Copyright © 2007, Linda
Reviews For WHISKEY SHOTS Volume 3 by Linda Lattimer
The resolution of this story is very satisfying. This is a collection of miserable husbands and the women who get revenge on them. The revenge ranges from violence to confinement to simply leaving for a better life. I have never read about a collection of less attractive men. Brad is a sleaze, Mitch a slug, and the husband in the last story is so vile he really does not deserve a name. They all get what is coming to them and the women in their lives get a lucky escape. The author paints a good picture of each relationship and though the atmosphere is gloomy, it is appropriate to these stories. Maura from Coffeetime
Sample Chapter For WHISKEY SHOTS Volume 3 by Linda Lattimer
“What is this place?” she asked while casually pacing around the room.
“I thought you would find it extravagant.”
Marissa stepped over to each piece of architecture, gazing at the magnificent work. “That’s an understatement.”
“Just some old place my wife and her crazy friends meet to hold séances and have their little tea parties,” Bradley said while raising two fingers in the air. “Whoopee do. She can please her little psycho friends but can’t fulfill her husband’s needs.”
“When you said you were taking me out to dinner and showing me a beautiful showroom, I never anticipated this. I mean when we walked inside the house, the other rooms are similar to those homes you see restored and placed in the historical district where people can view them. This room is completely out of the norm. The owner must have loved Egyptian lore.” She stepped over to the middle of the room. “This even looks like an old Egyptian tomb.”
“Maybe we should open it and see if the mummy is inside,” he said in a ghoulish chuckle.
“Brad, don’t do that.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting scared.” He moved to her side. “I’ll keep you safe, there’s nothing here to cause you to become uneasy. In fact—” He pressed his lips on hers bestowing a hot kiss.
“A kiss does not guarantee safety. I bet if something came out of that tomb, you’d be the first to exit that door.”
“I think you have me mistaken for your squeamish husband. You know Mr. Lard, who sits on the couch and only excites the remote control? I bet he jumps at his own shadow.”
Marissa shook her head.
“I wish you wouldn’t refer to Larry as fat.”
“Well he certainly could be a turkey for the holidays. Just rub him in butter; he’s already loaded in stuffing. I mean isn’t that why you started seeing me? You wanted some excitement in your life? You wanted to see what it was like in the sack with a perfect ten?”
“Brad, I think we need to talk.”
He pointed a finger. “Oh, no, don’t start that with me. I don’t want to hear you’re having second thoughts again.”
“I can’t help it. My conscience is really bothering me. I can’t deny that Larry is my husband. Besides, you do have a wife, or have you forgotten?”
“How could I forget? She hands me a honey do list every time I walk in the door. She’s turning into a constant nag.”
Marissa crossed her arms. “Are you sure you’re talking about Megan? The last few times I’ve seen her, she all but praises you and is constantly bending over backwards to please you.”
“Well, she doesn’t bend over to completely please me.”
“Is that all you men think about is sex?”
“When you came to me, I believe that was all your body was seeking, so don’t turn this around blaming me as the only one who should feel responsible. I don’t think it troubled you that you were playing with darling Megan’s husband, and now you start defending her?”
“I’ve gotten to know her better. And it makes me feel...”
He shook his fist. “There you go again.”
“I hold myself accountable, too. Look, let’s just drop it and go get a bite to eat. You did promise me a meal.”
Bradley reached for one of her hands, pulling it toward him. “Oh, I’ve got your something to eat right here, sunshine. In fact, I think we can find a number of things to feast on if we set our minds to it.”
The Annoying Jingle:
Hurriedly, Joyce turned the chicken frying in the skillet. It would soon be six o’clock and Mitch would be coming in from work. He would want his supper on the table as soon as he walked in, washed his hands, if he even remembered to wash before dinner, and then sit down at the table. She was aware of his usual routine, as she was every day she had been married to him all these years.
“Finally, the last piece is done.” Joyce sighed heavily. “If there’s anything I hate to cook, it’s fried chicken. The grease finds a way to gather on everything in the kitchen. But Mitch loves fried chicken. In fact, that man loves almost anything fried. I don’t dare mention bake or broiled to him, he practically goes into convulsions.”
She wiped her brow. Why was she always in a rush to please Mitch? It was as if she was afraid to miss one day by not having his dinner ready when he entered that door. Always on a schedule just to satisfy him, she never took time out to find some enjoyment for herself. But I do believe I am close to clipping those apron strings and spreading my wings.
“I’m home,” Mitch said, slamming the door.
He stormed into the kitchen. “Supper ready?” he inquired, bestowing a short peck to Joyce’s cheek.
“Right on time. I just finished it,” she said.
“Good, let me go wash up.”
Miracles do happen.
Joyce watched his meaty frame as he pounced out of the room. Standard procedure. It was the same ole routine every day of her life. She felt like recording one day and just playing it to him each time he walked in. That was the way she felt her life was any more, just a recorded tape. Why couldn’t she scream and scratch his eyeballs out? Why did he have to be the aggressive cat and she the fearful little mouse trapped in a corner waiting for his giant paw to smack her?
How many times had she tried to discuss things with Mitch about variety and change only to have his ears close to any new adjustments that would disrupt his normal schedule. Never could anything be spontaneous in their lives. Always, it had to be the same planned activities, day in and day out.
I want out! For once, I wish you could feel what it is like to be trapped.
“I’m hungry tonight,” Mitch said, slinging his huge body in the chair at the kitchen table. “Where are the kids?”
“Jason’s in his room doing homework and Jennifer’s in her room listening to music,” Joyce answered.
“Aren’t they going to eat?”
“They ate earlier. I believe they had things they had to finish doing. It’s just me and you tonight...alone,” Joyce said, with a wicked grin.
Ignoring her grin, Mitch looked at the time. “Hey, I’ve missed part of the news. Turn on the TV for me,” Mitch spoke in his dominant tone.
Sure, why not? It’s what I live for. To make sure I’m always here for your every wish and command. She thought of asking if his legs were broken, or didn’t he know how to use the remote, but she abstained from any suggestive remarks.
Mitch piled some mashed potatoes on his plate, then grabbed four pieces of chicken.
“What about some green beans and onions?” Joyce offered him the bowl.
“You know I hate any kind of vegetables. I told you only meat and potatoes, why don’t you listen to me, Joyce? I hate when you don’t clean that wax from your ears.”
“Joyce, can you turn the television up just a little louder?” he asked, shutting her words out. “I really can’t hear,” Mitch barked as he shoveled food into his mouth, not really chewing.
Reluctantly, Joyce got to her feet and stepped over to find the remote. Turning the sound up, she decided to take the remote back to the table.
She had just sat down and started to take a bite of the fried chicken when the phone rang. Again, it would be up to her to answer it. To everyone else in the house, if the phone rang, it was like a plague had spread. Sometimes she wondered if anyone other than herself even knew how to answer the continuous ringing of the invention.
Joyce placed the receiver back on the cradle. As always, either the wrong number or a telemarketer interrupting a meal. She sat back down to finish her meal as Mitch got to his feet, let out a loud belch, snatched the remote from the table and lumbered over to the worn blue recliner and slumped into it.
Joyce took a bite of mashed potatoes, then pushed her plate away. For some reason, she had lost her appetite. Her gaze wandered to the bones on Mitch’s plate. He certainly had no problem choking down the food. As usual, he had failed to push his chair in, nor place his empty plate in the sink. She shook her head. She had hoped just once in her lifetime, Mitch would come in and help her just a tiny amount, but no, that to was too much to ask for.
Stand up to him, Joyce! Why do you have to be a frightened mouse?
She worked from the time she woke up in the mornings to take care of the house, the children and Mitch, only to hear him express that he was the only hard worker in the household. A housewife’s simple chores were nothing compared to what the man endured everyday with the task of manual labor.
Her eyes gazed to him reclining with his feet stretched out. Yeah, the little mouse didn’t know what a hard day consisted of according to the hungry cat, but the mouse was slowly gathering enough nerve to show the cat what it was like to be cornered. Oh, yes, I want to see your reaction to that portrait of fear.
The Perfect Seclusion:
The sound of loud blaring music from the teenager’s stereo drowned out any words the mother spoke. It made no difference how the tired mother’s body ached from an overload of household chores, or how frail her body was becoming. The teenager had discovered a new invention and the loud, pumping, noisy box full of amps, cranked up to the max, was without doubt, the greatest invention man had placed on the market, at least the young girl thought so. The mother, encumbered with the strain now placed on her shoulders, was beginning to wonder if she had indeed done the right thing by purchasing such a loud sound blaster.
Standing a few feet from her daughter, she recalled the words spoken before she invested in the stereo system.
“Mom, every one of my friends has one. I will keep my grades up and will help you more around the house, promise. Have I let you down? Well, maybe, but this time, honest, I will keep my word.”
As the mother eyed the scattered clothes and unmade bed, it was apparent the girl had forgotten her promise. With crossed arms, the mother entered the room and cast a cold, penetrating stare at her daughter. “Becky, you were supposed to clean your room.” The music drowned out her words. “Becky!!!”
Turning, Becky eyed her mother and instantly turned the volume to a bare minimum. She caught her mother’s stare and a sullen frown developed on her face. She saw immediately the tiredness and hurt her mother displayed, knowing once again that she had failed the woman who had given her birth. Her mother’s expression had been as loud as church bells.
Forcing a smile, Becky hoped this didn’t mean the end of her music box. Her mother remained silent, arms crossed even tighter.
“Did you say something, Mother?”
“If you hadn’t turned around, you would have never known with all that loud racket. Take a look at this room, young lady. Didn’t you promise—”
“I know, I know,” Becky interrupted, raising her hand in the air. “I got carried away, but really, this time I will get busy.” She trailed her eyes to the stereo, then back to her mother.
“No, Becky, I don’t plan to take it away, not yet, but if I have to continue to discipline you in this fashion, I will for sure the next time.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She would assuredly take heed of the words this time. “Is Dad home yet?”
“No, and you don’t need to have this contraption blaring when he arrives. You know what will happen. I can’t deal with it anymore, Becky.”
“I wish you would just pack up and leave. Take me to Grandmother’s. If you can’t stay there right now, take a trip. Heaven knows, you could use one.”
The mother turned her gaze toward the window.
“Mother, why do you think I really asked for the stereo? I know he’s my dad but don’t you realize I hear how he treats you? Has he hit you yet? Please don’t lie.”
Tears halfway misted in the mother’s eyes. “It hasn’t come to that yet.”
“Yet? So you expect it to?”
“No, yes, I don’t know. I don’t know how much more I can take, Becky. There is so much out there you and I could discover together. I thought he would change but all he’s doing is pulling me down.”
“Mother, whatever you decide, I’ll back you one hundred percent. No woman should ever have to fear their husband.” She threw her arms around her mother, then gave her a kiss. “I love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too, Becky. Now listen to your music but clean this room.”
The tired mother dragged her feet back toward the kitchen to finish making supper. She longed for a better place to live, a quiet