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- 02/03/2017
- 789 Words
- 1,437 Views
- 1 Comments
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 - 2. Chapter 2
Seth can't dismiss "Miss James" so easily.
I tried to put those lips, the flashing green eyes, the sleek cut of her hips out of my mind but even then I could still hear that deep, sultry voice, "Do call...". So when I got nothing back from Damian after a week of leaving messages at his boarding house, I couldn't let it go.
See, Damian grew up in the Italian section of Georgetown. Born Milton Guisti, Damian's family still lived downtown. I hopped a ride on the streetcar down Wisconsin Avenue then walked the two blocks to Guisti Dolci, the family bakery. It was early, the day bright and clear.
Ma Guisti followed her husband, a carpenter for Georgetown University, from Italy in the late '30s. With three kids and a fourth on the way, the family need another income so the bakery was born. All Italian and a neighborhood fixture, almost no one there spoke English. The smell of rising dough, cinnamon and fresh coffee greeted me as I strode into the shop.
"Mama!" I called the short, rotund graying woman behind the counter.
I had no idea who she was but then I called all of them "Mama". Yeah, the old Italian ladies loved me.
Coming out from the back another signora strolled around the counter. She smiled and gave me a hug. As it so happened it was Damian's actual mother saving me the trouble of asking around.
"Mama, you seen Milton?"
She frowned rambled out something in Italian waving her hands adding volume as she went. I shook my head, "No Italiano!"
"He go to Virginia."
She stopped to blink up at me then continued, "Big job?"
I groaned. This had all the makings of another Damian Slick scam. One I wanted no part of. Still, I promised Dorothy ... sort of.
"You know where in Virginia?"
Mama turned back around the counter then returned with a piece of paper. Scrawled on it was an address in Arlington, a suburb of the district just across the Potomac, and a phone number.
"You find Milton?" , she asked hopefully.
I nodded, took the paper and left. For what started out as such a beautiful day my thoughts formed dark clouds. I found the nearest pay phone and dropped a dime.
Hearing that sultry voice again I fumbled the receiver but managed to hold on.
"Miss James? Seth Graham of the Graham Modeling Agency", I rattled off all business-like.
"Well, hello, Mr. Graham. It's a pleasure to hear from you."
My pulse thrummed like a Delco radio tuned to the Sunday night shows although I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
"Yeah, well, I wish I had good news for you but it seems Mr. Slick has pulled a disappearing act. Unless you've heard from him?"
"No, Mr. Graham, I have not.” She hesitated, “But it seems I've got you now."
My lips took a decided upturn. "I may have a lead on him but I have my doubts."
"What is it you know, Mr. Graham?"
"Seth, please, call me Seth"
"What do you know, Seth?", she practically purred like a well-stroked kitten.
"I have an address in Virginia. He may be there but he may not."
"Sounds like something we need to investigate."
"We?"
"Yes, Seth. We, as in you and I. After all he's your client and it's my money."
I had no response for a moment. "Sure, why not."
My mouth continued where my brain had left off. "When are you free?"
"I'll be ready in an hour, Seth." She reeled off her address and clicked out.
On the trolley ride back to the office it occurred to me that Miss James was likely more interested in seeing Damian than just getting her money back. This thought left an unpleasant knot in my gut for the rest of the trip.
Once back I dialed the operator and read her the number Mama Guisti gave me. It rang but I got no answer which isn't what I expected. Milton wouldn't give his mama a false number. This was starting to give me a headache.
It took several minutes to locate the keys to the car I kept in a nearby garage. A cherry red Chevy Bel Air, it had 1200 miles and not a scratch on her. Cherry red, like Dorothy's lips. Lips I'd be seeing in 20 minutes. That thought ran through my head like a bullet in a drum ricocheting around. I was half hard by the time I reached her address.
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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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