The Man Quota

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The Man Quota

Prologue

"In a way it was all my fault." The woman stated as she smoked a cigarette in the darkened room. "I told him that he should get along with Paul, Sharon's husband, so we could go on double dates." She didn't elaborate on who Sharon was as the woman on the other side of the table they sat at, a police officer, was her sister; she knew Sharon quite well. "They both had time in the week whilst they weren't at work and we were at our belly dancing class, so we harrassed them into spending time together."

The police officer, her sister, raised her hand and signalled Debra to stop whilst she finished writing down her notes. Once she had she quickly licked her finger and turned the page, nodding. "Well, it turns out the two of them got along quite well. After a while they invited more friends and we joked about them having a 'Man Club'. Funnily enough that's what they started calling it too. They didn't say exactly what they were up to, which was fine. We knew anyway; they drunk beers, argued over which actress was 'hotter' and watched sports. We would always say 'The first rule of Man Club is you don't talk about Man Club', me and Sharon that is."

Once more Debra's sister raised her hand, finishing her notes. Again, she licked her finger, turned the page and nodded. Debra continued, her voice becoming shaky. "Well... the houses were too small for the amount of people they wanted to invite so they found somewhere else. It was good; us girls went belly dancing and got some drinks once the class finished whilst the boys drank and talked about boobs, cars and sports. We'd each go to our respective homes afterward, back to our respective husbands, and either sleep off the drinking we had done or, if we felt frisky, let the night continue. Then, the next day we'd pick up the kids from the babysitters."

Again the officer did the same routine; raise the hand, finish the notes, lick the finger, turn the page and nod. It was as if she had practiced it for a very tardy musical. "The lads really got into it as well. They created a set of rules, which they devoutely called laws; The Man Law. 'Rule 1,'" She began to change her voice and sat up straight as if trying to imitate her husband, her voice still shaky. "'All men must bring beer. Men without beer will be reduced to wearing a stuffed bra and make-up.'" The officer smirked. Debra did when she first heard about it as well. At that point, however, she couldn't even bring herself to smile if she tired. After slumping back into her seat and coughing the woman continued. "They always had bets going on as well. Nothing to do with money, nothing illegal, but silly things. A few weeks ago United beat Albion* and my Roger had to go to a business party with Paul wearing nothing but a speedo and a bowtie. Then, of course, there was The Man Quota. I-... it..." She couldn't hold it in any longer. At the very mention of its name Debra was reduced to tears, dropping her cigarette as her head fell into her hands. The ash, left to grow, scattered as the white stick hit the floor and the last bit of light it held faded away leaving nothing but a smokey wisp.

The Man Quota.

********

“I remember it like it was yesterday, their first night together.” Debra stated, wiping the last of her tears away with the sleeve-covered heel of her right hand. “I was moaning about the rain. I had never liked it.”

Lisa was still writing down Debra’s statements. After Deb, as her sister affectionately called her, had broken down into tears she went hysterical. Her mind was filled with everything she had see and been through over the past few weeks; it was horrible. After she had calmed down, had another cigarette and some water, she began crying again but gained composure soon after.

“Would it be cliché to say it felt like fate? The rain, that is?” Lisa nodded with a faint smile. Even though Deb wouldn’t smile, couldn’t bring herself to, she could still make jokes. At their father's funeral she made Lisa laugh so hard that the wine in the church shot out of her nose. She didn’t smile herself then either but she tried not to burden others with her own problems; even one of such magnitude as this.

This was partially why Lisa became a police officer but that is neither here nor there. Deb made a joke, even though she was dying inside. The least Lisa could do was laugh or, as in this case, smile. Perhaps it would ease the pain… if only ever so slightly.

********

“You ready hon’?!” Roger called up the stairs, hanging from the banister nonchalantly. After receiving the expected ‘In a minute!’ reply (which really meant in about five) he walked into the living room and smiled at the two people sitting on the couch. The first person was a woman named Sharon. She was a thirty-five year old teacher who had earned the name ‘Great Barr’s T.I.L.F.’. The older students had tried it on a few times but, obviously, she wasn’t interested. The least pleasant encounter was with a fellow teacher (calling him ‘portly’ would be overly generous) who offered to stick his ‘A’ in her ‘plus’.

The second person, this time a man named Paul, was a few years younger and Sharon’s husband. He had been a teaching assistant at her school for a few days during which time they had exchanged numbers and the rest, as they say, is history. Now he worked at a construction site; ‘shit job, great money!’, as he would say. Debra, wearing Arabian-looking trousers and a belly top, ran down the stairs quickly, jumping the final two.

“Rain equals traffic at this time on a Friday.” She exclaimed hurriedly, grabbing her keys and handbag with practiced speed. Let’s just say this wasn’t the first time she had been late for something. After giving Roger a swift peck on the cheek and saying both hello and goodbye to Paul she was out of the front door and in the car. Sharon laughed heartily, giving a much longer kiss to her own husband and an unexpected hug to Roger.

“You guys have fun.” She said, in what Paul later explained to be a demand, as she left. They had two six-packs of beer (one Stella Artois and the other San Miguel), a rather large (Deb had called it obnoxiously large) bag of Doritos, a flyer, menu inside, for Pizza Hut next to the phone and The Big Fight Live already purchased on pay-per-view.

“So who’s your money on?” Paul asked, taking a handful of Doritos and sitting back on the couch as the pre-fight commentary played.

“Kahn,” Roger replied. “Quite literally too. If he wins I’m giving ol’ Bessy a new paintjob.” His guest looked at him curiously. “My car.” He elaborated, partially ashamed at having named his automobile and partially proud of it. Paul smiled, putting his feet up on the coffee table between the two men and the television. After placing them there though he quickly withdrew.

“Sorry mate,” He stated. “Forgot this isn’t my place; I’m usually home alone on Fridays.” Roger laughed.

“Don’t worry about it. Just don’t tell Sharon and you can keep them there all you want.” As a show of good faith Roger sat back and put his own feet up. Paul resumed the position he had briefly been in not long ago; sitting back, feet up and putting one of the Dorito gang he was holding into his mouth.

“So,” He began as Roger cracked open a can of Stellar and placed it in front of him, reaching for one of his own soon after. “What make is Bessie?”

********

“I wonder if they’re getting along well.” Sharon panted, taking a long drink of water afterwards.

“Fine, I’m sure.” Debra replied, wiping the sweat from her face with the towel. Although amongst the oldest in the class, Sharon thirty-three and Debra twenty-eight, the two women were definitely two of the fittest there. Their active natures saw to that.

The two had met at a yoga class three years before and after warming to one another they decided to take two classes a week together, eventually turning to three after a year had passed. They had done many types of dancing (Salsa, Classical, Urban (Sharon still claims that seeing Deb trying to do a head-spin will never cease to amuse her)), various martial arts (Kick-Boxing, Tae-Kwon-Do, Kung Fu (Debra still claims that seeing Sharon trying to break a board with her head will never cease to amuse her)), many art classes (painting, sculpting, life modeling (both women agreed that seeing two ninety year old men posing nude for pictures will never cease to give them nightmares)) and almost everything in between.

The three classes they took usually fell on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. During Fridays their husbands respectively had what was called alone time. They didn’t work at that time and neglected going out with friends, saving it for Saturday and the midweek. Naturally Debra and Sharon, being completely active people in almost all aspects of their lives (and being women), didn’t like this so they had always tried to get them to do something, maybe even taking a class like them (though not with them, god knows they made that clear).

After some deliberation they decided to kill two ‘alone times’ with one plan, relentlessly trying to convince them to meet up on a Friday night and try to get to know each other. That way they could go out on double dates and not have any of the awkwardness from their first, and only, attempt. The men could have some alone time whilst the girls were at their class (Deb and Sharon weren't completely unreasonable) and once they got back it would be date time. With their kids (one daughter for Deb and Roger and two boys between Paul and Sharon) always visiting their grandparents, aptly nicknamed the babysitters, on Fridays it was perfect.

Then again, every catastrophic incident begins as perfect, doesn’t it?

“Come on.” Sharon stated, finishing her highly vigorous warm-up and gesturing to Deb to get moving. “It’s starting.”

********

“This is unacceptable!” The man shouted, throwing down the files on the table with an expression filled with anger. “You are nothing but a liability to this company. Why, dear god why, should I not fire you right this second?!” It was a bright and sunny Monday morning. The man, acting manager of that particular branch of Brydon Homes, was in a rage. The employee sitting before him, a twenty-one year old ‘business-baby’, had been working for him for two weeks and, so far, she had made the business zero pounds and fifty pence (how she achieved that is a completely different story altogether).

“I’m sorry,” She said in reply. “I can do better, I know I can. Please, give me another chance, I can prove myself.” Her voice was enthusiastic. The boss, slightly sadistic in nature, decided to give her a chance… or, as he thought at the time, no chance whatsoever.

“You want to prove yourself?” The woman smiled in reply, her eyes filled with determination and hope. “Fine; sell one of the big four by the end of the month.” The smile disappeared within a second and her eyes widened considerably, determination replaced with fear. “Do that or you’re fired. Get the hell out of my office.”

The woman exited the office, a stunned expression plastered on her face. A male colleague stood by the door wearing slick black trousers and a black waistcoat over a white shirt. He leaned against the wall and sipped coffee from a mug. “Tough break,” He said with genuine sympathy. “I can help you out if you want but I’ll understand if you leave now.” The woman didn’t reply, simply walking towards the whiteboard with ‘THE BIG FOUR!!!’ written across the top. Pictures of four houses were stuck to the board with tape, the captions ‘Murder Mansion’, ‘Insane House’, ‘Graveyard Garden’ and ‘The Shining Château’ surrounding them.

As Alice Boswald looked at the board one word and one word alone escaped her mouth.

“Fuck.”

********

“It had been four weeks since the Friday of their first meeting.” Debra said, sipping tea from a mug in between sentences. “Me and Sharon got back from the belly dancing class just as Paul was leaving.” Though usually a grammatical pedant Lisa let the beginning of the statement pass; it wasn’t the time to be saying ‘you mean myself and Sharon’ after all. “As it turned out they had got on like a house on fire, they just needed time to get to know each other. It kind of pissed us off that they got on so well, since they were so adamant to have their guy time we ended up forgetting about the double dates!" She took a rather long drink of her beverage before setting it on the table and carrying on after a deep breath. "It was after I said goodbye to Sharon that I heard the words which began their meetings on their path to… well,” She had to work hard to not cry again. “Whatever you call this fucked up situation.”

“What were they?” Lisa asked, listening intently. It reminded her of novels she would read where the author was about to reveal something juicy but, just to tease the reader, he or she would elongate the time it took to reveal it; something to keep the readers anticipating for as long as possible. She hated that. She was sure everyone else did as well.

“His smile when he said it… it was… odd. It was a dark smile but he didn’t know what was going to happen; he couldn’t. It had no ill intent… I don’t think it did anyway, but something about it stuck with me.”

“What did he say?” Lisa interrupted.

“He said ‘Next week, can I invite a friend?’.”