Requisite Vices (2 page)

Damn, a successful subject change. Was he trying to switch the focus to me, instead? Is he actually interested in answering my questions, or has he only agreed to meet with me in order to amuse himself.

I look up from my coffee to find his eyes locked on me. They’re a soft, light brown, splattered with specks of green and gold, and they’re holding mine firm.

“Well?”

I blink, knitting my eyebrows together, then realize I had been holding my coffee and staring into it, completely lost in my own thoughts.

“Drink, before it cools.”

I doubt anything would cool in this heat, but his words overflow with the subtle power of confidence, and a sense of authority.

My cheeks burn with the excitement of forbidden thoughts, which have slipped into each crevice of my brain. Drawing the mug to my lips, I take a sip, his eyes never wavering from mine. A budding hunger peeking out from behind his eyes, causes me to shift uncomfortably in my seat. My thighs press together and my muscles clench, sending a pulse of pleasure through my quickly aching body.

Clearing my throat, I pick up my pen and poise it over the pad.

“Well, is there any advice you could tell our readers about your sudden success? Any tips or information on your personal writing process, or how you went about getting published? There are so many options, these days, for aspiring writers, and I’m sure we would love to hear about your personal experience.”

“Well, Miss Roman, if I could give you any advice, it would be to write every day. Think of it as a muscle you must exercise daily. If you want it to improve, you have to work at it constantly, even if they’re little spurts, say, ten minutes here and there. You’ll be surprised how much the way you perceive things changes and molds your work from an ugly lump of clay into a beautiful vase. I must stress, however, that everyone’s writing process is completely different. You need to find what works for you. As for publishing, well, that’s a bit harder to explain. It certainly doesn’t happen overnight.” He pauses for a brief moment, clearly amused with himself, and asks, “How’s that?”

Cocking my eyebrow, I glance at him from my notepad, where I had been furiously scribbling notes.

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s what I’m supposed to say when being interviewed, right?”

“I uh, I suppose?”

He chortles, and brings his coffee to his lips. The steam rolling off the top of the mug fogs up the bottom half of his glasses for just a moment while he takes a sip, and I notice the sweat beading up on his forehead and sliding down his temples. The heat is having an effect on him too, but he seems far more comfortable in it than I am.

Maybe he enjoys being a sweaty mess.

“In all honesty, writing can be awkward and difficult. This field is solitary and unstable for the first several years, much like most people’s early 20’s. It takes time to find your stride, and in the process, it may often result in many long, lonely nights.” he laughs. “You find yourself seeking out your place in a world filled with many others who are trying to do the same thing.  Finding a way to distinguish yourself from the crowd isn’t always easy, and leads many to throw their hands up in exhaustion, as they come across rejection after rejection. It is a solitary, humbling experience, and I don’t think anyone should pursue it unless they’re truly passionate about it. Writing isn’t something you want to do; it’s something you need to do. What about you, Miss Roman? Why do you write?”

“Why do I write? Right now, because it pays my bills. I know that’s not a good reason, and I’ve had ideas for things that could become something more, but usually those ideas are nothing more than a quick release. I have trouble sticking with it once the mood has passed, and they wind up in a pile cast off to the side.”

“Well, have you thought about a blog? It’s a good way to force yourself into writing daily.”

Clearing my throat nervously, I take another sip of my coffee as I think back on a brief spurt of blogging experience. It was definitely more X-rated than your typical blog on cooking or on the one hundred different types of hats to knit. The blog mirrored some exploratory work as a phone sex operator I picked up, in order to gather experience for an article I was writing, and of course, for the extra cash. It lasted a week before I felt myself questioning my own morals. The day I began to dread getting on the phone is the day I called it quits.

“No, I haven’t had any blogging experience. Not really. My only real writing experience has been in the articles for Angela, and those few things I have submitted were randomly thrown together over the course of a few nights. I suppose I tend to write a bit more on impulse, and that’s something I’d like to get away from. I want to organize it all, I just have a rough time sketching my thoughts out in some kind of order. And yes, I tried an outline under a college professor’s instruction. It was so bad; he was struggling not to laugh. I guess outlines aren’t my thing.”

My eyes slip from his as he turns his attention back to his coffee, lost in thought, then trail down the side of his neck, over the slight bulge of his Adam’s apple and linger on the hint of chest hair visible only due to the carelessly unrestrained top button of his shirt.

“Are you okay, Miss Roman? You look flushed. Is the heat too much for you?”

The pink on my cheeks must have grown to a bright scarlet as I fumble with my pen. His voice is soft, aching with concern, and it seeps through my skin, threatening to set a spark to my already boiling blood.

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry. I suppose I’m still not accustomed to the temperature down here. I wasn’t made for this extreme heat.”

“Oh? I would have thought you could handle the heat, Miss Roman.” He smirks, with a twinkle in his eye that stirs my blood. Fantastical images of twisted limbs and impassioned moans push to the forefront of my mind “Would you like to finish our discussion indoors?”

Indoors, perhaps, but the coffee shop isn’t the first thing that comes to mind. I was thinking something a bit more…private.

Biting hard on the inside of my cheek to focus my thoughts, I think back on the sound restrained just beyond the doors to the café, and know it would be pointless. I wouldn’t hear a thing in there.

His phone chimes from the depths of his back pocket, and saves my scattered brain from trying to piece together more innocent thoughts. He pulls it out, apologizing for the interruption, and swipes his finger across the screen. His brow furrows as he reads over the message.

“I’m really very sorry, Miss Roman, but my free time has been cut short yet again. Perhaps we can continue this another time? Do you plan to stay in the area?”

“Yes, for the next few days. I have a few things around the city that I need to take care of, but plan to head home on Sunday.”

“Wonderful! Then we’ll set something up. I’ll text you the details.”

His lips curl into a soft smile as he rises from his seat and offers his hand. Slipping my hand into his, I give it an awkward shake.

I really hope that’s why he was offering it…

His eyes peer down at me from behind his silver rimmed glasses, and his smile takes on a seductive twist to my hormone riddled brain. My imagination is running away with me again, causing enticing delusions to implant themselves into everything I perceive.

I’m glad he’s was called away, before my imagination had time to fully wrap him into another one of its fantasies.

As he turns his back, I look down at my fairly empty notepad and write this off as a failure. I’m sure I know what his schedule is like; events, future projects project or helping with various activities around the city. Honestly, I’d probably have better luck seeing him on television than I would in person.

I finish off the rest of my coffee, and leave the noise of the café, and the memories of my failure, behind me. As I turn the corner towards my car, I find him leaning against it, swiping through his phone. He looks up as I approach and grins, his fingers raking insouciantly through his hair.

“Ah, Miss Roman. My apologies, is this your car?”

“Yes, in fact…”

He can’t seriously think I’d write this off as a coincidence, could he?

“Well, quite the stroke of luck, then! As I was heading home, I realized that I’m terrible at contacting people.”

He smiles, and I could feel that oh-so-familiar ache grow inside of me as my eyes try to focus on his, and not on the visible sprinkling of chest hair, how delicious he looks in those jeans, or how sexy his smile is.

“Why don’t you try me tomorrow night?” 

He eases his hand into his front pocket to fish out his business card. I thank him, and watch as he heads off again.

The usual questions such as ‘How did he know what car I drove?’ pale in comparison to the mental images assaulting my thoughts as I watch him walk off, and as I climb into my car, I begin fantasizing about how he’d look shirtless.

Shaking the images from my head, I check my phone to see several missed calls and a handful of messages from Ann begging me to stop by as soon as I can. I had mentioned I’d be in the city to her, and she was overly eager to have me check over her work. Sadly, she’s also incredibly impatient.

I start up the car, throw it in gear, and head towards my hotel to change from these stuffy clothes into something a bit more casual for her. By the time I’ve changed and grabbed a quick — albeit unsatisfying — bite to eat, the sun is beginning to set and there are twelve new messages on my phone from Ann. I should probably learn to keep my phone, at minimum, on vibrate. I have this awful habit of slipping it on silent at all times, mostly because I hate to be disturbed by the constant ring of calls and texts.

Grabbing my purse and keys, and head out of the hotel towards the address Ann sent in her very first text, then reply with a quick ‘On my way.’ before tossing the phone into the bottomless void of my hand bag.

Chapter 3

In addition to my submission
s
to LA
ddict
, I was lucky enough to land a more stable, part-time teaching job at the local college when Riley and I first moved to here. It was there, that I met Ann. She’s a former coworker that I met during my first semester teaching. 

Ann carries herself with an air you’d expect from someone who’s grown up never wanting, however, I do admire her ability to stay semi-grounded. She’s not the type who will look down on someone for not having what she has; she just doesn’t know how to relate in certain social aspects, almost as if she lacks the graces you’d expect from the general population. It’s just another one of those slightly annoying qualities she possesses, and her impatience is less than charming.

I walk up to a pair of large, intimidating mahogany front doors and with a single knock, they fly open. She’s standing before me; her eyes, a sunlit forest of jade, and her hair is reminiscent of the red and black of smoldering coals.

“Oh! Thank goodness you’re here. Come in, please!”

She reaches across the threshold, grabs me by the wrist and drags me through the expansive parlor until we’re standing hip to hip in the doorway to the office.

“I’m really sorry for calling on you, but since you were in the area, I…”

“Really, it’s not a problem. I was finishing up a meeting not too far from here, actually, so it’s not an inconvenience. Perhaps, next time, I could do without all the messages.” I smile.

Her eyes are absolutely enchanting.

With crimson cheeks, she stares down at her feet, clearly embarrassed by my statement, and I regret saying it immediately. I didn’t mean to offend her, but spamming me with messages isn’t going to make me come here any faster.

“I’m sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I just wanted to make sure you were still coming, I suppose. I’m sorry…” Her eyes are still downcast, and I wish I could pull my previous comment out of the air and erase it from existence.

“It’s okay! Really. It’s no problem at all. However, I’d hate to be a disappointment. I’m not perfect, and I’m certainly not a professional editor, or anything. There will be things I miss, and different people may see it in different ways. If you’re certain on going forward with this, I really do encourage you to seek out a second opinion to give it a more in depth review.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She states pointedly as she ushers me into the room. “You’re far better than I am, at least, and I would really love your opinion.”

Ann pushes me toward the desk as my eyes sweep over every inch of the room. It’s spectacular; something I could only dream of having as an office.

A rich, espresso wood spreads across every inch of the floor, naked if not for the lush cream carpet beneath a solid cherry wood desk. The walls are a shimmer of white, but can hardly be seen amongst the towering white bookshelves, which are pushed into every corner of the room. The ceiling is an ornate pattern of leaves and vines stamped out in polished copper panels. Each bend, curve, and twist in its surface reflects the dim light from the chandelier, which dangles from the center of the room as if it were a ladies prized pendant.

The light fixture mimics the trees scattered throughout the lawn; a jumbled lump of white washed oak branches, copper stamped leaves and rose quartz flowers which hang delicately among the branches. A soft glow is refracted in the gems, casting dappled pinks on everything residing within its touch.

Ann’s hand releases mine and rips my thoughts back to the original reason she called me here. She requested my presence to look over a story she had been working on for almost a year, now. It was something that started as a small idea, then grew till it completely consumed her every waking moment, and the joy in her voice from completing something of this length was palpable.

“It’s there, on the desk.” She grins, a note of pride dancing on her tongue. “Please, take your time. I really appreciate you coming, and if there’s anything I could do or bring you…”

“I think I’ll be just fine. Is there anything in particular you want me to watch for? Or anything I need to know before I begin reading?”

“Well it’s not done…not really” her eyes drop to the floor as a blush stains her cheeks “and it’s a little intense at times.”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m not one to judge. This is your world; your creation. You should never feel the need to apologize for expressing yourself.”

Smiling with relief, she walks from the room, beaming as she mumbles something beneath her breath.

The door shuts with an inaudible sigh, and I’m left alone in the expansive, beautifully furnished office. The wind picks up, howling outside the large window behind the desk and causing the leaves and branches of the trees to scratch against the glass.

Collapsing into the large, leather chair, I wiggle myself into a comfortable position; my fingers idly flipping through the stack of papers. I pull out my red pen, which always seems to become my make-shift hair fastener, and let my hair spill over my shoulder. My weapon of choice finds its mark against the neatly typed pages, weaving its way between letters, words and sentences without remorse. The sanguine ink bleeds across white flesh. Mark after mark soaks the page as it relentlessly seeks out each misspelling, fragmented sentence, run-on and missed punctuation.

A soft cough interrupts my thoughts, though perhaps it’s been a bit longer than I originally thought.

She wasn’t wearing that outfit earlier, was she?

“You should wear your hair down more often.” She whispers from her place just inside of the door.

I was so absorbed in my work that I hadn’t noticed her return till she spoke. She enters the room holding a small cup and saucer, and places it on the desk, then pulls an empty chair over and sits by my side, staring at me as I attempt to work.

Does she expect me to continue with her here? Having someone constantly looking over my shoulder is unnerving.

I place the pen down on the desk and sip at the tea she’s brought, but I can’t seem to refocus my thoughts on the story. She looks stunning, and a deep hunger pulls at my thoughts, dragging them into darker shadows. 

“Thank you for the tea.” I stutter, struggling to catch my pen as it launches an escape from the desk.

“I just went to straighten up. I could’ve sworn I said something before I left. Anyway, dinner is done, and I was hoping you would join me. Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I haven’t.” An embarrassing growl originates from somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach, and my cheeks blush immediately. I wish I could control that.

Standing up, I twist my hair and refasten it with my pen. How long had I been wrapped up in her story, that she was able to come back transformed into such an exquisite being?

Her hair flows down her back like the trail of blood tinged oil on the surface of water, and each movement of her lithe body is so fluid, it’s unnatural. Her eyes glow from within with a glint of playful mischief that I must’ve missed before; just visible behind a feigned innocence. Her lips are almost as red as the highlights in her hair, juxtaposed against her pale skin.

She’s come back to me dressed in a dark green silk shirt that shimmers gold when she moves, and is just thin enough to hint at the pattern of her bra. A stiff black skirt stops just above her knees, and upon her feet are simple pale gold heels.

I hope she didn’t go through the trouble of changing just for me.

“Will anyone else be joining us?” I ask, hiding the intimidation brought on by her change of clothes. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a black cotton tank top, and feel completely underdressed.

“No, it’s just us for the evening. I hope that’s okay.”

She flashes a wicked smile and walks from the office, and I’m left questioning her motives for calling me here. Why the sudden change of clothes? Was her reason for calling me here really just to look over this manuscript, or did she have something else in mind.

She leads me toward the dining room with her head held high and her back straight and stiff. She has become a completely different being, as if the girl I met at the door, and this new one, were two separate entities.

The hallway leading to the dining area is just as simple and elegant as the office. There are windows on either side that kiss the floor, and reach their fingers to the ceiling. They were thrown open as the day cooled, allowing the howling wind outside to force its way indoors, creating a wind tunnel throughout the small space.

One side of the hallway gave a view to the inner courtyard, which was littered with flowers of all colors and several stone benches. On the other side, the glass faced a wrought iron fence, and a pristine lawn within its bounds that hugged against the walls of the house; creeping up its sides with tendrils of green vines that stretched up the sides in an effort to reach the heavens.

The dining room opens up before us, yawning like a monster waiting to swallow us whole. It’s an imposing room, with a ceiling so tall that the light of the fireplace is too fearful to prod its depths. It’s sparsely decorated, consisting only of a large, artfully distressed wooden table with six chairs, and an imposing fireplace that occupies the opposite wall. The fireplace cuts an impressive figure with its white face and dark oak mantle. It’s so large, in fact, that if I were to hunch my shoulders and duck my head, I could walk right into it.

A blazing fire crackles within its maw, filling the room with the warm light from its flames.

I pull out a chair opposite to Ann. Her green eyes focus on me, a reflection of the flames dancing within them. She smiles with one corner of her mouth, and pours red wine into the glass before me.

“So, it seems like you’ve gotten through the first bit of my story. What do you think?”

Don’t others normally start dinner conversations with useless dribble such as ‘How was your day?’ and ‘How are things going?’ All the better, I suppose. No one really cares about the answers to such broad questions anyhow.

Delicately holding the wine glass by its stem, I draw it to my lips, inadvertently swallowing more than I intended. It’s strong, and the scent of fermented grapes assaults my nose as mixtures of sweet, cherry notes wash over my tongue. It hits me instantly, and every inch of my body flushes and tingles, as if Zeus himself electrified every cell with a single snap of his fingers.

“Well, it’s really not that bad…” I murmur, as I take another sip for courage. I wasn’t too fond of what she wrote, but it may just be my personal preference. I’m really not the best person to do this for her.

“Not bad? When someone reads something and says it’s not bad, it means they’re too polite to admit that it’s awful.” She laughs, and it’s like listening to wind chimes dancing in the breeze on a warm summer day. She’s always been one to speak her mind.

“No, not at all. It’s really not bad. There are just a few things that should be addressed, from the small bit I was able to read.”

“Such as?”

“Little things, such as the few grammatical errors I have found, and I’m not overly fond of you using the name of your story to refer to your main character over and over again. I’m sure it could be worked in there somehow, but I think what you’ve done is excessive. I’ve marked everything out on the pages for you to review whenever you get around to it.”

She smiles, visibly pleased by my response then drains her glass of wine in one movement, which is quite out of character. Her eyes begin to gloss over as she sighs heavily and looks over into the dancing flames of the fireplace.

“Well, thank you for coming here. I really love seeing you, and it was a nice distraction for me. It’s been a bit of a long day, and it gets lonely in this house when I’m left on my own. You know, it’s been so long since we’ve hung out. We really should make this a regular thing.”

She turns back to me, a grin twisting into her lips like a snake, replacing the worried look that had been so clear on her face just moments before. The alcohol is beginning to take hold of her. She drifts into a near dazed state, and giggles happily for no apparent reason.

After one drink? What a light weight.

Leaning over the table with a mischievous grin, she brushes her fingertips lightly over my hand.

“You know,” she moans, her voice soft and sultry “I could use a bit more hands-on experience for my story. For the sake of research, of course.”

Her red lips slice through my chest, drawing that ever-present ache of desire to the surface. My blood rushes through me, no doubt displaying the hints of blushing cheeks to my new found predator.

“Of course…” I return, as I draw my hand away reluctantly. “I wish I could help with that. I’m sure there are a lot of online resources…”

The look in her eye clearly states her intentions, and the fire flickers as if to solidify the fact that she has no desire to back down without a fight.

“I find online resources to be lacking a certain…intimacy.”

“Well yes, but very rarely is research intimate.” I cough, embarrassed, and take another sip of wine, which probably wasn’t the best idea given my current circumstances. “It’s getting a bit late, isn’t it? I really should be going. I have a lot of work to finish up before bed, and I really don’t need Angela chewing my head off for being late with yet another article.”