You are shining like a star
Hot time under the star lights,
The next morning I was woken by the smell of breakfast and coffee at 9:30 A.M. At first I wrinkled my nose and tried to block the smell, my senses having been assaulted way earlier than I’d wanted them to be. Just shy of five hours of sleep would be enough to make most cranky. But then my mind came to, and I remembered the events of the previous night.
I shot up into a sitting position and looked into the kitchen. There she was; Kayla, dressed in the clothing I had bought her the night before, just finishing up breakfast. She smiled at me and slid an egg onto a plate next to two slices of bacon, three pancakes drizzled with syrup and a slice of buttered toast. Grabbing the plate and a small dish of cut fruit and a cup of coffee, she came over and offered it to me.
I would be insane not to accept a wonderful smelling breakfast from a beautiful girl in my home. So I took the plate and set the coffee and fruit on the coffee table. “Did you make enough for yourself?” I asked her.
She winked at me and returned to the kitchen to grab another plate. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”
Something happened in me when I saw her wink, and it hit me. I was suddenly attracted to her both physically and emotionally. I couldn’t find my voice and just shook my head and took a bite of egg, which instantly released a nice golden pool of yolk. Just how I liked it.
We sat there in silence, eating for a few minutes before either of us said anything. “I wanted to thank you for your help last night,” Kayla said. Every word she spoke sounded like music to my ears.
“It was nothing,” I said as a grin crossed my lips. I felt like a school boy with a dumb infatuation.
She set her plate down and shook her head. Turning to look at me, she said, “No, it was everything to me. A lesser person might have turned me away. Without knowing exactly what was going on, you brought me up here to your beautiful home,” she gestured around the room with her arms. “Breakfast is my way of thanking you for that.” And then she smiled that sweet, hypnotic smile of hers. I was enraptured.
“It was my pleasure, Miss Kayla,” I said.
She laughed and wrinkled her nose. “Please, call me Kay. And drop the Miss. Kayla makes me feel old.”
I finished my bite of toast and took a drink of my coffee. “Kay it is,” I said with a smile. “So, Kay, what grade are you in?”
“I’m in the eighth grade,” she said, and chuckled a melodies sound. “I want to teach first grade when I’m older. I love children.”
Me too, I thought, and immediately berated myself for that thought. What the hell?
I took another drink of my coffee. “Is that something you always dreamed of doing?”
She wrinkled her brow. “Actually, I love to sing. Ever since I was three years old I have wanted to be a singer, to have my records in every home. But U think I want to be a teacher more.”
“I don’t suppose I could get you to sing anything for me, could I?” I asked.
She blushed. “Is this a job interview?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.” I could feel my skin flush with embarrassment for saying it.
She blushed again and I could tell that she was more than a little shy. She wanted to, I sensed that.
“You are fine, Kay,” I assured her. “If you are uncomfortable, you do not need to answer that. You are still quite young.”
She smiled shyly. “By the way, I want to thank you, Mr. Falcone,” she said. This time it was my turn.
“Ah, ah, ah,” I said. “I have to insist you call me Michael. And you’ve already thanked me.”
“Michael,” she said with a smile. “And I mean to say, thank you for not calling the police and reporting this.”
My heart sank and I suddenly found it almost difficult to breathe. “Why is that?” I asked as I set my plate down and got up to grab a cloth to wipe my hands on.
She looked almost embarrassed. I tried to study her beautiful face as she seemed to work out in her head how best to tell me. “It’s just, embarrassing,” she said slowly, as if she were uncertain of her choice of words. “I would not wish to bother them with the details, that’s all. I am sure they have better things to do with their time.”
“Agreed,” I said. “Such as catching the perpetrators who assaulted you last night.”
She looked down at the floor and placed her hands between her knees. “I just think their time would be better utilized helping those who are actually in need.” She looked up at me. “I feel I was lucky. I walked away unscathed. Do I look so hideous that I would need their help?”
I swallowed hard. I felt as though I were being scolded. “No, of course not,” I said looking into her beautiful eyes. I reached out and took one of her hands, cupping it in mine. “In all honesty, if your dress had not been torn I would never have known.”
She looked shocked, staring at my hands cupping hers. I could feel a slight tremble.
“Kay,” I whispered. “I only wish to help. I feel partially responsible for what happened to you, and I swear that I will make it right.”
Her eyes never came up, never met mine. Her trembling got worse. My mind raced. I slowly leaned forward and kissed her, softly at first. A tiny peck here, another there, until she was as eager as I was. She became voracious and kissed me back, our mouths trying to engulf the other.
“Please don’t,” I heard her say, though I didn’t understand how she could speak so well with our mouths locked tightly together.
Then my mind came to, and I realized I had been daydreaming. I was holding her hand in mine, but I was not kissing her. She pulled her hand away and scooted back to the edge against the arm rest.
I sat back. “I apologize.”
We sat there in that awkward silence a few moments longer, she staring at the floor, me staring at her face, trying to will her to look up at me.
Finally she did, only not as I had hoped. “Thank you for your kindness and hospitality, Mr. Falcone, but I think I should be going.”
My voice caught as I reached for her. She was too quick and was up off the couch before I could react.
“Wait,” I managed before she got to the door. She stopped but did not turn to face me. “I will take you home.”
At that she did turn toward me. “I think it would be best if I walked, thank you.” A hint of a smile crossed her beautiful lips, though I could see the sadness and pain in her eyes.
I grabbed my billfold out of my inside coat pocket. “At least allow me to pay for a cab ride for you.” I fished out a $50 bill and held it out to her.
She looked at it, as if deciding whether or not it was going to bite her. Then, gingerly, she reached for it.
“You accept my hospitality, my money,” I said, “but you refuse me the chance to see you home.”
She took the $50 and folded it up, sticking it into her right pocket. “There is a difference, Mr. Falcone,” she whispered. “I just don’t think I’m ready, yet.”
And then, just like that, she was gone, out of my ‘home’ and, as far as I knew, out of my life. I wanted to run after her, grab her shoulders, turn her around and plant one square on her luscious lips. But what would that prove, other than the fact that I fall in love way too fast, way too easy? And that I am attracted to a child!
I suddenly had no appetite to finish eating, though I had finished most of my breakfast and she had only had a few bites. I did not want to look at it or smell it, so my best course of action was to toss it in the trash.
I looked at my watch: it was only 10:30. The lounge wouldn’t even open for another six and a half hours. Perhaps I should get back to my real home, I thought. I grabbed my coat and slid it on, slipped my feet into my shoes and put my fedora on my head. Making sure I had my keys in hand, I turned the knob and opened the door.
That was when it hit me, literally. A slap so hard across my face I felt as though all my teeth had popped out at once. I looked down as I spit blood into my hand, then back up into the face of my attacker: my wife, Beth.
The next morning I was woken by the smell of breakfast and coffee at 9:30 A.M. At first I wrinkled my nose and tried to block the smell, my senses having been assaulted way earlier than I’d wanted them to be. Just shy of five hours of sleep would be enough to make most cranky. But then my mind came to, and I remembered the events of the previous night.
I shot up into a sitting position and looked into the kitchen. There she was; Kayla, dressed in the clothing I had bought her the night before, just finishing up breakfast. She smiled at me and slid an egg onto a plate next to two slices of bacon, three pancakes drizzled with syrup and a slice of buttered toast. Grabbing the plate and a small dish of cut fruit and a cup of coffee, she came over and offered it to me.
I would be insane not to accept a wonderful smelling breakfast from a beautiful girl in my home. So I took the plate and set the coffee and fruit on the coffee table. “Did you make enough for yourself?” I asked her.
She winked at me and returned to the kitchen to grab another plate. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”
Something happened in me when I saw her wink, and it hit me. I was suddenly attracted to her both physically and emotionally. I couldn’t find my voice and just shook my head and took a bite of egg, which instantly released a nice golden pool of yolk. Just how I liked it.
We sat there in silence, eating for a few minutes before either of us said anything. “I wanted to thank you for your help last night,” Kayla said. Every word she spoke sounded like music to my ears.
“It was nothing,” I said as a grin crossed my lips. I felt like a school boy with a dumb infatuation.
She set her plate down and shook her head. Turning to look at me, she said, “No, it was everything to me. A lesser person might have turned me away. Without knowing exactly what was going on, you brought me up here to your beautiful home,” she gestured around the room with her arms. “Breakfast is my way of thanking you for that.” And then she smiled that sweet, hypnotic smile of hers. I was enraptured.
“It was my pleasure, Miss Kayla,” I said.
She laughed and wrinkled her nose. “Please, call me Kay. And drop the Miss. Kayla makes me feel old.”
I finished my bite of toast and took a drink of my coffee. “Kay it is,” I said with a smile. “So, Kay, what grade are you in?”
“I’m in the eighth grade,” she said, and chuckled a melodies sound. “I want to teach first grade when I’m older. I love children.”
Me too, I thought, and immediately berated myself for that thought. What the hell?
I took another drink of my coffee. “Is that something you always dreamed of doing?”
She wrinkled her brow. “Actually, I love to sing. Ever since I was three years old I have wanted to be a singer, to have my records in every home. But U think I want to be a teacher more.”
“I don’t suppose I could get you to sing anything for me, could I?” I asked.
She blushed. “Is this a job interview?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.” I could feel my skin flush with embarrassment for saying it.
She blushed again and I could tell that she was more than a little shy. She wanted to, I sensed that.
“You are fine, Kay,” I assured her. “If you are uncomfortable, you do not need to answer that. You are still quite young.”
She smiled shyly. “By the way, I want to thank you, Mr. Falcone,” she said. This time it was my turn.
“Ah, ah, ah,” I said. “I have to insist you call me Michael. And you’ve already thanked me.”
“Michael,” she said with a smile. “And I mean to say, thank you for not calling the police and reporting this.”
My heart sank and I suddenly found it almost difficult to breathe. “Why is that?” I asked as I set my plate down and got up to grab a cloth to wipe my hands on.
She looked almost embarrassed. I tried to study her beautiful face as she seemed to work out in her head how best to tell me. “It’s just, embarrassing,” she said slowly, as if she were uncertain of her choice of words. “I would not wish to bother them with the details, that’s all. I am sure they have better things to do with their time.”
“Agreed,” I said. “Such as catching the perpetrators who assaulted you last night.”
She looked down at the floor and placed her hands between her knees. “I just think their time would be better utilized helping those who are actually in need.” She looked up at me. “I feel I was lucky. I walked away unscathed. Do I look so hideous that I would need their help?”
I swallowed hard. I felt as though I were being scolded. “No, of course not,” I said looking into her beautiful eyes. I reached out and took one of her hands, cupping it in mine. “In all honesty, if your dress had not been torn I would never have known.”
She looked shocked, staring at my hands cupping hers. I could feel a slight tremble.
“Kay,” I whispered. “I only wish to help. I feel partially responsible for what happened to you, and I swear that I will make it right.”
Her eyes never came up, never met mine. Her trembling got worse. My mind raced. I slowly leaned forward and kissed her, softly at first. A tiny peck here, another there, until she was as eager as I was. She became voracious and kissed me back, our mouths trying to engulf the other.
“Please don’t,” I heard her say, though I didn’t understand how she could speak so well with our mouths locked tightly together.
Then my mind came to, and I realized I had been daydreaming. I was holding her hand in mine, but I was not kissing her. She pulled her hand away and scooted back to the edge against the arm rest.
I sat back. “I apologize.”
We sat there in that awkward silence a few moments longer, she staring at the floor, me staring at her face, trying to will her to look up at me.
Finally she did, only not as I had hoped. “Thank you for your kindness and hospitality, Mr. Falcone, but I think I should be going.”
My voice caught as I reached for her. She was too quick and was up off the couch before I could react.
“Wait,” I managed before she got to the door. She stopped but did not turn to face me. “I will take you home.”
At that she did turn toward me. “I think it would be best if I walked, thank you.” A hint of a smile crossed her beautiful lips, though I could see the sadness and pain in her eyes.
I grabbed my billfold out of my inside coat pocket. “At least allow me to pay for a cab ride for you.” I fished out a $50 bill and held it out to her.
She looked at it, as if deciding whether or not it was going to bite her. Then, gingerly, she reached for it.
“You accept my hospitality, my money,” I said, “but you refuse me the chance to see you home.”
She took the $50 and folded it up, sticking it into her right pocket. “There is a difference, Mr. Falcone,” she whispered. “I just don’t think I’m ready, yet.”
And then, just like that, she was gone, out of my ‘home’ and, as far as I knew, out of my life. I wanted to run after her, grab her shoulders, turn her around and plant one square on her luscious lips. But what would that prove, other than the fact that I fall in love way too fast, way too easy? And that I am attracted to a child!
I suddenly had no appetite to finish eating, though I had finished most of my breakfast and she had only had a few bites. I did not want to look at it or smell it, so my best course of action was to toss it in the trash.
I looked at my watch: it was only 10:30. The lounge wouldn’t even open for another six and a half hours. Perhaps I should get back to my real home, I thought. I grabbed my coat and slid it on, slipped my feet into my shoes and put my fedora on my head. Making sure I had my keys in hand, I turned the knob and opened the door.
That was when it hit me, literally. A slap so hard across my face I felt as though all my teeth had popped out at once. I looked down as I spit blood into my hand, then back up into the face of my attacker: my wife, Beth.