Shades of Gray – by Darlin
Part Two
xox
I'm telling you the show should be all about you, Ororo," Lilandra laughed after the skinny delivery guy came in later that week looking appropriately love struck, stuttering when spoken to and tripping over his feet when he left.
"How boring would that be?"
"Not so boring if you were an aspiring model. Ororo, you must give it some thought. Charles agrees with me and he's not been wrong about any of our models."
Their models? They had signed only two women and one man so far but several catalogue companies loved them.
"You're so striking the show would be an immediate success," Lilandra went on.
"I suppose a camera crew could help him beat up the stalkers."
"Ha!"
"I'm sure this package isn't ours – yet again. What's wrong with that kid?"
"If only there were other delivery companies in the city," Lilandra sighed.
"There are."
"But they all fall for you so it hardly matters which company's delivering does it? Besides, we've no control over our international clientele. We can't possibly tell them not to use what is usually a very reliable and responsible service, now can we?"
International clientele? Ororo sometimes wondered what drugs Lilandra was on but now the poor delivery guy was back.
"Can I help you?" Ororo asked.
The ice cold voice she'd used only made the kid stutter worse not turn around and flee for his life as she'd hoped.
"I . . . I left . . . um . . ."
"You realized you left the wrong package again, is that what you're trying to say?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Sorry."
"Lift your shirt up."
"Huh?"
"Lift . . . your . . . shirt – go on. Higher."
The women watched the skinny youth pull his shirt tail out of the belted shorts and lift it as Ororo had directed.
"Nope, that won't do. Thank you. Goodbye."
"Huh?"
"I said . . . good bye."
"Oh, might I train with the master?" Lilandra said giving a mock bow after the poor boy fled without the package.
"Sometimes cruel honesty is the only thing that gets through to them."
"So true."
xox
Even in jail he thought about her. He'd had a broken rib, some cuts and bruises but nothing to keep him out of jail for the night after he got bandaged up at the emergency room. He cursed the day he'd ever met her. The funny part about all of it was that he'd never really met her. He still hadn't been able to ascertain what her name was exactly. They'd never been properly introduced. He hadn't even been able to work up the nerve to say anything that wasn't anything other than defensive. He could say he'd been too overcome by her beauty but sitting in a jail cell gave you plenty of time to think and he knew that wasn't what had happened. He was a sucker. Not a stalker mind you just your basic idiot. Not the first time either but never so badly as this.
When he got out of jail, she hadn't press charges, he vowed he'd never step foot on the same street as the modeling agency and that was saying something because he knew he could hardly avoid Seventh Ave, nevertheless he'd give it a good try. He was sore – his whole body – too sore to work for a few days or longer if he had any sense. He realized he had very little.
Work put beer in the belly so back to work he went. Work meant stepping foot on the Seventh, he couldn't feasibly avoid the street. It meant passing by that big glass window seeing her lovely face nearly every single day. He just couldn't do it for the rest of his life. He either had to get a different job or find a different obsession. He chose the latter.
xox
At first she felt guilty whenever she saw the brightly colored delivery trucks. She'd quite successfully gotten rid of two of their drivers. Not such a bad thing since they both were annoying, one a stalker, but not a very good thing when you considered it was someone's livelihood after all. She felt like a bitch. But where did compassion come in when you were being stalked?
Anytime a delivery man came in now she was always polite, never smiled but never ignored them either. She had learned to control herself if they were good looking, as the stalker had been. It was akin to acting, look at them politely, speak politely. She was sure that's what the allure had been before. Ignoring them had angered them or turned their heads enough that their brains had become addled. She found that the frail ones were always discouraged when she had them lift their shirts. None of them refused though. That surprised her. She never understood why men, even particularly thin ones, were so quick to strip. Sex she supposed – hoping to score possibly? A woman would never do that. Well, not most. She surely wouldn't. Lift my shirt? What? She'd sue so fast they wouldn't know what had hit them. Rot in hell. All men. She was sick of them.
"Lift your shirt."
Now there was a nice chest. Nice face too. The scar over his right brow only made him look more attractive in that dangerous sexy way. Yes, he would do all right. Cocktail hour here we come.
"Like what you see?"
Oh no he didn't! The cocky son of a . . .
"Oh, you're not quite what we're looking for but we'll call if we get a shoot that would suit you. Thank you." Smile. Be polite. Keep it real but not flirty even if he does look like a plainer Tyrese with the body to match. Control.
It seemed to be working. No one was lurking around the front door or following her home and trying to get into her apartment. Why hadn't she thought of this before? She really thought she had been polite before but apparently her manners had been somewhat lacking. Etiquette 101, she'd missed that course. Control 101 she was excelling in.
xox
"Where do you want it?"
Where I always want it but can't have it, she thought and immediately felt like blushing. I'm such a slut. Ah well, fantasies, where would I be without them?
"Look, Lady I don't mean any disrespect and please don't call the cops on me I just want to leave the package, get your signature and go. I don't want any trouble."
"Oh . . . no."
It was him! The stalker. Apparently in disguise too. He had a baseball style cap in the bright colors of his company pulled low over his ruggedly face. Too late she recalled the restraining order a police officer had tried to convince her to get.
"Can I just put it down here and you can just sign this so I can get out of here?"
She found herself nodding. He remembered she liked the packages next to her desk and bent down to place it very carefully on the floor. She couldn't help but rise in her seat to enjoy the view and before she knew it words were leaving her mouth on their own accord.
"Lift your shirt."
"Huh?"
"Lift it. Your shirt. Now."
Incredibly he did so.
"Oh." She swallowed. He was everything and more than she'd dreamt of.
"Okay lady, we're even now."
"Not hardly," she managed to squeak out.
"Sign please."
If she didn't know any better she would swear she was having some kind of unassisted orgasm. Was that even possible?
"Okay," she gasped, signed and tried to catch her breath.
Crazy broad, he thought when he left.
xox
Vindicated? Not really. Safe? Possibly. But again he felt like he'd been taken advantage of. Weird. He never knew women had that kind of power but they did even when they didn't have a badge and they damn sure knew how to use it. Lift my shirt? It didn't matter how pretty she was she was obviously nuts which would explain a whole hell of a lot. The police, the pepper spray, the beating, being hit by a car, spending a night in jail, causing him to almost lose his job.
He hadn't quite managed to stop thinking of her but neither had he started looking for a new job. He kept thinking about the way she looked when she'd seen his bare chest. It always brought a grin to his face. Yep, she wanted him. But then he'd catch himself. If she wanted him she'd had plenty of time to get him. She wanted him in jail that's what she wanted. Crazy broad. The pretty ones were always power crazy or snobs, never giving you the time of day.
New obsession, he remembered but knew there was nothing he could do. How did you find someone new to obsess about? Why would you? He meant why would you want to obsess over anything or anyone especially when it brought you nothing but trouble with a capital t and a capital r and a – you know the deal.
Nevertheless, he went to sleep smiling. Trouble sure came in a pretty package. He dreamt of hands on his chest. Hands with long red nails that curled under like something out of an old Asian movie or the chick at the fast food joint he'd gone to last night. It was her, X's receptionist, that was on him raking her nails over his chest and smiling and then it wasn't her but something that looked like its head was all white with only large oval black eyes and a goofy smile.
Casper? Yes, it was Casper the Friendly Ghost. That's who he'd dreamt of. What was that all about he wondered when he woke up in a cold sweat.
xox
"Any new stalkers?" Lilandra asked when she breezed into the office the next morning.
"Same old one," Ororo commented.
"Cute, young and skinny or handsome, old and ratty?"
"Handsome old and ratty. Old? Do you think he's old?"
"Older than you dear but a little cleaning up and we'd strike gold with that one. He may be far too short for runway work but I think he'll look quite scrumptious in front of the camera. Send him in when you see him next time; I'll have him lift his shirt for me."
"Already did that."
"And? Wait a minute! Ororo you naughty girl. Let's see – handsome, old and ratty the stalker came back to the scene of the crime and you asked him to lift his shirt and he did?"
"He did."
"My, my I must worship at your feet. What are you? How do you do it? You put him in jail and he's still coming around for more. I wish I could market whatever it is you have going for you besides the face, boobs – bod in general, hair and eyes, lips . . ."
"Lilandra.
"Hmm. Sorry but you have to admit it's . . . hmm, how can I put it? Strange!"
"I don't know. It was an impulse. After he did it for me he said we were even."
"I would expect so. But was he everything we imagined?"
"We?"
"Drool worthy, dear?"
"Very much so."
"Ah. Well, at least Charles wasn't around to box his ears although I imagine that would be quite difficult, it is rather hard if you can't get within a foot of your very virile opponent."
"Do you think I'm crazy?"
"Crazy how?"
"Crazy for . . . well, you know . . . making him show me his chest."
"Dear Ororo, don't you do that for all the men lately? And besides, if that was all you said and more – no. I'm only sorry I wasn't there to enjoy the view."
"Maybe next time."
"There will be a next time then? Hmm, Kinky."
xox
Twice he'd driven by the model agency while making other deliveries and once he'd been rewarded far beyond his expectations. She was standing on her desk reaching for something. Those legs! He barely missed a jaywalker and he barely checked to make sure the guy was okay as his head swung back for a second look but she was being helped down by some guy – the schmuck.
Okay he was officially crazy. Woman like that would have him by the balls, a firm grip too with every intention of never letting go, and there'd be nothing he could do about it. Women. Women! What had he been thinking? That's exactly what he needed – a real flesh and blood woman, someone to take his mind off of the one who had him by the balls even if it was just in his imagination. Someone to form a new obsession with. No. No, that wasn't right. He wasn't going to obsess over any woman but he'd find one to keep his mind off of the rude witch.
No such luck though. After work he tried a couple of bars. Too much make up, not enough clothes, too ugly, too pretty – yes there was such a thing – and the rest, not enough sense to carry on a decent conversation. Too much makeup meant high maintenance, he hated makeup, too few clothes meant too easy – in his book anyway, too ugly – he just couldn't go there, too pretty meant he'd be reminded of her and the pretty women were usually arrogant just like her, looking down on any man that wasn't pretty enough to be on the cover of GQ, and yes he did read GQ sometimes, and he definitely wasn't going to date a dumbbell. Maybe he needed a new strategy?
xox
When Charles kept her late again she groaned inwardly. She wondered if she told him she needed him to protect her from her stalker since she was working late if he'd panic and send her home early. Then he wanted to talk over drinks after they left. She was thankful for the ride home they'd give her afterwards even if a drunken Lilandra wasn't her favorite person to be around but she didn't drive.
The bar was full of attractive wannabe movie stars and models. The three of them went there sometimes with an eye out for the next discovery. It was just across the street, easily accessible.
Their eyes met an instant when she surveyed the room from the entrance. Her blue eyes squinted ever so slightly as her mouth tightened. It looked like she was giving him the finger or was she trying to tell him she was calling the cops? He started to run but caught hold of himself. It was a free world, a free bar for that matter. He had every right to be there so he raised a hand, saluted her, mumbled something to his companion who was wearing the same uniform as he, and walked off as nonchalantly as he could manage, beer left behind untouched.
"Let's get this party started!" Lilandra murmured and dragged Charles and Ororo, who was self consciously smoothing her hair, to the bar. She hadn't seen him and Ororo was thankful for that.
Ororo suddenly felt like leaving. But not right away. Give him a little time to get away. She didn't want it to look like she was chasing him and she wouldn't be she just didn't want to stay. Her stomach felt upset. She wanted to go home. She didn't though. Stalkers can be cute, no law against that, but they were just as deadly as the ugly stalkers and she wasn't leaving until Charles and Lilandra were ready.
xox
Peering from around the corner after leaving the restroom he saw her sitting at the bar, those long brown legs crossed, one leg swinging in time with the music playing. Her toned thighs and shapely calves were calling to him – touch me, touch me! With certainty he realized he couldn't go back to work not if he had to keep making deliveries to her. Could he?
Second guessing himself wasn't his style. What was wrong with him? She was just a woman. And he was a man. A man acting like a kid. He had no real friends just buddies at work, no life, no goals. What was he doing with his life? He couldn't stop thinking about a woman that he couldn't even figure out what her name was. What was Orro or Onnoo? It was too long to be Ono. Why couldn't she print instead of using fancy cursive writing totally illegible? Why would he want a woman who couldn't write her name legibly? Because, looking at her, watching her as she walked home yet again several nights later, he knew she was the only woman he wanted.
It had to be understood he was not a stalker. He wasn't. He just happened to be in the neighborhood when she came home. He hadn't followed her just wanted to make sure she got home all right because it was late; too late for a pretty woman walking the streets by herself. She was stupid like that he knew but stupid ignorant not ditzy stupid. She didn't act dumb. He hated dumb women. She just walked home alone so any man could have his way with her. Ignorant stupid.
Now if he could only work up the courage to approach her. Not in a threatening way this time. Pepper spray hurt. But in some way to make her see he wasn't what she thought he was. He could act like he was walking past and just happened to run into her and say something like – Hey, what's up. No. Maybe – Hey, I didn't know you'd be out so late. No. How about:
"Hi, my name's Logan. We got off on the wrong foot . . ."
Which she promptly stomped and raised her own to do more damage as her piercing scream threatened to puncture his eardrums. Nothing ever worked like it was supposed to. He ran as she was taking off a stiletto to strike him. Again. Hitting, running. This was getting old.