Women Rising

WOMEN RISING By Lark Edlim “The desire for sex…always creates some trouble.” The Dalai Lama, on the morning of his 80th Birthday, July 6, 2015 Chapter 1: Courtney Stillwell had the sexes figured out. Men were the problem. What bothered her wasn’t that men were such homely creatures. Men were, more often than not, self-centered and demanding. No man would admit it, but deep down they thought themselves superior and their actions reflected this attitude. It just wasn’t right. Men also committed the majority of crimes – burglary, fraud and larceny – and the vast majority of violent crimes – murder, rape and robbery. Life was a daily struggle between the sexes and with her young magazine, Women Rising, she was committed to making women aware. Like her, they should be pissed off at men and fight back. She sat alone in her office on 44th Street, a few doors west of Fifth Avenue. It was an old building filled with literary history. The small suite – only a small reception area, her personal office and a conference room – took part of the space formerly occupied by The New Yorker magazine before it moved to nicer digs in the city. Courtney focused on her work, editing one of those stories of a philandering husband that made a woman’s blood boil. Illustrated by the striking image of an aggrieved wife gripping a smoking gun with two hands, it was to be the cover story for her magazine’s October issue. She became aware of her desk phone ringing and answered just in time before it went to voicemail, hiding her annoyance at being distracted. “I’m so glad I reached you.” The voice sounded breathless. She recognized one of her writers, Veronica, and immediately experienced a wave of mixed feelings. Veronica, whom she called “Ronnie” was young and inexperienced. “Great to hear from you,” she said, injecting an upbeat tone she hoped would elicit whatever potential story Ronnie might have. “Have I got a story for you. A great story. Breaking news.” The intensity of the voice was palpable. Courtney was not in the business of breaking news, but the prospect sounded promising and Courtney always gave her novice writers a chance. It was a tough world out there for writers, as well she knew. “Okay, I’m listening.” “It’s about my boyfriend…” Right off the bat Courtney saw the story evaporating. She had met the guy once and the image of a bald-headed, tattooed redneck came to mind. One of a band of bikers. “Billy’s, like, changed Courtney. He doesn’t come on to me any more. He’s lost all interest. He didn’t call for the longest time so I thought he had another girl. He didn’t. I asked around.” This problem didn’t sound life threatening or even interesting. “So? What’s the problem?” “I wasn’t getting any, so I called him. Casual like. To find out what’s going on.” “Let me guess: He was in a fight with another guy?” “No, no, nothing like that. As I said, he’s lost interest.” Ronnie emphasized the last two words as if it were impossible for a guy to lose interest in having sex with her. Ronnie had the looks men went for. Curly blonde locks. A cute face. Hourglass figure. Slender legs. Young. A virtual man magnet. “So, that’s your story? He dumped you? Newsflash: it happens to women every day.” “The story isn’t that he lost interest but why he lost interest. He’s part of an experiment by the U.S. Army.” An experiment? Was she hearing right? “He and his gang. They’re getting paid to try this drug. They’re testing some new stuff they just put in the water and it turns men off. They don’t want to fight any more.” “Wait, you lost me. I thought you were talking about losing interest in sex.” “That’s just part of it. They don’t want sex and they don’t want to fight. If this thing works, they’re going to stick it to the enemy – you know, like the bad guys in the Middle East? Turn them all into yooks.” “Excuse me?” “Yooks. Those guys that guard the harems.” “Eunuchs?” “That’s it. Yooks. The sheiks trust them not to – you know, fuck.” “You’ve made this up, right?” “No, really. That’s the idea of it. He didn’t say yook, but—” “What did he say, exactly?” “He said some military guy – his name was Roger something – approached them and they made this deal: He’d pay each guy ten thousand bucks a month to try the stuff and report on the effects.” Courtney finally realized this may not be a joke. An experiment, like the Army’s use of mustard gas on our soldiers at Edgewood Arsenal? “How did you find this out?” “Billy told me. He wasn’t supposed to, but he did when I pressed him. He said it was top secret and he’s signed some kind of confidentiality agreement. But I didn’t sign anything and I want to write about it. You’ll print the story, right?” Courtney said nothing for a moment. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. After a beat she replied, “Okay, sure. Tell me everything you can find out about this, and we’ll talk about what we do. First, though, let me send you a contract giving Women Rising an exclusive.” “Great. And here’s the best part,” Ronnie added. “The part that really got to me—” She waited. “They call the stuff ‘Ballzoff’.”