4. Best laid dinner plans.
The rest of the day is crazy. You spend all of your time in between locations, talking to people, trying to work out different angles to this story. It would have been much easier if you had gotten some initial information from Stella this morning, but since your meeting has been pushed to the evening you try to have all the material prepared for the conversation.
She calls in twice to postpone the dinner - first she moves it from 7pm to 8pm and then she calls at 7.30- to move it again from 8pm to 9pm. You really don't mind as you're busy working on all the data you've accumulated throughout the day.
At 8.20 you're finally free and you half-expect her to call and move the dinner yet again so you decide to head home for a shower and a change of clothes. She never calls so you end up leaving your apartment way too late, but looking hot in tight leather trousers, a fitting top that hugs your figure perfectly and a stylish black jacked with leather detail. You decided to go for a "just out of bed" hairstyle and only a touch of make up - lashes and some highlighter to accentuate your cheekbones.
As you speed drive through the city to get to her hotel as fast as possible you sing along with Ed Sheeran:
I met this girl late last year
She said, "Don't you worry if I disappear.
" I told her I'm not really looking for another mistake
I called an old friend thinking that the trouble would wait
But then I jump right in A week later returned
I reckon she was only looking for a lover to burn
But I gave her my time for two or three nights
Then I put it on pause 'til the moment was right
I went away for months until our paths crossed again
She told me, "I was never looking for a friend.
Maybe you could swing by my room around 10:00
Baby, bring a lemon and a bottle of gin
We'll be in between the sheets 'til the late AM"
At this point of the song you chuckle. Being in between the sheets with Stella and a bottle of gin would have been your plan if not for the freaking article. You drive up to the hotel, park you car and hurry inside - you're already about ten minutes late.
She is waiting for you in the restaurant - you can see her sipping white wine and writing something down in her diary. With a pen. Seriously who does that anymore? You approach her table as she greets you without even looking up as she finishes her writing:
"You're late."
"You moved the dinner two times so I don't think we should put too much pressure on punctuality." You sit down with a polite smile and take a look at the menu. "Have you ordered?"
"As a matter of fact - yes." She takes another sip of vine and shoots you a look, taking in your appearance, studying you as you stop the waiter passing by and order "whatever she's having and a glass of the same wine."
"You're not very picky, are you?" She asks quietly, and you give her another charming smile:
"I am actually. But I trust your taste." That is a half-truth. Another half-truth is that normally you take a while to choose your food and drinks and as you are already late you would feel bad delaying the conversation even more. So you silently pray she didn't order anything too peculiar.
"You don't know my taste." She smiles back at you and God, she is gorgeous.
"I hope I do." You hear yourself answering and a comfortable silence falls between you. You see her smile at you once again, not openly, just a hint of a smile on her lips, but that is enough to make the time stand still. You catch yourself thinking that this exact moment will be etched in your memory forever: Her tired face with this small smile, a glass of wine in her hands, the way her golden hair catch the light of the lamp at the side of your table, the way her face is lit up, the way her eyes peer into your own. This moment alone is exquisite.
The waiter brings over the wine and you taste it - it has a very complex bouquet, the taste is soft, but strong at the same time. You feel the hint of summer heat, honey and pears in it and maybe some citrus, but the aftertaste is a bit spicy, leaving you wanting more. You catch yourself thinking the wine represents the woman who chose it perfectly.
"Great choice" you compliment her, putting the glass down and getting your laptop out of the bag.
"Thank you." She traces all your movements with her eyes as you settle in your chair, that is more of a large armchair then a proper chair. You sit a bit sideways and pull one leg under yourself to be more comfortable with your laptop in your lap.
"So." You begin the business part of your meeting. "How would you prefer to do this? I can ask you questions or tell you what I know so far and what the plan is for the story?"
"How about I explain the situation to you and then you will ask your questions if you have any?" Stella suggests and you're all for it - with that voice you could listen to her talk all night.
"Sure. Would you mind if I type some things up along the way?"
"Please go ahead." She then proceeds to explain the situation to you. And the situation is in short the following:
There was a murder of Alice Monroe. She believes it's tied to another murder from about a year ago - the murder of a woman named Fiona Gallagher. She explains the parts that match and the parts that don't much and why she thinks that is. She believes the killer will strike again. Her boss Jim Burns is not on board with that idea. (Of course he'd rather keep it as simple as one murder then end up with a serial killer on his hands - and that is perfect Jim Burns thinking right here. The man never changes.)
Somewhere in between the waiter brings over the food and announces that it's veal scallopini with asparagus and mushroom sauce. It sure looks and smells delicious.
"Veal is a controversial dish..." you say as you eye her face for the signs of recognition of the quote, but she shows none. She hums instead as she tastes her food and it obviously pleases her. You take this moment to finish up your notes. As you're about to put your laptop away you hear her utter:
"Your veal is getting cold" and you hold back a grin - of course she watches Hannibal. You share a look of mutual understanding before you speak up:
"I wasn't sure you'd be into the show - you know, in your line of work…"
"Why not, it's never as scary as real life." She is dead serious now and you feel a little out of your depth. You don't really want to discuss anything too personal with her - you don't know her well enough yet and you don't know how this will turn out in the end. Being too personal might become a problem later on. You think of a way to joke it off, but suddenly Stella changes the subject herself.
"I've read up on you. You're described as cut-though, edgy, bold. I want to know how comfortable you would be going against authority at some point?"
"Very." You sip you wine and specify: "for the right reasons of course."
"Of course." She studies you again before specifying as well: "when I said "at some point" I meant tonight. In this article."
"So I figured. What do you want me to say and why?"
"The killer is going to strike again. And he will probably start by breaking and entering into the victim's house. He might move her things around, might steal her underwear, steal her photos or do some other things that will be more or less suspicious. Then he will come back for the kill. I want you to print that information so that the women are more vigilant - It's better to get alarmed over nothing then die because you thought it was nothing. I want you to say that there is a version that it might be a serial killer. You have to say it's only one of the versions - as it's not yet official, but your job is to make them believe it's true. I want women scared and aware. And locking up their houses at night."
As she speaks, you already have the article forming in your head, all the facts coming together. You immediately think that Stella's background in catching a cannibal serial killer in London will come very handy. And pissing off Jim Burns along the way, making your friend Eastwood happy, is just the cherry on top.
"I'll do it. It will come out tomorrow - I'll get the editor to make it front page news. That should do the deed." You think for a moment before you ask her: "But what if we alarm the killer as well? And he changes up his act?"
"He gets off on his act. He might become more careful, but it's a risk I'm willing to take - at least we could save someone who has noticed something like that. He could have already picked out his next victim for all we know."
"You're right. And locking up all the doors at night hasn't hurt anybody" You try to lighten the mood. "Ok, now that the business talk is over - would you care for desert?" You know you're taking your chances now, but she is too gorgeous not to try.
"If by dessert you mean whiskey then the answer is yes." She looks into your eyes and you realise your challenge has been accepted.
"The bar downstairs?" You ask suggestively, but her answer is disarmingly blunt:
"How about… my room?" her eyes never leave yours and you suddenly feel nervous. You've done this a lot of times before, but for some reason this time it's different. You catch yourself wondering if this time is different for her, but cut this thought short as soon as it starts to form - this is exactly the emotional shit you've been trying to avoid lately. You return her gaze with matching intensity.
"Skipping some important steps, are we?" You tease, wanting to stretch this sensual moment for as long as possible. The anticipation is delicious, so you drag it out.
"Why, you want some flowers?" She retorts, eyebrow raised at you. God, that looks sexy on her. Everything looks sexy on her, you might have just about found your kryptonite.
"Please. I was talking about getting drunk and lowering our inhibitions." You smirk at her, knowing she obviously won this round - turning the whole situation around like she was in charge. You're not used to women doing that and it's quite refreshing.
She savours her small victory and teases: "I don't see you as someone who has many inhibitions."
"I'm easy to read. You're not."
"Well, now that we're on the same page…"
"Shall we?" you finish for her. As you both get up to leave she suddenly chuckles:
"Skipping some important steps, are we?"
"I'm sorry?" You're busy getting your things together so it doesn't really register until she brushes past you to lead the way to the elevator, half-whispering the explanation right into your ear: "We probably need to allow this some more time before we start finishing each other's sentences don't you think?" She gives you another small smirk and walks away, expecting you will follow.
"Whatever the fuck this is" you mutter to yourself quietly so that she doesn't hear as you head after her, a smug grin playing on your face.