to, she tried to push out of her mind.

Someone cleared their throat, she felt like the entire audience was shifting restlessly, just as uncomfortable as her.

Finally, Nan broke the silence. "Well, it looks like we have a win-"

"Three Hundred and Thirty Three Dollars."

The audience gasped as one. No contest, whoever the mystery voice was, he had one. Simple. Easy.

Bridget held her hand up to block out the lights that were concealing the majority of the audience. Scanning from side to side, she looked for any movement, any indication of who her saviour was. Suddenly, the sea of people parted, and out stepped her unlikely Messiah.

It was Joe Markey, high school senior.
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ok, there's my lengthy addidtion to this tale. I actually wanted to move it in this direction a while ago, so this addition was pre-meditated. Funny, you'd think with all the extra time, the writing might be better. ah, alas, it is what it is.

Now then Beth... do you take the reigns or have we parted ways on this particular tale?