Appraising herself in the floor to ceiling vanity outside the spacious shower room, Serena George is critical in both length of assessment and manner of execution. At forty three, she is pleased, though hardly surprised, that all her discipline has paid off. As Californians most powerful feminist attorney smiles, letting the robe fall to the floor, she leisurely makes her way back to her Bel Air bedroom, ready to face another day.

Outside, in the distance, the first few minutes of a broken dawn paint the city of angels  a fiery orange, as if to signal the damage occurring in the Santa Ana's. Serena stiffens when she realizes the origin of that smog. She hates forest fires. Always has.

....As reported by chief Sandreck, fire still burns at the lakeside property outside Waleston. While no one from the town or cottage area has been reported missing, we have received and continue to receive several reports of large human remains being found in the vicinity of the original blaze. However the Lakeside District coroners office cannot say for certain if the remains are that of animal, or human...

No! She is determined not to do this. There is a full day at the office before her night flight to what was once, in another life, that thing called home. Instinctively she looks down at the bureau, and the pale blond woman in the frame.

"Oh Savannah you crazy fucking bat " Staring for what feels like an eternity at the fragile artist in the frame, the only sister who she is set to bury tomorrow, Serena knows she has failed.

When she speaks, it is most likely inaudible, "I know you did your best. I'm so sorry I couldn't."

And with that, the woman who once cut out articles and news reports on her hero Ruth Bader Ginsberg and hid them under her bed to dream of the woman she would become, climbs into her 2008 Z4 3.0si Roadster, and with a heavy foot, heads into her office at Century City.  As the woman who is often billed the Weapon of Patriarchal Destruction, speeds into LA, she tries to forget this afternoons appearance on Dr. Phil.

Boorish old goat. Homegrown common sense my ass, Serena mutters under her breath, making a mental note to be sure and rattle that simple Texans cage extra hard this time. After all, she tells herself, it is far, far too easy. In the distance, the city framed in orange and vibrant red, appears a mere snapshot to the mountains beyond. Sky, mountain and city, all appear to be engulfed in a hot, brutal and beautiful LA inferno. It is barely eight am.

****

 "Will that be all Miss George", the overly processed blond temp in the too short skirt asks.

Serena makes a mental note to suggest somewhere besides Fredricks of Hollywood to the girl who is apparently the temp of the week, smiles closed lip, then dismisses the girl with a wave.

Model, actress, wait staff, she thinks. No, not wait staff, not that assured. Under her breath, now smiling without expression, she whispers, "The face of Katherine Deneauve with the brain of Britney. How very LA".

Pushing her concern over the professional qualifications of the temp pool aside, Serena returns her attention to the Harrison brief.

Not ten minutes later, the frazzled temp knocks again. "Sorry miss George, it would help if I knew a bit more surrounding the meaning of this word, as it seems to be in every memo I type. Patriarchy, I think it is like a royal designation, like nobility? Or you know, something like that. No?"

Serena loosens the clip on her upsweep and lets it fall loose on her back.

"Amanda, is it?"

"Mandy, actually".

"Very well. Patriarchy, Amanda, has nothing to do with royalty as you suggest. Though the parallels are interesting to consider I suppose."

"You mean like, in importance."?

"No, I mean like in inbreeding, but that's not the point."

"Oh". Mandy is obsessively creasing the absent crease in her too short skirt.

"What patriarchy is, Amanda, is a violently tyrannical but nearly invisible social order rooted on an oppressive paradigm of class and status fetishizing dominance and submission. Patriarchy’s benefits are accrued according to a rigid hierarchy at the top of which are rich, white, sexually predatory adult males and at the bottom of which are poor female children of color.

The tall, slim woman in expertly turned out Ellen Tracy rises and crosses the floor.

"Feminism, Amanda...." Pausing for effect Serena clasps her hands over her lips.

"Feminism, the term that you no doubt go to great lengths to assure others you are not, followed of course with...but I support women", what feminism does, is look toward a post-patriarchal order free of theocracy, corporatocracy, gender, race, deity worship, marriage, discrimination, prostitution, exploitation, the nuclear family, reproduction, caste, violence, the oppression of children, pornography, rape, and government interference, particularly with respect to private uteruses, non-abusive domestic arrangements, life and death. I would suggest that if you are going to continue earning cash for your "outfits" and Crantini's, you might wish to become familiar with the concepts central to how that functions in this thing we call the real world."

Reaching into her wallet, Serena hands the girl a platinum card. "Where did you say your sister went to school Amanda"

"Uh, what, um..." The girl has all but stopped processing.

"Your sister, sibling, school, where did she get her MBA you were telling me about."? replies Serena, now clearly annoyed.

"Oh, Janice, she went to Stanford, but what do..."

"Great. Take the card, go to Barneys and buy a weeks worth of clothes that you hate and your sister would look at and say, OMG this is stunning"

"You want my sister to work here? I don't understand Miss George".

Counting to three and making a mental note to at least try to sound human, Serena says, "No sweet pea. It's just for you. We are going to play efficient law secretary for a week. You win, you keep the clothes. And I'll buy you a weeks worth of Crantini's at The ivy on Friday. K?"

"Oh my God, thank you Miss George." The girl is frazzled, again. "Thank you...Miss George?"

Realizing she is gone, Amanda hikes her skirt up and places her feet on the desk.

The young temp can now gloat, she thinks. She is cocky, proud of her first task as secretary to the most powerful feminist attorney in the state. She thinks of earlier, and the secret she was able to keep. As the C average girl from Iowa allows visions of unlimited Fredricks of Hollywood bargain bin deals to dance in her head, she replays the phone call of earlier today. The strange sounding man who is to surprise her boss at her home this evening. "Because we all know how much Serena likes a surprise" was what he said. Before he squealed. Of course not wanting to appear out of the loop, Amanda casually laughed, taking Mr. Quinlleys assurance as fact.

Serena is already on the way to the garage. She is late. Serena hates being late.

It is only as the ignition turns that she notices the shadow in the rear seat of the BMW

"Tell me Serena, does it sing" squeals the thing in the backseat. 

Fear rises, though her resolve is strong. Drawing a deep breath Serena turns, locking the pale, grey eyes on it. Her voice does not betray her. She won't let it.

"I don't recall inviting you Leland. Scurry on back to your gothic haunts now. I would imagine you have had more than your share of fun".

Though her cockiness is short lived, as the mans words seem to sap every ounce of energy she had garnered to wage this long time coming formidable fight.

His stare is penetrating. "Isn't it interesting Serena, that we should have the same unique color of eyes. Had you ever noticed my dear? Grey with cerulean flakes is odd, indeed".

The usual dead, pale and grey eyes begin to dance.

The gaunt figure in the tall boots continues, almost breezily, singsong. "Dd you know Serena, it is so rare a combination, it is usually only shared by blood relations".

When Leland Quinley begins to squeal, Serena George sees very clearly her eyes as they are reflected in the man who was once considered human. And as the full awareness of that dawns, she has just enough time to attempt to scream, before her head grows heavy and her world fades to black....