Post by Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake on Apr 1, 2011 12:37:21 GMT -5
"Your place or mine, darling?" I purred into the phone, hoping that shoddy cellphone reception--on her end, of course--would not garble my words. At times I cursed modern technology for the same reasons that I praised the gods for its existence.
Evidently, the connection was still clear, for I clearly heard the woman on the other end giggle like a schoolgirl on prom night. This was not the first time she had made use of my services, but Annelise liked it when I acted as if I were her boyfriend, a steady lover, not a whore who sold his services to the executive with the most coin.
I have seen a few notable personages in my career, one comes every Friday without fail. Sometimes I wonder if there really is something to the stereotype.
"How about...your place this time?" She replies, I hear a bit of static and I know she's probably in her car, headed to work.
"Of course, lovely." I say, making a mental note to find a reason to get Emile out of the house for the evening, perhaps an extended trip to the grocery store. "Shall we say...six o'clock?"
She pauses, as if she's thinking about it, even though I knew she had made her decision the moment she decided to dial the number. "Sounds great, sweetheart," she says at last. "I'll just feed the kids and then I'll be right on over."
"I'll be there with a smile on and not a stitch more," I promised, pressing the button to end the call, flipping it shut and sliding it into my pocket as I left the small room that I used as an office and headed downstairs to the kitchen, noticing as I passed the dining room table that Emile had left an empty pizza box there to stagnate. Slob.
"Emile!" I called as I picked up the box and deposited it next to the garbage can. "How hard is it for you to walk the three steps required to get to the garbage can and drop the box beside it?"
My brother was seated on the couch, idly flipping through channels. It was his day off, so he wasn't wearing his uniform. "I knew you would find it eventually," he replied, deciding on a show depicting the history of the Revolution.
I scowled. "Well, today you can get off your ass and head to the grocery store, I'm expecting company."
He looked up at me. "Company, or...company?"
I gave him a pointed look.
"Right, company..." He grinned, rising up off the couch. For the amount of time he spent on it, he was certainly fit, but then, I supposed you had to be in his line of work, acting as bodyguard for President Courcel was no picnic.
I gave him a playful shove. "Pick up some cat food while you're at it, and for gods' sake, try to buy at least three different vegetables this time!" Emile had some aversion to vegetables that I imagined was a hold over from childhood.
He mock saluted me, "You got it, Boss!" and, giving me another boyish grin, practically flew out the door.
I checked my watch. "Six o'clock isn't for five more hours..." I said, sighing as I made my way to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine and root out my leather ensemble.
Image was everything.
Evidently, the connection was still clear, for I clearly heard the woman on the other end giggle like a schoolgirl on prom night. This was not the first time she had made use of my services, but Annelise liked it when I acted as if I were her boyfriend, a steady lover, not a whore who sold his services to the executive with the most coin.
I have seen a few notable personages in my career, one comes every Friday without fail. Sometimes I wonder if there really is something to the stereotype.
"How about...your place this time?" She replies, I hear a bit of static and I know she's probably in her car, headed to work.
"Of course, lovely." I say, making a mental note to find a reason to get Emile out of the house for the evening, perhaps an extended trip to the grocery store. "Shall we say...six o'clock?"
She pauses, as if she's thinking about it, even though I knew she had made her decision the moment she decided to dial the number. "Sounds great, sweetheart," she says at last. "I'll just feed the kids and then I'll be right on over."
"I'll be there with a smile on and not a stitch more," I promised, pressing the button to end the call, flipping it shut and sliding it into my pocket as I left the small room that I used as an office and headed downstairs to the kitchen, noticing as I passed the dining room table that Emile had left an empty pizza box there to stagnate. Slob.
"Emile!" I called as I picked up the box and deposited it next to the garbage can. "How hard is it for you to walk the three steps required to get to the garbage can and drop the box beside it?"
My brother was seated on the couch, idly flipping through channels. It was his day off, so he wasn't wearing his uniform. "I knew you would find it eventually," he replied, deciding on a show depicting the history of the Revolution.
I scowled. "Well, today you can get off your ass and head to the grocery store, I'm expecting company."
He looked up at me. "Company, or...company?"
I gave him a pointed look.
"Right, company..." He grinned, rising up off the couch. For the amount of time he spent on it, he was certainly fit, but then, I supposed you had to be in his line of work, acting as bodyguard for President Courcel was no picnic.
I gave him a playful shove. "Pick up some cat food while you're at it, and for gods' sake, try to buy at least three different vegetables this time!" Emile had some aversion to vegetables that I imagined was a hold over from childhood.
He mock saluted me, "You got it, Boss!" and, giving me another boyish grin, practically flew out the door.
I checked my watch. "Six o'clock isn't for five more hours..." I said, sighing as I made my way to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine and root out my leather ensemble.
Image was everything.
