Promises Pt 02 1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is entirely coincidental. All characters involved in sexual situations are at least eighteen years old.

As always, any political, social or religious views in this story are those of the characters and their circumstances, and don't necessarily reflect those of the author.

*****

PART TWO -- Getting Naked with KIRA

I pack on Sunday morning. I do own a large suitcase, but when I lay out everything I think I might need, it all fits in my carry-on. That's good, because now there's no chance the airline will lose my luggage. I dress appropriately for the flight, then dive into an epic programming session. I've envisioned a way to streamline a routing process and now I want to see if it's going to work. The flight doesn't leave until eight, so I've got time.

I work through lunch, excited with how well the new way of routing is coming together, but then decide to take the rest of the afternoon off to wind down a little and get into a vacation frame of mind. I'll be taking my laptop with me, though, just in case I get bored.

I look at the time down in the corner of the screen, expecting to see 3 or 4pm, but it reads 7:08. Shit! I'm

late

!

Two minutes later I'm backing out of my garage, quite upset with myself.

Nine

minutes later I'm sitting parked at the curb of one of the city's larger thoroughfares, receiving a speeding ticket that I'll admit I richly deserved.

After blowing twelve minutes and $178, I'm back on the road, being more careful, but now in even more of a rush. I bite the bullet and leave the truck in the more expensive of the general parking lots so I can save time by not having to ride the tram. Even so, it's nearly flight time when I reach security.

Fortunately, the line at this hour on a Sunday evening is rather short, and I manage to avoid any TSA anal probes this time. I slip my shoes back on and pull an OJ Simpson down the concourse. (The running through the airport thing, ala Hertz,

not

the decapitating thing.) I can see my gate down near the end and it looks like the last person is scurrying in. Sure enough, the attendant is closing the door as I get nearer.

"Hang on!" I yell, pride and sense of decorum be damned. I really need to make this flight since everything else is booked. The idea of a little slip of a girl like Kira arriving alone in Mexico at one in the morning bothers me too. I doubt she even has the information she needs to get to the resort, which is supposedly a good hour from the airport.

The attendant turns to me, ready to tell me that I'm too late, but when she sees my size and the desperate look on my face, she quickly speaks into her microphone and opens the door for me.

I hand her my boarding pass. "You're lucky we were short one standby," she says as she scans it. "Now

run

!"

I do, and the flight attendant at the end of the jetway gives me a frankly annoyed look as I duck through the door and into the plane. It's still nowhere near as annoyed as the looks I get from the two fat guys in seats 16a and 16c, though, when I show up to take my seat in 16b.

The overhead bins are bulging, so I have to stuff my carry-on bag under the seat in front of me, using up the space where my size sixteen feet would have gone. My knees are planted solidly in the hard plastic of the seat in front of me and my feet are tucked up under me. I won't be able to move them from that position for the duration of the flight. My hips are pressed so hard against those of the guys' next to me that I can count the keys in their pockets. There's no way we're going to bring those armrests down.

It's only a four-hour flight, but it's going to be a long one.

I didn't see Kira when I boarded the plane, but if she had been even a couple of rows back, I wouldn't have. I do find myself hoping that she's made the flight. Logically, it would be a lot less hassle to have the hotel room all to myself, but even the prospect of a pint-sized girl with a sharp tongue sleeping in a bed on the other side of the room sounds better than being alone at night in a strange place.

When the plane finally lands, I groan and unfold myself. None of the three of us sharing the seats spoke a word to each other during the flight. If they were like me, it was out of resentment that the

other

two were so big.

I grab my case and hobble to the top of the ramp, enduring the sharp pins-and-needles feel of the return of circulation to my lower legs, then stop and wait for Kira.

The last passenger files out. No Kira. I actually find myself kind of sad that she didn't come after all. But then, just as I'm turning to go, she hurries around the corner in the jetway, pulling her carry-on. Compared to her, it looks like a full-size case. I find myself smiling at the sight.

She's not dressed as heavily as the last time I saw her, but her clothes are still more Minnesota than Mexico. Still, without the scarf and with light makeup, she looks like an adult.

"Sorry," she says with a chagrined look on her face, "I was clear at the back, among a group of Frenchwomen. I couldn't reach high enough to get my bag down, and they had no interest in helping me, so I finally had to get assistance from the flight attendant."

"At least you had legroom," I grumble.

"You're not making

short

jokes, I hope." She's bemused, not upset.

"No, just letting a little envy show. It's not easy being my size when plane seats keep getting smaller."

"And it's not easy being the size of a nine-year-old in an adult world."

"I'd imagine not. Well, fellow freak, what do you say we try and catch up to the other passengers?"

She grins. "Lead away."

I do, but that means when we hit the Immigration line, I go through before she does. The officer stamps my passport, takes my customs forms, and waves me through, with Kira joining me thirty seconds later, so I don't get to see her passport or hear her real name. I'm okay with that, though, knowing that the big mystery will be revealed when we check in at the resort.

Kira says she has checked baggage, so we go to the carousel. I insist that she's not going to pull a suitcase off the moving belt as long as I'm around, so she points out her case. It's a big one, and it's

full

.

"Good God, Kira. How long were you planning to stay?"

"Hey, a girl never knows what outfit will be appropriate. It's best to be prepared."

"If you say so, but keep in mind that you could spend a quite a bit of this vacation on the beach, wearing nothing at all."

She blushes. "I don't think I'm going to be that brave. Besides, no one would want to see too much of this anyway."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

She gives me a look. I belatedly grasp that I may have stepped in it a little by basically saying that I want to see her naked. "Well, not

me

, but I'm sure someone..." I come to a stop, realizing that I've just made it even worse. "Uh..."

She giggles. "You're really cute when you do that, Peter. Don't sweat it, I know what you meant."

I'm not used to being called "cute," but that's the second time she's used the word in connection with me. I grab the handles of my small bag and her big one, ready to go, but she has a guilty look on her face.

"Uh, Peter, there's more." She's pointing at another suitcase that's coming around the corner. It's as big as her other one, and just as heavy, I find.

"I know it's none of my business," I say, "but this must have cost you a mint in extra baggage charges."

"Trust me, Peter, it was worth every penny."

I can't help but shake my head and smile. I grab the handles of her two big bags while she takes our two carry-ons.

We feed our bags through the x-ray machine, then press the button that randomly assigns people to luggage inspections. Luckily, we both get green lights and are free to go.

At this hour, the airport's stores and concessions are mostly closed, but I can see a couple of cabs parked outside. I start to lead the way in that direction.

"Hang on a sec," Kira says. "I need to powder my nose." She takes her carry-on and swerves into the restroom. I sit and watch the other three bags while she proceeds to take

forever

. At last she reappears, but I have to do a double take to make sure it's really her.

She's totally transformed herself, but not in a way that pleases me at all. She's wearing bright pink sneakers, little girl jeans with sequins, and a

My Little Pony

T-shirt. Her long brown hair is up in honest-to-God pigtails and she's subtly changed her makeup to appear much younger. If someone didn't know, they'd assume she

was

nine.

"What? You don't like it?" she says innocently, seeing my expression.

"Not that it's any of my business, but why are you trying to look like a

child

?"

"All will become clear in time," she says mysteriously. She will say no more about it. I'm starting to worry that I'm about to share a room with a woman with psychotic tendencies.

After a long taxi ride, it's after two in the morning and the hotel lobby is quiet when we arrive. Even the late-night revelers have evidently packed it in. The online brochure says the desk is open 24/7 for whatever needs their guests might have, but there's no one in sight.

I ring the bell. Thirty seconds later, a sleepy-looking fellow comes through a door and steps up behind the counter. His crooked name tag says "Raul."

"Checking in?" he asks in heavily accented English, obviously irritated to have been woken in the middle of his shift. He's also assumed we're English speakers, even though, according to the reviews, this place is just as popular with continental Europeans.

Then he takes a closer look at Kira. He obviously sees through her disguise because, though he tries to hide it, the lust is plain to see. Despite myself, and even knowing that Kira and I are here as strictly platonic fellow vacationers, my jealous bone is tweaked. I take an immediate and visceral dislike to the guy. If Raul wants to be rude to a guest,

especially

to Kira, I can make his job a lot more difficult.

"We are here to check in, and you will

not

look at her that way," I growl in the fluent Russian of my childhood. The sound of my low, gravelly voice echoes in the large space.

His eyes get big as it becomes obvious to him that I'm not at all happy with his insulting service. It's also obvious that he speaks no Russian. The moment stretches as he tries to figure out what to do. He's desperately uncomfortable now, but that's the idea.

Kira eventually comes to his rescue, but not in the way I would have imagined. "We is Malakhov," she says in hesitant English with a fake Russian accent that she actually pulls off quite well. I'm pleased that she's decided to join in the charade and impressed by how seamlessly she's done it, but I'm a bit confused as to why she's trying to pass herself off as my wife. That's certainly not her name on our reservations.

"Very good," Raul says, belatedly standing up straight and looking attentive to the point of solicitousness. He smiles nervously and looks at his screen, then clicks his mouse a few times. "Here it is. Pyotr and Kira Malakhov. You are in room 735." He butchers the pronunciation of my legal first name, but pretty much everyone does. He looks up at me hesitantly. "May I see your ID please?"

I stay in character and look down at him uncomprehendingly. Then Kira looks up at me and says something in Russian-sounding gibberish which I pretend is her translation of his request. I nod and pull out my wallet. From the look on his face as he surveys my driver's license, he must assume Minneapolis is a suburb of Moscow. Surprisingly, it seems to suffice for both of us. I wonder about that until he looks down at her. "Would you like me to call a porter to help you and your father with your bags?"

He actually thinks she's my

daughter

? I'm about to break character and suggest that he check my companion's ID as well, but Kira doesn't miss a beat. "Is okay," she says, seemingly having difficulty with finding the correct English words. "Papa and me, we take bags." It's all I can do to keep a straight face as we head for the elevator.

"What's with the Russian?" Kira asks me when the doors close.

"He looked at you rudely. I decided to make his night a little more difficult. Nice work on the assist, by the way."

"Oh, I always love a good practical joke. I think Raul will remember the Malakhovs."

"Speaking of which, why on earth did you use

my

last name to make your reservation?"

"Well, part of it is that I didn't want to have to deal with any looks from the staff, sharing a room with a man with a different last name."

"Seriously? This is the 21st century. No one cares about that anymore."

"Yeah, I know, but my folks always told me I should never share a room with a man unless I was married to him. This is the first time I've gone against that advice, however innocently. I know it's silly, but it just made me feel more comfortable."

"But you obviously don't have any ID with my last name on it. What if he'd asked for it?"

"That's why I dressed like this. Since you're like, thirty, I figured I could get away with posing as your kid. I checked ahead. They don't ask for a child's ID here."

"You're not going to dress like this all week, I hope?"

"Nope. This was just for check-in."

"By the way, I'm actually only twenty-eight."

She looks up at me closely. "Hmm, I can see that now. You're just so big and imposing that I thought you were older."

"Speaking of which, just how old

are

you, anyway?"

She gives me an enigmatic smile. "A woman never tells."

"Well, at least you could finally tell me your real name."

"Kira Malakhov," she says innocently. "It says so right there on our registration."

"

Ay caramba

." I can tell that I'm not getting any more out of her now.

Only then do I connect the dots and realize that Raul was visibly lusting after Kira

despite

thinking she was my young daughter. A shiver of disgust goes through me.

Our room is large, clean, nicely decorated, and has a private screened balcony with a great view of the ocean. It has a beautiful bathroom with a tiled walk-in shower big enough for four, a well-stocked mini-bar, and a huge flat-screen TV. There is an intricately inlaid mahogany table with two comfortable looking padded chairs, and along the wall, a king size bed. Just

one

king size bed.

"Oops," I say. "Looks like someone screwed up. I'll call Raul and get this fixed."

"No way. You don't speak English, remember?" She grabs the phone and dials the front desk while I take the opportunity to really look at her for the first time.

Kira's face is fascinating. At first glance she really does look like she's nine or ten years old, but my closer examination discovers the small lines and signs of maturity that say, to my relief, that she's probably in her early twenties. She's quite pretty, too.

She spends about a minute talking with the guy, trying to explain the problem in broken Russlish, but she finally gives up and switches to Spanish. The comprehension suddenly gets a lot better, but from the look on her face, there's still no satisfactory resolution in the offing. Finally, she sighs and hangs up.

"You speak Spanish?" I ask. It must have surprised Raul as well.

"I had a Cuban nanny until I was eleven. My parents asked her to only use Spanish with me, so I'm basically a native speaker. Still, it was a new challenge for me just now, speaking broken Spanish with a Slavic accent. Where did you learn Russian?"

"I was born in Kiev and moved to America when I was seven. Even after we got here, we mostly spoke Russian at home."

"I wondered. I catch just the hint of an accent every now and then." She nods at the phone. "There's a men's retreat here until tomorrow, so they had an unusual number of requests for multiple beds. All of the beds are taken, even the little rolling ones. Raul says maybe they can set us up with two beds tomorrow."

"Then they can get me a different room for the night. This is

their

mistake, not ours."

"I tried that, but they're full to the rafters. It's a good thing you warned them we'd be getting in late or they'd have given

our

room away."

I look around. The furniture is beautiful, but other than the bed, it's all hard surfaces. There's not so much as a couch to sleep on. "I guess I'll take the floor," I say.

"Don't be silly. It's tile and you're big. I'm so light that I can sleep fine on anything.

I'll

take the floor."

"Kira, I'd sleep out on the

sidewalk

before I'd make a woman sleep on the floor."

"Then we're sharing the bed," she says, a note of finality in her voice.

"Uh, I'm not sure that's a good idea. For all practical purposes, we just met."

"So? Weren't you just telling me that this is the 21st century? No one cares about that anymore, I seem to recall."

"But you said you've never even shared a room with a man, much less a bed."

"I never said I haven't shared a room with a man, only that I haven't shared a room with a man I wasn't

married

to."

"You were

married

?"

"I

am

married."

Oh shit!

"Does your husband know you're here?"

"No, and that's the bigger reason I didn't want to put my own name on the hotel registration. I've left him and I'm sure it's going to get nasty. I don't want to give Angelo and his pit bull lawyers any ammunition. If they could prove I was sharing a room with some guy in Mexico, it would make things, uh, more

difficult

."

"I'd imagine."

She walks over to the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony. I follow her. In the reflection of the glass, our extreme size difference is finally brought home to me. I'm able to see how Raul so easily bought into the idea that Kira was my daughter. The top of her head barely makes it to my lower chest and she's incredibly slender. She can't possibly weigh more than seventy pounds.

"Peter," she says with a determined look on her face, "I'm past all this talking about sleeping arrangements. Just promise me you'll behave."

"I promised you that I'd be a perfect gentleman, and I will be."

"And I promise to be relatively ladylike myself."

"Fair enough," I say.

"I'm sure I'll take a lot longer than you to get ready for bed, so why don't you take the bathroom first."

"Sure." I snag my carry-on case and get ready, pulling on the long pajamas I'd bought the day before at my favorite big & tall store. The bathroom has no door, just an open doorway. It doesn't face into the room, but I feel rather strange dropping my boxers with her just around the corner.

Getting ready doesn't take long. "It's all yours," I say, a bit unnecessarily, as I step back into the bedroom.

"Thanks."

I pull the heavy drapes closed and climb into bed, leaving her the side nearest the bathroom. I've noticed that most women are particular about that. She grabs her own carry-on and slips around the corner.

Despite her warning, it probably doesn't take her any longer to get ready than it took me. She comes out with her hair down and her face freshly scrubbed. She's wearing a set of long (on her) Winnie-the-Pooh pajamas. Unlike mine, they look to be well broken in. Perhaps she doesn't usually wear pajamas either and these are from when she was an actual child.

She slips into bed on the other side, seemingly miles away. She's so light that I barely feel the bed move.

"Good night," she says, turning off the lamp on her nightstand, the only remaining light in the room.