by Baron Sord
Nobody ever sat next to Sanjay. We all crowded at the other end of the long table. Sanjay didn’t care. Usually, I always sat in the same exact seat. Not now. Earlier, when Clifton and Rene had walked into the room before the start of the meeting, Clifton had given me a suspicious look for sitting near the door, which I had ignored.
Now, he gave me the stink eye.
Sanjay said to me, “Leave early?” He checked his Apple Watch. “We have fifteen more minutes and I still have the results to go over from the last test run.”
I lied, “I have to pick up my roommate from the dentist. He’s, uh, he’s getting his wisdom teeth pulled and can’t drive himself home.”
Clifton smirked at me and shook his head. He didn’t mouth any silent words, but he did think, You are such a liar.
I ignored his thoughts — which I had picked up telepathically — and said to Sanjay, “Sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. He should be coming out of surgery right around noon.”
Sanjay said thoughtfully, “I had my wisdom teeth out a few years ago. I was in so much pain afterward I couldn’t drive for days. Go ahead, Doug. Give my best to your roommate. Arnold, right?”
“Yeah. Arnold Beaks.”
Sanjay grinned, “Tell Arnold not to take too many pain pills. He wouldn’t want to develop a habit.”
“I will,” I said as I stood up with a smile.
Clifton blurted, “I need to go too!”
“Me too!” Rene said, standing up with a wince and holding his back.
Sanjay frowned at them, “You can’t all leave early.”
Clifton said, “We’re not! Aiko and Oren and Greg are still here!”
Aiko, the only woman on our team, had a quick wit and was always snappy with the snarky comments. She said dryly, “I need to go early too, Sanjay. I have to see my lady doctor about a lady thing.”
Sanjay’s thick mustache curled and he folded his arms across his chest, “Okay, who really has a thing?”
“I do,” I said desperately.
“I mean besides Doug?” Sanjay glared at everyone. “Clifton? Rene? Do you both need to see your lady doctor about a lady thing?”
Aiko snickered to herself.
Clifton and Rene hemmed and hawed, “Err… Um… Well…”
“Sit down, you two,” Sanjay said. They did. “Doug, you can go.”
“Thanks,” I said and hurried out the door.
I fast-walked out of the office. The second I walked out the main doors, I sprinted to my car. The entire drive to Bankers Hill, I keep my eye on my rearview for Clifton or Rene’s car, just in case. Never saw either. When I got to Bankers Hill, I parked several blocks away from Amante’s, again to make sure I hadn’t been followed. When I was confident I hadn’t, I got out of my car and walked to the bistro.
Amante’s was in a cozy little craftsman-style house in the middle of an upscale neighborhood. If you didn’t know it was there, you might miss it.
My heart was racing as I hopped up the white front steps to the porch. There, the cute hostess stood behind a podium. When she looked up and saw me, her business smile quickly melted into a giddy one. “Hi! Welcome to Amante’s. Can I help you?!” Oh my gawd! she thought. Who’s this guy? He looks like a movie-star!
“Hey,” I said. “Can I get a table for two?”
“I’m sorry, we’re all booked up.” But I’ll have dinner with you later if you ask! Please ask!
“Oh, uh. Maybe you have a reservation for Stazia?”
“Hey, Doug!” Stazia said breathlessly behind me, wrapping her arms around my elbow like she owned me. In one hand she held car keys and a smart phone. She leaned in and pushed her breasts against my bicep and her hips against the side of mine.
My body sizzled everywhere she touched me.
She said to the hostess, “I called ahead for a table. It’s under Wilcox.”
The hostess hid a disappointed smirk and thought, She’s hot. Next. With a sigh, she looked down at the list on her podium. In a flat voice, she said, “Here you are. Right this way.” The hostess grabbed two menus and led us through the house, which was decorated like a French country house and had numerous small rooms. Almost like a bed-and-breakfast inn, not that I’d ever been to one, but Amante’s definitely had an intimate, and dare I say, romantic vibe.
Exactly what you would expect from a French bistro.
None of the rooms had more than 3 or 4 tables. We passed through several until we ended up in a small room that was barely big enough for its two tables for two. One was already occupied by two guys with silver hair wearing dark suits and slacks, and expensive shoes. They looked like they were in their early 50s. Not young, but nowhere close to old.
Both men nearly spat their food out of their mouths when they saw Stazia.
She made eye contact with both and smiled, “Gentleman.” It was a greeting, an invitation, and a flirt all rolled into one. Stazia had managed to own the room with a single word. Her stunning looks certainly helped.
The man facing us had beefy shoulders under his suit jacket. He leaned back in his chair and his eyes landed on Stazia’s chest. Then they dropped to her crotch where they lingered. He thought, Would you get a load of her? I haven’t seen a bitch this hot since I fucked that maid in Barbados. She said no, but she meant yes. Ah, memories. If the wife only knew. Ha.
With a gleam in his eye, he looked at Stazia long and hard while leaning his arm casually on the back of his chair, letting his legs spread like a silverback gorilla in heat. Eventually, he said, “What’s your name, hun?”
“I’m Stazia. This is my fiancé Doug.”
I tensed in surprise. Yes, I understood she was sending a message to these men that she wasn’t available, but it was no less flattering for a nerd like me.
The silver-haired adulterer smirked at me, “Lucky man.” Then he thought, Not for long he’s not. The wife’ll never know about this bitch either. I’ll fly her down to the Caribbean and take her out on my yacht. That always reels ’em in. Then I’ll show her the ropes. I bet she loves ropes.
I wasn’t 100% sure what he meant by ropes, but I could feel his emotions clearly. The sexual greed coiling in his groin like poisonous snakes painted a picture twice as slimy as his smile.
Slime Smile said to Stazia, “You ever been to the Caribbean?”
“Often,” she sighed, then thought, Here we go again. I shouldn’t’ve said hello. This guy looks like a slimeball.
My thoughts exactly. I considered changing his name to Slimeballs, as in plural, but Slime Smile seemed more fitting.
He said to Stazia, “You ever been on a 175-foot megayacht, hun?”
She tipped her head at me and said, “His.”
Slime Smile snorted a laugh at me, “You have a megayacht?” He looks like he can barely afford his surfboard. What’s this beach bum make in a year? $20K? $25K? Who am I kidding? He looks like he barely clears minimum wage working 20 hours a week.
In the month I’d had my super powers, I’d developed a knack for lying under pressure, especially in social situations as sedate as this. When there wasn’t a gun to your best friend’s head, it was easy to think of a good lie.
I said, “She means my dick.”
In this case, it wasn’t a lie. Ever since getting my super-powers, I hadn’t just gotten taller and more muscular, I’d grown in all kinds of ways… you get the idea.
Stazia laughed at my comment with naked desire, “Doug!”
Under other circumstances, I would never have said something so racy. It wasn’t my style, and I barely knew Stazia. The only thing I really knew about her was her name. But she was here with me and that was why Slime Smile deserved to be put in his place.
I glared at him while grinning, challenging him to say anything else.
He said, “Why don’t you both come down to the Caribbean with me. We’ll all go out on my megayacht.” He made eye contact with Stazia and thought, When we’re out over international waters, I’ll give you both enough Rohypnol yo
u pass out. Then I’ll pop a few rounds in the back of your fiancé’s head, dump his body in the Atlantic where no one will ever find it, and do whatever I want with you. “How does that sound? Take a little vacay with me and my friends and I’ll show you both the time of your lives.”
Was he for real? Was this guy a serial-killer in the making, or did he just think like one? Or was he just fantasizing?
I couldn’t say either way, but I knew I was a fricking murderer four times over. He had no idea who he was messing with.
The guy sitting across from Slime Smile said, “You’ve never invited me and Jennifer out on your megayacht, Randolph.”
Slime Smile Randolph said to his friend, “You’re invited too, and bring the wife.” I’ll fuck Jennifer too. Always wanted to bone that bitch.
Not wanting to have lunch in a cramped room with Slime Smile sitting only a few feet away, I considered intimidating him in any number of amusing ways until he and his friend left. It would be so easy to do. But I wasn’t going to bully anybody, especially not when I was twice their size, was likely fifty times stronger, and definitely a thousand times more resilient. I didn’t need to bother with Slime Smile.
So I said to Stazia, “You know what? I lost my appetite. How about we take a ride on my megayacht instead?”
She stifled a laugh and said, “I thought you’d never ask.”
—: Chapter 9 :—
“That guy was such a creeper!” Stazia gasped as we walked down the sidewalk in Bankers Hill with her hanging off my arm. She shivered in disgust. “Ew, just ew! Did you see the look in his eyes? That guys is old enough to be my dad! So gross!”
“Sorry about that,” I said.
“It’s not your fault. Amante’s was my idea.”
“Why’d you pick it anyway?”
She shrugged, “It’s not close to work.”
“Is that all?” I grinned, trying to draw her out.
She rolled her eyes and smiled, “I didn’t want anyone to see us, okay? People at work gossip like crazy.”
“They do?”
“Please,” she snorted.
“No seriously, they do?” If people at work gossiped, it never made its way to QA (Quality Assurance). The only gossiping Clifton, Rene, and I did was talking about the women at the office we wished would talk to us but didn’t. Women like her. I still couldn’t believe Stunning Stazia was hanging off my arm.
She said, “I forgot. You don’t work in sales.”
“No,” I chuckled.
“Trust me, it’s a gossip factory.”
“I can imagine,” I grinned.
This was so weird.
Stazia was talking to me like we knew each other.
She said, “You just started at YouDoIt, didn’t you?”
“No,” I chuckled, “I’ve been working there since before you started.”
“Nuh uh,” she laughed. “I’ve been there two years! I would’ve remembered you. Believe me.”
I had to remind myself, my looks had changed drastically in the past month. Clifton and Rene had noticed, but I had told them a lame story about plastic surgery on my face (which Clifton had initially asked about), taking voice lessons to lower my voice, lifts in my shoes, getting a new gym membership, and working on my posture, insisting I had slouched a lot in the past. Now that I was at least 5 inches taller than before, it was a “stretch” — pun intended — but they believed it. As for the rest of our team and the people at YouDoIt, none of them had ever looked at Boring Doug Moore closely enough to notice the change. Apparently, they did now.
To Stazia, I said, “I keep to myself. Pretty much stay in my cubicle unless there’s a meeting.” That was the truth. Clifton was the one who wandered around the building for no reason, meaning to stalk babes like Stazia.
“Tell me about it,” she said. “The girls in sales said you’ve only been there a few weeks. They’re all talking about you.”
“They are?” I said with genuine surprise.
“Oh, please. Women always talk about you. I know your type,” she winked and snuggled up against my arm with her boobs while thinking, My favorite type.
Man oh man, was she hot. On the off, off, off chance the boob pic was a mistake and meant for someone else, I had to know. I didn’t want to get fired for wrongly suggesting she had put pornographic pictures in a work document. I said, “Hey, uh, did you put a…? In that folder, did you…? Were those your…?”
“Yes, Doug,” she laughed guiltily. “They’re my boobs. Couldn’t you tell?” She leaned into me again, her substantial breasts enveloping my entire arm.
“Uhh…” I chuckled, looking down at them straining to jump out of her blouse. “I haven’t seen them other than in the picture.”
“You want to see them for real?” She winked up at me like a sex angel.
I stopped short on the sidewalk and nearly blasted a hole in my pants.
Was I dreaming?
Was this fricking happening?
Sure, I’d been through this once before with Yoga Angelina, aka my neighbor Vanessa, but that didn’t make this moment any less surreal.
“Well?” Stazia prompted.
“Yes?” I said hesitantly.
Her face reddened with smoldering desire, “Didn’t you say you lived around here?”
“I did,” I said, my throat suddenly tight. I had to hand it to her for paying attention and remembering. I had barely mentioned it in passing over the phone back at the office.
“How far is it?”
“My house?” I said, feeling a pleasant sensation erupt from the megayacht in my pants and sail across my body like a pleasure cruise to paradise.
She nodded. “How far?”
“We can walk from here,” I said.
“Then let’s start walking. Which way is it?”
“This way,” I pointed.
Speaking of married Vanessa, who had never bothered to mention she was married until I asked, I decided it might be a good idea to clarify whether or not Stazia had any romantic entanglements she wasn’t mentioning. While she pulled me along the sidewalk, I said, “You aren’t married, are you?”
“What?!” Stazia giggled. “No way. I’m way too young.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Not lately.”
I waited for her to ask if I was single.
She did not.
I was somewhat surprised. If I had learned anything from Justine Escala — other than the fact that dating a woman who worked for the District Attorney’s office was a non-starter when you were a murderer — it was that women in general tended to assume I had numerous girlfriends already (ha!), and those women could be very jealous of any other women I did know, even if those other women were merely acquaintances of mine. Vanessa had been the same way when we’d run into Pinstripe downtown, which was the same day we’d met Jimmy the Pimp. That day, when Pinstripe had started flirting with me, Vanessa had instantly turned into the poster-girl for possessive women, and we weren’t even dating, nor would we ever be, not even if she got divorced. Vanessa was too… deceptive. And she was a certified gold digger.
As for Stazia, she didn’t seem to care about who I was or wasn’t dating. Not that she had anything to worry about with me. I hadn’t seen Vanessa or Justine in weeks. Or Pinstripe. Or any woman. Not even Lady Liberty. I hadn’t seen her in a month. I was as single as you could get.
Less than ten minutes later, Stazia and I were turning onto my street. I walked her up to the side gate in the wall of hedges that surrounded Arnold’s parents’ estate. For a second, I expected Vanessa to come trotting around the corner with her Yorky Stefan leading her on his leash. She didn’t.
I opened the gate for Stazia and said, “After you.”
She walked through and took one look at the impressive craftsman mansion that had been built decades ago on a large piece of land by Grandpa Beaks.
“You live here?!” Stazia gasped.
“Not in the main house. I live in the guest house. M
y best friend owns it.” I waited for Stazia to think about bulldozing it so she could rebuild it into something nicer and more modern, just like Vanessa had when I’d told her. Or accuse me of lying to impress her like Lady Liberty had accused me of doing the day we’d met.
“Wow!” Stazia said. “Fancy schmancy! This is really nice, Doug.”
“I know, but I live in the guest house.”
“So?!” she laughed. “This place is palatial! I wish I lived here!”
I shrugged.
“Show me where you live,” she said, beaming a smile.
I led her to the guest house and opened the door with my key. “I know, it’s small.” The guest house was basically a large bedroom with a bathroom. It didn’t even have a kitchen. Between my queen-sized bed, drafting table, and bookcase full of comics and art supplies, there was hardly room to move around.
She stepped inside. “It’s so cozy! I love this!”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she smiled at me, running her hands down the sides of her tight skirt while leaning forward and shimmying slightly, which bounced her cleavage in her blouse.
I looked. Looked for a long time. Got lost in that cleavage. Standing so close to Stazia, I could feel the pent-up desire coming off her. And me.
She suddenly thought, I can’t believe I’m doing this! I never sleep with a guy on a first date!
That seemed unlikely for a Vegas stripper — not that I had any hard proof that she was one.
She thought, What am I saying? We haven’t even had a date! I should slow this down before things get out of hand.
She spun around and walked over to my drafting table. Looked at the drawings on top and said, “What’s this?”
I said, “Just my art.”
Along with the comic strip of Shartman I’d drawn weeks ago, there were also numerous sketches of Lady Liberty I had drawn the night I’d met her. All were collecting dust, as was her Stars & Stripes cape, which she had given me to wear like a cape-kilt (not skirt) the day we’d gotten our powers. The cape was now folded into a tight triangle and rested on a shelf in my bookcase.
Not wanting to think about LL at a time like this, I stepped past Stazia and rustled the drawings into a pile so she couldn’t see them.
