*** This short story was inspired by a writing prompt at my group this past week, which was “Talk about the days of the week as if they were people.” Anyway, this is what I came up with. I may go back and edit it, but it’s what I have now. Enjoy. 🙂
Monday was a straight-laced fellow, always waking up at exactly 5am sharp and hitting the treadmill at 5:15am. After this, he went on to make his breakfast by 5:45am, the menu for which never varied – scrambled eggs, toast, an apple and one cup of coffee.
Today his routine commenced like normal, and in his meticulously pressed suit and Italian shoes he briskly made his way out of the elevator in a quick gait to his office. He firmly believed in moving quickly and with purpose, even though he wasn’t required to be there at any particular time. He felt moving fast was productive, efficient, and therefore would lead to success.
As he glanced down at his watch, an expensive and reliable Schaffhausen he had purchased during a business trip to Switzerland, he was reeled by the impact of something hard slamming into his forehead, followed by the sensation of something hot and wet on his leg.
“Oh no,” Tuesday apologized. “I’m so sorry, man…:
Monday looked up at him in disdain, holding his hand over the growing lump on his head.
“Did you not see me?” he seethed at Tuesday, annoyed that his pants would now have to go to the dry cleaner’s, an interruption in his carefully structured routine.
“Hey look, I’ll pay for the cleaning bill,” Tuesday offered, desperately trying to make amends for this unfortunate misstep. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, too, huh?” The middle child of seven children, Tuesday was a born diplomat and having any sort of bad blood between himself and any other person was something he feared most.
Monday flashed Tuesday a scornful look and without a word marched down to his office and slammed the door, leaving Tuesday with a pit in his stomach that would last the rest of the day.
The work day seemed like an eternity, so when Tuesday finally pulled into the driveway of his three bedroom suburban split level he was elated to see his wife’s car already in the driveway, indicating that she was home early from her shift at the hospital. Wednesday was an RN, and there were times when Tuesday wouldn’t see her until very late and by the time she walked through the door she was too exhausted to engage in any sort of meaningful conversation.
He turned his key into the lock and pushed the handle, and he was instantly greeted by the most intoxicating smell. He smiled wide, knowing exactly what was happening – she was making tacos and margaritas. His favorite.
God I love this woman, he thought.
He strolled to the kitchen and rounded the corner, expecting to see his lovely wife chopping vegetables or sauteing meat. His smile immediately vanished, however, when he came face-to-face with his slovenly, unemployed brother Thursday.
“What are you doing here?!” he demanded, with just a touch more annoyance in his voice than he anticipated.
“Oh, I invited him!” Wednesday cheerfully chimed in, chopping cilantro at the kitchen island. Tuesday turned to her with a shocked, desperate expression, wordlessly protesting his brother’s invasion of their normally serene home. Thursday, having been a shameless mooch for pretty much his entire adult life, artfully feigned obliviousness as he opened the refrigerator door in search of another beer.
“How’ve you been, little brother?” Thursday asked in a friendly tone as he popped the cap of a bottle of Tuesday’s Burning River Pale Ale and took a long swig.
“Been better,” Tuesday muttered, resentfully glowering at his wife for allowing his brother to barge in on their taco night. Wednesday knew how he felt about Thursday, yet she was far too compassionate to turn him away. Tonight he had appeared especially downtrodden, so one taco night wouldn’t kill Tuesday.
Thursday ignored his younger brother’s glare and frowned at the cracked screen of his iPhone 5. He had texted Friday and Saturday over two hours before with no response, wondering what his childhood best friends were doing.
Friday glanced down at his brand new Samsung Note to read the flashing message.
“Moda. 9pm. Remember, DON’T TELL THURSDAY”
Friday sighed as he sipped his post-workday scotch. He felt a pang of guilt for conspiring with Saturday to go out without Thursday, but lately the deadbeat mooch act had been getting on his nerves, and Saturday’s as well. When Thursday would conveniently forget his wallet or get so intoxicated that he would leave without paying his tab, Friday and Saturday would take turns footing the bill for their childhood friend, at times resulting in a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors.
But tonight, they decided that they wanted a night out without having to carry a third person, or have their game thwarted by Thursday’s abhorrent lack of social skills.
No. Tonight, they had decided, belonged to the gentlemen.
Friday’s candy apple red Audi R8 Spyder convertible slowed to a steady roll before he stopped right in front of the club, his perfectly sculpted hair intact thanks to the obscene amounts of product he used to get his perfect coif. He pushed open the car door and his Italian leather shoes touched down on the pavement, his 6’5 frame unfolding out of his fully loaded sports car. His slate grey shirt and black slacks went well with his dark complexion and muscular physique, making the heads of many attractive women waiting outside turn and take notice.
The valet, who couldn’t have been more than 22 stared at Friday with awe and respect, partially wishing he were Friday, but also in carefully muted excitement at being the one who got to park this fine piece of machinery. Friday flashed a cocky grin and tossed him the keys, and in a flowing gesture that he had made hundreds of times before stuffed a $100 bill in the kid’s shirt pocket.
“No joy-riding,” he pointed at the kid with feigned sternness. He turned to the crowd of people waiting outside, noticing the more beautiful of the women. He had a good feeling about tonight.
He then heard a loud bass thumping behind him, so strong that the vibrations went up through his foot to his calf. He turned around to see Saturday roll up in his red 1967 Cadillac Convertible, a car he only drove if A.) there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and B.) Thursday wasn’t around to puke in it.
Saturday smiled wide at his friend as he tossed the keys to the other valet kid and stuffed a wad of money in his hand. His sandy blonde hair spiked and stylishly disheveled, he looked like a young Robert Redford.
“Yeah, let’s do this thing!” he exclaimed as he shook his friend’s hand, giving him a masculine one-armed hug in the process. They nodded to the bouncers, who wordlessly unhooked the ropes to let them by, and they strolled into the thumping, vibrant room.
The two toasted each other over a couple of craft beers as they looked around the crowd, enjoying not worrying about what trouble their friend might be getting into. An attractive redhead in a silver dress made her way over to their corner and zeroed in on Friday, which Saturday took as his cue to disappear into the crowd, clumsily but happily moving to the house music.
In his enthusiastic gyrations, his arm somehow careened into the face of the most gorgeous brunette he had ever seen in his life just as she was taking a sip of her martini.
“Oh no…” he stammered, horrified with himself. “I…I am so sorry, here, let me get you another drink. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she graciously assured him, gently patting the new stain on her red dress with her cocktail napkin.
“Here, I’ll get you another…what were you having?”
“Dirty martini,” she replied. “Extra dirty.
He was relieved that she didn’t seem at all angry, but also couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. She seemed so serene, so calm.
In what seemed like an eternity to him, he returned with her drink, which she gently took from his hand and smiled.
“So,” she started, now ignoring the stain on her dress and instead studying him with her large brown eyes. She found him attractive in an adorable, boyish way, even if her dress was completely ruined. “What’s your name?”
“Saturday.” He answered. “And you?”
“Sunday,” she smiled back at him, her lips perfectly matching the shade of her dress.
“What brings you to this place?” Saturday wondered, scrambling to find some sort of conversation starter and his brain coming up short.
“I have to get out of the house,” she replied. “It’s boring there.”
Saturday shrugged and nodded, but still had nothing to add.
THINK GODDAMNIT. Don’t let her walk away!
“It would probably be more fun if you were there.” she added after a long pause, gazing into his eyes, giving him a flirty half smile. He was shocked, and once again had no words. He could only nod his head follow her when she took his hand and led him out of the club. He glanced over at his friend, who was now smoothly chatting up two gorgeous women.
Sorry Friday. I’m sure you’ll be just fine.
He followed her through the door of her upscale condo. The inside was spotless, not a single picture or piece of furniture out of place. He made a mental note to get the name of her housekeeper.
However, the housekeeper quickly took the furthest spot in the back of his mind when he watched this beautiful woman nonchalantly peel her dress off of her body to reveal matching red underwear, then saunter down a narrow corridor.
He stood in the doorway, dumbfounded.
“Are you coming?” he heard her velvety, soothing voice call. Shaking his head in disbelief, his feet shuffled toward the direction of her voice.
He opened his eyes the next morning to Sunday’s beautiful, sleeping face. Sleeping on her side, her jet black hair fell across her cheek, framing her full, pillowy lips. Her olive skin contrasted with the stark white blanket.
My God. She’s even more beautiful in the morning, he thought.
He raised a hand to gently brush her hair back, and her long lashes fluttered. Her dark eyes opened to gaze into his sky blue ones.
“Hi.” he said, unable to take his eyes off of her.
“Hi.” She smiled at him, then leaned in to kiss him. He reached for her, but she instead pulled away and stood up, still completely naked, in a calm search for clothing.
“Is everything okay?” Saturday asked, wishing she’d crawl back into bed with him.
“Oh, everything is fine,” she assured him. “we just have to go to breakfast before my husband comes home.”
Panic flushed over Saturday. HUSBAND?
“Your what?” he asked incredulously.
“My husband, Monday.” she calmly answered him. “So we need to leave and enjoy the day before he gets back.”
“You didn’t tell me you were married!!” Saturday protested, crushed.
“Of course I didn’t.” she retorted. “He always ruins my fun whenever he comes home.”
Baffled at this betrayal, Saturday rolled out of the bed, still covering himself with the blanket, and commenced a frenzied search for his pants.