Laura Strand, May 12, 1989
Wearing a black mini-skirt instead of shorts to show off her attractive legs, Laura Strand crossed Nun Street in the hot sun. She was comfortable in the heat, although circles of sweat were visible under her arms, and on her green tee, sweaty patches had bled through. Beads of sweat ran down her neck past the thick, straight braids of hair. Laura had large breasts, a squashy tummy and masses of dark brown hair. Her mouth was red and wet like a ripe plum. She was eating a roll, wrapped in brown waxy paper with grease spots on it.
She cursed silently, for the cobblestone street was uneven and difficult to walk on, especially in high heels. Parked cars took up most of the small sidewalk, if one could justifiably call it a sidewalk.
Sinking her white teeth into the pulp, Laura managed to catch a tomato pip on her upper lip, then realized that some grease was oozing down her chin, and half-heartedly attempted to wipe it away with her other hand.
Two young men were leaning on a mailbox at the corner, watching her every move. Laura had to swivel as she made her way between a dark green Jaguar and a black Mercedes to reach the sidewalk, causing her skirt to ride up on her thigh, and one of the young men favored her with a resounding wolf whistle.
Laura heard the other softly comment, "Very, very nice," as she reached the doorway to her apartment. She flushed, pleased with their compliment but, fearful of enticing them even further, pretended to ignore them. She checked her mailbox, found two letters, tucked them under her arm and deactivated the alarm system in the entry; then opening the door, she went inside and reset the alarm. She climbed the stairs to her apartment doing her best to ignore the clatter of noise from the law firm on the first floor. They happened to own the building, and fearing another rent increase, she could ill afford to irritate them.
She unlocked her front door, and entered the kitchen, banging her hip on the edge of the refrigerator. Placing her attaché case on the counter, she walked into the combination living room -- dining room, stopping at the couch to rest her hand on the arm in order to take her shoes off.
The couch was slipcovered in bright yellow. A pale orange loveseat stood against the bedroom wall to her left, a walnut coffee table in front of it. Opposite the loveseat were two armless upholstered chairs done in nubby pale blue tweed. Between the chairs a Sony television stood on a pedestal, and beneath it was a VHS recorder.
In her stocking feet, Laura walked to the sliding glass door that opened onto a small balcony overlooking a parking lot, with a partial view of the Cape Fear River. She brushed aside the translucent curtains which allowed her to dress in daylight without exhibiting herself to passersby across the street as they left their cars in the parking lot.
She went back to the couch and turned into the bedroom. The red-light on her telephone recorder was blinking. She considered whether taking her clothes off or collecting her messages seemed likeliest to make her feel better, and decided getting changed had the edge. Pulling her green tee-shirt over her head, she tossed it toward the clothes hamper, missed and frowned. She took everything off except her black thonged bikini, picked the clothing up, sniffed them and grimaced; then carefully put some in the hamper, and set the reminder aside for the cleaners.
Laura went into the small bathroom and used a Waterpik to flush the food remnants from her mouth and brushed her teeth to remove the lingering taste. Returning to the bedroom, she donned a light blue tee and white tennis shorts, sat down at her desk, and replayed the messages.
The first message was no message at all: the second was from Natalie Stevens wanting to know when they could get together, "It's been too, too long, Laura," she said, curling Laura's stomach.
Thanks, bitch
, Laura fumed, knowing Natalie wanted nothing more than to flaunt her newly enhanced boobs. "Keep fucking with me, and I might just hop into bed with that husband of yours and let you find out about it at a cocktail party," Laura said aloud, then quickly looked over her shoulder to make certain she was alone.
The last call was from Lou, whom she had dated several times and had introduced her to BDSM. He was brief and she was left not knowing the actual reason for his call. Of course, she assumed he wanted to see her again, but then again, he may have thought he'd left something valuable at her apartment.
She walked barefooted to the refrigerator, and took a bottle of Perrier water out, drank from the bottle, recapped it and returned it to the shelf, and closed the refrigerator door.
She picked up the phone and punched in the seven numbers and waited.
"Hi, Brandy," she said when the other end answered. Brandy was Lou's sister, or so he said.
"This is Laura. Is Lou free by any chance? I don't want to disturb him or anything - just returning his call - but if he's handy, you know?"
Laura laughed. "Did he take the whole paper, Brandy, or just the sports section?" She laughed again. "No, I'll hang on." She considered whether she needed to file her nails as she waited.
"Hi, Lou," she said a minute later. "Can I ask you, ah, something? Uh, yeah, I know you called me. Well, I called, um, kind of looking for a favor. Yeah, something like that. Definitely something like that. Um, is there any chance you could stop by tonight? I don't know; maybe drink some wine, something like that?" She paused, there was no way that she was about to ask him to tie her up before fucking her.
"Well, um, if you're like, back with Meg and everything's working out ... well, I don't want to screw that up." She paused and began biting a cuticle. "No, no," she said suddenly, "that's not what I meant. Well, I meant what I said at the time, but now I'm not sure that I meant it." She cursed herself for waffling over the phone but couldn't help herself. She laughed into the mouthpiece, "Let me try again. I guess what I'm saying is: I've had a bad day. I thought you might ... could cheer me up. Not the first bad day I've had recently either. I've had a whole string of them, you know? And I guess I'm lonesome. I kinda miss you. We had some good times and all.... Ah, I just wanted somebody to talk to, you know, Lou? Just to talk to, Lou."
Laura listened, lowered her head and shut her eyes. She massaged her eyes with two fingers. "Yes," she said, "I do know that. No, I understand. Yes, I do, Lou, yes, I do. I really do understand. No, I don't blame you; I don't blame you a bit." She paused, listened. "No, I don't feel that way, Lou, and look, thanks, all right? Thanks for being so nice."
She hung up the phone. She slid back into her chair so that she sat on her coccyx. She thought about having a good cry, but decided against it. She got up, found the corkscrew after searching for several minutes and opened a bottle of Merlot. She frowned after taking a sip, put the glass down, went into the kitchen and put three scoops of coffee into the filtered basket of her coffee maker. She put four cups of water into the pot and poured it into the machine. She shivered again, went to turn up the controls of the air conditioner, and then fluffed her hair until the unit kicked in. She went back to the kitchen as the coffee maker signaled it had completed the brewing, and turned it to 'warm.' She went back into the bedroom, and was still fluffing her hair when the phone rang.
She undid the towel, let it fall to the floor as she went to the bureau and opened the underwear drawer. The phone rang again. She took out a blue bra and blue panties, put on the panties, balancing herself by using the corner post of the bed. She got the bra over her shoulders as her recorded message finished. She was looking down to hook it when the caller began talking.
