M Sellars: All acts of pleasure

“Oh, that wasn’t meant as an insult,” she offered.

“No big deal. I wasn’t offended. I realize I’m old as compared to you. That part of my brain still works.”

Though their voices were already held low, she dropped her own down a notch and infused it with a cloying sweetness that bordered on an attempt at sultry. Shifting her stance, she leaned in toward the man and cocked her head as if sharing a secret with him. “The truth is, I really like older men…a lot…know what I mean?”

Now the hairs on his neck actually were starting to pivot upward. There certainly wasn’t what you would call a sense of physical danger by any means, but he knew the conversation was taking a turn down a path he didn’t want to follow.

He stopped what he was doing and hung his head. With a sigh he finally said, “Please tell me you aren’t trying to pick me up.”

There was an audible shrug in her voice. “Well, hey… You’re kind of cute. I was thinking maybe we could go get a cup of coffee or something and see where things go from there?”

He turned to face her. “I’m betting I’m old enough to be your father.”

“Yeah, probably. So what? That’s the point.”

He started to reply to the last statement but thinking it better left alone simply objected with, “I’m also happily married.”

“Yeah. Okay. But, she isn’t with you right now is she? You’ve been alone since I’ve been here.”

“Actually, she’s the entire reason I’m here at the moment, but that’s not the point…”

“Hey, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Look, young lady…”

“Erika,” she interrupted, holding out her hand. “And you are?”

He ignored the gesture but returned with a sigh, “Rowan.”

“Rowan. That’s an interesting name. I like it.” She continued to hold her hand thrust forward.

“Thanks,” he replied, still avoiding the offered appendage. “So listen, Erika, you’ve got to know that you’re playing a dangerous game here. You have absolutely no idea who I am.”

After a thick silence she finally pulled her hand back. “Yeah. Well, that’s part of the turn-on too.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I could be some kind of sicko for all you know.”

“You look pretty safe to me.”

“Most sociopaths do,” he said. “And, I’ve actually got some experience in that area.”

“Really? How so?”

“Trust me, you really don’t want to know.”

She paused for a moment, giving him a once over, then said, “Okay. So, tell me. Are you a ‘sicko’?”

“Again, that’s not the point.”

She stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “So what is it then? Are you just not into blondes?”

“Listen, Erika, is this some kind of game show? Is there a hidden camera somewhere? Because, honestly, I don’t have time for this.”

She chuckled. “You’re funny too.”

He let out another heavy sigh and held up his hands. “All right, look, I’m flattered…At least I think I am…Anyway, this just isn’t going to happen. Understand?”

She blinked and gave her head a quick shake as if reality had just rapped her on the back of the skull. “You’re serious.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“You really don’t want to…”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Well…Okay. It’s your loss.”

“I’ll just have to take your word for that.”

“Well, you know…” she started as she opened her notebook to a fresh page and began fishing a pen from the spiral binding. “I could give you my number in case you change your mind…”

This time he did the interrupting. “That isn’t necessary. I won’t.”

She paused then shoved the pen back down and closed the notebook. “Okay. Well, never know until you try.” She shrugged and added, “Good luck with whatever you’re doing there, I guess.”

“Yeah. Thanks. You too.”

After staring at him curiously for a moment, she shook her head then turned and walked away.

This was the second time he’d been propositioned in as many days, and it was something he wasn’t particularly used to having happen. He wasn’t sure if it was his obvious emotional state or what. Vulnerability was exuding from every one of his pores and he knew it; he had just hoped that the rest of the world wouldn’t notice. Of course, maybe it was something in the water, so to speak, and women here just had a thing for worn-out, middle-aged men with greying hair and ponytails. Whatever it was, he could certainly do without the aggravation right now.

He shook his head then tried to forget about it. If the rest of this day continued along the same fruitless vein, as had the morning, he still had quite a bit of searching to do. And, even then, he knew he might not find what he was looking for because, to be honest, even he didn’t know quite exactly what that was.

Cocking his head over against his shoulder and staring at the image on the marred base, he wound the film a few frames forward and found a reference point. Quickly glancing to the side, he checked a note he had scrawled on the steno pad then looked back to the dimly luminous image. He started to crank the winding lever, stopping and giving it a hard rap to engage the slipping gears once again before continuing. After a moment he slowed, advancing frame by frame until he found the date he sought.

Twisting the projection head, he turned the glowing reproduction of the over one hundred-fifty year old newspaper so that he no longer had to hold his own head at such an odd angle. Seating himself, he adjusted the magnification and fiddled with the focus until it was as good as it was ever going to get, which wasn’t exactly sharp by any stretch of the imagination.

With determination he scanned the hard to read blobs, picking his way between scratches, dropout, and the just plain low quality print of the day. He was on the verge of giving up and moving on when his eye caught something familiar. He pulled on the positioning bar and moved the frame in enough to center it and then drew a bead on the type that had commandeered his attention.

Tilting his head up and gazing through the lower half of his bifocals, he focused on the words. Then, with one finger he slowly traced along beneath the lines of text, his lips slowly but silently moving as he read to himself.

Then, he read the lines again.

And, again…

After the third time, he sat back in the seat and let out the hot breath he had unconsciously been holding within for the duration. Slowly he ran the palm of his hand across the lower half of his face then pushed his glasses up and closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. After a moment, the man let out a quiet chuckle that could have been born of subdued elation or exhaustion-induced insanity, even he didn’t know which.

When he finally opened his eyes again, he looked at the page just to make sure the words were really there then muttered aloud to no one in particular, “Miranda, you bitch.”

Two Weeks Earlier

Thursday, November 17

12:16 P.M. Saint Louis, Missouri

“My heart is pounding in my chest so hard that I can hear it… And I don’t mean like that thudding rush of blood you get in your ears when your heart is racing. I mean I can literally hear this frantic thump echoing in the darkness.

“Then, just all of a sudden I gasp for breath. I guess it’s the panic that makes me do it, I don’t know. Anyway, the air is foul. There’s this…I don’t know…something like a stench of death, rotting meat, and maybe even excrement all mixed together. It’s so thick it seems to coat the back of my tongue. You know what I mean? And then I feel this sudden need to vomit…”