Disclaimer: Not mine.
Helpless 6
He thinks. she thinks.
Less than an hour later the phone rang again on the River Rat, startling Trunks out of his doze. Frowning, he slowly reached for it. He'd taken great care never to give out the phone number on the houseboat to anyone except Paresu.
Miserable as it was, this place was his refuge whenever he needed a respite from his hectic life. He wasn't about to have his sanctuary invaded by one of his persistent female acquaintances. Though he'd have to find another place to hide once he'd sold the old tub, he thought as he placed the receiver to his ear.
He spoke in a hoarse whisper, just in case he needed a disguise. The voice that answered him was pleasantly familiar and full of concern.
"Mr. Briefs? Are you all right?"
Of course, he'd given the number to the temp agency. The alarm in Marron Chestnut's tone was gratifying. Trunks cleared his throat. "I'm fine, Marron, thank you. Just a frog in my throat."
"Oh, thank goodness. I thought perhaps you'd fallen again."
"I promised you I'd be careful."
"Yes, well, I have the impression that you don't always do what you're told."
There it was again. That delighted motherly tone that made him feel so pampered. "Ah, but I always keep a promise."
She laughed, a low musical sound that seemed to ring bells along the wire. "I forgot to give you my phone number. Just in case you should need help or something and can't get anyone else."
He reached for the pen lying on the floor next to the couch and scribbled the number down his wrist. "Got it. Oh, I'll settle up with you over the groceries when you get here in the morning."
There was a short pause, and then Marron said casually, "Please, don't worry about it. I'll put the charges on my credit card, and you can pay me back whenever it's convenient. I'm in no hurry."
Realizing she thought he couldn't afford the groceries, Trunks opened his mouth to protest. Before he could say anything, however, Marron had wished him a breathless goodnight and hung up.
Trunks replaced the receiver, feeling a tide of guilt wash over him. He'd taken this poverty thing too far. He should be ashamed of himself, taking advantage of a woman's good nature. First thing in the morning, he promised himself, he'd tell her the truth and apologize. Maybe if he explained why he'd done it, she wouldn't be too upset with him.
He missed her when he struggled to undress for bed. He missed her reassuring presence hovering close by, ready to leap to the rescue if he should lose his balance.
He couldn't help wondering why someone like Marron Chestnut wasn't married. A woman like her would be loyal to the core. There had to be men out there who appreciated a woman for her personality rather than her looks.
If he were looking for someone- which he wasn't- he reminded himself emphatically, but if he were- looks would be way down on the list. In Trunks' experience, most of the beautiful women he met were obsessed by their appearance, and had very little else to offer.
He hadn't met a woman yet with the warm, generous, sensible nature of Marron Chestnut. Well, maybe Paresu came close, but she was happily married.
He went to sleep thinking about Marron, and woke up with the eager anticipation of her arrival. While he waited for her, he browsed through the morning paper. He usually only read the sports page and the business section, but this morning he had time to kill, and flipped idly through the entertainment section.
The sight of his picture slap-dab in the middle of the page gave him a jolt of dismay. It had been taken at a charity dinner for the local arts association. The woman with him was a casual date. He'd decided that same evening not to pursue the relationship when she made it clear she was looking for a rich husband. He hadn't seen her since.
The article was tongue-in-cheek, commenting on his ski accident and his subsequent "vanishing act." It was written by an acid-tongued reporter who'd taken his polite rejection of her determined advances a little too personally.
The piece painted him in the worst possible light, stopping just short of libel. The writer was clever, stating facts in such a way that anyone was reading it would take it the wrong way- and probably would.
If Marron Chestnut read that piece of garbage, Trunks thought mournfully, he'd not only be out of a temp, he could lose the best company he'd had in years. She'd probably never set foot on the River Rat again.
He was surprised how bad that made him feel. He'd only known her a few hours, yet instinctively he knew that he couldn't have hand picked a better temp if he'd tried.
She was efficient, quiet, and not in the least a bit distracting. She made him smile with her quaint little ways, and considering his situation, that was no easy task.
Most of all, he had the distinct impression that even if she knew his true identity, she wouldn't be all that interested in him. That might not be too flattering, but it certainly reassuring. For if there was one thing Trunks was certain of, it was that no woman was ever going to lead him down the treacherous path to matrimony.
Marron awoke earlier than usual. Rain spattered against the window of her apartment bedroom, and she lay listening to it for a moment or two. Trunks was probably still asleep, she thought, picturing him lying in the crumpled bedcovers like a sleepy little boy.
The image made her smile, and she hummed a few lines from her favorite songs as she showered and dressed in a warm beige wool dress.
She didn't usually bother with makeup, but she paused long enough at the mirror to dab some lipstick on her mouth and run a comb through her damp hair before preparing her breakfast.
She liked to read the paper while she ate her daily bowl of cereal. Knowing what was going on in the world was important for one's growth, her father had told her on more than one occasion. He was always offering her advice, most of which she listened to. Her father was a smart man.
After skimming the headlines, she glanced through the rest of the pages in the main section. Nothing of much interest caught her eye, and she turned to the entertainment section, hunting for the horoscopes.
Do not let others mislead you today, she read. There is danger in deception. Stand fast by your convictions and refuse to be saved. Well, that was nothing new. She always stood by her convictions, no matter what the outcome. That was something else her father had taught her.
Smiling, Marron idly turned the page and took another mouthful of cereal. A picture of a busty redhead in the middle of the gossip section caught her eye. The smiling woman wore a dress with half the bodice missing, and leaned on the arm of a lilac-haired man with a smug, possessive air that made it clear she considered him her personal property.
Marron glanced at the man, and nearly choked on her cereal. She peered closer. She didn't need to read the article to recognize that familiar face. The man in the tux and white tie was Trunks Briefs.
Her cereal forgotten, Marron scanned the lines of the article. Trunks, she was astounded to discover, was not an impoverished draftsman eking out a meager living as he'd led her to believe.
Nor was Goten Son Trunks' boss. He was, in fact, the hotshot architect he'd pretended to be working for and was one of Pisces' most affluent citizens. Apparently he was also one of the city's most notorious.
According to the article, Trunks had a steady stream of female admirers waiting in line for his attention. None of them, in the reporter's opinion would last more than a day or two. Trunks, it appeared, was remarkably fickle. He obviously enjoyed variety.
Marron's rising resentment flared into hot indignation when she read that Trunks had broken his ankle while skiing with yet another of his conquests. The poor woman was apparently out of her mind with worry, since trunks had disappeared from the hospital without telling anyone where he was going and no one knew where he was.
He'd deliberately lied, Marron thought, staring in disgust at the deceitful, smiling face of Trunks Briefs. He'd lied about who he was, he'd lied about how he'd injured his foot and he'd made her feel sorry for him, believing he couldn't afford a nourishing meal or a decent place to live.
No doubt he was laughing up his sleeve this very minute at how easily he'd fooled the dim-witted, naïve little moron who didn't have enough sense to know when a man was taking advantage of her good nature.
When she thought about all the cleaning, cooking and washing she'd done for him, not to mention playing nursemaid. Her cheeks burned. How he must have enjoyed her feeble attempts to spruce up his "home."
She couldn't imagine why he was holed up like that on the river in such a primitive shack, but her obviously had his reasons- probably questionable at that. She doubted very much if Trunks Briefs knew the meaning of integrity.
He was just too good at playing games. Obviously he's had plenty of practice. Judging from the article she'd just read, Trunks Briefs was a master of manipulating women.
She was tempted to quit right then and there. Only that would be running away and Marron had never been one to back off from a problem. Ant problem. She was more likely to attack head-on.
No, she would finish out the contract, and she would let Mr. Playboy Trunks know exactly what she thought of his behavior. No more nursemaid. No more sympathy.
She'd do her job according to Mrs. Morris' rules, and nothing more. And that included doing his darn grocery shopping. Let one of his bimbos do it for him, she thought with a malicious scowl.
By the time she'd reached the river, she'd had time to cool down. She was still hurt and annoyed with Trunks' treachery, but nevertheless he had to eat, and he wasn't going to exist for long on the meager offerings in his fridge.
For some reason, it seemed as though he hadn't informed any of his female admirers of his whereabouts, which seemed strange. From what she'd just read, she'd have thought he'd enjoy being surrounded by his panting girlfriends.
She stopped off at a small convenience store about a mile from where the houseboat was moored, and bought half a dozen sackfuls of groceries. Discarding the list she'd made the night before, she chose items that she thought would be more to Trunks' extravagant taste, and rather enjoyed running up the hefty bill.
She'd make sure he wrote a check for the full amount before she left for the day, she told herself, and he could forget the stew. Let him fend for himself. As he'd taken such pains to tell her yesterday, he was quite capable of taking care of himself.
It took four trips to carry the grocery sacks from the car to the broken down door of the houseboat. She noticed, for the first time, the faded letters on the side of the front wall as she trudged back with the last one.
So the houseboat was named the River Rat. Well, that could also be a fitting name for its owner, as well, she thought, beginning to seethe with resentment again as she twisted the handle of the door and pushed it open.
She could hear no sound from the living room when she carried the sacks in and stood them on the kitchen counter. In spite of her resentment, she felt a spasm of apprehension as she pushed open the door and peeked in.
She'd been half afraid she'd see Trunks sprawled on the floor again, but he sat on the couch with his bad foot resting on the arm. She could tell at once by his expression that he was apprehensive about something.
No doubt he'd seen the article and was probably wondering what she would say to him. Well, she could play games too. She wasn't even going to mention the darn article.
It's nice to know that someone cares. I haven't mentioned that incident to anyone except for one friend who did something that was short of fainting and later refused to bring it up again, and you guys.
I got into a boat accident. Two ferries collided because of the heavy rains, choppy seas and mist that appeared out of nowhere. The smaller one sunk in record time but I managed to scramble aboard the rescuing navy boat. They dropped us off at the original island destination when the passengers kept throwing up on the deck.
I still accomplished my mission, which was to take pictures of the darned haunted island. I didn't have anything else to do and crying in public was not my style. No wonder it was haunted. Lots of boats had the same fate before. I also took care of a little girl who was separated from her parents. They got reunited at midnight at the harbor. That's about it. I don't really feel like giving the detailed gruesome version. Hope you don't mind this version though.
Well, back to the present. Thanks to all those who reviewed! :)