Obsession
DianaLecter
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Summary: Clarice tries to start over.
Timeline: After Hannibal.
Rating: R
Copy: Part 1 of 2
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The days following the events at Chesapeake were a blur, and Clarice Starling did her best to block them out. Within a week, her gun and badge were taken away, as well as her back-up firearms. The Bureau was pleasant about it on the surface, smiling through their teeth as they gave her false praise for the good work she had done and expressing their grief that she would no longer be working with them. Likewise, Starling felt compelled to return the same false sympathy, denying the large part of herself that was relieved.
Most of all, Starling wanted to forget Dr. Hannibal Lecter, but knew better than that. In ten years, she hadn’t forgotten him, and now she had much more to remember him by. She supposed she would never be able to look for dresses without thinking of him, buy shoes, or even experience the first kiss with a prospective lover without remembering his lips on hers. Every time she allowed her mind to wander in that direction, she would curl up and feel herself shudder.
What
was that, Former Special Agent Starling? A
shudder of disgust or pleasure? Does he make your skin crawl, or do you simply
want to crawl all over his skin?
Starling batted away these uncomfortable thoughts, knowing they would lead her to an awkward place. She knew better than to imagine herself in some fairy tale where love – unabridged – was unquestioned, and you were no less degraded if you allowed yourself to fall for someone as unspeakably vile as a smooth-talking cannibal.
You
wish he was here right now, don’t you? There
are some faces in the Bureau you would like to see gone.
He took care of that nasty Krendler for you.
You just know he’d love the quid pro quo his services would demand in
getting rid of more. Do you want
that, Clarice? Do you want him to
demand compensation to all the things he’s done for you?
But he would never do that, Starling knew. Dr. Lecter, first and foremost, was a gentlemen, something no other living being would ever understand. He would never take it upon himself to demand anything from her. That would be devilishly rude.
You
wish he would, though, don’t you? Come
back and demand it all.
Starling grew frustrated and wondered exactly where that voice had come from, anyway.
In frustration one evening, Starling logged on to a travel site that listed the most popular places to visit, determined to get her mind off things. She cursed herself the day she let Hannibal Lecter inside her head, knowing now it would take a twenty year comma for the image of his face to even fade away. Sometimes she awoke in the middle of the evening, sure he was with her, watching her. The darkest part of herself refused to acknowledge the disappointment she felt when she realized he wasn’t.
What
am I thinking? What could I
possibly be thinking? That he
doesn’t scare me, that he makes me yearn in a way I didn’t I was capable of
yearning? Good Lord, what would I be admitting if I admitted I want him,
that…that…
Starling would stop herself there, refusing the knowledge that even having that discussion with herself confirmed her desire. Hoping that some time out of the states would give her the courage to see things in a different light, she booked a flight for Marseilles, France that was scheduled for the end of the week. Without bothering to let anyone know she was planning such a leave, she bought a few outfits, none too revealing as she felt people looked at her enough without given a reason. Starling wasn’t going to flaunt herself or attract attention; she was going to clear her head and enjoy time away from everyone that had caused her grief in the passed ten years.
The relief she felt as the plane lifted from the ground rivaled the pleasure of an orgasm. Starling didn’t realize she had gasped until noticing the stares from the elderly couple sitting to her left. Smiling pleasantly, she declined an explanation and turned to order a soda from the flight attendant.
Stepping off the plane, Starling enjoyed the rush she experienced with the unknown sense. She hadn’t made hotel reservations, or even packed that many outfits. No one in the States knew where she was, or even that she had left. She had money, nothing she should be wasting given her recent unemployment, but something compelled her to do this wild thing, completely out of character.
Not giving a damn about money, she ended up staying in a masterfully comfortable hotel that commanded a marvelous view of the city. It was a suite, and it wasn’t cheap either. She didn’t know how long she hoped to stay, but knew her credit card would receive more attention here than it had in ten years back home. Having a bit more than fifteen hundred in cash, Starling was determined to enjoy herself, even if it ruined her financially.
Such careless spending would have issued severe punishment from her father, and for once, that didn’t bother her. She supposed not caring should bother her as well, and once more, it didn’t. Here, nothing that was once herself seemed to matter, and she absently marked her behavior under the stereotype that everyone acts differently in foreign countries.
Even Hannibal Lecter found a no-vacancy sign when it came to her daily thoughts, and she was glad for that.
It was the second day of her arrival, the first true day of vacation. Starling found herself exhausted when she made it to the hotel the night before and was incapable of any action that led her outdoors. Ordering in a meal by courtesy of the hotel staff, she rented a Pay-Per-View movie on the television and enjoyed the art of doing nothing. It had been so long since her agenda book was free; so long that she could remember the date; the day after graduation when there were no classes, no homework, and no studying. The distant memory of Mapp taking her out for drinks lingered in mind, and she smiled to herself at recalling her friend’s drastic attempts to get her on the dance floor with the bartender of this place called Duke’s. The bartender was twice her age, large with a long beard and a thinning hairline at the peak of his head. Starling eventually did so and made a profit of three hundred dollars.
There was no Mapp here, and she hated to acknowledge her relief. Best friends were great companions, however sometimes it is essential to get away from everyone, even those you love the most.
Now, walking out of her hotel down toward a café, Starling considered her life back home rather grimly. The absence of a firearm would need to be taken care of. In her years at the Bureau, she had always slept better knowing she could take care of the situation if a robber or worse decided to break into her home. Starling carefully noted to write down an agenda for when she returned, that being the first priority.
The
first café she came across was quaint and charming. College French tugged at her ear, and she found that she
remembered more than she credited herself.
Stepping inside, she was immediately approached by a young woman who
greeted her with a terrific smile and exclaimed: “Bonjour! Comment
allez-vous ce matin?”
It
was a greeting that took Starling a few seconds to process, but in time she
found her French ear and replied smoothly.
“Je suis très bien,
merci. Specials pour le jour?” She knew her accent betrayed her as American, for she was never very
talented at pulling off a foreign tone, but the woman seemed genuinely impressed
that any American would know the language well enough not to ask for a
translation.
“Nous
prenons le café français de vanille aussi bien que la noisette. Vous aiment un
menu?”
Starling
nodded. “Oui,
merci.”
The
waitress drew two menus by the stand at which she would later pay and motioned
for her to follow. “De
cette façon, s'il vous plaît.”
As
Starling sat, the woman placed a napkin and spoon at her disposal and smiled,
this time speaking in English, her voice doused with a French accent as she
said, “You speak French very well, mademoiselle.”
“Thank
you,” Starling replied with a smile. “I
took several classes in college.”
“Decided
on anything to drink?”
“That
Hazel Nut coffee you mentioned sounds divine.”
The
woman nodded and was off within a second. Starling
considered inquiring about a paper for a minute, then realized it would be in
French and knew she couldn’t read the language as well as she could speak it.
Chuckling to herself, she sat back, blinking at her surroundings for the
first time in disbelief.
“How
did I get here?” she said aloud, not registering the idea that she was
speaking to herself.
Easy,
Starling, you had a moment of temporary insanity.
But who’s complaining? You’d
much rather be here than at some job interview in the States, now wouldn’t
you?
The
answer to that question seemed more than obvious, and Starling felt no need to
answer herself. Her coffee came shortly and she was left to examine the menu
for possible breakfast items. She
was grateful for the English translation to the side. She found she wasn’t terribly hungry and ordered a simple
bagel. Simplicity was blissful at
times.
A
variety of conversations surrounded her, most all in French.
She supposed she would run into fewer tourists here than if she were in
Paris, and was glad for that distinction. Tourists were often obnoxious, and she
didn’t want anything here to spoil her fun.
After
finishing her second cup of coffee, Starling’s eyes wandered upward, toward
the door. Her tongue trailed over her upper lip to wipe the residue of
Hazel Nut away, and froze there for a number of seconds.
When it came to her attention that her tongue was hanging out her mouth,
she drew it back in with subconscious slowness.
Her heart likewise stopped, and she let out a breath as it started again.
Sitting
perhaps five tables away, in the company of a man and woman approximately his
age was Dr. Hannibal Lecter himself. He
wasn’t looking at her, nor was his face alert to her presence.
Starling stopped and considered. Was
it possible he hadn’t seen her? Certainly
not; the doctor did not miss anything. However,
she was sure he would meander over here in his own good time and make the formal
greeting as was customary. Her
morning was stolen like a rug under feet, and she found herself incapable of
enjoying her coffee or even the manners of the polite waitress.
Within
an hour, the man in his company stood. Dr.
Lecter likewise rose to his feet and shook his hand.
He then turned to woman, not as old as Starling thought, and kissed her
hand. In reply, the woman batted
her eyes shamelessly, stumbling over herself to flirt with the doctor.
Starling felt something rise within her and regrettably acknowledged it
as jealousy. She thought such
obvious attempts to get into his pants would offend Dr. Lecter, but he seemed to
reciprocate and even enjoy it.
Then,
he was gone. All three of them left, the doctor still failing to make eye
contact or even register that he was aware of her presence.
Starling suddenly felt empty inside.
Had she really been such a small addition to his life?
After their last meeting, she hardly thought so.
Now, seeing him speaking civilly with people, people so very oblivious to
his past history, Starling could hardly understand how she would mean anything
in this man’s life. That thought
drained even more emotion from inside her, and she felt the distant need to cry.
This
is stupid! She scolded
herself, standing to pay for her coffee. You
made the decision back at the lake house, you made him very aware that you would
never want him. So why are you
upset now? Just because he smiled
at another woman instead of eating her tongue doesn’t mean it will go
anywhere. Hell, he’ll probably
lose them the first chance he gets.
But
she had to be sure. Grasping her
purse, Starling jumped to her feet and rushed out, placing her sunglasses over
her eyes as she caught sight of them down the sidewalk.
Determined to maintain a casual air, Starling started walking at a good
pace, though it hardly looked rushed. Locals
might pass it off as a common American and how they were always in a hurry.
No time to act leisurely now. If
she didn’t put her mind to ease now, her entire vacation would be ruined.
It’s
a bit late for that, girl, the
voice told her knowingly. Even
if he isn’t another woman, what do you plan to do after that?
Stalking him down the sidewalks doesn’t really scream that you’re
over it. In fact, I’d say
you’re pretty much under it. If
he is with another woman, what then? Will
you go home and cry your eyes out? Will
you make petty suicide threats to your reflection? Denying that you feel nothing
toward this man is utterly in vain, and this only proves it.
Why did you even come here? To
get over things. This is hardly
getting over anything, sugar.
Starling
screamed inwardly for the voice to shut up, and that seemed to silence it for a
few minutes. She felt her hair
tumbling from its clip and slowed her pace, knowing if she was going quick
enough for her hair to catch the wind, that she was losing her control.
Her thoughts traveled to scenarios.
Perhaps he had seen her. Would
he be amused that she was following him? What
would he think of her attire? It
was classy; a much improved selection of her prior wardrobe.
Today she was dressed in a gray blouse and black dress pants.
Her shoes were only slightly improved over the ones he had insulted ten
years before; black and clunky. It
occurred to her how much she had grown to value his opinion, and cursed at
herself again.
His
breakfast companions were getting into a cab now, and Starling forced herself to
stop, turning to her right abruptly to look as though she was window shopping.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw with relief that Dr. Lecter
wasn’t going with them, instead turning and continuing in the opposite
direction. Starling wasn’t aware
she was moving again until she nearly stepped in front of a car.
She was relieved when it declined to honk and waited until the road was
clear before pursuing.
Okay,
so he’s alone now. Why the hell
are you still following? Turn
around, Starling, turn around now and go back to your hotel.
Better yet, go shopping. Yes.
That’ll take your mind off things.
But
her feet were not obeying her mind. She
felt herself shoot forward, despite her attempts to stop.
At some point, Dr. Lecter stopped and turned into a shop, disappearing
with fluent ease. Starling’s
heart skipped a beat as she hoped against hope that it wasn’t a men’s store.
To her relief, it wasn’t; rather a lotion shop.
Carefully staying out of the vision of the front windows, Starling
decided against entering and instead turned to the shop beside it.
Perfect; a women’s clothing store.
Not believing her good fortune, Starling trailed inside, staying near the
window so she could see when he left.
This
break from her walk gave her time to consider.
How likely was it that she had chosen the exact city Dr. Lecter had fled
to for her vacation? Of every place
in Europe, of every place in the whole goddamn world, they both ended up here. Starling had never toyed with the idea of fate, her devotion
to any deity not as remarkable as it had once been. If there was a God, she didn’t him setting her up with a
cannibal twice her age. However,
she was here, and no more than ten yards away was Dr. Lecter. Three encounters in ten years, all tampering with her
emotions in a way that was unhealthy for any woman in her situation.
People
will say we’re in love.
Yeah,
people have been saying it, Starling
thought grimly, brushing through a selection of sweaters, her eyes elevating to
the windows every few seconds. Now the big debate is…are they right?
Of
course they’re not! She
screamed at herself a second later. The
voice returned then, as loud and insulting as ever.
Of
course not, Starling, of course not. That’s
why you’re here, waiting for the chance to follow him again, hoping he isn’t
attached to anyone. Why you’re on
the verge of tears when you think of him even looking at another woman.
No, no, little Starling, you’re perfectly healthy.
Every FBI agent has nasty thoughts about the centerpiece of the Ten Most
Wanted. That’s right. Every damn one of them.
Starling
shook her head, distantly hearing the jingling of the bell above the entrance
door. Her eyes were embedded on the ground, her mind doing
somersaults as she continued to scream at the voice, whosever it was.
Her fingers brushed over a nice-feeling sweater and she checked for one
in her size. Forcing her thoughts
away from Hannibal Lecter, she took it off the hanger and she headed for the
register.
That’s
when she heard the voice and stopped her in tracks.
She couldn’t see far in the direction it was coming from for a display
of pants between here and the register. Her
breath stilled and she stretched herself to hear, sure that the pounding of her
heart could be heard all through France.
“I
am looking for a scarf,” Dr. Lecter was saying.
“Oh,
good, we have lots of scarves,” replied the saleslady.
It was almost difficult to understand her for the accent.
“What color do you have in mind?”
“Violet,”
Dr. Lecter replied, his voice flowing beautifully, something she had always
admired.
Why
the hell is he buying a scarf? For
a lady friend? Oh, God, I’d kill myself!
“Allow
me to go check, monsieur.” The click of the saleslady’s heels could be heard long after she
exited the room. Starling thought
it best to make a bolt for the door. She
crept back to the place she acquired the sweater and placed it delicately on the
hanger, eying the door now with a sort of grim knowledge that speaking with him
would be inevitable if she left. She
wasn’t sure she could go through with it; the idea of meeting him in a store
where he is buying a gift for a lady friend especially unattractive.
I
should just tough it out, she
thought. He’ll leave in
a few minutes, and then I can buy my sweater and leave. Then I’ll stop thinking about him and try to enjoy my
vacation.
She
took the sweater back off the hanger and held it indecisively.
The
voice returned then with a mocking tone. Yeah right. That’ll
happen. Uh huh.
Brilliant plan, Ex Special Agent Starling.
Brilliant.
Starling
forced the thought away as she settled down, thinking it was possible, that she
had lived ten years without giving him a thought of this nature and now
shouldn’t be any different. Hell,
she hadn’t even felt this way until seeing him kiss that other woman’s hand.
How was she to know it wasn’t that bizarre behavior that people undergo
when in foreign countries thing again?
Because
it ain’t, hunny, said the voice. It ain’t and
you know it.
Shut
up, shut up! For God’s sakes, SHUT UP!!!
For
a minute, Starling feared she had shouted that vocally, but realized with relief
that the echoes were still only in her mind.
Then,
a voice that was most definitely not in her mind, said delicately from behind
her. “Good morning, Clarice.”
Starling
nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned to see Dr. Lecter, standing less
than a foot away. She struggled to
her find her voice, but it came to her in a few minutes, and she was embarrassed
to find herself breathless. “Hello,
Dr. Lecter.”
The
unreadable state his eyes had been in dissipated within a few seconds and took
an amused look. “You’ve been
following me.” It was neither a
question nor a statement. It was a
blatant accusation. However cold
his tone was, his eyes were equally amused, though it was impossible to tell
what he was thinking. It was never
easy.
“I…I
wasn’t sure if it was you…” she heard herself saying foolishly.
At
that, the amusement dropped from his eyes and their temperature fell to the same
degrees as his voice. “Tsk tsk
tsk, Clarice, you know better than to lie to me.”
This
isn’t right. He doesn’t look very happy to see me.
The
voice returned. Did
you really expect him to? After
all, you were slightly less than friendly at your last meeting.
A
memory flashed. The cleaver coming over the chains in the cuffs.
Her scream of surprise and regret. She
had been so sure that she was losing a hand.
“I’m
sorry, Dr. Lecter…I was taken by surprise…I didn’t really know how to
act.” This was true, as true as
Paul Krendler is – was – ugly.
The
amused look returned to his eyes, and even managed to creep into his voice.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Ex Special Agent Starling, but were you
under the impression that I was unaware of your presence at the café?”
“Well…”
Of
course he knew, you fool! He knows
everything.
“I
find that whimsical at best, Clarice,” he was saying.
“To think; you thought I could forget, much more miss your unmistakable
scent. No, I’m sorry. I suppose it was a tad rude to decline from
greeting you, but, as you saw, I was tending to a prior engagement.”
She
couldn’t of anything to say. His
mention of breakfast brought back the memory of the woman at the table, and
jealousy flustered within her once more.
“Clarice?
You look troubled.”
She
shook her head. “I’m not.
I was…just thinking how ironic all this is.”
“Ironic…hmm,
yes. Quite. Tell me,
Clarice, are you on vacation?”
“Yes.”
“Traveling
alone?”
“Yes…”
“Pity.”
Starling
shrugged. “I suppose you could see it that way.”
His
eyebrows perked. “You don’t?”
“Not
really.”
“Hmm,
why?”
Starling
found it easy talking to him, and spilled everything without remorse.
“I went away to get away from it all.
The Bureau dropped me quicker than I would a hot coal. Ardelia – my former roommate – was doing nothing but
getting on my nerves. I didn’t
want to speak with Mr. Crawford…all he would is scold me and tell me what
I’ve been hearing from every living thing under the sun…I had to get
away…away from everything that has been holding me down over the passed
decade.”
Dr.
Lecter’s eyes danced. “We
really must stop meeting like this, Clarice.
You can’t seem to shake me from your tail.”
“So
I’ve noticed.”
“You
don’t seem too concerned about running into me.
Interesting.” Dr.
Lecter’s eyes bore into hers and she knew better than to look away.
“Should
I be?” Strength in her tone now. She
was glad to have it back.
“Not
necessarily. Any lingering loyalties to the FBI, any thoughts of stealing
my freedom now, Former Special Agent Starling?”
She
wanted to say yes for she was so afraid of admitting that she didn’t want to
place him behind bars again, so afraid of what that would make her.
However, she never got the chance to answer.
The saleslady tapped Dr. Lecter on the shoulder and presented a lovely
violet scarf. He smiled pleasantly
and told her he would pay in a minute. Turning
back to Starling, he said politely, “Please excuse me, Clarice.
Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Without awaiting a reply, Dr. Lecter returned to the register, confident
that she would obey.
And
obey she did. Seeing the scarf flushed the jealousy into her system once
again and she tried unsuccessfully to wash it away as the purchase was made.
He was before again in a few minutes, still wanting an answer to his
question.
“I’m
sorry about the interruption, Clarice. Now,
where were we? Ah yes.
Loyalties to the FBI. Are
there any?”
Damn,
he remembered.
“No,”
she heard herself answering truthfully. “I’m
more through with the Bureau than they are me.”
He
seemed pleased with this. “Very
good, Clarice.” His eyes fell to
the sweater in her hands. “Am I
standing in the way of a purchase?”
She
had forgotten she held it. “Oh…”
Why the hell not? You liked
it, didn’t you? “Umm, just a sec.” She
brushed passed him and walked toward the register herself.
As
she was reaching for her wallet, Dr. Lecter came beside her and placed a hand
over hers, withdrawing the appropriate amount from his own savings.
“Allow me, Clarice. It is
a lovely shade.”
They
had been walking for a few minutes before he spoke again, his tone pleasant and
conversational. “Have you been to
France before?”
“No,”
she replied easily. “But I’m
enjoying it.”
“As
am I. It has been awhile since my
last trip. I admit it falls a bit
short to Florence, but under unfortunate circumstances, it will be awhile before
I can return.”
He
talked so casually about it, knowing that she knew the reason.
She was startled to find herself exhilarated.
“Where
are you staying, Clarice?”
“The
Windsor Hotel.”
She
wasn’t at place where she could look at him, but she knew he was impressed.
“Ah. Tasteful, Clarice,
very tasteful.”
“And
you? Where are you staying?”
“A
place near there, actually. A
charming resort called Auberge de Châteaux. Of course, these quarters are temporary.
I was hoping to make some sort of permanent residence, but I suppose I
shouldn’t linger around here too long.”
There was a sudden coldness at the end of his tone.
It
occurred to her that he didn’t trust her not to report his presence here.
Starling then realized that her thoughts had not permitted her entry
through that door. She didn’t
want to turn him in, she didn’t want to jeopardize this. The comfort she felt at his side was incredible, and the walk
was doing her wonders. It was
pleasant and casual. No mind
fucking today.
And
to think, you almost missed all this.
“Dr.
Lecter,” she heard herself saying, “are you under the impression that I’m
going to tattle on you? What reason
have I? I don’t want to go back
to the FBI. They wouldn’t take me
back if I pleaded my case on my knees in my underwear.”
He
chuckled richly at that, and she drank in the sound of his laughter. It was a pleasing sound, something that often emitted from
him under a sarcastic air. No
sarcasm now. The sound was as
authentic as the sidewalk they were walking on.
“That
is an interesting thought, Clarice. I
suppose I know you won’t try to turn me in.
After all, you seem to be enjoying my company now.”
She
smiled at that. “Yes, I am.”
“The
feeling is mutual. It is nice to
see you out of the office. You
aren’t tense or afraid to look over your shoulder.”
I
think it would be something to know you in private life.
“Afraid?”
“Yes.
You knew if you looked over your shoulder, you would see another menace
guised as a friend who was only out to blacken your name.
Here, you don’t have to worry about that.
Here, you are Clarice Starling, free to the world.”
The
thought was pleasing, and her delight was expressed through a winning smile.
They
walked a good part of the day, losing track of time at a frightening quick rate.
She made him laugh on several occasions and felt as though she achieved
the Noble Prize. At times, she felt
like Bugs Bunny in those old cartoons where he had to be every player on the
baseball team. To catch, throw, and
bat in all areas. However, she was
glad to admit that she was doing a good job, and he seemed thoroughly impressed
at her alertness.
Before
she knew what was happening, it was sunset.
They hadn’t done much shopping; perhaps a stop here and there to gaze
at a window. However, they always
continued, never entering, engrossed completely in each other. Dr. Lecter never made an attempt to touch her, though she
wished he would. They remained a
casual inch or so apart, walking side by side.
It
became too dark for her sunglasses and she placed them back in her purse.
She was tortured with the thought of the day ending, and even more so
with the aspect of never seeing him again.
As
if he were reading her thoughts, he turned to her after hailing a cab and said,
“Clarice, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight?”
Would
I?!?!
She
smiled. “It would be an honor.”
He
smiled as well. “Excellent.
I’ll meet you in the lobby of your hotel, say, around eight?”
“All
right.”
He
bent over and kissed her hand, sending a shiver up her arm.
She knew he caught this but made no reference to it as he opened the door
to her cab. “I’ll see you
tonight, then.”
Starling
stepped into the cab, and immediately gave an order for a dress shop.
She had nothing fancy with her, nothing extremely casual, but she was
sure Dr. Lecter would take her somewhere that had a dress code.
Even if he didn’t, she was certain he would be dressed to the nines,
and wanted to look like she belonged on his arm.
Attracting his attention wouldn’t bother her, either.
She
bought the first becoming dress she saw, not bothering to try it on.
It was to her advantage that a matching pair of shoes and a purse was
also on sale. Had she not been
occupied with thoughts of that evening, she might have cringed at the price, but
didn’t find the time.
The
dress itself was lovely. Burgundy
in color, it was sleeveless long, slitting nicely up her leg.
The material was silky and thin; not too thin, but thin enough to suggest
interest. It came with a jacket
that buttoned comfortably a few inches above her waist.
She
was pleased when she saw her reflection, though slightly irked at her lack of
nice jewelry. Throwing a pair of
jeans and a t-shirt, she raced down to the hotel gift shop and made a quick
purchase. Nothing too flashy that
would direct attention, but a nice watch with a lovely silver chain and
something that matched for around her neck.
She also bought some earrings, clip-ons since she had never bothered in
piercing her ears. When she
returned, it was around 7:30.
Quickly,
she redressed in her evening attire and made the additions her new jewelry.
Her hair, which was always easy for her, suddenly became difficult and
she couldn’t find a style that matched the dress.
It ended up in a French twist atop her head, and she was happy when she
saw the full image.
If
he don’t react to this, he’s a robot, she thought satisfactorily.
When
eight o’clock arrived, she heard her heart pounding fiercely in her chest.
She didn’t see what cause she had to be nervous, but that didn’t stop
her from shaking as she opened her hotel door.
Taking a deep breath to gain composure, she forced herself to open it,
letting out a deep breath and not being able to help the sense of accomplishment
she felt at manipulating the easy task.
Call
me crazy, but if I can do that, I can do anything, she thought, knowing what the voice would say
in reply.
Surely
enough, it did. Okay, sister,
you asked for it. You’re crazy.
You’re a regular loon. You’re
daffy. Now get your crazy ass downstairs before he thinks you stood
him up.
But he wouldn’t think that. He knew better than to think that. At least she hoped so.
Copyright 2001, DianaLecter