by Abbi Cook
Or that I’m the man he’s hired to do the job.
Intelligence aside, she’s got what people call it. It. That something special that radiates from inside someone. I wonder what she’d be at the side of a man who wasn’t such an abject fool.
Lost in my thoughts, I wander through this antiques store that is much like many in the area. Nearly everything is claimed to be some sort of historical relic worth something.
I look around and shake my head. I’m surrounded by items I can’t imagine anyone wanting in their homes. A spinning wheel? What the fuck does someone do with that? Spin actual thread? It’s not something you’d put in a home for decoration, for God’s sake.
To my left on a folding table sits what looks like a cigar box somebody tossed out last week. I wouldn’t be surprised if I picked it up and it smelled like cheap cigars right now. My focus shifts to the right of the box to see a price of twenty dollars.
Ridiculous. There really is a sucker born every minute.
I step around some end table they claim is a genuine Revolutionary War drum and give it the side eye. Highly doubtful this is anything close to being that old. I’m thinking the hack that created that misunderstood what a drum table actually is.
Disgusted by all the junk around me, I turn around at a dead end near the back of the store where supposed chairs from the Louis XIV period are stacked five high just as I hear the bell on the store’s front door signal another customer coming in. I’m not interested in having to make small talk with anyone, so I quickly move toward the end of the aisle to avoid being trapped in a conversation.
My worries are pushed aside when I see the woman cluttering up my mind today. Her soft eyes scan the supposedly valuable mess in front of her while she stuffs her car keys in her purse. She looks shaken, though, like wherever she traveled to upset her and she stopped at the first place she could to put what happened out of her mind.
Did the donut tire give her a problem?
“Run into an issue with the spare tire?” I ask as I make my way toward where she stands.
At the sound of my voice, she lifts her head and flashes me a warm smile. “Funny running into you here. For a stranger, you seem to be around an awful lot.”
Instantly, every one of my brain cells screams the same words. She stopped here because she saw my car.
I don’t know how I know this, but she isn’t surprised to see me. In fact, I’m not entirely sure she didn’t rehearse those lines on her way in.
Natalie wants something. Let me see what it is.
Taking a step closer to her, I shrink the space between us until I’m barely a foot away from her. She smells like flowers and sunshine, warm and soft. I inhale a deep breath and let it out slowly, purposefully waiting a little too long before I say a word.
“I guess I can’t be called a stranger anymore then.”
The apples of her cheeks turn pink, and I know she’s here to see me. For exactly what, I don’t know, but at least one part of me has an idea that could be fun.
“Are you an antiques lover?” she asks innocently.
Curbing my need to be sarcastic about the junk around me, I smile and nod as I lie. “I’m always in search of something interesting.”
That I wouldn’t be caught dead with anything in this store coming within a hundred yards of my home stays as a thought inside my head. I don’t really want to discuss antiques with her anyway, so before she has a chance to continue that conversation, I change the topic.
“So what are you doing here?”
It’s a little more direct than I should be with her, but my interest in her overpowers my need to use finesse. I already know the answer, but I want to see how good a liar she is.
Her eyes open ever-so-slightly wider, like she’s caught off guard by my question, but then a calm look washes over her and she responds with a perfect smile, “I can’t say no to antique stores, so when I saw the sign, I had to stop.”
Lie number one. Interesting. She won’t lie to make herself look less helpless with a flat tire, but she will lie to hide her interest in a man not her husband.
Time to push her a little harder.
My gaze drifts from her face to her breasts and then back up to her eyes. “You know, I’m glad I ran into you again. You were on my mind since I watched you drive away.”
Natalie swallows hard. “Oh? Why?”
Once more, I let my gaze drop to her breasts, and I see her now hardened nipples through her white T-shirt. I lift my eyes to meet her stare and smile. “Because you’re driving on a spare tire. That streak of chivalry inside me made me worry you might be in trouble if you drove on it too far.”
A nervous giggle practically explodes out of her. “Oh, okay. Well, thank you for being concerned. It hasn’t given me any trouble yet, but I only drove to my mother’s and back here, so I’m not exactly going a great distance. She only lives a few miles from here, thankfully.”
I listen to her ramble, giving out information to a man who is still very much a stranger and shouldn’t know details like where her mother lives, and smile at how truly innocent Natalie Anchoff is. She has no idea how much danger she puts herself in by explaining all that to me.
Yet, she can’t help herself because she stopped to see me. She wants to tell me things. I doubt she even understands why she feels that way. In fact, she’ll probably tell a friend later on today or tomorrow that she doesn’t know why she said all that to me. I’m a perfect stranger, so it makes no sense.
A perfect stranger who knows far too much about her already.
That’s true on my side also, I can’t deny. This woman enchants me, makes me want to know more about her even as I mentally prepare to do the job I’ve been hired to do. Perhaps I shouldn’t go any further with her down this path we’ve set ourselves on.
Is it fair to take anything from her before I take the greatest thing she possesses? I should just let her live in peace until that moment when I appear in her life again and watch her take her last breath in this world.
Then again, what fun would that be?
“I’m happy to hear you didn’t get hurt, Natalie. You’re going to be sure to get your car to a mechanic, right?”
And even though I never asked her where she lives, she gives up that information without even the slightest nudge. “Oh, yes. I’m sure there’s a place my husband goes to in Avalon. I’ll be sure to tell him when he gets home today.”
“Good. I’m sure he’ll take care of it so he doesn’t have to worry about you out driving on a spare tire,” I say and watch for her reaction.
Does she know her husband isn’t in love with her anymore? Or is she still living under the delusion that she has a typical suburban marriage like all those couples at the country club and in her neighborhood full of expensive homes?
“He will. He’s very particular about maintaining the car, thankfully.”
My mention of her husband worrying doesn’t change her expression, but when she responds, I sense a difference in her voice. She may not know about his plans for her, but she knows something’s wrong between them.
Is she unhappy about it? I don’t know yet, but I’m curious.
Perhaps she doesn’t care. Countless wives don’t give one fucking damn if their husbands don’t love them anymore. As long as they continue to bring home the bacon and keep them in the lifestyle they’ve become accustomed to, a loveless marriage can be dealt with. Hell, they may even know their men are stepping out, but who cares if they are too?
I’ve decided Natalie isn’t cheating on that jackass she married, but would she? She’s here with me because she noticed my car parked outside. It’s not too big a leap of faith to say she would, if given the chance.
A man not interested in seducing Mrs. Anchoff would ask about her husband since she’s interjected him into our conversation. I’m not that kind of man, though, so I quickly gloss over her mention of him and move on.
I step back away from her and ask, “Are you looking for
anything in particular here?”
She quickly glances around and shakes her head. “No, not really. I just love browsing.”
Now I’ll see if she’ll follow me.
Taking another step toward the aisle behind me, I look down at what might be the ugliest lamp I’ve ever seen. Antique brass with white glass shades, it’s hideous.
“Interested in early American lamps?” I ask with a chuckle.
She giggles again, but this time it’s a sign of amusement instead of nerves. “Not exactly,” she says and then takes a single step toward me.
Keep coming, Natalie.
I turn and walk down the aisle of antiques, and behind me I hear her shoes hit off the floor as she follows behind. There is no way out but the way we came in, yet still she comes.
Slowly, I spin around to see her looking up at me, her eyes wide like she hopes I’ll unearth some treasure in all this junk for her. Extending my arms, I carefully spread them out to my sides and say, “All of this is for the taking. See anything you want?”
There are many women I’ve had who would take that for the double entendre it is and rush me out of this antique shop for a blowjob that would begin before I got the car into gear. That’s not Natalie Anchoff, though. Even if she does understand the underlying meaning of what I said, she doesn’t let on.
Good girls never think like that. Or at least they want everyone to believe they don’t.
She doesn’t react to my statement and swivels her head left and right as if she’s truly looking for something she wants to take from this place. I can’t decide if I’m frustrated or charmed. Whichever it is, her innocence brings a genuine smile to my face.
To my surprise, she points at something to her left and walks over toward it. She picks up a tiny figurine of a boy and turns to show it to me. He wears black shorts and a green jacket, and over his arm hangs an empty brown basket. His rosy little face looks like he just came in from playing, but the whole effect of this little gem is nothing short of creepy with its dead eyes and slack mouth shaped like a blow-up doll’s.
I have to admit all of these thoughts race through my head to the disappointing conclusion that Natalie Anchoff has no taste. Then again, should I be surprised? Look at who she married.
With a polite smile, I nod at her choice of antiques. “Interesting.”
“I don’t want this. Did you actually think I liked this enough to buy it?” she asks with a teasing lilt to her voice.
“I assumed since I asked if you saw anything that you want,” I answer, playing along.
“Well, I don’t. I like to think I have a better eye for decorating than this thing. It’s just that I saw it out of the corner of my eye a few moments ago and had to see if it’s the same kind of figurine that one of the women at the club collects. Hers are worth thousands each.”
“For that?” I ask, wondering if I’ve misjudged the junk that surrounds me.
I watch as she tips the weird little boy statuette over and shakes her head. “Nope. This isn’t the kind that are worth a lot, at least according to the woman at the club.”
Natalie turns it toward me and points toward the base. “She said it has to have the name Goebel on it or it isn’t a Hummel. No Goebel, no Hummel. This is just a knock-off. Probably not worth anywhere near thousands.”
“I’m impressed. Do you know a lot about antiques?”
She shakes her head and shrugs. “Not much, unfortunately. You now know all I know about antiques, Alexei. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.”
I chuckle at how casually she showed me her wit there as she sets the weird little guy back down in its place on the display table. “I guess it’s true that you do learn something new every day. I think I owe you a lesson in something now.”
A vision of exactly what I’d like to teach Natalie Anchoff dances through my mind. Yes, I definitely would like to give her a lesson in a few things.
“Actually, you already taught me something today, so now we’re even,” she says with a sweet smile that shows off straight, white teeth.
Confused, I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, yes. Because of you, I now know how to change a tire. So you see, we’re even.”
Even though I know what I’m about to say is untrue, I put on my best gentleman act and say, “I’m sure you’ve seen your husband change a tire, right?”
That question at the end slyly lets her know I doubt he has. I want her to doubt him too. Not that I have to work very hard at that. She has every reason to doubt him, even if she hasn’t consciously realized it yet. But somewhere deep down inside her, she knows.
At the mention of her husband, she becomes small right in front of my eyes. The gentle blossoming that occurred during our conversation comes to an abrupt end when I bring him up, and now she looks so much less than she did just a few seconds ago.
Looking down at something on a shelf next to us, she shakes her head before looking up at me. “No, my husband isn’t the type of man who changes tires or does anything else with our cars. I don’t think he knows how to change a tire, to be honest.”
The disappointment in her voice is palpable. Whether she hears it or not, it’s as clear as day. She wishes the man she married could handle something like a flat tire, but he can’t. Or won’t. It doesn’t matter. He simply doesn’t possess a skill she’s decided is one he should.
Because of me.
This is almost too easy, but since I have enough difficult nonsense to deal with in my life, I’ll take how easy it is to seduce this woman. Not that I’m there yet, but it won’t take long.
I don’t know if she’s already cheated on him, but she wants to. To feel as good as she did when she blossomed before me a few minutes ago. To be with someone who makes her smile. To have a man who changes her tire when it goes flat.
Talk about a metaphor for her marriage.
“Well, if you ever need anything, please feel free to call. I’m able to change tires day or night,” I say with a chuckle as I take out my business card from inside my jacket.
There’s no reason she should want to call me. She knows it as well as I do. I’m a stranger who happened to stop on the road to help a woman with a flat tire.
Yet she takes my card without a question and smiles when she slips it into a little pocket inside her purse as I watch her blossom once more in front of me. “I’ve never had a flat tire before in my life, Alexei. Do they tend to happen more frequently after the first time?” she asks with such innocence in her blue eyes that I can’t help but get hard right there in that roadside antique store.
“You never know, Natalie. It’s always good to have a friend who can help in a time of need. Think of me that way.”
When I extend my hand to shake hers, she doesn’t hesitate. I mentally compare her gentle grip to her husband’s and find his lacking once again.
“Thank you, Alexei.”
“No, thank you, Natalie. You made my little trip to this store quite memorable. Until next time,” I say and then lean down to kiss her cheek.
I hear her sharp intake of air when my lips touch her petal-soft skin, and as much I want to linger to take my first taste of her, I know I have to be patient. If I push too hard, she’ll bolt. I want her willingly to come to me.
As I walk away, I feel the heat of her stare on my back. She wishes I would turn around. She wonders why that happened.
But most of all, she loves the way she feels at this very moment.
Chapter Twelve
Natalie
Adam lays sleeping soundly beside me as I switch back and forth between staring up at the ceiling and staring at the clock on my nightstand. I took a sleeping pill a few minutes ago, and now I can only hope it's just a matter of time before I drift off. I also hope it gives me the kind of sleep that doesn't let me remember my dreams.
If only.
My visit with my mother weighs heavily on my mind, especially her mistake on the color of the dress I wore that night I met my husb
and. I keep telling myself it isn't important, that she can't be expected to remember every dress I ever wore down to the most minute detail. That night was years ago, for God's sake.
Yet it gnaws at me that she didn't remember it correctly. Adam seemed so sure it had been white, and my mother seemed so sure it had been black.
Throwing my arm over my eyes, I tell myself for the twentieth time that I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. So what if they can't remember a single detail from a night so long ago? I can't remember it either.
The difference is, though, that I'm not remembering much of anything of my past with a lot of certainty these days after the attack. I'd hoped things would improve as time went on, but they haven't. If anything, they've gotten worse.
God, why isn't this sleeping pill working yet?
The idea to look over at the closet begins to take over my brain, but I don't want to. I haven't opened the closet since that morning when I saw that little girl in there. Nearly ten days of not wearing anything out of there has been difficult, but the weather's been warm, so I've been able to choose short-sleeved shirts from my dresser instead, thankfully.
A tiny voice in my mind keeps telling me to turn my head and look over there. I don't want to. Is this a reaction to the sleeping pill? I've heard of people having reactions to drugs. I've taken this pill a few times before and never had a problem. Why am I having a reaction now?
Maybe it's not the pill. Maybe it's my mind slowly unraveling. God, please let me just fall asleep.
And then the thoughts about Alexei slowly begin to fill my mind, even though I’ve pushed them out repeatedly since walking out of that antique store. He was my Good Samaritan. At least that’s what I called him after he rescued me from that flat tire on the side of the road. It shouldn’t be a big deal that I stopped at that store because I saw his car.
I glance at Adam sleeping soundly next to me as I roll onto my back and stare up into the darkness that surrounds me. The touch of Alexei’s hand on mine made me feel something I’ve never experienced. An excitement so new to me that I didn’t know what to do with it.