Cheaters Coven

This is a sideline from the Live from the Game universe. I quite like the concept of the little cheaters support group, and I wanted to flesh it out a bit.

Don't worry, Ryan is going to get one more story, which I've got sketched out now.

In the meantime, here, enjoy this. There's no real point to it – no real conclusion. It's just background to who the women are, and why they do what they do. I was interested in who they were, so I wrote this.

Kudo's once again to NoneTheWiser for the editing and, for once, not suggesting a better title than I came up with. Even though I didn't really come up with it – it was suggested by a reader in the comments somewhere...

Cheaters Coven.

Mae put down her steaming hot chocolate and got up to answer the door. She was a little slower than normal and winced slightly at the dull pain in her hip. She was no spring chicken anymore and age was slowly becoming more of a problem to her.

She tried to put more of a spring in her step as she walked to the front door, feeling that the more motion she put in her walk, the better it would feel. Like so many things in her more recent life, it was a case of 'fake it till you make it'. Recent events had made that difficult – she had a lot on her mind – but she had to put that aside for today and provide support for someone who needed her full attention.

She could see the figures of two people through the frosted glass on her door. She opened the door, a welcoming smile on her face, as she'd been taught a good hostess should.

"Hello there," she said, with genuine pleasure at the sight of her visitors. It was cold in Buffalo Grove, the town in the northern Chicago suburbs where she lived – cold enough to see your breath. She had a house set in the rustic area, just off the main street - close enough so she could walk to the small tourist trap 'ye olde' buildings, not that she ever did. She'd lived there for almost seven years, becoming a fixture in the town, having moved there after her "troubles" in the southern Illinois town of Champaign / Urbana.

The two women on her doorstep said their hello's, breath frosting from the chill in the air, obviously wanting to come in from the cold.

"Come in, come in, it's freezing out. Winter's early this year," she said, moving back and shooing her guests into the warm house.

The two women came in, knowing the way. They'd been there before, many times.

In the great room, with it's vaulted ceilings, lined with large pine beams, a fire danced in the hearth. There were two easy chairs and a love sofa arranged around the fireplace, which was a half circle with a hood over it, somewhat like the circular fireplaces you see in ski lodges.

There were pictures of family on the wall, nick knacks of a life lived on shelves, a wall mounted TV above the fireplace and in the corner, in front of firmly closed French windows, stood a baby grand piano in sparkling white enamel, with yet more pictures arranged carefully on top of the lacquer. There was even a grandfather clock against one wall, keeping accurate time.

The two visitors shrugged off their coats and scarves, placing them carefully on a coat tree that had been placed by the door for just such occurrences.

"Hey Mae. How are you? Cold enough for you? asked the first, a tall brunette with lush chestnut hair, that draped and curled around her shoulders. Gina Stipe was of western European stock. Tall, willowy, with thin but taut limbs. She was wearing black slacks, Ugg boots and a thin white blouse, with a long thick cardigan over the top. Gina was the epitome of modern fashion and worked hard to maintain her slim 5'10" body. She was no stranger to the inside of a gym and worked out a lot.

Mae rolled her eyes.

"Why is that the first thing anyone says the moment we get a cold snap?" she demanded, a slight southern twang to her voice. "Everyone always goes 'cold enough for ya?' and it's very irritating. Yes, it's cold. We can all feel that."

Mae did her best impression of a Chicago accent and the two women exchanged smiles. Mae was in one of her moods again.

"I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it Mae. It's just a greeting," the second woman, Rhonda Ranta intoned, with mock solemnity. Rhonda was also tall, but slightly shorter than Gina at about 5'8" but she made up for it in with the high heels she invariably wore. Rhonda had short blond hair, clear pale skin and was the living embodiment of Scandinavian beauty. She had a very distinct accent, sometimes missing out words from her sentences when she was excited or rushed, despite having lived in the United States for over thirteen years.

Today she was dressed for the elements. Thick tights, leather boots with three-inch heels, and a long knitted dress, complete with built in scarf, attached via Velcro at the neck.

One interesting difference was that Gina was perfectly made up – just the right amount of foundation, blusher and eye makeup, whereas Rhonda had no makeup at all. And both looked good.

Gina looked around and then enquired of Mae, "She's not here yet, then?"

Mae moved over to the easy chair closest the door and shook her head as she sat down. "Not yet. I did say anytime after 4, so I would imagine it won't be long."

She gestured at the tea and coffee laid out on the coffee table and said, "Help your selves, ladies."

Rhonda sighed and said, "So we do it again, yes? Open old wounds yet again?"

"That's what we do," said Gina, sharply. "You know it's good for our souls. And those who seek us out need to know we are the same as them. As good, or as bad, as they are. They need to feel comfortable. It's the only way to get them to open up, so we can give them the support they need. Besides, telling the stories is cathartic. Each time I do, I find some new dimension. I explore it a little more. Probe that wobbly tooth with the tongue once again, and one day, fingers crossed, the damn thing will come out."

Rhonda gazed back at Gina and sighed again. "I know, I know... I just sometimes feel like...I don't know. Like it's just making me feel worse. Reliving it again. It makes it almost harder to move on, you know?"

"Well Rhonda, nobody is making you come back. I'd say that when you are ready to move on, you probably won't need us any more. The fact that you are still here..." Mae spread one of her hands, the other holding her still steaming hot chocolate.

Rhonda gave an exasperated half smile, a desultory shrug and turned her attention to pouring herself coffee.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, as Mae stared into the distance, and Gina and Rhonda helped themselves to coffee. Gina caught Rhonda's eye and gave her a slightly embarrassed look.

They settled themselves on the couch for a moment, each took a sip and then Gina said, "So, did anyone see The Good Wife last night?"

Rhonda wrinkled her frown. "God, we must be desperate to be talking about that load of crap. Good coffee Mae," she said, nodding at Mae.

Mae smiled back, faintly, still far away in her mind.

"But then it couldn't be any worse than that god awful stuff Deanna used to make? Remember that?" said Rhonda, making puke motions with her finger in her mouth.

Rhonda chuckled, "Yeah, that was pretty bad, wasn't it?"

The doorbell tinkled, and all three looked expectantly in that direction.

"Well," said Mae, putting down her hot chocolate, "I imagine I need to be the hostess with the most-est."

She left to answer the door, leaving Gina and Rhonda.

"I wish Deanna was still here," said Gina wistfully.

"Well, she has her life, Rhonda. She moved on. We still see her every now and then, but she doesn't need us any more. Trey saw to that."

"And Ryan," muttered Rhonda, under her breath. She was still slightly annoyed that all their planning and scheming had not resulted in the desired conclusion (See the Events of Long After the Game – Ed).

Then Mae came bustling back into the room, leading a young woman, who couldn't have been more than thirty. She was blond from a bottle, with dark roots starting to show through her hair. She was fair skinned, with slight redness around her eyes and nose that indicates she'd been out in the cold too much. Or crying too much. Or both.

She was wearing a light summer coat over a stretched knee length one-piece wool wrap around dress, and was obviously cold.

"...and these are the girls. That's Rhonda, and Gina..." Mae was saying and she led the new arrival into the room.

"You look cold dear. Gina, be a dear and get Brooklyn a coffee? She needs warming up. It is Brooklyn, isn't it? Do you prefer Brooke?"

Brooklyn was looking around, sizing up the room and trying not to be too obvious in sizing up the other two women.

"What? Oh yeah, Brooke, Brooklyn, Brie, whatever really. I answer to it all. Just not 'Hey, Slut'. I got enough of that from Josh."

"Here, sit down in front of the fire dear. Sugar? Milk?"

Brooklyn sank into the loveseat at right angles to the couch, and looked up gratefully at Gina, who handed her a coffee after pouring it from the delicate china tea set on the coffee table.

"No, black please."

"Like you like your men?" said Rhonda, attempting levity and instantly realizing it was the worst possible thing to say.

"Oh don't mind her, dear. She thinks she's funny. We don't have the heart to point out she's not," replied Mae, smoothly, taking in Brooklyn's pained expression.

"Sorry," said Rhonda, "not thinking. Jitters. New person, you know how it is."

Brooklyn held her gaze for a moment, and they could see the internal fight or flight struggle. In the end, fight won, and she said simply, "It's fine," delivered in a voice that said it might have been fine, but don't do it again, or you'll get your ass kicked. Fine, as all men have learned, is a code word for women. It actually means "totally not fine, but I'm going along with it and don't do it again." The word makes men shudder. For a smaller woman, it was obvious Brooklyn wouldn't take a lot of crap.

"So, Brooke. We kinda have a standard way to break the ice here. I know you are hurting – we've all been there and can emphasize. We know you need support, or you wouldn't have reached out. Don't worry about talking much in this meeting. We are here more for us to bare our souls to you, than the other way around. We want you to know this is a safe place, and the only way we can do that is to tell you our stories. So you know you are among friends."

Brooklyn looked at Gina and smiled tentatively. "That sounds... good, I guess. I dunno. I'm all mixed up right now. I fucked up so much and I just don't know what to do. He barely talk's to me; it's mostly his shark lawyer, who just licks his lips every time I try and get him to pass Josh a message...I can't tell if he wants into my panties or is just relishing the pain I'm in. We've... never gotten along. He's a weasel."

Gina sat up, on the edge of the couch and reached out a hand and put it on Brooklyn's arm.

"It's ok. We've been where you are. It gets better. Slowly, but it does."

"I think, my dear, another thing we should point out is that we aren't a man bashing group. We aren't a coven of bitter women who think all men are bad. As I said on the phone, we are here to support each other, and try and get our lives back on track. We've all made mistakes, and we make no bones about that. This isn't a place to justify what we did. If that's what you need, you need to move along. We are about recognizing the mistakes we've made, and trying to accept them, or as the parlance of today has it, we 'own them' – and then move on, not making it all someone else's fault," Mae said, entering the conversation.

"Yeah," said Rhonda, nodding her head to Mae's comment, "Yeah, we have to accept our own culpability. There might have been mitigating circumstances, but we need to deal with those individually. We've all fucked up and part of what this little group is about is accepting that and helping each other move on. Like a 12 step program, except without all those annoying steps. No higher power making me twitch, that's for damn sure."

"So... I just don't know what to do right now. I've been served, I'm living in this shitty one bedroom apartment. I've seen the kids four times since it all went down, and the only lawyer I can afford is seriously gross. Josh has said he'll treat me ok in the divorce. But I don't want a divorce, and he won't even talk to me seriously. We talk but it doesn't take long to deteriorate into name calling..." Brooklyn sniffled at the end of her statement, getting more and more upset as she went on.

"It's ok... don't worry Brook, we are here to help. We won't help you get revenge or try to rape your husband financially, but you aren't alone. We've been through what you're going through, and we will be there for you."

"....why?" sniffled Brooklyn looking from woman to woman, genuine curiosity warring across her face with self pity, "Why would you do that? You don't know me? You don't know what I did. What I'm still doing..." The last sentence was a positive wail.

Rhonda and Gina glanced at each other, a little uneasily. Trying to explain why they did what they did was hard. It was painful for each of the women there.

"Well, if you want to give us an idea of why you are here? You don't have to go into details..." started Rhonda.

"NO. It's fine. I can do that. I can talk about it. I...need to talk about it. None of my family want to hear it, and god knows, Josh doesn't."

"Are you sure dear?" asked Mae, gently, sitting up and leaning forward. "We really don't want to put you on the spot."

"No, it's ok. It'll be hard, but I think I need to do this. To explain it all," Brooklyn said, giving Mae a small but grateful smile.

"Well, ok, the floor is yours Brooklyn. Stop whenever you need to," said Mae, sweeping her hand out and gesturing to the room in general.

"OK, well, I'm Brooklyn. Brooklyn Stone. Well, I was. I guess I'm going to be Brooklyn Hall again soon. Ohh...." Brooke went silent for a few moments, contemplating that. None of the other women spoke, giving her time to settle down. The grandfather clock ticked loudly in the background.

Brooklyn looked up, suddenly realizing she'd just stopped talking.

"Anyway, I am...was...am, for now I guess...married to Josh Stone. I'm thirty-two – I know, I look young. I always have. Josh is thirty-five. I come from here, born and bred in Orland Park, down south. Josh is also a Chicago native. Irish, from way back. Big family, brothers and sisters, you know how it is. One brother is a cop, another two are firemen, Josh is a kind of financial consultant. He doesn't do actual trading, he used to, but the stress was too much. Now he's a strategic consultant. Advises companies on trading strategies and stuff. He's working with a small software group in his spare time to write some kind of auto trader thing, for iPhones, or something. I don't know exactly."

Brooklyn shook her head, as though annoyed she didn't remember something.

"Anyway, I'm a paralegal. I work for an entertainment law firm downtown. I was going to be lawyer, but the cost to pass the bar, plus the hours...well, I didn't want to sacrifice my life, you know? We have been married eight years. We have two children, Tara and Adrian. Awesome kids. I know everyone says that, but mine...well they really are."

Brooklyn smiled to herself, and then opened the photo app on her phone and found the "Kids" folder.

"Here, see," she said, handing her phone to Gina. Gina couldn't help noticing Brooklyn's hand was trembling.

Gina took a look, with Rhonda leaning over, and made the appropriate noises that people do in those situations. She then handed the phone to Rhonda, who passed it to Mae, who did the same.

"So...?" prompted Gina, slowly, handing Brooke her phone back.

"Oh right, yes," said Brooklyn, "Well, it was good, you know? A good marriage. Josh was awesome. We met at a church social. I mean, neither one of us is particularly religious. I was only there delivering cakes with my sister – she's a pastry chef – and he was there as part of the Big Brothers of America group. I mean, that's Josh, big boy scout and savior of the world. Well, lost causes, anyway. It was one of those 'love at first sight' things, you know?" Brooklyn spoke wistfully, staring into the past.

Gina smirked at Rhonda. Both knew exactly what she was talking about.

"We just talked for hours, and did the phone number thing. He insisted on taking a picture of himself on my phone, to attach to the contact number he added. And then insisted I did the same.

"Anyway, you know how it goes. Dates. Movies. Flowers. Meals. Hot evenings. Romance. The whole nine yards. If it there was a romantic gesture, he did it. He even got his dog to deliver the ring to me when he proposed. My family just loved him. And I think his liked me. Well, part of it did, that's for sure. Too much..."

The last two words were said sotto voice. Gina and Rhonda glanced at each other again, and Gina risked a quick look at Mae, who was watching Brooklyn steadily. They were getting to the meat of the matter obviously, and it didn't take a brain surgeon to see where it was going.

"We had years of it being just great. Josh was attentive; he was good in bed, no complaints there. I've... had my share of men. I know what's good and what is not, and he's never had any complaints from me. The kids are great. We don't argue that much. We have a nice house in Schaumburg, just far enough from the family to not have them on our doorstep, you know? But close enough so we can visit easily when we want. Things are...well were, great. Which makes what I did even more stupid. I had an affair with his brother, Michael. For three months. I don't even know how it started. We were at a barbeque, we had all had a few beers, there was a some stupid flirting. I mean, we all flirt a bit. Not much, just some... it's like what his family does, and I just fired right back. Got to stand up for myself, you know?

"Some how I ended up in a bathroom with Michael's dick in my mouth. I still don't know exactly how it happened. I wasn't drugged, I wasn't too drunk to know what I was doing, it was just like I was outside myself, you know? I look back and I can't for the life of me see what I was thinking, what I was feeling. It was just there, the flirting got more serious and some how, there I was. I still really have no idea why."

Gina and Rhonda exchanged a glance, while Mae kept her attention on Brooklyn. It was a familiar story.

"And it was... well, it was good. You know? Exciting. Mysterious. Wrong. Naughty. I don't know. It was just...fun. I was outside myself, almost. Doing things I knew I shouldn't be.

"Anyway, we did it. I couldn't help myself, it was like THE most important thing right then, to get that dick in my mouth and shower lust on it. He came in my mouth. I didn't swallow, and spit it out into the toilet. Suddenly it was the WORST thing I could be doing. It was like a switch was thrown. I couldn't even look at him and after he pulled up his pants, I pushed him out the door."

Brooklyn stopped talking, looking at the other women, at their reactions, the fear of judgment evident in her face.

"You don't have to go into details, my dear," said Mae, gently. "We don't need the details if you aren't comfortable."

Rhonda and Gina remembered their first time meeting the group. They'd taken a while to get the details out, where Brooklyn obviously suffered from no compunction about going into grisly detail. It was obviously part of who she was, no shying away from the detailed truth with this girl.

"I couldn't even look at Josh for the rest of the party. And as for having sex with him...forget it! I couldn't do that to him. I felt like all he had to do was look at me and he'd see what I did. He'd know. But he didn't. He did wonder what was up since I was so quiet and restless, but he just said he'd give me space, and he'd be there when I wanted to talk. I mean, yeah. Boy scout, like I said. Talk to him. Yeah, like I was about to do that.