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- 02/08/2017
- 940 Words
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Dame - 6. Chapter 6
Seth starts asking around while Dorothy pulls him in deeper.
A while later Dorothy located her copy of this month's DC Times Magazine while I wiped her lipstick from my mouth. We turned to that missing page. The glossy print displayed a picture of the Belmonte Hotel trumpeting a benefit fashion show on Saturday night. This kind of fancy event, a fund raiser for Metropolitan Hospital, was way out of my league. Only the political elite would attend with most of the models imported from New York City.
Aloud, I wondered what Damian’s angle was. Did he know someone connected to the event? Would he be in the show or just attending? What did the house in the burbs and the Buick have to do with it? Dorothy shrugged.
Without any answers, I knew I needed to ask around and there was one guy that I could always count on. I gave Dorothy’s lips one final workout and left before the neighbors could complain about the noise.
Back at my place, I called James Fitzgerald. A long time friend of Pop’s, I grew up calling him Uncle Jimmy. He had connections, maybe even some answers.
“Uncle Jimmy, it’s Seth. I hope I’m not catching you too late.”
“Not at all, Seth. How are you? Your parents well?”
“Yeah, yeah. Ma and Pop are loving living by the bay.”
My parents had moved to a place on the Eastern shore right by the Chesapeake Bay last year after Pop retired from his job at the post office. It was a drive from the city but my brother and sister and their families made it out there on most weekends so the folks were never out of touch.
“You ought to go visit. They’d love to see you”, I continued. Easy advice to give. I’d only gone once.
Ever since my brother was finally reeled in by Janet Wethersby, now Mrs. Everett Graham, Ma had made it her mission to see the last of her sons married - me. She’s a worrier, that one. I couldn’t come clean either, not in a Catholic family like mine. Briefly I wondered what they’d think of Dorothy.
“Sure, sounds like a good time.” Uncle Jimmy offered. “What’s up, Seth?”
“The show they got going Saturday at the Belmonte, you know anything about it?”
Uncle Jimmy hesitated, “I’m not going if that’s what you’re asking. Too rich for my blood and it’s not really my crowd.” Uncle Jimmy had more dough than half the Rockefellers and which meant the real reason he wasn’t going was political.
“Who would that be?”
“Mike Rutherford, ran the campaigns of both the mayor and Senator Metcalf. I hear he’s got ties to the white house, too.”
Senator Alexander Metcalf, from the great state of Virginia, recently won his seat against a longtime statesman in a hotly contested election. Coattails being what they are, I figured Mr. Rutherford’s pretty hot stuff right about now.
“Is it likely the senator will be in attendance?”
“Sure, that’s a good bet. Seth, mind if I ask what’s up?”
“Nothing to tell. Friend of mine is mixed up with something but I don’t know what. Just looking out for him.”
“Well, be careful. Not sure I can help if it goes wrong, you know?”
“Sure, Uncle Jimmy, I know. I’ll give Ma and Pop your best. Thanks again.”
I thought sleep would come easily after the day’s events but I lay awake running everything over in my head. Mostly I remembered the feel of Dorothy’s lips on mine, her strong grip on my shoulders, the heat of her smooth skin, the desire in those jade green eyes.
I wondered whether she even cared about the money she claimed Damian owed her. Who was Danny and how did he tie to Damian? Was I just a means to an end? I found it hard to imagine her lying to me but then her whole life was deception. Could I really trust her motives?
Yet I realized I did want to trust her, very much, which made me even more wary. The wanting, the desire, like I‘d never felt before. Men occasionally came and went in my life. No commitments, no declarations - we couldn’t afford that, too risky. Yet Dorothy was different. I just wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
The next day began much like most other days, I booked models, dealt with a few photographers and ran down contacts for new business. The phone rang on and off most of the morning and afternoon. So it was a surprise when I answered it to hear her voice as sultry as ever.
“Mr. Graham, are you busy Saturday night?”
Like catching lightning in a bottle, my reaction to her was instant and hot.
“What’s your pleasure, Miss James?”
“I’ve acquired two tickets to that fund raiser at the Belmonte Hotel. Would you join me?”
“How the hell’d – “ I swore but stopped myself. “Those tickets run $100 each! Where’d you get that kind of dough?”
“They were a gift from a family friend, Mr. Graham.” She stressed ‘friend’ in a way that made me both suspicious and relieved at once.
“Friend, huh?”
“Yes. I’d like you to take me.” The double meaning left me silent as I considered my response.
Once my breathing returned back to somewhat normal I replied, “Of course, it’s your party, Miss James.”
Then she agreed to dinner and a movie that night.
Everything out of Dorothy's mouth sounds naughty even when I'm not trying for that!
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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