Leslie James hesitated for a moment inside her Lexus even as the alarm beeped twice giving her a thirty second warning to remove herself from the vehicle. It was the best system money could buy, but even then Leslie knew this was certainly no place to leave a vehicle of this caliber. It's asking price was probably twice the yearly income of the residents of this neighborhood, and stealing cars was a mere past time of the elementary school kids, to say nothing about the professional thieves that lurked about the many dumpsters and vacant warehouses. Leaving it was a huge risk, and yet as the timer wound down, she knew it was for that very reason that she had to leave the safety of her car, the safety of her gated community and the safety of her father's all-powerful political friends.
She had but a few seconds left when she stepped out of the vehicle, slammed the door and retrieved her keys from the lock just as the tiny red light on the dash began to flash its visual warning to any would-be thieves.
"I should not be here," she mumbled under her breath as she made a step from the lavish Sport Utility Vehicle, then another and another as each step bore her further away from her only safety. With each step she also announced her vulnerability, her high heels clicking loudly upon the broken cobblestone paving, the sound echoing softly off the brick buildings as well as she stepped around broken pallets and trash drifting about in the wind. Her high heeled pumps echoing loudly, spoke volumes about her vulnerability; that she was a lady that would not be able to run from any stalkers. Her shoes also announced that she was dressed for pleasure, for no woman wore such senseless shoes with jeans and a sweatshirt. For all those who looked, Leslie did not disappoint, for under the shoes she wore black stockings, their wide elastic tops just visible under the hemline of her dress.
It was an evening dress at that, a short black number that was the staple of every ladies wardrobe. She could see her own image reflecting off a rather large mud puddle that was frozen solid to its core as she skirted past it, fearing she could easily slip in her cumbersome high heels. She paused for a second in front of the ghetto mirror and saw her pale reflection glimmering on the silky smooth ice. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight against the stark contrast of her black dress and dismal settings that surrounded her.
She wished she could have at least worn a jacket, her favorite long mink coat at that since it was incredibly warm, but knew she had to be dressed just as she was a week ago so that she would be recognized. Instead she froze, letting the icy wind hit her legs that were only covered by the thin fabric of her black nylon stockings from her mid thighs to her black pumps. Even then there was an inch of exposed skin where the tops of her black thigh high stockings stopped and the short hemline of her dress. From there the meager dress only rose to the height of her navel before splitting again. Here the fabric rose up into two slim pillars of material, covering her chest before encircling over her arms and across her back. Only the shiny chrome buckle of a belt stretched tightly across her waist gave the outfit a hint of color.
Leslie wore it well, her pedigree mandating that she wear it to cocktail parties and benefit dinners for the wealthy politicians that feasted far too often at her father's estate. While fitting at such events, in this neighborhood, such a dress had no use. It was far too eloquent to be considered slutty, and thus no one was about to confuse her with the many prostitutes that lingered about the neighborhood. Instead, she looked out of place; a sophisticated young lady that looked lost and scared.
The latter she was, for her hands twitched more out of nervousness than from the cold, while the former was another story altogether. She had been here before, a week to the day no less and accompanied by a man at that.
Fifteen degrees was what Leslie remembered the Time and Temperature building stating as she drove through the downtown portion of Portland. Now it felt much colder as the wind easily whipped through her meager satin dress as she rounded the corner of the forlorn brick building and took the heavy sea breeze straight in the face. There would be half a block of walking through this before she would turn out of the wind, duck through a side alley and then emerge just on the south side of the railroad tracks.
That was, if she could make it that long. Already her feet were beginning to feel like blocks of ice, her legs getting the sensation of needle pricks from the wind, and while she could have turned back to her vehicle at any time, some inner drive pushed her on. It pushed her on to make the turn half way down the block. It pushed her walking down the dimly lit alleyway, and it even pushed her until she was stepped from the giant brick archway and faced the chain link fence of the railroad yard.
As she approached her destination, it took her a moment for her eyes to grow accustomed to the bright flickering yellow light and the raw smell of burning wood in the air. She approached slowly, two men huddled around the fire, warming their hands and tearing apart a pallet to make sure their only supply of heat did not die.
"A rich bitch huh?"
"Yeah a real rich bitch. And she wanted it hard I tell you."
"Hard huh? And what was the rich bitch's name?"
"Leslie," he said making Leslie draw in a breath upon hearing those words and cowered against the dark brick wall to over hear their conversation.
"Oh she was good. Young and hot..."
As the man went into detail about their sordid affair, Leslie slowly drew her hand up under her hemline and began to massage her pleasure point with increased intensity, her own mind beginning to spin back in time to a week earlier when she had slipped into the darker side of her sexuality.
It was not hard to drift back in remembrance, for she wore the same dress, the same shoes, the same purse clutched tightly in her left hand. Only the location was different, she realized as she began to think back to the quaint and charming bistro on Mason Street. It was her father's favorite restaurant, and a favorite locale that had managed to maintain it's upscale patronage despite it's location in a neighborhood that was slowly dwindling into poverty. If the Bistro was in a desolate part of town, at least there was an unspoken agreement that left the wealthy patrons immune to the criminal activities of the other sections of the neighborhood. Cars could be parked without fear of being stolen, muggings were rare and trash quickly cleaned up.
Leslie managed to order an appetizer before her Fiancée arrived. In fact she managed to make it through the bread choice, main course and dessert before coming to the conclusion that he once again had stood her up. Such an occurrence was becoming increasingly common. It was the second time that month and it she began to get cross as she stirred the cream in her mug of coffee. Her anger only increased as she looked up at the Waitress who had a look of pity in her eye. There was no denying that she had been stood up, her formal black dress, stockings and hells, could only have been worn for the benefit of a lover, while the seat across from her still had its place settings undisturbed. With a cross look, she paid for the meal, the act itself only making her bitter at being slighted by her Fiancée, as she rose and left the restaurant.
"Please Miss, can you spare a little change?"
Leslie had not even seen the man, an older gentleman that had been sitting just outside of the Bistro's building, slightly obscured by the shadows as she walked by. It jumped her slightly, but no enough so that it stopped her strides towards her Lexus.
"Get a job," she cried over her shoulder.
"Yeah, I would, but maybe you should look around here and see the jobs that are leaving the great State of Maine in such haste!"
At this Leslie halted, and then spun back around. Perhaps it was her father's efforts to improve life in Maine through the legislature, or perhaps it was the man's brazen critical statement, but Leslie was not about to let the bum go without at least having a piece of her mind.
