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This was originally written as a true story, leaving the farm, young and naive, uneducated, moving to the city in search of something different. The story morphed into what it is now; based on a true story but truly fictional.
Some of these events happened, but I elaborated, to enhance the story. I hope you enjoy.
{' _ '} these brackets, indicates, {'my thoughts'}
Rather than typing "I think," or "my thoughts were", etc. I use these {' -- '}.
"Bridgette" a bagel is placed beside my laptop by a meticulously manicured hand, the nails sculpted, with impeccable artwork, a large emerald ring on the middle finger, an expensive multi jeweled watch adorns her left wrist.
I look up is it really 'Dakota Johnson'?
No really? Can it truly be her?
I mean do movie stars frequent coffee shops without an entourage.
"Uh, are you Dakota Johnson?" I peer at her through tear glazed eyes.
She's stunning, gorgeous; thick wavy black hair cascading over the upper portion of her abundant cleavage.
"No, I'm Rachel; I've heard them call your name last 4 days, when your order was ready." Her voice is mellow, husky, deeper than I expected, resonating with a calming, caring, empathetic quality.
Extending her right hand for a social greeting, a large diamond on her right ring finger. We gingerly shake hands, well fingers really; I feel slightly guilty being so cautious, maybe I should show more enthusiasm, she is trying to be friendly. Too late, she's already withdrawn her hand.
She must be a model, expensive clothes, magnificent curvaceous body, her full bosom, the soft skin bulging, appears to be trying to escape, restrained by a dark green, tight fitting mini dress.
Narrow, cute, upturned nose; long eyelashes, light blue eyeshadow enhancing her large enticing blue eyes. The hollow below her neck has a large emerald pendant dangling from a delicate silver chain. She has a flawless pale complexion; puffy red lips, a minor amount of lipstick; she used something to create the profound definition, as the outer edge is so crisp. Her entire face reveals a warm comforting smile, not just her up curled lips, her dazzling blue eyes also radiate comfort.
"Bridgette, it's obvious something's troubling you."
She turns a chair sideways to the table, somehow knowing I'm comfortable with her joining me; sitting, looking directly at me, she slides the bagel closer.
"I've come here often for nearly 2 years, daily for over a month; never seeing you until Monday. You arrived around 8:20 every morning, ordered coffee, 2 cream, no sugar, and a cheese bagel. You were dressed for the office. I watched you fidget with a controlled nervousness, then promptly at 8:45 daily you departed."
Mustering a bit of a grin, I nod, meekly take a nibble of the bagel.
"Now it's Friday you arrive earlier, with a backpack and a suitcase."
I allow her to take my hand.
{'What's this big city stranger after from this hayseed country gal?'}
"Bridgette, you're noticeably stressed; casually dressed, intently focused on your computer."
With tears welling up, I am unsure about sharing with this stranger. She places her other hand over mine, in a soft, gentle voice.
"Bridgette, maybe I can help?" She peers at me with her consoling eyes, waiting for a reply.
"Bridgette, at least tell me what's going on. I've never seen anyone in here with a suitcase." She smiles again, comforting; I recognize concern, sympathy in her sparkling blue eyes.
I was still hesitant to share, but she seemed genuinely concerned, and I certainly could use some assistance.
She began rubbing the back of my hand, it was comforting, like when my mom massaged a boo boo, after a loving kiss.
I struggled not to cry, but no longer reluctant, I started telling my story.
"I was startled awake very early this morning by gunshots, I thought they were in my room, loud, bullets splintering wood above my head."
My voice breaking, the fear returned, reliving the ordeal; I gasped, staring at Rachel; I was now squeezing her hand.
"I dove to the floor, lying face down, intense fear, sobbing, praying I'd somehow survive." I had to pause, gather myself, it was as if I was back on floor, hard to breathe. Rachel leaned closer; put her hand on my shoulder, then moved to my neck. She didn't speak, but I silently knew she was there for me.
I inhaled deeply; looked up at the ceiling, regaining a bit of composure and again, maintaining eye contact, continued.
"Police found me, face down, crying, praying. After they interrogated me, I had to leave the crime scene; I packed my backpack and suitcase with my belongings and having nowhere else to go, here I am."
Sharing my story releases the tears I'd been stifling; they begin to flow.
Rachel passes me a napkin, and a gentle finger massage on my neck. I felt much better after telling her what happened.
"Bridgette, how horrible; I heard about that on the morning news, a drug deal, 2 teens are dead." She leisurely drags her fingers from my neck, across my shoulder and down my arm, then squeezes my hand.
"Wow, I can only imagine, that would shake anyone."
I don't understand why, but I feel rather comfortable sharing with this stranger.
I guess now that I have a sympathetic ear, I might as well relinquish my major burden.
"That's only a portion of my stress," I close my laptop, sit back, a deep sigh.
"I came to the city for a job interview, I had an appointment Monday morning at a large law firm; they asked me to return Tuesday as someone in HR was sick. After the Tuesday interrogation, I was informed, they narrowed it down to 3 candidates; so, yet again asked me to return Wednesday to do a deposition and construct a court brief to be presented to one of the partners Thursday."
I fidget in my seat, feeling anxious to continue.
"I travelled here expecting to be maybe 2 days. I booked the cheaper hotel online to save money; but the travel distance and cab fare was higher than I expected, I could've stayed down here at a much better hotel for similar cost."
I wipe my eyes, sharing this portion of the story has calmed me a lot.
"I got the job; I start next week; now however, I'm nearly broke. I contacted most of my family for assistance." I'm done crying, anxiety diminished; I put down the napkin. More relaxed, I give her a forced smile.
"I guess I should feel fortunate, this must be rock bottom, so the future can only be better;" I chuckle trying to find humor at this crossroad of life, I find myself in. "I hope I survive to see it."
I take a sip of coffee, before proceeding, ah, such a surprise, coffee's cold.
I shake my head, the epitome of my current station, I actually find humor in that.
"I'm seeking a local shelter and food kitchen. I either find a hostel, or I sleep on the street tonight, as I don't have enough cash.
I doubt lawyers give advances to someone who hasn't yet worked. Asking would likely end my employment." I hang my head in shame, it's overwhelmed me, my hands try hiding my face, the tears begin to flow, this time much more profound.
"Bridgette, I knew I could help, allow me, I know a place, you can stay, close by; come on lawyer lady, let's get you started on your new life, and new career." Rachel's kind eyes gaze at me as she rises still holding my hand.
"Come on, you were right; this must be rock bottom, so the future can only be better. Smile, life's about to completely turn around for you; I promise."
I try to force a smile, it doesn't really happen, but I do feel a bit better. I stuff my computer in my backpack, sling it over my shoulder as I stand.
"Let me drag your suitcase, it's only a block, this way." She exits in front of me, a waft of expensive perfume fills my nostrils; I notice her long, lithe, sculpted legs sheathed in dark silk stockings, with a perfect straight seam down the back. She walks fluidly, carefully placing one foot directly in front of the other, like a runway model; accenting her hip sway, a confident, seductive gait. She has a tight, almost non-existent butt, her clicking high heels has me mesmerized.
"What do you do Rachel?" I ask, eyes riveted on her sexy legs, swaying hips, and tight buns.
"I'm in real estate." She turns slightly to look at me with that calming smile.
"Where are you from?"
"Cassoday, Kansas, about an hour northeast of Wichita."
"A farm girl?" She states rather than questions.
"Ya, until college, no interest in returning, I always wanted to get away from there."
"Here we are,"
A doorman, nice smile, a nod, grey suit, cap, white gloves, opens the large glass door.
"Hello George, get us a car please, in about an hour."
On the elevator, she pushes 'penthouse' button.
"Uh, I thought you were going to show me to a shelter, why are we here?"
"Relax Bridgette, this is my place, I'd like you to stay with me until you get on your feet."
Rachel opens the door to a very posh, large, open suite, beautifully decorated, an executive, modern dΓ©cor. The kitchen to the right, pots hanging above, an island with 4 bar stools, marble countertops, stainless steel appliances.
"Follow me." We go through the living room, plush thick, white carpet, 2 long white leather sofas facing one another matching chairs at each end creating a boxed in coffee table. Three large modern art paintings, pastel shades of pink and blue. Chrome lamps, on chrome end tables with white marble top.
She opens the first door.
"Bathroom." She lets me look in.
"Wow," More marble, only this is black with whisps of white and distinct gold streaks. One full mirrored wall, a sunken tub that would likely fit 3 comfortably, glass enclosed shower, room for 4 or 5. The taps and faucets are gold plated.
We proceed to the next door.