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Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Scarlet A (not finished)

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Scarlet A

Jessica Marie Cavaliere

 

S

carlet A. That’s what she felt like she had on her chest—a big scarlet A. She stood next to the casket; Alice’s father had died suddenly of a stroke. The organ bellowed as people walked through the receiving line offering their condolences. Then out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him.

 

It had started seven years ago in 2005 and Alice was only seventeen at the time. She was unemployed and helped her dad at his law office.

“You must be Alice. Your dad has raved about you,” an older man probably in his 50s and had thinning hair said to you.

She was nervous. “Yes, I’m Alice.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I’m Mr. Jones,” he extended his hand and began shaking ferociously while winking at her. Alice had beautiful blonde curly hair that hung halfway down her back. She had stunning blue eyes that shone like diamonds; she was attractive. However, she had brains and was top of her class.

“Nice to meet you,” she finally said. “it truly is.”

Mr. Jones smiled. The gold ring on his left hand shone in the sun that peered in from the window. It intrigued Alice—she had never seen a wedding band (she assumed it was a wedding ring from the finger it was situated on) so intricately made with the precious gold carved with what looked to be tribal tattoos.

“Would you mind typing these depositions?”

“Sure. What do I do?”

Mr. Jones smiled again, he bent down to turn on the computer and patted her on the shoulder. Alice jumped a little; she was surprised, but at the same time she liked the attention.

“First, wait for this to boot up. Then open Word and just begin typing what is on these papers,” he said as he composed himself and pointed to the stack of papers sitting on the desk next to her.

“Okay. I think that’ll be easy enough. Thank you, Mr. Jones.”

Mr. Jones stared longingly at her. “If you need any help, just call me. Here’s my number.” He scribbled quickly his number and walked out the door.

 

The new mail icon blinked on her screen.

Hi Alice,

I’m having lunch today, feel free to join me.

I’m going to the Roots Café on Gay St.

Hope to see you there! ~Mr. Jones

 

Lunch sounded great to Alice and she liked Mr. Jones. Although he was in his 50s and balding, there was an attractiveness to him and a maturity she liked; she didn’t find that in guys her age. Like they pay attention to me, she thought, Mr. Jones pays attention and he’s a great guy. She giggled at the thought of having lunch with him.

Hi Mr. Jones,

Lunch sounds great! What time?

~Alice

 

They met at the Roots Café at noon on Gay Street in Baltimore. It was an eclectic little street with art houses, photography studios and vegan restaurants. Roots Café wasn’t vegan, but it was grass roots and everything locally raised.

“Alice, I was wondering,” Mr. Jones began as his Cuban was placed in front of him, “I was wondering if you’d like to come to my place this weekend and go swimming?”

“Sure, that sounds great and fun. I haven’t been swimming in a while.” In fact the last time Alice went swimming is when she was friends with Kerri and Betty; she had lost that group of friends in a fight over some guy, it was stupid in Alice’s mind. A Caesar salad with chicken was placed in front of Alice.

“Great. My step son will be in town. He’s visiting from Annapolis.”

“Annapolis! Is he in the Navy?”

“Yes and he’s 21. You’d like him.”

“That sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to meet him.” Alice lied, not whole heartedly because the prospect of meeting a twenty-one year old that was in the Navy sounded promising, but she liked Mr. Jones. And although he was married, which Alice liked his wife from when she met her when Mrs. Jones came to the office, she couldn’t help but fantasize about what it would be like to be with him. It pained her to think about the longing sometimes.

“Great, be at my house at 2. Here’s my address.”

 

Arriving at Mr. Jones’s house a little before two, Alice was already in her floral two piece. It was black with orange-red day lilies. The colour made Alice’s skin pale—and she was already ghostly. She didn’t care, however, she loved the way the top made her breasts stand out (though at 36 C, they didn’t really need help) and she could show off her voluptuous curves.

Standing at the front door and as she was about to knock, Mr. Jones opened the door and did a double take. She gave a sweet smile; what she had hoped for was working.

“Why, hello,” he stuttered a little bit. “Come—come on in!”

She walked into his house expecting his son and Mrs. Jones to be there. She gazed around the room a little bit and noticed they were alone.

“Where is everyone,” Alice asked.

 

 

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