A/N: I know, I know. I promised this chapter would contain smut. But I also said I would keep this a short chapter story and this chapter already has 5 pages, so I have decided to leave the smut for the next one. The good thing is: The smutty part is already written, so it will not take a long time until it's there. I'd like to mention, though, that this story will have a plot. It's not intended to end as porn. Honestly.
Thanks, again, for the reviews. I really appreciate your company on this joyride and I hope I will be able to make it entertaining. (Have I mentioned, by the way, that I am going to get my new car on Friday? Yes! Finally!)
"Human identity is the most fragile thing that we have, and it's often only found in moments of truth."
(Alan Rudolph)
Chapter 4: Kiss and Tell
Pittsburgh, Thursday 6th January 2011
The woman has decided for Emily. It has been a tough decision, but in the end, it's Emily who looks back at her out of the mirror. Emily, with her tight, dark jeans flattering her long legs and the casual black shirt. And the lack of make-up, except for the mascara.
She has always been very fond of Emily's appearance, because it meant less work. Against to Faye's. Or Susie's. Or any other of the women's images apparent in her mind.
There's only one last detail she has to fix and sadly, it turns out rather annoying tonight: the hair. At daytime, she usually wears a pony tail, because it comes in handy. When she goes out, she pins it up more fashionable, to accentuate her cheekbones. But today, today of all days, her neck has been itching the whole afternoon and as she turns partially, she can see that the skin around the spot is all red.
Not really an inviting sight. She could go for a pony tail, yes, but it does not quite fit the rest. It makes her look like she just came from sports.
That's the problem when you head for understatement. One little detail messed up and you're underdressed.
She combs her hair again. It has grown a lot in the last year and covers her shoulder blades completely now. She tucks it behind her ears and looks back into the mirror.
It works well, astonishingly. Adds a certain… human touch to her blank eyes.
The woman does not like to wear her hair open outside, because it annoys her when it falls into her face like a curtain, but tonight, she obviously has no other choice.
She checks the time. 8:46 p.m.
They have agreed on meeting in the bar of his hotel at 9:30 p.m., for a drink. In Charlottesville, he had said "dinner", but she had been able to turn it into liquid only.
He had texted her four weeks earlier, from Washington, but well, she had been in Miami that time, so it had been most inconvenient. Not to mention the fact she would never agree on meeting him in his hometown. That was clearly not part of the… arrangement.
Strategy, honey. It's a strategy, not an arrangement. An arrangement takes two people talking about a thing. A strategy is the way of an individual to achieve what it wants, the voice says.
"Yes, whatever", she mutters and walks back to the bedroom. The cab will arrive in ten minutes, leaving her still some time to waste. She opens her middle seize purse again and checks her equipment. It would be most unprofessional if the evening had to end differently than she has planned it just because she has left something in the hotel room. But everything seems in place, so she takes her new black coat and the scarf, wrapping it around her neck.
The woman has a last, scrutinizing look at the mirror. The coat suits her well; the military style underlines her determination. She still longs for her old one, though, but of course, it's stupid to think about it. She is not going to see it again.
She leaves the room and walks down the stairs, past the reception. The old woman behind the desk smiles at her. "Your cab is already waiting, Miss."
This is just the reason while she prefers small hotels over groups. The service is nicer and more discrete.
She hurries over to the cab, shivering. It's starry and ice-cold outside, but gladly, there are no clouds in the sky, so leaving the umbrella in the room will not turn into an epic mistake.
The woman gets into the cab and fastens the seatbelt. "The Westin Convention Center, please", she tells the driver.
She knows it is a thirty minutes' drive, because she has looked that up as she has chosen her hotel.
Of course you have, darling. You basically planned the whole evening, from the beginning to the end. No, not exactly to the end. But you have considered different ends and what you are willing to do to get them. So, clear your mind, honey, clear your face and bring back the combat smile.
Norman Jayden sits in a lower corner of the hotel bar and carefully watches the people around him. Three bachelors sit on the bar for their evening beer, all three dressed in expensive looking suits with the air of the G.Q. magazine reader around them. Right now, they are busy examining a group of young women on a table in the upper left corner, arguing about which of looks the hottest, making silly comments about advantages and disadvantages of blondes and brunettes.
It's the same old discussion guys at college argued over, a discussion he never quiet understood. Maybe because he had been too busy studying his subjects, instead of studying the former cheerleaders.
Of course, he had had a date occasionally as well, but it had never been serious. College had been no place to establish a serious relationship, well, not in his opinion. Where was the sense in falling madly in love with someone, knowing she would probably end up taking a job hundreds of miles away from you? It had to end in suffering and heartache and he had never felt the wish to get his heart broken and his mind screwed up. Not in college and surely not now.
The work is all that really matters to him, at least for the moment. Besides, he does not consider his job compatible with the demands of a woman. Women take time and he has none to offer. Maybe later, when he has distinguished himself as an agent. For now, he is content with his almost hermit-like lifestyle. The other agents can chase skirts. He rather chases criminals.
Actually, he would rather chase a criminal now instead of sitting here, wasting his time waiting for her.
Gladly, she has suggested a drink and not dinner. He'll buy her two or three, polite, generous and head for some small talk. Simple. Well, except for the small talk. He hasn't really found a topic he could aim for. Evidence enough that this will be a complete waste of time. Of his and of hers. But debts are debts and they need to be paid.
He looks at his watch. 9:29 p.m. The waiter comes over and he orders another shot of vodka, fixing his eyes on the clear liquid until he hears the sound of heels approaching the table. He looks up and there she is, Holly Golightly, dressed in a new black coat and tight jeans. He rises and even manages a small smile.
"Hi", he says and somehow, the word disturbs him. It seems too limp, too familiar.
"Hi", she replies in her casual tone, the same one she used in the hospital.
"Please, sit down", he hurries to say.
The woman looks at the four chairs and puts her purse in the one right of him. She unbuttons her coat and takes off the scarf, covering her purse with the clothing and finally sits down in the chair in front of him.
She tucks her hair back behind her ears and crosses her legs. The waiter arrives in an instant and she orders a gin tonic, leaning back in the chair.
"I'm glad you made it", he says. "I mean, I wanted to thank you properly and well… it's hard to thank somebody when you are high on medication and strapped on a hospital bed."
"Probably", she replies, as shortcut as ever.
The waiter returns and puts her drink on a table. "Thank you", she says and takes a sip.
The conversation stands still. She has just arrived and it already stands still. His mind rushes, searching for a topic, but there's nothing, absolutely nothing he can think of.
"So…", he starts, but stops. So what?
"So?" she asks, raising her eyebrow.
Oh shit. Now, that's a really, really great start.
"Er… You came here to work?" he asks, finally, after ages of awkward silence.
"Actually, I came here to have a drink", she replies matter-of-factly.
He stares at her and tries to find out if she's making fun of his obvious discomfort, but nothing in her expression points out she does. Actually, her expression doesn't point out anything, at least, nothing he can interpret. Worrying.
"Actually, I was referring to your stay in Pittsburgh", he explains. I was referring… Seriously? Are we having a conversation with the Royal Family or why are we so fucking formal?
"No. I just had to attend a meeting." The woman has a look over her shoulder and watches a couple on the dance floor.
"A business meeting?" he asks.
"Yes", she replies, without turning back.
"But that's working, isn't it?"
Finally, her eyes meet his again and he believes to see the shadow of a smile on her lips.
"No. It's spending five hours in a conference room, pretending to discuss a topic, though actually, everyone is arguing about who's the greatest and why and hey, have you heard whom I engaged for Microsoft last week? Top-dog battle. Annoying, useless and a waste of time."
"I'm sorry to hear that", he says and tries to sound sympathetic.
"Can't do anything about it. I guess every job has its annoying sides."
"Yeah, like internal politics bullshit", he sighs. "Oh, sorry." First too formal, now swearing – can this get any better?
"Internal politics bullshit?" she asks and sounds amused. "That's what bothers you?"
Yeah, because it always turns out as me against the jerks from the local police station. Ready, steady, fight.
"I hate paperwork."
"You hate paperwork", she repeats incredulously.
"Yeah. Is that… odd?"
She shrugs her shoulders. "Well, I thought you'd say something like: it bothers me to end up wrecked in a dirty alley, but well, paperwork is most certainly unpleasant." And her eyes travel back to the dance floor.
She is making fun of me… Isn't she? Damn, can't she stop looking around?
"Well, no danger, no ribbons", he says, in an attempt of joking.
"Can I see it?" she asks calmly.
"What?"
She turns her head. "The ribbon."
"Sorry", he replies fast, to cover his irritation. "Didn't bring it."
"What a pity. I was hoping you'd show me your collection", she says. There's a new nuance in her tone, almost inaudible, but it is clearly there. For a second, he is completely irritated. Could she be – flirting with him? He looks at her closely, but she has lowered her gaze to her glass. Time for topic change.
"What have you done in that alley? If you don't mind me asking."
"True answer?" she asks and looks up.
"Er… Yes… Unless you don't feel comfortable with it."
"I don't, but just because I hate to confess my mistakes. But well, I was lost. Totally lost. I actually just stopped at that alley because I wanted to call a cab to get me out of there. I started to feel a little bit… scared by the surroundings."
He raises his eyebrow in doubt. "You don't look like the easily scaring type to me."
"Just because you have never seen me run away from a butterfly", she says casually.
"Butterfly? You're afraid of butterflies?" he asks doubtfully, sure he has misheard something.
"I hate them", she growls.
"But… really? I mean… What about spiders? Isn't that a more… typical fear, for a woman?"
"Probably, but spiders don't worry me. Spiders run on the ground and you can always calculate their direction, but butterflies fly around and change their course in every possible and impossible way…" She stops and looks at him. "Does that make me sound weird?"
"Er… yeah. A little."
"I am sorry", she says and, of course, fixes her eyes back on the other people in the bar.
He finishes his drink and orders another one, but the woman does not turn back.
He watches her closely. On one hand, he finds it very hard to talk to her, but on the other, he cannot help but wonder why she is still such a mystery to him, starting with her name and ending with her thoughts. Usually, he finds it rather easy to analyze people, but right now, he cannot even tell if she has withdrawn her attention because she's embarrassed, or bored, or just curious.
He is sure he could end the evening now, by telling her he needs to work. She would just nod her head and accept, thanking him for the drink. But actually, he doesn't want to. There's something lingering under her surface, something that is the key to understanding her and he wants to reach it, wants to solve the puzzle. She is a challenge for his profiling skills.
"Don't you think watching people is the greatest distraction, ever?" she suddenly asks. "I like to do that. When I'm at the airport or the train station, I waste my time imagining other peoples' life stories. What's going on in their heads."
He stares at her, surprised, as she finally turns back.
"But I guess this makes me only weirder", she says and empties her glass.
"Well, considering you're talking to someone who gets paid to do that, it doesn't sound weird at all", he replies.
She narrows her eyes. "You're a profiler?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I am. Haven't I mentioned that?"
She shakes her head. "No. I mean, you mentioned nothing about you. While I already told you about my greatest fear. I think I'll have to hold myself back now. Before you finish the psychoanalysis."
And again, he is insecure whether she is joking, or not. Seems a psychology degree really isn't the key to everyone's secrets.
"You haven't even told me your name, but you're afraid I could analyze you?" he asks and immediately realizes this is the critical point. There's always a point in a conversation between strangers that either extends the evening, or ends it. He has already decided to go for extension, but her intention is still a mystery and the way she raises her eyebrow indicates she knows it. Knows that, right about now, she has everything under control and he can't do anything about it, except to wait for her reply. It makes him feel uncomfortable, but well, there are only two possible actions she can choose: take a step back and prepare her good-bye, or go for kiss and tell.
"My mom always advised me to be careful with strangers", she finally says.
It's a clear step back. For a second, he feels a light sting of disappointment. Challenge ended, he thinks. You've just been turned down, Norman. Like always.
Of course, he is used to it. To be turned down. It happens very often, it has happened very often since he's been a child. He usually faces it with nonchalance and indifference, but behind this masquerade, he secretly wonders why it is so hard for him to socialize with people. Yes, he is able to analyze them (in general), but he is not able to connect. Unlike his mother. She had been able to connect with everybody, while he just touches the surface before he gets a kick in the ass.
He leans back in his chair and waits for the inevitable – that she stands up, thanks him for the drinks and leaves – but she doesn't. Instead, her eyes linger on him for ages, before she finally says:
"Kate. My name is Kate."
He stares at her for seconds, before he recovers from the surprise. "Just Kate?"
"Just Kate. For now."
It's clever. She's clever. She tells and hides in the same moment.
"Kate, then", he agrees and empties his drink. They bother order another one as the waiter removes the glasses.
"So, since you know my name now, do I have the official allowance to call you Norman?" she asks and it sounds… teasingly.
"No", he says immediately and, by seeing her expression, adds: "Just call me Jayden. Everyone does."
"At your request?"
He shrugs his shoulders. "Actually, no. It just so happened. But well, Norman is not really the most modern name in the world, is it?"
"Well, it's unique. Against to Kate", she says casually and lays her hands around the new drink.
"Yeah, but unique sounds pretty much like antique." His eyes wander over the room and he suddenly raises an eyebrow. "Mentioning antique… Turn your head to the right. Discreet."
She looks at him, surprised and then slowly follows his suggestion. Her eyes fall on a matronly, elder lady in a very old fashioned dress, looking like a Grecian robe. Her neck and arms are covered with pearls, but the most conspicuous part of her appearance is the crown in her hair.
"Oh my god", the woman says and it sounds very aloof. "She stole the crown jewels."
There's a small hint of a grin on his lips. "I knock her over, you call the police."
"Oh, no, don't. Her fall will trigger an earthquake, leading to a serious postponement of the continental plates, and I don't want to end up near Russia."
The matter-of-factness in her voice, together with the vivid picture in his mind, forces his grin to widen, until it's a smile. A real smile, accompanied by a shake of his head. He looks at her and sees she is smiling as well, her eyes sparkling with amusement. It's an amazing change in her features and for a second, he wonders if this is the way to unravel her. Making her smile.
But the moment is gone as soon as it came and she lowers her gaze back to her glass.
"You really like to make up stories, do you?" he asks.
She shrugs her shoulders and sighs. "I'm trained. I spend so many hours at airports. I love flying, but I hate the waiting. At the check-in, when you pass security, when the plane is boarding… Well, you know the procedure."
He shakes his head. "Actually, I don't. I never fly."
She looks up, irritated. "Really? You mean you're driving to every city you are dispatched to?"
"Yes."
"Even when it takes long? Like, longer than twelve hours?"
"Yes."
The woman blinks her eyes. "Wow. I didn't think the FBI was so stingy."
"It's not. I could fly. I just don't want to", he replies casually and drinks.
"Oh. There's the rub. You're afraid of flying", she says and sounds content, leaning back in her chair, arms folded before her chest.
"Actually, it's not the flying. I am just afraid of heights", he explains.
"Heights, huh? So, you've booked a room on the first floor, have you?"
"Sadly, that's impossible. My room is on the fifteenth floor."
"Now I envy you", she says.
He raises an eyebrow. "You envy me? Why?"
"Well, I have a… habit. It's probably stupid, but whenever I'm in a city, I take a photograph of the skyline by night as a memory. Sadly, this time, my company has chosen a very small hotel near the airport and I can't see anything except planes and tourists." She fixes his eyes on him. "You would not take a picture for me and send it to my phone?"
"I would, but I can't. I avoid the window."
"That's a pity", she says and finishes her drink.
"But I let you take a picture, if you want to", he says slowly.
"Out of your window?" she asks.
"Yes. Out of my window."
Her eyes narrow and he raises his hands in defense. "Look, I am really just talking about the picture. I mean, I have a bottle of vodka in my room, so I could maybe offer you another drink as well, but I'm not going to jump at you, if that's what you fear."
She shakes her head. "No, no. Of course you won't."
He stares at her, irritated by the way she said the last sentence, but then decides to ignore it.
"Okay. So… Shall I pay and… you take the picture? I mean, it's getting late and I've got to work tomorrow… And you probably have to attend a flight…"
"Yes, sure. I'll just… go and powder my nose. I'll wait for you outside, if you don't mind", she says and rises, taking her belongings.
"Yes, of course… Shall I take something for you? The coat, maybe?" he asks.
"No, no. It's fine."
He watches her as she walks out of the bar and suddenly, there's a slight feeling of discomfort pinching in his chest. He has never invited a woman to his hotel room, never, since he is a member of the FBI. It doesn't seem right to him, to do… such things when he is supposed to be working. But well, it's only a polite gesture, just so she can take her picture. It's not like he wants to do more; well, she is pretty, of course, but it's not the right time and place, not mentioning it's surely not the right way to thank somebody… And it's not like she wanted to; he had to bulldoze her to have a drink with him, so, there's actually, nothing to worry about. Like the color of his pants or something like that. She'll be gone in approximately 30 minutes and then, she'll be nothing more but a fading memory, an accidentally acquaintance, a number in his phone he never dials.
He calls the waiter and pays the bill, feeling reassured as he leads her up to his room.
Kitty Katie, please pass me the bottle of Whiskey and the pain medication. Oh, this is going to be so funny (no, it's not, but hey, better to be laughing than to be crying). God, it seriously takes such an amount of time before you get somebody laid. Frustrating.