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an excerpt from the women of brewster place which hit me so hard i felt like i'd been punched ...

"moreland woods was captivated by the beautiful woman at his side. her firm brown flesh and bright eyes carried the essence of nectar from some untamed exotic flower, and the fragrance was causing a pleasant disturbance at the pit of his stomach. he marvelled at how excellently she played the game. a less alert observer might have been taken in, but his survival depended upon knowing people, knowing exactly how much to give and how little to take. it was this razor-thin instinct that had catapulted him to the head of his profession and that would keep him there.

and although she cut her cards with a reckless confidence, pushed her chips into the middle of the table as though the supply was unlimited, and could sit out the game until dawn, he knew. oh, yes. Let her win a few, and then he would win just a few more, and she would be bankrupt long before the sun was up. and then there would be only one thing left to place on the table – and she would, because the stakes they were playing for were very high. but she was going to lose that last deal. she would lose because when she first sat down in that car she had everything riding on the fact that he didn’t know the game existed.

and so it went. all evening etta had been in another world, weaving his tailored suit and the smell of his expensive cologne into a custom-made future for herself. it took his last floundering thrusts into her body to bring her back to reality. she arrived in enough time to feel him beating against her like a dying walrus, until he shuddered and was still.

she kept her eyes closed because she knew when she opened them there would be the old familiar sights around her. to her right would be the plastic-coated nightstand that matched the cheaply carved headboard of the bed she lay in. she felt the bleached coarseness of the sheet under her sweaty back and predicted the roughness of the worn carpet path that led from the bed to the white-tiled bathroom with bright fluorescent lights, sterilized towels, and tissue-wrapped water glasses. there would be two or three small thin rectangles of soap wrapped in bright waxy covers that bore the name of the hotel.

she didn’t try to visualize what the name would be. it didn’t matter. they were all the same, all meshed together into one lump that rested like an iron ball on her chest. and the expression on the face of this breathing mass to her left would be the same as all the others. she could turn now and go through the rituals that would tie up the evening for them both, but she wanted just one more second of this soothing darkness before she had to face the echoes of the locking doors she knew would be in his eyes."