literature

Debbie In The Forefront

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The snow seemed too perfect to be real; it lay evenly on the ground and lightly on the branches of the fir trees, but was completely absent from the railroad track.  Iron rails gleamed dully in the winter sun.

Debbie's coppery red hair was partially gathered above her head; despite the seemingly cold weather, she merely wore a dress of deep purple, a modern interpretation of a style popular more than one hundred years ago.  It ran from the nape of her neck to below her ankles, and covered her arms to her wrists.

Debbie lay stretched across the railroad track.  She struggled with great animation against the gray ropes, thick and numerous, that bound her, and mewed loudly into the white cloth that gagged her.  Her thoughts could be heard in the voice-over.

I have to get loose before it's too late!  A train whistle sounded ominously in the distance.  While I'm tied up here, I'm missing the incredible After-Thanksgiving Sale at Ridley's Department Store and the one-day only savings on gifts for my Christmas Shopping!

The scene dissolved on Debbie's struggles to display Ridley's merchandise as an announcer chirped happily about tremendous savings on bicycles, stuffed animals, toy cars, video game consoles, "and much more, ALL AT REDUCED PRICES!!!!"

The screen dissolved once again, and Debbie, now free of her restraints, brushed herself off as she stood by the track.  Debbie had wanted to show a Nineteenth-Century steam locomotive hurtling by just then, but work on the ad had run late… and, as usual, over budget.  Her character turned to face a camera.  "That was a close call!" she exclaimed.  "I'd better hurry to Ridley's Department Store before I miss all the best deals!"

………………..
"Really, Debbie, another ad starring you, bound and gagged?" Donald Cotter, Sr. asked nastily as he left the boardroom.  "I think it's time we had some fresh ideas… and a fresh person to supply them!"

Debbie sighed.  Donald had wanted Thomas Ridley to hire Donald, Jr. instead of her, and he had been making life unpleasant for her ever since.

"Now, I find Debbie quite attractive as a damsel in distress," observed Clarke Burton.  He was a relatively new executive at Ridley's Department Store, replacing Stephanie Zephyr who had left abruptly earlier that year.   "I quite like the Victorian-era look on her; really quite stunning!"

Debbie blushed slightly, thinking about Clarke.  He could be disarmingly charming when he pleased, so much so that sometimes Debbie had to remind herself she was firmly committed to her boyfriend, Stan.  Sometimes, though, the charm vanished, replaced by an air of arrogant smugness….

"Everyone had a chance to talk about the ad in the meeting, Donald," Debbie said.  "You aired your disagreements with my ad and I defended it.  Mr. Ridley said he was happy with it."

"He may be happy with it now," said Bartholomew Abbott, the company comptroller, "but will he like it after Black Friday?"  Black Friday is the day following Thanksgiving in the USA.  It falls late in November and is the busiest shopping day of the year.  "That one day can determine the health of the entire fiscal year!"

"Exactly!" agreed Donald.  "And will that ad draw people in?  I don't think so.  Besides the same old theme, you're pushing the wrong products!  We're saving the kids' bicycle promotion for the summer, when they should move better."

"It would help a lot if you'd get me the information on what we're promoting like I keep asking you to!" exclaimed Debbie.  "Keeping me in the dark, as you make plans without telling me or telling me too late; it takes time to make ads and I have to start work long before the event.  It's not fair!"

"Maybe not, but saying things aren't fair doesn't feed the bulldog, Debbie."  Clarke smiled patronizingly, the smugness rising to the surface as he spoke.  Debbie clenched her hands, itching to unleash just one slap across his face.  Not that she ever really would, of course not, but….

There was a moment of tense silence.  "We do need to discuss plans for next year," Donald said.  "How about this afternoon over another one of our rounds of golf?"

"Sounds good," Bartholomew said.  "I enjoy getting out with you guys for a game."

"I have a couple appointments," mused Clarke, "but, hey, I'll tell my secretary to cancel them!  She can smooth any ruffled feathers.  That's part of her job.  Yes, I'm in!"

"I'm in too!" announced Debbie.

"What, you play golf, Debbie?" asked Donald.

"Of course I do!" she replied.  Well, if you counted miniature golf, she did, as well as a few video game versions.  She could dust off her father's old golf clubs from the garage… wait… women's golf clubs were different from men's… well, she could borrow a set from Honey Hudson.  Casper Hudson, Honey's father, was a passionate golfer who had wanted his daughter to learn the game, despite the fact she had never shown much enthusiasm for it.  Debbie fidgeted with her cell phone, hoping her friend was available.  Honey was very busy these days, working for the family business.

"Well, Debbie, there's a bit of a problem," drawled Clarke.  "We play at Raregold, and that's quite exclusive, members only, that sort of thing."

"You guys can sign me in for today," snapped Debbie.  "And I can work on joining for next time."  She sighed, thinking of the tremendous expense that would involve.  Raregold had quite an upscale reputation, attracting Vanity City's wealthiest citizens… and excluding the rest.  "Maybe Mr. Ridley will agree to pay for my membership," she thought hopefully.

"It's quite impossible," Clarke told her.  "Terribly frustrating for you, but there you are."

"What do you mean?" demanded Debbie.  "I've got some connections to help me get in."  She thought briefly of Honey's father.   Surely he would promote her bid for membership!

"What, don't you know?" asked Donald, a sneer in his voice.  "The course at Raregold is men only.  No women can join, and they're not are allowed on the links… ever!"

"What‽" shouted Debbie.  "You mean that in the United States of America in the Twenty-First Century things like that still exist?"

"Yes it's true," said Clarke.  "But, don't worry.  My secretary can send you an email of what we decide."

"I guess there are some places you just can't go, Debbie," Donald informed her.  "Like the men's room," he added pointedly, as the three swept inside.

Debbie stood outside, tapping her foot impatiently as her brain worked frenetically.  "They may think they've managed to exclude me, but, no, they haven't heard the last of Deborah Irene Drummond!"

………………..
It was a chilly day in late November, but, as long as there is no snow actually on the ground, a little brisk weather will not deter the golfing enthusiast.  Vanity City, located on Maryland's Atlantic Coast, had seen one significant snowfall that year, but it was a melted memory now.

"Looking for a fourth, gentlemen?" asked a husky voice.

Bartholomew grinned.  "Yes, we… Debbie!  What are you doing‽" the Comptroller demanded in shock.

"Joining your informal meeting," she replied, walking forward briskly, followed by her caddie, a teen-aged boy with a vacant stare on his pimply face as he struggled with her clubs.  Debbie wore a man's golfing jacket over a polo shirt, trousers, golfing shoes, gloves, aviator sunglasses, and a Baltimore Ravens ball cap.  Her hair was gathered in a simple ponytail, tied low.  A coppery red mustache, short and thin, hove above her upper lip.

"You can't join us here!" Donald said in a furious whisper.  "It's men only, in case you forgot!"

"No one has to know I'm a woman," Debbie told him blithely.

"Donald's right," snapped Clarke, his charm conspicuously absent.  "As much as I enjoy seeing you in imaginative outfits in your commercials, I don't agree with this."

"How'd you even get on here?" Donald demanded.

"Mr. Hudson signed me in," Debbie replied, thinking how fortunate it had been that Honey's father had happened to be present.

"Not Casper Hudson?" asked Clarke, looking intently at Debbie.

"The same," she replied.  "He's very much against this men-only policy here at Raregold, so he was happy to help out a friend of the family."

"I had no idea you traveled in such rarified social circles," he mused.

Donald fumed noisily.  "Albert Plumrose is supposed to prevent this sort of thing from happening.  He needs to retire if he can't keep a better eye on who's signing in.  He must be getting half-blind, not to see through her ridiculous disguise.  You know this is a woman, right?" he asked Debbie's caddie, who had gathered with the others nearby.

"Um," he replied vaguely, thinking of the twenty dollars she had promised him if he kept his mouth shut.

"Oh, come on, let her play," said Bartholomew testily.  "I'll tee up first."  He swung and grunted unhappily as his ball flew a modest distance down the fairway.  Clarke played next and did much better, surpassing the Comptroller by several feet.

"Go on, Debbie," sneered Donald.  "In case you don't know, you're supposed to aim for that flag."

"You mean like this?" asked Debbie, reaching for the driver her caddy offered.  She steadied herself, praying silently, "Please don't let it land in the water."  She shook her head; that was no way to think!  "I mean, let it go far and straight!" she corrected herself and swung, thwack!   She noted happily that her ball bounced past Clarke's, almost reaching the green.  "My boyfriend is into physical fitness," she announced conversationally, as if she had expected precisely that result; "as am I.  That helps a lot in this game."  She very nearly added, "or so I've been told," but luckily stopped herself in time.

Donald swung energetically, determined to outdistance Debbie, but his poor control told.  The ball sliced, splashing quietly in the nearby pond.

"Ooh, tough break," Debbie commiserated, walking to the golf cart.  "Right, about these promotions for next year?  I've got some ideas, but let's hear what you guys think."

She seated herself, feeling quite pleased.  She couldn't expect all her shots to do so remarkably, she realized, but still, things were going very well.

Inexplicably, though, her good mood damped suddenly.  A surprisingly strong gust of wind caused her to shiver.  She glanced around with a feeling of unease, unaware that someone was watching her intently through a pair of binoculars, making plans….

………………..
"Let's hope the Ravens only have to defeat one team on Thanksgiving," said Debbie, retrieving her ball from the fourteenth hole.  She was only two strokes behind Clarke.  "Not like yesterday, when they had to battle the Seahawks and the referees!"

The caddies grinned appreciatively at her banter, but Donald frowned.  She's entirely too at ease, talking about football.  Let's try moving her out of her comfort zone.  "You young fellows doing all right?" he asked the caddies with anesthetic pleasantry.  "Working hard here, trying to earn a few extra bucks to spend on some girls, maybe?"

The caddies shuffled their feet, but no one actually said anything.

"What do you guys like in a girl?' asked Donald.

"Knock it off, Donald," growled Bartholomew.  The Comptroller was in a very bad mood, as his game continued going poorly, although he was still ahead of Donald.  "Those kids don't want to talk about that to a bunch of older men like us."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Donald.  "Come, you must have some thoughts about your ideal girl.  Why don't you share them with us?  You can speak freely; after all, we're all guys here, right?"

"I'd like someone just like her!" Debbie's caddie exclaimed, pointing.

"What?" asked Donald, spinning around.  Clarke and Bartholomew turned to look as well.

The magnificent golf course was not Raregold's only attraction; there were tennis and racquetball courts, a swimming pool, and one of Vanity City's finest (or most expensive, anyhow) restaurants.  The men-only rule only applied to the golf course itself; families and guests of the members made use of these other facilities without restriction.

The nippy breeze played with the hem of her flimsy tennis dress and the strands of her strawberry-blonde hair.  She stepped right up to the foursome and extended a hand to Debbie, who took it automatically.  "Hi!" she exclaimed brightly.  "I'm Tanya Garner, Tawny for short."  She smiled.  "Such small hands," she murmured, releasing Debbie.   "And you are…?"

"Yes, Mister Drummond, what was your first name, again?" asked Clarke.

Debbie glowered at him.  "I'm D-D-Dobie," she finally managed, remembering to keep her voice husky.

"Oh!" exclaimed Tanya.  "Like the funny house-elf in those magical Harry…"

"Dobie, not Dobby," Debbie corrected her.

"Oh, right!  Well, Dobie, mmm, what a cute name you have!"  Tanya frowned prettily; Dobie was not what she had expected when she had been eyeing him from afar.  Time to switch tactics, perhaps.  She demurely placed her hands behind her back.  "I'm really a very old-fashioned girl and have never, ever, made the first move with a man before, but there was just something about you that attracted my attention; I told my friend Marianne how nice you looked, and she told me, just this once, to go meet you!  You don't already have a girlfriend, do you?"

"No!  You're making a mistake," Debbie said a bit desperately.  "I'm… you see… I'm not interested in girls, I mean, in that way!"

"There's no need to be shy," Tanya replied.  She tucked a small piece of paper into the pocket of Debbie's jacket.  "My cell phone number," she explained in a whisper.  "Everyone watching is making you self-conscious, so I can wait for you to call when you're alone.  You won't regret it!"

The four caddies stared with open-mouthed admiration as she traipsed away; Donald and Bartholomew watched her as well.  Debbie turned and tried to compose herself.  She noticed with surprise that Clarke was watching Tanya with a look of anger on his face.  He pulled off one of his golf gloves and made a fist.  "There will be trouble because she did that!" he hissed, but quickly stopped himself, realizing Debbie could hear him.  He twisted a smile onto his face.  "Let's continue the game, shall we?"

Debbie frowned, wondering what he meant.  Did he know something about Tanya?  Did he think Tanya would make trouble, for having rejected her?  "I hope not," she muttered.  "I've got enough problems as it is."

"Looks like you've got yourself an admirer, Debbie," Donald taunted.  "Better not repulse her advances; she might do something crazy, like tie you up if you do!"

Tanya, meanwhile, returned to Marianne, who had watched the whole episode through her binoculars.  "Struck out?" asked the friend.

"I'll get him," Tanya replied curtly.  She picked up her tennis racket and smashed it against the wall, then lightly tossed the resultant wooden wreckage aside.  "Absolutely whatever I have to do, I will!"

………………..
Despite the effectiveness of her plan to join her coworkers on the golf course, and her initial success at informal chatter, by the end of the game, Debbie was eager to leave.  The clubhouse thankfully had a family restroom she used, which had solved one problem for her.  "One thing's for sure, and that's that I've had enough of this snotty golf club," Debbie promised as she walked to her silver Volvo S40, a much nicer car than her clunky old Yugo.  "I'll talk to Mr. Ridley about stopping this practice of holding meetings here, where everyone can't attend."

It was a long walk, carrying her clubs.  She had had to use the guests' parking lot, which was farther away than the one for members.  It had been nearly full when she had arrived, forcing her to park at the furthest edge.  It was almost deserted now, though.  She finally reached her vehicle and dropped the heavy golf bag, fumbling with her keychain.

She gave a muffled shriek of surprise; a strong arm came from behind her and wrapped itself around her waist, pinning her arms against her sides.  A gloved hand clamped over her mouth.  "Gotcha!" came a triumphant cry, as a leg locked around her shins.

"Mpfff!" screamed Debbie, trying to twist loose.

"It's not dark just yet, but the sun so low is casting enough shadows through the trees for my purposes," Clarke Burton hissed into her ear as he continued holding her tight.  "The security cameras only record the members' parking lot, so no one should witness our little adventure, Miss Drummond."

He removed his hand from her mouth.  Debbie gave a scream, cut very short as Clarke pushed a handkerchief into her mouth.  He had apparently prepared several strips of tape to finish gagging her, for she could hear him pulling them off his jacket, one by one, and stretching them over her lips.  He contemptuously tossed her costume moustache aside.

"You're not wriggling loose of my grasp," he informed Debbie.  "I can hold on quite tight.  You see, I too am physically fit.  It won't be easy to tie you up by myself, but I will."

"Mpfff?" Debbie asked, as Clarke, using one hand, formed a loop with a length of white rope he removed from his jacket pocket.

"Why am I doing this, you ask?  Yes, that is a fair question."  Clarke dropped the loop of rope around Debbie and tightened it around her torso and arms.  "I felt a certain amount of disgusted amusement over our little visitor's claim that she was an old-fashioned girl, because I actually am old-fashioned in many of my views, although I'm generally careful not to admit to it in the corporate climate."

Clarke continued to hold Debbie's legs with his one leg and started tying her hands behind her back.  He was working very quickly, wanting to remove Debbie from sight as soon as he could.  "I don't believe women belong in the boardroom, other than as secretaries taking notes, perhaps.  I tried, subtly, to make it clear to you when I arrived at Ridley's that you were no longer welcome there, such as by discussing business plans here, but you seemed rather slow in taking the hint."

"MPFFF!" Debbie screamed angrily.

Clarke was now working on binding Debbie's legs.  "You can imagine how I felt, seeing you here dressed as a man, although I luckily managed to hide my feelings.  It helped, of course, that Donald provided some distraction from me, when he carried on so loudly."  He crisply finished a knot behind her ankles.  "Then seeing that girl act the way she did… it was all too much!  I can't do anything about her, but I can certainly do something about you!"

He scooped Debbie's keychain from the pavement and clicked open her trunk.  "In you go!" he told her, placing her inside and slamming it closed once again.  A distant clunking sound suggested he had tossed her golf clubs on the back seat.  A few anxious minutes passed as Debbie struggled against her bonds.  She then felt the car moving.  Where was he taking her, and what plans did he have?

………………..
Debbie had no idea how long the car trip lasted.  All she knew was that she had plenty of time to both attempt (unsuccessfully) to escape her bonds, and to consider Clarke's actions in view of his past behavior.  Although Donald suggested golfing at Raregold today, it was actually Clarke who first started holding meetings there.  His overwhelming charm alternated with condescending superiority should have warned me of his controlling behavior, probably stemming from his feelings of insecurity.  Still, I wouldn't have expected this of him!

But what does he have planned for me?


Debbie considered that for quite a while, the possibilities swirling around without her arriving at any satisfactory solution.  I guess I'll find out whenever he does whatever it is.

The car stopped and Debbie could faintly hear the car door opening.  Anxious minutes passed and then an indistinct banging noise started.  Her imagination envisioned her boyfriend, Stan, loping to her rescue and giving Clarke a thorough pounding!  It was a pleasing thought, but, she recognized, not a very realistic one.  Stan has no idea where I am, and besides, that banging doesn't sound much like someone being beaten up.  I can't imagine what it is, although I'm sure it can't be anything good.

The trunk opened abruptly.  Debbie squirmed to look up at Clarke, any hope of a rescue dashed.  Clarke spoke loudly to be heard.

"This is the end for you, Miss Drummond," he told her.  "Not a railroad track, as you portrayed so well, but somewhere more practical for me… an auto wrecking yard.

"I worked in one during my schooling summers and learned how to operate the machinery.  It's unusual, but not unheard of, for the workers to start things up again so late in the evening, so no one will think anything odd.  Even if someone should wonder why such a pristine new car was being crushed, they would hardly dream a person would be inside the trunk!"

Debbie screamed at him through her gag, pleading with her facial expressions.

"Your tragic demise will cause quite a sensation locally, but the police are busy people and will have no reason to suspect me in this.  I imagine Donald Cotter will bear the brunt of their questions; I hope he has a good alibi, the poor sap."

Debbie desperately wished she could talk; she felt certain if she could, she could convince him to stop this.  Despite how he feels, he can't possibly believe this is the right way to settle things!  But of course she could not say anything.   Clarke closed the trunk.  Once again, Debbie was alone with her thoughts.

She had no idea how long it would take for the machinery to do its job.  I'll know it's starting when the car caves in around me!  I've got to get loose before that happens, but I just can't!  Come on, you stupid knots, can't one of you at least come free?  She twisted and rocked her body, and tried to feel for any looseness in her bonds, but what little success she found came much too slowly.  Surely the crushing would start any second now!

To her surprise, the trunk opened again.  "There you are, Dobie!" exclaimed Tanya, only a light, tight sweater draped over her tennis outfit.  She helped Debbie rise somewhat.  "I know I shouldn't have followed you, but it's a good thing I did; I was too far away when he grabbed you in the parking lot, but I followed that creep here and took care of him!"

Debbie could see Clarke seated nearby on the ground, miserably holding his head with his hands.  He stood unsteadily.  "I think you broke my nose," he complained.

"Not quite, but I'll finish the job if you don't stay there like I told you to!" Tanya informed him.

"Yes, I'll do that," he agreed weakly, sinking back to the ground.

"I'll get your gag off," Tanya told Debbie.  "A damsel rescuing a hero in distress!  Well, why not?  What's fair for the… Dobie, didn't you used to have a mustache?"

"Um, yes," said Debbie, speaking in her normal voice.  "Listen, Tanya, I really appreciate your help, so I feel terrible about what I'm about to tell you…."

………………..
Epilogue – Thanksgiving Day, at the Hudson Residence

"Casper, dear, would you carve the turkey for us?" Regina Hudson asked her husband.

"Yes, Dad, it smells good; I can't wait to have some!" Honey exclaimed.

Both Casper and Regina were elderly; their only child, Honoria, had been born relatively late in their lives.  Casper smiled and took the large knife, and began slicing diligently.  "Would you like dark meat, or white meat, Debbie?" he asked.

"White meat, please," the redhead answered.  "Shouldn't we be saying what we're thankful for, today?"

Stan grinned broadly.  "I'm thankful for my new position at the gym, and the bigger pay!"

"I'm thankful I have a wonderful girl like Honey!" exclaimed Herbie, Honey's boyfriend.

"And I'm thankful I have you!" she exclaimed in return.

"And… and… and I'm thankful I have Debbie!" Stan announced loudly, acting as if he had been about to say that before being interrupted.  He truly was thankful, after all; he just hadn't thought quickly enough to say it!  "Especially after you last adventure… rather a close call there!"

"Yes, it was," Debbie shuddered.  "The police have Clarke in custody, and he's through at Ridley's.  Mr. Ridley also stated that no more company business could be discussed in exclusive places.  I understand Bartholomew and Donald got quite a dressing down for participating in that!"

"That's how it should be," Regina Hudson stated firmly.

"I'm thankful I have you, Stan, of course," said Debbie, "but I'll really be thankful when I hear the sales figures for tomorrow.  Mr. Ridley's happiness with my job will depend on them being good!"

"These are tough time," Casper acknowledged.  The elderly businessman put aside the large knife and started passing some dishes around:   salads, green beans, Brussels sprouts, candied yams, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and a mountain of stuffing.  "But I saw your ad, Debbie, and in my opinion…"

"Which counts for a lot!" Honey interrupted.  "Dad knows his business information!"

Casper smiled indulgently.  "I believe you promoted the right items, and I think the results will be quite satisfactory."

"So, Clarke's out of the picture," observed Stan, "and those two guys who give you such a hard time are in trouble.  Maybe they'll leave you alone now for a bit!"

"I dearly hope so," Debbie sighed.  Somehow, she couldn't see peace lasting long in the boardroom, though.  Still, if Mr. Hudson was correct, and her advertisement received the credit for good sales….

"But what about Tanya?" Herbie asked suddenly.  "You told us about her meeting you on the golf course, and how she pulled you out of the car just in time, but what happened to her afterwards?  I mean, considering she was basically stalking you, she must have had quite a surprise!"

"Maybe her reasons for doing so were a bit shaky," said Honey.  "But she did save your life.  I hope she had a happy ending with it, somehow!"

"She did, in her own fashion," Debbie replied.  "I'll give her credit, she figured out her mistake before I had to actually explain myself.  Then, when the police arrived, there were two very good-looking officers, and she made dates with each of them without either knowing about her plans with the other!"

"Well, that's good, I suppose," said Casper, looking a trifle dubious.  He took his wife's hand.  "Let's join up, shall we, as we say a blessing over this delicious food and give thanks for all we have?"
My character, Debbie, is still in her first year of working at Ridley’s advertising division. This meant that a story about her Black Friday advertisement was inevitable, or so I felt. As I explained in the story, Black Friday is the informal business term for the day after Thanksgiving in the USA, the busiest shopping day of the year. It falls on November 25 in 2011. I wanted this story to be about her ad for this day, and not to be a seasonal story otherwise, although I did end it with a scene at a Thanksgiving Day meal. I also felt the ad, although promoting Christmas shopping, should not be too Christmassy in nature. It is my observation that early Christmas shopping commercials clearly mention Christmas, both in the USA and the UK, but the truly strong Christmas theme is saved for December itself. Other people may disagree with my observation, but that is my experience, and that is how I had Debbie create the ad. If that was a mistake, I’m certain she will hear about it from Thomas Ridley! I am not planning another Debbie in Distress story for 2011, so whatever ad she makes more Christmassy in nature this year will have to remain to the readers’ imaginations.

Despite my feelings that I ought to create a story about Debbie’s Black Friday ad, I was a bit unclear what plot should go with it. A talk with Caz at our favorite Chinese Restaurant helped quite a bit. We certainly do come up with some good ideas there! Caz talked about having Debbie dress as a man in order to attend a business discussion at a male-only golf club. I liked that idea quite a bit, immediately thinking of possibilities that led to the creation of this story, although my initial plot became a bit more complex as I started writing.
© 2011 - 2024 David-presents
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sliferred123's avatar
i enjoyed this very much. i guess Debbie will not let anything stand in her way :D