Christine

CHAPTER 3

  Christine banged on the door with the palm of her hand, furious that she had been refused entry by some whore, just because she was a woman. Who the hell did they think they were? In this day and age, for this type of macho sexist slavery to still exist.

  “Open this goddamn door” she screamed.

  Her calm and reverie had escaped her.

  All she could think of was of her friend, that snake, sitting beside those men, shaking their hands, drinking their drinks, smoking their cigars and taking every inch of her acclaim and for what? For being a lazy fucker who was too busy trying to get in the pants of every damn secretary he could find to offer one second of help and always being there when hands needed shaking, when a crown needed its prince; always waiting somewhere on her tail, catching her easy breeze and casting her aside in the dash to the end.

  “Excuse me,” she said as an old man pushed past her, ignorant of either her worth or her presence alone before him.

  The old man knocked on the door and The Woman in the Corset greeted him with a smile, a menu and a kiss on the cheek. Christine pressed her hand firm on the door and wedged her foot against the frame to fight her way in.

  “This is not fair. This is sexist” she said.

  The Woman in the Corset pulled hard on the door and it slammed shut without any bother.

  The silver panel slid open.

  “Listen it’s nothing personal, but this is an executive bistro and you’re a woman. You don’t see me trying to sneak my pincher into the cinema” The Woman in the Corset said.

  “I’m a dog? What? Do you even hear what you’re saying?” said Christine.

  The silver panel slid open.

  “Don’t make a scene, please. Just wait with the other wives and girlfriends by the umbrella.”

  Christine looked to her right where a white umbrella erected high into the air and under it, sipping flutes of water, were several women, some of them young, some of them old, some of them lovers and some of them wives and all of them, with a peaceful content smile dressed upon their stupid faces.

  “Are you really gonna just sit here and let them tell you where you can and can’t go?” she said to the women.

  The women looked at each other; first to their left and then to their right and then back and forth and then back again, all shaking their heads in dumbfounded disagreement unto whatever it seemed they should not have an opinion.

  “We have every right to be in there, just as they do. Seriously, what century is this?” she said.

  “Please don’t make a scene. They’ll bring out crackers soon” said one of the women.

  “Are you high?” said Christine.

  “Listen, we don’t want to bother the gentlemen in their place,” said one of the women.

  “Bother them? Their place? This is everyone’s place, this is everyone’s world. We already fought this stupid argument decades ago. I’m a manager for Christ’s sake, a female manager” screamed Christine.

  “But you’re not an executive hunny,” said one of the older women. “Now hush a bit, you’re not acting very lady like.”

  The wire pulling tight against Christine’s heart and soul was now primed to trip.

  “I say we protest. I’m serious. They can’t get away with this sexist macho attitude. I say we protest, right here, right now. Who’s in?” said Christine.

  The women all looked nervous but easily led. They looked to each other for assurance but were no match for Christine’s growing confidence and assertion.

  “We’ll get some paper from across the road, make up some signs. We’ll picket them. We can’t let them get away with it. Nothing may change, but there is a principle yeah? You have principles don’t you?”

  “Well yes, but who will listen to us? We’re women. Nobody will hear us.”