by J. C. Phelps
Color Me Grey
Book One of the Alexis Stanton Chronicles
by
J.C. Phelps
SMASHWORDS EDITION
*****
PUBLISHED BY:
J.C. Phelps at Smashwords
Color Me Grey
Copyright © 2004 by J.C. Phelps
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*****
Written for:
Alexandra
Edy
Jim
Rick
Robert
&
Robert
Special thanks to:
Lynn
Rachel
Robert
*****
COLOR ME GREY
Chapter One
My name is Alexis Stanton, but I always introduce myself as Alex. Most everyone calls me Lexi though. I always thought Lexi sounded like a silly girl’s name. Lexi just doesn’t reflect my personality. I can be silly, but generally I’m pretty serious.
I can get silly when I’m with my childhood friend, Colin. He’s a few years older than me but we grew up together. Our dads worked together in the service and we spent quite a lot of time at each other’s houses.
My dad is pretty picky about who I associate with. One of his favorite sayings is, “You are who you run with.” I didn’t understand that until I got out of the house and started college. Then I started to run with the wrong crowd. I eventually started the party thing and got myself a boyfriend; my very first boyfriend at twenty, pretty sad, but the truth.
I didn’t just get any boyfriend; I got one of those boyfriends. You know the kind. I was in love with him and so was he, in love with himself. His name was Anthony. That’s a different story though.
My parents have money and could have paid for any type of education I wanted. I was home schooled and then, of course, I attended college. College was my only formal education. At first I worked hard and did great. Then I got involved with the wrong crowd. Eventually my brains returned. I dumped my boyfriend and managed to graduate at the top of my class and can pretty much do anything with a computer.
Going from home schooling to college was fairly difficult. It wasn’t that it was too much work, it wasn’t enough and I didn’t know my way around people. I had too much time on my hands and didn’t know how to make friends. I was usually found with a bong in one hand and alcohol of some kind in the other trying to be accepted.
When I was little I used to ask my mom and dad why I couldn’t go to school with the rest of the kids. Dad would say, “Most of the teachers out there aren’t as smart as you. You can’t learn much from a dumb teacher.” I found that he was pretty much right.
My education started at a very early age. I think I was three when Mom and Dad brought in my first teacher/nanny. Consequently, I could read and write at the age of three and a half. I think I went through two grades a year until I reached nine. Then at nine I was somewhat allowed to choose what I wanted to learn. The subjects I picked were like extra curricular activities to my parents. I would pick karate and Mom would pick literature and Dad would pick history and I would have to continue to do well in the subjects they chose or they would make me stop the one I had chosen until I started doing well again. I always wanted to try something new, so I was always busy with learning one thing or another.
I grew up wanting to be a boy, so I chose boy pursuits. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be a part of the A-Team. I wanted to learn self-defense, karate, rock climbing, and mechanics, that kind of thing.
Thanks to Mom and Dad and their money, I tried my hand at many things. Mom didn’t want me to be such a tomboy so she made me take etiquette classes. But Dad liked the idea that I wanted to be tough so he paid to have a Special Forces drill instructor teach me to infiltrate and take over a small country. I’ve been schooled in everything from how to be a lady to the basics of dressing a wound with some covert maneuvers and chef skills sprinkled over the whole education casserole.
I’ve since decided that being a boy instead of a girl has it’s advantages, but being a woman is much better than being a man. I actually like the way I look and as far as I can tell, so do most men. I’m 5’4”, fairly petite but not breakable. My hair is a light brown, straight and long. I like it long. I can put it up if I want it out of the way or I can leave it down if I want to make an impression. I have blue eyes and pretty straight teeth.
I can do what any man can do for the most part. Of course I’m not as strong as I’d like to be but I know tricks that make me seem stronger. I’ve never been in any real trouble in my life because I don’t get caught. Then again, I don’t do bad things often either, unless provoked.
When a girl turns twenty-one she must celebrate for at least a year or so. I did my share of celebrating and found that I don’t like to get stupid. I can still hold my own when I’m drunk, but I can’t seem to keep myself out of trouble. If I drink vodka, gin or rum I either get much too talkative or turn into a blubbering baby. If I drink bourbon I get nasty and mean. Beer and wine make me that silly, giggly girl I don’t want to be so, I stick with the whiskey. The only problem with the whiskey is that it makes me feel invincible and that’s what gets me into trouble. I’ve always been the type of person to speak my mind when it’s necessary, but give me whiskey and I speak my mind despite necessity. Many people get offended when you tell them what you really think of them and some of them take action.
Mom and Dad live on an eighty-acre estate and I’m lucky enough to have their love and support in whatever I choose to do. I live in the guesthouse rent-free. It has it’s own private drive for my puke green 1967 Mustang. I love that car. I bought it with my own money a few years ago and have been able to hang onto it and keep it in pretty good shape.
I was doing all right with a career in computers but compared to my younger years, there just wasn’t any excitement. For a few years now I had not been enrolled in any of Mom or Dad’s educational experiences, no sky diving lessons, and too much time on my hands. I decided today would be a good day to look for a different job. Hopefully I could find some adventure.
I picked up my phone, called in to my job and quit. I knew it was irresponsible, but it felt so good. If I couldn’t find a new job I would go to Mommy and Daddy and ask for some money to set up some private classes for something more interesting. I could always learn to fly a plane or helicopter.
I walked the mile or so to the local convenience store and got a paper. On the same block was a really nice coffee shop called Express Espresso. I went there often to read. Reading is a habit of mine, not a hobby but a habit. It seems I just can’t get enough. I will read anything.
I got myself an espresso with cream and sugar. I like the kick but black espressos are a little too strong for my tastes. Every once in a while I feel like being r
ough and tough and drink a straight espresso, but mostly I chose coffee with French vanilla creamer. Today, I felt kind of tough, but not quite ‘Ramboish’.
There was an empty table in the back of the store. I sat with my back to the wall so I could see what was going on around me and see who came in the door. This also was a habit of mine. I was taught well by my private drill instructor. Not that I really needed that training with being a data processor and on the computer everyday. It was just ingrained in me from my several years of having Chief Slade screaming at me and also because I practiced being a spy often.
Dad had hired Chief Slade to teach me self-defense as well as covert ops. Dad liked the idea that someday I could be a spy if I wanted to. Heck I still don’t know exactly what my dad does. All I know is that he works for the government and makes damn good money. Maybe he’s a spy. Probably he is a spy except he doesn’t go out of the country very often.
I opened the paper and took a sip of the weenie espresso. Data processor, I could do that job, but that would be the same thing I’m doing now. Waitress, been there, done that and DO NOT like it. Bartender at the Skylight.
The Skylight was a semi preppy bar downtown. I went there regularly and so did the Navy men in the area. I had some friends there, actually everybody knew me. That’s where I’d received my waitress experience. I had also waited tables at a ritzy restaurant but nothing compares to being a bar wench.
I actually liked the job when I was twenty-one to twenty-three. It was great money for just working weekends, but it was the same thing every weekend. About the only time something different happened was when I started a fight.
Fighting isn’t my nature, but being fondled by drunken men is not appealing to me either. The guys would get plenty of warnings before I decked them. That caused me a bit of trouble with some of the women too. It seems some of them didn’t like their boyfriends being taken down by a girl. I would have to explain to them they should be mad at the man for not keeping his hands to himself. The first time I tried to explain the situation to a girlfriend she would hear none of it. I felt bad for her, but I had to defend myself. That kind of thing hardly ever happens now though. I decided to keep looking for another job. Going back to the Skylight was not an option.
The next few ads below the ‘Bartender at the Skylight’ were restaurant and bar related so I skipped them and the next ad was listed in bold ink:
Person wanted with specialized training.
Exciting and highly paid position.
Inquire at 1324 Plaza Dr. Suite 73
Monday through Saturday
What was this? It sounded interesting. Now, I’m pretty cocky and arrogant, in case you haven’t figured that out by now, so I thought I would try it out. Just to see what the heck it was all about. It was probably a listing for a cruise ship attendant. That could be a fun job.
I sat skimming the paper and sipping my espresso for another twenty minutes. I watched people come in, order their coffee and either leave or sit to enjoy the few minutes of leisure time they afforded themselves.
I would usually walk away with some great gossip, but then I would feel so guilty about eavesdropping that I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. I usually knew a lot about the people in the neighborhood just because I went to the coffee shop and sat for a while each weekend and sometimes in the evening during the week.
The gossip was different depending on the time of day. In the morning you would hear about what the wives had been doing in the area. Noontime was a combination of housewife banter and working stiffs talking about the job, bosses and co-workers. The evening was a lot of teenage type of gossip, which was by far the juiciest and not always about teenagers. That’s where I got most of my information about the people in my neighborhood.
I always knew quite a few people when I walked in but, because I rarely went in without a book or something else to read, I was usually left to my own devices. Every once in a while someone would invade my space. If I’m truly reading, prepare to feel my wrath but, if I’m just eavesdropping, I don’t usually get that upset with the distraction. I’ve never really been that much of a talker, so people rarely tried to chat with me anyway. About the only time someone tried to converse with me was when they had an argument about which planet was closest to the sun or who was the sixteenth president. I could always give them the answer.
Today most everybody was involved in home-related talk and not involved in any deep discussions about the surface of Mars or the existence of black holes. Nobody bothered me the entire time I was there. They must have been able to tell I was seriously contemplating something. This job offer in the paper had me intrigued. I got up, dropped my Styrofoam cup into the garbage can and out the door I went. I jogged home so I could get downtown before lunch time and check out this job.
*****
Chapter Two
I pulled into the parking garage of 1324 Plaza Dr., paid my fee and found a spot right away. I had changed clothes before I left my house and was wearing something appropriate for a job interview. Nice skirt, nice shirt and heels. I had pulled my hair back away from my face with a large barrette. I wanted the out-of-the-way look, but still wanted to leave the length.
I had never been in this building before and had been missing out! The floor in the lobby was black and so shiny I was afraid people might see up my skirt. I went to the main desk and asked for Suite 73. I was pointed to the elevator and told to get off at the seventh floor and take a left.
“There are only three suites on that floor so you shouldn’t have much trouble finding the right one,” Mr. Rent-a-Cop told me.
I did as I was told and sure enough, there was Suite 73 right in front of me. I stood outside the door for a second. There were no windows or even a sign to state what kind of office this was so I wasn’t sure if I should just walk in or knock. I opted for the just-walk-in approach. This had to be a business, they were asking for applicants.
I swung the door open slowly and walked in to see a woman with blonde hair about twice my age sitting at a desk. On the name tag sitting in front of her it read Gabriella. She was on the phone and nodded in my direction to let me know she had seen me. I looked around and saw the front office was quite small. There were some filing cabinets in the corner, the main desk with Gabriella sitting at it and no windows. There was nothing to tell me what kind of business this was. There were chairs to sit in and I was on my way to one of them when I saw him.
I stopped breathing. Now that’s a man I thought! He was about 6’ 3” and just perfect. A body that wouldn’t quit, short dark hair, but I couldn’t see his face. His office door was open and he was standing at the window looking down at the world and talking quietly on the phone. He was wearing a tight army green t-shirt, slightly faded jeans and motorcycle boots. Strange, this building and this office just screamed suit and tie. I stared at him for a full thirty seconds before I caught myself. That wasn’t like me. I’m good at being sneaky, but something about this man made me lose it.
“Can I help you?” the woman at the desk asked with a smile in her voice. She had obviously seen my mouth open. I quickly composed myself and answered her.
“Yes. I’m here to apply for the job listed in the paper.”
She looked taken aback by what I said and made me wonder even more at what kind of job I was going to apply for.
“All right, please take a seat and I’ll get the paperwork together for you.” She stood and started toward the filing cabinets.
I headed toward a seat that had a view. I couldn’t help myself; it was like looking at a train wreck but in a good way. I had never in my life seen a man that affected me the way he did just by his appearance and the way he held himself. He was away from the windows now and looking into the front office at me. He looked to be a few years older than myself putting him still under thirty but over twenty-five. His complexion was darker than the average white guy, but his features were hard to place. He most definitely wasn’t Oriental or black. He didn
’t look to be Hispanic and he was definitely not the type you would easily forget. Dark eyes from where I was sitting, but he wasn’t close enough for me to get all the little details. He had a trendy design of facial hair. His sideburns were long and angling over his jaw, but not the fluffy, thick kind of sideburns. His were nicely and neatly trimmed into a thin line just along the jawbone. How interesting.
While I was ogling what I assumed to be her boss, Gabriella came to me with the paperwork and asked, “Do you know what kind of job we are offering?”
I looked her straight in the eye and said, “No. I just saw it in the paper and thought it sounded interesting. I don’t know if I have the qualifications but I thought I might check it out. I’m recently unemployed.”
She smiled softly and gave me the eyes that said she was sorry but was sure I wouldn’t be able to do the job they were offering.
“We don’t usually hire women for a job of this type. I couldn’t begin to explain everything that would be required of you, so if you wouldn’t mind filling out the paperwork I can see if I can get you in with Mr. White. He will be able to explain better.” She passed the application form, and about thirty other sheets of paper that were filled front and back with questions, over to me.
As she walked back to her desk, she said over her shoulder, “If at any time while filling out the paperwork you feel you won’t be qualified for the position don’t feel obligated to stay.” She sat down at her desk and said, “Mr. White is quite busy and the only position he’s hiring for at the moment is the one you are applying for; we’ll keep your application on file for six months in case there are any future jobs that you may qualify for.”
“Sure, thank you,” I said and began to fill out the application. It was a normal application asking for past work history, education and such. I had it filled out in less than two minutes and Mr. White was still on the phone but had looked in my direction more than once. I hadn’t looked up from the application but I have quite good peripheral vision and saw him turn toward the door a couple times.
