writing community
Sign In Here | Lost Password | FREE Sign Up
E-mail: Password:
Remember login  
The place for writers:
Upload your writing in minutes, receive peer feedback from other writers, poets, authors, then get your work published out there in the real world.       Learn how other writers are doing it.

 
vanessaniki
Lady Bug
United States, Ca, La Puente

Words: 2422
Access: Public
Comments: 1

Forward to a friend
Print Version
E-mail this writer E-mail this user 
View Author profile
Add to Readers  




The Louis Vuitton Purse

Four years of injuries from Rochelle I had endured as best I could, however this last year when she insulted me, I vowed revenge. But you know me; I bit my tongue and never said a word. However, secretly, I wanted to get her back. I just couldn’t make up my mind how I was going to do it.

I wanted to get her and get her good, but when someone does you wrong, it’s not healthy to mill over the issue continuously. However, to just forget it and go on with your life without telling them how much they’ve hurt you is just as bad as going overboard. Now don’t get me wrong, I never said or did anything to make her think that I was anything but her friend. I continued to accept her invitations to parties and such, only now it was from the thought of being able to study her and eventually giving her what she deserved. She had no idea.

Rochelle has a weakness. Even though she is popular, and even admired, she feels the need to brag about her knowledge of expensive purses. Few seniors at West Covina High School can say that. For the most part, the senior girls talk a big game to seem interesting and to gain more popularity with the guys on campus as well as the lower classmen. When it comes to music and clothes, Rochelle is basically a follower; however when it comes to purses, she knows her stuff. And not to toot my own horn, but I can hold my own as well, and I bought them whenever I could afford to splurge.

It was around ten o’ clock on night. I ran into Rochelle at a Halloween party one of the seniors was throwing to celebrate their final year of high school. She nearly knocked the breath out of me with a huge hug.
I could tell she had been drinking and was very well inebriated.

She was dressed like a belly dancer, in a tight white half-top with sheer sleeves and a pair of billowy see-through violet pants. She had the shoes and veil to match, but what truly made the whole get-up unbearable was the castinettes she wore on her fingers. Regardless, I smiled at her for I was surprisingly happy to see her and returned her affections with a tight hug of my own.

“Hey girl, lookin’ good. But I can’t stay. My parents found a deal on what they said was a Louis Vuitton purse and I have to go check it out to see if it is a fake.”
“How,” she asked. “A Louis Vuitton purse? A real one? I can’t believe it! Are you really going to leave the party for that?”

“It’s probably a fake,” I told her. “They just got back from France. They told me that they bought it off of this guy for a really good price. I told them I would take it, but I would have rather looked at it myself, or at least been able to talk to you about the way it looks. But you know parents. Instead of going to Rodeo Drive they thought that because they bought it in France it has to be real.”

“Louis Vuitton,” she exclaimed.

“It’s probably not even real.”

“Louis Vuitton!”

“I really have to go see.”

“Louis Vuitton,” she said again.

“And you are here at the party; it’s ok. I’m on my way to see Lucy. If anyone can tell a Louis Vuitton purse it’s her. She’ll tell me –

“Lucy can’t tell a Louis Vuitton purse from a garbage bag.”

“And you know, some girls at school say that her eye is as good as yours.”

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To your parents’ house.”

“What? Girl no, I’m not about to take you away from this party. You look like you’re having fun. Anyway, Lucy --”

“I was about to leave anyway; come on.”

“Rochelle, no. Ok, it’s not the party, but it seems like you’re coming down with something and I don’t want you to be out in this night air. Anyway, my parents like to keep the house cold. With the way you sound, you just might want to say away.”

“Thanks mom, but I think I know when I’m getting sick. Anyway, it’s Louis Vuitton! I have to see it. Besides, Lucy can’t tell a Louis Vuitton purse from a garbage bag.”

With that said, Rochelle grabbed my hand. Putting on my cat woman mask and leather coat, I told her we had to hurry to my parents’ house.

My parents weren’t home. They had gone away on another trip and I told them I was staying over to my friend Noni’s house. So of course, they extended their stay.

I looked into the kitchen cabinet and got two flashlights. I gave one to Rochelle, winked, and then gave her a tour of the front rooms. As we passed through the living room, I told her to be careful of my mother’s figurines as to not break any of them. We stood at the foot of the stairs for a long time before going up.

Rochelle’s steps were a little off balance and the castinettes on her fingers would clasp together as she walked.

“The purse,” she said.

“It’s in my room,” I told her. “But first look here at these paintings my dad bought. Aren’t they nice.?”

She looked in my direction and I saw her eyes were glazed over from drinking too much.

“It’s cold,” she whined.

“I told you it would be,” I said. “Anyway, how long have you had that congestion?”

“Ah-choo, ah-choo, ah-choo.” My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes.

“It’s nothing,” she sniffled as she wiped her nose.

“Come on then,” I took her by the arm. “Let’s go back to the party. I’m sure that it’s nice and warm due to everyone dancing. I don’t want you to get any worse than what you are. It’s the last few months of school. You are in line to be valedictorian. Everyone likes you and would miss you if you were out sick. As for me, people wouldn’t really care. Let’s go back. You are going to get more sick, and I can’t have that hanging over my head. Besides, Lucy --”

“Please,” she said; “It’s just a little congestion. You can’t die from a little congestion.” I raised an eyebrow then relented.

“You’re right,” I shrugged; “And I really don’t want to get you all worked up about it – but you should really get that checked out as soon as possible. You know my dad always said that a little liquor cures congestion. Maybe a little will clear you up a bit.”

That’s when I went to the liquor cabinet and got a bottle of Hpnotiq. I popped the cork and took a sip.

“Have a sip,” I told her, giving her the bottle.

She tipped the bottle to her lips with a smile: She paused and then nodded at me smiling, her cymbals hitting the side of the bottle.

“This is good,” she toasted. “To the end of high school.”

“And your valedictorian nomination.”

After we shared a few more sips, she took my hand and we walked on.

“This hallway,” she said, “it’s very long.”

“My father built this house,” I replied. “He wanted us to have a huge one.”

“Do you have a picture of your family anywhere?”

“Yes, here it is on the wall.” I showed her a picture of my family. “See, that’s my mom and dad. This is my sister. She lives down the street with her three children.”

“How nice.”

“I think so.”

“It’s good that you can take pictures with your family like that.”

The Hpnotiq was taking effect and her castinettes clasped together. I admit, I was a little tipsy myself from the drink. As we passed by other pictures, I stopped. This time I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back.

“It’s really cold,” I told her. “And it’s getting worse. It gets colder and colder as we get to the back of the house. We can come back tomorrow when it’s sunny. Come on let’s go back. Your congestion --”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “We’re already here, so we might as well stay. Let’s get to the room already. But first let me have another sip of that Hpnotiq.”

She uncorked the bottle again. This time she finished the entire bottle in one hugeguzzle. Her eyes glazed with excitement. She laughed as she closed the bottle; and then Rochelle made a face that I didn’t understand. I looked at her like she was crazy. She made the face again – it was really very ugly.

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“No”

“Then you aren’t apart of the club?”

“Which club is that,” I asked looking confused.

“The drama club silly.”

“Oh yeah, that club,” I said. “Yes I am.”

“You? Please! A part of the silver key drama club.”
“That’s right,” I smiled.

“Show me a sign, since you didn’t recognize the face.”
“Here it is,” I answered, pulling a silver skeleton key out of my pocket.

“Oh my God,” she shouted, covering her mouth. “Ok now, let’s go see this purse.”

“Alright,” I said as I put the key back into my coat pocket.

She grabbed my hand tightly. We kept walking down the hall. We went up a small row of stairs coming to a room at the end of the hall.

The door had many locks on it. I opened the door. Inside was a bed, a bathroom and a closet full of women’s designer clothes. It had the appearance that someone had been living there for a while. Two of the walls were lined with bookcases full of books. On the ceiling was another door which I told Rochelle was an attic. But it really had no purpose.

“I keep all of my valuables in there just in case we get robbed.”

“Is it decorated too,” she asked. “Can I see it?”

“I guess so,” I shrugged. “I’ll get a ladder.”

I got a small step ladder and placed it underneath the ceiling door.

“Go ahead and take a look. This is where I put the purse. And about Lucy --”

“Forget about her,” she snorted as she put her flashlight on the bed.

She stepped up into the little room while I held the ladder. She was finally there in the darkness, and not seeing where she was going became confused. In those few moments, I had gotten a thick clasp fitted to her leg. The clasp was attached to a chain on the floor. She was too surprised to stop me. Stepping off of the ladder I called to her.

“Can you see the light switch up there? It’s very cold, we should go back. No? Then I really have to be going now.”

“The Louis Vuitton,” she exclaimed, still shocked.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “The Louis Vuitton.”

As I spoke I began to exit the room. Pulling the key from my pocket, I started to close the door. I had barely closed it when I realized that the Hpnotiq was wearing off and Rochell was sobering up. The first indication I had of this was when I heard her crying. It wasn’t a drunken cry. Then there was silence.

I closed the door and fastened the first two locks. That’s when I heard a rattle of the chains. The sound lasted for several minutes. During that time I became more and more proud of my plan. I stopped bolting the door and sat down in the hallway. Then the clanking stopped. Bored, I stood up and began again. I was down to the seventh deadbolt when I paused again and knocked on the door.

A succession of shrill screams burst suddenly from the throat of the chained one and startled me so much – I trembled. I started to double check the door to make sure it was securely closed, but then I back tracked my thoughts and was sure I had locked every one. I stood close to the door and replied to her screams with screams of my own. I taunted her, mocked her; I screamed louder and more painful sounding than she. When I did that, she was quiet.

It was midnight and I was almost finished. I had locked the eighth and ninth lock and there was only one left. I was about to put my key into it when I heard her laughing to herself. It was an eerie laugh that made a chill go up my spine. Then she started talking again. But this time it was so soft that I could barely make out what she was saying.

“Ha, ha, ha – ok, ok—this was a good joke. Happy Halloween! You almost had me going there. I was scared out of my mind. Now let me out of here and show me where the purse really is.”

“The Louis Vuitton,” I asked.

“ Ha, ha, yes the Louis Vuitton silly. But it is getting kinda late. I have to go home. My curfew is at midnight and my parents will be so mad if I break it.”

“Yes, Let’s go then.”

“For God’s sake, Vanessa!”

“Yes,” I said. “For God’s sake.”

After that, she didn’t say anything else. I grew impatient. I called her name.

“Rochelle?”

No answer. I called her again.

“Rochelle!”

No answer still. I banged on the door to try to startle her. But the only thing I heard was the clasping of her castinettes. I got kinda sick to my stomach because of the Hpnotiq. I hurried to finish the job. I turned the key in the last lock and put it back into my pocket. I slid a chest of drawers in front of the door.

It has been twenty years since my dad sold that house and to this day, no one has thought to check that room. Vivre pour toujours mon ami!

Want to comment on this Short Stories?
Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...
Sign up






[Back to top]
Comments  
Sam S Sterling Comment by: Sam S Sterling - 2008-04-16 16:37
Add to Readers
      
I always make a point of reading anything I comment on here six times. This strikes me as being very interesting on first and second reads. However you do seem to fall into the editred trap of stringing your work together in such a way that sends out a message that you dont give a flying f if anyone over the age of thirty reads it. I would love to read it again, but would love if you could just break it up into bite sized pieces so that my very overused eyeballs can cope. Up to you, would love to re-read.
1

Sponsored Ads


By vanessaniki

Featured Writers

Advertising - Terms & Conditions - Short Story Submissions - Contact - Writing Competitions - Writing Links - Book Promotion - Sky-Tribe.com - alanemmins.com
  Member short stories, poems, comments and other contributions are owned by the poster.
Copyright 2003 - 2007 Edit Red I/S