Hell's Blonde

Author's Foreword: I wrote this several years ago as the start of a four- or five-part series between these two, but the inspiration I expected to follow never materialized. Instead of it continuing to sit in limbo, I'm publishing it. And instead of promising more by putting a Part One in the title, I'm offering it as a standalone story. I'd ask that if you have any thoughts on it, please share them in the comments. I have developed stories in response to requests in comments before, so who knows? Maybe your comment will be the trigger that gets me to continue the story of these two.

I am very grateful to lonewolf68alpha for being a critical set of eyes on this. This is the second of their efforts with me and their skill and amazing turnaround times are so greatly appreciated.

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It was late in the day -- a glance at my watch showed well past midnight -- and I was exhausted. As the elevator continued upward, what little brainpower I had remaining focused on a hot shower, a cup of tea, and laying down on freshly washed sheets. The elevator display showed the 18th floor and the doors opened.

I stepped out and onto new carpet. The hallway even had that new paint smell. Everything about this building appealed to me. I was happy to have found a great apartment and lucky enough to be able to afford it. It was well down the corridor and two right turns from the elevator. I walked quietly, listening for movement behind each door I passed. Nothing. Right turn. Still nothing.

I liked not being able to hear anyone coming and going since I was the furthest door from the elevator. Did anyone else even live on this floor yet? The building was still filling up, I guess. As I came up to the second turn, I heard the faintest of crying noises. I stopped. They weren't from an apartment but from the hallway ahead. A woman's weeping. My heart sank.Why here? Why now? Why in a hallway?

I peeked around the corner. I could only see the profile of the back half of a tall, seemingly well-dressed woman. Her head was hidden in the alcove of the door. She looked to be leaning against the door -- its presence being the only thing keeping her from ending up flat against the floor inside. Her purse and groceries were set neatly on the floor beside her. Under her breath, I could make out, "Merde, merde, merde, merde, merde...."

I took a few steps backward and pulled my phone out of my pocket. Holding it to my ear, I mocked the ending part of a phone call, speaking a few sentences before walking forward and around the corner toward my apartment door.

"...of course. I'll bring a few extra, just in case. Be sure to give my love to Molly." Pause. "See you then. Bye."

I was just past the woman -- an extremely statuesque blonde with her hair up and dressed in an elegant white suit -- when I ended the "call." By that time, she had straightened up, worked her key into the lock, and managed to open the door. She never looked at me, but it had taken her all of five seconds to go from undone to fully under control. I respected that. By the time I was halfway to my door, she had pulled her things inside and shut the door.

She seemed like a strong woman and I had just shared in a moment of her weakness without her knowledge. It was very intimate and I felt a bit embarrassed by it. I owed her something, even if I couldn't tell her that I had shared that moment with her. Once inside my apartment, I grabbed a plate from the cabinet and the supermarket key lime pie from the refrigerator. I plated a piece, threw the remainder back in the fridge, and quickly covered the plate loosely in plastic wrap. I left my apartment door open as I walked to Blondie's door and knocked.

A few seconds later, the door opened. I hadn't expected what I saw. She was still dressed with her hair up and she still looked like a million bucks, but she was absolutely beautiful and there wasn't a hint of redness in her eyes. She might have just stepped off the modeling runway. Had I been imagining things?

"Oui? Yes? May I help you with something?" One arm was on the door and the other was across her middle. She was definitely on guard.

"I'm your neighbor," I said as I half-turned and nodded toward my apartment door. Pause. "I'm not sure..."How the hell do I do this? Being empathic and caring about other people is not a normal thing for me, so it would be an understatement to say I was lost here. "Look, I know I don't know you nor you me, but it seems like you might be having a rough night. I thought this might help." I held the plate toward her and shrugged.

She stared at it for a long moment. Perhaps as unsure about what to do with my offer as I had been in making it. Then she looked at me and her eyes got hard.Whoops, here it comes!

She stepped forward, grabbed the plate from my hands, and hurled it at my head. Or where my head had been, rather. Then, she let loose with a string of words in French that I could only assume was not endearing. When she ran out of breath, she paused, pointed a finger at me, and said very slowly and deliberately, "Don't. Ever. Think. You know a fucking thing about me."

SLAM!

That went better than the last time I tried something like that. I think. Was there ever a "last time?" I can't imagine there had been. Shit. There was a mess on the wall opposite her door where the plate had smashed and the pie had atomized. I was going to have to get up early in the morning to clean that up. Too late tonight.

Damn, what a woman. Gorgeous, sexy, strong-willed, and judging by the number of pieces the plate had shattered into, physically strong as well. I wondered if she could cook, too. If she hadn't just told me to go fuck myself in rather easy-to-infer terms, I would be a happy man. I was pretty sure she was one to write off at this point.

Fuck it. Time for a shower. I closed my apartment door behind me, along with thoughts of Hell's Blonde.

-----

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to my floor. As I stepped off, I couldn't help but remember the night before. The time tonight was a bit earlier -- just before 11 pm -- but the atmosphere felt very similar to me. I knew better than to think that our paths would mirror last night's, but the feeling of déjà vu was present. Of course, tonight, I was the one with a sack of groceries so that alone should have shattered any concerns of a similar evening.

I neared the corner of the hallway and slowed. No sound. Certainly, no crying. Releasing the breath I was unaware I had held, I increased to my normal purposeful pace and turned the corner.

And there she was, about to knock on the door to my apartment. From thirty feet away, she looked like a million bucks in a white cami and jeans and with her hair in a ponytail. She cradled a bottle of wine in her arms.

I paused about ten feet away and leaned against the wall rather close to where last night's offering had been Pollocked. I didn't directly look at the spot now but it appeared to be pristine from my peripheral vision. I cradled my sack of staples in the arm now against the wall.

"You planning to throw that at my head, too? I shouldn't be too hard to hit from there."

"Am I planning to--?" She looked at the ceiling. Was she searching for words? I couldn't tell what she was feeling but I could see the struggle on her face. She looked at me. "Of course not. I came to apologize."

I started toward the door, fishing the keys out of my pocket as I walked up to her. I reappraised my earlier monetary estimate of her and I realized it was well on the low side. She looked a little tired but her eyes were still bright and defiant. She was a warrior princess, this one.

"In that case, sorry for the snide comment. My name is Aaron."

"Elise."

"Come on in." I opened the door, threw my keys and phone on the shelf just inside the door, and placed the sack on the kitchen counter.

Elise followed me in and surveyed the apartment and paused at the view of the city. After a few seconds, she turned toward me, still cradling the wine bottle. I started unpacking the bag and putting items in the refrigerator to kill time until she had her say. And it was clear that she had something to say. Something about that bottle.

"The wall looks brand new. No sign of..." Her voice trailed off. She continued more confidently, "Did you have anything to do with that?"

"Who me? Do I look like the Merry Maid type? Afraid not. I called the desk and let them know I had an accident. By the time I had gotten back from running, it was done."

She seemed satisfied enough not to press even if she wasn't really convinced.

"You seem to be babying that bottle. Is there a story there you want to share?" I asked a little too cocky to come across as anything but pure asshole. I wasn't purposely pushing, but I could imagine it was coming across that way. For her to remain on an even keel couldn't have been easy, but she didn't give away the slightest indication I was getting to her. My admiration meter for her continued to tick upward.

"This is a Château Lafite 2009 -- a very special Bordeaux. I was given this five years ago for something I did at work and I've been waiting for an occasion to enjoy it." She had turned her attention from me to the bottle as if saying goodbye to a dying friend. "I offer it to you for how I acted toward you last night."

She held it out to me, her eyes glossy. Why was she doing this? It was a throwaway moment of anger and here she was offering me something she treasured and opening up to me on top of that. A second intimacy in as many nights.

I gently took the bottle from her and surveyed it intently. I felt her eyes upon me. She was assessing me. How I handled this was a landmark moment.

I looked at her. "I can't accept this."

"But--"

She was ready to argue, but I cut her off, attempting a soothing tone, "Elise, I can't accept something that you treasure and I have no appreciation of. The fact that you're willing to offer this to me tells a lot about who you are. What would it say about me if I accepted this from you with absolutely no understanding or appreciation of it?"

I paused, thinking about what to say next. She was waiting.

"What were you doing before you came to knock on my door?"

She flinched ever so slightly before answering. There was a story there, but I didn't press the issue. "Reading a book and drinking a glass of wine," she stated flatly.

"Any of that wine left?"

She smiled and nodded. I smiled, too, and held out the bottle to her.

"Why don't you bring over the bottle you were drinking and save this one for that right occasion? This should be enjoyed by someone that can appreciate it." She accepted the wine bottle with both hands.

I pulled a few things out of the refrigerator and placed them on the counter. "I've got some cheese here, too, if you're interested."

After surveying the cheese, she said, "Put the goat cheese back but the rest will go well with the Pinot I have open. I've got some fruit, too."

I had dodged a bullet. She was past thinking about atoning for her sins and on to thinking about enjoying wine and cheese with me. And it sounded like this girl knew what she was doing on that front.

"Make yourself at home and plate whatever you want however you want. I'm going to change."

I took a quick shower, dressed comfortably, and when I came out of the bedroom, she was whirling around my kitchen getting a plate finished. When she saw me, she held up a wine-filled glass. As I accepted it, I looked at the plate she had prepared. Fifteen minutes and it looked like a professional had done it.

"Holy crap, Elise. This looks like it was catered. It's perfect. What do you do for a living?"

She started gathering up all the empty packaging and as nonchalantly as humanly possible, said, "I'm the day manager of the Ritz Carlton."

Jesus. Well, that explained a lot. She couldn't be a day over 35 and she was the manager of a five-star hotel. She was a lot more than a pretty face and a killer body.

As soon as she had finished picking up the trash, I knew I was about to be caught in an earlier lie. I couldn't think of a way to prevent what was about to happen. I could only watch helplessly as she stepped on the pedal to open my trash bin and saw a completely empty bin...except for the remnants of a shattered plate and some chunks of key lime pie.

She stopped dead when she saw it. "Not the Merry Maid type." She dropped the trash and let the lid slam shut. She continued to stare at the lid and her jaw muscles clenched.

"I was up early and picked up the pieces quickly so no one would step on them. Then I called downstairs like I said. They did all the work."

"I don't like being lied to." Though she wasn't looking directly at me, I could tell her eyes were hard again. This was not the time to stand up to her, even if my intentions were good. I really didn't want her feeling more self-conscious about what she did, so the lie was well-meant.

"Understood."

An awkward pause. She continued to stare at the trash bin as if unsure about what to do next. It hit me at that very moment why she had flinched when I asked what she had been doing before we met up in the hall. She hadn't just happened to be knocking on my door at that very moment.

I took a flyer. "And I don't like being tracked and reported on." Her head came up. "Anyone that manages a hotel would make a quick job of ingratiating themselves to the building staff's 'good graces,' as my grandmother used to say. I'll wager you've got the doorman or security or both on your payroll already."

She didn't say a word, but her eyes blazed. I was about to lose her.

I held my hands up in mock surrender, "I will promise not to lie to you if you'll allow me the semblance of freedom to move around the building without being spied on at all times."

"I thought I was being subtle being at your door first."

I nodded. That was a good touch. I hadn't even considered it until her facial tic.

"What the hell do you do for a living, if you don't mind my asking? Police detective?" Her French lilt had been all but hidden until that "hell" which missed the leading "h" a bit.

"I design stuff. Build stuff. Buildings and plants mostly. Lately, I've been called in to fix other people's screw-ups. Basically, dirty jobs that need long hours and quick turnarounds. I've retained my amateur status on detective work, I assure you."

This was all 100% true, though I might have been guilty of not volunteering a germane fact or two about my past.

"Look, you've been sizing me up since I walked down the hall. Are we going to be friends or not?" I asked.

"How is that my decision?" she countered. I remained silent. She sighed. "Why did you knock on my door last night?"

I thought briefly before answering. "I have no idea. It's not something that I'd do on a normal day. It's not something I'd do on any day, really. I suppose I was just in one of those moods where I hoped someone would care enough to do the same for me in a similar circumstance." I paused. "What happened that had you down?"

She turned away from me with her arms across her chest. She wasn't going to let me see her face. The bright lights of the kitchen created a strong reflection on the glass overlooking the city. I could see her eyes reflecting a lot of light. Tears were welling up. She walked toward the glass until she was away from the kitchen lights. I couldn't see her face in the reflection any longer but I could tell that she was still emotional as she reached up to wipe away tears.

"My mother," she whispered.

"Hurt?"

"Sick." Her voice cracked. "Very, very sick."

I walked over to her and held out her wine glass. "To your mother's health." We touched glasses and drank. I added, "And to a daughter's love." I drank alone for that. For a minute, we just stood beside each other and stared out at the city. Her taste in wine agreed with my palate and seemed to fit the mood.

I wanted to say something or do something more, but I dared not. She had opened up to me -- a nearly complete stranger -- and I had made it as clear as necessary that I actually cared. Pushing for more intimacy now could be viewed as aggression, but it didn't stop me from wanting to hold her and tell her everything would be okay.

Finally, she touched her glass to mine, smiled wanly, and offered, "To our new friendship."