by Abigail Grey
Aaron wondered if he would have paid her any more attention if she hadn’t turned slightly when her eyes had locked on the display of cupcakes. Her features had softened, her lips opened slightly, and he had watched as she’d leaned into the glass barrier. Her body language seemed to plead for the sweet treats, and he’d been surprised that she’d denied herself.
Still unsure of what had made him approach her, Aaron recognized the move as uncharacteristic. He hadn’t approached a woman, or felt the need to, since Sara. Even after the woman had politely explained her mistake and had joined the man across the café, something made him want to see her indulge in a concoction made purely for enjoyment… Something like a rich and creamy cupcake.
The thought of the full lips and straight white teeth closing around the cupcake made him shift, suddenly uncomfortable. He wondered if she would make a sound when it hit her tongue.
A chime came over the audio of his music. He opened the email and changed tactics quickly. He closed the work he was able to do mindlessly and removed the headphones to answer the incoming call.
Another simple remote session with a user account added to the client network left Aaron a moment of quiet. He heard the phone chime at the desk behind him and listened to the audible side of the conversation.
“David Brannon.” David’s chair squeaked as he leaned back to answer the call. “Hey there, Marce. Yeah, Jen should be home tonight.”
Aaron smiled, used to the one-sided conversations. David’s wife was often out of touch with the many friends and advice-seekers with which she surrounded herself, so he was often the go-between in matters of communication.
“Didn’t think you had another one until next week,” David said softly, no doubt trying not to disturb Aaron with the personal conversation.
“She didn’t. Really? Nathan?” David heaved a deep sigh. “Just keep trying. You know she loses that damn phone more than she has it. Try the home number.”
Another chime indicated another call coming through, and Aaron held up a hand to signal that he would answer David’s other line. The responding thumbs-up and look of relief from David was enough apology for the earlier issue.
“Aaron Derrick,” he greeted the incoming call.
“I need David, please.” The curt voice coming through the line was unmistakable.
“I’m sorry, David is unavailable at the moment, Mr. Janowski. Is there something I can help you with?”
“This damn computer. I called you people three times already today about our digital imaging. My people can’t attach the files to the patients’ charts.”
“Well, let me see if I can find the issue.” With a few keystrokes, Aaron accessed the system in question. “Mr. Janowski, is your administrative team in the office currently? Specifically your office manager, Ms. Brothers?”
“She’s not with us anymore. Doesn’t David keep accurate notes on anything?”
Aaron’s eyebrows rose and he turned slightly to get David’s attention. “I’m sorry, Mr. Janowski, I didn’t see the note. Is there someone else I should enter as a contact?” Pointing to the receiver, he met David’s eyes and mouthed “What?” Getting only a tired nod, Aaron turned back to the screen.
“Well, I am seeing that the server terminal has been shut down during office hours. In the user training we performed with your office staff, we very clearly instructed that this specific machine needed to be in operation for the network to be fully accessible. If you turn that computer on, it should alleviate the issue.”
“I’m not wasting power on that. I don’t have an office girl using it. Why should it have to be on?” The grumbled question nearly made Aaron laugh.
“Mr. Janowski, I’m afraid that was the arrangement you chose when we set up your system. If you would like changes made, I would be happy to have David call you with an available schedule date.”
“And shut down my office for another day for it? Forget it. We’ll do without.” Aaron heard the dial tone in his ear, thankful that the advances in telephone technology saved his eardrum from the clattering clank of being hung up on.
“You know, you’re right,” Aaron began, turning to face his office mate. “You can keep him.”
Sighing, David flipped him his middle finger. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”
Chapter Three
Marcy slid the lanyard with her badge around her neck. She had learned early on to mimic her co-workers in this, rather than bottlenecking the mad rush to leave the parking lot while she dug it out of her voluminous purse. She closed down her computer and approached the closed door of the inner office. Knocking softly, she opened it.
“Hmm?” came the distracted greeting.
“I’m on my way out, Dr. Dawson. It’s six o’clock. You need to leave as well.” Marcy entered the room, gingerly picking her way across the cluttered office floor. The stacks of file boxes and open manila files were laid out precisely. She had been instructed by her predecessor to only remove the items that he requested be removed.
The man bent over his desk was showing his age. After forty-eight years of teaching, Professor James Dawson had a method. The other faculty, in the cruelty of competition, were quietly laying bets as to when the man would also have madness to accompany it. Marcy was proud to say he showed no sign of deterioration mentally.
“Miss Townsend, I cannot leave at this juncture. I have just reached the central theme of Mr. Salas’ thesis. He has supported his theories well thus far and I should do the boy justice by completing it this evening.” The professor did not look up from his reading, one hand turning pages and the other completing the complex formulas Marcy could only assume to be outlined in the thick paper.
“I understand, sir. Unfortunately, Mrs. Dawson called no fewer than three times to threaten you with bodily harm if you made her late to dinner with the dean and his family.”
Through coke-bottle lenses, the professor peered up at her. She smiled and shrugged indulgently, inspiring a chuckle from him. “Very well, Miss Townsend. I will be in the office early tomorrow to finish. Shall we say ten o’clock? Please make the appropriate changes to the office hours.” She watched him close the bound report and gather his ever-present cane and trilby hat. Marcy smiled sweetly, pleased as always with the way he adhered to a past age.
The professor had been very clear on his expectations of the manner and presentation he would tolerate in an assistant. Marcy was unsure at first about the dress requirements, feeling that they were rather restrictive. Skirts and dresses only and a modest length to boot. He wasn’t as picky about the styles, but after a few weeks, she found that she carried herself better dressing this way. She had found herself enjoying the way she could make the old man smile when she would mimic an outfit of an era gone by. He would generally be inspired to tell some story of his years at the university, some of them scholarly and others decidedly…not. She still blushed at the way he crowed about the half-naked hippie chicks who used to sit on the quad outside his office, protesting the restrictive dress code. She couldn’t deny she had an issue imagining the prim and proper Mrs. Dawson—did the woman even have a first name?—propositioning her professor at a bed-in inspired by John and Yoko.
Her vintage style had been noticed by many of the professor’s students, as they would meet with him during his office hours. Marcy had found herself drawing attention from a variety of viewpoints. She’d understood the costume-like appeal it held for the students who also participated in the arts. She had passed cards for her favorite vintage and consignment stores to several of the theater department faculty and students, encouraging the love of retro styles and eccentric hipster garb.
Occasionally she garnered attention from a different set, though. She could see it in the eyes of some of the college-aged boys. Her skinny pencil skirts from the sixties and the rockabilly dresses gave her figure a shape that seemed to inspire the gleam in the eye of the perpetually horny and arrogant types. She had become fairly adept at turning away their advances. Seve
ral of the students, those who seemed genuine in their conversation—or lack thereof—and were serious about their studies, had seemed almost ageless to Marcy. They weren’t younger and she wasn’t older when they’d conversed. The ones who’d tried to pick her up, though, had made her feel every one of her thirty years. They’d reminded her that when she had graduated high school, they had just been starting their education—nothing but infants, comparatively. The differences in experiences and things they had seen and events they remembered were miles apart.
Marcy closed up the office as Professor Dawson creaked slowly down the hall. She adjusted the clock face that indicated his office hours and, as every night, followed him at a discreet distance.
After she’d seen that he had safely reached the car, driven by a capable former student who was now employed as a home health care provider, Marcy started her own small sedan. She took pride in the sporty appearance and the practical nature of it. Leaving the faculty parking area, she flashed her badge to their most recent security-for-hire guard in the booth. He waved her through, distracted by the magazine in his hand. She couldn’t be entirely sure, but Marcy thought she’d glimpsed a girl in a classic pin-up pose before she’d turned away to make her way down the drive.
Reaching the apartment afforded to her by the college in a section of the housing reserved for staff, she gathered her things then entered the townhouse. She removed her shoes, placing them neatly on the floor of her entry closet. She put her purse on the chair at her dining table, her keys in the dish on the counter. She pulled the pins out of her hair, releasing the dark waves from the punishing bun. She untied the satin straps of the bow at her throat and undid a couple of buttons on her blouse as she padded to her refrigerator. The tile was comfortably cool on her feet through her stockings as she poured a glass of sauvignon blanc. Returning to the table, she rummaged through her bag for her cell phone, her fingers brushing it just as it began to vibrate. She drew the phone up and answered it with a swipe.
Marcy held the phone to her ear, propping it up with her shoulder. “Right on time,” she said in greeting. She reached back into the handbag, but she flinched as she brought out the bag from the coffee shop. She stared at it, having nearly forgotten the cupcake an unknown man had bought for her.
Belatedly she heard Jen’s voice on the other end, demanding details of the date. “Marcy? Marce? Come on. Don’t leave me hanging here!”
“Don’t you have a husband to bother?” Marcy opened the bag, removing the slightly squashed cupcake. She peeled away the pretty paper liner before placing the dessert on a plate, balancing the phone with the cradle of her shoulder. She shook her left hand vigorously, hoping to bring the feeling back to her first and second fingers.
“Oh, stop it. Was Nathan nice? Did he tell you about his support of the library? Did he talk about…? Oh, please tell me he didn’t talk about his action figure collection.”
Marcy let her head drop back, her eyes scrunching closed in a silent grimace. “No, Jen, he didn’t. But thank you for telling me it existed before you set me up on a date with him.”
Her sarcasm was not well received, as it sent Jen into a tirade about the ratio of happy marriages that began on blind dates. Sighing, Marcy absently licked a bit of frosting that had stuck to her finger.
An involuntary moan parted her lips. The tension in her shoulders relaxed and she lifted her head to stare at the cupcake liner she gripped. She licked another bit of frosting, exhaling her pleasure at the rich taste.
“Marcy? What was that?”
“Oh, my God, Jen. That café. You have to get David to get you cupcakes from there.” Marcy grabbed a fork and stabbed it into the oversized caramel treat, pulling a bite into her mouth. She groaned as the three different caramel flavors hit her—one in the batter, the second in the filling and the third a rich buttercream frosting, flavored with it.
“You got cupcakes? You?” Jen sounded incredulous, knowing Marcy’s sweet tooth was picky at best.
“Kind of,” Marcy mumbled around another mouthful of caramel-infused goodness. After swallowing that bite, she explained, as she dragged the tines of the fork through the thick-as-molasses caramel filling, “When I got there, there was a guy who walked up to me in line and offered to buy my coffee and asked me to join him. I sort of thought he was Nathan, so I said I would. Then I recognized Nathan from your description and had to tell this guy that I couldn’t. And when he left, he…um… He had a cupcake delivered to the table for me.”
Silence stretched from the other end of the phone for long enough that Marcy felt the need to speak. “Jen? Still there?”
“You had a stranger offer to buy your coffee, and he bought you dessert? I know better than to ask this but did you get his number? Or email? Or name? Anything?”
Marcy opened her mouth to respond and froze. Slowly she put her forehead down to the counter before she replied with a whine, “No. I’m an idiot, aren’t I? That’s a good guy move.”
“Yeah, it kind of is.” Jen sounded just as disappointed. After a few minutes of silent wallowing, Jen spoke up. “Want me to come over? We can drink some of your fabulous wine and watch something horribly, tragically romantic?”
Marcy sighed. “Nah. David sounded like he wanted you to himself tonight. Oh, yeah, turn your ringer back on so you know where your phone is, okay? I had to call him at work and make sure you were okay.”
“I know. I know.” Marcy could see the dismissive hand wave her friend would be utilizing, as she did every time she or David reminded her of something yet again. “And David has me all the time. He can spare me.”
“Jen, you know he’s been chomping at the bit since your last showing. All those pictures you have in the gallery—the ones you just did with Lila, even the ones you did with Warren—they were hot. And you haven’t had a night off since the opening. Go jump your husband.” Marcy grinned as she heard David shout something in the background. “What was that?”
Jen scoffed. “I have you on speaker so I can work a little while we talk. He heard you. His response is ‘damn straight’.”
Marcy laughed as she heard Jen call back “Love you, honey!” in that tone that the two of them used when it also meant ‘fuck off, honey’.
“Aw, come on, Jen, give the guy a break.” Marcy took another bite of the cake, letting out another moan. “And tell him to get you cupcakes.”
David’s voice came louder this time. “I’ll get her whatever the hell she wants if she’ll get off the phone right now.”
Marcy faintly heard the sound of a growl and Jen’s responding giggle. “She’ll talk to you later, Marce.”
Just before the phone disconnected, Marcy heard Jen’s purred response.
“Mmm, yes, Sir.”
Marcy set the phone down, thoughtfully taking the last bite of cupcake. Jen and David were unbelievably lucky to have each other. Jen had shared some of their history… That the marriage had been about to fall apart when she’d made a discovery that had changed it all for them.
The community they now belonged to was hardly something Marcy was new to. For their little group, central to the book club, the world of kink was a clamshell that had been pried open and every pearl possible had been taken out to be admired. The variety the members brought to the table made for enriching discussions and education that could only be hinted at in the books they enjoyed reading.
David and his Jen were counted with the most involved of the group. They looked to outsiders like a traditional, monogamous, married couple. There were few, even in the book club, who were aware of the relationship David and Jen also had with Lila. Often introduced as their tenant in the room that had been vacated by their son while he attended college cross-country, Lila held a position in their household more akin to a third in their marriage. As the relationship had strengthened between Jen and David through the adoption of a Dominant and submissive dynamic, it had also been enhanced by the inclusion of Lila in the last few months.
Lila’s
exotic features had served as the perfect foil to Jen’s photography. They’d worked well together, Jen dominating her studio by directing Lila’s form and positions and David bringing Jen to an even keel by taking the head of household role very seriously. Only recently had Jen started to photograph Lila posed with other models, bringing other bodies into her work.
Adversely, the experiences Marcy brought to the group were rarely spoken out loud. She preferred to keep to the edges of those conversations. She was new to being active in a community sense, but far from novice level when speaking on experiences. Marcy had become unusually good at keeping her past a secret. As she flipped on her television, watching an episode of a popular cop dramedy, she wondered if that’s why Jen tried to fix her up with a man who wanted a girl who would take charge of his life and keep him under her patent leather boot, when it was the furthest thing from what Marcy would actually want.
Chapter Four
Aaron chuckled, his bottle of shandy propped on his knee. The sly and witty asides of the title character in his favorite cop show always gave him an impression that the actor or writers were just sexually frustrated enough to turn everything into innuendo. He reclined comfortably in the oversized club chair, thankful he had thought to purchase it. The deep seat afforded his height the ability to relax without putting his knees in his chest. His hand laid in the position it always had, just hanging off the arm. In the darkness, as with each night, he scowled at the memories.