Fandom: "All My Children"
Category: Vignette, post-ep
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
Summary: Takes place after 6/23 show. Arlene Chandler
Feedback: Yes, please! email@example.com
by Ashley Trent
Mrs. Adam Chandler. That tiny phrase had been stalking
through her brain for how many years now? Oh, too many years
ago it started, with her new green dress, her little Chandler
Enterprises secretary smile and that one night shot with the
boss all those years ago, the one that got her nowhere.
But now, things were different.
Ms. Arlene Chandler, maybe? Yes, that sounded much better.
She was her own woman after all, she'd seen what she wanted
and she's taken it, no questions asked. Oh, maybe a few
little questions, but none from people who mattered.
Arlene stared at her wedding ring again, watched the hard
diamonds glint beneath the lamplight and smiled.
No one could touch her now. She was high above them all and
once the corporation was back in Adam's hands, oh how quickly
their smirks would disappear and wouldn't they be forced to
simply choke on their disdain, like a greedy shark with a bone
stuck in its throat.
She hoped it would choke them to death.
Money was the great leveler, it raised you to highest of
heights and lowered those who once lorded over you until they
were forced to look you squarely in the eye and smiled if it
Whether they wanted to or not.
It wasn't like this for everyone though. No, it seemed for
Adam Chandler that pain was the great leveler, not money.
Death of his other half, his twin brother, the poor sap who
suffered that slight ... misfortune.
Adam didn't seem to care for his money anymore, but he would.
All Arlene had to do was prove how much easier it was to
alienate people when you had true wealth, real money in the
hand and not the pitiful allowance Liza was doling out on a
week by week basis.
That allowance bought them a bit of time, real wealth would
buy them a world of their own, and, in time, a world of
Arlene's own. And ... if she was very smart ... and very
lucky ... she wouldn't even have to share it with Adam.
Just her and her island of wealth, dripping with jewels and
young boys who served her drinks and called her beautiful,
their eager eyes and puppy-dog smiles more than anxious to
please the great, the rich, and the former Mrs. Adam Chandler.
No ... make that Ms. Arlene Chandler.
She was her own woman after all.
Another long sip and her mimosa was suddenly gone, strangely
sour and flat against her tongue. She wondered angrily if
Winnifred had used the cheap champagne -- that bitch, she'd
get her fired despite Adam's casual growl to the contrary.
People like that were dangerous, little petty people who
actually looked up to those who dangled paychecks over their
heads like a tiny golden carrot. Those who had little, but
orbited wealth and grew used to its trappings, but never
tasted its pleasures ... yes, they were very dangerous indeed.
Arlene knew this because she'd been one of them. But not anymore.
She tossed the champagne glass onto the pinewood floor and
watched with malicious glee as it shattered into thousands of
razor sharp bits. Let the bitch-maid clean that up, or better
yet, let her step on it and with any luck she'll bleed to
death all over these hideous carpets Arlene was still forced
to look at.
Yes and these disgusting frou-frou couches as well.
But not for much longer.
With that pleasant thought, Arlene made her way upstairs and
drew in a deep breath before entering the bedroom. She could
hear Adam's snoring from the hall and she fought the urge to
roll her eyes at the loud, throaty buzz.
He'd tied a wicked one on that afternoon, especially after
that impromptu meeting with Liza and Tad Martin in the
restaurant, staggering and cursing at her, even throwing a
glass or two of his own, but neatly, in the fireplace,
controlled still even under the influence of Lord knows how
Liza had been her usual charming self, calling Arlene "The
Other White Meat," a wonderful insult she had to admit, one
even she couldn't think of a comeback for. Of course, Liza,
precious creature that she was, introduced Tad as her new
partner in Chandler Enterprises, which shocked at first, but
now, Arlene wasn't so sure she should believe a word of it.
Blondie could think on her feet but she also could lie like a
rug at the drop of hat. She certainly gave Adam a run for
his money in the devious department and Arlene would have
almost admired her for it if so much wasn't at stake.
So, alas, Blondie Liza would have to be gotten rid of, by any
Along with her new "partner" the insufferable Tad Martin.
Arlene opened the door and slid into the room, slipping off
her heels, trying not to wake Adam from his scotch induced
nightmares. She undressed quickly before ambling toward the
bed, only the tiniest bit unsteady on her stockinged feet and
crawled in beside him, pulling the blue jacquard high over her
He was still deep asleep but a little bit of "inspiration"
might wake him, she thought as she slid her hand across his
waist, then over and down his thighs. A tickle here, a pinch
there and no reaction, not yet, not even when her tongue began
to lap at his ear.
She pulled back with a huff and tried again, this time with
more aggression, nipping and fondling hard. Adam twitched to
life beneath her knowing hand and the throaty buzz turned into
a thick growl, whether of pain or pleasure, Arlene didn't
know. Nor did she care.
All she knew was that Adam was suddenly on top of her,
breathing hard and plunging inside without so much as a
'mother, may I.' She wasn't ready and it hurt, but only for a
moment, and for this, for Adam Chandler, his wealth, and for
the great leveler he was about to bestow upon Arlene the
Secretary, she could handle any pain.
She moved with him, her hips twitching up seductively and she
threw some head thrashing in for good measure. "Oh, Adam.
Good," she moaned. "So, so good."
His only response was to increase his pounding, his eyes half
shut, his mouth twisted with an emotion Arlene wasn't sure she
wanted to examine too closely. He got closer to climax and
she continued the act she'd perfected long ago. The "oh, God,
yes, yes, yes" routine had worked on men even smarter than
Adam Chandler, that was for sure.
At least for a short while.
Soon, she was elated to see his expression soften, right
before he reached his pinnacle. His blue eyes opened and she
suddenly saw something there, something she'd never seen
before in any man's eyes. Something so soft, so tender and
afraid, for a moment her heart soared with triumph.
He was hers and with just a little more ... "Oh, yes. Baby,
oh, God, yes," she encouraged, meeting him stroke for stroke.
"Talk to me. God, please talk to me."
Adam stared at her, but didn't seem to see her. "Liza," he
murmured, before collapsing atop her, his dead weight nearly
knocking the wind out of her. "Oh, Liza, I love you."
She stiffened beneath him, the need to breathe suddenly not
quite that important. Rage, pinpricking and slow climbed up
her spine and she felt the blood drain from her face as she
became dizzy with fury.
He was snoring again, buzzing against her shoulder. He didn't
even protest when, with strength only anger could inspire, she
threw his body off of hers and watched with contempt as he
rolled back to his side of the bed, looking as peaceful as
ever, smiling beatifically at the memory of someone who
certainly wasn't Mrs. Arlene Chandler.
She stared at the ceiling, gulping the sticky air and groped
for the pack of cigarettes she kept in the nightstand. Found
them at last and naked, she stood and fumbled for the lighter
that was somewhere on the dresser, cursing as the flame
trembled in her shaking hand.
He'd called her "Liza" but that didn't matter, she swore to
herself as angry hisses of smoke petered through the room.
No, it didn't matter at all -- because Liza was nothing, and
he was a drunken fool, and Arlene was no longer Arlene the
Little Secretary wearing a new green dress and hopeful smile.
Arlene was Mrs. Adam Chandler now, no, she was Ms. Arlene
Chandler and that's what she was going to call herself from
Because she was her own woman after all.
Feedback: Yes, please!
Hit here ---> firstname.lastname@example.org