Phish NET Stalkings

by Denise Robbins

  Cooper found his voice. “I’m packin’.”

  Where the hell were his men?

  The kid sprang back, jumping a solid two feet in retreat. Scott aimed a shaky finger at him. “You…you…”

  Cooper saw shock and fear, and yes, a scream hung in the balance. Shit! He couldn’t have the kid go shrieking down the alley. “Scott—”

  “Ahhh! She’s a he! She’s a he!” Scott yelled as he turned to run then stumbled.

  “Backup,” Cooper grumbled into his shirt. “I need backup.”

  He reached the wobbly kid in three long strides and hauled him to his feet. Scott struggled, tried to get out of Cooper’s grasp. “I’m a cop,” he growled.

  “You’re a perv.” Scott spit at him, the moisture freezing on his leather skirt.

  “If you don’t stop squirming, I’m going to haul your ass to jail. What would your pregnant wife say then?” That did the trick. The kid settled just as Jack came out of the building across the alley wearing a wide grin on his face.

  “Did you finally catch a date, boss?”

  Cooper had to clench his jaw from yelling. He glared at Jack whose smile only grew wider. “You son of a bitch.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “You…you…”

  “We’ve already been through that, kid. I’m an undercover cop.”

  “Am…am I under arrest?”

  “That depends.”

  Scott’s lip quivered. “On what?”

  Cooper stepped in close, invaded the young man’s space, and kept his voice low. “Do you love your wife?”

  The kid nodded several times fast. “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you want the baby she must be about ready to pop?”

  Again, his head bobbed. “Yes. It’s a boy.”

  “Congratulations,” Jack offered with a slap on Scott’s back.

  “Would your wife be happy knowing you are out in this frickin’ cold weather trying to get laid by a hooker?”

  “N-no, sir.”

  “Have you done this before?”

  Scott stiffened and seemed to get a spine. “No. I love my wife.” He looked Cooper straight on in the eye.

  “Son, do yourself a favor. Go home. On your way, buy your wife some flowers. When you get home, you tell her how much you love her and how you don’t deserve her.” Cooper jabbed the younger man’s chest with his finger. “And the next time you think you need a release, you remember the fact that your wife is carrying your son in her belly for nine months. Imagine the release she needs right about now.”

  “I guess I never thought of it that way.” Scott raked long fingers through his short hair.

  Jack chimed in and offered a little sage advice. “When you stop at the store, pick yourself up a girly magazine and keep it handy. Rosy palm and her five sisters can do wonders for saving a marriage, not to mention keeping you out of jail.”

  Cooper had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing. “Go home, Scott.”

  “Yes, sir.” The kid took off down the alley, never looking back.

  “Well, this was a wasted evening,” he complained.

  “Not completely.” As soon as he rounded the corner, Jack burst out in laughter. “When that kid grabbed your family jewels, I almost pissed myself.”

  Cooper elbow-jabbed Jack in the gut. “You asshole.”

  “I hope we got it on video.”

  He whirled on Jack, blood in his eyes. “Why you…”

  Jack held up his hands palm out. “Kidding, just kidding.”

  One brow lifted as he scrutinized his best friend. He shook his head and chuckled. “You son of a bitch.”

  “Yup. Now can we get out of here? I’m freezing my nuts off.” Jack blew a breath into his cupped hands then grabbed himself.

  “Yeah, you should try wearing these silk panties. I’ll be lucky if my balls come out to play before summer.” Cooper jiggled one leg in an attempt to shake his gonads out of hiding.

  TWO

  All she wanted was to fall in love. To be loved. Was that too much to ask? Jane East didn’t think so. After going out with enough losers, who for the most part, either only wanted her money or wanted her body, Jane decided to take matters out of her own hands. She located and researched several online dating services, and settled on Love Online because they guaranteed she would find love or her money back. Her best friend Amy thought she had lost her mind and right now with her toes aching, Jane reconsidered her decision.

  Bob stepped on her foot again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear.

  Jane held her breath as he spoke for fear she might pass out from his foul breath. For all she knew, his breath singed the hair above her left ear. She had offered him a mint, but Bob could not take a hint. She winced, biting her lower lip as he crushed her other foot underneath his much larger one. Stifling tears of pain, Jane tilted her head back, and offered the big man a thin polite smile. “No problem,” she wheezed through tight lips, and gave silent thanks to the gods when the music ended.

  “Would you excuse me?” Bob nodded and her hand slid free of his wet grasp. Jane whirled on pencil-thin heels and rushed for the ladies’ room, trying her best not to hobble. She reached the door, shoved it open, and let out a gush of air as she crossed the threshold. Inside the lush restroom, Jane located the nearest chair and fell into it.

  Her toes throbbed and her feet ached. She did not think she would ever voluntarily slow dance with a man again. “It just isn’t worth it.” Jane slipped one black slingback off and then the other. Her eyes widened at the combination of purple and red blotches that covered the tops of her feet. Her toes visibly pulsed, screamed in agony, demanding she stop this nonsense.

  What was I thinking? Jane wondered as she massaged feeling back into her arches. This was her third date with Bob, and she had no clue why she had agreed to the date. Had she been ill that day or did she just feel sorry for the man? Whatever the reason she needed to have her head examined.

  The first date, she met him at the restaurant. That way, she could leave when she wanted. At the end of the evening, he gave her a peck on the cheek and Jane thought that sweet. In spite of the actual boring-to-tears dinner conversation, she gave Bob a second opportunity, shrugging it off to first date jitters.

  The second date consisted of a light dinner and a movie. She had enjoyed that outing until they sat in the darkened movie theater and Bob wanted to hold hands. The man had all his sweat glands in his palms. By the time the movie ended, she needed a chamois cloth to dry up. At the end of the evening, he kissed her on the lips—a hard, fast, closed-mouth chicken-lip kiss. Again, Jane chalked it up to nerves and onions the waiter forgot to leave off his hamburger.

  Unbelievably, this date was the worst of all dates in the history of loser dates. Bob took her for dinner and dancing at a very posh restaurant. A red-carpeted foyer greeted the patrons of Top of the World as they exited the elevator on the twenty-sixth floor of a glass and steel building in downtown Boston. Beautiful landscape paintings encased in gold frames adorned the entryway and acted as distraction while guests waited to be seated by the maître’d. White linen covered round tabletops, while sparkling crystal and silver shone in the light from the glittering chandeliers. A violinist traveled the room and played soothing and tender notes when the pianist took his breaks. The setting was beautiful and romantic, and had she been there with almost anyone else Jane would probably have fallen in love.

  Instead, she was with Bob. Jane blew out a frustrated sigh sending her bangs airborne. Bob could not dance—she had the swollen and bruised feet to prove it. Add to the purple toes, his slimy hands holding hers, and what could have been a very dreamy evening turned out to be the kind where she wished for an escape hatch in the ladies’ room.

  The entire time he held her in his arms, her face buried in his stanky armpit, she kept picturing herself hiking up her ankle-length, hip-hugging dress, stepping up on a toilet lid, and crawling out of a window to freedom and fresh, dry air.
Being twenty-six stories off the ground put the kibosh on that fantasy, not to mention that after much persistence from Bob, Jane let him pick her up from her place. He was her ride.

  “Ouch ouch ouch,” Jane whimpered. She could not get her puffy toes back into her shoes. “Damn!”

  “That bad, huh?”

  Jane’s head whipped up to see a stunning older woman dressed in red smiling at her while she patted her lipstick in place.

  “The worst.”

  “I have just the cure.” The woman turned from the mirror and moved to Jane.

  “You mean, besides cutting off the feet.”

  She chuckled and opened her red sequined evening bag. “That would be painful. Besides, better to cut off his feet.”

  “That’s whose feet I meant.”

  The woman laughed again and handed her a small bottle. Jane took the offering, unscrewed the cap, and gave it a sniff. Her head snapped back in dismay. “It’s baby powder.”

  Her savior nodded and gave a wide, perfect grin. “It’s a miracle cure for a great many things. Rub a little on your poor twinkle toes and it will cool the heat and help you slide on your dancing shoes once again.”

  Jane wasn’t so sure she wanted to wear her dancing shoes.

  “You can also put a little between your décolletage and it will keep the sweat away as you kick up the rest of the evening.”

  “Does it work on sweaty palms?” she muttered as she took the woman’s advice and rubbed some talc onto her feet. “Ahh.” The instant the powder made contact, the scorching heat dulled to a warm simmer.

  “Amazing stuff that baby powder.”

  Jane slid her inflamed toes into her strappy high heels. “A miracle.” Closing the cap back on the bottle, she held it out for the woman.

  “No, you keep it. I think you need it more than I do.” She winked at Jane, wished her luck and left the ladies’ room in a whirl of red silk and a light scent of gardenia.

  “Thank you,” she said but the door had already shut. “Well, it’s now or never.” Jane pushed on the chair and rose. She only winced once as she moved to the mirror to check her appearance.

  Slipping the powder into her evening bag, she slid out a sample size of her favorite lipstick and glided it over her lips. She pressed her lips together, moved them back and forth in a rolling motion, and smiled at her reflection. “Perfect.” The natural shade accented her warm skin tone but did not draw attention. She dropped the lipstick case back into her small bag and zipped it shut. Throwing back her shoulders, she steeled herself for the rest of the evening, which she hoped would be short lived.

  The rest of the evening consisted of a third glass of wine which she rarely indulged in, but needed in desperation as she listened to Bob drone on about his accounting business. Thankfully, there had been no more dancing.

  As Bob drove her home, Jane’s stomach churned with dread for the upcoming goodnight kiss. Nerves had her wringing her hands and she had to sit on them in order to stop the fidgety movement. Was there a graceful way to exit an evening without an embrace?

  By the time Bob pulled up into her drive, Jane did not have a plausible excuse to end the evening at the car and without a lip-lock. Standing on her front porch in the late fall, almost winter air, she braced herself for what would no-doubt be the worst kiss of her life. She had not been disappointed.

  Hands behind her back grasping the cold teak railing, her teeth almost chattered as Jane waited for Bob to make his move. Hurry up, she mentally coaxed Bob as goosebumps popped up all over her skin. Afraid that if he left his sweat on her skin it would turn to ice, Jane wanted to hurry inside where it was warm.

  Bob fumbled the gliding of his hands around her waist and ended up hitting her in the stomach with a beefy hand. As she gathered air back in her lungs, she knew she would have another bruise tomorrow morning. He lowered his head and their noses bumped.

  “Shoot,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, maybe tonight is not a good idea for a goodnight kiss.” Her lips trembled in the chilly air as she offered him a sympathetic smile and hoped he would take the hint. No such luck.

  With quick, more surefooted movements, Bob wrapped an arm clad in wool around her, tugged her against him, and slammed his mouth down on hers. His tongue went everywhere, reminding Jane of an inner tube gliding down an ice-covered slope. It slid everywhere, up one side then the other, leaving her mouth and half her face wet and feeling as if an airplane toilet had sucked her lips off.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening, Jane,” he said when he finally came up for air. “I’ll contact you again soon.”

  Oh, jeez. How was she going to end this? “Thank you.” Shivering, she waited until Bob’s non-descript sedan pulled away, then slipped into her house and shut the door. After a sharp twist of the lock, she rested her head against the heavy wood panel and sighed.

  “Why me?” Was it written in ancient scrolls that Jane East would not find love and was destined to date losers who hadn’t a clue how to make a woman’s, make her toes curl in a breathtaking, heart-pounding, nipple-hardening kiss? All she wanted was to find true, undying, sparks-flying, mind-numbing, hearts-fluttering love. The kind she imagined existed but had never witnessed. Was that too much to ask?

  Before Jane moved, she ditched her heels. Her feet hit the cool comfort of the wood floor and she signed in relief.

  The doorbell rang. Jane sprang back and away from the door. “Oh, no, don’t tell me he came back. Please.”

  The doorbell sounded again and Roy Orbison’s Pretty Woman filled the room.

  “Thanks, but no thanks, Bob,” Jane muttered. She really did not enjoy going out on a date where she felt as if she needed to wear a full-body raincoat.

  Jane grinned as she resigned herself to answering the door. Every time the song played, she remembered the stunned, disbelieving look on the electrician’s face when she asked to program the chime. He had scratched his bald as a cue ball head, just above his furrowed brow, eyed her in her baggy sweats, and said, “Uh, yeah, sure lady. Want me to program it with I Feel Pretty while I’m at it?”

  She had laughed aloud, slapped the electrician on his wide back, and answered, “Yes!”

  Standing on tiptoes, Jane checked the peephole. “Amy.”

  Jane yanked the heavy front door open and smiled at her best friend. Ignoring Amy’s scowl, she grabbed her wrist, and tugged her inside.

  “Yow! Are you trying to wrench my arm out of its socket?”

  Jane let loose of her friend’s arm and stopped. “No. Sorry. It’s just that I thought you might have been my date making a return visit, and I so do not want to see him again.” She shuddered and lifting the black silk of her dress, hobbled toward the kitchen.

  “You’re limping. Why are you limping?” Amy’s heels clacked against the wood floor as she trailed in Jane’s wake.

  Over her shoulder, she answered, “Because lover boy cannot dance.”

  “Are you kidding me? He can’t dance but he took you to a restaurant where you are expected to dance? Was it his idea or yours?”

  “His.”

  “What a moron,” Amy muttered.

  “Yeah, you can say that again.” Jane reached into a maple cabinet and plucked out two wine glasses, setting them on the counter near where Amy pulled out a barstool. “Zorvino’s Razzberriez?”

  “Perfect.”

  Amy hiked herself up onto the tall stool and sat while she uncorked and poured two glasses of wine. Jane took a sip of the fruity beverage and let its warm feeling invade her senses.

  “So, tell me about the date.”

  Jane groaned and told the entire sordid tale.

  Amy gave a mock shudder. “A wet-Willie kisser. Yuck!”

  “I’ve never been kissed like that before.” Her shoulders gave an involuntary shiver. “And I hope never to be kissed like that again. Oh!” Jane slapped her hand on the counter in an oh-my-freaking-gosh you are not going to believe this manner. “He had the stinki
est armpits I have ever encountered and my face practically laid in the stench all night.”

  Amy choked, covered her mouth so not to lose the wine she had just drank. She swallowed. “You need to get out, try a new man haunt, and stop looking for love on the Internet. No normal, healthy, active guy finds his dates on the Internet.”

  “That’s not true,” Jane whimpered.

  “Ha!” Amy finished her glass of wine and set it down on the black granite counter top. “Yeah, it is. When was the last time you got laid?”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “What you need is a hot-blooded man, here, and ready to go.”

  “What I need is someone who can hold an intelligent conversation and make my toes curl when he kisses me.”

  Amy poured herself another glass and topped off Jane’s. “You ain’t getting that from a guy who finds a girl from a computer catalog. You get sweaty, wet-Willie.”

  Jane lost her wine. She sprayed the sink with her mouthful. “That’s not true,” she defended.

  Amy’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

  Ugh! “Fine. Maybe it is, but it is guaranteed success to find your mate.”

  “Jane, get a grip. Some mechanical box with circuits and programs is not going to tell you if the guy can make love to you, like you so obviously need.”

  She opened her mouth to protest her best friend’s words, but Amy continued. “Come.” She hopped off the kitchen barstool. “Let’s go. It’s still early for a Saturday night. We’ll go have a few drinks, dance a little with some beefcake guys, maybe some that know how to hold a conversation. Then you can let one of them take you back to his place and do you ’til the cows come home.”

  Jane stood there dumbfounded, her chin to her chest as her best friend took off down the hallway and up the stairs in the direction of the master bedroom. Uh-oh!

  “You can either pick out what to wear or I can,” Amy said, waggling her eyebrows.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Jane followed her best friend into her bedroom and her walk-in closet.