True Corruption Pt. 02

Sam let her hold him for a few heartbeats, but didn't return the hug. She was essentially naked, and so was he with just a towel around his waist. He didn't want to trample the boundary he'd just created while he was thinking in the shower, the boundary he was creating to protect Viv.

But is that what Randi needed right now? A stiff, distant colleague afraid of her vulnerable embrace? Or did she need his compassion too, just like Viv, and his strength? He knew the answer before he even asked. What kind of friend would he be if he let her just hang out in the wind and didn't at least meet her halfway when she really needed it? He put his arms around her and pulled her into him and held on tight, nuzzling his face into the top of her head.

"What is happening, Sam?" she whispered. "What the hell has come over me?"

"I don't know, Randi," he said quietly into her blonde hair. "I don't know, but something is definitely different."

"I know it is, Sam," she said, setting herself back down, leaning back and looking up into his face. "My head is all scrambled, my thoughts are a swirling maelstrom." Her eyes searched his face, looking for some answer from him that would make sense. "What we we just did ... together ... would that have ever happened before today?"

For a split second, Sam saw a vision from that one night, almost a decade ago. She was laid out before him, way past the point of comprehension, both of them drunkenly groping each other. A bubble of shame rose to the surface then and burst, effluvium from a deed for which he'd never forgiven himself.

And then that shame was gone too, finally. They'd been young and stupid and at least consenting when they had started, if not exactly clear-headed. He'd ended up taking good care of her that night too. That was nothing like what happened today, but he was going to take care of her now, help her get to the bottom of this.

"No, probably not," he told her. "Actually definitely not. But Randi, what we just did, it wasn't a bad thing. Nobody got hurt, it wasn't evil. It was good, and ... "

"... and I fucking loved it, Sam. I felt so sexy, so right. I was doing something for you, something you needed and deserved, but I was also doing it for me, and I deserved and needed it too.

And that's what's got me a little scared, Sam. Whatever happened last night, whatever that man or that house or ... whatever it was that happened to me, it's changing me, changing who I am and how I think. And the really fucking insidious thing about it is ... I like this version better. I feel ... uncaged."

With that she rested her head on his chest again, and they just stood there in an embrace for a while. She listened to his heartbeat and his breathing, and struggled to find center in her world turned upside down.

He, on the other hand, he did everything he could to not think about how warm and soft she felt pressed into him, still smelling like fresh sex, her flesh still feverish and now directly brushing his. He felt the stirrings under his towel and he forced it back down as best he could, not wanting to touch off a new ... complication.

Finally he couldn't take it any longer, and he gently grabbed her shoulders and moved her to a full arm's length away. She looked up at him, and he stammered out, "Randi ... I ... I see you found my bathrobe, any luck with a towel?"

She looked at him without comprehension for a moment, and then she looked down at herself, the front of her body almost entirely exposed.

"Oh for fucks' sake," she said, annoyed. She grabbed the sides of the robe and covered herself, looking back up at him with exasperation. "See, this is what I mean: I didn't even notice that I'm here rubbing my naked body all over you."

"Yeah, well ... I noticed," Sam said with a grin.

"I'll bet you did," she said. "Okay, where is this towel you keep prattling on about? And it seems I didn't get much cleaning done. Sorry about that."

"It's fine," he said. "Go get yourself cleaned up. I'll handle stuff out here."

Sam got her a towel and washcloth, and got himself dressed in some old jeans and a hoodie. Then he set about trying to clean up the various fluids that had been spilt all over his living room and collecting the clothing strewn about. He was just about finished when there was knock at his door.

Sam thought he was hearing things at first; he was almost never here, and even when he was here he wasn't exactly chummy with anyone in the building. The knock came again, this time a little more forcefully, and then he heard the jangling of keys. Oh god, he thought, somebody heard him and Miranda screaming and called the superintendent. This was going to be awkward.

He walked up to his door and peered out the peephole ... and there was Viv, looking annoyed, fumbling for the right key to open his door.

Fuuuucccckkk, he thought, Now this was going to be REALLY awkward.

He took two steps away, turned a bit and shouted, "Coming!" He quickly surveyed the room to make sure everything looked somewhat normal ... and saw Miranda's black thong peeking out at him from under the couch. He ran over, picked it up and stuffed it in his sweatshirt front pocket, gave one more visual sweep and then took a deep breath. He turned the deadbolt and gave the door a good tug to get it unstuck, and it popped open.

"Oh thank God," Viv said. "I didn't want to have to try and bash this stupid sticky door open to get in." She stepped into the apartment, surveyed it quickly with obvious resignation and distaste, and then reached up and primly kissed Sam on the mouth.

"Hey, beautiful, what brings you to this side of town?" Sam said.

"I was right down the street at a new sculptor's studio; I might start selling for him," Viv said. "You bohemian types do love your dumpy neighborhoods."

"It's what we bohemian types can afford," I said. "Someone has to make the art in order for you brokers to sell it to other richie riches."

"Sure sure," Viv said with a smile and a mock dismissive wave of the hand. "Anyway I called the paper to see if you wanted to get dinner and they said you'd left early to take care of some sort of family emergency? You didn't answer any of my texts or calls so I figured I'd come by to make sure everything is okay. You seem ... "

And that's when Miranda shut off the shower. Viv hadn't noticed the noise of the shower running, but the absence of the steady noise was caught her attention.

Viv froze. "Is there someone else here with you, Sam?" she said cautiously.

Sam reached out and grabbed her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "Baby, I know how this is going to look, but trust me ... "

The bathroom door swung open, and out walked Miranda fresh from the shower, wearing Sam's robe and still drying her hair with the towel.

"Oh god, Sam, you're right that water pressure is amazing. I really didn't want to get out ... " She looked up and saw Sam holding on to his fiancée and Viv's shocked expression, mouth agape.

"Hey Viv!" Miranda said, giving her a dazzling smile. "I didn't know you were coming over. I'll go get dressed." She walked into Sam's bedroom and closed the door.

Viv slowly turned her gaze back to Sam, and then quickly took a step back out of his arm's reach. He started to take a step towards her but her hand shot up, warding him off, and he stayed where he was.

"You were saying, Sam?" her tone was icy and had an obviously dangerous edge.

"Right," Sam said, preparing himself to step carefully. "Randi and I are working on this Van Hooten story together, it turns out it's much bigger than a lifestyle piece. It's really big."

"And she's in your bedroom getting dressed why?" Viv said.

"She was at this party last night up at that house and she saw some crazy shit and we were in the coffee shop and she was recalling all the details for me, and then she spilled ... her coffee ... all over us," Sam said with what he hoped seemed like a semblance of calm. "And I mean, like, everywhere. So we came back here for showers and a change of clothes."

"Ahhh," Viv said, clearly unimpressed. "Why didn't she go back to her place instead?"

"Oh we've got lots and lots more work to do tonight, baby, we've only just gotten started and ...," Sam said, but jumped when Viv stabbed a finger right up into his face.

"Don't you fucking 'baby' me right now, Sam," She said with barely restrained fury, Sam blanched a bit; Viv never swore. "Not now, not with that ..."

"With that what, Viv?" Miranda said, walking out of Sam's bedroom. She was wearing the sweatpants Sam has set out for her, waistband rolled down so they fit low on her hips, belly button exposed. She'd also found what must have been the smallest, oldest t-shirt Sam owned, and was clearly wearing it without a bra. Her nipples poked through the ultra-thin fabric, worn down after a thousand washings, and the soft cotton clung to her full, round breasts in a way that left almost nothing up to the imagination. "Friend? Colleague? Or were you going to say something a little more ... crass, something unbefitting a nice girl like you."

Sam swung his gaze back to Viv, who was watching Miranda walk towards her like a legendary gladiator walking into the Coliseum, confident, resplendent and ready for battle. Viv looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her full swaying bosom, and Sam could see a crimson flush start working up Viv's pale freckled neck. He was genuinely worried that violence was about to break out.

Instead, Viv closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them she moderated her posture a little, trying to make it less threatening and de-escalate things a bit. She's such a good woman, Sam thought.

"The two of you are working on a story together," she said flatly. "About the guy who bought the Van Hooten house."

"Oh yes," Miranda said, coming to a stop a few feet away from the two of them. "We're working very closely. Side-by-side I'd even say. Sam's really impressive once he gets into something that excites him. He's just gets so passionate."

Viv just looked at her, speechless. Sam swung back around to look at Miranda, equally speechless and more than a little horrified.

"Viv, this guy who bought the house, Luc Mane is his name, he's got a very impressive art collection," Miranda continued. "I was up there last night and saw a fair bit of it; I think he's got a real Rubens and some other really incredible pieces there. You should go check it out sometime."

Sam looked back at Viv; the two women were just staring at each other now. Nothing happened for a few, excruciating heartbeats, and then Viv took a deep breath and looked back at Sam.

"Maybe I'll do that," Viv said. "Now I think I'll be going. Good luck on your story."

Viv turned and walked to the door, turned the knob and gave it a tug. It stuck and didn't come open. She tugged again with a high-pitched cry of effort and the door flew open, practically coming of the hinges and smashing into the wall next to it, leaving a big dent from the knob.

"I'll call you later," Sam said.

"Not necessary," Viv said, walking out without turning around.

"Viv, I ..."

"Hey Viv," Miranda called, cutting Sam off. Viv stopped, her back to both of them.

"I didn't fuck your fiancée today, I swear it," Miranda said. "But I really wanted to. I don't think he would have let me if I tried, though. This time."

Viv swiveled around and marched right up to Miranda, who didn't flinch.

"You know what, I can't even tell if you're fucking with me as some sort of joke, but it doesn't matter," Viv told her, fury spilling over. "You've never thought of anyone but yourself anyway, and you've certainly never had any respect for people's home lives with all the gossipy bullshit you print. No number of invites to fancy parties and no amount of your dead daddy's money can give you class, Miranda. And you ought to thank your lucky stars that Sam even gives you the time of day; you might be a real whore right now, instead of a pretend one, if he hadn't helped you get clean and resurrect your career. Actually, I have more respect for real whores, at least they're professionals. You're just a hobbyist."

"And you," she turned to Sam, "You'd better think long and hard about who your family is, and the type of emergency you're having. I think I'll find somebody else to have dinner with on Thursday. Call me when this so-called story is done and you've got your priorities straightened out."

With that she wheeled back around and stomped down the hallway, leaving Sam standing in his doorway, watching her go.

"I should probably go after her," Sam said aloud, mostly to himself.

"Depends on how you feel about stab wounds," Miranda said. "That Irish temper shit is real."

Sam turned to look at her. "What the fuck is the matter with you? Are you insane?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Miranda said, and then she reached past Sam and closed the door.

END OF PART TWO