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Subject: {ASSM} A City Situation (MF)
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The following is a work of fiction. While it deals with the sexes, it
contains no sex act depictions. 

Copyright, 1998 by the author.

No part of this work may be altered in any way, distributed for any
commercial purpose, or re-posted other than in ASS by the ASSM
moderator. It may not be archived other than in the ASS, ASSM and
Dejanews archives.



A City Situation


    The only parking spot Peter could find was three city blocks away
from her apartment. A long walk on a rainy, humid August afternoon. 

    He'd been sitting in his car for nearly 20 minutes, waiting for a
break in the rain. When it finally came, he stepped out of the car,
turned, and bent back inside to grab Kelly's dress and shoes off the
back seat. 

    His eyes fell on the flowers he'd bought, lying in their cone of
green florist's paper on the passenger seat. "Christ," he said to
himself, grabbing them with his free hand, "You paid for them. You
might as well bring them along."

    He joined the scattered flow of pedestrians and headed north
toward her apartment. The residual cool from his car's air conditioner
didn't last more than a few steps. As the full weight of the 94 degree
heat seeped through his clothing, he quizzed himself, his inner voice
laced with cynicism. 

    "Why did you have to wait until the worst heat of the afternoon to
come up with this inspiration?" he asked himself. "You couldn't decide
earlier? No, of course not. That would have made sense. God forbid any
of this should make sense."

    A steady stream of cars passed on the street, their tires hissing
against the wet pavement. Kelly lived in a renovated town house just
west of Michigan Avenue near the Water Tower shopping mecca. The
traffic was constant.

    Peter preferred the western suburbs. He worked there and lived
there. And the trip in had added another forty minutes to what was, he
was more and more certain, a genuinely stupid idea.

    "Her own fucking fault," he told himself. "Nobody made her come,
nobody made her listen, nobody made her leave. At least not so god
damn fast she couldn't take her clothes with her. Shit."

    The party had been at Peter's. Everyone came casual, and brought a
change of clothes for dinner later on. But Kelly had run out long
before dinner, slamming her car door and gunning the motor as she
left. It was only later that Peter found her dinner dress and shoes
still on the guest bed. And the hose.

    "Damn. I forgot the pantihose," he muttered, and then with a
mental shrug, "So what. She'll live without them."

    The florist's paper was beginning to loose it's shape. The
humidity was making it collapse against the bundle of carnations and
roses inside.  "This'll look just great by the time I get there. Soggy
paper and wilted flowers. Now there's an apology for you."

    He'd covered a block, two to go. 

    A horse-drawn carriage rolled slowly passed him. Kelly had talked
about those at the party. Romantic rides at night looking up at the
lights, maybe even over far enough east to see the lake. She didn't
know. She'd never ridden one.  But she liked the idea.

    "Hell of a hot ride this afternoon," Peter thought, watching the
buggy pull away from him as it continued up the street. "And what a
lovely aroma you'd get from that dung bag they tie under the horse's
ass."

    Kelly hadn't talked about the dung bag. She'd talked about how
beautiful she thought the horse was, and how great it was to hear the
clopping sound of its hooves right there on the Chicago streets. She'd
said it was strange in a way, but still it all fit. Kind of like the
old brick and mortar Water Tower, the one that survived the Chicago
fire, stuck there in the middle of all those steel and glass
buildings. It held its own, she'd said. Beautiful the way they used to
build those things, almost like a little church steeple.

    Peter wondered if she'd ever looked at that tower close up. Years
of exhaust fumes and low maintenance budgets were definitely not its
friend. And if she ever looked at those carriages without borrowing
the horse's blinders first, she might see the torn fringe, splits in
the leather seats and cracks in the carriage wood. But he thought not.
Kelly was not the type to look closely. 

    "Total flake," he said to himself, "off in her own world
somewhere. Then she gets pissed because other people have their worlds
too. Fine body on her, though. Hell of a waste." 

    Halfway up the next block, Peter loosened his tie and undid the
top button on his shirt. Even the light cotton suit he wore couldn't
breath in the heat.  The air felt good on his throat, and he pulled
the top of his shirt out away from his body, hoping more air would
flow in. He knew the look wasn't right. His shirt had the kind of
collar that didn't look good open. Too much like some kind of a retro
disco thing. 

    He pictured her answering the door, seeing his suit wrinkled from
the humidity and his shirt collar soaked with sweat. He'd have to
refasten it before he got there. At least give it some shape. 

    He wondered what she'd be wearing, and guessed it'd be something
baggy and cool. Too bad. She was fantastic in heels and hose. That's
what made him notice her to begin with. 

    She worked at Blain & Hartford, some kind of rep there, and he
remembered the first day he'd seen her. He'd been working on a
management contract with Frank Conroy, and every time she walked past
Frank's office, Peter lost his train of thought. 

    He remembered thinking how some women can wear that stuff, the
heels, the skirt, and it's okay, but with some women, like Kelly, it's
more than leg. It's a smooth curve from the heel all the way up,
something in the sheen of the nylon against her legs, the way she
walked, just something that made you need to slide your hands up
underneath.

    He'd broken one of his own rules and asked Frank what the chances
were of putting Kelly on the account. So right off she was trouble.
Asking something like that could screw things up if he needed to play
hardball with Frank later on. 

    And it made for a tough transition with Kelly, too. He'd had to go
through the whole shtick of pretending he wanted her on the account
because he'd heard good things about her. 

    "Yeah, well, you blew that, didn't you?" he told himself. "Damn
near blew the contract too. Hell, you've got a three corner deal to
finesse and you're trying to find your way into those panties all at
the same time? Stupid."

    Two blocks down. One to go. "Christ, its hot," Peter mumbled
aloud.  A couple walking nearby heard him and eased away. The guy
walking in front of him stepped up his pace to move further ahead.
"Yeah, you better move away," he thought. "You're dealing with a class
'A' lunatic here."

    The party at his place had almost been a disaster. "You don't get
everybody together and have one of the reps stalk off like that," he
chided himself. After she'd gone, he'd worked the room as best he
could, but apologizing for her hadn't been enough. He'd had to
characterize her as a minor player who wouldn't be involved any
further.

    "And what set her off?" he asked himself. "Nothing. Unless you
count gullibility. So maybe I cornered her a little. So maybe I
invited her to come back after dinner. Hell, she'd already offered to
help clean up. So big deal, I told her we could clean up in the
morning. Christ, you'd think I'd dumped the punch bowl on her."

    "I can't help it if she set herself up. A woman has to know maybe
a guy is going to see more in her than business. What the hell was she
thinking? I mean, did I or did I not apologize about the clean-up
remark? But does she listen? No.  She has to ask how come everybody
talked about the deal except to her, and I say well, it's a party. And
she says, 'No. I think maybe I'm the party.' And she's gone."

    Half a block to go, and Peter's feet began to sting from the heat
radiating off the sidewalk and up through the thin leather soles of
his shoes. The sun was fully out of the clouds now, glinting off the
small bits of crystal imbedded in the sidewalk. He found himself
squinting slightly, but looking up was no relief.  Every building,
every car, and dozens of rain puddles reflected the harsh sunlight
back at him.

    His shirt was plastered against his chest, and his suit hung
limply from his body, the shape steamed out of it completely. "Should
have taken the damn jacket off," he thought. "Where the hell is my
head?"

    "I'll tell you where it is," he answered himself, "it's jammed
somewhere between that broad's legs. And you damn well better pull it
out.  So fine, we're almost there., So fine, give her the dress and
shoes. And then get yourself out of there. Unless, of course, you'd
like a harassment suit. The woman has zero perspective, she probably
buys into Santa Claus right along with water towers and buggy rides,
and when you clamp one of those back to reality, they tend to bite.
Got it?"

    Peter got it. In spades. He walked through the entrance to Kelly's
apartment foyer, found her mailbox and buzzer, and pressed.

    "Yes?" she answered through the intercom.

    "Peter Calano."

    A moment passed, and then she asked, "From Harper Management?"

    "Yeah. I've got some stuff you left."

    "Oh.....oh. Uh, okay, come on up, I guess."

    The inner door buzzed and Peter pulled it open. As he climbed the
single flight to her apartment, he took quick stock of himself. The
hallway and stairs were air conditioned, a blessed relief from the
brutal heat outside, but nothing could rescue the way he looked. His
suit was a disaster, his collar so soaked he didn't even try to button
it, and his hair felt like it was plastered to his head with grease.
So much for image. 

    He knocked at her door and waited, rehearsing what he'd say. "You
left these things at my place. Sorry for the misunderstanding. Hope
you...hope you what?" He had no idea. And if he looked hard, he still
had no idea why he'd bothered to come here at all. No way he was ever
going to see her again. She'd take the stuff, close her door and
probably lean against it on the other side, laughing at the soggy
excuse for a man she'd just shut the door on.

    She opened her door, and looked out at him. She was wearing some
kind of shapeless shift, barefoot, and had a towel wrapped around the
wet hair on her head. No make-up. And still drop-dead beautiful.

    He stared. He couldn't help it. Christ, who needed the heels and
hose," he thought to himself.  

    "I brought these," he said, feeling completely unraveled. He held
out the dress and shoes to her. If anything, they were in worse shape
than his suit. The dress was wet and bunched in wrinkles from where
he'd been holding it, and the shoes had small wet runs in their color
from sweat that must have dripped off him. 

    "Oh hell, I'm sorry," he said, looking down at the dress. I should
have used a hanger. I...it's so damn hot out there. I couldn't find a
place to park anything closer than three blocks."

    Kelly stood in the door, a questioning look on her face. After a
moment, she took the clothing from him and said, "Don't worry about
it." 

    "Let me pay for the dry cleaners, okay?"

    "It was due for cleaning anyhow. It's okay." Her eyes fell to the
flowers he held. 

    "I got these for........you know, for you," Peter fumbled for
words. "That party. And how it went." He held them out to her. By now
the flower heads had begun to droop, and the paper had worn through
where he'd held it. It stuck to his fingers and tore as she took them.
"Sorry again," he said.

    Peter watched her eyes, waiting for the survey. And the judgement.
Big bad corporate guy. Wilted mess. No keeper here. Wimp city.

    "They're very nice," she said. "It was nice of you to bring them."

    "So," he thought. "She's going to play it tight. Pretend she'd
never even consider a little revenge, a little look or word that says,
'as soon as you're gone I'll be leaning against the door laughing.'" 

    "Fine, he decided, "play it along. Let her have her moment here."

    "Well, maybe they're not so nice," he said, "but I didn't plan it
that way."

    There was more he could say, more bones he could throw her, but he
stopped short of it. Something new had occurred to him. It was
pathetic, but, he thought, "What if she's gone back to gullible? What
if she really likes the damn flowers? Somebody like her....she
might...." 

    "And maybe you deserve better," he heard himself say, testing
things out a little.

    And then he knew. He could see it. Her eyes gave it away. "That's
it," he thought, "God damnit, that's what it is.  Somebody like her is
going to add up a forty minute drive,  a three block walk in the heat,
some stupid flowers, and get sincerity out of it. Next thing you know,
she'll expect to be back on the account."

    It was time to go. Get out before anything else could get muddled
up.

    "I should go," he said to her.

    "I'll walk you down," she said, and started down the hallway.

    He followed her, making sure his eyes stayed on the floor or the
ceiling, anywhere but on the hips that moved so nicely against her
shift.

    When they reached the foyer, the first thing he saw through the
glass exterior doors was an empty parking place. Two of them, for that
matter.

    "Well that's typical," he said. "Where was that place when I
needed it?"

    "It's not too bad here, really," she said. "Things open up if you
circle a few times and wait for it."

    "I guess I'm just not a circler. You can keep your city, and
welcome to it.  I'll take the suburbs and a lot of wide open asphalt."

    "Oh, now where's the challenge in that?" she said, smiling for the
first time. "Give me a while and I'll convert you."

    "We'll see," he said, smiling back at her. "Right now I'd better
get back out in the sauna."

    "All right," she said, walking back toward her apartment. "And,
really, thanks for taking the trouble to bring my dress. I didn't
expect that."

    "No problem," he said, giving her a small wave and opening the
outside door. "Take care now."

    The heat outside invaded him immediately. He pulled his jacket off
and got a small amount of relief, but by the time he reached his car,
his clothing was soaked through with fresh perspiration.

    The first blast from his car's air conditioner was hot, and he sat
with the windows down waiting for it to cool before pulling out into
traffic. 

    On the sidewalk to his left was a large cement planter with a
frail looking tree in it, braving the heat and exhaust fumes. There
were planters like that spaced every twenty yards or so all along the
street.

    He remembered that around Christmas time the city decorated them
with strings of small white lights. It was a nice look, he thought,
especially at night. "Probably something our Miss Kelly babbles on
about no end, totally ignoring how spindly the damn things are." 

    Kelly. As he said her name, he knew what he'd been thinking about
without even realizing it during his walk back to the car. "So fine,"
he said to himself. "She's back on the account. Now. What kind of
bullshit do I come up with to explain it?" 

    The air conditioner's vents finally began spilling cool air into
the car.  He rolled his windows up, and with a last look at the tree,
he pulled out, merging with the traffic.

    "Maybe they ought to keep those lights on the trees all the time,"
he said to himself. "Can't hurt to give nature a little help now and
then."


End


 I welcome your comments. To email, delete the "a" following  "llxzt"
in my email address.



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