Chapter 2: Infection
"The taste was addiction, heady and needy and raw. She could think of nothing else and knew only obsession."
NEW YORK CITY, OCTOBER
The artist's name was Leliana Whitfield Frye. She was something of a sculptor. Her work was mostly metals and mostly lewd bordering on insect. In fact, most of her pieces looked like roaches in the middle of a series of vaguely disturbing sexual positions. But apparently insect coitus was popular because there was nary a piece that wasn't sold. A former first lady had purchased a piece of Frye's and put it in the White House. It had sparked a revolution of yuppies that wanted a piece of the up and coming "genius".
For the most part, Chris thought it resembled something a bored toddler did with play-dough. Although he was pretty sure the toddler would make it more realistic. He stood beside a rather painfully obvious brunette with more tits than brains displayed rather openly in a low cut green dress.
"It's really…visceral, don't you think?"
With his tongue in his cheek, Chris nodded. Although what he knew about art could abruptly be summed up in the time it took to armpit fart the National Anthem. "Oh very. Clearly this is meant to represent her emotional…" He just couldn't channel enough bullshit to finish the statement.
"Rape!" Cried the woman rather enthusiastically which really is one word that shouldn't be yelled quite so loudly in polite company. He jumped and barely kept himself from chuckling at the curiosity of those around them."Her rape by society and the loss of ideals."
Chris nodded again and cleared his throat to avoid laughing. "Oh of course. Naturally." He swept a scotch and soda off the tray being carried around by a woman dressed in an Eiffel Tower head dress. He was pretty sure the waitresses were all transvestites but he had to admit most of them looked better in a dress than a lot of woman he knew. After all, this was New York, and nothing failed to surprise anyone here.
He'd once gone to a fundraiser hosted by PharmREcon International that had the wait stuff entirely nude. Why? A better question in NYC was: Why not? No one flinched over the odd, the weird, the wild or the unusual. They did, however, dislike the mundane. So the less splash, the less you were enjoyed.
Chris moved toward the sculpture in the center of the room. It was ten feet of twisted bronze and gold. It looked like two snakes and possibly a fat belly spider trying to perform an uncomfortable 69. There was a tasteful water fall around it, highlighting it with lights and sparkling geysers. As he studied it, he realized it reminded him of what the RPD lobby had once looked like.
Feeling an uncomfortable nostalgia, Chris turned a little to head off to find his date.
Then he paused. Because through the sparkling water, he glimpsed the only sculpture in the room worth seeing twice.
She was dressed in shimmery, shiny red. What else? A timeless gown of silk and sin with spaghetti straps and a gathered silk neckline that suggested something wonderful beneath the flimsy fabric. Her hair, cut into a no nonsense but flattering and chic style, was artfully arranged around her flawless face. Her makeup was perfect, smoky and dark, highlighting the eternal mystery of her eyes. And her mouth…her mouth was a red promise of temptation.
She moved toward him, a flirty little smile on those red, red lips.
"And they call me the spy." She teased, with a sly smile. Tongue in cheek seemed to be the flavor of their friendship.
An interesting word, Ada mused as she moved, friendship. Were they? No. Not even remotely. She was an impossible woman to know. And even more impossible to befriend. She rarely let on the truth of her feelings about any one thing. She often flaunted her wiles in a nearly calculating way. She was seldom caught unaware of any attempts to know her or befriend her.
He hadn't tried. But he was interested. It was all over his face. Poker was likely NOT his game. He wore his feelings like some men wore t-shirts. She doubted very much if he cared who knew it.
The dove gray jacket had joined the suit, she noticed. And he managed to look like a gentlemen with polish. It never failed to surprise her that such a gruff and simple man could clean up and somehow fit into the upper crust of New York Society. The socialites of the city that never sleeps were often unforgiving of a man who seemed to lack sophistication and a certain amount of class. Chris Redfield was a lot of things.
He was, by turns, kind and protective. He was generous and loyal and brave. He was possessed of superior sense of humor and somewhat embarrassing addiction to junk food and beer. But sophisticated? Not unless one considered occasionally eating chicken that didn't come in a nugget to be sophistication. But that same devil may care attitude that afforded him a reputation in combat and in friendship, afforded him the ability to exist in a society that thrived on the preexisting notion that the world operated in a pattern of eternal ambivalence.
The motto of the NYC elite was simple: I-don't-give-a-shit.
Somehow, against the odds, Chris Redfield worked within that mindset. He had as much class as Mustang in a line of Maseratis. But he thrived here among the private school and Hamptons going, gala opening sect. Because he, quite simply, did I-don't give-a-shit with flair.
Ada laughed a little and he had to admit, it was a delightful sound. Like everything else about her, it reeked of grace. She was, hands down, the sexiest, classiest, and most fascinating creature he'd ever met.
The slit on her dress was so high he could just glimpsed the lacy top of one thigh high but he just knew, just KNEW, she was wearing a garter belt under that dress. That's what a lady wore. Ada Wong was a lady. With a capital "L". The kind that you opened doors for and opened veins for and gladly let walk all over you in her ice pick heels. How long had she been leading men around by the nose with her long, long fingers?
And would he let her? If she offered him something sly and slick and questing in the dark...would he let her?
He shifted as well because he was uncomfortably aware of the state of his own arousal happening slightly beneath his belt. It had been a long time since he'd managed to get hard without half a bottle of whiskey. Sex, like drinking, had simply become a way to forget. He punished his body at the gym, he punished his body with booze, and he punished his body with sex. It was just another way to try torture the dreams away.
"Mr. Redfield – keep this up and I might assume you're stalking me."
He shifted a little closer to her as a rather obese man attempted to shove through the narrow opening between his body and the sculpture behind him.
Chris put a hand on her arm to shift her out of the way. In the whole of gallery, the fat man had to try to fit through where he couldn't. In a way, it was great, because it meant Chris had the very real opportunity to put a hand on her.
She allowed it, more interested then anything in what game he was about to start playing.
She was good with games. Games were her thing. She'd been playing games for years. Since the dawn of time. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when she wasn't playing games. Part of that had been born in Raccoon City and part of it had been born before. The toss and turn of foster homes, the countless faces, the judgement and what came next. What came next had defined her. It had been one long game of pretending. She was very, very good at it.
And she had to admit, he was physically attractive to her. It had been awhile since she'd pursued a personal relationship with a man. Most of them she found too tedious, too predictable.
There was something…comforting about Chris, this was true. But not tedious. And not really predictable. He'd been a riot of actions and reactions in the last year since China. She'd seen him make rash, dangerous decisions and cold, calculative ones. He was a gauntlet of emotion on any given day.
She found she liked that in a man. And especially in him. She liked that he was impossible to pin down. And so, she did something she normally avoided, she let his hand stay on her arm.
"Of course I have. It's the only way I know how to get a woman interested."
With a charming sense of timing, he plucked a glass of sparkling yellow champagne from the circulating tray and pressed it into her hand.
"So tell me something, Mr. Redfield," She took a long sip of the bubbling sweetness.
"Chris."
Yea, Ada mused, charming in his own way.
"Chris." It was interesting to note the pleasure of his name on his face. He liked her using it. Again, she considered, was he aware that everything he felt was written all over him? She wondered if he'd care. He didn't seem the type to sweat the knowledge that he was easily read. She was betting, if he were to be interrogated, he could clam up with the best of them. Maybe he just didn't bother outside of the job.
Or maybe it had been a long time since he'd felt anything...and he just didn't remember to cover it up anymore.
Maybe.
Yes, she confirmed again, she was interested in him...to a certain degree.
"No wife? No children?" The answer to question was part of the process. He wasn't aware that she was screening him. She had a rigorous process for choosing a potential lover. If he passed, she'd move forward with the promise of it, if he failed – well he'd never be the wiser.
He shrugged, guiding them both comfortably to the edge of the fountain where they could sit and face each other.
"The timing was never right or the woman. And why bother? I've seen what hides in the dark, what lurks there. I've cultivated enemies with what I do. Why bring someone into the world that can be used as leverage? Why bring someone into the world that has to grow up in fear?"
It was a good answer, as far as truth went, a little maudlin perhaps, but honest.
"And if you were, to say, meet the right woman? If such a thing exists."
"Too late now. I'm too old. And too far into it. I have a baby. The BSAA is my baby. A big, fat, ugly, squalling baby that constantly shits itself."
She laughed again and angled her body a little more toward him. It was a very subtle movement but it set off bells in his head. Since he was neither blind, nor stupid, he shifted as well. And his arm brushed against her back.
That was a check on number two in his column. He could pick up on the subtleties of flirtation. So he was big and seemed like a lumbering buffoon but he wasn't. She didn't allow dumb men into her bed. It was too boring. If they were too dumb to sense the intricacy of a woman's intentions, they were too dumb to know how to pleasure one.
"And what about love?"
This was the big question and the most important. She wanted nothing to do with love or feeling. Friendship, of a kind, was ok when it came to lovers. But she didn't want them trying to make eggs and babies in the morning. She didn't want some man standing under her window with a Romeo complex declaring his love to her.
Chris smiled a little and opened his hand. She took it, tilting her head in interest.
He guided her toward the dance floor and smoothly turned her into his arms to waltz. It put another check in his column. A man that could dance was a man that could dance in all places. Why did it surprise her to know he could? He seemed, as always, the type to have two left feet on the dance floor. But he carried himself well here.
Was it necessity? Likely. And she could understand that as well.
In silvery ice pick heels, she was still significantly shorter. This was another plus. She was particularly fond of tall men.
"Love is for romance novels. And starry eyed teenagers."
"Love didn't send you to Africa to find Jill Valentine?"
Curious, he dipped her, spun her out, and brought her back in a smooth and practiced move. "Not the kind of love you seem to be hinting at." And he was quite curious how she knew about that mission. It didn't seem her cup of tea for a light evening read.
"You've never been intimate with her then?"
"Not in a long time. Once or twice, years ago. When we were young. It was fun and harmless. Jill isn't the type of woman you fall in love with."
Ada tilted her head a little, "An interesting statement. Why?"
"She's focused. She's driven. And she's not interested in love."
"...I can certainly understand the type."
Chris laughed a little, amused.
He brought her back from another turn and his hand settled on her back, at the top of her hips. A simple touch but it was enough to spark the beginning of something more.
The song ended and they remained, pressed together, for a long space of time. There were so many things that could pass in a look. Sometimes, it seemed, more than words.
She slid her hand just slightly inside of his jacket, over the smooth silk of that red shirt. It was a very personal touch and signaled more than another woman would by dropping her panties.
He took her arm to guide her over toward the hallway where there was a little more privacy. The sculptures there were just as hideous and the population sparce. He knew he couldn't wait much longer, he had to have a taste of her.
He moved a little off the path into the shadow of the room and she followed. She went easily into his arms now, liking the fit of all that muscle to her slim and sleek form. Her hands slid under the suit jacket and around his back to gauge the steely strength of him. It's what she'd always suspected, not an ounce of fat on him.
One arm wrapped around her, the other cupped the side of her face and he tilted her back, just enough to impress upon her a certain sense of romance. This surprised even as it delighted her. His thumb traced over her red mouth.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to kiss a woman. It filled his belly with warmth that spread from fingers to toes and hair. He owed Ada Wong an enormous thank you for awakening the man long buried in the corpse.
It was delightful to feel again. To want. To feel the rush and press of desire in his head and loins.
One of her hands echoed his, cupping the side of his face, the other grabbed a handful of muscle on his back to hold on because her knees went weak and wobbling. He didn't kiss her, not yet. He kissed down the side of her neck.
He turned her into his body, feeling all those smooth, strong lines of honed feminine grace. She was slim, yes, but sleek and toned like a swimmer or a runner…or a goddess of the hunt. Her arms looped around his back now under his jacket as the kiss slid over her collarbone and his tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat, spilling a sigh from her lips of pure delight.
And he earned major points with her when he said, calmly, even though she could feel the rapid thud of his heart that matched her own. "I could be in trouble here."
Her hands trailed down to his waist and found the inner pants holster there that put his gun at the flat of his back. He was armed. Even here, even amongst the yuppies and the elite, he was armed. Somehow it managed to turn her on even more to know it.
She herself was wearing a belly band complete with a Ruger LCS9. A small, compact 9mm with a seven shot magazine. He'd felt it the moment he pulled her against him. You couldn't see it, somehow she hid it even in such a small dress, but it was there just in case. All she had to do was reach under the slit of her gown and pull it free.
"You look like a vampire that's preparing to feed..Chris."
There it was again...the echo of his name. He liked her saying it. "I'd like to try more of you. Tell me you don't know that."
She felt his excitement, hard and needy, pressed against her belly. "I know that. I believe we're in agreement, Mr. Redfield about where we'd like this to go."
"Let me take you home."
She studied his face, her head spinning from the surge of lust that speared strong and fast into her belly. A part of her wanted nothing more.
But she had enough sense to say. "Mr. Redfield..what kind of woman do you take me for?"
"I'd like to take you for my kind of woman."
"Do I seem the type to belong to a man? If you really think that, you haven't been paying attention."
"Ada...I'm not asking you to own you."
Wasn't he?
She mused, "What are you asking?"
He pressed her back against the wall into the semi darkness. She let him because it felt good to let him. Her hand skimmed his jaw and felt the stubble of three day old beard. "Do you need me to spell it out for you?"
"I like honesty. It's refreshing."
He put his lips to her ear. "I want to be inside you."
She'd asked for the truth. But it didn't stop the flutter of excitement from stealing her breath. And she was delighted to discover she felt the same way.
"I'll think on it."
"Ada...at least let me touch a boob."
She couldn't stop the light laugh. He was utterly uncouth when it suited him. But that, too, was part of his charm.
He was joking of course, completely. But she seemed to consider the idea for a moment. And then she said, "Should I ruin the romance of the moment with hard truth?"
"Are you married?"
"No."
"A lesbian?"
She laughed a little at the idea. "No. I assure you."
"Then how could you ruin this?"
Ada let him nuzzle the pulse point on her wrist and had to admit she liked the feel of him.
"I don't sleep around."
He furrowed his brow at her. "That's ok by me."
"I'm very selective of my lovers."
Chris studied her earnest expression. Again, he thought, that face said nothing. She was beautiful and elusive. He queried, "Am I at least on the roster for selection?"
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No…ok maybe a little. I'm not going to ask you to move in and play house, Ada. Don't worry."
"I don't take just anyone to bed, Christopher. For many reasons."
"Any why's that?"
"Mostly I find men can be clingy and tedious. And boring. And I -."
"Make it a point never to be bored."
"Exactly."
He studied that haughty, beautiful face. So amused. But she was serious. Deadly so it seemed. He moved to taste her mouth and she pressed a finger to his lips.
"That's the first rule. No kissing."
He nipped that finger with his teeth. "And what happens if I break the rules?"
"We end things. No arguments. Second chances."
Chris tilted his head, studying her.
"Do you want to hear the rest of the rules?"
A long moment passed before he answered. "I do."
"Ok. Dinner. Tomorrow. Eight thirty."
"I get to buy you dinner?"
"One of the perks." She stepped out of the circle of his arms.
"Let me take you home tonight. I'll scramble eggs and eat them off your ass."
Ada laughed a little bit. "It's lucky for you I find your sophomoric sense of humor amusing. You can take me to Denouche. And we'll go from there."
His date called his name and caught his attention.
Of course he wasn't standing anyone up by hiding and making out with Ada Wong because his date was his sister.
"Ada...wait, stay."
"Sit? Roll over? Fetch?" Amused, she watched him. He looked so pleasantly guileless and flushed. She enjoyed it. So she added, "Bring a clean bill of health with you."
Surprised, he queried, "On a date?"
"On a date with me, yes."
She was the most curious creature he'd ever met.
Claire came into the hallway in a sparkly black dress with her red hair carefully and somehow wonderfully arranged on her head in a glory of curls and corkscrews.
"There you are." And her smile went to frigid."Ada."
"Claire."
Ada smiled slyly. "Mr. Redfield, we'll discuss this more later." And she passed by Claire to disappear back into the red edge, sex filled promise she'd come from.
"What were you doing over here?"
Chris l aughed at the accusatory tone. "Playing Jenga. What do you think we were doing?"
"It's dark back here. The evil bitch belongs in the dark, " Her eyes narrowed, focused, and turned to angry slits. "Why do you smell like her?"
She got closer, sniffed, sniffed again. "Are you kidding me here!?"
"It's none of your business, Claire."
"Damnit, Chris! Are you stupid? Oh all the women in the world. Ada?! Really? She's probably Rosemary's baby!"
"It was a little heavy petting, kid. Chillax."
"You better not be doing anything. Ever. She's not for you. No. EVER! What is it with that bitch? Does she have diamonds in her vag? You men sure chase her like dogs in heat. First Leon sniffing around and now you. What's wrong with the world?"
Chris laughed again as he escorted her back out to the party.
"She's beautiful and we had a nice moment. Don't get your panties in a twist over it."
"She's malicious. And conniving. And…SMART!"
Now that was just insulting.
Lips pursed, Chris glared at her, "You saying I'm too stupid for her?"
Attempting to recover from the mistake, Claire rushed out, "No. I'm saying she's not your type."
"And what type is that?"
"You know.." She waved her hands in circles, "Chesty…and…short…"
"You were going to say dumb."
"Well if the waitress fits…"
Irritated, he turned away from her. "Sometimes you can be a real bitch, Claire."
"I'm just trying to protect you!"
"I don't need protection! What could I possibly need protection from?"
But his sister was already stalking away. He didn't hear her murmur under her breath, "Yourself...you big softie. She's going to eat you alive."
And him? Well he was looking forward to dinner...and the taste of Ada Wong.