Disclaimer:
Not mine. Not mine. Not mine. Good enough? Song is Bob Seger's. Bob Seger's. Bob Seger's. And he's going, going, gone.Author's Notes:
This one is courtesy of my own imagination and a quick slide across the kitchen floor when I avoided stepping on the cat.Slide
By Gayle F. Cox-Moffet
Clayton stepped in the door of his apartment and immediately shed his shoes, coat and suit jacket. He loosened his tie and groaned under his breath as the phone rang.
Hurriedly walking across the polished wood floors, Clayton almost tripped. The cleaners must have waxed the floors. He slid the last few feet to the phone. "Hello?"
"Clayton, Dear, can you come to dinner tonight?"
"Hello, Mother. I was planning on taking a night off from everything."
There was sympathetic Mom sound on the other end of the phone. "Very well. Get some rest."
"I will. I'll take a raincheck on dinner."
"That's fine, Dear. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Mother." Clayton hung up the phone and slid his feet slightly across the floor as he walked. He touched the play button on the CD player and pulled off his tie with one hand as he untucked his shirt with another. The day had been hellish with four agents attempting to override orders he had given out, and a spoiled lunch date with a new girlfriend. Clayton made a mental note to throw his cell phone into the garbage disopsal.
As he pulled leftover steak from the fridge, the music on the CD player changed. Clayton recognized the song immediately and shuffled his feet across the kitchen floor as he put the steak on a plate and then put that into the microwave.
Just take those old records off the shelf
Sit and listen to 'em by myself.
His foot kept tapping, and Clayton smiled at the memory of college nights spent with a few beers and frat brothers, and a stupid game of truth or dare when part of the sidewalk was iced over. Suddenly, the urge to do something completely juvenile overtook Clayton, and he left the steak in the microwave as he took two running steps, slid across the floor, and mouthed the chorus.
Still like that old time rock'n' roll
That kind of music just soothes the soul
I reminisce about the days of old
With that old time rock 'n' roll
There was a knock on the door. Clayton slid over, bumping against the door slightly, and looked through the peephole. Rabb stood in the hallway looking peeved.
Rolling his eyes slightly, Clayton retucked his shirt and used the stereo remote that had been a microphone seconds before to shut down the music. He opened the door after finger-combing his hair into place. "What do you want, Rabb?"
"What thumped against the door a minute ago?" Rabb gave Clayton the once over and raised an eyebrow. "You look rumpled."
The microwave beeped. "Rabb, I'm sure the morality lesson you're about to throw at me will be fascinating, but can it wait until I get my dinner from the kitchen?"
Harm nodded and stepped into the apartment. He leaned down to get a look at the fish and missed Clayton's sliding entrance into the kitchen.