I Just Couldn't Resist!
by Jamison
The Centre
Miss Parker walked into Sydney's office, her heels clicking hard, indicating
that the purpose of this visit was anything but favorable.
"Sydney!" She halted in front of his desk. "Where is Jarod?"
"How would I know that, Miss Parker?"
Miss Parker raised her eyebrow. "You haven't heard from him?"
"No."
"We haven't heard from him in three weeks. I'm-"
"Worried?"
"No. Concerned. For all we know he may be in Brazil. He hasn't even left
us a clue."
"Maybe he has. We might just be overlooking it." There was silence for a
moment as both began to review the affairs of the last couple of the days,
searching mentally for the slightest clue.
Broots walked in. "This just came." He handed Miss Parker a box, about
the size of a small television, wrapped in brown packing paper addressed to her.
She sat down in a chair and ripped the package open.
After sifting through several layers of packing materials, she came piece
of plain white paper. Only two words adorned it- "Miss Me?"
She subconsciously smiled. "Very funny, Jarod." Her cell phone rang. She
pulled it from her pocket and flipped it open. "What?!?" She walked out of the
room and into the elevator. Broots followed close behind until she stopped him
with her hand as he was stepping off the elevator.
"You want me to use the stairs?" She gave him an evil glare.
She covered the phone with her hand. "Go away!" The elevator doors
closed. "So, where the heck have you been?"
"Oh . . . here and there."
"I guess you're not going to tell me."
He laughed. "Oh, don't worry. You'll find out where I've been soon
enough."
Later . . .
"Look what Angelo found." Sydney handed her a newspaper with an
article circled in red.
She read it aloud. "Up-and-coming fashion designer disappears - The hot,
new designer going only by the name Jarod had been labeled by experts as 'one
of the most inventive designers in decades.' Concerns surfaced when he did not
make an appearance at his October 3rd runway show in Paris. A note was left
for his personal assistant, along with an envelope to be opened only by a woman
whose name authorities refuse to reveal." She raised her eyebrow and continued
reading. "Armani Incorporated, who had just hired the young talent, is offering a
substantial reward for any information regarding Jarod's whereabouts. Anyone
who has information is to call or visit the Los Angeles offices. . . Well, I'll be . . .
Get the jet ready. Tell Broots we are going to LA."
Somewhere in Los Angeles . . .
It was a tall, black building. The interior was modern, everything made of
black, white, or glass. Miss Parker walked up to the receptionist's desk, Sydney
and Broots close behind. "Excuse me, I would like to speak to someone about
Jarod."
The receptionist, a young, pretty woman, who obviously didn't know the
purpose of Miss Parker's visit, replied matter-of-factly, "I'm sorry. We are no
longer doing interviews with members of the press. A press conference will be
held only if we gain any new information."
Miss Parker glared. "I'm not here to interview you. I'm here for the
package."
"And what package would that be?"
"The one left by Jarod."
"And I am suppose to believe that you are the mystery woman? I don't
think so." She looked Miss Parker over. "Maybe if you knew Jarod you would also
know that he would never associate himself with someone like you. And, rumor
has it the mystery woman was his first love."
Miss Parker didn't have the time or the temperament for this. "Does the
name Miss Parker ring a bell?" The receptionist finally looked up from her typing
in shock. "Well, that's me, sweetheart."
The receptionist startled and picked up the phone. "Sir, she is here." She
smiled nervously at Miss Parker. "I'm very sorry about that. Let me show you to
Jarod's old office." She glanced at Sydney and Broots. "They will have to wait in
the lobby." Miss Parker nodded and followed after her down a long hallway. "I
can't believe you finally showed up. Jarod assured us that you would be here.
We didn't know when or how you would find out, but we figured Jarod would
know what he was talking about. Oh, here it is."
Miss Parker walked in to find a middle-aged man sitting behind the
modern-looking desk. He immediately stood up and walked towards her. "You
must be the famed Miss Parker. I have heard so much about you." He paused for
a moment. "I do believe that Jarod was right . . ."
Miss Parker was not amused. "About what?" This guy was total sleaze.
"That you are the most beautiful woman he's ever known. Beautiful - but
cruel." He laughed. "He says all his designs were inspired by you . . ." He gave
her a seductive look. "Maybe you could stick around long enough to see if you
inspire anything in me."
Miss Parker walked up to the man and grabbed him by his shirt collar. "I
didn't come here for this. Now, either you give me whatever he left for me, or I
will be inspiring you - all the way to the funeral parlor." She let him go with a
shove.
"Wow, he was right. . . you are intense."
"You don't know the half of it." She glared. He reached into the top
drawer of the desk and handed her a brown envelope. She reached for it hastily.
He pulled it back. "Wait! I almost forgot . . . I'm only authorized to give you this
if you try on that dress," he pointed to a stunning navy dress on a mannequin,
"and allow us to photograph you in it."
"What are you talking about?"
"Jarod left very specific instructions. You come, put on the dress, we use
the photos to advertise his winter clothing line, from which the proceeds go to
some charity for abused children." He waved his hands in the air to show he
could care less. "Then, we give you the envelope, and Jarod's forwarding
address."
"I thought he was a missing person."
"Not really, he just wanted us to publicize that."
She laughed, "I don't think so."
"The dressing room is down the hall to the left."
With her hand on her hip, she sighed. "All right."
Later . . .
Miss Parker walked up to Sydney and Broots, who were still waiting in the
lobby.
"What took you so long, Miss Parker? You were in there for a long time.
we were starting to worry it was a trap. What were you doing?"
"What I was doing isn't important. I got the envelope, that is all that
matters. Let's get out of here."
In the car . . .
Sydney studied Miss Parker as the sunlight streamed through the car
window onto her face. "Am I crazy or are you wearing more makeup than
usual?"
She glared at him. "No." Finally, she opened the envelope. A note slipped
out. As she scanned the contents, she grimaced. She read it one more time and
sighed.
Come on, Miss P. You didn't really think it would be
that easy, did you?
Love, Jarod.
"What does it say, Parker?"
"Just another dead end."
Broots laughed. "What were you expecting? His address?"
November . . .
Broots and his daughter, Debbie, were at the checkout at the grocery
store. "Dad, would you please buy me a magazine?"
"Sweetheart, you really don't need one, do you?"
"One with some cool fashion tips and stuff. Please, Dad."
"Okay, darlin', which one?"
"Hmm. . . how about that one, with the woman that looks like Miss
Parker."
Broots mouth hit the ground as he looked at the magazine. "Oh my
goodness - it couldn't be . . ."
Miss Parker's Home . . .
Miss Parker smiled. She sat on her couch, flipping through a magazine.
She looked over at the coffee table where a large stack of them had formed. On
top rested a note from Jarod.
Sorry, Parker, but since I designed the dress with you in mind, I just couldn't
resist seeing you in it. I hope you didn't mind. Now I get to see you
everywhere I go. LA, New York City, Seattle - they all have billboards! You
really should see them . . . At least when the Centre is gone you can fall
back on modeling as a career option. Catch me! (If you can.) Love,
Jarod
End. Feedback to shipper@thepretender.com I might do a sequel if the mood
hits me.
by Jamison
The Centre
Miss Parker walked into Sydney's office, her heels clicking hard, indicating
that the purpose of this visit was anything but favorable.
"Sydney!" She halted in front of his desk. "Where is Jarod?"
"How would I know that, Miss Parker?"
Miss Parker raised her eyebrow. "You haven't heard from him?"
"No."
"We haven't heard from him in three weeks. I'm-"
"Worried?"
"No. Concerned. For all we know he may be in Brazil. He hasn't even left
us a clue."
"Maybe he has. We might just be overlooking it." There was silence for a
moment as both began to review the affairs of the last couple of the days,
searching mentally for the slightest clue.
Broots walked in. "This just came." He handed Miss Parker a box, about
the size of a small television, wrapped in brown packing paper addressed to her.
She sat down in a chair and ripped the package open.
After sifting through several layers of packing materials, she came piece
of plain white paper. Only two words adorned it- "Miss Me?"
She subconsciously smiled. "Very funny, Jarod." Her cell phone rang. She
pulled it from her pocket and flipped it open. "What?!?" She walked out of the
room and into the elevator. Broots followed close behind until she stopped him
with her hand as he was stepping off the elevator.
"You want me to use the stairs?" She gave him an evil glare.
She covered the phone with her hand. "Go away!" The elevator doors
closed. "So, where the heck have you been?"
"Oh . . . here and there."
"I guess you're not going to tell me."
He laughed. "Oh, don't worry. You'll find out where I've been soon
enough."
Later . . .
"Look what Angelo found." Sydney handed her a newspaper with an
article circled in red.
She read it aloud. "Up-and-coming fashion designer disappears - The hot,
new designer going only by the name Jarod had been labeled by experts as 'one
of the most inventive designers in decades.' Concerns surfaced when he did not
make an appearance at his October 3rd runway show in Paris. A note was left
for his personal assistant, along with an envelope to be opened only by a woman
whose name authorities refuse to reveal." She raised her eyebrow and continued
reading. "Armani Incorporated, who had just hired the young talent, is offering a
substantial reward for any information regarding Jarod's whereabouts. Anyone
who has information is to call or visit the Los Angeles offices. . . Well, I'll be . . .
Get the jet ready. Tell Broots we are going to LA."
Somewhere in Los Angeles . . .
It was a tall, black building. The interior was modern, everything made of
black, white, or glass. Miss Parker walked up to the receptionist's desk, Sydney
and Broots close behind. "Excuse me, I would like to speak to someone about
Jarod."
The receptionist, a young, pretty woman, who obviously didn't know the
purpose of Miss Parker's visit, replied matter-of-factly, "I'm sorry. We are no
longer doing interviews with members of the press. A press conference will be
held only if we gain any new information."
Miss Parker glared. "I'm not here to interview you. I'm here for the
package."
"And what package would that be?"
"The one left by Jarod."
"And I am suppose to believe that you are the mystery woman? I don't
think so." She looked Miss Parker over. "Maybe if you knew Jarod you would also
know that he would never associate himself with someone like you. And, rumor
has it the mystery woman was his first love."
Miss Parker didn't have the time or the temperament for this. "Does the
name Miss Parker ring a bell?" The receptionist finally looked up from her typing
in shock. "Well, that's me, sweetheart."
The receptionist startled and picked up the phone. "Sir, she is here." She
smiled nervously at Miss Parker. "I'm very sorry about that. Let me show you to
Jarod's old office." She glanced at Sydney and Broots. "They will have to wait in
the lobby." Miss Parker nodded and followed after her down a long hallway. "I
can't believe you finally showed up. Jarod assured us that you would be here.
We didn't know when or how you would find out, but we figured Jarod would
know what he was talking about. Oh, here it is."
Miss Parker walked in to find a middle-aged man sitting behind the
modern-looking desk. He immediately stood up and walked towards her. "You
must be the famed Miss Parker. I have heard so much about you." He paused for
a moment. "I do believe that Jarod was right . . ."
Miss Parker was not amused. "About what?" This guy was total sleaze.
"That you are the most beautiful woman he's ever known. Beautiful - but
cruel." He laughed. "He says all his designs were inspired by you . . ." He gave
her a seductive look. "Maybe you could stick around long enough to see if you
inspire anything in me."
Miss Parker walked up to the man and grabbed him by his shirt collar. "I
didn't come here for this. Now, either you give me whatever he left for me, or I
will be inspiring you - all the way to the funeral parlor." She let him go with a
shove.
"Wow, he was right. . . you are intense."
"You don't know the half of it." She glared. He reached into the top
drawer of the desk and handed her a brown envelope. She reached for it hastily.
He pulled it back. "Wait! I almost forgot . . . I'm only authorized to give you this
if you try on that dress," he pointed to a stunning navy dress on a mannequin,
"and allow us to photograph you in it."
"What are you talking about?"
"Jarod left very specific instructions. You come, put on the dress, we use
the photos to advertise his winter clothing line, from which the proceeds go to
some charity for abused children." He waved his hands in the air to show he
could care less. "Then, we give you the envelope, and Jarod's forwarding
address."
"I thought he was a missing person."
"Not really, he just wanted us to publicize that."
She laughed, "I don't think so."
"The dressing room is down the hall to the left."
With her hand on her hip, she sighed. "All right."
Later . . .
Miss Parker walked up to Sydney and Broots, who were still waiting in the
lobby.
"What took you so long, Miss Parker? You were in there for a long time.
we were starting to worry it was a trap. What were you doing?"
"What I was doing isn't important. I got the envelope, that is all that
matters. Let's get out of here."
In the car . . .
Sydney studied Miss Parker as the sunlight streamed through the car
window onto her face. "Am I crazy or are you wearing more makeup than
usual?"
She glared at him. "No." Finally, she opened the envelope. A note slipped
out. As she scanned the contents, she grimaced. She read it one more time and
sighed.
Come on, Miss P. You didn't really think it would be
that easy, did you?
Love, Jarod.
"What does it say, Parker?"
"Just another dead end."
Broots laughed. "What were you expecting? His address?"
November . . .
Broots and his daughter, Debbie, were at the checkout at the grocery
store. "Dad, would you please buy me a magazine?"
"Sweetheart, you really don't need one, do you?"
"One with some cool fashion tips and stuff. Please, Dad."
"Okay, darlin', which one?"
"Hmm. . . how about that one, with the woman that looks like Miss
Parker."
Broots mouth hit the ground as he looked at the magazine. "Oh my
goodness - it couldn't be . . ."
Miss Parker's Home . . .
Miss Parker smiled. She sat on her couch, flipping through a magazine.
She looked over at the coffee table where a large stack of them had formed. On
top rested a note from Jarod.
Sorry, Parker, but since I designed the dress with you in mind, I just couldn't
resist seeing you in it. I hope you didn't mind. Now I get to see you
everywhere I go. LA, New York City, Seattle - they all have billboards! You
really should see them . . . At least when the Centre is gone you can fall
back on modeling as a career option. Catch me! (If you can.) Love,
Jarod
End. Feedback to shipper@thepretender.com I might do a sequel if the mood
hits me.