Victoria Manley - Her Next Victim and Other Stories

I knew it the moment I looked at her. Her long, lean body … the pout of her full lips … the curve of her ass as she smoothed her skirt to sit in the chair at the small cafe table. I approached her, pad and pen in hand to take her drink order, and when she looked up at me through those smoky eyes and dark lashes, I knew what was coming. It was imminent. There was no way around it. There was no avoiding it. I was about to become her next victim.

"May I take your drink order, ma'am?” I asked politely as I tried to keep my hands from shaking.

"White wine, please."

I could see her nipples pointing delicately through her silk blouse as if she was excited to be here.

"Will you be dining alone or is someone joining you?” I questioned, trying not to sound too personal.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and lowered her voice.

"Someone is joining me. He should be here at any time. I'll wait to order the meal when he gets here."

"Very well, I'll get your wine."

I turned to go and I swore that I could feel her watching me walk away. I glanced over my shoulder and saw her looking out the window. Oh well, so much for my waiter's intuition.

I set the glass in front of her and she thanked me.

"Have you heard from your gentleman friend?” I asked and hoping with all my might that it wasn't a husband or boyfriend, “Will he be much longer?"

"No,” she replied, “should be any time now."

I glanced at her left hand. There was no wedding or engagement ring.

"Very well. I'll check back with you in a bit."

She nodded and I went about busing the table next to her. Anything to stay close. I could smell her perfume as I moved passed her and her scent was intoxicating.

A ringing came from her purse and she reached into it to retrieve her cell phone.

"Hello?"

There was a pause.

"Yes, I'm at the cafe."

Pause.

"But Robert…"

Her voice trailed and she listened for a moment.

"But Robert, we were supposed to get away this weekend, just the two of us. You promised."

Pause. She put her hand over her eyes as if she was getting some bad news.

"How could you do this to me?” she whispered, “You said you loved me. You said you didn't love your wife anymore. How could you go back to her after all the things we meant to one another?"

Pause. She wiped a tear from her eye.

"You're a selfish bastard,” she snarled, “I gave up my job and came here to be with you because you said you were leaving her. Now you tell me that you're going to try to make it work out? What am I supposed to do now?"

There was a long pause and she began to cry. I wanted to comfort her, but dared not look as if I had been listening.

"You son of a bitch,” she continued, “don't you ever call me again."

And with that, she hung up the phone and laid it on the table, then put her face in her hands and sobbed quietly.

I couldn't help myself. I felt like the knight on the white stead coming to save the poor, defenseless damsel in distress. I rushed to her side, knelt beside the chair, and took her hand in mine.

"Please don't cry,” I whispered, doing my best to soothe her, “he's not worth crying over."

She moved her hand from her face and looked down at me.

"W … what?” she asked.

"The guy on the phone,” I said, “he's not worth crying over. He's stupid to let you go. You're better off without him."

She wiped a tear with the back of her left hand, leaving her right hand still clenched in mine.

"But I came here to be with him,” she countered, “he's married, but he and his wife were separated. He was going to get a divorce and marry me. Now he … he…” Her voice trailed.

"I know,” I told her, “I couldn't help but overhear. And I think you are better off without him."

She didn't seem offended by the fact that I had listened to her private conversation. As a matter of fact, she suddenly sat up straighter and took a deep breath.

"You're right,” she said gallantly, “I am better off without him."

She looked down at me as if she was seeing me for the first time.

"What's your name?” she asked.

"Steven."

"My name is Claudia. When do you get off?"

"Eight o'clock."

She shook her head.

"That's too long. Go tell them that something came up and you have to leave right now and then meet me at the front door."

With that, she stood up and walked away.

I could hear an urgency in her voice and I knew that I needed to do what she said. I took off my apron, walked into the kitchen, and told the boss that I had to leave. He didn't like it, but the restaurant was quiet that night and being minus one waiter wasn't going to hurt them that bad. I joined her at the door and she grabbed me by the front of my shirt, holding my face very close to hers.

"You're coming home with me,” she hissed, “and I won't take no for an answer."

I wasn't about to say no. Not with the look she had in her eye.

She began to walk, so I began to follow. I didn't know where we were going, but I felt like a dog being led by his leash. I just followed. With her hand grasping my wrist, she was half leading, half dragging me down the sidewalk, and as we came to her apartment building, she took the corner like Richard Petty speeding down the Daytona 500 Speedway.

Although being with her was exciting, the fear of the unknown was a bit unsettling. Here she was, beautiful and beguiling, but also angry with men as a species. My fate lay in the hands of her common sense kicking in. If not, you would hear about me on the 6:00 news.

She let go of my wrist long enough to fish her keys out of her handbag, and as soon as the door was open, she pulled me inside. An orange colored Tabby came out from behind the sofa to greet his mistress, but when it saw me, it hissed and ran the other direction.

"Don't mind Clarence,” she told me, “he's a bit of a ‘fraidy cat around strangers."

I was beginning to think that Clarence was the smartest one here. Claudia turned to me and looked me dead in the eye.

"I'm tired of being treated like a door mat by men,” she declared. “From now on, I'm going to be the one in charge."

I swallowed a lump the size of Utah and gave her my undivided attention. I suddenly felt like a deer in the headlights; caught with nowhere to run.

"Do you know what you're going to do for me?” she asked.

It was more a statement than a question, so I shook my head, waiting for the answer.

"You're going to be my boy slave tonight,” she stated. “You're going to draw me a bubble bath, and gave me a massage, and paint my nails, and whatever else I want you to do. You're going to pamper me."

I smiled. That sounded like Heaven to me.

"And,” she continued, “I'm going to do whatever I feel like to you."

My smile disappeared and I tried not to appear nervous.

"Go start my bath,” she ordered. “Second door down the hall on the left, the bubble bath powder is in the cabinet under the sink."

"Yes ma'am,” I responded quickly and then made my exit from the room.

As the tub began filling up with lilac scented lather, she came in with a bottle of wine and two glasses, then handed the bottle to me to open.

"It's going to be a long night,” she told me, “and I thought you might like a drink."

I opened the bubbly and poured us each a glass, thankful to finally have something to coat my dry throat.

She began to undress for her bath, right before my eyes, and I felt my heart leaping in my chest. She was beautiful, proportioned like a model, with long, firm legs and high, perky breasts. As she lowered herself into the water, she looked over at the vanity.