She never reads romance novels. Only for the lonely, she'd tell herself. It was Valentine's Day eve and Miss Parker received one via special delivery. On the front cover she is dressed scantily in red. "So, this is what he does in his bloody spare time," she hollers out loud to no one in particular. Shoving the book into her leather brief case, she heads out of her office, out of the front door of The Centre and into the privacy of her own home.
Miss Parker stood in the shower, water hitting against her body. She seemed unable to wash away the feeling of his hands caressing her bare skin. Her memory caused the heat in replaying that scene over and over again. There was no pause button in her memory bank. The scenario played repeatedly, continuously in her head.
Stepping out of the shower, she gently patted herself dry, running the towel ever so slowly across her naked front, closing her eyes, reliving the feel of him, remembering his closeness, memorizing his touch.
Parker jolted out of her sound sleep. "Bastard!" Sitting up in bed, cold sweat ran through her body. This was not the first time she had dreams of him, more like nightmares she cussed to herself.
Getting out of bed, she digs into her briefcase and pulls out her reading material. She looked around her living room and at her calendar that laid on her entrance table. It was Valentine's Day, again. She was all alone, again. With a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, she slowly walks around the room, stopping to gaze out her picture window. She flops herself on her sofa.
..."she felt consumed by a great void, a dark and silent abyss, as terrifying as the grand palace around her. But somewhere in the chilling blackness, she caught a glimpse of a light. She remembered a time, the precocious little girl with a heart full of fire, a soul aflame with passion and a smile that could melt winter into spring. But the light was gone, the flame had died. Her past was taken from her by the soldiers of the great palace. She would continue searching, hoping to rekindle the fire. But until then, she would always be, the saddest little valentine."
The book was a thinly disguised tale of her lonely life she's led since the death of her mother.
"Saddest Little Valentine, by Jarod Heart, indeed!" She flung the book across the room and poured herself another drink.
As usual, Jarod was watching her from afar, his sad little valentine. Flipping the top of his cell phone, he hits that button, her number, he so stored.
"What?" Perching her lips, she inhales deeply from her cigarette and exhales slowly, making little circles from the smoke.
"Good morning, Miss Parker."
"What is it this time, Jarod? What do you want?" She asked as she smothers the ashes of her cigarette into the ashtray and grabs her glass. "Do you know what time it is?"
"Three in the morning."
"It was just a rhetorical question, Jarod," Parker shouted out.
"A very Happy Valentine's Day to you," he says cheerfully. "Did you get my present?"
Walking towards her picture window, she caught a glimpse of him in the shadows.
"What the hell are you doing lurking around outside of my house?"
"Love is in the air, Miss Parker, today's the day everyone will be buzzing around getting ready for their valentines."
"Unlike me, you're implying?"
"Just wanted to make sure all is well. Have you been catching up on your reading?"
"Ha! Ernest Hemmingway, you're not!"
"Miss Parker."
"What?"
"I hope one day soon that mischievous winged child will aim those arrows at you and cause you to fall deeply in love. His arrows, you know, signifies desires and emotions of love."
"Yea, yea, sure, Cupid. Every time I look at you, my heart skips a beat. Thanks for the lessons, I'll be waiting."
Love was in the air. Hearts, flowers, streamers were decorated all through the city. Miss Parker had the urge to pull out her Smith and Wesson 9mm and aim it at each and everyone who looked like an advertising add for Valentine. com.
She wanted to scream her bloody head off. Red, red, red, the color of love? More like blood, she told herself. At The Centre, men and women walked around with plastered smiles from ear to ear wishing everyone a Happy Valentine's Day.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" Parker mimicked. "Give me a break," she mumbled. She cursed silently to herself.
As she entered her office, a glass vase of what looked like hand-picked flowers laid on her desk.
"What the hell?" She inspected it and thought this was not the way to win a girl's heart. "What? No roses?" She yelled out loud. "Cheapskate," thinking of Jarod who would be the most obvious in sending it to her.
She heard someone clear his throat. Turning quickly, her timid computer technician stood nervously in the middle of the room.
"Well, what is it?" She asked approaching the man, who by then was taking two steps back away from her.
"Uh, uh, Miss Parker?
"What? Well, spit it out, Broots, I haven't all day."
He knew she was in a foul mood from the expression on her face. "It's Debbie. The flowers are from my daughter."
Parker's face softened and smiled. "Ohhhhhh." She walked over to her desk, leaned forward and took a sniff of her bouquet. "Tell her it's beautiful. Thank you. Tell her thank you for thinking of me."
"Yes, Miss Parker," he answered timidly and rushed out her door.
Several hours later, she stood behind him as Broots leaned back in his chair snoring softly. "The Centre does not pay you to doze off on the job," Parker hissed into his ears.
Jumping up, he tried to think up of an excuse of why he had fallen asleep. "Uh, Miss Parker, I was just, uh, just...resting."
Letting out a loud sigh, she shook her head. "Here." Handing him what looked like a book, gift wrapped, with all the trimmings of valentines."
"Uh, thank you," he says shyly.
"You, idiot. It's not for you," she yelled. Again her face softened. "It's for Debbie. It's "The Velveteen Rabbit". I told her it was one of my favorite children's story. She said she's never heard of it."
Broots glanced at the gift tag. It read, "To Debbie, With love, Miss Parker."
Parker knew Debbie loved her. And she wondered why? But, something was missing. She was lonely and she wanted the love of a man who she could love in return. Jarod came into her mind. She dismissed it immediately. "Perish the thought," she tells herself.
He walked into her office, closed and locked the door. Dressed in black jeans, white tee-shirt and a leather jacket, Jarod strutted over to her. His chocolate browns starred into those crystalline blue eyes of hers. She slowly walks to him never once questioning how he entered their secured building.
Laying her hands on his chest, he draws her close to him, his hands slid down to the opening slit of her skirt and...
The ringing of her telephone interrupted her thoughts. She shuddered at her fantasy. It was one thing dreaming of him at nights, alone in bed, but now he occupied her waking moments.