Chiseled - A Standalone Romance (A Super Sexy Western Romance)

by Naomi Niles

  Others were regulars; you could tell by the way they confidently approached the mission, knowing exactly what to say and how to behave. Some carried a bundle of personal belongings; all were frisked at the entrance. A pleasant-faced man in a cleric’s collar welcomed them at the door. He bent occasionally to hear their story, but for the most part, he just waved them through.

  There were those few who were obviously mentally troubled. Their behavior was either paranoid or they stared salaciously at the females entering. There were probably sex offenders in their midst, but without identification, there was no way they could be traced.

  It was a sorting house of those who belonged nowhere and were uncountable, as well as unaccountable. I suspected that crimes here went unreported, not simply because the victims were undesirables, but because moving the perpetrator to a jail would be an improvement in circumstances. The jails had to be reserved for those who posed greater and more frequent threats – as well as those with pockets deep enough to support the system. These people did not qualify.

  I stood up and mixed in with a small group of older women. When the man at the door asked my name, I pulled out my cardboard and simply wrote “MUTE.” This seemed to appease him as he waved me through.

  The doorway was the entry to hell. The smell of urine (and more than just mine) was mixed with that of feces, vomit, tobacco, and the sweat of bodies that hadn’t known soap for perhaps months. I had no idea how they escaped all sorts of vermin, but this particular mission didn’t seem too concerned. They were simply doing their righteous best to bring in the children of God. You had to give them credit for that, at least.

  A woman with a pinafore and a tired look on her face stood inside the doorway. She repeated, “Women to the left, men to the right. Bathing is provided and cots won’t be assigned until after dinner and the evening service.” Again, the newbies looked around, trying to decide what the most popular option was so they could blend in and not draw undue attention. As directed, I filed to the left with the other women. While there was one, central dining room, apparently they were assigned different tables. I supposed this was how they began the behavioral persuasion to eliminate coupling or more serious, uninvited abuse.

  The tables were long, banquet-style with Styrofoam plates and plastic silver. Each table held a centerpiece of a basket of bread and some sort of religious icon; a statue of Jesus, a cross, or perhaps a ceramic set of hands in prayer. Many of these items were chipped or appeared to have been glued back together. Their symbolism, however, was still sacred.

  Next to me was a heavyset black woman and she wheezed as she waited for the blessing and the beginning of the meal. “Hello,” I ventured.

  Her head turned minimally and she considered me with large, suspicious eyes. Her hands drew toward herself, folding beneath the table. I sensed there was something she was hiding between her corpulent body and the fabric that strained over it. She said, “I thought you was mute,” pointing to my cardboard writing pad.

  I smiled and nodded. “I am with certain people,” I said in a soft voice and she seemed to identify with this. She smiled in return.

  “Why you want ta fool ‘em?” she asked next.

  “I’m here to help,” I told her. “I want to bring some attention to the shelters in the city and maybe get some extra help for people who have to stay here.”

  She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together in disapproval. “This here one of the best… don’t you be messin’ with that, you hear?”

  “Which one is the worst?” I asked her, curious, and at the same time letting her believe I would be moving on.

  “Down on 42nd. They call themself “Catholic Relief.” Don’t never go there, though. You’ll be sorry.

  “Why? What’s so bad there?”

  “You ain’t heard bout them priests and young boys?” she leaned back, her posture indicating that certainly I wasn’t much in the way of knowing what was going on.

  “Oh, that? That was in the churches, and only a few, isolated cases. That’s not going on there,” I reasoned.

  “Hmmmmm…” she returned. “Iffen you says so.” The blessing had begun and she earnestly joined in the prayer.

  I could see that she didn’t want to talk anymore and quite honestly, the longer I talked, the greater I risked being found out. It wasn’t worth it. I watched the rest of the people at my table, all of whom were women. I had decided that my role would be better served if I simply listened and didn’t say anything. It was obvious that my perspective would stand out like a sore thumb. I needed to absorb the atmosphere: the words and expressions of people who had so little hope for their future. I needed to become the fly on the wall. It was more difficult for me than I had imagined. I was raised to voice my opinion and stand up and speak out when things appeared wrong or immoral. This was an altogether different world.

  People were there, barely surviving. They couldn’t care less about the current trends in consumer electronics, what they would wear next Thursday, or whether they should reschedule their beauty shop appointments. They lived day to day. If they didn’t find shelter in the night, there was a very good likelihood they wouldn’t wake up the next morning. And yet, even in that supposedly protective place, there was risk and danger. Even if they got a decent night’s sleep in the warm room and a full belly before they left, they would be thrown out again into the streets the next day. They would still suffer from whatever ailed them; still feel lonely and unloved; still struggle to stay warm during the day until they could return. Perhaps even more dismal was the thought that there was absolutely no sign of how they could affect a change in their lives. This may be as good as it ever got. To me, who had everything that she needed, a father who backed her up consistently and others whom she could turn to when in times of difficulty, the concept of survival was unknown. I had to respect those people for that.

  The woman across the table was eyeing me; her face seemed weighted by the woes of the world. She was dressed in many layers: a pair of men’s jeans topped by two blouses over a turtleneck, and then an additional sweater over the top of that. A heavy coat was folded back over her chair. I wondered if the layers were meant to keep her warm or if they were simply meant to keep them. She had nowhere to store unneeded clothing but on her body. Perhaps she even used her coat as a blanket or pillow on nights when she didn’t make it into the shelter. I smiled gently at her and she instantly looked away. It didn’t pay to make friends there. There was little trust to be found. The spirit of pulling together in times of great need had long been lost. This was a world where you took anything you could get your hands on, and if you didn’t, you may not survive.

  It seemed impossible that in a country as rich as the United States there could be so many who were left behind. I didn’t doubt that many of those who surrounded me had been far more influential and contributive at some point in their former lives. There was an intelligence in some of their eyes that could not be overlooked. I knew that among them was most likely a professional; perhaps an attorney or a physician who had lived a good life and become addicted to drugs. They had most likely lost their practice, their license, and their ability to keep their addiction fed. Addictions were like that; they stole logic and reason from your brain. The longer I sat and observed people, the more I counted my own blessings.

  I felt a bit guilty for taking a meal. There was no way I could avoid it; after all, that’s why we were all there. I had decided, however, I wouldn’t take a bed from anyone. When the meal was concluded, I followed the others into the worship services. The ranges of emotion were evident. Some were there because they truly were hopeful that God would still reach a hand down to help them. Others were simply there because it was mandatory. I thought of myself. I was there to spy on the others. The entire idea, no matter how I justified it, made me ill. As soon as the service concluded, I made my way to the front door. The woman who watched the front door looked at me quizzically. I picked up my cardboard sign and quickly printed out “I
’m ok. Leaving.” She nodded and asked no further questions. I guessed that my actions were not all that unusual, given the many needs of the people who slept within.

  I walked a few blocks until I was out of sight of the mission and then hailed a taxi. I slipped off my shoe and my sock and pulled out two, twenty-dollar bills I had hidden there. I gave the cabbie my address and we soon had arrived. I paid him and went to the door, unlocking it with the key that I had hidden beneath my mailbox.

  I stood for a while just inside the door, my back leaning against it as I contemplated what I was going to do next. I wanted to go upstairs and write while the facts and the images were fresh in my mind. On the other hand, good reports needed perspective, and I was highly emotional at this point. I had just stood up straight and was ready to flip off the lights, when there was a knock at the door. I tensed, wondering if somehow someone had inadvertently followed me and I had been found out. There was no peephole in the door. When I opened it, I would be exposed to the world at large. Yes, I could go upstairs and ignore the knock. Whomever it was would probably just go away. Then again, it could be someone like my dad. If I didn’t answer the door to him, he would do whatever it took to get inside. I leaned over and picked up a two-by-four left from construction. It would serve to defend myself until I could slam the door once again. Planting my foot inside the door, I cautiously unlocked it and opened it. There stood Sean.

  Chapter 15

  “May I come in?” I hesitated a few seconds, not because I didn’t want him to come in, but because I was in a bit of a shock.

  “Of course,” I said, stepping backward to let him in.

  “You look in worse shape than I am. Why are you dressed like that? More to the point, why do you smell like that?”

  “I know, I look awful. Come with me upstairs. I need to grab a quick shower and some fresh clothes. Then we can talk.”

  He nodded and we trudged upstairs with the weight of the world on our shoulders. When we got inside, I pointed to the refrigerator. “Help yourself; you look hungry.” With that, I headed off to my bedroom and then into the shower. I didn’t even wait to dry my hair or apply makeup. I just came into the living room as soon as I was dressed. I went to the refrigerator myself, pulling out a couple of baked chicken legs I had made earlier in the day. Plodding over to the couch, I sat down beside him and turned to face him.

  “Okay, before we get started, you have to promise to keep your mouth shut. I’ve been on assignment, at a homeless shelter.”

  “You what? Are you out of your mind? Do you know what can happen in those places?” His face was aghast at my actions.

  “Yes, that’s exactly why I didn’t spend the night. That, and the fact that there was nothing more to be accomplished. I’m a journalist, Sean. You have to remember that. It’s my job to keep the public informed, in the same way that it’s your job to go into a dangerous building and put out a fire. It’s just what we do.”

  “You don’t have to stay in a shelter to write about it.” He was trying to rationalize my arguments, as well as my actions. It wasn’t going to work. He needed to know that about me; I’d thought he already did. I had defied my father more than once.

  “You are missing the point. Yes, I do have to stay in a one in order to get a perspective from the people who have no choice but to stay in the shelter. I’ve been thrown out of the fire department, so here I am. I want to bring some human-interest stories into the public consciousness, and perhaps I can make a difference. Perhaps I can make these people’s lives be just a little bit better. What is so very wrong with that?”

  “We can’t be responsible for the entire world,” Sean pointed out. “I’m here because of one person, and that is Damien. You, on the other hand, are trying to fix the problems of tens of thousands of people. What will you do when you run out of people in shelters? Will you move on to Calcutta?”

  “Your sarcasm is not appreciated, Sean. Whether I am able to help one person or one million, the motives are still the same. The outcome will be improved by one. That’s good enough for me.”

  He knew I was arguing with him on the basis of my belief that I was right, more than on the basis of whether the overall concept was right. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, I know things between us have grown very cold. I want you to know that it took every ounce of my integrity to stay away from you. I wanted to be with you, to look after you, and may be more than all of that, I wanted to feel your lips against mine. The same fate that brought us together is keeping us apart. It’s been damned miserable.”

  Every word he said rang a little bell in my heart. I wanted to believe him so badly. I had been miserable, too, and the idea that maybe I wasn’t alone in that made a huge difference to me. “I know. It’s been miserable.”

  “Gwyne, I’ve come to say goodbye.” His face held a tortured look and I could see his eyes glistened with emotion.

  “Goodbye? Where are you going, and why?” I sucked in my breath, trying to store enough in my lungs to keep breathing. Everything in me wanted to collapse, to fall over him and hold on forever.

  “Well, you know when I came to New York City. You also know that I didn’t have anything in the bank when I got here. As long as I was working, things were passable. You helped me out in the beginning and then my paychecks began to come in. Unfortunately, I am on leave until I’m physically better. I’ve got some burns that aren’t healing properly and I can’t be around a fire scene due to the smoke or chemicals that I might inhale. My lungs are still pretty raw. The bacteria that I could pick up from a fire scene could trigger a serious infection. In short, I’m not fit to work. I didn’t have any savings to fall back on and now I can’t make my rent. So, I’m where I was when I got the city. Essentially I’m unemployed, and I have nowhere to stay.”

  “You can stay here!”

  “I knew you were going to say that. It’s no good, Gwyne. I can’t live off you and your kindness. And even if I did stay with you, your dad will put a stop to it, and to my career when he finds out. There’s no way he’s not going to find out. It’s obvious to him I can’t live on what little I’ve got coming in from disability. I haven’t been here long enough to work up the pay scale.”

  “How is Dad going to find out?” I didn’t want to let him go so easily.

  “What if he stops by? What if he pulls up and sees me coming or going? There’s a dozen different ways.”

  I decided to put my cards on the table. “Look, Sean, there’s no better way to say this. I don’t want you to leave. You’re not well yet and you don’t have the money to travel. Please, stay with me for a while. I’ll bring in anything we need and you can putter around, building the rooms downstairs. I’ll look after you and you look after me. Just like we planned before. Dad won’t see us together at the firehouse. He thinks I’ve forgotten all about you.”

  “I don’t know, Gwyne. There’s a lot at stake here. You have a reputation to think about and I don’t want to be a guy who lives off of his girl.”

  I couldn’t help but catch his reference to my being his girl. It put flutters in my stomach, I won’t lie. I was desperately raking my mind, trying to come up with a rationalization that would make him stay. That’s when it hit me. “I have an idea.”

  “Oh boy, that sounds like trouble.”

  “No, not at all. Don’t forget, I’ve known my dad all my life. I know how he thinks and I know how to get my way.”

  “I don’t know, Gwyne. That feels pretty underhanded. It’s not really who I am.”

  I tried to withhold my disappointment. “I guess you’re right. But I’m not really sure how you can judge that when you haven’t even heard my plan yet.”

  He grinned at me and settled back against the sofa cushion. Opening his arms, he laughed, “Okay, hit me with your plan.”

  “I thought you would never ask. Well, the best way to make Dad believe that I have no interest in you any longer, is if I show an interest in someone else. If he th
inks I’m interested elsewhere, he won’t question anything having to do with you. Besides, he never comes over here. He saw it once when I bought it and I think it made him feel like I was destroying a shrine. So, while he never makes a big deal about it, he tends to stay away. I guess I don’t blame him.”

  “That sounds just about right for your dad. I have to admit, I sort of felt the same way the first time I came in here. But then I saw that in one sense, you are preserving a piece of history and honoring it at the same time. That’s why agreed to be a part of it.”

  “So why can’t you agree to be a part of it now?”

  “The risks. I can’t have you shouldering all the risks on my behalf. Anyway, who would possibly agree to date you, but not to date you?”

  “Well, I do have friends outside the firefighting world, you know.”

  “And you mean to tell me you have a friend who would be willing to play along? Someone that your dad doesn’t already know?”

  I put my plate down on the coffee table and dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “Of course. I grew up around here. Do you think this would be the first time I ever had to hide a little something from my dad? I can think of at least two guys offhand who would be happy to play along. In fact, one of them tried to date me in high school and Dad ran him off. Now that I’m an adult, it might just even the score for him if he could make Dad think I was dating him when I really wasn’t.”

  “I’m beginning to see a bit of a pattern here, Gwyne. You seem to be motivated to do things based on how much it will aggravate your father. Why is that?” He winced as he shifted position and I knew his burns were causing him discomfort.

  “Can I get you something? Aspirin? A drink?”

  “No, I’m already on pain pills, thank you. But don’t try to avoid my question.”

  “Which is…?”

  “Why do you try to aggravate your father?”

  I was watching that cleft in his chin and was preoccupied when he’d asked the first time. “Oh, I don’t suppose it’s deliberate exactly. Dad has always had a very strong personality. My mother gave in to him and did whatever he wanted her to. I saw that and decided it wasn’t for me. I wanted to have input on my own life. You can’t do that sort of thing overnight without alienating, so I’ve spent a lifetime running my life at a ninety-degree angle to what he wanted. Seemed to make a lot of sense to me.”