The Adventures of James Dean.

3.

Unlocking my apartment door, I heard an unfamilar female voice behind me.

'Hi, I'm Stacey, I just moved into the building.' A tall blonde held out her hand, and rather than playing the same old tune for the second time in one day, I just let my fingers linger with hers, a second too long. I saw a quizzical expression in her eyes, something that told me she wasn't sure of my intentions. This happens to me often. I approach a pretty girl but she's the kind of woman that's been let down by guys, not appreciated, maybe ignored in favour of his friends, football, of another woman. As a result she's hesitant, she doesn't know whether I'm interested, or I'm just making polite small talk. I needed to warm her up, show her a little of my softer side.

'Do you wanna come in? Moving is pretty stressful, right?'


'Right....' She looked back towards her door, biting down on the corner of her mouth as if she'd left the stove on, or a kid unattended. I prayed for the former.


'A little drink won't hurt.' She regarded me with icy blue eyes, the kind the bore right through a man, searing him long before she even touched him. She was trying to convince herself. I let her go ahead of me, pretending to be a gentleman, when really I wanted to catch a glimpse of her behind. She wasn't the most curvy of women, I'd call her athletic, honed, slim, but right now she was filling my mind with indecent images of those long limbs wrapped around my waist as I plunged into her depths.

And that's just what we did.


Three glasses of wine down and she ended up on my lap, then on the kitchen table, and finally in the shower. With warm water beating down on us I thrust into her hard, ridding me of the days mundane stresses and guaranteeing a good nights sleep. I was pondering this becoming a regular thing, having someone to call on when I felt a little hot under the collar, a mutual arrangement. She was unbridled and free, taking charge of my cock like she was a master jockey. After she left, a chaste peck on the cheek as a parting gift, I rolled into bed. Today had not been a bad day at all.


............


Sweet Home Alabama blasted through my guitar shaped clock radio and woke me from my peaceful slumber. I rarely dreamt, having read once upon a time, that dreams stemmed from unrequited feelings, and unsolved conundrums in the real world, it was no wonder that I slept like a baby. After showering, I strode unashamedly naked into my walk in wardrobe. Suits of every shade of grey, blue, cream and black hung here, each one had been tailored for my physique. Ill fitting suits gave off the impression that a guy didn't care for his appearance and therefore, wouldn't be the man to make no excuses, stay dedicated to the end, and get the job done. I liked to think of myself as am ambassador for the thriving company I'd created, a walking poster boy of professionalism and style.


I rarely bothered with breakfast but today, for some reason, I made some toast and caught up with the financial news. My pressing hunger might have been related to the acrobatic exercise last night, Stacey was as flexible as they came, and she gave me a run for my money. I like the gym, I like the way I leave feeling powerful, and like i've accomplished something in the most primal of senses. I like the way my body responds to weights and endurance cardio. More than that, I love the way a woman runs her eyes down my body knowing that for one night she gets to ride the hardest fairground in town.


But back to today. My best friend, Russell 'Rusty' Broussard, also my accountant, would be stopping by the office this morning to look over the years accounts so far. Toast was about as far as my culinary expertise ran, but Rusty's crawfish étouffée with its exquisite creole flavour, definitely placed him as the more skilled choice. In the kitchen anyway. He'd tried to teach me a few simple dishes once, but my concentration kinda drifted. I admired him, having the patience to stand over a pot and be creative enough to put his own stamp on American classics. I'd known Rusty since I was six and he moved to the neighbourhood from Treme, New Orleans. I liked the way he talked and he liked to tease my sister, so we hit it off right from the get go. In contrast to me, he was happily married and I liked to think of him as the balance in my life. A yin to my yang. Every Christmas, the only time of the year where part of me wished I had somebody, I'd look at Rusty and that craving would pass. Carmella is a beautiful woman, don't get me wrong, she's just demanding, and over the top, and lets just say she doesn't like me very much. She made her feelings very clear as she and Rusty got married, telling me that one day my lifestyle would bite me in the ass.


Lucky for me, she wasn't the kinda girl to stop her husband seeing me. After all, I paid him handsomely for his help with our accounts and he's not the kind to be led astray. He's as strong willed and bull headed as I am. Even with the odd problem here and there, he still calls Carmella his queen. And I barf a little in my mouth every time.


Sappy ass fool.


..................



Getting stuck on the train was not my idea of a carefree start to the day. To add insult to injury there was a serious lack of female talent to wile away the time. And that kid and his father were back.

Woe is me.


I tried calling Rusty but I got a series of beeps indicating no signal. Looking to my right I groaned, running my hand over my face. Some guy, obviously drunk from the night before, was eating a taco. I say eating, more like smothering his face in it. I'd never been one to enjoy watching others eat, but this guy took disgusting to a whole new level. Turning my back I passed my attention to a heavy set woman bopping her head to a repetitive song blaring from her MP3 player. I felt like ripping the headphone from her ears. What was the point in the damn things if everybody else could hear the irritating, saccharine, mind numbing music.


Yeah I was tetchy. Twenty minutes into the disruption and no over head announcement to tell us what was going on.


Tapping my foot on the floor, I tried to drown out the sound of the awful music by plugging my ears with my fingers. It didn't work. If I'd hired a driver, like every other hot shot in the city I wouldn't have to be here with the foul smelling drunk, the big girl with the useless head phones and that kid. The kid who now decided to throw the mother of all tantrums.


Joy of joys.


Ten minutes later, I was close to wringing the neck of that kid. He had to be jacked up on something. If I tried whining for as long as he had I'd be passed out from exhaustion. I felt like pinning his dad against the wall and asking him why the hell he was just sitting there, gazing into space.


Don't have a fucking kid if you can't control the brat!

I was losing it a little. I've never been claustrophobic, but then nobody ever locked me in a tin box with a group of strangers before.


'I wonder what's going on?' The father finally spoke up above what I can only describe as howling, coming from his son. 'You'd think they'd tell us...'


'Unless its something real bad.' The heavy set woman enlarged her eyes, dropping her headphones to speak, but not turning off the music.


I've always been a calm guy. Not much phases me, I go with the flow, take life as it comes and I don't create problems where there are none. But this was cutting into the meeting with Rusty, and as a result it would cut into my meeting with the head designer for Gucci.


'Turn off that fucking music.' I muttered, concentrating on a spot on the floor.


'I'm sorry?' The woman hadn't heard me, but she'd hear me now.


'Turn off that fucking music.' I stood up, facing her. I felt caged, provoked, and out of my comfort zone. The woman backed away, her fingers shaking as she slid her hand down her waterproof jacket and switched off the racket. I felt like some of the air had returned to the carriage and I exhaled.


'I...I'm sorry mister.' The woman stuttered, and I looked up to see everyone looking at me.


Maybe looking isn't the right word.


They were glaring.


'Its okay.' I tried to warm the tone of my voice, 'I'm just not feeling great....'


'Claustrophobia man.' The taco covered youth piped up. 'I ain't heard no bombs go off but I'm kinda freaked too. What if we're stuck here forever?'


The kid started crying and I fisted my hands, the attention off me momentarily as an elderly woman distracted the toddler with objects drawn from a Mary Poppins style handbag. The taco wearing kid chatted with the large music blasting woman and I sank my head into my hands. What was up with me today?


'That was kinda rude.' A female voice sounded, not too far away. Lifting my head, I searched for the mystery speaker. Stepping out from behind a tall bespectacled business man, a woman wearing a green beret appeared. Thick chestnut hair fell over her shoulders, and she wore a shapeless wool cape, that's all I can describe it as. Either it was cold out today or she was one of the crazies, like everyone else in here.


'Hey asshole, look at me when I'm talking to you....though I guess you're probably not au fait with actually speaking to girls.'


I met her stormy hazel eyes and frowned. Nobody else seemed phased by her outburst and as she stepped towards me, I let out a huge sigh of relief. Not because I wanted a piece of her insane, crazy ass, but the train started moving again. People hurried back to their seats or grabbed the hanging loops to steady themselves. The petite brunette plonked herself down next to me.

Just my luck today.


'Cat got your tongue?'


I raised an eyebrow. I didn't want to aggravate her, or initiate further conversation. Maybe she'd disappear if I just ignored her.


'Like I said before, you're just rude.'


I'd had enough, if anyone was going to bear the brunt of my mood this morning it was going to be the smart ass that decided to cross me.


'Look, lady, I don't know what your problem is. Why don't you leave me alone and scurry on back to whatever rock you crawled out from.'


'Huh.' She growled, visibly insulted. She couldn't hide it. 'See I bet it would have been different had I had my tits out like that girl yesterday.'


I looked at her wide eyed, like I'd been slapped across the face. She wasn't just standard crazy. She was a freakin stalker. Great. Just great.


I leaned into her, making sure that I held her gaze, my breath fanning her face.


'Honey if you were the last woman on earth I wouldn't fuck you. Tits out or not.'


Satisfied, I pulled away and taking out my phone, I dialled the office. Nobody plays to win with me. She crossed the wrong guy on the wrong day.