Contact: norsebarddk@gmail.com
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DISCLAIMERS:
This drama belongs in the Uber/Original category. All characters are created by me, though some of them may remind you of someone.
All characters depicted, names used, and incidents portrayed in this story are fictitious. No identification with actual persons is intended nor should be inferred. Any resemblance of the characters portrayed to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
The registered trademarks mentioned in this story are © of their respective owners. No infringement of their rights is intended, and no profit is gained.
This story depicts a loving and sexual relationship between consenting adult women. If such a story frightens you, you better click on the X in the top-right corner and find something else to read.
This story contains some profanity. Readers who are easily offended by bad language may wish to read something other than this story.
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NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR:
Written: December 9th - 26th, 2015.
As usual, I'd like to say a great, big THANK YOU to my mates at AUSXIP Talking Xena, especially to the gals and guys in Subtext Central. I really appreciate your support - Thanks, everybody! :D
Description: Life has many twists and turns - we never know if we end up where we want to be, or where we need to be. When advertising executive Julia Thorne is involved in a car accident, she is introduced to Brenda McCrawley, a friendly, dedicated former nurse who runs a shelter for abused women. Through meeting some of those women, it dawns on Julia there's life beyond her own glitzy, shallow existence in a corner office of the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Advertising Agency. The real world is inhabited by real people who struggle with real issues, and they'll only get help if someone with her power and financial clout reaches out to support them…
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CHAPTER 1
A pair of fast-moving headlights carved through the darkness of the industrial zone on the outskirts of St. Michael, the State's biggest city as well as the entire region's commercial and financial power center.
At eight minutes past eleven in the evening, the four-lane road was devoid of trucks and other commercial traffic, and the driver of the silver-metallic Cadillac that zoomed through the night took full advantage of that by going at nearly double the thirty miles per hour speed limit.
Julia Thorne only had one hand on the steering wheel. Her other hand held a smartphone, and that's where her entire focus was directed as well. The thirty-six year-old blonde - whose career in the advertising world in general and at the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Agency specifically had been set in stone since she was old enough to talk - stared at the little, brightly lit display while her thumb zipped across the smooth surface to go through the various options needed to establish a secure connection.
"Oh, come on…" she growled under her breath. "Expensive piece of… it worked on the previous model! Why did they change that stupid, little feature? Oh, where the hell is that thing?"
Three hundred yards further up the street, four flashing lights on poles warned motorists of a crooked manhole cover that had been cordoned off with sturdy planks wrapped in red-and-white demarcation tape.
Julia didn't notice a thing until it was nearly too late. She caught a yellow flash in her peripheral vision and looked up at the last moment. Staring dumbstruck at the sturdy planks she was racing toward, a thought of 'I'm gonna die now,' flashed through her mind. With a sinking feeling, she realized she was going too fast to avoid the roadworks.
A strangled shriek escaped her lips. When that didn't do much to stop the car, she tried to turn the wheel to the left to evade the obstacle, but she kept a death grip on the telephone which made it impossible for her to operate the steering wheel.
Fumbling with her faculties, she finally gained enough common sense to stand on the brake pedal. The anti-locking brakes did their job, but the momentum of the heavy car sent it on a direct collision course with the sturdy planks. It registered with her that she should probably let go of the telephone if she wanted to live, so she did.
She yanked the wheel to the right, but an impact was unavoidable and the planks slammed into the car's left fender where they crushed the light cluster; moving down the side of the silver-metallic Cadillac, they tore the wing mirror off the door and smashed the side window.
The sound of broken glass made her shriek even louder and cover her head in her arms - not only that, but she pulled her feet back from the pedals. The heavy car gained a mind of its own now that no one was controlling it, so it veered left across the lanes, bounced over the curb and ended up nose-first into a ditch.
Every last one of the seventeen airbags went off at once as the hood buckled like a can of beer that someone had crushed for fun. The windshield popped out and disappeared into the ditch, and dozens of clumps of dirt came the other way littering the dashboard and Julia's expensive coffee-brown suit.
The Cadillac settled down in a cloud of steam from the radiator though it continued to creak and groan for a few seconds. Julia's screams fizzled out and became a raw cough.
"Oh… my… God," she croaked looking out of the gaping hole where the windshield had been only a few seconds earlier. Her collarbone and her gut were sore from the automatic seat belt-retraction system, but the alternative would have been worse.
Her ears were ringing from the violent reports created by the airbags deploying, and a vile stench of cordite ripped through her nostrils. Panting from the shock and adrenaline that rolled around her system, she swept aside several clumps of dirt until she realized it was a nonsense in the present situation.
To see what kind of fool would crash an almost new Cadillac because she was too busy using her phone, she scrunched up her face in guilt and gave herself an accusing glare in the rear view mirror. Ordinarily, she liked what she saw - golden-blond hair in a fancy 'do, a pert nose, and a pair of green eyes set well in a face that many a gal had called sexy over the years - but now she could only grimace at the dirt-streaked face staring back at her.
Trying the little button for the interior light, she quickly established the power was gone. She couldn't see her phone anywhere among the dirt, so that was probably beyond repair too. "I need to get out of here," she croaked, coughing a few times from the rawness of her throat.
She shuffled around and opened the door. The ditch she had landed in was deep and inhospitable, and worst of all, pitch black. She couldn't tell how deep it was, and she couldn't tell what lurked in the shadows at the bottom. Smirking, she reached across the crushed dashboard and opened the glove box.
After some rummaging around, she found a mini-flashlight that had survived the impact in one piece. Clicking it on, she let the cone of the LED light sweep across the bottom of the ditch until she found a path away from the car that wouldn't involve too much ickiness.
Sighing, she shuffled around on the seat although her collarbone and stomach cried out their displeasure. She paused in the door to test the ground one more time with the flashlight, but it wouldn't be better no matter how hard she looked. "Oh hell, I might as well get it over with," she mumbled as she jumped out of the Cadillac and down into the ditch.
The first thing that happened was a loud crack akin to a twig snapping in two. Gasping in fear, she held onto the bottom of the door for support. For the briefest of moments, she was afraid her ankle had fractured upon landing, but it turned out to be worse - the high heel of her shoe had made it through the impact, but the rocky, uneven terrain at the bottom of the ditch had been a step too far.
Groaning in annoyance, she looked up at the dark sky where the massive light pollution from St. Michael presented itself as a creepy greenish-red hue on the underside of the clouds. "Don't bitch and moan about it, Julia… this was your own damn fault," she mumbled as she began the long climb to get back to the four-lane road.
Once she was safely up on the deserted street, she patted herself down to check for other injuries, but apart from a ruined skirt-suit and a broken heel, she was in one piece. The sorry remains of the once-pristine vehicle that stuck up from the ditch reminded her of a modern-day facsimile of the famous Cadillac Ranch in Texas. It was obvious the car could never be used again.
She rubbed her mouth in concern as she looked around. Everything around her was dark and quiet, save for the orange light cast down from the sparse street lamps. The four warning lights she had run over had been scattered all over the road, but she couldn't care less about them now.
Somewhere in the middle distance, a freight train's signal horn sounded at frequent intervals, indicating the train was heading into, or driving out of, a rail yard of some kind. The ground rumbling under Julia's feet and the diesel fumes assaulting her nostrils proved the train wasn't too far away. One of the wagon brakes was hanging, and the incessant screeching got on her nerves in an almighty hurry. She didn't know whether she should be worried or relieved when the freight train carried on without her.
Getting help was at the top of her list of priorities, so she looked around to find any. All the dark industrial zone had to offer was a point of light some four hundred yards further up the four-lane road. It appeared to be a powerful LED lamp shining a bright cone of light down upon the pavement, but she wasn't sure; the angle was wrong so she couldn't see much beyond the light.
She pulled her thin, stylish jacket closer around her shoulders and let out a sigh. As the adrenaline left her system, the chill started creeping into her bones. The heater in the Cadillac had been going full steam, and now it came back to haunt her - or rather, her pantyhose-clad legs beneath the business skirt. Moving would be the best way to keep warm so she set off toward the powerful light in the distance.
"There's gotta be someone there. Nobody would leave their business like that," she mumbled into her collar that she had pulled up high to stay warm. She looked around again, hoping against hope that she had missed something the first eight times she had checked out her surroundings. Nothing. Letting out a sigh, she continued onward and used the bright light as a rescue beacon.
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The closer she got, the more details she was able to make out of the building that carried the strong lamp. It appeared to be a motel of some kind; that was her initial suspicion, at least. A low, barrack-like building with a flat roof, it had a row of windows towards the four-lane street, but only the one entrance illuminated by the lamp.
The light shone down upon the threshold at the door like the people inside wanted to be able to make a positive identification before they would let anyone beyond the entrance. The low building was pulled back from the sidewalk, but there didn't appear to be parking spaces in front of it, or anywhere else for that matter. Instead, a narrow pathway made of spartan, chipped flagstones went up to the door. The rest was round gravel that would crunch audibly when someone would step on it.
Traipsing through loose gravel on one heel and a stump was the last thing on Julia's mind. Grumbling out her displeasure, she came to a halt and began to massage her right calf. The missing support on her three-hundred dollar footwear made her waddle along like a duck, and it sent aches and pains all the way up and down her leg that she could have done without. It wouldn't improve her situation to take off her shoe; the street was so sparsely lit she ran an urgent risk of stepping in something that she really wouldn't want to explore.
To combat the chill, she wrapped her arms around herself. She wasn't afraid as such, but she had to admit she was getting worried. Turning around again to make extra-extra sure she hadn't missed anything, she did a full sweep of the surroundings and came to the depressing conclusion that she was all alone, save for a plant or factory of some kind in the far distance that was lit up like a Christmas tree.
The building with the powerful lamp was her best bet, so she let out yet another sigh and carried on. As she closed the distance, it dawned on her the flat-roofed structure was far larger than she had been able to see from further up the road.
"Hmmm… that's no motel," she mumbled as she waddled along ungracefully. Not only was the initial building she had seen one of three similar structures, the windows in the row facing the street were all closed and protected by sturdy bars. No light escaped into the darkness from inside the building, so it was possible the drapes had been taped or nailed shut. "Maybe it's a juvenile detention center… or something? Or perhaps a swinger club?"
She continued onwards and waddled up the chipped pathway. Everything was beat up, poorly maintained, or simply run down to an extent she just wasn't used to from her corner office in the DiAgostino Building in the city's financial and commercial district. No stretch of paint was whole, the window frames were rotten, the drainpipes from the flat roof were leaking, and the round gravel smelled like stray cats used it as their bathroom.
"Nah, it can't be a swinger club. They need to be presentable," she continued as she was finally able to see the entire building she was standing in front of. Not that it helped much in her present situation. On the rock-solid, reinforced door, a handwritten note inside a weatherproof plastic folder proclaimed that: There's always room in our hearts for you.
Julia grunted as she looked at the message. It could apply to a great deal of things, from radical political agitation to esoteric, quasi-religious mumbo-jumbo. "Huh… it's a good slogan. But not-"
She cut herself off when she noticed a button for a bell to the right of the safety door's frame. A large, red metal casing like those found on fire alarms had been put up around the little button, but there wasn't any glass that needed to be broken to sound the door bell.
She moved her finger up with a certain degree of uneasiness rolling around inside her. Before she had time to test the bell, she withdrew her finger and looked around the deserted neighborhood just one more time to make sure there wasn't a taxi cab waiting in the shadows somewhere.
The bright light from the LED lamp hanging above the door blinded her, so she moved a few steps back while she sorted her thoughts. Gnawing on her knuckles and her well-manicured fingernails, she went though a little list of worries she compiled on the fly: the windows were protected by bars. The rest was poorly maintained. The plastic folder on the door looked shabby. A box stolen from a red fire alarm acted as the bell. There was no way of telling who lived behind the reinforced door; the fact they even needed to have a reinforced door way out in the boonies made plenty of red flags flutter inside her mind.
If she was lucky, she would get help from whoever lived or worked there. If she was unlucky, she would perhaps come across unsavory characters who didn't mind slapping her around for kicks - or worse. There were so many unknown factors her mind reeled from the implications. Somehow, the reinforced door instilled a sense of trust in her rather than the opposite, as did the wording on the note inside the weatherproof plastic folder, but it could all be part of a scheme of some kind.
One thing was for certain: she couldn't stay out there for the rest of the night. Daylight wouldn't come for another seven, maybe eight hours, and by then, she would have turned into an icicle. Her calves and thighs weren't far off already.
"Maybe it's a drugs factory… with a bright light at the door… oh, this is ridiculous. I can't stay out here until I keel over!" she growled as she stepped back to the door and mashed her index finger down onto the button for the bell. "Cannibals and serial killers were invented by Hollywood. And swinger clubs too for that matter… let's see what happens."
The connection established by her finger created an electronic buzzing sound somewhere beyond the door. For the first fifteen or so seconds, nothing much at all happened, apart from muffled footsteps from the other side of the reinforced barrier.
As the door whooshed open, Julia half-expected to see an old, toothless, drug-dealing cannibal wearing latex gloves, a leather mask and a feather duster, but instead, she found herself face to face with a dark-haired, late-forty-something woman who had to be close to six feet tall.
The woman was dressed in regular clothes - indoor shoes, blue jeans and a silver-gray flannel tunic that allowed a peek at the bronzed skin on her upper chest by way of a deep v-neck - but the single, defining object of the tall female was her pair of sky-blue eyes.
Julia just stood there gaping like a beached trout. From her years in advertising, she was no stranger to beautiful women, but in her opinion, real-world beauty would always trump the occasionally artificial model-looks - and this woman had real-world beauty in spades.
"Uh… hello," Julia said and stepped closer to the tall woman. "I'm… I'm Julia Thorne and I need your help…"
"This is why we're here," the woman said in a smooth, rich timbre that was a perfect match to the rest of her physique. "Come on inside, Julia… we'll get you comfortable. I'm Brenda McCrawley," she continued, putting a gentle hand on Julia's shoulder to usher her inside.
"Uh… thank you, Miss McCrawley," Julia said and stepped into what proved to be a narrow hallway that ran the length of the building.
"Oh, call me Brenda. We only use our given names here," Brenda said and closed the door behind them.
Julia smiled at the taller woman as she came to a halt in the middle of the hallway. She realized she needed to say something, so she uttered an: "Uh… okay."
The interior of the building was as nondescript and impersonal as the exterior. The walls of the hallway were held in shades of cream and tan while the floor was pale-gray linoleum. Several lamps hung down from the ceiling on old-fashioned electrical wires, but they didn't have much to shine on.
The only splashes of color came in the shape of three posters that had been pinned to the wall on the right-hand side of the hallway: One was an information sheet for an HIV hotline, the next was a glossy reproduction of the famous painting where a newborn child is protected by a pair of hands, and the final one was a signed promotional poster from the old TV show Wonder Woman.
Several doors led away from the central hallway; two of which were reinforced like the main entrance. Two doors on the opposite side of the hallway both had frosted glass panes akin to a medical practice, and a further door seemed to lead to a regular office.
Brenda McCrawley turned to her guest and gave her a quick, though highly professional, once-over. A wistful smile graced her lips, but she stood up straight and assumed a no-nonsense stance. "Julia, I'll need to tell you the house rules before we go any further."
"House r-" Julia echoed, staring wide-eyed at the taller woman who carried on regardless. Her brain couldn't process the unexpected development, so she didn't have time to make any objections.
"One, no drugs or alcohol," Brenda said, oblivious to her guest's confusion. "I will not accept illegal substances here, nor intoxicants of any kind. Two-"
"Brenda, please wait," Julia said and put her hands in the air. "I think there's been a misunderstanding… I don't want to book a weekend stay or whatever it is you're doing here. I've been in a car accident… I only rang the door bell to ask if you could help me…"
Brenda stopped making her well-rehearsed speech from one syllable to the next. Pulling her lips back in a grimace, she put her hands on her hips and looked at the golden-blonde with a puzzled look on her face. "Julia…" she said after a few seconds, "this is a privately run shelter. A safe haven for abused women. And you have blood on your nose and forehead."
"God, I do?!" Julia said and whipped her hand up to find out for herself. Sure enough, her fingers were painted red when she wiped her nostrils. Looking down at herself, her coffee-brown skirt suit had suddenly become polka-dotted with her own blood. "Oh, no… I didn't even notice I had a nosebleed… I get that so easily," she mumbled, rummaging through the pockets of her jacket to find a handkerchief.
"Well," Brenda said and reached for a cardboard box just inside the door. Without hesitation, she pulled two long-sleeved surgical gloves out of the box and put them on to protect herself from the blood. "You certainly have a nosebleed now."
"Uh-huh. I didn't bump my head on anything so it must have been from the shock," Julia mumbled in a voice muffled by the fairly clean handkerchief she pressed to her nose. She noticed that Brenda furrowed her brow at the unintelligible message, so she lowered the handkerchief and tried again. "I didn't hit anything… it's from the shock."
"I see."
Julia dabbed her nose a few times but noticed that Brenda shot her a telling look. She tried to lock eyes with the taller woman, but the strength of the blue orbs made it impossible for her. "Why do I get the feeling you don't believe me?" she said, concentrating on studying the bloody handkerchief instead.
"Oh, I have no reason not to believe you. Only, I've heard hundreds of stories over the years from the women who have graced these halls. Some have claimed to have received their injuries in car accidents," Brenda said in a voice that was somewhat detached. Relaxing her stance, she softened her expression and offered her guest a smile. "It's all right, Julia. You don't have to lie here. You're among friends now."
Julia lowered the handkerchief and finally found the strength to combat the powerful, blue orbs. She studied the taller woman's face and found nothing but warmth and support. With such looks and such dedication, Brenda could have controlled any corner office anywhere in the business world, but she had chosen to work in, or perhaps own, who knew, a privately run shelter for abused women.
There was a story there, and as an experienced ad campaigner, Julia felt intrigued. It would have to come at a later date with all the other problems that were piling up for her, but she would definitely look into it later on.
Returning to the problems at hand, the bleeding had stopped so she crumpled up the handkerchief and stuck it into her jacket pocket. "Well… it just so happens I really was in a crash. If you look outside, you'll see the tail end of a Cadillac sticking up from the ditch. I headbutted those warning lights around the loose manhole cover out there."
"Oh…" Brenda said and stood up straight. Her soft demeanor was gone, replaced by an all-business attitude. "In that case… I better call the police and an ambulance."
"No, no, no… I'm nowhere near battered enough for an ambulance. My collarbone is sore, but that's it. Uh, and the nosebleed, but I get that often. Emergency rooms are awful places at this time of night. No," Julia said and shook her head. "But I would like to borrow a phone so I could call a tow truck and a cab."
"We have an arrangement with the Taurus Cab Company. Are you familiar with them?" Brenda said while she walked down the hallway towards one of the regular office doors.
"No."
"They're fast and solid," Brenda continued as she put her hand on the round door knob. "Come. The phone's in here."
Julia smiled at her hostess. She opened her mouth to reply as she followed the taller woman along the hallway, but the tangy taste of blood suddenly seeped across her lips and onto her tongue. It made her come to a full stop and wipe her nostrils again. "Oh… fuck," she mumbled at the sight of red blood on her fingers.
Brenda watched the scene unfold for a few seconds before she moved away from the office door. Instead, she reached into her pocket and found a wad of keys that she used to unlock one of the doors that carried a frosted glass pane. "We better go into the infirmary instead, Julia. I have a few remedies in there that'll stop the bleeding."
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The infirmary wasn't large, but it had all the basic equipment needed to perform a variety of medical procedures. It was also a somewhat clinical affair held in white, chrome and glass. The same, white tiles - that were easy to clean should the need arise - covered the walls and the floor. The far side of the room saw a few chairs for patients, and several cabinets containing medicine, various medicaments and tools. A rectangular, bulky, bunk bed that could be raised off the ground and thus used as a platform for examinations occupied most of the center of the room, and the near side saw a metal desk and an old-fashioned swivel-chair.
As in any hospital or infirmary anywhere on the planet, the room carried a strong scent of disinfectants, absorbent cotton and that special scent of secret chemicals that would always show up around sterile medical equipment but that nobody really knew where came from.
"Whoa," Julia said as she stepped into the room. Her exclamation came from seeing the bulky examination bunk that was protected by a green sheet, and from the odd fact the light that flickered on once the door was opened wasn't bright-white, but a deep, murky red. A mirror across the room reflected her surprised expression, and she shuffled over to it to look at herself. "I look like a zombie in this light!" she said and let out a nervous chuckle. Her nose hurt too much for her to pull a proper monster-face, but mirrors always gave her a mind for mischief so she couldn't help but bare her teeth and let her tongue hang out in an undead sneer.
"A precautionary measure, I'm afraid," Brenda said and moved behind the desk. There, she unlocked one of the drawers and found a second set of keys. She rolled them around her fingers as she looked at the well-dressed figure by the mirror. "I told you the first of my house rules before… I'm sorry to say that some women we've had as guests have broken them. They've come in here to shoot up."
Julia turned away from the mirror and cocked her head. "Uh… shoot up?"
"Inject drugs," Brenda said and moved over to a cabinet next to the mirror. Finding the right key, she inserted it into a new lock, but didn't twist it. "In this light, they're not able to see the veins. Try for yourself."
Looking down, Julia swept back the sleeve of her business jacket and tried to pump her fist a few times - like she had been told, the veins were camouflaged perfectly by the red, murky light. "Oh, that's clever. It really works!"
"Yes it does. We learned that the hard way," Brenda said and twisted the key. Inside the second cabinet, an old-fashioned light switch came into sight. "Shield your eyes," she continued as she pressed the button.
All around them, bright-white light flickered on and off for a few seconds before the strip lights were up to speed.
Julia chuckled and looked up at the lights in the ceiling. "I must admit I like that better. Now what?"
"Now I find some absorbent cotton for your nostrils and some water to get the crud off your forehead. Please, sit down on the examination bunk while I get everything ready."
Furrowing her brow, Julia ran an index finger over her forehead to see if Brenda was right or not - unfortunately, she was. Sticky brown dirt clung to her finger, and she wiped it off on her ruined jacket in a hurry. "I'm glad to say it's dirt, Brenda. Not… not… not the other thing."
Brenda stuck her head out of a medicine cabinet and shot her guest a broad smile. "You're glad to say it… I'm glad to hear it."
"I'll bet," Julia said and let out a nervous chuckle. She remembered that the friendly nurse-slash-manager-slash-soul comforter had asked her to sit down on the examination bunk, so she waddled over there on her busted heel and got comfortable on the hard, uncomfortable furniture. Her bones ached as she rested her butt on the green sheet, but she realized it could have been far worse if she hadn't looked up at the right time.
A slight shiver ran across her skin at the thought of lying on a metal slab in a morgue somewhere, staring straight up at the ceiling with eyes that couldn't see anymore, but she pushed the dark thoughts out of her mind and concentrated on the present.
'How did my evening come to this?' she thought as she took in the sight of the infirmary and the woman who was about to help her. 'An hour ago, I only needed one more digital signature on the contract to close a multi-million dollar deal with Geneveza Pharmaceuticals. Stupid, stupid, stupid… I should have pulled over instead of pretending to be a hero. Look at my car… my almost new Cadillac. Fuck the car… look at me now! Beat up, bruised and bleeding… and about to get hands-on assistance by Brenda Nightingale over there. It certainly beats any old emergency room… she looks like she knows what she's doing. She must be a-'
Julia's train of thought was halted when Brenda returned with two swabs of absorbent cotton for the bleeding nose, and a soaked wash cloth for the forehead. "May I touch the bridge of your nose?" she said in a no-nonsense voice. "I need to verify if the bleeding stems from a fracture."
"Oh… uh… go right ahead," Julia said and leaned her head back so the taller woman could have a better angle of attack. "But I don't think it does. I have no pain, and I've had weak blood vessels in my nose for a couple of years now."
Grunting a reply, the manager of the shelter put a thumb and an index finger on the upper part of Julia's nose and gave it a surprisingly strong sideways tweak. "It's in one piece."
Julia yelped at the hard touch and stared wide-eyed at the taller woman. "Well, that's good to know… I'm not so sure myself… now," she said in a mumble.
"Lean your head back once more," Brenda said and stuffed a Q-tip up into Julia's left nostril at the first opportunity. She rummaged around in there to soak up as much blood as she could before she pulled it back out and threw it into a metal tray beneath the examination bunk.
"God," Julia croaked, blinking several times to get the involuntary tears to go away. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but did you happen to be a vet once upon a time? I'm not a horse, and I like my nostrils to stay where they are if you don't mind…"
"A vet? Yeah, but not the kind you're thinking of," Brenda said and grabbed a fresh Q-tip. "And I'm sorry. I'll be gentler." Going by the look of apprehension reflected in Julia's eyes, she took it easier on the second pass but scooped out just as much blood as the first attempt.
Julia tried to speak, but the cotton stick up her nose prevented her from talking. When the second Q-tip was pulled out and thrown away, she licked her lips and shot Brenda a puzzled look. "Well, how many types of vets are there? I'm obviously joking, but… I'm thinking you were a veterinarian…"
"Not that kind of vet. A veteran," Brenda said as she prepared the two swabs of absorbent cotton. "I used to be a senior nurse in the US Army Medical Corps. The first Gulf War. I was stationed not far behind the front lines in Kuwait and later on inside Iraq."
"Oh, wow… a senior nurse? You must have been the youngest senior nurse they had!"
"Heh. Thank you. No, I had the typical age for that position. It's just one step up from a regular nurse."
"Is that why you call it an infirmary and not just a medical room?"
"Old habits die hard, I guess. Head back."
"Okay…"
Before Julia even had time to gulp, Brenda had stuffed the two swabs of cotton up her nostrils. It tickled something fierce on the inside for the first few seconds, but she got used to it faster than she thought she would. She had to swallow a couple of times to overcome the stuffed nose, but it all evened out in the end. "So," she said in a voice that had turned comical from having her nostrils plugged, "how did you end up here?"
"That's a long story."
"I have plenty of time…"
"No, you haven't. I'm almost done. Sit still with your head."
"Yes, ma'am!" Julia said, but the cheeky sparkle in her eyes took the edge off the words.
Brenda chuckled and offered her guest a polite smile. "Am I being too harsh on you? Don't bother with a lawsuit 'cos there isn't anything of value here." Without waiting for a reply, she took the soaked washcloth and began to clean the filthy forehead.
"No, it's just fine," Julia said and marveled at the fact that a gorgeous woman was giving her what amounted to a sponge bath. It had been a while since she had sampled the sweet fruits of Woman, but the close proximity of the former US Army nurse gave her a whole lot with very little effort.
Twice Brenda needed to rinse the cloth in a wash basin before the reluctant brown streaks had vanished. On the second turn, she eyed her guest in the mirror, but withdrew her interest at once when they locked eyes in the reflection.
Julia grinned and shuffled around on the hard examination bunk. It was nice to see she still had what it took for another woman to sneak a peek at her - even at the ripe, old age of thirty-six.
"Are you a lawyer?" Brenda said and stripped off the surgical gloves. Turning around, she leaned her backside against the wash basin and crossed her long legs at the ankles.
"No, I work in advertising. May I step down now?"
"Go ahead. We're done."
"Thank you. My butt thanks you too," Julia said and jumped off the bunk. She groaned under her breath when her collarbone sent out some grief, but she concealed it with a cough. "Since you asked, I guess I must look like a lawyer-type person…"
"Not really. Your smile is too genuine," Brenda said and pushed herself off the wash basin. "No, I was wondering if there was something in your environment that could trigger your frequent nosebleeds. Advertising… hmmm. May I be frank?"
Julia stopped what she was doing to stare at the former senior nurse. "Uh… sure. I mean, you've already been up my nose, so…"
"Do you snort cocaine?"
Julia's eyes grew wider and wider until they could hardly fit between her brow and her mouth. A deep, red blush spread over her cheeks, and she had to look down. "I've tried it, yes. I'm not a frequent user. But I've done it a few times."
"Mmmm. I'm guessing that in the world of advertising, it's considered rude not to use nose candy. That could be the cause of your nosebleeds."
"Y- you really think so?"
"Yes. It weakens the tiny blood vessels in the nose."
Julia chewed hard on her lips and her cheeks. From one moment to the next, she felt she had been exposed as a hardcore drug addict though months could go by between her experiments. She remembered well the first time she had tried cocaine. She was twenty years old and still a fresh-faced rookie at the agency. A mirror had come out with eight lanes; one for each member of the campaign team who were about to go all night and then some working on creating a new ad universe for a well-known manufacturer of razors for men. Her co-workers had egged her on when she had held the rolled-up one-hundred dollar bill to her nostril, and she had soon snorted the first lane of her life. It wouldn't be the last.
"I'm sorry, Julia," Brenda said and moved over to the box on the wall that held the secondary light switch. "I didn't want to cause you any embarrassment. It's none of my business, and it's obvious you don't want to talk about it. Come on, let's go into the office so we can call for a cab and a tow truck."
"All right," Julia mumbled, shuffling into the hallway when Brenda flicked the switch and killed the bright-white light.
Julia stared at the door with the frosted glass while she waited for her thoughts to come back to her. "Umm… I hope you take plastic," she said once she was joined by Brenda in the hallway.
"We don't."
"Oh. Shit."
"You don't owe me anything, Julia. Come on," Brenda said and put a hand on her guest's shoulder to guide her down the hallway to the office.
"But the medical treatment? The swabs of absorbent cotton… and having you clean my wounds and all the other work. That would amount to several hundred dollars at a hospital…"
"My infirmary has achieved the status of a free clinic," Brenda said as she unlocked the door to the office. Whooshing it open, she stepped aside to give Julia room to enter. "And free means free. Free for all and free of charge."
Julia smiled and stepped into the office that was cozier than she had expected. Roughly the same size as the infirmary, the office wouldn't even have qualified as a broom cabinet in the DiAgostino Building where she worked for the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne advertising agency.
It had a well-worn, and certainly old, Persian rug on the floor, and the furniture - a desk with a huge, old-fashioned telephone, another swivel-chair, a sandy microfiber couch, a single armchair, a collapsible bunk bed that leaned against the far wall in an upright position, and finally a low coffee table - was beyond its first prime. Pale-gray metal filing cabinets dominated the walls behind the desk, and a few, colorful posters graced the opposite side of the room. Brenda had a Monet, an Arthur, a Douglas and even a Mercuriano, but only as hi-gloss reproductions.
"A free clinic? That's noble," Julia said as she went deeper into the office. She eyed a mug of tea and a half-eaten banana that had been left on the low coffee table. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out she had disturbed Brenda in the middle of a late evening snack. She strolled into the center of the office and turned around. "But how are you funded?" she said at Brenda who had gone over to the desk.
"Private donations. The occasional winning lottery ticket. The city council's good graces… no, scratch that one," Brenda said, rolling her eyes at the last part. Grunting, she sat down and once more found her keys.
For the first time in their conversation, Julia sensed frustration or even bitterness in Brenda's voice. It was clear the issue of funding was as touchy with the former senior nurse as the use of recreational drugs had been for Julia. A change of topic was in order. "Did I mess up your evening tea?" she said as she sat down on the sandy microfiber couch.
Unlocking yet another drawer, Brenda let out a dark chuckle. "Yeah. But I'm used to it. It happens more often than not that I drink cold tea. All right, here's the telephone," Brenda said and got up from the swivel-chair. Her long legs carried her over to the couch in a hurry where she put a DECT handset on the table. "Once you've contacted whatever breakdown service you wish to use, I'll call a cab for you. Okay?"
"Just fine, Brenda, thank you," Julia said, smiling when she picked up the telephone.
---
Once Julia had called the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Agency and given them the correct address for the shelter so they could get in touch with a towing service - advertising was an around-the-clock business so the office was manned twenty-four-seven - she got up from the couch and waddled over to the desk on a heel and a stump. "Here you go," she said and put down the handset. "Brenda, I can't thank you enough for all you've done for me tonight. I was really worried I'd run into drug-dealing cannibals, or whatever, but you've been a real angel."
Brenda chuckled at the colorful description. "You're welcome. Like the note says, there's always room in our hearts for you. That's to be taken literally."
"So, are you the owner, or manager, or administrator, or-"
"All of the above. I own it and do everything else as well apart from the cooking… I don't want to murder anyone. I'm the chaplain, the nurse, the mother goose, the janitor, the shrink. Everything," she said and took the handset. Dialing the number for the Taurus Cab Company, she put the telephone to her ear and leaned back on the chair. "The official, political ass-kisser too," she added in a mumble.
A thought of 'God, wouldn't that be hot?' flashed through Julia's mind, but she blushed and hurried back to the couch before Brenda would notice anything.
With the cab ordered, Brenda put the handset away. A somber silence fell between the two women, but it was soon broken by a deep sigh that emanated from the former nurse. "We're running on fumes at the moment. The damn politicians… they talk and talk and talk but never deliver. For some reason, they've closed their coffers. They've halved their donations to worthy causes this year. A project involving downtown basketball courts got most of the available funds. I guess that's all right too, but we sure could have used some of that money. Our regular benefactors are-"
Realizing she had an audience, Brenda cut off her frustrated tirade mid-stream before any of the things that were really on her mind spilled over. "Forget it. Adapt and overcome."
Julia leaned forward on the couch with a look of rapt fascination written on her face. She had seen a glimpse of the real woman behind the steely, military discipline, and she liked what had been presented to her.
They looked at each other for a few seconds before Brenda let out a grunt and got up from the swivel-chair. "Enough of my whining. Whiners ain't winners. Julia, you better get ready. The drivers don't like to spend too much time this far away from their regular hunting grounds. Do you have your credit card?"
"Yes, my card clip is right here," Julia said and patted her coffee-brown business jacket. She got up as well and closed the distance between them. Extending her hand, she offered her hostess a warm smile. "Thank you very much for your help tonight, Brenda. It's been an insightful evening."
"Oh, you're very welcome. And… if you feel like giving a few dollars to a worthy cause when you return to the glitzy world of advertising, I hope you'll remember this little establishment."
"I certainly will," Julia said and shook hands with the taller woman. It soon became clear a handshake wasn't enough in the special circumstances, so she put out her arms and pulled herself into an improvised embrace. It was brief, but long enough to feel the rock-solid support that came from the former senior nurse.
Julia had only known Brenda for a smidgen of time, but it became clear to her the tall, strong woman was a female Atlas: she carried everything on her shoulders. Unlike the mythological character, she had a heart as well - that was evident from the warm look in her eyes and the smile that spread over her features.
Julia mirrored the smile. She would definitely remember the establishment - and Brenda McCrawley.
*
*
CHAPTER 2
Two weeks later.
The measures countering the threat of terrorism that plagued most major cities in the western hemisphere made it difficult for Julia to get to work. In the old days, she could drive straight off the boulevard and down into the subterranean parking garage underneath the DiAgostino Building, but now she had to walk five blocks from the central parking zone that was monitored around the clock by a detachment of armed security people.
To lessen the threat of car bombings in the financial and commercial districts, the boulevard had been closed off at both ends which gave it an eerie, ghostly look compared to the old days where messenger bikes, taxi cabs, vans, trucks and regular traffic had competed noisily for the same stretch of pale-gray asphalt.
Dressed in a camel-hair overcoat that covered a white-and-tan pantsuit, Julia Thorne stomped along the sidewalk on her high heels in the company of thousands of other office workers who were all headed for the row of high-rises lining the boulevard. In addition to her indispensable dark-brown briefcase, she carried a to-go mug of SuperDuper Latte that she had bought at Giardella's Croissants & Coffee, and she had her Bluetooth headset stuck in her ear - she had already conducted two conversations, one of which had been a job interview with a hopeful from Milwaukee. He had missed the opportunity to work for Collins-Mattheson-Thorne when he didn't reply fast enough to a line of tricky questions.
Out of sheer habit, she looked over her shoulder when she went off the sidewalk and stepped onto the boulevard; she needn't have as it was as deserted as it had been for years now. Stomping across the four lanes, she took a sip of her Latte, thought of sending a card to her mother whose birthday was coming up in the not-too distant future, and started a new conversation in French when a call reached her from their branch in Montreál.
The DiAgostino Building that housed the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Advertising Agency and scores of other companies was a seventy-floor high-rise whose architect had tried to invoke a sense of the good, old days in the use of reddish-brown bricks that framed the ubiquitous glass and metal structure. Julia rarely had nostalgia on her mind when she looked up at the high-rise, but if it stroked the architect's ego, she was all for it.
Walking through the swinging doors and into the lobby, she nodded a brief good morning to the perpetually dour, armed security officers whose shaved heads, black uniforms and threatening submachine guns had grown into something of an eyesore in the otherwise friendly environment. She made a detour to the central desk where a brilliantly smiling bottle-blonde desk hostess smiled at her brilliantly, but she didn't have anything for her.
The elevators beckoned, and Julia joined the twenty other office workers who had mingled into a big wad of grumbling humanity. Everybody wore business clothes, and everybody carried a to-go mug and a briefcase. Like she always did, she thought they might as well be clones of each other.
A regular morning routine for Julia was to cast a longing glance at the elegant escalators across the lobby where well-dressed men and women were transported upward without getting squashed, and without being groped by hands or knees that slid across their rear in the packed elevator car. The strange thing was that it was always an accident, or so the culprits would claim.
The handful of companies that occupied the lower three floors of the high-rise could use the escalators instead of waiting for the elevators, but Collins-Mattheson-Thorne was on the forty-sixth floor so it was out of the question.
An electronic ding heralded the arrival of Elevator One, and once the thirty or so office workers who had arrived had swarmed out, the next group swarmed in. Julia had learned a trick or two over the years, so she had been at the back of the group on purpose. Once inside the elevator, she spun around and had the best spot in the house for when she needed to exit.
---
On the forty-sixth floor, Julia and a few others swarmed out of the elevator and stomped along the gray, fireproof carpet headed for the double-glass doors that carried the words 'Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Advertising Agency' scrawled in a quill-like font, and written in gold.
Julia held the doors open for a colleague, but was soon stomping her way through the open offices. She had timed her SuperDuper Latte to perfection as always and dumped the empty cardboard container in a trash can not far from her corner office.
The modern office landscape of wide-open spaces separated by low, portable walls and the occasional support pillar had good and bad sides. Among the plus points came the fact that everyone could work fluidly on the various projects. If an extra push was needed, a group of campaigners could migrate from one side of the floor to the other in a matter of minutes. Also, it was easier for her - since she was on the short side of things at five foot five in socks - to monitor her ad campaigners and the other project staffers at frequent intervals. If they were huddled up, they were typically working. Scattered meant she needed to stroll around the entire floor to get up to speed.
Among the negatives came the unfortunate fact that if someone had the coughs or the sniffles, they were all forced to listen to it, and they could all be affected by the illness. Another side-effect of the fluid system was that she never knew where her closest staffers were when she needed them. She had often had to stomp around for several, long minutes while searching for her personal assistant, or her right-hand woman as she preferred to call her. They didn't have a central public announcement system on the floor, so she had resorted to calling them on the telephone every time she needed input though they were never more than fifty yards away - it was simply faster.
This time, Julia was in luck. Just as she had put her hand on the door knob to her office, she locked eyes with Meghan Krasnow, her personal secretary and second-in-command, who was standing at the coffee vending machine sipping from a cup. "My office in five minutes, Miss Krasnow," Julia mouthed, holding up five fingers.
When Meghan nodded, Julia stepped into her sublime corner office and closed the door behind her.
-*-*-*-
At the first creative break of the day - named thus because the best ideas would quite often come to the staffers in a less formal environment - Julia leaned forward in her armchair and reached into a drawer of her mahogany desk.
Taking a Tablet computer, she got up and stretched her back. In her opinion, her corner office had the best view of the entire DiAgostino Building, so she strolled over to the massive windows to look out at the clear blue sky, and down upon the anthill of activity below.
So far, the meeting to decide the campaign strategy for a major player in the world of deodorants had gone well. Turning around, Julia had to chuckle at the mess her staffers had left behind on the conference table. It could seat twelve, but the piles of tea bags, coffee mugs, croissant crumbs, half-eaten Twinkies and empty soft drink cans made it look like an entire regiment of soldiers had been there. "Some things never change," she said with a chuckle as she picked up a trash can and removed the worst of the litter.
A ding from the Tablet made her put down the trash can and look at the little display. She had received an update from one of her countless news feeds. It was one of many over the course of the day, and there didn't appear to be anything of value to her in the article. She was about to delete it when her eyes caught a familiar name in the teaser text - Brenda McCrawley. "Oh…" she said, coming to a halt in the middle of the floor.
She opened the article at once and skimmed the contents. Letting out a "Mmmm," she made a beeline for the easy chair she had put up in the most scenic corner of the office. For once, her eyes weren't on the skyline that she used for meditational purposes, but on her Tablet.
After kicking off her shoes, she swung her legs up on the pouf and began to read in earnest. "Private shelter for abused women falls into financial difficulties… founder Brenda McCrawley visits the City Hall to plea with the mayor… God, she's so beautiful!"
Julia's eyes were focused on the photo of the dark-haired, no-nonsense woman who stood firm, proud and tall next to the wishy-washy mayor and his staff; in fact, she towered over him. Brenda carried a military stance that made everyone around her look like a bunch of spineless wimps. It also made Julia lick her lips and break out in a cheesy grin.
The grin faded when a wave of embarrassment washed over her. Despite her promises, she hadn't made a donation to the shelter. She bit down on her bottom lip and made a mental note of donating five thousand dollars just to compensate for her tardiness.
"I guess their problems have gotten worse," she said under her breath as she swiped down in the text. She didn't read every detail, but she got enough to find and read a quote from Brenda that said that the only shelter on the south side of the city would have to close down for good in less than three weeks if she couldn't be bestowed some political goodwill. At present, nine abused women were under her protection, and if matters weren't resolved, those nine women would be forced to return to their abusive husbands, unquote.
Julia looked up and cast a long glance at the skyline beyond the massive windows. "What the hell are those crap politicians thinking?" she mumbled. Another wave of embarrassment washed over her, and she upgraded her pledge from five thousand to ten thousand dollars at once.
Before she could carry on reading the article, the creative break was over and her staffers once again began to file into the office. The way they chatted among themselves offered hints that a breakthrough had been made, so Julia put aside the Tablet and returned to her work.
-*-*-*-
Late in the day, the buzzing excitement had quieted down into contented murmurs of a job well done - an eight-digit deal had been signed and closed with the deodorant people. Though an advertising agency never really wound down, a certain calmness and a sense of pride had spread through the open offices.
Contracts had been signed, sealed and delivered, hands had been shaken and backs had been slapped. Collins-Mattheson-Thorne's website, Facebook page and Twitter feed had been updated with the appropriate newsflashes and images, and the stock market had responded favorably to the news. Dozens of articles had been written on the online media, and Julia had just spent the better part of twenty minutes answering what had to have been a hundred and fifty questions from a print journalist.
Not only was her head swimming, her bones and joints ached. She hadn't received any fractures in the car crash, but she could still feel the late effects from the hard stop down in the ditch. For the first time in her life, she needed to take it easy when she got out of bed in the morning, and she'd had to cut down on her exercise regime. Moving her feet together, she got up from her armchair to stretch her back. The snapping, crackling and popping that followed didn't tell a happy tale.
Sighing, she took off her fancy, high-heeled shoes and let her feet sink into the plush carpet. A sudden thought of Brenda McCrawley entered her mind, and she shuffled back to her desk to get her Tablet computer. The news item was still available, and she took her time to read it thoroughly.
---
Once she was through, she scrunched up her face and stared out of the massive windows. Outside the air-conditioned environment, the sun was setting which painted the heavens in rich, lavish shades of red, orange and even blue. The last rays reflected off the many high-rises in the area and made it look brighter than it really was.
"I need to call her," she said and shuffled back to her desk. She picked up her new smartphone - the one in the car crash had been crushed to bits - but came to a halt when it dawned on her she didn't actually have Brenda McCrawley's phone number.
Making a ninety-degree left-hand turn, she went over to the door that led to the open office. She peeked out in the hope she could spot Meghan Krasnow in a hurry, but her right-hand woman wasn't anywhere to be found. "Oh… I guess I need to find out on my own," she mumbled and shuffled back inside.
The easy chair at the scenic corner beckoned, and she shuffled over there on her socked feet. She rarely took off her shoes at work because the greatly reduced height gave her a physical disadvantage to her staffers, thus lessening her status. For some reason, everybody else at the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Agency was on the tall side of five foot eight.
As she sat down and swung her legs up on the pouf, she let out a grunt. In another creative break, she had tried to ask some of her female colleagues if they had ever considered donating a few dollars to the private shelter, but the subject had turned touchy within seconds of asking. It seemed the mere thought of some women needing help to get by, or to escape a violent spouse, was alien to the well-dressed, well-manicured, well-pedicured, well-mannered senior staffers. Not that she had been any better herself before she had met Brenda.
Thinking back, Julia remembered a college friend from years gone by: a friendly gal who had shown up one Monday morning sporting a black eye and a fist-sized bruise on her chin. Excuses had been made, and the matter had been dropped. Sighing, she realized her thoughts were drifting, so she returned her focus on the smartphone.
---
A few minutes later, she had finally found the right number. Punching it in, she only needed to wait for a few seconds before a broad smile spread over her features when a familiar, rich timbre spoke in her ear.
'You've reached the St. Michael South Shelter. This is Brenda McCrawley. Hello? Who is this?' Brenda said at the other end of the connection.
Julia snuggled down in the easy chair upon hearing the voice. Although frazzled and frustrated by the recent events, Brenda still sounded like herself. "Hello, Brenda, it's Julia Thorne… remember the woman whose nostrils you plugged a few weeks back?" she said, wishing she was speaking into an old-fashioned telephone so she could play with the cord, or at least wrap it around her pinkie like she always did when she made romantic phone calls as a teenager.
'Oh, how could I forget? Hello, Julia.'
"Hi. Listen, Brenda… I read the current article about your visit to the mayor…"
'Yeah?'
"Did anything come out of it?"
'I doubt it.'
"Oh… I have a confession to make. I haven't made a donation yet… but I will, I promise."
A few seconds went by in silence. Julia spent them chewing on her cheek. Even while she had made her promise, she knew that Brenda had probably heard that kind of BS a hundred times if not more. She needed to pull through this time, or she would be the worst BS artist of them all. "Uh… hello?"
'I'm still here. If you're serious, you can donate on our website. We have a PayPal button for donations. The rest is automatic.'
"Oh! I didn't even know you had a website… hang on, I'm just gonna…" Julia moved the phone away from her ear and accessed the browser. "Brenda, I'm on it. What's the link?"
'Saintmichaelsouthshelter dot org. Not dot com, dot org. And Saint is spelled out as s-a-i-n-t.'
Julia accessed the keyboard feature and punched in the correct, endless, web address. Within seconds, the page appeared in the browser. "Brenda, you need a better address. That's just way, way, way too long to remember. Okay. I'm in. Looks pretty good… kinda old-fashioned. Yeah, I see the button… click… here… click… there… click… once more…"
At the other end of the connection, Brenda let out a chuckle at Julia's childish approach.
"Almost there," Julia said, looking at the sum field that said $10,000. She closed her eyes and thought about it for a few seconds, but arrived at the conclusion that someone needed that money far worse than she. Nodding, she approved the exchange. "Done."
'Thank you. Huh… wait a minute…'
"Shit, is there a problem?" Julia said and hurriedly closed the apps so she could speak regularly.
'No… unless you didn't mean to donate ten thousand dollars?'
"Ten thousand dollars is what it said on my little display, yep."
'I can't accept that! It's gotta be a full month's salary for you.'
"Hey, it's my money, right? It's not a month's salary. I don't usually tell people I hardly know how much I make, but… you've already been up my nose, so… it's ten days' salary."
The silence returned, though this time, Julia could tell it was from Brenda being trapped in a stunned bubble rather than being disappointed.
'Let me get this straight… you make thirty grand a month?' Brenda said in a voice that told a tale of not quite believing the message.
"Well… yes. And change."
'I'll be a son of a bitch.'
The exclamation hadn't been made in jest, and Julia squirmed uncomfortably in her easy chair. At face value, three hundred and sixty thousand dollars a year - and change - was an obscene amount of money, but she worked twelve hours a day, five days a week, sometimes six days a week, to earn it. She was born into the family business, but nobody had held her hand during the difficult years in college. She had been placed at the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Advertising Agency, but she had earned the corner office on her own through dedication, hard work and having the right ideas at the right time.
She knew there were whispers that she had screwed her way to the top, but none of those gossipers knew she was a lesbian. She hadn't screwed anyone to get to where she was - in fact, she had gained a reputation of being a cold fish among the suits higher up in the food chain. Her sexuality was none of their damn business.
Julia snapped back to reality and sighed into the telephone. "I'm sorry if you're not comfortable with how much I make, Brenda. To change the subject, how did the shelter fall into such heavy problems so quickly? When I visited you the other week, I had the impression that you were tight, but-"
'They cut us off. The city council literally turned off the money tap.'
"No… what a-holes!"
Brenda chuckled at that colorful description. 'I agree. Apparently, supporting small-scale private enterprises is no longer viable at City Hall. I know the real truth, though. When they enter large-scale joint ventures, like the string of inner-city basketball courts they just announced, they get their expenses paid by Uncle Sam… every last cent. Then they can reap the publicity rewards. And my little shelter is an expense they can no longer justify to support.'
"Wow… just like that?" Julia said and shook her head though Brenda wouldn't be able to see her indignation over the phone.
'Yeah. Just like that. Of course, with your ten grand, we're good to go for a while.'
"I'm glad. Listen-" -- 'Listen-'
Julia laughed at their perfect synchronicity. "You first, Brenda," she said and leaned back in her easy chair.
'I just wanted to ask if you would like to swing by tonight? With such a gracious donation, I think you should see the true state of affairs here. Maybe talk to one of the women I'm protecting at the moment.'
"Oh… uh…"
'Or is that just a little too real world for you smart types in advertising?'
'That hit the bullseye,' Julia thought. She smirked as the truth of the statement slapped her across the cheeks - the sting lingered for a while. "If I said, 'oh shucks no, of course not,' I'd be a liar, Brenda."
'Mmmm.'
"But… but I'd love to come," Julia said and suddenly realized she had made an important step. Where to, she had no idea, but she did know it felt right on the inside. "We closed a big deal today, so I can leave whenever I want. I can be out there in… oh, thirty minutes."
'Better make it forty. I don't wanna plug your nostrils again, you know.'
Julia grinned into the smartphone. The thought of meeting the proud, confident Brenda in the flesh gave her a little kick, and talking to her face to face would be even better. "We have a deal. Forty minutes. See you then, Brenda," she said and swung her legs off the pouf.
'Bye, Julia,' Brenda said and closed the connection.
Grinning once more, Julia tapped the smartphone against her forehead a couple of times before she rose from the easy chair to find her shoes.
-*-*-*-
The second time Julia drove along the four-lane road in the industrial zone, she took it far easier than on her earlier, brain-rattlingly frantic pass. Adhering to the thirty miles per hour speed limit, she kept a watchful eye on the roadblock at the crooked manhole cover - which had been repaired in the meantime - and then on the sideways skidmarks on the street that led off to the curb and the ditch on the left-hand side.
When she went past the spot where she had gone nose-first into the ditch, she bared her teeth in a grimace and made sure to keep moving straight on. Although it was evening, it wasn't as dark as the first time she had been there so she was able to spot fresh clumps of dirt that had been thrown up onto the street and subsequently flattened by the many trucks that used the road in the daytime.
Brenda's shelter soon came into sight, but the next problem presented itself at once. With far more traffic on the road in the shape of heavy, commercial vehicles, she couldn't just stop at the curb so she had to find a spot to park her new, dark-blue Cadillac.
Eyeing the loose, round gravel in front of the shelter, she grimaced at the thought of damaging the car's underside, mag wheels or shiny paint job. Parking in a secluded spot in the industrial zone would be even worse, however - the risk of coming back to an empty parking bay was simply too great. The powerful LED light that shone down upon the threshold convinced her to park on the gravel after all.
She drove up next to the narrow pathway made of spartan, chipped flagstones and turned off the engine. Once peace had been restored inside the luxury car, she gave the shelter's exterior a closer look. It was obvious Brenda hadn't been able to fix any of the faults since the last time Julia had made a visit. The drainpipes were still leaking, the paint was still frayed, and the windowframes and sills were as rotten as before.
The reinforced door to the shelter cracked open, and the recognizable figure of Brenda McCrawley appeared in the bright light. Julia grinned and stepped out of the car in a hurry. A foul stench of cat urine greeted her as she stepped onto the round gravel, but she pinched her sensitive nostrils and hurried over to the flagstones. "Hi! Great to see you again, Brenda," she said as she put out her arms in an invitation for a hug.
"Likewise, Julia," the former senior nurse said. Glancing at the open arms, she chose to extend her hand instead.
A slight pang of disappointment struck Julia, but she kept the smile on her face and shook hands with the taller woman. Stepping back so she wouldn't breach Brenda's personal space, she let her eyes roam for a brief moment. Brenda was as beautiful as ever, even in blue jeans and a faded, olive-green US Army surplus sweatshirt that sported mismatched patches on the elbows. There were dark circles under her eyes, but that was understandable given the circumstances. "Well, thank you for the invitation. I'm actually… well, excited isn't the right word. Nor is thrilled. Oh, I hope I don't come across as spoiled, rich brat."
Brenda chuckled and stepped aside so Julia could enter the hallway. "Just for the record, you don't."
"Thank God… we get no second chances at making a first impression."
"Well, my first impression of you was pretty good. Have you suffered from further nosebleeds since I plugged your nostrils?"
Laughing out loud at the colorful description, Julia turned back to face her hostess. "I haven't, actually!"
"That's good to hear. Thank you once again for your gracious donation. That'll keep us going for the rest of the month."
"Oh, that's so wonderful," Julia said and began to take off her camel-hair overcoat. She paused when she realized the hallway didn't offer any coat hangers. While Brenda closed the reinforced door, she slipped the overcoat back on her shoulders but didn't button it.
"Let me take your coat, Julia… I'll put it in the office," Brenda said and reached for the expensive garment. When she held it in her hands, she rubbed her thumb and index finger against the fabric. "Nice. Camel-hair?"
"Yes."
"Must have been expensive."
Julia shrugged and reached up to fluff her hairdo that had become a little upset after taking off the coat. "Not really. I believe it was six hundred dollars."
The two women locked eyes in the middle of the hallway. It was abundantly clear by the stunned looks that flew back and forth there was a grave mismatch in their appreciation, or even understanding, of the word 'expensive.'
"Okay," Brenda eventually said before she opened the door to the office and stepped inside with the coat.
Left to her own devices, Julia smirked and looked up at the ceiling. A blush began to form on her cheeks, but she fanned herself to make it go away before it would get visible. 'God, how often can I put my foot in my mouth before I'll choke on it? Get a grip, fool! Brenda pinches every last cent to get by… show her some damn respect!' she thought, mentally slapping herself silly.
Brenda came back out at the right moment, and Julia offered her a smile to cover her gaffe. "So…?"
"So," Brenda said and pointed down the other end of the central hallway, "I was thinking if we should start in the kitchen?"
"Kitchen is fine. Lead on," Julia said and stepped aside. "Oh, you still call it a kitchen and not a canteen?"
"Yeah," Brenda said with a chuckle. "But only because my matron would tear my head off if I did. Marjorie Lonnigan has gone home for today, but she's a tough, old bruiser, I can assure you. Come on, it's right down here."
Julia enjoyed the feeling of Brenda's warm hand on the small of her back, and she let it be known by smiling at her hostess. Shuffling down the hallway, they went past the infirmary and two further, reinforced doors before they reached a nondescript swinging door adorned with a metal push-plate instead of a regular handle.
"Please enter," Brenda said and put her strong hand on the metal plate. Swinging the door open, she reached in and flicked a light switch.
Once the white strip lights in the ceiling had come on fully, Julia stepped inside. The smile froze on her face when she realized the kitchen was a perfect time warp from the 1970s, or perhaps even further back. Apart from the white tiles on the floor, everything was held in lime-green, mustard-yellow or shades thereof, and the equipment was so old and suffering from so much overuse it was a marvel it could even hold together. A pile of junk in the corner that had once been a kneading machine proved that some of it had in fact fallen to pieces.
"Whoa," she said and walked into the center of the kitchen. It was clear to see - and smell - that Brenda or her matron had a strict policy on housecleaning and hygiene. Every wall and flat surface shone, even down to the chrome handles on the twin refrigerators that Julia knew was murder to keep clean of sticky fingers. There weren't any dirty dishes in the wash basin, and clean plates were stacked in military order on two metal trolleys.
Julia moved to her left and put her palms on an impressive cooking counter made of metal. Though it was old, it was fully functional. Below the flat surface, several drawers held various cutlery and other accessories - except carving knives that she surmised were stored in a locked cabinet somewhere. The counter had plenty of patina, and looked in fact like something that could have been used in a butcher's shop for generations. "Some of it is fantastic… like this thing here. Some of it is just… old."
"Yeah. We've bought our stock from thrift stores all over town. Chapter Eleven auctions. A few personal donations, too. Beds and the like."
"How come you don't have an automatic dishwasher? You have to do everything by hand," Julia said and looked at the pair of wash basins imbedded in the long, shiny counter.
Brenda grunted and moved over to rest her behind on the edge of the metal counter. "True, but like this, we can have two women working side by side. They can talk, emote and share stories. That's an important aspect of the rehabilitation process."
"Oh… I should have thought of that," Julia said and nodded solemnly.
"Are you married?"
The question caught Julia on the wrong foot, and she let out a cool chuckle while she composed her thoughts. When she couldn't stall any longer, she turned to Brenda and offered her a smile. "No. I'm a lesbian."
"Well, unless I have my countries mixed up, same-sex marriage has generally been approved now, even in this State. It's safe for us to get married now if we want."
"Yeah, but- oh… 'us' ?" Julia said and cocked her head. That snippet of information was stored in a little, diamond-studded box complete with a gold key - no wonder she had felt an attraction on a subliminal level. Some vibes were just too good to be ignored. Despite the somber circumstances, she couldn't help but let her eyes glide up Brenda's long legs and shapely torso. The sky-blue eyes formed an entire fairy tale on their own, and she saved them for last.
Brenda was oblivious to the checking-out process that had just been completed, so her reply was a simple: "Yep."
"So… are you seeing anyone?"
"No. I don't have time to nurture a relationship. You?"
"Nah. The same."
Brenda sighed. "Aren't we a pair of sorry, old gals?"
Chuckling darkly, Julia dusted off her hands and moved away from the shiny counter. "Yeah. Change of subject, please."
"All right." Brenda waited for a few seconds to see if Julia had anything to add, but when the blonde remained silent, she gestured towards the door. "Let's move on. We also have a plenum room where my guests can have a quiet moment together, but there's nothing special in there. And I mean that literally. We have a third-hand flatscreen TV with a cracked frame, and an old VCR that doesn't work properly."
"Mmmm…"
Brenda grunted as well and held the door open for her guest. When they strolled into the hallway, she closed and locked the door to the kitchen. "Our biggest concern is our old locks. It would cost a fortune to have them all upgraded to a better, more modern standard, but we probably need to soon. We had an intruder last fall-"
"Oh no, really?" Julia said and put a hand on Brenda's arm to pull her to a halt. "One of the abusive husbands?"
"We thought it might have been, yes… but it was a burglar. A common, stupid criminal who thought this old barrack contained valuables. I taught him a lesson."
The message was left hanging, but Julia didn't need to have it spelled out to imagine how the buff Brenda had wiped the floor with the burglar. Though she had been in the Medical Corps and not a combat unit, she would most likely have had to go through at least some of the regular physical training. "Mmmm… but surely you must have an on-call security service of some kind?"
"We do, but they're based downtown. It'll take them twenty-five minutes to get here… more if it's rush hour," Brenda said and continued down the hallway. She came to another stop at the first of the two reinforced doors. "We have taken all the precautionary measures we can. Steel doors, grating in front of every window… everything that's in my power to give these women a safe environment. But there's always the factor of unpredictability."
Julia nodded solemnly. "And that's what you need the donations for."
"We need them for a lot of things," Brenda said with a tired chuckle. She kept her hand on the handle for the reinforced door. "Julia, you can say no if you wish, but… would you like to talk to one of the women staying here at present?"
"Oh… uh… I…"
"That's a no," Brenda said and took her hand off the handle.
"No! Uh, I mean, I'd like to… if I may? But I don't want to intrude… if I was in such a situation, I wouldn't want anyone to gawk at me like I was a zebra in a cage…"
Brenda once more smiled at one of Julia's colorful descriptions. "You won't. Talking is good for the soul. Are you sure?"
"Fully. Lead on," Julia said and gestured at the door.
Brenda nodded and released the latch that held the heavy sliding door in place. With a grunt, she pushed it aside and moved away to allow Julia into the next hallway.
For the umpteenth time, Julia's preconceived notions surrounding the shelter were tackled head-on when she caught a glimpse of the secure, inner hallway. She had expected everything to be drab, dull and held in lifeless colors, but the sight of a bright, colorful corridor made her lose her jaw.
The plaster walls had been decorated with wild splashes of spring-green and sunflower-yellow. Abstract, nonsensical loops, swirls and streaks of color were sprawled all over the hallway and the doors, and dozens if not scores of palmprints big and small in all the colors of the rainbow dotted the walls.
"Oh… my… God," she breathed, taking in the full array of dashing colors. She pressed a hand to her heart that suddenly felt too large for her chest. Her eyes darted this way and that to absorb all the little details that told stories of meticulous design here, and simply throwing paint on the wall there. In between the two polar opposites, all the different sections had been painted in different ways, but it managed to stay coherent and not turn into a hodge-podge of creative ideas.
Looking closer, Julia found a favorite section at once: a rising sun that had been created by a few, well-placed yellow palmprints. Four stick figures stood below the sun with their hands together like a real family. "Oh, this is so beautiful, Brenda," Julia said, studying the paintings up close. "Not all the money in the world could buy this…"
While Julia had enjoyed the artwork, Brenda had moved over to the door that led to the room occupied by the woman she intended Julia to talk to. "No, it can't. Please wait out here while I ask Carly if she's ready to see you."
"Mm-hmmm," Julia said, too absorbed in all the well-crafted details of the artwork to pay any attention to the former senior nurse.
Brenda chuckled and knocked softly on the next reinforced door. "Carly… may I come in? I have a question for you."
A mumbled reply came through the door, followed by the familiar clink of a sliding bolt being pulled aside.
"Wait a minute… you keep them locked up?" Julia said, furrowing her brow.
"No, they lock themselves up. If they know they have control over the door, they're able to relax better," Brenda said and offered Julia a smile before she slipped into the room.
Julia chewed on her cheek. "I guess that makes sense… God, I have so much to learn," she mumbled before she turned back to the paintings.
---
Five minutes later, Carly Jenkins had okayed the guest, and Julia slipped inside unsure of what to find. Her expectations had already been shot down in flames so often when it came to the goings-on at the shelter that she had stopped making predictions. Instead, she prepared herself to see anything.
Even so, she stopped dead in the doorway and furrowed her brow. A woman roughly her size, age and coloring sat on a bunk bed that had been put against the opposite side of the room. Many of the colors and patterns from the hallway were repeated on the walls of the room, but somehow they had lost some of their luster.
A bunk bed, a desk with an opened Bible, a swivel-chair, a lamp in the ceiling, mustard-yellow curtains, a dusty-green carpet on the floor and a few pictures pinned to the wall with thumb tacks - that was all Carly Jenkins had in her room at the shelter. Her clothes were mismatched and a touch too big like they had been the best fit of a limited selection.
Brenda moved ahead and put a comforting hand on Carly's shoulder. "Carly, meet Julia Thorne. Julia, meet Carly Jenkins. A friend in need."
Julia felt acutely uncomfortable, not to mention guilty, about her own stylish appearance as she faced someone who only had what she carried on her back. The three-hundred dollar shoes, the six-hundred dollar pantsuit, the one-hundred dollar fancy hairdo that followed the latest fashion from the world's hot spots, the two-hundred dollar studs in her ears, the five-hundred dollar gold necklace; all of it was grossly irrelevant and burned her skin with the strength of industrial acid.
Though Carly tried to smile, it only became a creasing of her lips. The right side of her face had taken a bad beating. Her eye was black, blue and purple, her cheekbone was angry red and her upper lip had been split and subsequently mended in a professional way - it was clear Brenda had done a good job trying to contain the injuries.
Shivering on the inside at the thought of the pain and suffering the woman must have gone through during the beating, Julia sat down on the bunk bed and took the hand of her new acquaintance. "He- hello, Carly. I'm Julia," she said in a croaking voice. "It's nice to meet you." - The corny phrase made her cringe, but it was too late to retract it.
Carly chuckled hoarsely and gave Julia's hand a little squeeze. "Thank you. Brenda told me you've donated some money to the shelter?"
"I have, yes." As Carly had spoken in a lisping voice, Julia's eyes had been fixated on the gap in the woman's teeth. She was missing at least a handful from her front teeth and off to the right. She forced herself to move up her eyes to meet those of the other woman. "But not enough. I'll do something about that in a hurry. May… may I ask what happened to you?"
Carly chuckled again, though this time it was far darker. "My boyfriend happened. We disagreed on the rent. I sent him packing… but he returned."
"Drunk?"
"No. Just angry. He threw a ceramic jug at me. I didn't have time to react… and he didn't stop there," Carly said and shook her head. "I couldn't stay at home until the lock on my front door had been changed… and I remembered reading about Brenda's shelter, so… so… I took a cab out here. That was yesterday."
"But didn't you call the police? They could have charged your boyfriend with assault-"
Letting out a small sigh, Carly shook her head again. "I couldn't think that far. I just needed to escape before he decided to come back again."
Conceding the point, Julia nodded and caressed Carly's arm. A volcano of fiery righteousness brewed inside her. Until now, she had only heard or read of such crimes, but seeing one in the raw flesh hammered the point home with ten-inch nails.
In her fairly limited, upper-crust view of the world, she had expected spousal abuse to only happen to women who matched the list of negative stereotypes: the trailer park people, the drug and alcohol addicts, the bubblegum-blondes with the many tattoos and piercings, the twenty-three-year-olds living downtown with multiple snotty kids by multiple fathers - but this woman, Carly Jenkins, was a regular gal from a regular home who had ended up in a living hell because of something as mindnumbingly idiotic as disagreeing over the rent.
Brenda seemed to be able to read Julia's thoughts. "And there you have it," the former nurse said as she pushed herself off the wall. "We should give Carly some rest now."
"Yes," Julia said and turned back to the battered woman. "Uh, Carly… do you need anyth- uh, well, of course you do, but… what do you need the most?"
Carly sighed a couple of times and looked from Julia and up at Brenda before she settled on the woman in the fancy clothes next to her. "To begin with… to have the lock changed on my front door. Then I'll know he can't come into my apartment."
"All right. Carly, listen," Julia said as she gave the battered woman's hands a squeeze, "if you tell Brenda where you live, I promise that we'll get someone to change the lock at once. And I mean, within the hour. Would that help you? Would that give you some comfort?"
"Oh…" Carly said and once again looked at both women near her. "You'd do that for me?"
"Yes!" Julia said decisively. She joined Carly in looking at Brenda who seemed to have a skeptical expression on her face. After a few seconds, the former senior nurse nodded her approval of the plan.
---
After saying goodbye to Carly, Julia and Brenda moved over to the office. Julia bumped down on the couch next to her fancy camel-hair overcoat which seemed as inappropriate as the rest of her fancy outfit. Taking a deep breath, she let out a long, heartfelt sigh. "I haven't been through such an emotional wringer since Nine-Eleven. My God, Brenda… and you live through this day-in, day-out…"
Brenda grunted and sat down behind her desk. She transferred Carly's address onto a piece of paper from a notepad before she put down her pen and locked eyes with her guest. "Julia, I know this will sound harsh, or even cold… but I can't allow myself to get emotionally connected to the women I protect. The women who walk through that door out there come from all classes of society, they're of all colors, they identify with every sexual orientation you can imagine, and they belong to every single religious belief. If I don't keep my distance, I won't be able to treat them equally."
Julia drew in a sharp breath ready to blast that statement to smithereens, but she realized Brenda was right. Sighing, she fell back against the backrest. "I understand. I had no idea what you did here… no idea at all."
"Now you do. And by the way… do you have any idea how much it'll cost to call for a locksmith at this time of the day?" The message had been given with an accusing undertone, and Brenda sent Julia a dark, tired glare to accompany it. "Hundreds of dollars, Julia. Money that I don't have."
"I'll pay! I've… I made the promise, of course I'll pay whatever the cost."
"All right. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm holding you to it," Brenda said and reached for a phonebook to begin the process of having Carly's lock changed.
Another, equally long sigh escaped Julia's lips. This required a whole different mindset to her day job where shallowness ruled the roost, and where getting a signature to close a six, seven or even eight-figure advertising deal was considered the ultimate achievement - that was all a load of BS compared to the real, messy, horrible world that took place at Brenda's shelter twenty-four-seven. There, the ultimate achievement for the guests would be to get through the day without being reminded of the violent event that sent them there, or to get through the night without reliving the hell in nightmares.
Julia suddenly realized this would take a lot more than a measly ten thousand-dollar donation to get right. This deal would require blood, sweat, tears and bedrock-tough dedication on her part. Did she have what the situation demanded of her? She didn't know, but she knew she would try her damnest to find out.
*
*
CHAPTER 3
Three days later.
As she did every morning bar Sunday, Julia Thorne stomped through the open landscape at the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Agency on her way to her corner office. She carried her indispensable briefcase and her equally indispensable to-go mug of SuperDuper Latte from Giardella's Croissants & Coffee, so she could only nod a brief good morning to her right-hand woman who seemed to share a humorous anecdote with a few of their co-workers at the coffee vending machine.
Meghan Krasnow was a popular figure at the agency; Julia could never really work out if that was because of her looks, or her skills and ambitions. A tight skirt and a flirtatious smile always formed the order of the day with Meghan, but so did her quick wit and her sharp opinions - but it didn't matter. The big suits higher up the food chain had recognized her as someone they needed to hold onto, so her salary had been doubled over night when a competing ad agency had sent out a few rumors that mentioned something about looking to hire.
Turning away from her second-in-command, Julia sighed under her breath. For eight minutes straight, she had listened to a building inspector slash construction supervisor droning on and on in her Bluetooth headset. The topic was the state of affairs at the shelter. Julia didn't have much knowledge of the specifics, so all she could do was grunt in the appropriate places. To make it appear she had any interest in the whole thing, she varied her grunts. A short one meant she was surprised; a long one meant she was annoyed. After a while, the long ones outnumbered the short ones on a factor of five to one.
Now and then, she could hear Brenda's characteristic rich timbre in the background of the telephone conversation. Each time it happened, she broke out in a wide smile that had already made at least two of her co-workers curious and gossipy.
Julia had almost reached her corner office when she came to a halt to drain her to-go mug of Latte. Once it was empty, she put it into the same trash can she used every morning. "That's right, Miss Fremantle," she said and glanced across the open offices. Meghan was on her way over to her, and the two women offered each other a brief wave. "To recap, you have- I'm sorry? Yes. Yes. Yes, well- no, not quite. No. No, all actual- I'm sorry? I wouldn't know, Miss Fremantle. For questions concerning the building, you need to consult Miss McCrawley. I'm sorry? Yes, Miss McCrawley is the tall, no-nonsense woman who goes by the name of Brenda," Julia said, chuckling at the last part of the conversation.
When Meghan arrived, they walked into the corner office together. Julia gave her right-hand woman the briefcase so they could start getting down to business even while Miss Fremantle droned on and on in the headset.
"Well, Miss Fremantle, I couldn't say… no. No, I have no- really, Miss McCrawley is the person you need to refer to. I can't-" - Julia shot Meghan a telling and somewhat resigned look that was responded to by a grin - "Yes, I know Miss McCrawley can be intimidating, but it's only until you get to know her. She's really quite nice. Think of her as a trained grizzly. Miss Fremantle, there's no point in repeatedly asking me those things when I've already explained to you I have no knowledge of- that's right, yes. All right, bye. Bye, Miss Fremantle."
The connection was finally closed, and Julia let out a sigh that turned into a groan. There weren't many female building inspectors slash construction supervisors in the city, but it seemed she and Brenda had chosen the wrong one of the three they had whittled the short-short list down to. It didn't help that Brenda had insisted that only women could be allowed inside the shelter's perimeter, save for situations where male input was unavoidable - it was all done to protect her female guests.
Julia hadn't noticed that a warm smile spread over her lips whenever she thought of the tall, intense Brenda, but Meghan certainly had. By complete coincidence, the right-hand woman sat at Julia's left, but she was still in the perfect position to see the change in her boss. At twenty-seven, Meghan Krasnow was perhaps a bit too old to be the office fairy, but her bottle-blond locks and the bluish hue to her eyes gave her a certain resemblance to one. "Have you met someone?" she said, speaking in a quiet voice as she leaned in towards her boss.
Julia smiled a little more before she tried to wipe it from her face so they could get down to business - a mere thought of the conversation she'd had with Brenda about the same subject same it reappear. "I haven't. What makes you say that?"
"Oh, come on! It's so obvious," Meghan said with a grin.
The grin transferred to Julia's lips, and the corners of her mouth pointed north once more. She turned all her attention to the dreary business papers in front of her so she wouldn't break out in a huge blush, but they didn't seem to do a good job of holding her interest. "Well… maybe I have. But not like that," she said and shuffled around a few random pieces of paper.
"No, of course not!" Meghan said in a mock-theatrical voice that made her boss give her a tiny Evil Eye. It didn't stop her from leaning in and putting her head close to the older woman so she didn't have to speak louder than a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me, is she cute?"
Julia chuckled and allowed herself to imagine a brief tour of Brenda McCrawley from top to toe. As always, it made her smile. "Cute? No. Not cute, but oh-my-God-drop-dead-gorgeous. Confident. Very, very confident."
"Mmmm!"
"Dedicated. Eloquent. Noble. A tough shell, but a mushy core. Her heart is as big as a house. Would you believe, she's a war veteran! She used to be a senior nurse with the US Army Medical Corps in Kuwait. In Desert Storm!"
"Oh! I'll bet she's got that awesome military stance down pat!"
Julia briefly stuck out her tongue and let out a snicker. "She does. She's tall, too, so she has that ability to just stand there like the Queen of the World."
"Mmm-hmmm!"
"But she doesn't have that typical military dourness, you know? Oh, she's got the most beautiful eyes you can imagine. She smiles, she laughs, she has gentle hands-"
"What?! Girl!"
Meghan's surprised outburst made a strong blush explode onto Julia's cheeks, just like she knew it would. Shimmying in her seat, she tried to fumble with the business papers to have something to do, but it was to no avail - it was clear Meghan wouldn't let up without hearing every last detail. "Oh, not like that!" Julia croaked and shook her head in an embarrassed fashion.
"I need to see that woman… let me see her… don't tell me you haven't snapped her yet?" Meghan said, pointing at Julia's smartphone that was lying on the desk.
"Oh… I haven't, actually…"
"No, come on…"
"Honest!" Julia said and made the sign of the cross. "Honest, Meghan, I haven't. It's not that kind of thing."
"Yet."
The two women looked at each other for a few seconds before they sniggered in two different keys. "Enough girl talk. Let's get down to business, shall we?" Julia said and took a stack of papers that she fanned out across the desk.
"Yes, Miss Thorne," Meghan said and took the top sheet. Assuming a business-like expression, she pointed at a paragraph on the piece of paper. "If you recall, last week, we…"
-*-*-*-
Later on, Julia kicked off her shoes and sat down in her easy chair in the scenic corner of the office. Ever since her conversation with Meghan the same morning, a plethora of thoughts and questions had rolled around inside her mind. She had questions by the bucketful but hardly any answers, and those she did have were so basic and inane she didn't even know why she bothered.
Yes, Brenda McCrawley was a gorgeous woman. Yes, it had been far, far too long since Julia had been involved with someone. Yes, there was at least some chemistry between them. Yes, sharing a kiss would no doubt be a direct path to a blissful experience - and yes, if only their common world didn't revolve around such an emotional environment, it would have been fan-freakin'-tastic. If they had met at a random cocktail party, she was sure sparks would have flown at once. She knew it took more than sparks to ignite the flame, but it would have been safe to flirt, and it would have been a good starting point.
Of course, if Brenda had shown up at a cocktail party, she would have been dressed for the occasion. Maybe a fashionable, black pantsuit with a lacy camisole top and a scarf that she would have thrown casually over her shoulders. She would certainly be wearing pumps which would add another three or four inches to her already impressive height. She probably wouldn't use much makeup, but a little shade here and rouge there would go a long way. Her hair would have been loose and seductive, and all in all, she would most decidedly have been at the center of attention. "God, she would've had an endless tail of drooling worshippers wherever she went," Julia mumbled to herself. The image was so pleasant to consider she needed to shuffle around on the easy chair to get some of the heat that had built up inside her to settle down.
That pleasant fantasy aside, the shelter was such a large part of Brenda's life, it was almost like the former senior nurse was already in a steady relationship. To a certain extent, she was, and it was with every woman who walked through the reinforced door looking for help and comfort.
To butt in and expect Brenda's undivided attention would be arrogant and inappropriate, and it would be a grossly disrespectful behavior towards the women like Carly who had no other place to go. But Cupid's arrow had already been released. It had come from the quiver labeled 'Crushes,' but that was bad enough. Once one of those things reached the heart, it would go into the bloodstream and fester until a bad case of infatuation would break out.
"And then the shit will really hit the fan," Julia mumbled. Sighing, she put her shoes back on to return to work - they didn't pay her thirty thousand dollars a month to daydream about tall, gorgeous, unobtainable women.
-*-*-*-
For a change, Julia ended up calling it a day while it was still daylight outside. Though most of the staffers at the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Agency were working on a new ad campaign for a manufacturer of premium brand fountain pens, the pull of the shelter was just too great. Or, to be precise, the pull of Brenda was just too great.
As she drove along the road where she'd had her accident, a certain tremor of joyous expectancy made her fear the condition she had worried about earlier in the day had already set in. The signs were there: now, she didn't just smile whenever she thought of Brenda - no, she felt a warm murmur in her body that performed a gentle, rolling wave from her heart cavity, past all the sensitive spots, and out into her limbs. She'd had it before, but never quite as strong as that. It wasn't unpleasant; it was a positive reminder that she was in fact alive.
Activating her turning signal, she drove up onto the gravelly patch in front of the shelter. The familiar stench of cat urine assaulted her sensitive nostrils, but even that couldn't prevent a smile from breaking out as she stepped out of the car.
There was less room in front of the shelter than the other times she had visited. Several large vans and pickup trucks were parked along the curb with their rear doors open or tailgates lowered, indicating that a small regiment of assorted craftswomen had already begun working on the many little things that needed to be repaired.
Chipping away on a small corner of the big picture, a carpenter and her female apprentice had begun rasping off the frayed paint from the windowsills to get them ready for a new coat. Julia came to a stop to observe the two women whose white coveralls were splattered with hundreds of droplets of paint in every shade imaginable. They clearly knew what they were doing, so she moved on and stepped up to the reinforced door that still carried the weatherproof plastic folder proclaiming that There's always room in our hearts for you.
After Julia had pressed the button for the bell inside the red alarm box, it didn't take long for Brenda to show up in the door. Much to Julia's pleasure, a wide, genuine smile spread over the former nurse's face when they made eye contact. It reached her sky-blue orbs and gave them an even warmer hue, something that Julia had thought impossible - but there it was. "Hi!" she said and stepped inside.
"Hi, Julia… did I forget we had an appointment?"
"No no, I came unannounced," Julia said and took off her windbreaker. After the unpleasant guilt-trip over her expensive clothing the other night, she had decided to go home and change before she would make the second part of the short journey. She had decided to dress down for the new occasion. Thus, she wore sports loafers, black designer jeans, a cream shirt with wide lapels, and a white sports windbreaker that carried three red, white and blue stripes down the front and the words Go!TeamUSA on the back - it had been a bonus gift from when the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Advertising Agency had closed a deal with a sportswear company.
Brenda shut the door behind them after sneaking a glance at the ongoing activity outside. "They're minding their own business, so we don't have to worry about them. Say, that's a nice, understated outfit. Elegant," she said, briefly eyeing Julia's black jeans that were cut in a way that accentuated the businesswoman's shapely rear and legs.
"Why, thank you very much. Thank you for noticing," Julia said with a beaming smile. Though Brenda only wore an olive-green sweatsuit and old sneakers, she managed to make the low-rent ensemble classy. Perhaps it was because she filled it out so nicely, Julia thought. To be polite, she tore her eyes away from the highlights upon the long body to find the best part of Brenda, her eyes. "You too… did you sneak it out in your gym bag when you were discharged from the Medical Corps?" - She winked just in case Brenda didn't get the joke.
"Haw, haw… no, there's a great Army-Navy surplus store not far from here. I buy most of my clothes there. They got that old, homey feel."
"I'll bet… not that great flannel tunic you wore when I first met you, though. Oh, that was so gorgeous." - 'But not half as gorgeous as the woman wearing it,' Julia continued in her mind.
Brenda smirked like she couldn't quite grasp how their unscheduled meeting had turned into the Fashion Appreciation Hour. The silence became a little awkward, but just when it was about to cross the line into the territory commonly referred to as embarrassing, Julia saved the day.
"So, anyway…" Julia said and swatted at Brenda's flat tummy. "With all those gals hard at work out there, do you think there's a risk anyone will be scared of reaching out to you?"
Brenda breathed a sigh of relief at being saved by the bell. Grunting, she turned around and shuffled down the hallway towards her office. "Most of the women who come here arrive late at night or in the early hours of the morning. I have very few who come at this time of the day… but I suppose it's possible."
"Mmmm… hey," Julia said and offered her hostess one of those cute, little shy smiles that often followed hot on the heels of crushes, "I was thinking… how about treating a thirsty girl to a mug of tea? And perhaps a cookie?"
"Can-do on the tea. No-can-do on the cookie. I'm not a cookie kinda gal."
Julia gasped and pretended to grab her heart. "You're not a cookie kinda gal?! Brenda, you really need to work on your social skills…" - It suddenly dawned on her that her attempt at a joke had fallen flat because she didn't stop to think before she had opened her yap - "Uh… that didn't come out right. God, I'm sorry, I thought-"
"Never mind, I know what you meant," Brenda said with a chuckle. To ease the mortified woman's worry, she grabbed her around the shoulder and guided her into the office.
Everything looked the same save for a stack of newspapers and colorful advertisements from local supermarkets and grocery stores that took up a good portion of the low coffee table. A pair of scissors and a collection of fresh, jagged clippings proved that Brenda had been busy.
"Coupons," the former nurse said, reading Julia's gaze that was interested, but trying hard not to act interested. "I know it's pocket change for you, but if we can save a few dollars here and there, we may stay open for another day. Have a seat."
Julia nodded as she sat down on the sandy microfiber couch. Crossing her legs, she started wagging her top sports loafer. "Oh, I do understand that. It must be difficult to plan ahead… I mean, you never know if you'll be feeding two, five or ten mouths tonight… not to mention tomorrow. And so on and so forth."
"Very true. We have a huge chest freezer out back, but even so, we end up in a pinch sometimes," Brenda said and sat down in the worn armchair. They exchanged smiles in a cozy silence for a few seconds before Brenda rolled her eyes and let out a Tsk! "Oh, the tea, for cryin' out loud!" she exclaimed and got up from the chair.
While Brenda went over to the desk to find the electric kettle, two bags of tea and some sugar, Julia leaned back in the microfiber couch with a cheesy grin on her lips. Now her foot really started wagging. It was nice to learn that she could encaptivate Brenda to such an extent she forgot what she was doing - unless the former nurse was simply tired after a hard day's work, of course.
It didn't take long for the kettle to bring the water to its boiling point, and Brenda soon poured it into a pair of mismatched mugs while Julia used the little leash on the tea bag to bob it up and down. "Milk and-or sugar?" Brenda said, wiping a few dribbles off the edge of the heat-resistant, plastic kettle.
Julia chuckled at the precise question. "No to milk. Yes to sugar. Thank you to a spoon," she said in the hope she could achieve the same kind of command-language.
The sweet, white powder was soon distributed and stirred vigorously, and the two women sat down and waited for their tea to cool off sufficiently for them to drink it. Silence once more filled the room, but this turn was pleasant compared to the extended period in the hallway. Another few smiles were exchanged before the tea was sippable.
"I've been thinking," Brenda said and took her mug. She tried a test-sip and found it to be just right. "Since you donated such a gracious amount of money-"
"And there's more where that came from, Brenda."
"Well… thank you. We appreciate it," Brenda said and offered her guest a genuine smile. "I was thinking if you had planned to be part of the renovation process somehow?"
Julia observed Brenda drinking her tea without issues, so she took her own mug and put it to her lips - a split second later, she let out a croaking gasp and yanked her head back from the scorching hot liquid. "Oh God! How can you drink it like this? My lips… my lips caught fire… no… they melted!" she said hoarsely, fanning her mouth to make sure everything there remained attached to her face.
"Old habits-"
"Die hard, yeah, okay," Julia said and stared at the mug of molten lava. She put it down on the low coffee table at once to allow it to cool down for another five-ten-fifteen minutes. "ANYway… Brenda, are you asking me if I want to grab a paintbrush or a trowel?"
"Something like that, yes."
"I'm sorry, but that would be counterproductive. I have useless hands… uh…" - Julia narrowed her eyes; that statement could certainly be misinterpreted - "I mean, I have two left feet and I'm all thumbs when it comes to anything practical… we better not test my skills. At least, not without a fire inspector standing by."
Brenda chuckled into her mug. She took two deep gulps - that made Julia's eyebrows fly up her forehead - before she put it down nearly empty on the coffee table. "That's too bad… like I've told you before, working together is good therapy."
"Oh," Julia said and leaned forward, "you want me to work with one of your guests?"
"No, with me. But I guess-"
"I'd love that, Brenda! I used to be a pretty damn good cheerleader!" Julia said and broke out in a bout of exaggerated nodding. Just to back up her words, she waved her hands in the air like she carried the golden pom-poms from the exclusive High School she had attended. "Go team! S! T! M! St. Michael!"
Brenda chuckled and gave Julia one of Those Looks over the rim of her mug. "I just bet you were… I'll bet you were doing fancy acrobatics in one of those cutesy uniforms cheering for the home team… am I right?"
"But… isn't that what cheerleaders do?" Julia said with a wink.
Their cozy conversation was interrupted by heavy footfalls stomping down the hallway towards the office. Brenda groaned out loud before she put down the mug. "Remember I told you about my matron?"
"Uh… sorta…"
"You'll meet her in five, four, three, two-"
"God, do I even want to?"
"-One."
At the count of One, the door was flung open and a person stomped into the office. Marjorie Lonnigan was a stocky, ruddy woman in her early sixties who wouldn't have looked out of place in Ancient Rome with a broom in her hand cleaning up after the gladiators. Wearing a cheap, tan overcoat over a pale-blue kitchen-maid uniform, she moved with a limp on her right leg; it didn't stem from her slight overweight but rather from the orthopedic boot she wore.
She had graying hair and a fleshy face with the beginnings of a double-chin, but there was nothing soft or grandmotherly about her demeanor, nor about the lightning that blasted out of her steel-gray eyes.
Julia rose from the couch to greet the matron, but she only had time to extend her hand before Marjorie let rip in a broad, Irish brogue:
"All right, who's the fuckin' joker who parked their fancy-ass Caddy out on the gravel? It's parked too fuckin' close to the door so I can't offload my own fuckin' car and I got frozen perishables in the boot! It can't be the fuckin' hole-in-the-ground supervisor from this morning, can it?"
"No," Julia squeaked, stepping forward though the barrage of profanity had nearly straightened her hair, "it's my car. Hello, I'm Julia Thorne."
Marjorie eyed her cautiously but put out her own hand. "Marjorie Lonnigan. Pleased to meet ya. And you are?"
"Uh…" Julia said, glancing over at Brenda for an explanation while she shook hands with the fiery woman. "Uh… Julia-"
"I heard that! What are ya doing here?"
Brenda chuckled and rose to come to Julia's assistance. "She's the very nice lady who offered us the magnificent sum of ten grand, Marjorie."
The information only seemed to appease Marjorie for a little while. It didn't take long before her steel-gray eyes narrowed once more and made a tour of Julia Thorne from her fancy golden locks to her even fancier sports loafers.
Being scrutinized like that made Julia uncomfortable, and she wanted nothing more than to squirm under the older woman's intense glare - she resisted because she knew it would make her look guilty of some unknown offence. She tried to stand up to the glare, but she was unable to for any length of time. As she looked down, she caught a glimpse of a necklace around Marjorie's somewhat flabby throat. It had a pendant of two interlocking women's symbols, and it made Julia furrow her brow. It was a piece of jewelry typically used for when lesbian couples had gone beyond the first, faltering steps of a relationship. It obviously took all kinds to shape a family, and yet she had a hard time picturing the abrasive Marjorie even having a soft, loving side.
"Well, Julia…" Marjorie said in a voice whose Irish accent grew stronger as she became even more agitated for some inexplicable reason. "Oh, I hope ya don't mind me calling ya Julia because that's how we conduct our business here."
"No, I-"
Marjorie had no intention of waiting for women driving fancy Cadillacs, so she went full steam ahead by putting her hands on her ample hips and sticking out her jaw. "First of all, we appreciate the donation. I'm sure Brenda has told ya. But we don't… or some of us don't… or I don't appreciate this fuckin' commotion! I have a poor ticker and I require a certain amount of peace and quiet so it won't run off with me!"
The only reaction Julia could think of following Marjorie's string of heated words was to nod, so she did. She had a quip burning at the tip of her tongue that if Marjorie needed peace and quiet so badly, perhaps she should start by turning down her own volume a notch or two; however, she understood that it was best for everyone involved to keep it on the inside. Instead, she glanced over at Brenda who seemed to find the whole business rather amusing.
"And another thing," Marjorie continued, making Julia look back at her. "I'm not sure we appreciate… that I appreciate that ya appear to want to stick your nose in here. I don't know ya from Eve, but there's an air about ya of a rich socialite visiting the little people to get big, fancy headlines on the fuckin' social media."
"Now, wait a min-" Brenda said, but even she was cut off.
Marjorie continued unperturbed, "I'll betcha already made one of those Twatty accounts where ya give your adoring fans updates on how life goes on down in the gutter. Or perhaps ya want to score easy brownie points to get on the end-of-year list of the top one-hundred philanthropists or what-the-fuck-ever they're called?"
"Really, Marjorie, that's uncalled for!" Brenda growled. "Quit talking and start breathing so you can get some oxygen to your brain! Ten thousand dollars, Marjorie… we can't afford to lose that if you bitch-out enough to make Julia withdraw her donation."
By now, Julia's face was scrunched up into a mask of sublime annoyance, and not even Brenda's warm hand on her shoulder could get her to simmer down. She tried to bite her tongue so the situation wouldn't escalate further, but too much had been said already. "If I could get a word in edgewise," she growled in a far deeper register than the one she used regularly, "I'd like to say that, yes, my family is old money so you can call me a rich socialite if you wish… but even so, I've worked my ass off to get where I am. I've earned every damn cent I have in my bank account so don't give me any crap about that, okay? And another thing," she continued, giving Marjorie's own words from earlier a mocking edge, "what the hell does my background even matter here? I was under the impression that you had room in your hearts for everyone? But perhaps you'll turn away a rich socialite if she comes here bloodied and bruised… and perhaps raped by her stockbroker fiancée's Ivy League friends? Because that happens every single day, too. Trust me, I know."
"No, we won't," Brenda said decisively.
It was clear by the look on Marjorie's face that she was impressed by the tirade that had burst forth from the petite Julia, but also that it didn't quite persuade her to put her on her Christmas card list. "Point taken. However-"
Brenda groaned and rolled her eyes. "Marjorie, isn't it about time to haul those frozen perishables in here?"
"Not quite yet. However," Marjorie said and turned back to Julia, "at the end of the day, ya drive your fancy-ass Caddy back home to what's undoubtedly a fuckin' palace and leave us here… this is our home, Missy. This is where we're needed." With that, the shelter's matron spun around on her heel and stomped out of the office.
The door wasn't slammed, but it wasn't far off. Julia sighed and crinkled her nose. In the distance, they could hear Marjorie unlock the double doors to the kitchen and begin to rattle the pots and pans to have room on the metal counter and the other tables. "Oh, I think she loves me," Julia said to add a little light to the gloominess that had suddenly befallen their tea time.
"Julia," Brenda said and pulled her guest into a sideways, consolatory hug. "I'm truly sorry. She's an incurable hothead, but she's got the heart in the right place."
"And her razor-sharp tongue too," Julia said and chuckled darkly. The sensation of having the former nurse standing that close, not to mention having her long arms wrapped around parts of her body made her forget all about the fiery Marjorie. "She does have a point, though. About me going home, I mean. I don't live in a palace, but…"
"She's only shooting off steam. Irish-Americans love to do that."
"Yeah, but she's still got a point. Brenda, would it be… yeah, it probably would," Julia said and began to chew on her fingernails. A plan formed in her mind, but it was a bold one, and she didn't know how Brenda would react. It was a simple plan that would perhaps have greater ramifications than she expected. She knew she had enough credit - not to mention the weight of her family name - at the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Agency to be granted a leave of absence without any questions asked if she wanted to, but it was a big step to make. "Julia, do you think- oh…"
Brenda sighed and gave her guest another of Those Looks, only this one was 'will you make up your damn mind, woman?' - "Who knows? I certainly don't unless you tell me," she deadpanned.
'Well, here goes,' Julia thought. "Would it stray into the realm of fantasy if I moved in and stayed here at the shelter for a while? I mean-"
"Julia-"
"Just to get a feel for everyday… life… and… yes. Yes, it would. I can see that on your face," Julia said with a smirk. Sighing, she moved back to the microfiber couch to drink her cold tea.
Brenda's face was indeed puzzled, though not fully dismissive. Letting out a "Hmmm," she moved over to the couch and sat down next to her guest. "Julia, you shouldn't take Marjorie's words that literally. She's just blowing off steam…"
"Perhaps so, but it did made me think. To cut a lengthy story short, do you have room for me here? I don't mean in one of the protected chambers, but a regular room that I could live and sleep in? Maybe work a little when we're not busy."
"Sure we do. That door over there," Brenda said and pointed at an old-fashioned wooden door that was partially camouflaged by a portable bookshelf on wheels, "leads to an inner office identical to this one. We use it for storage. We haven't been in there for a few weeks… maybe a month… but I doubt it's too awful, and we keep the heaters on so it won't rot."
Julia looked at the outline of the concealed door. Almost like a mirage, she thought, which was a fitting development since she was trying to reach for something that may not be there at all. "Brenda, if you want me here… I think I'd like to try."
"I'd love to have you here… I need someone to rescue me from Marjorie!"
The two women stole a shy glance from each other before they both broke out in cheesy grins. "Listen to us, afraid of a matron," Julia said and reached over to pat Brenda's olive-green sweatpants.
"Mmm-yeah, but you don't know Marjorie. She wouldn't mind grabbing King Kong by the balls… so… you really want to move in, huh?"
"Yes. Unless you think it's a waste of everyone's time?"
"Oh, no. No, I think it'll work out nicely. Yeah," Brenda said and got up from the microfiber couch. Turning to the blocked door, she scrunched up her face and let out a "Hmmm…"
-*-*-*-
The following day.
The "Hmmm" was repeated many a time by most involved when Julia carried an impressive stack of moving crates into the inner office that hitherto had been used for purposes of general storage. A single, unprotected light bulb shone a harsh light down onto the floor, and the shadows it cast made it hard to tell the difference between the old crates and the new. At least the room was warm and dry like Brenda had promised it would be. The smell wasn't too bad, and nothing a little ventilation couldn't cure.
It seemed spacier than the outer office, but that was because of the lack of a desk which freed up plenty of floor space. It had a smaller couch compared to the microfiber one, but it was newer and less bulky all around. A US Army surplus bunk bed that Brenda had dragged in from an external storage room was lined up in a ninety-degree angle to the couch, and had already been made with military precision.
Standing in the doorway with her hands akimbo, Julia surveyed the situation like a Field Marshal on the eve of a battle. There were boxes here, there, and everywhere, and they were piled up, spread out, tilted over and buckled around the edges. "Hmmm," she said, wondering where to put the final seven cardboard boxes that Brenda had just dragged in from the second stationwagon taxicab they had used to get from Julia's home to the shelter.
"Julia," Brenda said and wiped her sweaty brow with an old handkerchief, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but what in the hell is all this?"
"Clothes," Julia said over her shoulder.
"Clothes?"
"Yep."
Brenda stood up straight and wiped her brow again. Stuffing the handkerchief into the rear pocket of her blue jeans, she looked at the many crates and boxes like she was trying to ascertain their weight. To get a better feel for the contents, she shuffled over to one of those boxes Julia had carried in herself and peeked down into the dark depths. "Clothes," she echoed, looking back at Julia.
"Yep."
"All of it?"
"Yep."
"There's something here you're not telling me… how long are you planning on staying, exactly?"
Julia chuckled and shuffled over to the box Brenda was standing at. Reaching into it, she retrieved a handful of T-shirts and tank tops. All squeaky clean and in mint condition, they looked as if they had only been worn once or twice. "Look at these… top quality garments. T-shirts, tanks, sweats and regular shirts, designer jeans, slacks, socks, tunics, ties, scarves, belts, sports underwear, regular underwear, top-quality French lingerie, jackets, coats, knitted hats, gloves… you name it, I got it."
It was clear by the expression on Brenda's face that the whole thing went several miles over her head. To underscore her confusion, she put out her arms in the age-old gesture of a broad shrug.
"For your guests, of course! So they'll have something to wear if they were forced to escape without any of their own clothes. Jeez!" Holding up a deep-purple spaghetti-strap tank top, Julia chuckled at the look of surprise that blasted onto Brenda's face. "I raided my wardrobe and found all the things from the older collections that I didn't need anymore. They're all outdated… some of them are nearly two years old, but they're still top quality. Most of 'em I've only worn a few times. Obviously, they're all my size, but I'm hoping that some of the women seeking shelter will be as well."
"Wow, that's… that's above and beyond what you needed to do, Julia. The value of this must run into the thousands of dollars. Why haven't you sold them online instead?"
"Who says I haven't? These boxes contain the leftovers."
Brenda shook her head and stared at the many boxes. "Holy hell. That's all I have to say. Lingerie? Fancy underwear? Your own fancy underwear?"
"Yep. Are you interested?" - Julia winked as she spoke, but her comment was made as much to gauge Brenda's reaction as to shoot off a joke.
"Well, uh… if they're yours, they wouldn't fit around my wider hips."
Julia briefly eyed said wider hips before she let out a chuckle. She thought about cracking wise about Brenda seemingly wanting to get into Julia's pants, one way if not the other, but thought better of it. "Mmmm-yeah, that's probably true. I'll bet you don't own a single piece of lace, huh?"
"I'm not sure I know what it is," Brenda mumbled, but added a wink to respond to Julia's from before, and to make her appear less of a rube.
Laughing out loud, Julia rose and dusted off her hands. She gave the tall, elegant, former senior nurse a long look that gave her eyes enough time to start at the shoes and crawl upwards. Oh yes, I have it bad , she thought when she finally arrived at the sky-blue eyes.
Marjorie's harsh, penetrating voice was suddenly heard from the kitchen further down the hallway. Apparently, she was trying to make a late afternoon snack, but some unlucky soul had just dropped something unspecified, but apparently important, on the floor tiles. The voice alone made Julia break out in a shiver and crinkle her nose in annoyance. Dreading another run-in with the tempestuous matron, she turned around and shuffled over to a tiny wash basin in the corner of the office.
As she let the warm water rinse the dust and various smudges off her hands, she happened to look up at the small, spotted mirror above the basin. It was cracked, and one of the shards was pointed in another direction than those closest to it. It gave her a view of the room behind her, and what she saw sent a pleasant, little trickle down her spine.
She had managed to catch Brenda's striking eyes in the mirror. The eyes were looking at her, but they weren't aimed at the back of her head; more like the seat of her pants. Inwardly, Julia broke out in a wild cheer. Just for fun, and to celebrate that someone as gorgeous as Brenda was taking an interest in her, she shifted her hips to the side which brought out her toned cheeks even better. It was perhaps a juvenile thing to do, but she had to admit it felt damn good.
Looking up into the cracked mirror, she made a little wager with herself on what kind of reaction Brenda would show. The former nurse wasn't the type to blush and giggle, but it could happen. More likely, she would either narrow her eyes and look closer, or widen her eyes and grin cheekily. The bet was placed on Brenda narrowing her eyes and looking closer.
The bet struck gold as the middle of the three choices happened: Brenda narrowed her eyes and puckered up her lips like she was thinking of what to do with such a well-rounded derriere.
'Great,' Julia thought as she wiped off her hands on a small towel next to the tiny wash basin. Standing up straight, she turned around to face her admirer whose blue eyes zipped up until they were aimed at something less intimate than the rear pockets of the black jeans - or perhaps the round things immediately beyond them. "Can you call for takeout way out here, Brenda?"
"Sure we can. We have the Pizza Palace, Lee Wong's Supremo Stir-Fry, Rodrigo's Mexican Favorites and Carson Lewis' Genuine Soul Food on speed dial," Brenda deadpanned.
"Where would we call to order some roasted chicken? Maybe with fries and some coleslaw?"
"Carson Lewis," Brenda said with a grin. "Been there, done that. A hundred times over. How about we gave the fries and the salad a raincheck and ordered a honey-roasted chicken with barbecue sauce and quartered potatoes instead?"
"Ooooh! I could definitely feast on that!"
"Excellent. I got this one," Brenda said, whipping up her wallet that had been hiding down her rear pocket on a leather leash.
*
*
CHAPTER 4
Julia's chosen life as a philanthropist was only allowed to last for a week - then the phone calls from the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Advertising Agency asking for her input on a design, or wanting her opinion on the direction of an ad campaign, or seeking her approval on a managerial decision, became so frequent she spent more time with her smartphone glued to her ear than she did talking to Brenda.
It didn't take long before she grew annoyed over the fact the agency didn't seem to be able to exist without her. Brenda matched her guest's annoyance but only let it be known by a few barbs and needles that were all remarkably well-aimed, pinpoint operations - but Marjorie let it be known to the world by speaking in capital letters whenever Julia needed to leave the breakfast, or lunch, or dinner table to answer yet another phone call from someone who really oughtta get off their fat, lazy asses and come out into the real world, or so the outspoken matron would say.
---
As the doors to the kitchen swung open to reveal Julia back from yet another phone call, Marjorie looked up from doing the dishes after breakfast. "Well, well, well! The prodigal daughter returneth! Tell me, what was it this time? No, let me guess… one of your staffers wanted to know how to tie his fuckin' shoelaces? Or maybe those pansy boys all use Velcro? I'll bet they do. Oh, don't bother to apologize for the inconvenience. Just sit down and finish your fuckin' yogurt before we need the space for lunch."
Julia kept standing in the middle of the kitchen with a look on her face that told a story of an impending manslaughter charge if Marjorie didn't pipe down in an almighty hurry.
The shelter only had four overnight guests, and three of the four were sitting around one of the dining tables. They cast sideways glances at the Bullmastiff doing the dishes, and then at the more delicate blonde who was still frozen to the spot.
Grumbling under her breath, Julia decided that arguing with the confrontational woman would only be a waste of time for all involved, so she bit down the scathing comment she had prepared and settled for shuffling over to the table where her yogurt was waiting for her. She had barely sat down and taken her spoon when the double doors opened again and Brenda walked in.
The presence of the tall, former nurse wiped the annoyance from Julia's mind and made her break out in a smile. She pointed at the seat next to her, and Brenda nodded affirmatively. Julia turned back to the bowl of yogurt, but she had just enough time to sneak a peek at Brenda's blue jeans that did an amazing job of presenting her long legs and curved rear.
Once Brenda had been given a matching bowl of pear and banana-flavored yogurt, she shuffled over to the table and sat down next to the blonde. "Hey again," she said as she dug into the creamy substance. "What got Marjorie so upset this time? I could hear her clear out into the hallway."
Julia sighed and dug into her yogurt. "Hey. Oh, same-old. Me."
"Again?"
"Yeah. She hates my guts."
"Yeah."
While she ate, Julia glanced over her shoulder at the stern woman who had just finished doing the dishes. At present, she was wiping down the metal counter to get it clean and shiny for the next meal. Sighing, Julia returned to the gorgeous woman next to her. "I'd like to know why."
"I have no idea, but I'm guessing it's probably because you've got money. She hasn't," Brenda said and put a heavily laden spoonful into her mouth.
"Yeah, but… plenty of people have money."
Brenda nodded while she finished gulping down the yogurt. "Yes. But they're not here. If they were, she'd bitch them out, too."
"Huh. She makes me feel unwelcome. I hate that." Rolling her eyes, Julia took the last spoonful of her yogurt before she pushed the bowl away. "On another note, I'll probably have to go back to the Agency for a couple of days. My team is getting desperate. They're one step away from turning on the Bat-signal."
Brenda didn't speak, but she didn't have to - the intense, blue gaze and the slow narrowing of her eyes while she enjoyed the next spoonful of yogurt said more than a whole paragraph of words could have. Once she had dabbed her lips on a napkin, she put down the bowl but kept it within range. "You've done a good job this week, Julia. I hope you won't forget the people you've met. Or their stories."
"Look, I'm not high-tailing it out of here," Julia said while leaning in towards the former nurse so she didn't have to speak for the entire room. "Despite all the bullshit Marjorie is hurling at me, I'm a grown woman who can take some… pardon the expression… vocal abuse. The Agency is where I make the money that forms the backbone of the donations I give you. A to B to C. My team is falling apart at the seams without me there. My number two, Meghan Krasnow, has a fantastic head on her shoulders, but she doesn't yet have the respect of the others. I need to go back now to put a hand on the wheel before they sail all to hell."
Brenda chuckled at Julia's colorful description as she reached for her bowl of yogurt once more. "It's that bad, huh? I never expected you to take up permanent residence here, so I'm okay with your decisions… as long as you return."
"I will. As soon as I can."
"Julia," Brenda said and leaned in even further, "I don't often plead with you, but I do now. You've crept under the skin of a few of the women we're protecting. They'll understand if you have to leave for a couple of days, but they'll feel betrayed if you abandon them altogether after striking up an emotional connection with them. Do you understand me?"
"Of course. I promise I'm not going to-"
"Wait, Julia. Promises can be broken, no matter how heartfelt they were meant when they were issued. I need you to give me your word you'll return," Brenda said and put down the bowl for good. "I know you're a woman of honor so you'll be forced to act according to that word."
Julia chewed her lips while she studied the former nurse's beautiful face. Over the course of the week, she had learned Brenda wasn't just the epitome of sex-on-long-legs - there was pain, guilt and darkness lurking behind those sky-blue eyes. Perhaps from the war, perhaps from the years following the end of the conflict, perhaps from something deeply personal, she wasn't sure, but there was a sheen of pain just beyond reach that made Brenda McCrawley a difficult woman to get close to on an emotional level. Sure, they had laughed, they had teased each other, they had even flirted a little, but she hadn't yet been able to crack the hard, inner shell. "I give you my word, Brenda. I'll come back as soon as I can," she said and put out her hand to show just how serious she was.
Brenda took it and gave it a little shake, but she wasn't prepared for the little intermezzo that followed.
To add gravitas to her pledge, Julia surprised Brenda to no end by pulling her close and placing a soft, though quite chaste, kiss on the taller woman's lips. For several seconds, they remained close in an air of stunned silence. It dawned on Julia that it hadn't been bad at all, and that she should go back for another helping right away before the gorgeous dame in her arms pulled back. She decided against it, but added a little, green wink that made the tough, former nurse blush.
Pulling back, Julia noticed the peanut gallery behind her had been witness to it all. Grinning at them, she received a row of broad grins in return. Marjorie hadn't noticed a thing, fortunately, so Julia moved back to face the table and the blushing former nurse next to her.
-*-*-*-
The day after the little kiss, the hectic world of advertising beckoned once more as Julia stepped out of the elevator on the forty-sixth floor of the DiAgostino Building.
On her way to the glass doors that led to the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Agency, she strolled along the gray carpet in a fancy, elegant pantsuit carrying her briefcase and the indispensable to-go mug of SuperDuper Latte she had bought at Giardella's Croissants & Coffee. She had her Bluetooth headset in her ear, and she had already conducted a handful of telephone conversations on her way to work.
After a few, brief exchanges of hello, how are you, nice to see you again, she drained the last of her latte and put the mug into the same trash can she used every single time. She arrived at the door to her office, but stopped after putting her hand on the knob to look around the Agency.
The open office landscape was as busy as ever. Phones were ringing, there was a good working buzz going, and somewhere, a radio played a morning call-in show at a soft, low setting. A group of staffers was doing something over here, another group did something else over there. A third group of people had a brainstorming session going on down at the water cooler, and further staffers were celebrating the apparent closure of a deal by adding little umbrellas to their mugs of coffee at the vending machine.
Julia sighed and opened the door to her corner office. Two seconds later, she wished she hadn't. All she could do was to groan out loud as her eyes fell on the piles of notes, memos, Post-Its, papers, and assorted other office supplies that someone - most likely Meghan Krasnow - had left on the desk.
It hadn't been as messy since the days before the electronic aids had been introduced, and Julia could already envision spending half the first working day wading through the mess.
Sighing, she shuffled over to the desk and put down the dark-brown briefcase on the carpet. Though the stacks of papers appeared to be messy at first glance, it didn't take her long to figure out Meghan's system. The piles were labeled 'Extremely Urgent! Call At Once,' 'Urgent! Call Today,' 'Semi-Urgent! Call Tomorrow,' and finally 'Less Urgent! Call Later.'
Julia pulled out her armchair and sat down. She stared wide-eyed at the many stacks and piles without having the faintest interest in digging into them. She knew she needed to for the sake of the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Agency and herself, but after meeting and speaking to real women for a full week, her heart just wasn't interested in that kind of commercial shallowness any longer. Sighing again, she reached for the pile labeled 'Extremely Urgent! Call At Once' and began to sift through it to see who she needed to get in touch with.
---
Six hours, five lengthy telephone calls, four creative meetings and three large mugs of extra-strong, home-made coffee later, Julia had finally given up the unequal struggle with the forces of nature. Having kicked off her shoes, she flaked out in the armchair to such an extent she appeared to be asleep. The only reason why she didn't shuffle down to her easy chair in the scenic corner of the office was that if she did so, she would most certainly drift off.
The peace and quiet was too good to last, and it didn't. Moments later, a phone call was announced on the Bluetooth headset, and Julia went off speaking French to someone from the branch in Montreál.
Even while she was speaking, a knocking was heard loud and clear from the office door. The knockee was revealed to be Meghan Krasnow who walked in clumsily carrying three different versions of a glittery, full-sized standee connected to one of their latest ad campaigns.
The cardboard cutouts all depicted a well-known, young actor, and Meghan lined up all three versions of him on the office floor. As always, the image of the actor saw him wearing his trademark mischievous gleam in his grayish eyes and a fashionable two-day stubble on his square, heroic chin.
They had produced three different versions to fit different markets. The first was meant for a chain of perfume stores in upscale malls. It saw him wearing shiny patent-leather shoes and a black tux over a white shirt. The cool gaze and the raised eyebrow said it all - he was the suave man of the world; that irresistible, high-class fellow that every heterosexual woman would want to draw nearer to their bedchamber for a full night of steamy lovemaking.
The second version was aimed at less upscale malls and saw him wearing blue jeans and a tan sweater over a loose denim shirt. Now, he was the kind-hearted, warm fellow. His famous hair was ruffled and the mischievous gleam had grown softer and warmer. In short, he was the perfect hunk, the perfect son-in-law, the perfect specimen for long, lazy winter afternoons spent drinking hot chocolate in front of the crackling fireplace with the Labrador and the darling wife at his side.
The third and final version was meant for the guys. Now wearing neutral basketball garb that offered a great view of his toned, tanned arms, the actor had his game face on and was trying to stare down the camera like he was challenging the viewer to a one-on-one. He was the dude every other dude wanted to emulate, because there was no doubt that he would score, and score often, and if the other dudes wore the brand of deodorant the actor was presenting, they might score too.
Julia eyed them briefly while she spoke in French. The actor didn't do anything for her, so she could only shrug. Once she had closed the connection, she took the Bluetooth plug out of her ear and turned around on the chair. "Talk to me," she said and got up.
"Will this sell deodorants?" Meghan said and gestured at the three standees.
"Hmmm… yes. The tux is for Harvey Zeligman's, right?"
"Yes," Meghan said and moved next to the glossy standee like she was trying to sell a used car.
Julia nodded and made a mental note she needed for later. "All right. And the saccharine son-in-law with the funky hair is for Bartlett's Family Malls?"
"Yes. That design should fit them perfectly," Meghan said and pretended to wipe a few specs of dust off the so-called saccharine son-in-law's manly chest.
Chuckling over her assistant's behavior, Julia got up and strolled over to the three standees. The actor was taller than she, and since the cardboard cutouts were life-sized, she needed to lean her head back to take in all the details. "And the basketball one has been approved by… I forgot the name of the chain…"
"Apollo-"
"Apollo Sports Goods, right. Meghan, I need you to be straight with me now. Pun very much intended," Julia said and put a friendly hand on her second-in-command's elbow. "Do these standees work for you? I mean, are you attracted enough to buy a roll-on or can of deodorant for your boyfriend slash husband slash whatever?"
Meghan furrowed her brow and looked back at the three standees. "Well… yes. The one that works best for me is the tux. The man of the world. I prefer guys to be guys… cool. Confident. Challenging. Not soft, but hard. Like this." - The final comment was underscored by Meghan clenching her fist and holding out her right arm at the lower part of her mid-section in a gesture that couldn't be misinterpreted.
"Oh, Gawd," Julia said and buried her face in her hands.
Meghan chuckled and relaxed her arm to spare her boss further embarrassment. "You asked for my opinion!"
"I suppose I did," Julia said and peeked through her fingers. "If that's the case, why not the jock? He looks like he could go all night," she continued, pointing at the basketball player.
"Have you ever sampled the breathing conditions of a men's locker room? I have. Sweat, B.O. and stinky socks… mood killers every last one."
"Oh yeah… you have a point."
Looking at her colleague, Julia broke out in a laugh before she shuffled back to the desk. Sitting down, she took her Tablet computer and updated what they had discussed. "I've added my signature to the three ad campaigns. Now it's up to the company to give us final approval."
"Excellent," Meghan said, but remained near the three standees. It was clear by the wicked gleam in her eye she was dying to ask about the strange woman her boss had been seeing.
Julia sighed under her breath. Meghan was a good colleague and she didn't want to tell her to get lost, but she wasn't in any mood to dish the gossip either. She tried to continue with her work, but Meghan's shuffling back and forth convinced her it was better to get it over with. "Oh, go on, Meghan. Spit it out," she said and threw down the papers she had been sorting.
"Have you snapped a photo of the woman you're seeing yet? I'd love to see her," Meghan said and shuffled closer to the desk.
"No."
The news made Meghan stop dead in her tracks and furrow her brow. "But… why not? Uh, if I may ask? Other couples would have posted a hundred pics on Facebook by now…"
"We're not 'other couples,' " Julia said and made quotation marks in the air. "Brenda is a very private person, and her business exists solely on the basis that everything is low-key and personal. No glitz, no glamour, no piccies on Facebook."
"Okay, I can see that. But have you at least kissed her yet? Is she a good kisser?"
Julia groaned out loud and threw her arms in the air. "Oh, what is this? Kindergarten? Are you asking if we've done the wild monkey dance swinging from the chandeliers? No, we haven't. The shelter isn't a love shack, it's a dead-serious business."
Meghan had to clamp her hand over her mouth in order to stop laughing out loud. After several giggles, she cocked her head and gave her boss a closer look. "She does know you're interested, right? Because I suddenly got the… oh, I don't know… perhaps silly notion that you haven't told her… yet… oh my God, you haven't told her!"
There was only so much patience to go around, and the layer on Julia's toast was wearing mighty thin from Meghan's uncannily accurate conclusion. A warm flush that spread from her neck up struck her and made her look away. She had been a chicken, all right - she had meant to flirt just that little bit harder with Brenda to make the serious, dedicated woman know she had managed to get a blonde business-gal on the hook, but for a multitude of reasons, it had never clicked into place. "Listen… Meghan… this is really none of your business," Julia said and stood up to give her message more gravitas. "I'm sorry, but I prefer to keep my love life private. Like I said, I've added my signature to the ad campaign. Let's try to get back to the real world here. Okay?"
Meghan grimaced; it was clear she understood she had overstepped a hidden line. A faint blush spread over her cheeks as she moved back to the standees and collected them in her arms. "I'm sorry, Miss Thorne. I got carried away. I came across as disrespectful, and I apologize."
"Ah," Julia said and waved dismissively at her assistant. "Old news, Meghan. Oh, and I would prefer if the things that were said in here remained here. Do we agree?"
"Certainly, Miss Thorne," Meghan said and hurried out of the doors.
When she was alone, Julia picked up a ball point pen just to have the pleasure of throwing it back down onto the desk. She did so while she let out a long, slow sigh.
-*-*-*-
The rest of Julia's first day back at work was spent drinking coffee, doodling Brenda's name on various pieces of scrap paper, and sitting in her easy chair overlooking the magnificent skyline surrounding the DiAgostino Building - in short, very little actual work had been accomplished.
After the early meetings and the awkward end to her conversation with Meghan, it dawned on her that her heart wasn't in the shallow, superficial, glitzy advertising business any longer; in fact, her heart wasn't even inside her chest any longer though she could feel the muscle beating a lazy, easy-going rhythm. She had left it at the shelter. Left it with the tall, no-nonsense former senior nurse Brenda McCrawley who had stolen it so effortlessly the ancient, empty phrase 'candy from a baby' didn't even apply.
On top of that unrequited, one-way love affair, the fates of the women who came to the shelter seeking protection from abusive spouses had also come to mean a great deal to her.
During the week, she had helped Brenda rebuild trust and confidence in a woman who had become such a trembling ball of fear after her husband had beaten her black and blue over a period of five months that she was hardly more than a walking ghost. The abuse had started when she had miscarried their first child. She had desperately needed his support, but all he had given her was a beating that never stopped. Over the course of several weeks, she had worked up the courage needed to leave their home and come to the shelter. Her opportunity finally came when he went down to a convenience store to get more booze and cigarettes.
Another woman who had made a lasting impression on Julia was a lesbian in her mid-thirties. Until then, Julia would never have believed that abuse even existed among same-sex couples, but, of course, it did - the fresh, angry red bruises and the old, purple abrasions on the woman's back, breasts, stomach and thighs only spoke the truth. And a shocking tale of abuse and betrayal it was, too. Although it had robbed Julia of yet another illusion, it had opened her eyes to the unfiltered truth of what was going on out there in the big, decrepit city.
Sighing, she stopped the mindless doodling. She briefly looked at her artwork before she tore off the page and threw it into the trash can.
And then there was Brenda McCrawley. The tall, gorgeous woman whose dedication to her work was so intense she didn't even notice when she was being flirted with. At least the tiny kiss at the breakfast table had been sweet - sweet and bold. Julia wasn't a bold woman when it came to the game of love, but that opportunity had been too good to let go. Following the kiss, Brenda had worn a look on her face that said she had been shocked, but definitely thrilled by the unexpected, sweet contact.
Thinking back, Julia wasn't sure if she was imagining things or not, but her recollection of it was that the kiss had been pretty good considering how brief a peck it actually was. There was something to work with; she could almost grasp it with her fingertips - that undefinable spark that could sometimes jump between two women like an electrical current. Where it might lead was anyone's guess, but it would be an awesome ride there, she was sure of that.
She chuckled and shuffled around in her chair. As usual when she thought of Brenda, she couldn't stop grinning. The regular, warm murmur that rolled through her body wasn't far behind, either. On a whim, she wanted to see how far the warm murmur would actually go, so she shuffled over to the easy chair in the scenic corner of her office and got herself comfortable.
Kicking off her shoes, she put her feet up on the pouf and leaned back. For once, she didn't look out at the fabulous skyline - instead, she kept her eyes closed and tried to imagine what it would be like to get intimate with Brenda McCrawley. The warm murmur soon returned, and far stronger than before.
In the Technicolor movie playing in Julia's mind, Brenda was less inhibited and far bolder than in real life. The tall, former nurse seemed to have read Julia's most secret wishes, because she pressed her up against the closed door to the shelter's office and began to nibble on the tender flesh at the throat. Moans followed. A hand caressed a nipple through the shirt. The other breast received a tender kneading. Deep kisses were exchanged. A rich, sultry voice whispered an intimate offer into her ear; Julia was powerless to stop a moan from escaping her lips upon hearing that Brenda wanted to stroke her. A hand slipped across Julia's center, and she raised her pelvis to meet the request. She wore slacks, so the heated flesh at the juncture of her legs was soon covered by Brenda's strong hand and long fingers that cupped her fully.
The warm wave that rolled through her wasn't just a murmur any longer, it was a moaning, groaning tidal wave that pooled due south. The fingers that cupped her center began to move back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, across the tender folds.
Their breaths quickened. Brenda kept her face close without actually diving in for a kiss. Her eyes were dark and hooded, and her lips were parted sensually. Her delightful scent acted as an aphrodisiac that seemed to bind the two women even closer together. Now and then, her fingers slowed down and began to press against the fabric like she wanted to enter the warm cavern or play with the bundle of nerves.
Julia couldn't wait for the next step. Moaning, she pressed her hips against the hand cupping her. She moved in perfect rhythm with the cadence, and soon, she felt her breasts turn so sensitive she knew she was on the brink of an orgasm already. "Oh, Gawd," she moaned to the empty office.
The sound of her own voice uttering actual words rather than mere moans made her snap back to the real world. When reality struck, she stilled her motions and stared out onto the magnificent view with saucer-wide eyes. She was at work. She was in her office. She was masturbating. Meghan Krasnow could walk in at any moment, though she would knock first. If all of that wasn't bad enough, her soaked panties had left a dark, glistening stain on the crotch of her pale slacks.
"Oh… Gawd… I can't believe I just did that… Oh, Gawd!" she croaked, crossing her legs in a hurry. Her fingers were sticky from the rubbing, but the nearest box of tissues was on the desk. Looking around, she tried to plot a course for the bathroom, but that wouldn't eliminate the dark, glistening, and highly embarrassing, stain. "Oh Gawd, how could I do that in the middle of my Goddamned office?! Brenda, it's all your fault…"
Getting up, she hurried over to the desk to see if she happened to have a dry pair of panties in one of the drawers - she didn't. Before she could come up with a smart move, her phone rang. She didn't wear the Bluetooth earpiece, so she reached for the telephone itself and swiped into the conversation with her dry hand. "Uh… this is Julia Thorne. To whom am I speaking, please?" she said while tearing two tissues out of the box so she could get her fingers cleaned up.
The male voice at the other end of the line made Julia slap her free hand across her eyes and bare her teeth in a grimace. "Oh, hello, Mr. Pennebaker," she said in a sweet voice; the only one fitting for a member of the Board of Directors. "How nice to hear your voice, Sir. The Hutchinson deal? Yes, I've just approved a- yes. Yes, that's right, Sir."
While she spoke, she shuffled around the desk trying to find a solution to her sticky problem. Nothing really came to her until she spotted a half-empty mug of coffee from earlier that she had forgotten all about. "A meeting? Uh… to deliver a message? Well, I can- oh, you're coming here, Sir? In ten minutes' time? Oh no, Sir, it's no inconvenience. No inconvenience at all. Yes, Sir. All right, Sir, I'll see you then. Bye."
Her thousand-mile stare returned as she closed the connection, only this time it was because of her impending visitor - Marshall Pennebaker. The elderly gentleman was her immediate superior, a man who had been handpicked by her father to sit on the Board until Julia's word had gained enough weight at the company to take up her own seat in the boardroom on the sixty-sixth floor.
"Oh, Gawd…" she croaked for the umpteenth time since her little frivolous adventure. Seeing no other option, she took the half-empty mug of stale, cold coffee and splashed it against her crotch. Now the dark, glistening stain was joined by a brown, equally glistening stain, but at least nobody would bat an eyelid at someone spilling coffee - even if it was all over their crotch.
Sighing, she put her phone back to her ear as she crabbed over to the desk. The earlier, sticky sensation hadn't been too pleasant, but at least it was something she wasn't unfamiliar with. Having coffee drip down her thighs was another thing altogether. "Meghan, I need your help. I've had a coffee accident. In and on my lap. Yes, you heard me. It's all over the damn place and I need some dry clothes. We're roughly the same size, so… you wouldn't happen to have a spare skirt, or perhaps a pair of- oh, you do? Great. I need the skirt right away, please. And I really do mean right away 'cos old man Pennebaker is swinging by in less than ten minutes. No, I won't come out to fetch it! Haw, haw… please- all right. Yes, please hurry."
Julia had barely closed the connection before Meghan knocked on the door. When the assistant opened it carrying a pleated skirt over her arm, she let out a long whistle at the sight of the brown stain directly at the crotch of Julia's pale pantsuit. "Whoa… you hardly ever spill your coffee, but you certainly make it count when you do! How in the world did you manage to soil yourself that badly?"
"Long story, Meghan… long story," Julia said with a sigh.
-*-*-*-
Marshall Pennebaker took his time getting down to Julia's office, but for once, she didn't mind. The steel gray skirt she had borrowed was a perfect fit, and it even matched her short jacket somewhat; she had cleared one hurdle, but one remained - the acutely embarrassing fact that her panties had simply been too slick to wear.
It wasn't something that could be rectified by wiping them down with a whole handful of tissues - she had tried - and she would rather chew on a live squid than ask Meghan if she happened to have a spare set of panties that she wouldn't mind her boss borrowing. Even if the younger colleague's manners were good enough not to ask about the particulars, the gossip and wild speculation would run rampant throughout the rest of the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Agency. Of course, it wouldn't top the outrageousness of the truth, which was that she had almost orgasmed by her own hand in the middle of her office just because she went head-first into a steamy fantasy about a woman whom she didn't even know was interested in her.
So the long and the short of it was that she was going commando underneath the gray, pleated skirt.
She had never, ever done anything like that, not even in her wild years in college, and it was an uncomfortable feeling as she suddenly noticed how well-protected she usually was by her underwear. The chill up her thighs was one thing, but the fact that every little movement of the skirt was transferred directly into her sensitive nether lips was something she could not get used to. Shuffling around on the armchair's seat only made it worse, so she tried to sit stock still.
Two seconds later, a brief knock was heard on the door. Another two seconds after that, Marshall Pennebaker entered the office with his usual air of old money and upper-crust detachment. Although his birth certificate said he was sixty-five, he looked a good fifteen years younger - and most of that came from his frequent visits to the plastic surgeons.
Dressed in blue suede shoes and a tailor-made, navy-blue suit over a white shirt and a blue tie, 'old man' Pennebaker was a Player with an extravagant silver fox hairpiece and a square, manly jaw that had only been enhanced a little, unlike his eyelids, his brow, his cheeks and his throat that had all been extensively remodeled.
As always, he wore gold cufflinks and a diamond-studded tie-pin that resembled a bar of platinum. Like most men of his age and stature, he sported a strong tan that provided a youthful, vigorous air about him. "Ah, good afternoon, Miss Thorne," he said and extended his manicured hand. Because of the tan, his fingernails appeared bright-white against the brownish skin.
Julia screwed a smile on her face and rose to greet her guest. Whenever she was visited by anyone from the Board of Directors - and by Marshall Pennebaker in particular - she felt she had been transported into a second-rate Mafia crime drama. Shaking his dainty hand, she wondered if she shouldn't get down on her knees and kiss his Godfather ring instead. "Good afternoon, Mr. Pennebaker. It's always a pleasure to see you. Please, have a seat," she said and gestured at the empty armchair behind the desk.
"Oh, I wouldn't want to rob you of your own chair… but since you're offering, it'd be impolite of me to decline," 'Don' Pennebaker said and sat down. Leaning back in the seat, he crossed his legs at the knee and folded his hands in his lap.
His eyes went on a short tour of Julia's body, and it made her skin crawl. 'I hope the skirt isn't sheer… or too tight over my ass,' Julia thought as she shuffled over to the conference table to take one of the twelve chairs. Putting it down on the other side of her own desk, she swept the skirt to the side and sat down with her legs neatly closed like any proper lady in her position would - especially any proper lady who was going commando for unspeakable reasons. "Now, Mr. Pennebaker, how may I be helpful?" she said and folded her hands in her lap to mirror her guest.
"Miss Thorne, I am here to disclose a highly important, and potentially highly profitable development for the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Agency," Marshall said and looked at his five-figure wristwatch like the present company was already boring him, or perhaps because he wanted to flaunt his latest acquisition - it was hard to tell which.
"We have heard rumors… major rumors," he continued. "The grapevine has it we're about to be contacted by an automobile manufacturer. They'll put forth a tender for the creation of an entire new ad universe for their products here in the United States. It's one of the world's major players. I won't reveal the brand name just yet, but I'm sure you can understand the possibilities, Miss Thorne. We'll battle a host of other high-market ad agencies, so our campaign department better be on top form to create a promotional suite that'll awe these people into signing with us."
"Mmmm!" Julia said and leaned forward on the seat though it tickled her privates. She had been waiting for such a meaty chance for years. Now, her creative team, and herself, could really prove their worth by going up against the brightest minds of the other agencies. It was the ultimate challenge that anyone in her position would kill to get her hands on - and at the end of the line, the ultimate reward if they were skilled enough to win the tender. 'If only this had come a month ago,' she thought and furrowed her brow.
"You look pensive. Is there a problem with your team I should know about, Miss Thorne?" Marshall Pennebaker said and shot her an intense gaze.
Julia looked up and locked eyes with her superior. It was a battle of egos, and she was pleased to see that she could hold the stare the longest - she made a quick calculation that said Marshall Pennebaker wouldn't last a second in the presence of Marjorie Lonnigan. "No, Sir. Nothing of the kind, Mr. Pennebaker. I've already begun to plan ahead. That's all."
"Excellent. Miss Thorne, I don't need to tell you this could be a career-maker. If we bag this contract, your future on the Board of Directors is safe," 'Don' Pennebaker said and rose from the armchair. Extending his hand, he shook Julia's, but held onto it after the point where he should have let go. "And I don't need to tell you it has the potential of being a career-wrecker, too. Not just for me," he said in a quiet, dangerous voice.
Julia nodded darkly. "I'm aware of that fact, Mr. Pennebaker."
"Good. Pass it onto your team." Marshall finally pulled back his manicured hand and assumed an air of detachment once more as he straightened his cuff. "We need to keep everyone focused on the hard work ahead. This could be Collins-Mattheson-Thorne's biggest deal yet. It could evolve into an eight, or perhaps a nine-figure contract, Miss Thorne. We can't have anyone dragging their feet here. Everyone needs to deliver twenty-four-seven from now on. If anyone slacks off, you'll have to get rid of them at once so they won't foul up the atmosphere for the rest."
"Yes, Mr. Pennebaker," Julia said, but she wasn't sure whose voice did the talking. Her jaw was set in stone as she digested Marshall Pennebaker's words. His casual attitude towards his employees, and ultimately her, grated on her soul. Now, more than ever, she felt she was stuck in a low-budget B-movie where the human element mattered far less than the sex, the money and the power play between old has-beens in flashy costumes.
She had a brick in her gut from just thinking about the stress and frayed tempers that would be in their future - and the stress-related nosebleeds that would be in her personal future - but at least it had taken her mind off her missing panties. "I promise we'll do our best, Mr. Pennebaker," she said and helped her superior over to the door.
"You and your team need to do more than simply your best, Miss Thorne," Marshall Pennebaker said and pinned her to the spot with a cool gaze. "You'll need to achieve the highest level of perfection on every last detail or we won't stand a chance against our competitors. A nine-figure contract, Miss Thorne. Think about that for a moment." - With that, he nodded a curt goodbye before he left the office.
As the door closed, Julia let out a sigh. "Yeah, I'm thinking about it, all right…" she mumbled as she shuffled back to the armchair to begin the early planning.
-*-*-*-
It only took until noon the following day before Julia Thorne had reached her limit. 'Don' Pennebaker, as she had turned to calling him following his arrogant behavior the previous day, had woken her up at five thirty in the morning and had ordered her to come in early - the official tender had arrived, and it was an all-hands-on-deck type of situation.
Now, seven hours later, her office resembled the fall of Rome. Her entire team - and most of the rest of the employees of the Collins-Mattheson-Thorne Advertising Agency - was in there sitting at the conference table, or standing at the scenic corner, or just mingling, holding mugs of coffee or tea while gesturing wildly like only creative people could.
All were chatting in loud, excited tones among themselves about the endless possibilities of creating a brand new ad universe for one of the world's major commercial players. The conference table was nearly hidden under the piles of various electronic gizmos, empty coffee mugs, candy and Twinkie wrappers, plates with croissant crumbs, business newspapers, torn-off pieces of scrap paper and assorted other leftovers that refused to find their own way into the trash cans.
While the staffers were looking forward to the challenge in a highly animated fashion, Julia Thorne was planted at her desk with a face like a rainy Monday morning. She cast many long glances at the men and women sitting around the conference table. To them, it was the biggest thing of their careers so far, and it was clear they were relishing the notion of competing against all the other high-end ad agencies in and around St. Michael and the rest of the country. To her, it was something she wasn't sure she could handle.
Early ideas and wild suggestions flew back and forth across the conference table. Some were shot down at once, some were stored for further processing later on, and some were so outrageous they might just end up working on a national level. People laughed, thumped shoulders for good ideas, or taunted one another when something stupid came up. The creative juices were running freely, and at any other time in her career and life, Julia would have been right there with her team, diving head-first into the creative processes that she used to thrive on.
None of that mattered the least to her now. Instead, she sighed and started toying with a ball point pen. When she made eye contact with Meghan, the second-in-command got up from her place at the head of the conference table and shuffled over to the desk.
"Are you a little under the weather today, Miss Thorne?" Meghan said and furrowed her brow in concern once she got close enough to see the gloomy look on her boss' face. "You're so… I don't know… distant."
"I'm just fine, Meghan," Julia said and threw down the pen. They looked at each other for a few seconds before she picked it up again and continued toying with it. "No, I'm not. I got a brick in my gut from all this bullshit. A nine-figure deal. Imagine how much good could be done around the world, or even just in this country, if the company invested a nine-figure sum into helping those in need… instead of blowing it all on some decadent ad campaign that'll last six months at the most."
Meghan cocked her head and tried to read the somber face of the woman she had been working for for a couple of years. There had been ups and downs like in any other working relationship, but this marked a whole new low. "This is about your mystery woman, isn't it? And the shelter?"
"Yeah," Julia said and threw down the pen for good.
"Did you guys have a fight or someth-"
Julia shook her head. She knew her behavior would come across as odd, so she sat up straight and at least tried to act professional while all the creative people were working their behinds off just in front of her. "It's not that. Everything's great. We spoke at length last night over the phone. No, it's… dammit, I just can't deal with all this shallow BS anymore. I got it up to here." - Julia showed exactly where it was by holding her hand just below her eyes.
"But you're so good at your job… not three weeks ago, you would have jumped through a burning barn door to get your hands on such a tender. I don't understand…"
"I've just reached my limit," Julia said with a shrug. "I think you would have understood if you had met some of the women I spoke to at the shelter. Mmmm… you'd know that this is just… fuck, an endless array of bullshit."
Meghan blushed at the hard profanity - Julia didn't usually speak in such coarse terms. She glanced over at the team that hadn't gone quieter since she had left the table, but turned back to her boss in a hurry when she spoke up once more.
"You know what I think I'll do, Meghan?"
"Uh… no?"
"I think I'll take full advantage of my name and the skills I've compiled over the years," Julia said and got up from her armchair. She looked down at her desk and began to collect a few of her personal items like her Bluetooth headset and her smartphone that she had paid for herself. "Yeah. I'll use who I am and what I can to shake some money out of the greedy bastards in the boardrooms around St. Michael. A nine-figure deal, my sweet ass. Do you have any idea how many women we could help at the shelter if we had just a steady six-figure budget?"
"Uh… no…"
"Hundreds, Meghan. If not more. And they're out there, don't think for a second they're not. Abused women is one resource the world will never run dry of. Unfortunately."
"Well, ummm… you said, that 'we' could help at the shelter," Meghan said and made quotation marks in the air. When Julia didn't reply at once, she cocked her head and gave her boss a mystified look. "How am I to interpret that?"
Julia came to a stop to look at her second-in-command. The younger woman sported a faint blush that crept over her cheeks, and she wore a puzzled expression in her vibrant eyes. It was clear it was all going just a little too fast for her, but it was about to get even faster. "Meghan… you're ready for the big show. This is it. Knock everybody on their asses with this thing… I know you have it in you. Just watch out for Marshall Pennebaker's wandering eyes."
"Okay, now I'm getting concerned, Miss Thorne. Tell me, what the hell's going on here?" Meghan said and reached out for her boss.
The two women stared at each other for a few seconds before Julia shrugged. "I'm passing you the baton. I wouldn't do it if I didn't think you were ready. It's a bolt from the blue, I know, but… consider it a field promotion. The General is resigning. This is your show now, Meghan. I have better things to do with my life."
Julia took a sideways step to get away from her assistant, but she had to chuckle at the gobsmacked look on Meghan's pretty face. To show that she did actually care about Meghan Krasnow and what the immediate future would hold for the younger woman, Julia leaned in and wrapped an arm around her friend's slender waist. "You'll be fine. You're the boss now. Yeah?"
"God, I don't know what to say… are you serious? You really are serious, aren't you?"
"I couldn't be more serious. Oh, I know what you could say… how about 'have a nice life, Julia' ?"
"Uh-huh… have a nice life, Julia…"
Chuckling again, Julia gave Meghan's waist a squeeze before she moved over to, and opened, the double doors. She didn't even need to look over her shoulder to know that her team - which was now Meghan's team - was still brainstorming at the conference table. They were great people so they would create the perfect ad universe and win the important contract, she was sure of that. Meghan Krasnow would get the praise, and that was just fine with her.
Julia sighed and closed the door behind her. She moved along the gray, fireproof carpet with heavy steps as she made her way to the elevator. Her head was swimming when it dawned on her what she had just done - but her heart told her in no uncertain terms it was the right thing to do.
In her immediate future, she had a date with a hot bath and a cool bottle of white wine. And after that, maybe one with a certain tall, former senior nurse who was now running a shelter for abused women. Who knew?
*
*
CHAPTER 5
A long soaking in a steaming hot bubble bath helped clear Julia's mind. The brick of worry in her gut had melted away, leaving behind a feeling of contentment. She wasn't going to kid herself, she had still jumped into a decision that would have untold impact on her life and potential future career in advertising, but the calmness that claimed her as she rested there among a plethora of scented bubbles proved it had been the right course of action to take.
Chuckling at the absurdity of it all, she moved her hand out of the water and played with the thick layer of suds and bubbles that covered the entire surface of her bathtub. Her bathroom was her sanctuary from the stressful situations of everyday life, and she had made a conscious decision never to bring any of her means of communication in there. Instead, she had a glass of white wine that she sipped while the bubbles caressed her body.
Several scented tea lights were sitting on the edges of the tub, burning with small but strong flames which gave the warm air in the bathroom an aroma of lavender and other flowery fragrances. She had turned off the light in the ceiling to really bring out the delicate orange flames, and the semi-dark conditions allowed her mind to wander freely.
It had been a mind-numbing day so far, but she knew the perfect remedy. Putting down the glass on the edge of the tub after taking another sip, she rested her head on the built-in support and closed her eyes. Soon, she was in the company of Brenda McCrawley who had rarely looked lovelier. The tall brunette slipped into the bathroom in an electric blue kimono that she swept off her nude body after a little teasing. They were going to play a little. Kiss a little. Maybe kiss a little more. And a little more after that. And then they would fuck their imaginary brains out.
Julia's hands slipped below the waterline and began to draw patterns on her tummy and her breasts. It felt far too good to stop. Her right hand slipped lower and reached her patch of cropped curls - from there, it was only a short distance to heaven.
-*-*-*-
The seven o'clock newsflash on the radio ended just as Julia drove over the curb and onto the gravelly patch in front of the shelter. On a grander scale, everything looked as it always had, but there were many details that had been improved greatly. The frames and windowsills were now in good condition, the paint was no longer peeling, and the leaking drainpipes that came down from the flat roof had been mended. At that time of the day, the last of the workers had left so the small space in front of the door was quiet.
As always, the powerful LED lamp shone down upon the threshold so Brenda would be able to see the identity of the person waiting at the door, and the weatherproof, plastic folder that was pinned to the rock-solid, reinforced door still said There's always room in our hearts for you.
Smiling nervously at the importance of that message and how it may relate to her connection with Brenda, Julia stepped out of the car and went back to the trunk. In there, she had a large suitcase with a few, additional business suits and skirts she didn't need any longer. To mark the occasion, she had changed into a pair of ballet flats, tight blue jeans and a loose, white, tunic-like shirt that sported an intricate pattern of small, wooden beads around the neckline.
By now, she had learned to pinch her nostrils before stepping onto the gravel so the stench of cat urine wouldn't assault her senses too much. Carrying the suitcase, she hopped over to the spartan, chipped flagstones and hurried up to the door.
The button for the bell inside the red alarm box was quickly pushed, and she took a step back while she waited for the door to be opened. A niggle of worry formed at the back of her mind.
'What if Brenda thinks my decision to quit my job isn't a sign of blossoming maturity, but rather a childish knee-jerk reaction? She takes life, her career and everything else so seriously there isn't much room for spontaneity. Will she understand how a life-altering decision could be taken that fast? I mean, it was hand-over-fist. And… oh, Gawd… does she even like me like that? I've seen flashes, but never anything concrete… oh, Gawd. Did I just make a fool of myself?'
Julia knew full well that fantasizing about what two adult women in love would do together in the bathtub, in front of the fireplace and a few, other well-chosen places was one thing; actually getting there in real life was like climbing the Himalayas each and every time.
When the door opened, she broke out in a broad smile. Unfortunately, her smile faded at once when she realized she was staring into Marjorie Lonnigan's surly face.
"Oh… it's you," the matron said like she had just witnessed the arrival of the Antichrist.
"Yeah. It's me," Julia replied in a matching, annoyed voice. "Is Brenda out?"
"No, she's busy in the infirmary. We have a guest who's-"
"Why the hell didn't you say so at once?" Julia growled and barged past the stunned matron. Without bothering to look back at the surly woman at the reinforced front door, she stomped over to the infirmary and put down the suitcase outside the frosted glass door. Knocking briefly, she stepped inside to survey the situation.
As the door was flung open, Brenda looked up in surprise. A genuine, though faint, smile formed on her face when she recognized Julia. At present, the former senior nurse was once again up to her forearms in someone else's blood. She wore her olive-green US Army-surplus sweatsuit, but the crimson stains that splattered the front of the sweater would probably render it fit for the trash.
Julia stared wide-eyed at the crying woman that Brenda was working on. Writhing in pain on the uncomfortable examination bunk, the African-American girl couldn't be more than nineteen. Her clothes were torn and bloody, and most of the left side of her face seemed to have been pummeled into raw meat. The worst injury seemed to be her left earlobe that had nearly been ripped from the rest of the ear. The ugly wound bled profusely, and Brenda had plenty to do to contain the bleeding.
Shaking her head in disbelief, Julia opened her mouth to speak, but no sounds would come out. Instead, she spun around and ran into the inner office where all her regular clothes were waiting for her. She whipped off her wristwatch and the delicate, white tunic, and threw on a tank top and a rough, plaid shirt that could take a lot of damage. After washing her hands in an almighty hurry in the small wash basin in the corner of the room, she stormed back to the infirmary.
"I'm here, Brenda," she said as she closed the frosted glass door behind her. "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."
"You certainly picked the right moment to come back," Brenda said and let out a forced chuckle. She looked up at Julia and offered the blonde a tired smile. "But it's great to see you again…"
"Thank you. Likewise," Julia said and felt a blush creeping onto her cheeks when she remembered her bathtub-based fantasy. The steamy encounter had ended in Brenda coming hard by Julia's hand. Bucking like a wild bronco, the brunette had screamed out Julia's name in an orgasmic rush of Olympic proportions. It all seemed so grotesquely embarrassing now.
Mercifully oblivious to Julia's thoughts, Brenda continued working on the African-American girl's ear with a worried expression etched onto her face. "I'm on top of it, mostly, but I need some more sterile absorbent cotton. It's over on the desk. I forgot it…" she said and nodded at the metal desk down the other end of the infirmary.
Julia retrieved it at once and put it down next to Brenda's hands. She quickly realized it was better if the nurse had access to neatly cut pieces, so she grabbed a pair of scissors and cut off seven, four-inch strips from the roll.
"That's great… thanks, Julia," Brenda said and sent Julia another smile.
"You're welcome… oh, you're sweating… let me get that," Julia said and dug into her pocket for a handkerchief. Reaching up, she dabbed Brenda's forehead like she had seen the characters do a hundred times or more on reruns of the old show M*A*S*H.
The teenager's pained whimpers brought Julia back to reality, and she ran around the examination bunk to help her. Leaning in, she tried to make eye contact with the frightened, young girl, but settled for taking her hand when she proved to be too upset to keep her eyes open. "It's all right… you're getting professional help. What's your name?"
"Alisha," the young girl said in a frayed voice. "My b- boyfriend tore out my ear ring…"
Julia narrowed her eyes and looked up at Brenda who gave her an affirmative answer by nodding. "What the hell would he do that for?" she growled, turning back to Alisha.
"It was a gift… h- he wanted it back… he th- thought I was sl- sleeping around… b- but I wasn't!" Alisha said in a voice that grew increasingly frantic. "Th- then he started shoving me around… and p- punching me…"
"Shhh, it's all right, Alisha," Julia said and caressed the young girl's arm. "Relax. Breathe easy. You're safe from him now. Please lie still so Brenda can fix your earlobe. Did you call the police?"
"N- no…"
"Marjorie did when Alisha got here," Brenda said.
Julia furrowed her brow as she looked up at the former nurse. "So why aren't they here now?"
"Oh, it's only been twenty minutes or so. It always takes them a little while to get out here," Brenda said and locked eyes with Julia. "Domestic disputes aren't too high on their list of priorities. Especially not when they involve blacks. The risk of getting it wrong is just too high, apparently. They don't want to end up in a hand-held blame-and-shame video on Youtube."
"But-"
"And that goes double following the mayor's push to get rich folks to invest in the inner-city neighborhoods," Brenda said before she turned the sarcasm up to eleven: "We can't let the world know something like this still exists, can we?"
Groaning out loud, Julia leaned her head back and stared at the white ceiling. "I mean, that's just… bullshit! Which decade are we living in, anyway? Which century?!"
"Don't ask me. I'm just struggling to get by, like the women coming here," Brenda said with a shrug. "Julia, I need some warm water… not hot, not lukewarm, just regular warm. I need to clean Alisha's wound before I can go any further."
"I'm on it," Julia said and hurried over to one of the medicine cabinets to fetch a metal bowl. Once she had it, she scooted over to the wash basin and opened the hot faucet.
-*-*-*-
Several hours later.
The police had shown up after forty minutes. They had spent eleven minutes taking Alisha's statement before they had left with the news there wasn't much they could do. The young African-American girl had been taken to hospital for observation - Brenda was concerned about the possibility of an infection because Alisha's temperature had seemed to go up - but she would be back later to spend the night in the safe haven until, or perhaps unless, she could move in with her parents in another of St. Michael's inner-city neighborhoods.
Julia was sitting on her bunk in her room, practicing her thousand-mile stare. She hadn't expected her first evening back to be so eventful, and she was drained of all the energy her bubble bath - and the pleasurable fantasy - had injected into her. Sighing, she kicked off her ballet flats and swung her legs up in the bed.
Moments later, someone knocked on the door. Julia groaned out loud, but couldn't be bothered to get back up. "I'm in bed! Can't it wait?" she said strongly.
Brenda held the door to the inner office ajar and peeked through the crack. As she did so, a delicious smell of hot tea drifted into the room and swirled around Julia's nostrils. "Hi… I brought you some tea. I guess-"
"Jeez, I could definitely use some tea," Julia said and swung her legs back over the edge of the bed. Yawning, she scratched her hair that had turned unruly though she had only been lying down for less than a minute.
Brenda had kept the olive-green sweatpants but had changed into a different sweatshirt; a blue one from the US Navy. Sitting down opposite the bed, she held Julia's mug ready.
"Thanks," Julia said and took the mug offered to her. The tea was hot and aromatic, and it was just what she needed to soothe her upset soul. She was still wearing the rough, plaid shirt, and that and the tea finally sent some warmth down into her body.
"What's that I hear about you quitting your day job?" Brenda asked over the rim of her tea.
Julia stared at her like she had suddenly sprouted a second head - of course, if it was as gorgeous as the first one, the possibilities were endless. "Uh… yeah. I suppose I did. How in the hell did you hear that?"
"Through Marjorie."
"And how in the hell did she hear?"
"She read it on Collins-Mattheson-Thorne's Twitter feed."
The mug of tea stopped halfway up to Julia's mouth. Fortunately, her jaw went the other way to intercept it. " 'kay… I don't know what surprises me the most. That Marjorie even knows what Twitter is… or that she follows Collins-Mattheson-Thorne. Hey… has she been checking up on me?"
"I think she has, yeah," Brenda said and chuckled into her mug.
Julia let out a grunt and rolled her eyes. "But yeah, I quit my job. I passed the baton to my number two. I was up to my eyeballs in all that shallow business. No more."
"How will you get by, financially speaking?"
"Huh. Just fine, thank you. We won't have any cash flow problems, oh, the first decade or so. My mom taught me to always put a penny aside for a rainy day. And I have. More than one penny, too."
Brenda nodded while a grin graced her features. She fell quiet and studied the blonde opposite her. Her eyes went on a little tour, but it wasn't nefarious like so many other tours that had been made of Julia's body over the years by her superiors and other people in power. "Well, that's great," she finally said as her eyes moved back up to Julia's green orbs. "Won't you get into trouble with your father, though?"
"I don't believe it… you guys really have been checking up on me! I mean, what the hell!" Julia said and threw her free hand in the air. She winked to take the sting out of her words, but the outburst had been real enough. After a short while of watching Brenda's gorgeous face looking back at her, she chuckled and took a sip of her tea. "He did something similar back in his younger years. Dumped his entire career on a whim… and the whim was my mom. He'll understand. Of course, he's a different man now… the mighty dollar sign is his God these days. Ah, we'll get it squared."
Brenda nodded again like it explained it all. "Great. Listen, we missed supper and I can't bring myself to ask Marjorie to warm a few leftovers for us… do you want to call for some takeout? We could try Lee Wong's Supremo Stir-Fry. They have a two-fer offer this week."
"Oh, I love stir-fried food… yeah." She looked up at Brenda when the former nurse remained uncharacteristically silent. It was clear there was something brewing just behind those sky-blue eyes, but it wasn't ready to come out yet. The taller woman licked her lips once, then once more. Finally puckering up her lips instead of just licking them, she looked like she was on the brink of asking Julia something important, but it just wouldn't come out no matter how hard she tried. She fiddled with her long fingers. Her eyes darted from Julia's face and down onto the bunk, and then back onto Julia. She fiddled with her fingers a little more.
Now Julia was getting intrigued. 'God, she's so cute when she does that!' she thought, hiding a grin that would only add to Brenda's bashful state. She smiled warmly to help Brenda get it out, but there was a plug in the process somewhere. Something major was about to happen. It was right there at her fingertips, but it was still too elusive to grasp. The air grew electric between them, and she wondered if she wasn't about to hear a declaration of Brenda's undying-
"Brenda? Are you in there?" Marjorie barked from the outer office, killing the electric mood and pleasant atmosphere stone dead with her harsh voice.
"Oh, Marjorie, for fuck's sake… not now," Brenda groaned under her breath. She cast a final, longing glance at Julia before she got up from the chair and stomped into the outer office to deal with the new situation.
When Julia had the room to herself, she shook her head and looked at the spot where Brenda had been sitting. "Wow… that was unexpected. I wonder if… no, I better not get ahead of myself. All good things will come to those who wait… or something," she mumbled as she sipped the tea.
-*-*-*-
The situation involving Marjorie had been a brief one - a suspicious-looking person had been loitering near the front door, but it had turned out to be a regular, non-threatening bum - so Brenda returned to order the Chinese takeout within minutes.
It didn't take long for Lee Wong's delivery boy to arrive and hand over a plastic bag filled with goodies, and after paying the bill and tipping the kid for his services, Julia and Brenda dug into the hot meal with great relish.
---
Julia's final piece of stir-fried pork rattled around inside the final cardboard box. Grinning, she tried stabbing at it again and again with her chopsticks, but she had barely reached it when an old-fashioned landline telephone began ringing somewhere in the shelter. "Oh… what's that now?" she said and looked around with a puzzled expression on her face.
"A telephone," Brenda said drolly.
"No, really? Wow, I didn't even know old-fashioned telephones still existed. I haven't heard one of those in years…"
"Now you have."
"Yeah, but… what happened to the DECT phone?"
"It crapped out on us. It won't recharge for some reason. 'Scuse me," Brenda continued, dabbing her lips on a colorful napkin before she got up from the small table in the inner office. Her long legs carried her into the outer office in a hurry where she picked up the telephone before the brass bell could ring once more.
Though Julia tried hard to listen to what Brenda was saying, she was unable to make heads or tails of the mumbled phrases that traveled through the closed door. Instead, she returned to stabbing at the final piece of pork, but she hadn't struck gold yet when Brenda poked her head past the door. "Oh! That was fast. Was it from the hospital about Alisha?" Julia said, finally succeeding in getting the piece of pork wedged between the chopsticks.
"No. It's your father. I put him on hold, but he wants to talk to you pronto."
Staring straight ahead, Julia forgot all about the reluctant piece of pork. She knew she needed to speak with him sooner or later, but she had never expected him to actually find the shelter's phone number and call them in person. An icy chill flashed across her back like she was a little girl who was waiting to be punished after doing something bad. She wasn't little and she hadn't done anything bad, but old man Thorne, the conglomerate mogul, could still be in a punishing mood.
"Did you hear me?" Brenda said and stepped further into the inner office.
"Yeah…"
"Don't you want to talk to him?"
"Not really… but I have to," Julia said and dabbed her lips on her napkin. Sighing, she left the dinner table to go into the outer office. Brenda held the door open for her as she went past, and the former nurse's delightful natural scent wafted past her nostrils and gave her a flashback to the wonderful time she had spent with the imaginary Brenda in the bathtub.
"I'll give you guys some room," the real Brenda said as she closed the door behind her.
Smiling at her friend's thoughtfulness, Julia moved over to the desk and sat down. The old-fashioned receiver with the long, cloth-wrapped cord that connected it to the telephone had been put on the table. Picking it up, she intended to put it to her ear but nearly dropped it when the sheer weight of the old Bakelite apparatus surprised her. She fumbled for a few seconds before she got everything under control. "Uh… hello, Dad."
'Hi, girl. Tell you what, an odd little thing landed on my desk today. It was a hastily written note claiming that Julia Thorne had quit the Agency at a moment's notice. I went down to her office in a hurry and found a bunch of creative people working on the tender… but I couldn't find Julia anywhere. You wouldn't happen to know where she went, would you?'
Julia chuckled darkly despite the serious situation. Her father's voice had been cheery, but it was so put-upon he needn't have bothered. She couldn't yet decipher how he felt about her move, but she was sure he would start speaking in block letters into her ear in a hurry. "Yeah, I do. She went to work in a shelter for abused women out in the industrial zone."
Silence fell between the two Thornes. It kept going for a little while, only interrupted by the crackling of the old-fashioned telephone landline. 'I really need to have that one explained, Julia…' Joseph Thorne said in a voice that had turned quite a bit harder.
"Well…" - Julia stopped speaking to let out a long sigh. She cast a glance around the outer office like it would help her find the right words. It didn't, but her eyes lingered on Brenda's bunk which had been made with military precision - "I had enough, Dad. It was time to do something more substantial. Here, I'm helping real people with real problems. Not just advertising sharks with imaginary problems."
'That's certainly grand of you… but I can't imagine there would be too much money in that. Is this a sly way of asking for a raise? If so, you have it.'
"It's not. There's no money in it for me at all. This is all on a voluntary basis. Money has to take a back seat to human issues sometimes."
'You didn't complain when I gave you the job, Julia. Nor when you moved into the corner office. Nor when you got the fat Holiday bonus check last year.'
"I know."
'So?'
"I've smartened up."
'Or gotten holier.'
Clenching her jaw, Julia counted to ten on the inside before she carried on. Even so, she gripped the receiver just that little bit harder. "That was out of line, Dad! I seem to recall you did the same once upon a time. Or did you perhaps forget? You changed careers when you met mom. Didn't you?"
'Yes, but… you can't compare the two at all. Wait… or perhaps you can? What was the name of the woman I spoke to before? Bran- Bren-something.'
"Brenda."
'Right. So… may I ask what your motivations are, Julia? Is the righteous fire for helping women in need in that shelter really burning within you? This sort of thing doesn't just pop up over night. You must have considered it for a long time. You never mentioned anything about it. How did you come into contact with it?'
"Jeez, Dad… I-"
'Or is it because of Brenda? Listen, girl, you can talk to me about it,' Joseph said in a voice that mellowed out at once. 'If she swept you off your feet, that's just fine. I know exactly what that feels like because that's what happened between me and your mother all those years ago.'
"Well-"
'Tell me, is she even on your team?'
Hearing that, Julia's face nearly turned purple in embarrassment. "Oh, Dad… Jeez. Yes, she is," she croaked while rubbing her brow furiously.
'That's something at least.'
"I… shit," Julia said and rubbed her brow once more. As always, her father had been able to see right through her. Growing up, it had been a constant source of niggling worries and all-out belly aches that he could deduce what she had done simply by casting a fatherly eye at her innocent face. When she had been a teen, she had never sampled marihuana or strong liquor or any of the other things that older kids did. She feared what her father would do when - not if - he found out.
'I suppose your stuttering replies confirm it,' Joseph said and let out a chuckle. 'All right. Makes more sense. That makes a whole lot more sense. Following your heart… now that I can understand.'
"Dad, I'll admit that Brenda is at least fifty percent of why I chose to do this… but the shelter provides the other fifty percent. There are real people here… real women who need my help with real problems," Julia said while fanning her burning cheeks. The old-fashioned receiver was so heavy she needed to change hands, but that gave her an opportunity to rest her rear on the edge of the desk.
'Mmmm. There's certainly a possibility of some good, rock-solid, liberal PR. The family name could use a few humanitarian headlines. Perhaps you could get on the cover of the second section instead of always appearing in the business pages.'
Julia groaned as she thought of one of Marjorie Lonnigan's tirades. One of the first things the matron had complained about was the mistaken notion that Julia would use the stay at the shelter to score cheap brownie points among the more liberal of Collins-Mattheson-Thorne's customers. "No, Dad, I won't be doing that. This isn't a mindless, shallow PR gig, this is a valuable life experience for me-"
'While working with Brenda who, I presume, is attractive.'
"Well… yes."
'Attractive girls are a dime a dozen in the world you and I inhabit. This Brenda must be some woman to turn my little girl's head like that. And so fast.'
Julia chuckled darkly. "Trust me. She is. I think you'd get on great. She's a retired nurse from the US Army Medical Corps. A war veteran from Desert Storm in Kuwait, would you believe. She's one thousand percent dedicated to keeping her shelter running. She lives here and works here twenty-four-seven. Much like you did when you were founding the family business, right?"
'Mmmm. Yes. In that case, does she really have time for you, honey?' Joseph said in a voice that had now turned genuinely concerned for his daughter's emotional welfare. 'You know just as well as I do that a relationship needs to flow both ways. It's all one, big give and take.'
"I know, dad… I know," Julia said and shuffled around uncomfortably. "We're still edging closer on that particular point. It'll work out. I'm sure it will."
'Julia, please… take care of your heart. I know you've been so busy at work you haven't had time for relationships, but you shouldn't let your emotions run off with you. And you shouldn't let them blind your common sense either. Honey, if it's not right for you, I don't want you to stay at the shelter out of misguided loyalty. That would only be bad for your mental health. Do we agree?'
'Now he thinks I'm five years old again,' Julia thought and let out a sigh. "Dad, it's my life to live. This shelter is right for me, I can tell. Brenda is right for me. We just need a little time to… to really talk to one another. Then everything will be great."
'Fine, but don't put all your eggs in a single basket, Julia. That's all I'm asking of you.'
"I won't. I have a contingency plan if everything falls apart. I'm keeping my apartment for starters."
'Good. Oh, this turned out longer than I intended. All I wanted to say was, please think, Julia. You can feel all you want, but you need to think as well. You need to remember the skills that gave you the corner office in the first place. Love makes blind. I don't want my little girl to stumble into anything crappy just because her panties were in a wad over some gorgeous doll.'
Julia groaned out loud and clapped her free hand over her eyes. "Dad! Oh, Gawd… please!"
'Oh, don't give me that. I know you better than you think.'
"Well, I'm… I'm… oh, never mind," Julia said and got up from the corner of the desk. Standing up, she shuffled down to the telephone so she could put the receiver on the hook once her father had hung up. "I'll keep all that in mind. Bye, Dad. Love you."
'Love you too, honey. I'll talk to you later.'
As Julia put the receiver on the hook, she rubbed her cheeks to get the blush to go away. "Yeah. Sure. He'll talk to me later… so he can get a status report on my love life. Sheesh! Get my panties in a wad… Gawd… if only he knew…"
-*-*-*-
The hands of time had already moved past eleven thirty when Julia came back from grabbing a shower. So far, it had been an eighteen-hour working day with plenty of emotionally draining events, and she was more beat than she had been for a long, long time.
Brenda had showered earlier in the evening to be ready for the night shift. The taller woman's long limbs and torso had eaten up most of the hot water, but the semi-chilly shower had helped clear up the countless thoughts that rattled around inside Julia's mind.
Returning to the outer office wearing bathing slippers, a pair of loose sweatpants and a wide-strap tank top, she put her spare towel on the sandy microfiber couch before she noticed Brenda sitting behind the desk. The former nurse had a look on her face that said she had something she really, really, really needed to share before it would burn a hole in her brain.
"Hi… I didn't see you," Julia said and cocked her head at the odd look on Brenda's face. "Have you been waiting for me? I took it nice and easy 'cos I thought you were busy with your guests."
"It didn't take long tonight. Marjorie is pulling an all-nighter so she can look after them if something comes up."
"Oh… okay."
"By the way, I called the hospital. They'll keep Alisha in for observation tomorrow as well. Her parents were present, so I don't think we'll see her back here."
"All right. I hope it works out for her. You did a great job on her earlobe… even the ambulance people said so."
"Mmmm."
A curious silence fell between the two women, and Brenda's expression of needing to get something off her chest only deepened. Julia wasn't in a hurry to get to bed after all, so she sat down on the couch and crossed her legs. Patience had never been her strongest virtue, so it didn't take long before her bathing slipper started wagging.
The color of Brenda's cheeks grew from mere reddish to fire engine-red. She licked her lips once; then twice. Cocking her head, she finally opened her mouth to speak, but when the words came, they were so quiet they didn't travel far. "So, uh… would it, oh… uh… freak you out if… ugh… mmmm. Oh, if I-"
"Brenda, please," Julia said and leaned forward on the couch, "I can't understand a single word of what you're saying…"
"Oh… uh… I mean… uh…" - Brenda took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She licked her lips once more. When it wasn't enough, she rubbed her nose as well. "Oh, shit, I'm too old to be this nervous… would… would it freak you out if I… shit. If I told you I may… I may have, uh… developed a cr- shit. A crush on you?"
Julia felt a bomb go off inside her. Sitting up straight, she stared wide-eyed at the woman who had just delivered a sentence that - although it had been broken - had tickled her in all the right places. "A crush?" she parroted. She had a hard time keeping a shit-eating grin off her face, but she tried hard so she wouldn't add to Brenda's acute embarrassment.
"Yeah," Brenda croaked in return. "I mean, isn't it ridiculous? A mature woman like me shouldn't get crushes… but I did. And I do. I realized it when you walked into the infirmary tonight. You were the last person I expected to see… but when you came- uh… uh, showed up, my heart just exploded."
Julia had to poke out her tongue at the 'came' comment. It was such an innocuous little word, but it always made her snigger inwardly. "Well, Brenda… I have a little confession to make as well," she said and shuffled around on the couch.
"You do?"
"I may have a crush on you. Hell, I do have a crush on you. So we're both stranded on the ridiculous side of reality."
Brenda let out a sound that was a cross between a snort and a choked-up chuckle. Locking eyes with the blonde across the room, she shook her head repeatedly. "I mean… what a cliché, right? Two strong, independent women and… hell, it's straight out of a romance novel…"
"Why, Brenda McCrawley, I didn't think you even knew what a romance novel was!" Julia said cheekily.
"I only skim the covers…"
"Oh, right."
The mood in the outer office was gaining momentum, that was undeniable. The mood inside Julia wasn't far behind. She shuffled around again to get the warm wave that rolled around inside her distributed evenly. It worked, but it was only a temporary measure. She let her fingers draw artistic patterns on a thigh through the loose sweatpants; the artwork sent little sparks up her leg and into her center. "So, uh… do you have any preferences when it comes to dealing with said crushes?" she said and wetted her lips that had suddenly gone dry.
"I may have."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. How about-"
Brenda was cut off by the floorboards creaking out in the hallway. The only one who could be walking out there was Marjorie Lonnigan who had volunteered to spend the night at the shelter. Brenda furrowed her brow and stared at the door to the hallway like she expected it to open at any moment. When it didn't, she got up from the swivel-chair and stomped across the office with a string of inarticulate grunts escaping her lips.
After peeking outside to see where the matron had gone, she pulled her head back in and locked the office door from the inside. "No more Marjorie. Not tonight. This is me and you-time," she said and shuffled over to the microfiber couch where Julia was waiting with bated breath. "I have a ton of things to talk to you about… let's go into the inner office. We'll be more private there," she continued and put out her hand.
Julia wasn't about to let such a golden opportunity slip through her fingers, so she jumped up from the couch without grabbing the offered hand. Grinning, she zipped over to the door to the inner office to show that despite her long day, she was more than ready, willing and able to spend the rest of the evening in the company of the tall, gorgeous woman.
In the inner office, Julia sat down on her soft bunk and folded her legs up underneath her so she sat cross-legged. Brenda shuffled in behind her and sat down on the only chair that wasn't covered in clothes. Julia grinned with a fever of expectation burning inside her. She could feel a blush of her own spreading over her body, but hers went down her torso rather than staying on her cheeks. "Well, I must admit you've been giving me hot flashes whenever you're near, Brenda," she said and once again drew a pattern on her thigh.
"Shit… really?"
"Yeah!"
The two adult women sniggered like a pair of schoolgirls. The charming sound only added to the atmosphere in the small office that seemed to grow more intimate by the second. Julia wished they had a few tealights she could ignite to create a better mood light than the harsh glare that came from the single bulb hanging down from the ceiling, but on the other hand, if they continued the heavy flirting, they would soon be glowing in the dark without any outside assistance.
Brenda moved up her arms to slick back her dark hair that was still a bit damp from her earlier shower. She wetted her lips for the umpteenth time and assumed a slightly more serious tone. "Julia… before we take it any further, I have another confession to make. This one could… potentially… wreck the mood, so…"
"You can confide in me, Brenda. I'll listen to anything you say, then I'll make my own decision," Julia said in a supportive voice.
Brenda nodded. She turned distant like she went back in time in her mind's eye. Letting out a deep sigh, she rubbed the knuckles on her right hand. There wasn't anything to see there, but she seemed to be bothered by a memory of something that had been there once upon a time. "I opened this shelter to make amends for what I had done. When I returned home from the war, I was angry and frustrated. We had lost many good men and women over there. We had liberated Kuwait, but we didn't finish the job. Saddam and his cronies were still in power. The rest of that powder keg was still going, and I'm sure you remember what kind of royal fuck-up it turned into a decade later."
She shuffled around; a sign that she was arriving at the heavy stuff. "At the time, we gays and lesbians were forced into a heteronormative box… this was before Don't Ask, Don't Tell… and I was burning up from the inside. When I was discharged and got home, I started frequenting bars. Not just gay bars. I used my military past to score, and score often. Every single night, I went home with some… some pussy who had the hots to see if a woman could better their boyfriends or husbands in the sack. It was an awful life, but I chose it, and I stayed with it."
Brenda looked up and locked eyes with Julia to see if the blonde was disgusted. When she saw nothing but genuine concern on the fair woman's face, she cleared her throat and continued: "One night where I'd had too much to drink, I did a shitty job of it… and the woman laughed at me. I smacked her. Hard. When I left her, she was bleeding. Crying. Cursing my name. I walked and walked and walked for hours… I was going to find a bridge and jump off it, but I was arrested for being drunk and disorderly in public before I could commit the final deed. The woman I smacked around never pressed charges against me… I suppose she was afraid her husband would find out what she had been doing. I went into a black hole in my head and stayed there for several years. Most of the 1990s. Until I woke up… and all this came about."
There was nothing more to say. Brenda let out a deep sigh that came from the very core of her soul. "I'll understand if you want to turn your back on me. The door is right there. I won't stop you," she said in a thick voice. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, afraid of looking at Julia.
Throughout the lengthy monologue, Julia's face had grown more and more concerned. Her heart ached for the decades of pain that had festered inside Brenda. It was a dark story - darker than she had expected to hear - but she wasn't about to walk away because of it. She didn't know what to say at first, so she moved her bare feet down onto the carpet to stall. "Brenda… thank you for confiding in me. I'm not going anywhere. Your story has only made me want to- wait."
Getting up, Julia crossed the inner office in a hurry and tugged at Brenda's navy-blue sweatshirt to make her understand she should stand up. When the older woman complied with the request, Julia wrapped her arms around the tall, well-built torso in front of her and held on tight. "Your story has only made me support you more. Do you hear me?"
Brenda let out another of the sighs that came from the heart. Leaning into the embrace, she rested her dark locks against Julia's fair hair. The warm contact soothed her soul and made her relax. She nodded - she had heard Julia.
"Good," Julia said and moved back from the embrace. She held on so tight all she could do was to remain close to the former nurse. "I support you because I've done some bad things too, and I know you'll support me."
"I can't imagine you ever doing anything bad, Julia," Brenda whispered.
"But I have. I've fired single parents though I knew they had no other income. I've forced my team to work days and nights without breaks when important deadlines were looming. I've… I've-"
Brenda shook her head which made Julia pipe down. "Does any of that matter now? No, it doesn't."
With but a few inches between the two women, the air between them became electric once more. Julia's heart sped up. When she could feel Brenda's do the same through the sweatshirt, she moved up an arm and gave the long back underneath her fingers a gentle push to make it come closer.
The gap was reduced from a few inches to hardly anything at all - they couldn't get any closer without touching. Neither spoke out of fear of breaking the mood. They gazed deeply into each other's eyes and found nothing but support for their past misdeeds.
Julia parted her lips, and Brenda stared at the pink tongue that came out of the moist cavern to wet the dry skin. A small, sensuous and somewhat impatient sigh followed. Breathing the same air, they finally closed the distance fully and claimed each other's lips.
The kiss was nervous and a little fumbling to begin with, but as soon as they both felt the warmth and silky smoothness of the other, they relaxed and let their instincts do the talking. Though rusty in the art of love, Julia Thorne and Brenda McCrawley were mature women who both had plenty of experience, so instead of going at it like a pair of eager bunnies, they let the kiss evolve into a deep, unhurried affair where they had plenty of time to explore the other.
When they needed air, Brenda leaned her forehead against Julia's so they wouldn't have to stray too far from each other. They still had their hands and arms around the other's body, but were content with gentle caresses for now.
Grinning, Julia gazed into the sky-blue orbs right in front of her. Not only had the kiss been great, it had far outclassed any of those she had made with the imaginary Brenda in her fantasies. The real Brenda was here, now, and in her arms. It wasn't a fantasy. They had really kissed; she had really nibbled on the former nurse's silky lips. She had reveled in the sweet taste, she had felt the searing body heat through the sweatshirt - there had to be a raging furnace somewhere underneath the cotton - and she had heard a whispered moan escaping the lips she had kissed.
She didn't need to look down to know her own nipples were straining against the flimsy fabric of the tank top. This was what she had wanted for so long. They were kissing. They were together. If they never made it further, she would still die a happy woman. "You're a great kisser," she whispered, studying the features of the woman she had just nibbled on.
"Thank you. I'm out of practice," Brenda replied in a matching whisper. She reached up to caress the side of Julia's face. Running her fingers through the fair locks, she marveled at their smoothness.
"You could have fooled me."
"No… honest I am. I'm so out of practice I don't even know if women are still built the same way…"
"Ohhh," Julia groaned, touching the tip of Brenda's nose. "Don't worry about that. I'm one of the old models."
Brenda grinned, suddenly turning shy. She moved back a little but kept her arms around Julia's waist. Her eyes went on another tour of the lithe body in her arms; stopping at the two, hard peaks that were visible through the tank top, she licked her lips before she moved her eyes back upstairs. "So it seems," she whispered. "Hey… there's something I need to do… don't go anywhere…"
"Uh… okay…"
Moving away in a hurry, Brenda was at the door in a single, long step. She turned the old-fashioned metal key and gave the handle a good yank or two before she zipped back into Julia's arms. "Now Marjorie can't walk in on us, even if she uses her spare key."
"Good thinking!"
"Where were we…?"
Inside Julia, her heart rate took off and nearly went through the roof. Her mouth became bone dry, a result of all her fluids pooling due south. A searing heat spread up through her system that made all her nerve-ends stand on edge, and even sent a ripple of anticipation trickling across her skin. In an instant, she became so sensitive she could almost feel Brenda's strong, gentle, fingers playing with her nipples and stroking her sensitive folds and the bundle of nerves beyond them; almost taste the love juices oozing out of Brenda's center; almost hear their names being moaned during the act, or screamed out at the climax that would no doubt be far better than anything she could ever fantasize about.
"I think… we were about to make love," she whispered. Taking her lover-to-be's hand, she guided it under her tank top and placed it across her left breast to perform the opening gambit of the ancient game.
They both moaned out their pleasure. Julia from the sensation of the warm hand cupping her breast; Brenda from feeling the hard nipple caressing her palm - it was their first, real moan. It wouldn't be their last.
-*-*-*-
Many hours later, Julia was stirred awake by something tickling her neck. It was a gentle, rhythmical breeze that came in even bursts. The room was dark so she couldn't see anything, but she didn't need to - she knew exactly what created the warm gusts. She smiled into the darkness as a warm, sated sensation filled her well-loved body. Brenda was sleeping behind her, and it was her steady breathing that produced the rhythmical breeze.
Julia was nearly overflowing with happiness after making love for the first time in far, far too long. After an awkward start where their mutual rustiness had played too big a part, they had let go and allowed their natural instincts to take over. They had given each other plenty of time to get back into the swing of things, but their needs and urges had taken charge and had explained what they needed to do in no uncertain terms. Julia sniggered at the colorful replays that flickered across her mind's eye.
When Brenda had turned into a big, shy girl upon taking off her clothes, it had made Julia's heart explode all over again. Although she had barely been able to contain herself after seeing the endless planes, the tasty dips and the feminine curves, she gave Brenda all the time she needed. The long, excruciating wait had paid off as the former nurse had unlocked her inner shell and had allowed Julia access to every last part of her. The real Brenda's body and soul had been infinitely better than that of the glittery fantasy because it had been lived in for so many years. She wasn't a shiny facsimile of a human being, she was an honest-to-God real woman with all the little imperfections that all were saddled with.
Beyond the initial awkwardness, they had been perfect together. It was like they both knew by heart how to give their partner the most pleasure - and not just physical, but emotional as well. Probing, stroking, rubbing fingers alternated with quieter moments where whispers of comfort and support were uttered and exchanged between them. They were like two, adjacent pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Somehow, their tabs and slots fit together like a pair of old gloves. That particular mental image made Julia snigger loudly, but it didn't stir Brenda.
And now they were locked in a tender, naked embrace underneath the blanket. Julia could feel Brenda's breasts poking into her bare back, and further down, the patch of dark curls was pressed against her butt cheeks. She had never, ever had it better, and she wished she could remain there forever.
A creaking floorboard out in the hallway made Julia crack open an eyelid after all. Her wristwatch was just within range, and she took it to see what time it was - it read a quarter to five in the morning. They could go back to sleep for another hour and fifteen minutes if they were lucky.
Though she was sleepy, Julia pushed all thoughts of rest aside when she felt Brenda stirring awake behind her. Soon, the former nurse yawned and tried to roll over onto her back. The bunk wasn't quite wide enough for that, but they solved the problem by having Brenda lie flat on her back with Julia crawled halfway on top of the larger body.
"Hey," Julia whispered as she leaned down to offer Brenda a good-morning kiss.
"Hey yourself."
"Thank you for last night. You were so good to me."
"You're welcome. Eh. I was adequate… you were great."
Julia chuckled and began to slip down Brenda's front. The sculpted collarbones were too good to ignore, so she began to slide her tongue across the pronounced bone structure and into the hollow at Brenda's throat.
"We're so naked… it's been a while since I've been this naked," Brenda said to state the bloomin' obvious.
"Are you uncomfortable?"
"Hell, no."
"Actually," Julia said and inched back so she could lock eyes with her new lover, "I tried to bribe a couple of Yuletide Elves into helping me put on our clothes, but they were too busy. They said they had to get back to their sleigh and return to Santa at once."
"Is that a fact? Who needs clothes, anyway?"
Julia was too preoccupied to reply. She had continued downward and was presently licking a path along Brenda's cleavage. Once the skin was glistening, she moved onto the first of the soft mounds, the right one, and began to kiss her way around the underside of the tender flesh. Her reward was a hardening nipple, and she looked up at the erect peak with a sparkle in her eyes.
When she finally pulled her tongue back in, she winked at her new lover. "You wanna take another ride on the love train now we're awake?"
"It's tempting…"
Julia nodded and let her fingers slide across Brenda's stomach towards the patch of dark curls. When she was rewarded by Brenda sighing and gently pushing her pelvis against the hand, she placed a string of little kisses at the navel going south. "Very tempting," she whispered as she reached the upper edge of the dark patch.
Brenda's only reply was a drawn-out sigh that turned into a moan. Moving carefully, she shuffled around and spread her legs to ease Julia's access.
Unfortunately, the real world caught up with them. Just as Julia moved her mouth down and inhaled the intoxicating scent of her new lover's center that was already growing hot once more, someone hammered on the door to the inner office.
"Jesus H. Christ, how long can you people keep fuckin' around in there?!" Marjorie's harsh, unrelenting voice cried through the locked door. "For fuck's sake, we have a couple of customers! A Taurus Cab just pulled up to the door and let out a woman and a kid! The woman's carrying a suitcase! Brenda? Are you done fuckin' around, or do you want me to take care of it?"
Brenda groaned out loud, and it wasn't caused by the pleasurable party going on down south. Sitting up, she stilled Julia's motions by caressing the fair locks that were nestled between her long legs. "Let them in, Marjorie! I'll be there in three minutes!" she said strongly to be heard through the door.
"Not a fuckin' minute longer, Brenda!" Marjorie cried back before she stomped away from the locked door.
Grinning, Julia pulled back from the delightful task. She removed a black hair from her mouth before she slid upwards and straddled the sitting Brenda's lap. Not satisfied with that level of contact, she wrapped her arms around her new lover's torso. "Sounds like we have work to do," she whispered.
"Yeah."
"I better leave a bookmark so we can remember where we left off." Grinning, Julia leaned in to place a long, loving kiss on Brenda's lips. Once she pulled back, she traced her lover's cheekbone with an index finger. "There, that oughtta do it. Oh, Jeez, we reek of sex. As soon as we've helped your new customers, I better hit the showers."
"Yeah… thank you."
"Aw, I'm not that ripe…" Julia said with a cheeky grin.
Brenda shook her head and placed a tender hand on Julia's bare back. "No. Thank you for all the things you've done for us. For the donations… for staying here… for last night… and for taking an interest in someone like me…"
"Oh, you're very welcome…"
"I'm serious," Brenda whispered. They gazed deeply into each other's eyes for a moment before they closed the distance between them all over again. The warm, lengthy kiss that followed was sweeter and more romantic than those they had exchanged in the heat of action. It proved they could have a future together if they wanted to pursue it. Chances were they did.
Julia's green orbs lost some of their cheekiness but gained a new, deeper level of luster as she pulled back and studied Brenda's sincere face. She had certainly felt and enjoyed every last touch and stroke of the love they had made, but this was different. A different kind of warmth spread through her as she let her eyes glide over her new lover's features. There was so much more to come, she was sure of it - and as always, she sniggered at the juvenile joke hidden in that statement.
"Much as I would like to stay here in your arms all day, there's someone out there who needs our help," Brenda said and gave Julia's bare back a little slap.
"You're right," Julia said before she shuffled off Brenda's lap and put her feet down onto the carpet. "Watch your eyes, I'm gonna turn on the lights now…"
"Okay. Ugh," Brenda said and buried her eyes in her hands. She hadn't been fast enough and let out an even stronger "Ugh!" when the harsh light from the single bulb illuminated the inner office.
Julia licked her lips at the sight of the naked Brenda on the bunk. Every last inch of the former nurse's body had been etched into her brain and could be drawn upon at a moment's notice. Not that she needed to fantasize about her anymore. She had sampled the real deal, literally from one end to the other, and she would make sure to work her hiney off to stay there.
She chuckled as Brenda rolled out of bed and jumped into her panties and her sweatsuit that had been scattered all over the inner office. The owner of the shelter couldn't find her shoes anywhere, so she left on bare feet.
It didn't take long before voices filtered back through the doors. Cocking her head, Julia could hear Brenda's smooth timbre mix with Marjorie's crude pipes and a fair, female voice that spoke in tearful, quiet tones. On top of that, a small child sniffled and let out the occasional sob.
Narrowing her eyes, Julia got dressed in a hurry before she ran over to the wash basin in the corner of the office. She quickly ran a brush through her hair to force the unruly locks into something a little more presentable. As she put down the brush, she locked eyes with herself in the mirror.
This was her new life. Helping women in need. Loving Brenda McCrawley.
It was the best possible life she could ever hope to live, and she wouldn't have it any other way. Nodding at her own reflection with a satisfied smile on her face, she hurried over to the door to help Brenda get the woman and her child settled in…
*
*
THE END.