"Y Tu Mira"

Ever since Magdalene finally made it to the bistro, Beatriz was very inward and to herself.

She had been that way since she came home and never explained in many words where she had been or where she got that ill-fitting dark blue tailored suit she was wearing.

Although it did look vaguely familiar.

Magdalene thought it queer to be so sullen on Mardi Gras; everyone else is having fun, why don’t you?

She would have been there early, but she had met up with some old friends and had to catch up on old times. The drinking and partying just went on for too long.

At first she thought Beatriz was being moody because she was late but it became apparent that it was something deeper than that when she was still morose after she had apologized and Beatriz just shrugged to acknowledge it. She remembered asking her what was wrong and she said nothing, but it’s obvious that something is wrong when someone says there isn’t.

She didn’t press it though. She had been Beatriz’s friend long enough to know that if she really wanted you to know something, she’d tell you eventually, if it was important enough.

They went tramped through throngs of people, the little imp smiling contently like a cherub on cloud nine in seventh heaven, completely enthralled to be home, in the steamy night, the air like candied oxygen full of endorphins and dopamine, dancing in the streets like a woman without caution. Beatriz appeared to be the stark contrast, seemingly stuck in that dour and sour mood.

They ate a very fine Cajun dinner. Well, Magdalene ate, gobbling down and barely chewing her food. Beatriz just kind of picked at this and nibbled on that, but drank several glasses of wine, one right after the other, as if she was thirstier for this glass than she had been before the last.

That didn’t really send Magdalene in a panic, it was nice to see her enjoying the festivities by at least drinking, Cajun food isn’t for everyone (bless their hearts, they don’t even know what they’re missing!).

The amount of which she drank also didn’t concern her, Beatriz was a big girl and usually drank inside of safe limits and if she did get a little “tipsy”, she was very much more of a mellow, happy drunk, well from Magdalene’s experience, so if she wants to drink, bottoms will go the fuck up!

They went to a “gentlemen’s club”, which may be a little pointless during Mardi Gras where all you have to do was walk around and there be plenty of dancing, drunken topless women but when you get a chance, why not take it?

The inside was like the outside only a little more pandemonium and bedlam given the confinement. Some of the strippers recognized Beatriz and proclaimed themselves her biggest fans, asked her to sign their g-strings, bras, and other parts of their costumes, and she did, dolefully quiet and submissive. They cooed and gasped and marveled at the fresh gashes on her forehead and the other parts of her body where her otherwise caramel skin was marred by bruises and other blemishes.

Magdalene bought her a lap dance from one of the “star”-struck, who would have done it for nothing, and Beatriz just sat there, giving the girl some attention, but her mind was clearly somewhere else.

They frequented bars, being approached by dozens of drunken male fans that screamed and slurred and yelled their “affections” for her and she simply nodded to knowledge it and sipped her drink.

Magdalene had to step in and ward off some aggressive fan after he had gotten a little too close to Beatriz and a fan’s girlfriend got hopping mad at her after her boyfriend made her a comment about what he would do to her with a French tickler.

Somehow, in the course of drinking, Magdalene had become aggressive herself and was getting very pissed at Beatriz was being such a pouty drag.

It’s fucking MARDI GRAS, ya dumb bitch!

They were walking a quiet street back to the hotel when some man, maybe a little tipsy, came up and asked them if they would like to feel his balls slapping against their asses.

Beatriz just walked on as if the man had said nothing, but Magdalene attacked him with all the force in her petite frame, punching his ugly mug until her knuckles bruised and then kicking him when he hit the ground hard in his ribs and then a hearty swift, nasty one in the balls, even though she doesn’t usually like striking below the belt. Just too clichéd.

He writhed and moaned hardly awake against the curb and she would have left then, to be merciful because it’s not in her nature to beat someone when they are no longer a threat, but her fist curled in his stringy hair and she bashes his face in the pavement. She releases him when she’s sure he’s no longer conscious.

She breathes heavily and yanks the entranced Beatriz by the wrist as she runs away. Her grip is painful, she’s squeezing too hard, and Beatriz tries to shake loose of it. Magdalene stops running and turns back at her friend with drunken adrenaline steadying pumping.

“Wha? Whut tha fuck ‘s wrong wit you?” Her voice is harsh and loud, slurred, not at all like her regularly warm and comforting tone.

“Maggie, let me go.” Beatriz is not scared, just tired.

“No! Let’s go!”

“Maggie, stop.”

“Ah ain’t done shit! You da one actin’ lak uh bitch!”

Beatriz struggles to get away and Magdalene squeezes harder. It feels like her wrist will break.

“Let me go, you cunt!”

The little monster snarls at her and tugs on her arm.

“We gon’ go dis way! An’ ya betta keep up!”

“Let me go!”

Beatriz shoves Magdalene away and pushes her so hard that she not only lets go, but stumbles back a few feet before falling on her ass.

Beatriz is immediately sorry.

“Oh, Maggie, I’m so sorry…”

She begins to approach her to help her up, but Magdalene growls and claws at her face and jumps on her, binding her hands by wrists, pressing them on her stomach, and pops her with an open handed slap and then alternates with a stinging back handed slap, continuing the pattern until Beatriz somehow manages to wiggle from under her and runs away crying.

Magdalene sobers up when she realizes Beatriz has run away and is immediately sorry now.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” She screams at her, attempting to stand only to find that her legs will not cooperate.

She’s left to sit there, chiding herself, emotions building.

Magdalene, you are a dumb shit.