Red Orchids Ch. 02bybluefox07©
"Breaking the Lock"
"Again, Mark Gordian is such a bastard..."
No matter how many she called, it seemed every single daycare and babysitting service in the phone book just wasn't going to cut the mustard. Ellen had made thirty calls, methodically searching the yellow pages for a babysitter and so far made little progress. Maddie needed the best, and the best had yet to be discovered in her opinion.
Ellen watched Maddie play on the floor of the living room, oblivious to the world around her as she rolled across the floor and babbled to her stuffed animals. At the moment, Cookie Monster and Grover were the objects of her motivating speech about whatever the hell it was Maddie was feeling passionate about at the moment. Ellen smiled despite her mood, feeling so blessed to have the small girl in her life. She was so innocent, so pure and unaware of just how horrible the world could be. She hated the idea of a day care away from the house.
She wanted Maddie here, where she could be safe.
Maybe this was a sign not to go back to work?
She wasn't sure.
Ellen agreed with Sheila that going back to work would be a wake up call for Mark, but she didn't want to do it at Maddie's expense. After another long round of deliberation, she grabbed the phone book from under the coffee table and opened it up, flipping through the yellow pages. She decided if she was going to tell Mark about her sudden change of mind about work, then she would have to be ready with a daycare tonight when he got back. Out of the sixty listing for day care, one of them had to meet her standards.
Ellen picked up the phone, looked at the thirty-first number and dialed.
It ran only once before the phone was answered on the other end with a cheerful, "Hello, this is Megan Frank."
"Ms. Frank," Ellen cleared her throat, "My name is Ellen Gordian and I'm shopping around for prices on daycare."
"Lovely," Megan Frank said, "How many and how old?"
"Just one," Ellen replied. The women had a pleasant enough voice. So far so good, she thought and said, "My little girl, Maddie. She's one and a half."
"What a wonderful age," the woman said, "Well, I work on a personal basis. Right now, you're in luck. I have a free schedule from now until October."
"Really?" Ellen paused, and then, "Why such a long break?"
"As I said, I work exclusively with only the people I want to," Megan explained, sensing Ellen's concern, "My current clients just left the country for a very long vacation. They took the baby with them."
"Oh, I see," Ellen smiled. She worked personally for people who took long vacations outside the country? She doubted very much she could afford Ms. Megan Frank, but continued, "What do you charge per hour?"
"It depends, Ms. Gordian."
"Mrs. Gordian," she automatically corrected, and then shook her head, "Uhm, it depends on what?"
"I have ten years experience working with many different children," Megan said, "That being said, I don't charge based on what I know, only on what I need. I base my salary only on what I need to live. Twelve dollars an hour plus travel expenses."
Ellen smiled. "Twelve dollars an hour?"
"I start at six in the morning and wrap up when you or your husband gets home. I'll work everyday except Sunday for you, as I'm an active member of my church."
"That's amazing," Ellen beamed. Finally, some luck it seemed.
"Would you like to set up an interview?"
Ellen nodded, though no one could possibly see her, "Absolutely. When would be convenient for you?"
"Well, when would be convenient for you, Mrs. Gordian?"
So polite and considerate too. Ellen felt she might have just struck gold and said, "Tomorrow morning? Around seven? You can meet Maddie and my husband then too."
There was the brief sound of papers being shuffled and then, "It sounds perfect, Mrs. Gordian. Seven o'clock sharp tomorrow morning, then."
Ellen hung up the phone and decided to call it quits for the day. She smiled at Maddie and said, "Score one for Mommy."
Mark Gordian unlocked the door to his third story office.
Everything smelled clean and fresh, and he knew that the evening janitors had just finished their nightly rounds. The door swung open with a slightly oil less creak and bumped against the large metal file cabinet where he stored all his material for the new semester. The sun was setting rapidly, casting a hot dusky glow to his dim workspace as the shafts of warm light lazily streaming through his tilted blinds. Resting his briefcase on his chair, he switched on the small brass lamp that illuminated his desk. The soft bulb shone through the green-tinted glass cowling as the waning sun sparkled on the metal trim.
He sat the briefcase down on the desktop and loosened his tie. The red light on his answering machine was blinking slowly and relentlessly, demanding his attention in the most silent way possible. He sighed, knowing that at least one of the messages would be from Ellen. If only she could be as silent as this simple machine. Reluctantly, he pressed the playback button.
"Message one," a ridiculous computerized voice reported, "9:38 A.M."
Mark leaned back in his chair.
"Hey babe," came the sad voice of Ellen Gordian, "I'm sorry if I upset you this morning... I just... I just don't want us to fall apart. I feel like we are, that's all I'm saying, okay? Maybe we aren't, but I just feel that way... anyway, I'm sorry for this morning. I really do appreciate what you do for Maddie and me. You have to know that we never take you for granted. I know you work hard and I never meant to imply that-"
The machine had cut her off mid-sentence. Mark smiled and laughed to himself. He wished he could do that to her when she started in, rambling on and on about how she feels.
"Message two," the machine called out, "9:40 A.M."
""Damn machine cut me off," Ellen laughed nervously.
"Jesus," Mark shook his head and frowned as he talked over her apology, "Just spit it out already."
"-want you to see that I love you so much and nothing means more to me than this marriage. Look, we'll talk more when you get home tonight. I'll have a dinner made for you-"
"I'm working late," he groaned, "I'm working late!"
"-and a special dessert too. It'll be perfect. Let me do this for you, Mark. I love you so much, and I want you to know that I support you all the-"
Mark rubbed his eyes. "I get the picture, Ellen..."
"Message three... 9:43 A.M."
He shook his head, "Oh come on..."
"Sorry about that," Ellen's third message played back to him.
"Oh my God."
"Anyway, I know you're busy, so I'll get off here. I saw Sheila today, and she says hi... I hope you'll be home around ten tonight. I miss you, and want to make this up to you. I have some big news for you too. I love you. Bye, babe."
Mark turned the answering machine off.
He saw that there were five more messages, and he had a sneaking suspicion that all of them were from Ellen. Even if they weren't, he wasn't up for wading through any more calls tonight. He opened the flat, top drawer of his desk and pulled out a pack of Camel Lights. Mark unsheathed one of the cigarettes with his lips and fumbled in his pocket for his lighter. He walked over to the window and pulled the blinds up. With a forceful push, he shoved the window up and open. He was rewarded with the rare cool breeze blowing through the campus this very humid May evening. The sun had disappeared and the sky was now clouldless, left bruised with blue and purple colors. Stars had appeared and were twinkling randomly as the night classes began below.
"That woman," he muttered and lit his cigarette. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke permeate his lungs and saturate him with nicotine.
Oh how he wanted to be rid of her. He had played out a thousand different scenarios in his mind in which he might loose the anchor he loosely referred to as "wife." Each time, he could only envision a bitter divorce and her getting Maddie, cutting him out of his daughter's life forever in spiteful vengeance. There was no way he could cut her loose without risking his baby, and Maddie was the one thing Ellen had given him that he couldn't bear to live without. That, and the sizable inheritance Jack Michaels had written into his will for them both. Over a quarter million dollars was set to be theirs upon the old bastards death, but only so long as they were married.
Mark often wondered if Jack knew just how pathetic Ellen really was. Maybe he wanted to make sure some asshole didn't come along, marry her for the money and then broom her fast. The more Mark considered that possibility, the more he began to believe Jack had known his game from day one.
"Jack didn't want her around anymore," Mark grumbled, "Why not buy himself a moron to pawn her off on?"
Indeed, that was exactly what he felt Jack had done. He had unwittingly named a price, and Mark took it. He sold his life away for a quarter million.
There was a knock at the door.
Mark quickly pitched his cigarette out the window and waved his hands back and forth, trying vainly to usher the smell of the smoke out. Smoking wasn't allowed in the office building, under the threat of a strong reprimand by the dean himself. Mark continued his desperate motions and said, "Yes?"
"Professor Gordian?" a smooth feminine voice called from behind the mahogany door.
Mark frowned and glanced at the clock. It was after seven in the evening, and his office hours were clearly marked as being no later than five. What was a student doing here so late?
"Yes?" he said and slowly walked across the office.
He opened the door and found himself looking at Marlene Henson. Her short, red hair was pulled back from her porcelain face and slicked down. Her green eyes looked to him expectantly while her lips curved into a rosy smile. Her teeth were white and perfect in the frame of her ruby lips, her face accented with hints of her bold Irish heritage. He caught himself looking down her body, his gaze roaming over the full curve of her breasts. Her t-shirt, which read "Luck of the Irish" in large block letters, was pulled tight across her ample bosom, clearly a size too small for her. The contours of her bra and the points of her nipples were visible beneath the green fabric.
"Ms. Henson," he smiled charmingly, forcing his eyes back up and forbidding them from traveling any further down her physique. "How can I help you?"
Marlene looked down the hallway for a moment as though she were making sure the coast was clear. She adjusted her purse, and then turned and said, "I needed to talk to you for minute, if you have the time."
Mark felt his heart pounding in his chest, thudding like a jackhammer against hard pavement. He swallowed, his mind racing with sexually fantasies about Marlene Henson and his cock stirring to attention in his slacks. He couldn't help himself and quickly glanced down. Her shirt ended in a midriff, her pale smooth stomach exposed. A small green bejeweled stud dotted her navel; an elaborate chain draped from the stud led his eye to her loose fitting jeans. The pants were clearly hanging on her full hips, and offered a measured view down past the waistband.
"Professor Gordian?" Marlene asked, her heavy eye brows raised with amusement. Mark wondered if she knew just how much she affected the men around her. He had watched her a lot in his history class, always teasing and flirting with guys and making the girls green with envy. It seemed to be her thing, and yet he had never seen her with a steady guy. Or any guy for that matter. Mark couldn't believe that such a beautiful woman, such a gift to mankind would be a lesbian. At least he hoped not.
But then, the idea of her with another woman opened up a whole new avenue of possibilities...
"I'm sorry," Mark laughed, "I am so out of it. Please, come in."
"That's okay," she waved her slender hand as Mark led her in and closed the door, "I'm a little frazzled myself, what with finals and all."
Mark offered her the leather chair in front of his desk and then sat himself down. It was good thing too. The ten-inch erection that had solidified in his boxers was becoming difficult to hide. He hoped she hadn't seen it, and made every effort to adjust himself without being obvious.
"So, what can I do for you?" Mark asked pleasantly, assuming his formal Professor Demeanor, but secretly undressing her with his eyes. Her skin was glowing in the soft light of the office, radiating from the lamp. She sat back in the chair, her face crossed with uncertainty.
Marlene bit her bottom lip for a moment and breathed deeply. "I don't think I'm going to pass this final."
Mark nodded understandingly. It seemed that intuition was also another one of her strong suits. He had graded her final earlier that afternoon, and had been left no choice but to mark it with a solid D. He clasped his hands together, his dark eyes searching for the right words, "Ah, well Marlene, technically I can't discuss those scores with you yet."
Marlene nodded, adjusting herself in the seat. The leather rubbed together as she moved, creating a sound that was as comic as it was embarrassing. She looked to him, wide eyed, "That was the chair, I swear to God."
Mark laughed. "I know," he smiled and let his eyes fall on her breasts again for a moment, "Happens all the time."
"See, the thing is," she began and leaned forward, her arms resting on the desktop and the neck of her shirt dipping down dangerously low, "I'm working towards being a teacher in Art History in the university sense. The grants I've applied for towards post-graduate studies require almost perfect scores. I know I've aced all my other finals, but history is killing me."
"I can understand that," Mark nodded and sat up, secretly trying to see down her shirt. He would have stood up were it not for the hunk granite attached to his groin, "The road to being a teacher isn't an easy one, believe me I know. But even if you scored low in my class, it doesn't mean that your chances for scholarships are any less promising."
Marlene's beautiful face betrayed her worry. "So I scored low?"
Mark had let it slip, and he knew it.
"Yes, you did I'm afraid," he admitted.
Marlene looked to him, her huge green eyes glassy and desperate, "Like a C?"
Mark smiled kindly and shook his head, "A very solid D."
"Oh shit," she sighed and leaned back, "A solid D?"
"Very, very solid..." he offered.
"Look, scholarship committees always look for good marks, but they also look for initiative and personality," Mark interjected, "You're a bright, charming, beautiful woman who has a lot to offer to the field. They'd be crazy to pass you over."
Marlene smiled. "Thank you, Professor Gordian."
"Initiative," Mark said, "That's what all teachers need. And you have that."
The erection in his pants was now straining to be released, painfully pushing against the fabric of his slacks. Mark tried to calm himself by envisioning baseball games and old men in mismatched Hawaiian and plaid outfits on the putting green. But all he could see was what he imagined Marlene Henson's pussy looked like. Was she clean-shaven, as he so desperately hoped she was, or did she perhaps trim her hair to a perfectly shaped patch? He wondered for a moment if she was one of those all-natural women who let her bush grow into a protective hedge that no man would dare venture his tongue into. This led him to contemplate whether her garden was as fiery red as her hair, or was she just putting everyone on?
Marlene looked out the window for a moment and let her gaze fall over to him. She said quietly, "I have initiative."
Mark nodded, not sure if there was subtext to her comment or if he was just being a wishful listener.
"Professor Gordian," she asked and stood up, walking over to the window, "Could I retake the test?"
Mark watched her ass move rhythmically, pulling the denim to and fro as she reached the window and pulled the blinds shut. He longed to touch her ass, to run his hands over the perfectly rounded curves and squeeze the flesh in his hands. She turned and leaned against the windowsill, looking at him with her head tilted to one side. The world had suddenly gone very quiet, and all Mark could hear was the repetitive throbbing of blood rushing through his body.
"I don't think so, Marlene," he said doubtfully.
Marlene nodded, her bottom lip slightly pushed out. She walked over to him and Mark nearly fell over when she pushed his chair back from the desk, rolling him away from the protection of his desktop. She placed her hands on his broad shoulders and backed the chair up until Mark could rest his head against the wall. Marlene lifted one of her legs up and over Mark's lap, settling in and letting her crotch rest on his rock-hard groin. She ran her hands though his dark hair, her slender fingers somehow managing to electrify his scalp and make goosebumps.
"Isn't there anything I can do to change your mind?" she asked innocently and rubbed her crotch against him.
Mark could barely breath, but knew he had to have her. He swallowed hard and lied, "Uh, this never happens to me... I mean, I see it on HBO, I read about it happening to other guys but it just never happens..."
"It could happen," Marlene offered and ran her crimson painted fingernails down his cheeks, neck, over the collar of his shirt and down over his pecs, "I could make a lot of things happen for you if you make this one thing happen for me."
"Are you serious?" Mark managed and found his hands were resting on her hips, his fingers slowly working back towards her ass.
"How serious would you like?" Marlene asked as she grasped the bottom of her shirt with both hands. With one simple fluid motion she hauled the shirt off, revealing her smooth white body to him. Her stomach was flat and yet not overly muscled. Her massive breasts were contained in a black, lacy bra that made no effort to conceal her large nipples behind anything more than some flimsy tightly knit fishnet fabric. She raised her arms high and was free of the shirt, her hair falling out of place and hanging in thick strands in front of her face.
Marlene tossed the shirt aside, landing it on his bookcase across the room.
"That's pretty serious," Mark licked his lips.
"Professor," Marlene tilted her head to one side and began sliding the straps of her bra down over her shoulders, "I'm always serious."
Mark watched as she let the straps fall free and then leaned back a little, her thighs tightening on his lap for balance. She reached behind her back and un-hooked her bra, letting it slowly come off and reveal her breasts in all their naked glory. They were the color of a fine, milky cream in some elite restaurant. They hung down under their own weight, and yet as Mark looked, he could not see a single stretch mark. It was as if though the defied the laws of nature and simply existed outside of reality. Any questions as to whether they were real or not were answered as she tossed her bra aside and they jiggled with a fluidity that made Mark almost cream his pants right there.
Marlene guided his hands to her tits and smiled as his rough palms grazed her erect nipples. Mark began massaging them, completely taken by the size of the fleshy orbs now hanging in front of his face. He cupped them rolled her nipples back and forth between his fingers.
Marlene moaned under his touch, "That's nice..."
"I'm married," he whispered, not so much in protest but rather in fair warning. Being married didn't mean shit to him, but it might to her. Besides, he already had two fuck-buddies under his belt, and a third might be greedy.