Narrative Essay On Mean Girls

Kim and they make a deal and to finger us.”
“What are you going to do to make sure that doesn’t happen?”
Garland shoots her a cool glare, “I’m going to Costa Rica, leaving in the next few hours. There’s no way the Feds are ever going to find them, at least not alive.”
She calms down -- walks to the bed and sits.
“Do we have time for a quickie, I need to get laid?”
“Of course, we do.”
The both begin taking off their clothes.
Two hours later, Myra and Garland are in bed, enclosed in a pool of sweat. Myra’s face has this invigorated rush look, sort of like junkies getting a fix. Garland has an orange glow, the effects of top grade one hundred percent pure cocaine, Peruvian Marching Powder, as it were. His eyes are bloodshot red, his hair tousled

in every direction. After a long pause, Myra gives it to him straight.
“You have to kill both them pieces of shit, Garland!

– And that means your girlfriend, Kim too! I know all about you and her kicking it at the Beverly Hills Hotel on Tuesdays and Thursdays, fucker, while I was on the set!!! Why are you trying to act like I’m stupid, Garland?!”
“Myra, Kim was never ever my girlfriend! You’re imagining things again!”
“Imagine my ass, just warning you. She can’t be trusted. She’s no good, the heart is black as night, I know her, Garland, I’m telling don’t go down there and get played by her. She’ll double cross your ass in a New York minute.”
He crosses to a nightstand and snorts another line of blow, looks up, and in a tone resembling Al Pacino’s Tony Montana in the 80s iconic gangster flick

‘Scarface.’
“Myra, you think I give a rat’s ass about Kim? Get real, she was your friend, you two were practically sisters, don’t get me involved with your feud with her. What did she do to you in the first place?”
“I just told you, Garland! You two had a fucking affair!”
“And you slept with Al! – Remember, dear?!”
“Because you asked me to, Honey Pie!.”
Garland is now annoyed, “It was business! We did it for the money, Myra! Get over it. We have bigger things to worry about than me screwing Kim, who I haven’t even seen in four years! The fucking FBI is going to be wondering where I am at. Tell them that you haven’t seen nor heard from me. When I return, I’ll tell them that Al and Kim kidnapped me. -- I just happened to escape. It will be impossible to prove otherwise. Yeah, no witnesses will be alive to say differently,”
Myra repeated the words, knowing this is all bullshit, “Yeah, no witnesses will be alive to say differently. Maybe you shouldn’t contact me at all while you’re gone.”
“Good idea, I’m sure we’re being watched, Myra. The phones are surely bugged, the whole nine yards.”
She stares at him for a long silent beat, completely not believing a word out of his mouth. “What should I tell them -- when they can’t find you, Garland?”
Garland ponders the question, is this a set-up he thinks. From here on out, Myra and Garland are no longer one.
“Tell them the truth -- you don’t know shit. I simply didn’t show up one evening. In fact, call the police in a couple of days after I’m gone. That will make for sure look like I was a victim of foul play.”
“Good idea,” Myra replied, knowing it was all Texas horse manure.
“I’ll leave in the morning!”
She acts like that’s a great idea, “Great, what if you don’t come back?”
“What do you mean -- if I don’t come back? Why would I not come back?”
Myra being is an actress, changes her accent, speaking now, in her TV variety show judge voice, “Just saying -- if you don’t come back, sweetheart, and leave me here to deal with the FBI all by my lonesome -- you’ll regret it, baby. I’ll fuck you up. I’ll tell them everything. You hear me, Garland? The FBI won’t have to ask me shit -- just warning you, baby. Just in case you’re thinking about fucking me over, which I know you would never ever. Never do -- but you might.”
“I’d never do something like that, Myra.”
Garland freezes in time, she is reading his mind. He plans to jump on his air plan and slip out of town without Myra. Besides, she’s knows full well that fame comes with hefty price, a celebrity can’t hide out as easy, somebody, somewhere would recognize her. Garland has no plains on being on the run with the internationally known Hip hop artist, Myra Jones. They’re mired meltdown continues.
He had no intention of ever seeing her again, she was way too famous, and deep inside her heart, Myra knew the second Garland saw Kim again, the two would more than likely get rid of Al and head off into the sunset.

****
CHAPTER 11
VIVA LA SANTA TERESA
A few miles south of the small beach town Santa Teresa, Costa Rica. Santa Teresa is in the Puntarenas Province -- 93 miles west of the capital city of San Jose. Close to the beach is a small cabin not far from the surf. A heavily wooded forest is walking distance, the sand white, and water aqua blue. Several sea vessels can be seen on their way to Panama and Central and South America.
Inside the cabin, the 1977 hit song “If I Can’t Have You,’ by Yvonne Elliman from the ‘Saturday Night Fever’ soundtrack is playing on a laptop computer.
Robbie, seated in jeans, a T-shirt, and sandals, looking like a beachcomber – he’s on his laptop scalping with his mom.
It’s been eight long, agonizing months since he had spoken to Kate. The only information is that she is alive, is still in the agency. Many nights Robbie would wonder if she still loved him, or worst met somebody new. He hated what was going on, drowned his tears in rum many a night.
On a tropical beach, filled with beautiful women, it was impossible for Robbie to even entertain the thought of being with

another.