by Marie James
Chapter 3
Lorali
Friday finds me slowly coming out of the knee deep pile of obituaries that have been unusually high. This year has been especially brutal due to a larger than normal outbreak of the flu. The elderly are just not standing a chance against this super aggressive strain.
By three o’clock I’m as caught up as I’m ever going to get and my mind once again wanders back to the beautiful stranger from the laundromat. Trying to control the humidity level in my panties, I dig in to my emails. My boss being the wonderful, absent minded man that he is has sent me a last minute email, informing me that I’m expected to get a jump on my contribution to the Lifestyle section by attending not one, but two events tomorrow evening.
No time like the present I guess.
After responding I’d be in attendance at both events, I decide to start going through past articles in the Lifestyle section to get a better grip on what’s going to be expected of my coverage of the events. I hate being unprepared and this seems like the best way to see what’s been passing as appropriate for The Courier.
Sifting through story after story of the goings on of Denver’s upper crust, I discover that many of the articles seem to be repetitive. Same type of event. Same people attending.
Ugh. Is this what I have to look forward to? Going to these stuffy over-priced events, documenting how great the lives of the rich are? And the articles: you mean two paragraph snippets and loads of pictures? This isn’t journalism; this is more like simple blogging or blurb writing. My questions of why Alice insisted on keeping this lowly spot have been thoroughly answered. The job description should read: Social butterfly that mingles with rich people as they feign interest in the poor, tattered, and lost souls of Denver by spending loads of money at overpriced events.
Determined to still give one hundred ten percent, I think my time could be spent most judiciously by being able to recognize the who’s who by face. I know it’ll look very unprofessional if I always have to ask others around me the names of people. I click on the photo gallery for the lifestyle section and begin my research.
A few slides in I stop, and stare at the face that’s taking up more than half of my computer screen. Fuck me sideways if it isn’t Beautiful Stranger himself. The caption under the photo reads: Ian Hale and unnamed friend attend this year’s 19th Annual Royal Gala at the Denver Convention Center.
Ian Hale.
That name is familiar. After minimal research, I determine he’s a local business man who apparently has his fingers in many different pies around state. His main office is here in Denver.
The frequency of his face popping up in the photo gallery promotes my belief that this may be the reason he seemed so familiar to me Monday night. I’ve possibly seen his face and name in passing but how in the hell I could “pass by” his picture and not commit it to memory is beyond me.
The woman posing beside him is insanely gorgeous with long, straight blond hair. She peers into the camera, looking overly hopeful. Hopeful of what though? How the night will end? If her face will make the front page? Just by looking at the picture I can tell she’s pretty sure she’ll end up in his bed, but the glint in her eyes makes me think she’s hoping for more than a quick fuck. And who wouldn’t want more? This man is beyond gorgeous and has more money than Croesus.
I take a minute to wonder how their night ended…did he do the gentlemanly thing and drop her home at the conclusion of their evening? Or did they end up locked in each other’s arms for the remainder of the night? If the latter…did he escort her to one of the rooms in the convention center and worship her body for hours, or did he take her hard and fast in the limo and still drop her home when it was done?
Whatever happened, I decided right then and there that I don’t like her.
Then I cringe, my face literally scrunching up in disgust with my thoughts. Who in the hell did I think I was? I see a picture of a woman beside a man I met earlier this week and spent a total of three minutes, with less than a dozen words exchanged and now I’m what...jealous?
Oh hell no! I’m not that girl. Turning my attention from her, I run my eyes back over to him. He looks into the camera with a tight, closed mouth smile. Trying to gauge his demeanor, I peer into his eyes. Although they seem a darker hazel than I remember, I conclude that my memory of him hasn’t done him justice! He looks bored, like he’d rather be anywhere else.
His face is clear of the stubble he had earlier this week, but it still in no way detracts from his breathtakingly apparent good looks. His chocolate brown hair is gently spiked on top and it shortens in a gentle fade as it meets his collar.
He’s in a tuxedo and I openly sigh noticing his neck and upper chest is covered by a shirt and bow tie. I would’ve much rather captured another sight of his dark chest hair. My tongue tingles. I determine in that moment, I may be somewhat obsessed with chest licking!
Forcing myself to move on from his picture, I run through the other pictures in the galleries from the last year until the pictures seem to be on repeat, showcasing the same people at similar events around the city.
Once my eyes start to cross from staring at smiling faces in ridiculously expensive clothes, I decide I’ve retained as much information as I can in one sitting.
Hopefully I won’t mix people up tomorrow evening at the events, which I’ve had only a few hours to prepare for. On the bright side of things, it appears it’ll always be the same people, so I’ll only have to remember them once. Rinse and repeat.
Chapter 4
Ian
Squeezing the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger, I push myself away from my desk. I stretch my arms above my head into the air. Sitting at this desk all day has made my back muscles ache. I loosen my tie and roll my head around on my shoulders, attempting to get rid of the pain that’s resting at the base of my neck. I need a massage.
Friday evening. No plans. Thank God! Tonight will be but a short reprieve from the hustle and bustle of my busy social life; well, the social life people think I actually have, for tomorrisHow brings another night schmoozing with the upper echelon of Denver’s uptight society. My social standing and the number of events I’m photographed at make many people think I go out and party every night, when in fact most nights I’m either at the office late or working from home. A considerable amount of time and energy goes into making and then keeping the amount of money I’m responsible for. If I did in fact party every night like everyone seemed to think, I’d be broke.
At least tomorrow’s event is one I’ve been looking forward to for months. A masquerade ball benefiting Safe House, a shelter and support organization for abused women. An organization which had it been established a few decades sooner would’ve been a great benefit to my own mother, who ended up in an abused relationship after my father died when I was young.
Deciding enough was enough for the day; I close down the computer and straighten my desk before leaving the office. Before I know it, I’m pulling into the long driveway of my far from modest home in Cherry Grove Village. I love that I was able to find a home so close to the city but also far enough away it’s actually considered a rural area.
What sold me most were the trails which wind their way through the rolling hills of the community. Perfect for my daily runs which is a major part of my morning routine as well as my outlet for stress and boredom. Shrugging out of my suit jacket, I hang it over one of the chairs at the breakfast bar as I head into the kitchen. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and a bag chips.
I kick off my shoes as I near the couch and turn on ESPN. Commentators are lamenting over the game the Broncos lost Sunday. Focusing on the fact that not only did they lose the Super Bowl a few years ago, but they’ve also been knocked out of the playoffs this year after last Sunday’s performance.
Reclining way back into the leather couch I close my eyes. It’s been a while since I’ve had an evening of nothing to do. I feel out of place with free time on my hands. I’d l
ove to go for a run but it never got above freezing today and I nearly killed myself trying to run the trails this morning. No way can I schmooze people out of their money tomorrow night if I break a leg. Hobbling around on crutches for six hours would suck.
So I sit and listen to the TV half assed. It doesn’t take very long for my thoughts to return to her. No matter how many times I shake my head or busy my hands, the thoughts of her continue to slide through my mind. Thoughts? More like fantasies. My mind has completely morphed our brief encounter into something much more torrid than it actually was.
More than once in the past few days, I should actually say every day since, I’ve found myself rubbing one out with her in mind during my morning shower. Of course, there’s nothing unusual about me masturbating in the shower. It’s a daily occurrence for me actually, akin to eating and going to work, just a part of the routine. Now I look forward to shower time, as it’s the one time a day I’ve allowed her to have free reign over my thoughts. The dreams I can’t control, but they’re what ultimately lead to the morning fantasies in the shower. More than once this week I’ve woken from an erotic dream with my hand stroking my cock.
SHIT! I have to stop thinking about her. Yesterday, I found myself driving towards the seedy ass laundromat. I stopped myself once I realized only a weirdo would wash laundry more than once a week. I’ll never see her again so why am I allowing her to take up so much space in my head? I grab my iPod and head into my home gym. Maybe a few rounds beating the shit out of the heavy bag will erase her from my mind. Yeah fucking right.
I put in my headphones, crank up Seether, and go to town. If anything, I’ll fall asleep quickly after this without having to worry about her ghosting in to my dreams like she has every other night since we met.
Chapter 5
Lorali
Rolling over in the bed I sigh. I’ve had yet again another restless night. If I continue to sleep so poorly I’ll require a wheelbarrow for the bags under my eyes for future events. Thinking about working tonight and it not including a coffin or an off-key rendition of Amazing Grace actually brings a smile to my face.
Dragging myself out bed I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth; afterwards I head to the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee. Alexa, my best friend, is at the table, her head hung down over a cup of caramel covered coffee, strawberry blond hair a curtain around her face.
“Hey stranger,” I say with a yawn. “Not like you to be home on a Saturday or up this early.” I walk to the counter and grab my favorite cup out of the cabinet above the microwave and pour a very large cup of java, grateful that I don’t have to wait for it to brew. I add in sweetener and an obscene amount of French vanilla flavored, powder creamer. I’m going for a run later and will work off the extra calories by making an extra trip around the block. I need my coffee to be perfect this morning after not sleeping well last night.
“Party too hard last night and have to cut it short?” I ask, settling in to a chair at the dining room table, bringing one knee to my chest and my perfect cup of coffee to my lips.
“I’m just tired of it all, Lor,” she states flatly, looking at me with sad green eyes. “The late nights and rowdy parties. The bouncing from one guy to the next. I feel like I have no purpose.”
“I can see how it gets old, but you don’t want to be like me. Home early every night, no life, waiting on pins and needles for the newest eBook to be published so you can read it on Kindle.” I cringe when I say it out loud. It seems to be much worse when you actually put my nightly habits into words.
“I’m not saying I want to be a hermit,” Alexa groans and takes another sip of her black coffee.
“Hey!” I say slightly offended at her use of such a negative one word description even though it honestly describes me to a tee.
“No offense. I don’t want to give it all up but I can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to slow down and possibly share some of these nights with the same guy. I’m not saying I want to settle down and do the monogamous thing but just no one seems to be up to standard. Everyone I’ve met is stuck in the fast lane and has no intentions of slowing down. I’m getting too old to keep the pace up much longer!” She leans back in her chair, the wear and tear of her life showing slightly on her beautiful face.
“Well, take a few weeks off,” I suggest. “That should be enough to get some energy back, and when you feel up to going out again, figure out a different place to go, one geared more towards the life you want, not the crazy parties and clubs that you’re frequenting now.” It’s that simple right? If you want to change, stop doing the same things you’ve been doing and expecting things to be different. This is why I honestly have no problems with my life. I like being alone and reading. It’s my happy place. There’s too much drama with going out and partying, hoping the people you meet have the same expectations as you. No thank you.
“Yeah, maybe,” she redirects her attention to me. “So what eBook will you be reading tonight?” she half jokes, but I can tell she’s serious. I narrow my eyes at her, but can’t be mad. She knows me very well.
“No book tonight. Remember I told you I was going to be relocated to the living part of the Lifestyle page?” She nods and takes a sip of her coffee. “Well, my boss Tom sent me an email late yesterday afternoon informing me I have two events to attend tonight. I’ll be rubbing shoulders with rich people all night. First at an art opening and then at a masquerade ball.” I smirk, informing her that she can no longer make fun of me because I’d be attending loads of events in the future.
“Well, look at you! I decide to park it for the weekend and here you’re getting ready to party all night!” She’s grinning at me with a look in her eyes that says about damn time!
“Yeah, I won’t be partying all night; I’m there for work remember,” I say, absently wondering if drinking is allowed while on the job at these social events. Add that to the list of questions to ask Tom next week. Looks like I’ll be remaining sober tonight which is no big deal since I’m a light weight when it comes to alcohol. I drink so infrequently, I haven’t ever been able to build up a tolerance to it. My one glass of wine a night after work doesn’t count.
“Have you decided what you’re going to wear?” I gaze at her and can already tell she’s in make-over mode. The mischievous glint in her eye says she’s already thinking about how she’ll do my hair and makeup.
“Don’t look at me like that!” I warn her. This isn’t the first time she’s looked at me like this. I set my cup of coffee on the table and bring my other knee up to my chest.
“Like what?” she asks innocently, tilting her head to the side and batting her eyelashes to try and look more angelic. It’s not working.
That make me over to find a man look! We go through this every time I decide I want to go out and have a little fun!” I almost laugh at the look on her face. She’s busted and she knows it.
Her face grows very serious. “But you might just run into the man of your dreams at one of these events!” I can’t help but laugh at how sure she is her helping me with my hair and makeup will make the man of my dreams suddenly appear.
“Ha! I’ll run into the man of every woman’s dreams at these events. Isn’t that the point? The rich and single get dressed up so they can meet even richer people, with a hope of marrying them and multiplying their net worth! I hardly see the rich and single going for the events reporter.” I say, stating the obvious. I’ve nothing to offer a rich person. My bank account is missing a few zeros to even register on their dating scale.
“Well you never know! Your Prince Charming could be super rich and super single, and you don’t want to show up looking like a slouch. Now do you?” She looks at me quizzically, placing her coffee cup on the table with a thud adding emphasis to her point.
“I’m not looking for Prince Charming, or any other man for that matter!” I huff, becoming upset. Why is she trying to push me out into the world to look for a man when she said she was having trouble finding
a decent one of her own? Besides, Prince Charming doesn’t exist.
“Well maybe not Prince Charming, but a night full of over the top orgasms wouldn’t hurt you either!” She actually has a point with that one but I’d never admit that she did so I stare at her in shock, pretending I can’t believe she just said that to me!
She grins at the fake look of horror on my face. She loves it when she gets me riled up! “Well, fine. Have it your way, but eventually you’ll have to switch pharmacies! The staff is getting suspicious of all of the batteries you buy.” She walks away, glancing over her shoulder still grinning.
I stare at her until she disappears into her room. I smile. Besides, I don’t buy that many batteries, and it’s more economical to buy them in the jumbo packs right?
I hate admitting she has a point. I’m no virgin by any means, but casual sex just doesn’t appeal to me, needless to say it’s been awhile. How long can someone go without sex before they’re considered celibate? I think back, how long has it been? Six, seven months? I honestly can’t remember. I look in my phone calendar because that’s where I keep all of my pertinent information. I look back, and back, and back…holy shit! Seventeen months! I haven’t gotten laid in a year and a half!? How’s that even possible? If it’s been seventeen months since I last had sex, maybe I have been buying too many batteries. I certainly don’t feel deprived and I know that has a lot to do with the periodic use of my vibrator after reading steamy romance novels.
Alexa, however, is right; some non-self-induced orgasms should definitely be a top priority for me. I do need to schedule a girl’s night out. And do what…go trolling? The idea doesn’t appeal to me in the least! Ugh! I should just stay celibate! What I needed was a friend with benefits…now if only I had male friends.
***
I run errands for the first half of the day, getting my grocery shopping for the week done. I need to reconsider my diet. After getting it all home and unpacked, I realize my weekly purchases consist mainly of carb filled junk food. I even looked for a dress to wear tonight but found nothing that I just couldn’t live without. I really hate shopping by myself because I usually end up buying things that look very similar to each other. I can say there’s not much color in my wardrobe, but writing obituaries doesn’t allow for many bright spring colors. Nothing says I have no respect like a fuchsia mini dress at a funeral.