Imagine. Joan Ferguson has a secret late night radio show where she plays music for a couple hours to help herself unwind. Classical, oldies, maybe some occasional current tracks. Her voice is husky and dark as she introduces you to some of her favourite tracks. Depending on her mood that particular night, you'll never know what will come at you from the speakers.
"You're listening to Late Night Noise with your host, me, The Freak. Grab a glass of wine, let your hair down and enjoy this 1992 track from Radiohead. This is 'Creep.'" [music starts]
Joan Ferguson sitting on her sofa. Glass of red wine in one hand, murder mystery book in the other. As she reads, she's always several steps ahead of the characters. She occasionally makes a "tsk" sound when the murderer makes a foolish mistake that not even the author catches. Or shakes her head when she realizes she would have handled it much more cleverly.
She grins evilly when she reads the descriptions of the crime scenes and how the murders were done, as if giving her approval of the methods. But only if they were well carried out and left no loose ends. And some times, quite often actually, she'll let out a single "ha!" The result of her having solved the mystery before it was even revealed to the reader.
Pamela Rabe as Joan Ferguson in Wentworth | ciggy/tie edit
(Disclaimer: This is not real footage.)
Simple Pleasures (Ficlet, rated G)
The day was spent dealing with insufferable inmates and incompetent staff. Joan was two seconds away from losing it and burning the whole prison down. She found a secluded spot in the prison, tugged her tie loose with a hard yank and unbuttoned the collar button of her crisp white shirt.
She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes she carried for exactly these moments and slid a cigarette out. She placed it between her lips. She flicked the fancy metal lighter with the large "J" engraved on it, having stolen it from some guy who crossed her long ago, and lit the cigarette.
She took a deep drag, held it, and released the smoke through her mouth and nose with a content sigh. Simple pleasures.
Vera Bennett was walking down the corridor. Her little legs taking small steps that took her seemingly forever to move forward compared to others. Others like Joan Ferguson who had just rounded the far corner behind her and was catching up already.
"Ms. Bennett," Joan calls out.
Vera stops abruptly and turns around. "Governor?"
Joan was already there. "Did you happen to get the memo about the staff meeting being moved to an hour later than usual?"
Vera looks confused. "No, actually I hadn't. I didn't get a chance to check my mailbox yet today."
Joan looks down at her. "Well, now you know. But perhaps you should check to see if you've missed any other important mail."
Vera nods. "I'll go check right away. Thank you."
Joan nods back. Her eyes flick from Vera's eyes, to her chest, before raising an eyebrow. Vera notices and suddenly feels awkward.
Joan slowly raises a hand towards Vera's chest. Vera stands still but her breath hitches. Joan notices and smirks slightly. Vera feels Joan's fingers, pressing lightly, just above her breast for a brief moment.
Joan pulls her hand away holding up her thumb and index finger with a small piece of white lint between them. She parts her thumb and finger, letting the lint fall to the floor.
Joan leans closer to Vera's ear and speaks softly. "Just a bit of lint, Vera. Nothing to get nervous about."
Joan pulls away and winks at Vera before turning and walking away. Vera lets out a long, loud exhale.
Joan Ferguson was having a bad day. She found herself in the fencing room arguing with her deceased father when you approached the room and witnessed it all. If anyone knew how unhinged she was, she'd be out a job.
Governor Joan Ferguson was in the fencing room yelling at her father. Only he wasn't really there.
You haven't worked at Wentworth for too long and had already become obsessed with your boss. The Governor paid you very little notice, other than to lecture you about every little thing. She clearly didn't like you. No matter what you did, nothing changed that. But now, now you may have found a way to make her notice you. In fact, you were sure of it.
You stepped inside the fencing room and let yourself be seen by her. She turned in mid-argument and locked eyes with you, frozen in place as she took a moment to register how bad this was for her. Her hair was messy and her otherwise neat uniform was askew.
"What are you doing here?" she snapped.
"I don't think you're in the position to ask the questions here," you responded rather coyly.
She scoffed, not knowing what to say to fix all this.
You walked over to her, your eyes not leaving hers. She straightened her posture, ready for whatever you were about to dish out. "What is it you want?" she asked, knowing you were planning to blackmail her.
You chuckled to yourself. "Again you're asking me questions. But okay, I'll tell you what I want. I wanna be fucked by the infamous Joan Ferguson. And I mean 'fucked' literally, not metaphorically."
Joan looked at you in disbelief and with little regard. "You're insane."
"Judging by what I just witnessed, I'd say you're the insane one here. Or at least that's what people will think once I tell them all how you were in here arguing with yourself." A smile curled on your lips. There's no way you couldn't win this.
"Of all the things you could ask for, you want that? Why?" Her weight shifted to one side. She felt it beneath her and a waste of time to give you such a thing. Money would have made her happier to hand over. Money was practical and made sense.
"I've been trying to get your attention since I started working here and all you've done is treat me like dirt," you explained. "Apparently this is the only way to get your respect."
"You'll never get my respect," she snorted, breaking eye contact briefly to roll her eyes.
"I'll settle for the fuck, then," you replied. "Or you can take your chances with people who already hate you and want an excuse to see you gone." You could see the defeat on her face and in the way she slouched ever so slightly. " What's it gonna be....Joany?"
The sound of her name in that form made her wanna snap you in half then and there but she swallowed her anger down. "Fine." That one word sealed your victory.
The fantasy you had in your head was completely different than how things would actually play out. You didn't mind her talking to you as if you were trash. In fact, it excited you. And you didn't expect her to ever show you respect or affection. Maybe, just maybe, she'd enjoy fucking you and wanna keep doing it. You hoped she'd enjoy taking out her sexual frustrations on you and come to appreciate you for that at least.
But in Joan's mind, she was already imagining her own fantasy. She'd fuck you to the edge, then make you beg for her to finish. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. She pictured herself straddling you, her weight making it impossible for you to get away. Her hand around your neck choking you. You'd think it was foreplay but she'd be trying to keep from actually killing you for her own pleasure.
Whichever fantasy gets achieved is anyone's guess.
Imagine Joan Ferguson taking you out after work on a date. You get into her car and she puts in a custom playlist of hers. It's London After Midnight's "The Bondage Song." You get to the chorus of "Take me to bed and rip me apart" and you say, "This is an interesting song." She turns to you, raises an eyebrow and gives you a sly grin. "Let's go back to my place," she says as she puts the car in gear and squeals off.
Kath waits for her chance and corners Vera when no one else is in the area. Vera reaches her arms out to create distance but Kath grabs her wrists and pins her arms to the wall.
"What's the meaning of this Kath?" Vera's emphasis on the name is thick with sarcasm and distrust.
Kath puts her lips beside Vera's ear. Vera can feel the warmth of the other's breath, then hears a whisper. "My name is Joan."
Vera's own breath catches in her throat, and her heart skips a beat. Her suspicions were right all along. There was no Kath. There was only Joan.
Joan faced Vera once again, staring into the smaller woman's eyes with a steady, intense gaze. She leaned in, a mere inch from making contact.
Vera tried to lean away but the wall behind her prevented it. "Are you gonna kill me, or fuck me?" she said, boldly.
After the slight raise of an eyebrow, Joan allowed the corner of her mouth to curl into a minscule smirk. She liked this bolder version of Vera. After a pause to relish in the thought, Joan responded. "Oh, Vera. You know I'd never kill you."
