The bar was popular enough to begin with and so was Gerald. Now, whenever good old happy-go-lucky Gerald was tending, getting a drink could turn into something of a competition. Smiling women of all shapes, ages, and sizes would step on each others toes to get within breathing distance of the old favorite who had become a new novelty. All except one bitter, sour puss.
Barbara DeMolde was a beaming vision of feminine flawlessness in her prime, which at the time of Gerald the bartender, was going on ten years passed. The blond-haired, french-tip manicured, epitome of lust had long since gained forty some odd pounds and grown completely loathsome to the world around her. A classic drunk, she was limited to three cocktails by the management of all the bars she frequented. This only added to the fits and temper tantrums she was known to throw. Ten years after anybody would have given a shit, she was still programmed on getting her way. Barbara never got her way anymore. She was angry, haggard, and kept bad hygiene to boot.
Where to begin with Barbara. First of all, her name was not DeMolde. It was Bates. DeMolde was the name she took later on in life from a man whom she did not marry. Until then, she was known as Barbie to the people in her world. The abbreviated version of her name was bestowed by her first boyfriend and the first to ever fall in love with her. If asked, she would have confessed her love for him as well. In truth, she did not know what that was, love. In her life, there would be many more. Though none of them would endure quite as long or quite as much as he did.
Donald Lutz was a senior at Barbie's high school when she was a sophomore and his seniority and high reputation earned her a certain prestige to which she became accustomed all too fast. Regarded as a slut for all the wrong reasons, namely her flashy good looks, Donald's presence banished those demons from her life before they could manifest themselves negatively. Back then she was nothing more than an early bloomer with a flair for style.
He came from money and lavished her with gifts, both practical and exotic. Dresses, perms, manicures; her painted fingernail became a magic wand for favors, fabric, and destinations. Her classmates despised her all the more, but it was a respectful hatred. The type of contempt held by the poor for the world of aristocracy, save for a small group of insecure girls who praised her like a pagan deity. Barbie would have had to care more to care less about the lot of them. As long as she got her way, everything was roses.
When Donald went away to college the following year, Barbie followed. The notion was met with no argument from her parents. They were far too busy squabbling over extramarital affairs and economic turbulence to fulfill anything that resembled parenting duties. Marrying off their pretty, young tax deduction to a high bidder was the very best hope they could have for her future. She showed limited promise as a student.
But the fairytale would not continue. College proved to be very demanding. Donald and Barbie shared their living situation with a multitude of roommates. Being a couple, the affordability of dorm room living was not an option. Nor could Barbie find work at the still young age of sixteen. Donald was working to pay rent for two and the demand on his time left him unable to give her the attention she was used to. Also unaccustomed was she to the bombardment of flattery and social invitations that would be extended to a young, jaunty, and immature beauty with nothing but spare time on her hands. She developed quickly as an attention whore and as a nymphomaniac.
At the end of one semester, Barbie had had sex with all three of Donald's roommates, participated in two fraternity orgies, and was well known by the bi-curious population of the nearby sororities. Popularity became a drug for her and she was hailed as a sex queen among those in the know. Donald, faithful as ever, came home one day came home one day with a doctor's prescription for antibiotics. Donald had chlamydia. That was the end of Barbie Bates' free ride.
Vegas was her next stop and stripping was her first gig. At age seventeen, she had little trouble attaining false identification. Barbie made more money before she turned 25 then poor Donald could have ever hoped to facilitate. In addition there were boyfriends, for lack of a better term. They were handsome, charming, exciting, and each of them had a function: one for the rent, one for the bills, another for clothes... the list goes on.
She was a hard worker, of course, and she loved what she did. Ever the center of attention, her teenage dreams we being fulfilled and lived out to their maximum potential. Dreams of having the spotlight shone on her night after night, performing for drooling, gasping fans despite all lack of talent and ingenuity. People worked for years aspiring to frequent the clubs where Barbie danced. They worked tirelessly to create a lifestyle that would permit habitual time in the "champagne room" with, and occasional taking home of the goddess who treaded in stiletto-healed pedestals. They all scrimped and saved for a portion of what had been freely doled out on her plate like so much government cheese.
When she turned twenty-seven, Barbie Bates made a business minded decision to marry for money. Her devastating good looks would not last forever. Decidedly, she began laying down the groundwork for the next twenty or so years of her life. It was literally the smartest idea she ever had. The target was Harvey Demolde.
Good old Harvey was a middle-aged man with a stoutness to him. Not unattractive, he was a regular patron of Barbara's and would bring flowers to her at work, usually accompanied by a greeting card dedication with a small, albeit extravagant gift enclosed; a piece of jewelry here, a high-stakes casino chip there... One night, the greeting card held a pair of keys inside. One was to a condominium in Manhattan Beach and the other belonged to a brand new European sports car that was housed within the garage of the condo.
Close but no cigar, she thought. Barbie was well used to being showered with ridiculously expensive and unusual gifts. Once, a man bought her a koala. It was turned over to the zoo after some deliberation over how she might be able to profit from it.
A new address and expensive mode of transportation did not an engagement ring make. I was time to speed things up. Barbie stopped altogether taking her birth control pills, moved into her miniature castle in Manhattan Beach, and with a warriors temperament, fucked old Harvey's brains out. Her birth control pill, she replaced with a daily regimented pregnancy test. She hadn't the patience to wait for her period to be late. Discontinuation of the pill would throw her monthly cycle off anyhow.
Not the brightest star in the sky, Barbara neglected ever to ask Harvey about his marital status. Harvey DeMolde was money married to money. He and his wife both kept affairs in order to stay sane, they hated each other so. Theirs was a marriage merger. The end of the world and all of humanity would have to pass before they would ever dream of breaking their business deal. Barbie found all of that our the hard way. One morning, the pregnancy test came up pink. That was the beginning of the end for Barbie the illustrious sex goddess, and the beginning of Barbara that stupid, crazy bitch from hell.
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