"Mag The Knife"

The red head sits on the counter in her hostess’s kitchen and watches Beatriz pour hot water from a whistling tea kettle into a mug with a smiling snow man on it and add a teabag before handing it to her. She says her merci beaucoup and smiles and observes in fascination through the wave of steam as the rusty scarlet bleeds from the bag and curls towards the bottom and then drifts up and diffuses. She toys with the string and dunks the bag a few times.

Magdalene Chantilly Robicheaux was born the youngest child to Mister and Missus Julian Robicheaux. The Robicheaux family comes from old money and primarily lives off the wealth of the Good Doctor Paul Robicheaux, her now deceased grandfather. Her father Julian used his legacy as a tool of influence and is now a philanthropist with a hand in many important businesses. Her mother Veronique also comes from blue blood, her family having a little less wealth than the Robicheaux family, but what the Defarges lacked in finances, they made up with numerous ties to different social webs.

When Magdalene was born, her father was surprised and disappointed that after two boys (the first Denis, currently serving as a District Attorney, the second Etienne, an intern for the Mayor and aspiring politician) that his wife had seemingly betrayed him by birthing a daughter, a girl he could see no use for.

He had plans for his third son to become the CEO of at least one of his prized businesses but now those hopes were brutally snatched away and crushed—he thought—and he was certain that his wife had that girl on purpose and never forgave her for that. He was also thoroughly convinced, with no shred of evidentiary proof, that Magdalene wasn’t even from his seed. His only reasoning was that none of his people had red hair while Magdalene’s was copperish at birth then bloomed into a very vibrant red ginger and even Veronique and her family had tresses the color of golden wheat.

His wife was aghast that he could even doubt, for one second, that Magdalene was not kin to his blood when the same shade of blue that colored his eyes were the same that colored hers and they both shared the same cleft in their chins, his more defined and hers more elegant, but still the same cleft.

Veronique was secretly delighted to have a girl after two sons. She had prayed for a healthy, smart baby girl the first two times only to be frustrated while her husband was ecstatic. She only played with them for awhile when they were babies and then passed them off to the babysitter but she treated little Maggie like her little baby doll, flaunting her pretty daughter to all of her family and friends and Julian’s associates’ wives like a gaudy ring and insisted that she looked after her herself, doing all the dirty work without a second thought, something she never insisted doing for the boys. Every little cry, coo, and giggle made by son petit chou was her whole life.

The boys were not put out by their mother’s groveling affection and borderline obsessive love of their baby sister, it actually worked in their favor because it made their father appreciate them more and devote all of his attention to them.

They didn’t know how to act toward her, but as she grew into a child, she grew into a tomboy and they all played rough together, much to the dismay of both parents.

Julian didn’t want his sons anyway connected to that girl and Veronique wanted her baby doll to grow into a little debutante by dressing in pretty dresses and becoming friends with other girls of other influential families like she was taught to do.

Magdalene knew she was different, but she didn’t know how she was different, she just knew.

It wasn’t until her high school years when she became conscious of the fact that she had an infatuation with some of her girl friends. She didn’t think that was odd, everyone seemed to appreciate the beauty of young women and why shouldn’t she, being one herself? It wasn’t queer to her to look at a gorgeous woman and want to caress her curves and kiss her lips or run your fingers through her hair and your hands over her soft skin.

What was the problem with that?

Her mother always told her how important it was for her to be a lady so a man, one of substantial being, would take her as his bride and she would have to entertain his business partners and their wives at dinner and cocktail parties, but those ideas never excited her.

She had a couple of sexual experiences with some of the girls in her social circle, mostly because some of them were curious about being with a girl but she didn’t care about that. They all wanted to keep it on the hush and everything because they didn’t want to be branded as “dykes” and, since most of them came from religious upbringings, they felt like they were doing some forbidden thing that they would regret the next day.

One day she came home from school only to be greeted by Daddy Dearest with a stiff backhand across the face, the only strong emotion he had ever shown her in seventeen years. Somehow, some way, her parents had found out she was a lesbian and they were just disgusted.

She didn’t see the big deal was. They called her that it was a dirty word, like she was worse than the Devil himself, but that word was just an insignificant thing.

But that was just her, it seemed.

It was all her father needed to finally confirm that this child was not his; he knew that girl was trouble the moment he saw that red hair and now for this demon spawn to infiltrate into his prominent, moral family with her deviant ways, shaming the name she didn’t deserve, was just too much. If Veronique hadn’t taken her away he was sure to kill her. He would have killed her too, but he was a man of old age and the boys were away in college.

Her mother was heartbroken and torn. Part of her wanted to scream and curse at Magdalene for ruining their plans, join Julian in beating her to death, ask her how, after all she had done to nurture her and raise her into the lady she had taught her to be, she could betray her like this. The other part just wanted to drop dead, just to die of a broken heart.

She got on her knees and prayed, recited Hail Marys, earnestly asked God with tears in her eyes what did she do to deserve this, where did she fail, why did her baby doll, her beautiful little baby doll, want to spite her.

God, apparently, had no answers to give her, but a friend of hers did.

Magdalene’s salvation would be found in Catholic reform school, she promised, they will purge her of every wicked sickness she has in her sin-ridden mind.

The thought of being away from Magdalene drove her to pieces, but the thought of what she did and seeing her everyday had the same effect, so she had no choice but to send her away and it would be the last time in a long while she would ever saw her baby doll again.

Magdalene never made it to that school. They had her driven there, being it was only a few hours away, but during a rest stop, she told the driver she had to go to the bathroom and while he waited in the car with little patience, she fled with the only the clothes on her back and the change in her pocket.

Life on her own was not as hard as she first imagined it to be. She drifted from here to there, making a living off of being a waitress or a barmaid.

One night while working at a very rough bar she met Edward “Eddie Oz” Osbourne, a wrestler, and saved his life in a bar fight. He in return taught her how to fight or wrestle and thus began her career as Courtney Hate.

Magdalene is not a vindictive woman, not in her nature to hold grudges, especially towards friends, but of course tiffs are necessary between friends to still be friends, and even as she watches Beatriz with her back turned to her, vulnerable to attack, she feels no animosity, that venom’s been spent.

She tilts her head and admires her shapely outline.

She’s always felt very protective of Beatriz and smitten with her as a friend ever since she was bewitched by those bright emeralds. She still minds and adores her, even though the last time they saw each other, she was being beaten brutally while Beatriz just watched, those shiny gems dulled, with that haughtily grinning idiot’s arm snaked around her waist.

God bear with her, she wanted to kill that manipulative asshole even to this day for turning her best friend against her.

Again, she’s not a vindictive woman, but he’s the only exception.

The moment she met him, she noted his pale, cold eyes and his mirthless smirk seemingly forever etched into his features and knew this guy was trouble and made it a personal duty to protect her beloved Beatriz from his charms. She could sense the violence, misery, madness, danger, and all together devilish (in the most literal way) personality in this man and did everything she could to prevent him from seducing her best friend into his wicked life.

Magdalene wasn’t an angel herself, she knew that, but she just couldn’t stand idly by while the Big Bad Wolf torn into one of the only few people that she could still call a friend.

Surely Beatriz was a strong woman that could handle herself pretty well, but she doesn’t hold herself in a very high opinion of herself and often lowers herself in a place she doesn’t belong. She’ll admire the attractiveness of other women and compliment accordingly but, when the favor is returned, she denies and dismisses the comment either thinking it was said because the other felt it was the customary thing to or maybe just said to be sarcastic and that’s a stupidly humble thing to think because she is an awe-fully gorgeous, valuable woman.

And still she allowed herself to be mistreated and unappreciated by David.

Beatriz sits down at the table with her mug and Maggie hops down off the counter to join her.

“May Ah haff some shuga, please?” Magdalene asks while trying to light a cigarette.

Beatriz wordlessly reaches for the sugar bowl and places it in front of Maggie, along with a spoon.

“Merci.” She begins to add heap after heap of sugar into her tea.

Beatriz chuckles.

“I forgot you only like it when the spoon sticks straight up.”

Magdalene shrugs.

“Mah swee’ toof’s insatiable. Ah jus’ give ‘t wha ‘t wants.” And with one final generous spoonful, she stirs.

A silence follows, a comfortable silence, before Beatriz breaks it.

“So…” Sip. “how ya been?”

“Moi,” She exhales through the one nostril not plugged with tissue. “Ah be peachy keen. Et toi?”

“I’ve been cool. Felt better, but I’m cool.”

Magdalene sips.

“Who’s yer beau?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Well, den, cherí,” Magdalene smiles good-naturedly. “Ah neva knew you wore men’s cologne."

She had noticed the cologne, along with an electric razor and aftershave when she delved through the medicine cabinet. They blaringly stood out from the other feminine necessities.

“Oh, I had a roommate, but he was bitch about things, so he moved out.”

Magdalene nods.

“Ah see.”

“You can have his room if you like. Use it for as long as you want.”

“Well, Ah wasn’ thinkin’ about stayin’ fer too long, but dat sounds like uh good offa ta me.”

Beatriz smiles genuinely.

And then so does Magdalene.