Clarice speeds into the driveway of the duplex she shares with Ardelia Mapp, her Mustang jerking to a stop. Swiftly, she throws the door open, steps out, and slams it shut again. Over her right shoulder, she hears her neighbor, a man of elevated age and an unpleasant disposition, call out after her.
"Ms. Starling, I have told you several times now you need to slow down on these residential streets. There are children in the neighborhood. Next time I won't be so nice about it!" he proclaims with an irksome, self-righteous tone.
Clarice doesn't bother facing him, continuing up the drive and front steps of the home. "Today is not the day, Mr. Spalding." With the same gusto, she whips open the screen door, quickly followed by the front door. She steps inside and slams it shut, leaving her neighbor stock still with the hose hanging limply from his hand as he watches her.
Tossing her keys and phone on the credenza in the hallway and kicking her shoes off, she ascends the stairs to her bedroom, taking them two at a time. Reaching her bedroom, she collapses onto the bed with a hefty sigh.
Outside her door she can hear her roommate padding down the short, carpeted hallway. "C?" She calls out tentatively. "You okay?"
Without moving, Clarice responds, "Yeah, Dee. Just a shit day at work."
"'Kay, well, I'll be down making dinner if you wanna vent." With that, Delia retreats to the shared kitchen of the duplex.
Blowing the stray locks of her deep auburn hair from her eyes and mouth, Clarice rolls over and opens the drawer of her bedside table and pulls out a small, black, utilitarian mobile phone, flips it open. Chewing her lower lip, she contemplates sending a text message to the only number in the phone's contact list--a single H with a rudimentary heart consisting of a less-than symbol and the number three next to it. Gathering her thoughts, she begins typing. Hey handsome.
She hits send, then after a moment, types another message. Whatcha up to?
Almost immediately the phone buzzes with his response. Hello, my sweet. Believe it or not, I was just thinking of you. How was your day?
She smiles, feeling some of her earlier irritation fade, but as she begins typing her reply, she thinks about Paul Krendler sidling up to her desk and arrogantly dropping a pile of paperwork on her desk and telling her with an unparalleled smarm that she was a 'natural desk jockey.' You're right, I don't believe it ;) Ehh, not great. Lotta testosterone, lotta paperwork.
His reply is characteristically swift. They don't deserve you, my dear. Would you like to discuss it?
Sure, call you later? Gotta take care of a few things here. She replies.
For you, always. How does 1930 sound?
Starling feels a warmth spread through her with the anticipation of their phone call. Sounds perfect, H. Talk soon. 3
I shall await your call with bated breath.
Clarice sighs contentedly and closes the phone, clutching it to her breast. Suddenly struck by a pang of hunger, she decides to head to the kitchen to see what Dee is whipping up. Walking down the stairs, she is greeted by the aroma of fried chicken and the muffled sound of sizzling oil.
Hearing the kitchen door open, Dee turns her head toward the sound. "Hey, girl. Feelin' any better?"
Starling leans against the counter across from her, crosses her arms casually, absentmindedly forgetting the burner phone in her hand. "Yeah, just needed a minute to decompress." Nodding her head toward the frying chicken, adds, "Smells good."
Dee nods understandingly, turning the knob on the stove off. and removing the pan from the heat. "Grandma Mapp's secret recipe. Hungry?"
"Famished." She replies, moving to set the cupboard to grab plates and glasses. Realizing the phone in her hand she feels a flash of anxiety flood her system. Ah, shit. Maybe she won't notice. She nonchalantly slips the phone into her pocket before grabbing flatware and sitting down to the table.
Dee does notice, of course—part of her job description is to notice things, after all. Placing a golden brown chicken thigh on each of their plates and taking her seat across from Clarice, she asks, "Did you get a new phone?"
"Hmm?" Clarice's eyebrows shoot up involuntarily, her chewing slowing.
"Your phone." Dee says again, cutting into her chicken. "Looked like a burner or something."
Fuckola. Think fast, Starling. Clarice stammers, "Oh, uh, yeah. It's just something I thought might come in handy, you know, for emergencies or whatever." Hoping her explanation sounds genuine enough, she subtly glances at Dee for any signs of doubt. Was that believable enough?
Clearly not convinced, Dee raises an eyebrow. "Emergencies? Like what? Why can't you just use your cell or the landline?" She takes a deliberate bite, her skepticism evident. Gathering her thoughts, Clarice clears her throat, buying time to weave a more believable tale. "Well, for instance, what if the power goes out or there's an intruder, and I can't find my cell, or I lost it or something? Could be useful." She attempts to inject a note of conviction into her voice, hoping to dispel any lingering doubt in Dee's mind.
"Okay, sure. But you do know I have a cell, too, right?"
"I dunno, Dee, it just seemed like a good idea." She takes a sip of her water, sounding slightly defensive.
Attempting to ease the tension, Dee raises a hand in defense, "All right, I guess it's not a terrible idea."
They continue their meal in relative quiet, occasionally engaging in light conversation about work and Delia's latest beau.
"So, what's going on with you in the romance department?" Dee asks, aware that Clarice is seeing someone but is being characteristically tight-lipped about it.
"Oh, the usual. You know me, I'm not much for romance." She leans back in her chair, having finished her dinner.
Eyeing her skeptically over the rim of her water glass, "Mhmmm."
Clarice pushes her chair back, standing and grabbing her dishes. "Well, thanks for dinner, Dee." She says as she places them in the dishwasher. "I'm gonna take a shower and turn in early."
"Sure thing, babe." Ardelia watches her friend as she takes her leave, chewing slowly as she mulls over her friend's unusual behavior of late.
As she stands in the solace of her bedroom, Clarice leans against the door, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to compose herself. "You have to be more careful," she whispers to herself, the weight of the day's events heavy on her shoulders.
Feeling the need to wash away the day, she walks into the bathroom and starts the tap, carefully adjusting the temperature before stepping into the steaming hot shower. The water cascades over her, washing away the tension and leaving her feeling relaxed and refreshed.
She gets out and grabs a towel, securing it under her armpits and wrapping another around her head. Returning to the bedroom, she glances at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 7:03. Anticipation growing by the minute, she hurriedly dries her hair and continues her usual post-shower routine before searching her closet for appropriate sleepwear. After sliding a few hangers to the left, she finally finds what she's looking for—a mid-thigh length cream-colored silk nightgown with a delicate lace bodice. A gift from Hannibal after their first intimate encounter, she smiles as she carefully removes it from the hanger.
Having dried and dressed, she glances at the clock once more— 7:15. Sitting down on the edge of the bed and blowing a raspberry, she decides it's close enough to their determined time. Grabbing the burner, she leans back against the headboard and hits speed dial. The connection crackles and Hannibal's smooth, sultry voice slides over the line and worms its way into her amygdala.
"A bit eager, are we, my love?"
She smiles, "Hi, H."
"Hello, darling. How are you?"
Sighing, she responds, "I'd be a lot better if you were here." She toys with the hem of her nightgown. "How was your day?"
His voice is low, soothing. "Yes, I share the sentiment. My day? Rather unremarkable." A slight pause, then. "Every parting from you is like a little eternity, you know."
"I know, babe. Trust me, I know." Letting out a protracted sigh, "So, when am I gonna get to see you again, good lookin'?" She asks, the initial reason for their conversation forgotten entirely, having been replaced by a profound yearning.
"When would you like to see me again, Agent Starling?"
"I would think that's rather obvious." She waits a few seconds to see if he will respond. When he doesn't, she continues, "Right this moment would suffice, I think, Doctor."
He chuckles softly. "Shall I come over and sneak in through your window again? Make it a little tradition of ours?"
Clarice laughs through her nose, "It's a tempting offer. But I'm still doing damage control from last time."
The smile in his voice is almost audible. "Understood. In that case, how about we get away this weekend?"
"Hmm, I like the sound of that. Where to?" She leans her head against the headboard and closes her eyes, reveling in the sound of his silky smooth voice.
"I'll have to do a bit of research and put something together. Do you have any preference as to where you'd like to go?"
"No, none. As long as I'm with you, I don't care where we go or what we do." Almost subconsciously, she begins running her hand over the silk resting against her thigh, imagining it to be Hannibal's touch rather than her own.
"Clarice?" He says, voices laced with something akin to longing.
"Yeah?"
"What are you wearing?"
Starling lets out a hearty laugh. "Why don't you come over here and find out for yourself?."
"Hmm… If you keep teasing me, I just may." He pauses, considering her state of dress. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say you've got on that saucy little number I brought you from Paris."
Aimlessly playing with the necklace resting against her collarbones, she muses, "How the hell do you do that?"
"I'm afraid that is a trade secret and one I cannot in good faith divulge."
"I love you, H," she says upon a sigh.
"And I adore you, my dearest, darling girl."
Downstairs, Ardelia finishes cleaning up the kitchen, and starting her own evening routine, walks to the front hall to lock up for the night when she notices Clarice's cell phone on the vestibule. Grabbing it, she ascends the stairs and approaches the closed bedroom door. Hearing Clarice's voice on the other side of the door, she pauses to eavesdrop for a moment, when she something curious reaches her ears. I love you, H.
H? Who the hell is H? I knew she was hiding something!
She raps her knuckles on the solid wooden surface. "Clarice?"
"Shit, hey, I gotta go. Dee's outside." She whispers, not waiting for a response, snapping the phone shut and concealing it under a pillow. "Come in, Dee." She calls out.
The door opens slowly and Ardelia peeks her head through the narrow opening.
"Hey, Dee, what's up?" Clarice attempts to adopt a casual air.
Dee pushes the door open wider and takes a step inside. "Just thought you might want this." She lifts the phone in her hand, tosses it to Clarice with a quizzical brow.
"Oh, yeah, thanks! I was wondering where I left it." She smiles warmly at her friend.
"No problem…" Dee trails off but doesn't move from the door, her hand still resting on the knob.
Why the hell is she still standing there? Just stay cool.
"So… who is this H? And how come I've never heard of him?"
Fuckola. Start thinking, Starling.
"And I thought you said that phone—wherever you've hidden it—was for emergencies only...?"
Averting her eyes and smoothing the fabric of her nightgown, Starling formulates a response. "Yeah, I mean, it is. But I couldn't find mine so I just grabbed this one." She smiles feebly, making fleeting eye contact before returning her gaze to her hands now resting in her lap.
Dee nods, still not entirely convinced but not letting on to her suspicions. "And this H character? Sounds pretty serious."
Clarice laughs nervously. "Well, it's still pretty new and I don't wanna jinx it…but yeah, I guess you could say it's going well so far."
"Wow." Ardelia shakes her head, a genuinely affectionate gesture. "Clarice Starling in love. I can hardly believe it." After a beat, "I'm really happy for you."
Clarice simply smiles back, somewhat wanly. "Thanks, Dee."
She nods again, beginning to leave. "Well, goodnight. See you in the morning."
"Night, Dee."
As she leaves, she suddenly stops and sticks her head through the crack in the door once more. "What's the H stand for, by the way?"
Thinking quickly, she blurts, "Hector. It's short for Hector." Close enough not to forget this web of lies I'm spinning. Christ.
Accepting it as truth, Dee quirks her head before saying goodnight again and closing the door.
With the clicking of the closing door, Clarice bangs her head against the headboard a few times. Remembering the abrupt ending to her earlier conversation with Hannibal, she reaches under the pillow and retrieves her phone. Flipping it open, she sees she already has a message from him waiting for her.
Everything all right?
She begins furiously tapping away at the keys. I think so. But I can tell she's suspicious.
Fret not, all will be well. Come away with me this weekend, yes?
Her heartbeat begins returning to normal. He always has this effect on her, his presence like a balm to her frayed nerves.
I wouldn't miss it for the world.
They continue exchanging messages, minutes effortlessly transforming themselves into hours. Starling turns onto her side, the faint blue light of the phone screen illuminating her face in the pitch darkness of the room. She again catches sight of the clock next to her, which now reads 1130.
It's getting late, H.
Yes, you'd better try and get some sleep. Goodnight, Clarice.
You too. Goodnight, H. 3
All my love, Clarice Starling.
He presses send and then, after a moment, sends another brief message. 3