*****
Cordelia Chase: Working Mom
Don Bentley
That the cop had caught her running a red light was just par for the course that day.
*****
Charlie, her only child, her pride and joy, the apple of her eye, had forgotten that he needed her signature on a permission slip for a class outing to somewhere or other. After his frantic phone call home was finally answered, she got herself out of bed and down to the school to sign the thing. Or something; it was early.
Thus a bus load of sixth graders were in place to watch her fishtail her car to a halt in front of the school, blocking a fire hydrant and almost hitting Mr Sedgewick, the elderly crossing guard. The cheers that erupted upon her arrival were heartening. Until the school principal, a weasel-like bean pole with a bad rug and wandering eyes, pointed out that her blouse was open to her waist and her flesh tone pink bra was plainly visible, or more to the point, wasn't.
Of course, the bastard pointed this out to her as she was on her way out of his office.
At least this time she was wearing a bra.
*****
Night shifts.
One of her favourite fantasies, right after Antonio Banderas as Zorro, was OSHA banning night shifts for single mothers. Might happen too, if there were any single moms actually running OSHA instead of just DOING ALL THE WORK!
It wasn't the job so much as night shifts suck honking big sucky things on principle.
Didn't use to be this way.
She used to be able to party, or save the helpless all night, both at the same time. Back then she could research most of the day away, power nap for a bit, and be right back out there on the mean streets of storied LA. Fighting the good fight, or partying like she owned the town.
Either way worked for her.
But now, right now, today, she still needed to get at least seven hours and forty minutes more sweet blessed sleep to meet her daily minimum requirement of eight hours. Then she could get up, get ready for work, and help Charlie with his homework and counsel him on how to overcome the trauma of having his mother flash her tits at his classmates. Maybe even be able to watch the news for a change and get caught up on the whole wide world out there, find out who the President was, that sort of thing. That'd be nice.
*****
The knocking grew increasingly more insistent as Cordelia scoured her bedroom for her housecoat, before finally just grabbing a large t-shirt and pulling it on as she rushed down the stairs to answer, then with any luck, kill whoever was there.
"Contractors, Ms Gunn. We're starting work on your basement today."
The beauty of old Irish curses is that only dead Irishmen know them. Though the contractor still took a half pace back as his client vented her anger, let them in, and stormed back upstairs without a further word.
"Okay, boys. Remember what the Boss said. Best behaviour."
*****
"WHAT!"
"Hi there! I'm Tiffani, and am I speaking with Mrs Charlene Gump?"
*****
A soft knocking at her door roused her just as Don Diego del la Vega reached behind her to tenderly slice away at her bodice lacing....
Crap.
"Mom! It's Heather," Heather was the young grad student who lived with them and took care of Charlie while she worked.
"Now what?"
"Ask her."
Cordelia pulled at the phone cord dragging it back to the bed from where ever it had ended up after the telemarketer's call.
"Heather?"
"Cordy, I'm sorry, but I'm trapped up here-"
"Call 911."
"No, I mean Professor DeSoto gave everyone two week extensions on their term papers and the marks are due tomorrow."
"So?"
"They all came in today."
"Heather?"
"Yeah."
"They pay you enough for that?"
"No."
"Get used to it."
Click.
"Charlie?"
"Yeah, Mom."
"What do you want to order for supper?"
*****
Trauma on the school bus had been avoided after all.
His best friend, Alex, had popped the first kid who dared to say anything to Charlie, and so set a very visible challenge to the rest. Not surprisingly, no one else rose to accept his challenge, and though it earned Alex a week's detention, and Cordelia an irate phone call from one of his mothers, no harm was done to Charlie's psyche.
Charlie cleared away the debris of their curry dinner, as Cordelia leaned into a hot shower and idly tried to recreate part of her Zorro dream.
*****
Homework went well enough. As usual they set Spanish aside, Heather tutored him three times a week, and that night the emphasis was on math. Or, the way Cordelia did it, small business accounting. Still, it helped, he was a solid A student.
And, just as Cordelia was wondering if she should start phoning around for a sitter, Heather flew through the door, term papers in hand, and profuse apologies on her lips.
*****
What she couldn't figure out was how the cop saw her run the red light.
She'd have sworn that there hadn't been anyone else around.
The Hell of it was, she wasn't even all that late. Not in any meaningful way, at least.
Still, there he was in her rear view mirror, big as life and twice as costly. The red and blue lights flashing arhythmically and bathing the whole block in their glare. Advertising yet another sorry episode of Cordelia Chase-Gunn's all too typical day.
With another old Irish curse she reached over for her purse, as the ridiculously young looking cop approached her window and waved a genteel little salute at her.
"Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant, but they said that your radio was broken again. Detective McGarry was just on. Something bad's gone down at MacDonald House. Again."
"Thanks, Jeff," Cordelia pulled her gold shield from her purse and clipped it to her suit jacket. Pushing her own smaller emergency flashers into place on the dashboard, and turning her car through a U-turn, she headed back across Sunnydale wondering, not for the first time, why they don't just tear down every frat house on campus.
end