Chapter Eight: A Little Help, If You Please
Author's Note: Another long delay between chapters, I'm afraid... but hey, I'm getting it out, what are you complaining about? *grin* At least I've got Nita partially sated by my new Snape/Sinistra fic... (though she DID have the nerve to pull the whole "Goooooooyle" thing... but as for the rest of you... *hides* Don't hurt me.
For those who wanted to know, just leave M&M's in your review... Serendipity will retrieve them on her own... greedy little thing. *grin* She would also like to thank all who have given M&M's... she ate them in about 2.5 seconds. I personally think she should watch out for her figure, the way she goes at them. I mean, really.
Anyway, in this chapter, Paul makes a long-overdue second appearance! And speaking of Argentineans and those who love them... Storm, go watch My Fair Lady! Now! *sweet smile*
* * *
Several more days passed, though not without Christian receiving his share of pointed glares from the former prostitute, and he had to admit that apart from her still-colorful language, her English was drastically improving.
Which meant that he couldn't resist taking her out for a sort of... trial run, perhaps in one of the classier bars in town. No where incredibly fancy or high-class. Though her improvements had been vast... they weren't quite yet *that* vast.
Now Christian had very little sense as to the local drinking scene... however, he did know someone who did.
Unfortunately, that someone happened to be one of the biggest ladies men on this side of New York City. Which was why he regretted finding himself outside Paul Martinez' apartment the next morning, hesitantly knocking on the door. A few seconds passed, during which high giggles drifted to his cringing ears from the other side of the door. Then came a familiar voice, "Door's open!"
Now, why did that not surprise him?
Grimacing, he turned the knob and stepped inside the darkened apartment. Hmm, now why would it be darkened? Gee, I wonder. "Paul?" he called out, just as a young blonde, in a lessened state of dress, came bursting around the corner. "Pardon me," he gasped, stumbling back.
"Yeah, whatever," she said abruptly, heading out the door while buttoning up her shirt.
Thinking the coast now clear, Christian stuck his head around the corner. "Hey! This ain't a show!" yelled another blonde who looked very similar to the first before ducking into the bathroom. He whirled back around the corner, his eyes tightly closed. He had NOT wanted to see that.
He heard Paul's deep laughter. "Get over here, Chris, old boy." He didn't move. "She's dressed, don't worry." Oh so cautiously, he turned around. "Oh wait, maybe not..." Again, he froze, snapping his eyes shut. "Just kidding." Still, he waited a full five seconds before attempting to re-enter the room.
She was indeed dressed, if that was what you could call it, and was fluffing her slightly mussed blonde curls. Paul himself sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in a red robe and smoking a cigarette. She bent to kiss him goodbye. "See ya round, honey."
"I do hope so, Carol."
She pulled back, her hands on her hips, obviously offended. "I'm Sheryl!"
He shrugged, taking a drag on his cigarette. "Sheryl, Carol... you're twins! How am I supposed to tell the difference?" She rolled her eyes and trotted out on towering pink pumps. He looked up at Christian. "Buenos dias, my friend. What brings you around?"
"I wanted to, ah..." his eyes widened as he saw a bra draped across the bed post and gingerly picked it up. A moment later, the first twin... Carol, he thought, came storming back in and snatched it from him before turning on her heel and leaving just as quickly. He blinked several times before turning his attention back to Paul. "I wanted to... ask you something?"
"Ask away."
"Well, you see..." He had decided earlier that it would be... best... that Paul not know that Satine was in fact a hooker. "I'm having a young English professor over for lunch and I would like to take her out somewhere fairly nice..."
Paul's eyes snapped up to fasten with a sparkle on Christian. "Her, eh?" He leapt to his feet and heartily clapped a large hand on Christian's back. "Been hiding the little woman away from me, have you? You sly devil, you."
He shook his head vigorously. "Oh no, there is nothing... romantic, between the professor and I."
The Spaniard arched an eyebrow. "Well then, would you mind if I..."
"Yes." He could see it now, Satine demanding payment for her night with Paul, and the whole thing would go up in smoke. Yes, it was better to tell him not to touch beforehand, than to clean up the mess afterwards.
"Oh." He looked vaguely disappointed. "Well..."
"You can bring a date," Christian added hurriedly. "It's just that you know that I do not know how to 'have fun' as you have put it many times. I would greatly appreciate it if you would be our esteemed guide for the evening."
His friend brightened considerably. "Well, in that case... I'd be delighted!" And he promptly enveloped Christian in a bear hug, planting a huge kiss on his cheek. As realizing in retrospect what he had done, he pulled back, stroking his goatee nervously. "Er... nothing funny, of course. I just like to have fun."
Christian smiled. "Of course. And thank you."
"Don't mention it!" he responded cheerily, grabbing a handful of clothing from his closet and disappearing into the bathroom. "Seven o'clock tonight?"
"That sounds satisfactory. Shall we come here?"
His only response was the sound of running water from the shower. So he shrugged and let himself back out into the hall. Now all he had to do was to cross his fingers and hope that the evening would not turn into a total disaster.
He suddenly had a very childish impulse to say "Fat chance," but instead bit his lip and hurried down the hall.
* * *
For the third time, he glanced at his watch and tapped his foot. 6:55. It took ten minutes to get to Paul's, in good traffic, which meant that they were already impossibly late. Christian hated being late, almost as much as he hated grammatical errors. He fingered his keys and glanced down the hall. Honestly. Did it really take women as long as he'd heard to get ready?
He was about to call her, for the second time, when he heard the bathroom door open. Well. It was about time.
He opened his mouth to chastise her, but as soon as he saw her, all words failed him.
She was clad in a black, spaghetti strap dress with a deep v-neck that exposed just enough of her chest to not be trashy. The hem fell to just above her knees, but was gathered off to the right side in a cabaret-style ruffle that showed off more of her leg. Her vibrant tresses were done up off her neck in a mass of curls on top of her head with a few well-placed strands falling down to trace the contours of her face.
She bent over slightly to fiddle with the strap of her black heeled sandals, then glanced nervously at him for approval. "How do I look?"
He quickly averted his eyes and glanced down at his watch again. 6:59. "We're late," he said curtly, grabbing his jacket and opening the door. "Let's go."
She frowned after him. "Thanks," she muttered. "You look nice too, bastard." She took her fur-lined coat from the hanger, slid it over her shoulders, and followed after him, letting the door close behind her. Little matter. She was not about to let the damned professor ruin her night out. Not if she had anything to do with it.
And, oh, she would.
END CHAPTER EIGHT
Author's Note: Another long delay between chapters, I'm afraid... but hey, I'm getting it out, what are you complaining about? *grin* At least I've got Nita partially sated by my new Snape/Sinistra fic... (though she DID have the nerve to pull the whole "Goooooooyle" thing... but as for the rest of you... *hides* Don't hurt me.
For those who wanted to know, just leave M&M's in your review... Serendipity will retrieve them on her own... greedy little thing. *grin* She would also like to thank all who have given M&M's... she ate them in about 2.5 seconds. I personally think she should watch out for her figure, the way she goes at them. I mean, really.
Anyway, in this chapter, Paul makes a long-overdue second appearance! And speaking of Argentineans and those who love them... Storm, go watch My Fair Lady! Now! *sweet smile*
* * *
Several more days passed, though not without Christian receiving his share of pointed glares from the former prostitute, and he had to admit that apart from her still-colorful language, her English was drastically improving.
Which meant that he couldn't resist taking her out for a sort of... trial run, perhaps in one of the classier bars in town. No where incredibly fancy or high-class. Though her improvements had been vast... they weren't quite yet *that* vast.
Now Christian had very little sense as to the local drinking scene... however, he did know someone who did.
Unfortunately, that someone happened to be one of the biggest ladies men on this side of New York City. Which was why he regretted finding himself outside Paul Martinez' apartment the next morning, hesitantly knocking on the door. A few seconds passed, during which high giggles drifted to his cringing ears from the other side of the door. Then came a familiar voice, "Door's open!"
Now, why did that not surprise him?
Grimacing, he turned the knob and stepped inside the darkened apartment. Hmm, now why would it be darkened? Gee, I wonder. "Paul?" he called out, just as a young blonde, in a lessened state of dress, came bursting around the corner. "Pardon me," he gasped, stumbling back.
"Yeah, whatever," she said abruptly, heading out the door while buttoning up her shirt.
Thinking the coast now clear, Christian stuck his head around the corner. "Hey! This ain't a show!" yelled another blonde who looked very similar to the first before ducking into the bathroom. He whirled back around the corner, his eyes tightly closed. He had NOT wanted to see that.
He heard Paul's deep laughter. "Get over here, Chris, old boy." He didn't move. "She's dressed, don't worry." Oh so cautiously, he turned around. "Oh wait, maybe not..." Again, he froze, snapping his eyes shut. "Just kidding." Still, he waited a full five seconds before attempting to re-enter the room.
She was indeed dressed, if that was what you could call it, and was fluffing her slightly mussed blonde curls. Paul himself sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in a red robe and smoking a cigarette. She bent to kiss him goodbye. "See ya round, honey."
"I do hope so, Carol."
She pulled back, her hands on her hips, obviously offended. "I'm Sheryl!"
He shrugged, taking a drag on his cigarette. "Sheryl, Carol... you're twins! How am I supposed to tell the difference?" She rolled her eyes and trotted out on towering pink pumps. He looked up at Christian. "Buenos dias, my friend. What brings you around?"
"I wanted to, ah..." his eyes widened as he saw a bra draped across the bed post and gingerly picked it up. A moment later, the first twin... Carol, he thought, came storming back in and snatched it from him before turning on her heel and leaving just as quickly. He blinked several times before turning his attention back to Paul. "I wanted to... ask you something?"
"Ask away."
"Well, you see..." He had decided earlier that it would be... best... that Paul not know that Satine was in fact a hooker. "I'm having a young English professor over for lunch and I would like to take her out somewhere fairly nice..."
Paul's eyes snapped up to fasten with a sparkle on Christian. "Her, eh?" He leapt to his feet and heartily clapped a large hand on Christian's back. "Been hiding the little woman away from me, have you? You sly devil, you."
He shook his head vigorously. "Oh no, there is nothing... romantic, between the professor and I."
The Spaniard arched an eyebrow. "Well then, would you mind if I..."
"Yes." He could see it now, Satine demanding payment for her night with Paul, and the whole thing would go up in smoke. Yes, it was better to tell him not to touch beforehand, than to clean up the mess afterwards.
"Oh." He looked vaguely disappointed. "Well..."
"You can bring a date," Christian added hurriedly. "It's just that you know that I do not know how to 'have fun' as you have put it many times. I would greatly appreciate it if you would be our esteemed guide for the evening."
His friend brightened considerably. "Well, in that case... I'd be delighted!" And he promptly enveloped Christian in a bear hug, planting a huge kiss on his cheek. As realizing in retrospect what he had done, he pulled back, stroking his goatee nervously. "Er... nothing funny, of course. I just like to have fun."
Christian smiled. "Of course. And thank you."
"Don't mention it!" he responded cheerily, grabbing a handful of clothing from his closet and disappearing into the bathroom. "Seven o'clock tonight?"
"That sounds satisfactory. Shall we come here?"
His only response was the sound of running water from the shower. So he shrugged and let himself back out into the hall. Now all he had to do was to cross his fingers and hope that the evening would not turn into a total disaster.
He suddenly had a very childish impulse to say "Fat chance," but instead bit his lip and hurried down the hall.
* * *
For the third time, he glanced at his watch and tapped his foot. 6:55. It took ten minutes to get to Paul's, in good traffic, which meant that they were already impossibly late. Christian hated being late, almost as much as he hated grammatical errors. He fingered his keys and glanced down the hall. Honestly. Did it really take women as long as he'd heard to get ready?
He was about to call her, for the second time, when he heard the bathroom door open. Well. It was about time.
He opened his mouth to chastise her, but as soon as he saw her, all words failed him.
She was clad in a black, spaghetti strap dress with a deep v-neck that exposed just enough of her chest to not be trashy. The hem fell to just above her knees, but was gathered off to the right side in a cabaret-style ruffle that showed off more of her leg. Her vibrant tresses were done up off her neck in a mass of curls on top of her head with a few well-placed strands falling down to trace the contours of her face.
She bent over slightly to fiddle with the strap of her black heeled sandals, then glanced nervously at him for approval. "How do I look?"
He quickly averted his eyes and glanced down at his watch again. 6:59. "We're late," he said curtly, grabbing his jacket and opening the door. "Let's go."
She frowned after him. "Thanks," she muttered. "You look nice too, bastard." She took her fur-lined coat from the hanger, slid it over her shoulders, and followed after him, letting the door close behind her. Little matter. She was not about to let the damned professor ruin her night out. Not if she had anything to do with it.
And, oh, she would.
END CHAPTER EIGHT