Tempest Brewing Tropical Storms Part 1 by Sandra Ross

started
gushing, almost immediately "Look at you girl, all vibrant! You
look sensational, y'must have had a great day. Girl, no makeup at
all and you glow! I'm jealous! Takes me hours to look this good,
and still am no competition to you!"
    "Had a late lunch, running late," Joy offered
half apologetically. "Hey, you got any scent? I ran out and didn't
put anything on."
    "Sure" replied Stormy, "I always wear the same
thing" she said handing Joy a tiny generic brown jar, "Patchouli
oil."
    Bells were all ready firing and whistles blaring
in Joy's mind as she brought the little vial of old fashion
sweetness to her nose. Recognizing the scent immediately started
sending her signs that this was going to be a fight or flight
reaction.
    The situation, simply based on identification of
Stormy's scent, initiated the most primitive and basic responses.
She was pissed and ready to fight to the death.
    "You fucking bitch!" she seethed, in rage. "And
pretending to be my friend? And pretending to---" her voice trailed
off.
    And then Joy experienced a true epiphany. She
stood up and smiled, and then started to laugh. She laughed so hard
tears ran down her cheeks. By now the interaction had become
obvious to others at the bar. AnaMaria, the owner, could recognize
a cat fight brewing from a mile away. She had owned and operated
the Schooner Wharf for many years.
    "Everything all right, ladies?" demanded
AnaMaria in her slightly accented English. And she waited.
    "Hell no!" exclaimed Joy. "There ain't shit
right! This bitch has been pretending to be my friend and sleeping
with my man."
    AnaMaria had been aware of this developing
situation and had wondered why it had taken this long for it to
come out. Hell, she had had sex with Brian herself after the last
Christmas party. The guy was a quite a horn dog.
    "You know what? You two-faced bitch! You can
have him," spat Joy and then started laughing a little
manically.
    "Yes, a perfect punishment for both of you
lying, cheating, friggin' scumbags. Good luck with him, he's all
yours." And Joy started to walk out of the restaurant.
    "What about work?" demanded AnaMaria.
    Joy suppressed the impulse to tell her where she
could put "work" and instead said "I don't work with bitches like
her," looking at Stormy.
    "When she's gone, call me." And then she walked
away, tears in her eyes.
    But they weren't tears of pain or loss, but of
freedom and the realization of why she had been so uneasy lately.
She hated being lied to. She thought there could be no satisfaction
in those that lied to her because she really was too gullible, too
trusting, that it had been too easy. Joy tried to see the best in
everyone; believed in everyone. And now this.
    She suddenly stopped and pulled out her cell
phone. "Might as well take care of this right now," she
determinedly thought. She knew Brian couldn't get a signal out on
the water, but a text message would pop up as soon as he was close
enough to shore.
    "Just talked to Stormy. I know everything. Get
out. Never contact me again." And she pressed "send." Joy couldn't
believe how good that felt. And she made a silent vow to herself
that she wouldn't, under any circumstance, talk to that bastard
again.
    Joy walked freer now, freer than she had felt in
months. And hopeful about the future, no matter what it held. It
had to be better than what she had just resolved.
    That thought brought another smile and her tears
dissipated completely.
    Stormy was at the doctor's office. She had seen
Melissa, a nurse, and was waiting for results. That mess with Joy
and Brain was still fresh. The last thing she needed was a yeast
infection, that's what she had come in complaining about. She had
tried the over the counter stuff but it didn't help. It was still
very itchy and irritated.
    Brian had moved in and may have contributed to
the irritation; at the same time putting a major crimp in her
lifestyle. He kind of invited himself in, she would never have
asked, believe it. The traffic of human