In Plain Sight

Closed for bdt147


"Dammit, Emilia, where the hell are you?" Harper cursed as she struggled to keep the three bags of camera equipment on her shoulders. Blasted straps kept trying to slip down. "You were supposed to be here two fuckin' hours ago and now we've lost the light and I've lost any chance of having this job finished before the deadline. You owe me big time." It was moments like this that Harper missed her old flip phone. Mashing the End button wasn't nearly as satisfying as dramatically flipping the phone closed.

"That's it. That's the last time I let her talk me into using her as my model." Harper began an angry march through the deserted park, equipment bags thumping in furious time with each of her steps. Muttering under her breath, Harper cursed Emilia, the deadline, and her own stupidity. She didn't have time for any of this. She had a show to get ready for - a real, honest to God gallery show. Not one of those tacky pop-up shows in Brooklyn where art was considered a random toilet seated in the middle of the floor; no, a real gallery where Upper East Siders didn't bat an eye at paying thousands of dollars for a single print.

Not to mention there was brunch with Clint and his parents in the morning. Harper was fairly certain his parents were coming in from their Hampton estate for the specific purpose of bringing the family diamond that Harper hoped would grace her slim finger before the year was out - she'd gotten a manicure earlier just in case. Not that she cared about diamonds, even if it was antique and may, or may not, have once adorned the hand of a Duchess in Queen Elizabeth I court. No, she and Clint had been together for five years and it was high time he put a ring on it.

It was ten o’clock and the park was deserted, the late night Frisbee players and others embracing the first warm night of early spring having abandoned the open air hours ago. The heels of her patent leather boots sounded hollowly in the quiet. Overhead the full moon cast a blue glow, giving enough light that Harper didn’t worry about the fact that the streetlamps along the path seemed to be broken.

Mentally working on the list of everything she had yet to do for the show Harper never heard the voices that cut through the silence. She never saw the men standing just off the path, their faces eerily demonic in the hazy light of their flashlights. She never realized what she was walking towards until she heard the gunshots.


Three Months Later

The Volkswagen choked to a stop, giving a final haggard wheeze as its driver put it in park, the gearshift nearly coming out in her hand. With a sigh that could rival that of the dying car, the young woman stepped out of the car, straightening her thrift store skirt and blouse.

Barely seven in the morning and already she could feel the sweat pooling between her breasts and under her arms, no doubt leaving stains on her already sad and depressing shirt. It was a sad state of affairs that only ninety days ago she had been dressed in designer labels – granted they were bought at sample sales and were from the previous season, but a label was a label dammit – and now here she was, forced to sort through bins at thrift stores and Goodwill in hopes of finding something that didn’t make her look like someone’s reject aunt who lives with her dozens of cats and whom no one can look at without pity and a sad shake of the head.

Ninety day.

That’s all it took for Harper’s life to go from near perfect Cinderella story to flat out Hell on Earth.

That night in the park was supposed to be just another job, instead it turned into Harper having to leave everything behind and resort to living a life of constantly looking over her shoulder. If only Emilia hadn’t flaked. If only she hadn’t waited so long. If only she had taken a different route out of the park. If only she hadn’t seen their faces. If only she hadn’t gone to the police. If only she hadn’t agreed to testify.

The longer she spent in this hellhole the longer the list of “ifs” became.

Making her way across the parking lot, Harper juggled a stack of homework and her travel mug of piping hot coffee. The Marshalls had placed her here, in nowheresville Kansas and left her to rot. “For your own protection,” they kept telling her, but Harper didn’t know why she couldn’t have hidden out in Clint’s apartment (his building did boast a security guard after all) instead of being torn away in the dead of night and placed here.

“Ms. Sims.”

Harper took the two steps up to the school’s front doors.

“Ms. Sims, wait one moment.”

She struggled to readjust the papers in her arms so she could open the door.

“Jane.” A voice snipped right next to her ear.

Jane, oh right, that was her now. Her new identity: Jane Sims, high school art teacher and all around bore.

She spun around, the mug slipping from her hand. The lid – which had already been dangerously loose – flying off and the coffee arching, almost comically, all over the person standing behind her.

Fuck.

It was one of those mornings in Kansas where the weather couldn't make up its mind if it was spring or fall. But the sound of dry leaves cartwheeling across the parking lot told Arty winter snows not the summer sun would be visiting soon.

Arty Bradford carefully nudged his 2014 Camry forward until the front wheels kissed the curb with the word "Principal" painted on its sullen gray face. Taking one last look in the rear view mirror making sure his ties was not leaning to one side of his collar, he spotted the new art teacher, Jane Sims, trudging across the parking lot, struggling to keep a pile of papers and a cup of coffee from tumbling on the ground. Well, he thought, let's start the day off with a good deed and offer Ms. Sims some assistance.

Jane Sims the new art teacher. Arty couldn't quite figure her out yet. She arrived with the District Superintendent the first day of class to replace Mrs. Forrester, who resigned suddenly only a week prior to care of her ailing mother in Wichita. Ms. Sims' credentials were impeccable and she seemed to be competent in the classroom. There was just something about her that gave Arty pause.

It wasn't that she was unfriendly, more along the lines of being aloof Arty thought. There was no doubt she was an attractive woman but her wardrobe choices did everything they could to conceal that fact. Even the kids noticed it and this part of Kansas had to be the final stop for the fashion trend train. Arty chuckled remembering hearing two girls commenting that "Ms. Sims dressed like fucking Auntie Emm." Arty felt it was more like putting shag carpeting over beautiful hardwood floors.

Arty locked his car and strode across the parking lot.

"Ms. Sims"

No response.

"Ms. Sims. Wait a moment."

Still no response.

"Jane."

Finally, as if Jane was her cue to wake from a hypnotic trance, she turned. The coffee mug she was trying so hard to hold escaped from her grasp. Arty, who always prided himself on his cat like reflexes, wasn't quite cat like enough to avoid the steamy hot black liquid that shot out of her cup.

"Oh god, I am so sorry, Principal Bradford." Harper felt the blush creeping up the back of her neck to stain her face a brilliant red. She fumbled for her purse, trying to find tissues or napkins with which to sop up the mess, and succeeded only in dropping all of her papers to the ground.

"Fuck." She muttered, stooping quickly to gather them up. "I'm so sorry. I didn't hear you and then you were right there and oh god I can't believe I ruined your shirt..." The words tumbled from her lips in rapid succession, word vomit everywhere and Harper too embarrassed to meet the principal's eye.

"I'll get it dry cleaned for you. I promise." Papers haphazardly gathered, Harper stood quickly, the sudden movement making her dizzy.

She didn't use to be like this. Three months ago she was a cool and confident New Yorker who didn't take shit from anybody. But now, now her life was a complete wreck and her personality had shifted to match.

"Again, I am terribly sorry." She attempted a feeble smile, hoping against hope that he wasn't mad.

"No need to apologize. I'm fine. It's really my fault, I shouldn't have snuck up and startled you."

Arty tried his best to put Jane Sims at ease and the faint smile that creased her lips suggested Arty had done just that. He certainly didn't want to let on the skin on his chest, where most of the coffee had landed, was on fire.

"Don't worry about the shirt. I've got a spare in my office. Let me walk you to your room."

They walked in tandem the short distance down the hallway in an awkward silence. Jane still seemed to be shaken from the coffee incident and Arty felt any attempt at making small talk would just make her feel even more uncomfortable.

When they reached her classroom, Arty opened the door and watched as Jane made her way to the front. He noticed that she walked with a degree of self assurance and confidence so her body from the waist up just glided over the desks. Almost like a model on the runway. So different from the nervous, befuddled woman he encountered on the steps ten minutes earlier. He made a mental note to take a look at her personnel file when he got back to his office.

Before leaving, Arty took a step into the classroom.

"Oh, Ms. Sims. Just so you know, as long as there aren't any students within earshot, it's Arty."

"Look how each artist translates their subject. They all have the same subject, but each one takes a different approach, a different style. See how this one plays with the light, the..." Harper felt as if she were talking to the walls. Around her the room hummed with silence. The student's stared at her blankly, their attention not on the lesson, but on the clock above the door which ticked away; the ever present pendulum of her time in this godforsaken place.

A heavy sigh balanced on her lips as Harper fought the urge to scream and rail at the teens who stared straight through her. What did they care of Impressionism and the value of art in the world? Their thoughts were on the pep rally after school and the homecoming game that night. To them, art held no place in a world that revolved around crops and weather patterns. They had no time or need for finer things.

The bell rang, mercifully bringing class to an end, and like Pavlov's dog the students gathered their things and moved, as a mindless herd, through the door and on to their next, mind numbing, class.

The room empty, Harper sunk into her desk chair, slouching in a way that would have made Clint's mother tsk in that posh "I'm judging you without saying I'm judging you" way. But Harper didn't have to worry about the old bat anymore, did she. At least that was one good thing to come of all this. The good, however, did not outweigh the bad in this situation. Every day Harper went home to an empty apartment; the stark, white walls devoid of any personal touches. Gone were the framed photos she had painstakingly taken, the artwork she had collected, the books inherited from her mother. All of it left behind in a tearful flash. The nights were the worst, though, when she crawled into an empty bed, the sheets chilled without Clint's body beside her. She had yet to fall asleep without crying over the picture of him she'd managed to smuggle into her pocket.

The thought of Clint, now, brought tears to Harper's eyes and she hastily brushed them away. It was not the time to let emotions get the best of her. Best to save her tears for the privacy of her bedroom.

Glancing at the clock, Harper sighed wearily. The day seemed to drag on and yet it was barely noon. Her next class wasn't due for another thirty minutes, allowing Harper time to eat and breath and mentally prepare herself for another catatonic group of students.

After hanging his coffee soaked shirt on the back of a chair in his office and putting on another, Arty sat down at his desk and turned on his computer. While he waited for it to boot up, he thought more about his encounter with Jane Sims. He really never had a chance to sit down and talk with her. She showed up the first day of classes and got thrown into the mix without any real orientation. In fact, he never looked at her personnel jacket.

Her personnel jacket. Before diving into the stack of reports that needed to be completed, he sent an email to his administrative assistant, Mrs. Stratton, asking her to pull Jane's file. Even though he could see Mrs. Stratton's work station from where he was sitting, she insisted all requests be made via email. Arty didn't get it but he finally ran up the white flag and surrendered to technology. Time to live in the 21st century. If Mrs. Stratton, who Arty guessed was a year older than God, could do it, he could also.

The rest of the morning was spent filling out all that required paperwork that the district, state and feds demanded. At about 11:30, he pushed his chair away from his desk. Fuck this, he thought, I need some coffee. He scooted his chair back to the desk so he could check his emails before he journeyed down to the teachers' lounge. He clicked his mouse on Mrs. Stratton's reply regarding Jane's file.

"Mr. Bradford. It seems Ms. Sims' personnel records are missing. I can't, for the life of me, remembering filing them. Perhaps Superintendent Bartlett forgot to leave them here. Would you like me to call over there and check?"

Interesting. Arty was sure Dr. Bartlett had a file folder with him when he brought her over that day. Thinking back on it, Arty realized that whole meeting was a little strange, like it was almost scripted. He'd deal with this when he returned from feeding his caffeine addiction.

Walking through the main office and opening the door,, Arty was greeted with the cacophony of a high school hallway between classes. Locker doors opening, books crashing into metal, kids milling about in a choreographed frenzy. They were wound up more than usual today with it being homecoming weekend. Arty carefully weaved his way through the throngs and headed toward the lounge.

As he walked past the Art Room, he took a quick look inside. There he saw Jane Sims slumped at her desk, staring straight up at the ceiling. Maybe she was meditating, maybe she was exhausted, maybe she was still upset about what happened this morning. Only one way to find out, reaching for the door and opening it.

"Jane, everything OK?"

"Oh, Principal...I mean Art...um Principal...you. I didn't see you there." Harper sat up quickly, fingers brushing against her cheeks; checking to make sure there were no tears or mascara smudges.

At some point that morning her chestnut brown hair had escaped the messy bun she'd pulled it into and now tendrils fell into her wide, hazel eyes.

"What brings you all the way down here?" She asked, pushing away from the desk to move about and tidy the already spotless room with a nervous energy. In the time Before, Harper had never been like this. Now, she felt like a skittish foal anytime someone got near. And it didn't help that Principal Bradford seemed able to look beyond her carefully constructed facade.

Harper used to pride herself on the way that men would watch her. Their eyes on her slim hips, trailing down her backside to long legs made lean from her daily three mile run. Now, however, she would have done anything to keep this man from watching her so intently.

"Was there something you needed?" She glanced at him over her shoulder, noticing that he'd changed his shirt.

She fiddled with the sleeves of her own blouse. The concealer covering the tattoo on her wrist had smudged against the fabric and she quickly licked her thumb and rubbed at the spot on the pale blue fabric.

"I was just on my way down to get some coffee and saw you sitting at your desk."

Arty took a quick look around the classroom that Jane was pretending to clean just to avoid eye contact with him. A dry ink easel stood next to her desk with the names Monet, Renoir and Degas neatly printed on it. Looks like a lesson on Impressionist artists. He gave himself an imaginary pat on the back. Even a dumb jock like him absorbed some culture after gallivanting across Europe for five years. Of course, when you had a beautiful, intelligent companion like Espy.......

"Don't. Go. There. Arty."

That fucking voice inside his head again. The words reverberating between the walls of his skull so loudly and clearly he thought for sure Jane was able to hear them.

Shaking his head like a boxer after taking a shot to the chin, Arty refocused his attention back to Jane. As she bounced from desk to desk, straightening already straight chairs, Arty noticed that she probably had a pretty nice body. He couldn't tell for sure since her clothes left everything to the imagination. The little bit of leg that did show and just the way she moved gave Arty the impression she was an athlete or worked out often.

"Was there something you needed?"

Jane's words made Arty look up. He felt a bit embarrassed, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Even a woman like Jane Sims knew when a guy was checking out her ass. Better think of something quick.

"You know Jane, actually there is. I'm short two chaperons for the Homecoming Dance tomorrow night. I was hoping you could help me out. That is if you don't already have plans."

If she didn't already have plans? Harper bit back a caustic laugh. The last time she'd had plans she'd ended up in Witness Protection. Now, her plans never extended beyond what show she'd watch that night and seeing how much wine she could drink without getting hungover.

Attending a high school dance wasn't exactly on top of her list things to do, but it certainly beat another night of fuzzy cable and a microwave dinner.

"No," she shook her head, "i don't have any plans. So, sure, sign me up for chaperon duty."

Thinking their conversation over, Harper went about resetting the projector - the fact that the school still used such outdated tech astounded her - for her next class which was due at any moment. Her thoughts, however, was not on the slides but on the man still standing in her doorway looking as if he had something else on his mind.

"Was there something else?" She asked, praying to God there wasn't.

The shrill ring of the bell echoed through the halls, followed by a cacophony of teenage voices and hurried footsteps.

Saved by the bell.





The rest of the day passed without incident and, as the final bell rang, Harper sighed heavily - releasing all the day's stress in one breath. Gathering her things, careful to keep everything in a neat stack in her arms, Harper headed out to the parking lot. School had let out nearly an hour before, leaving only a handful of cars in the lot. The old Volkswagen stuck out like a sore thumb even among the beat up pick-ups and hand-me-down cars most of the students drove.

Climbing into the driver's seat, Harper could think of nothing but a relaxing bubble bath and a glass of wine. Pure heaven. Her car, however, had other ideas.

"C'mon you piece of shit." She muttered, turning the key. The car sputtered, giving the littlest bit of hope, then died completely.

"Dammit." She slammed her hands against the steering wheel, tears pricking at the back of her eyes. "Fuck you, you fucking piece of fucking shit." She screamed at the car, her hands beating against the wheel with all the strength she had. Her frustrations pouring out in a steady stream of curses and tears.

Arty was glad, albeit a bit surprised, that Jane accepted his invitation so readily. Perhaps he could find out a little bit more about Jane Sims tomorrow evening.

As he turned and started to make his way to the teachers' lounge for his coffee, Arty stopped and stood in the doorway. Jane was bending over her desk sorting some slides. He couldn't help but notice the outline of her ass that awful skirt tried so hard to hide. Yes, he decided, she did have a nice body. Those couple strands of hair that managed to extricate themselves from that ever present bun on top of her head made her look cute, even sexy. But those clothes. All she needed was a white bonnet to complete the total Amish look.

"Was there something else?"

Fuck she caught me again Arty thought. Now she thinks I'm a total perv.

"No, no nothing else. Thanks for helping me out. I owe you one."

The bell rang and Arty made a left turn and headed to get his coffee.

Once he returned to his office, he asked Mrs. Stratton to follow-up on Jane's personnel file. She gave him a dirty look, after all he didn't send an email request, but Arty just ignored it. Maybe he'd have a chance to look through it before the dance.

Arty spent the rest of the afternoon making sure everything was in order for tonight's pep rally and game. The 3:30 bell sounded before he knew it. As part of his daily routine, Arty walked the hallways at dismissal. The excitement of homecoming weekend and the raging hormones of horny teenagers was palpable. All the boys hoping that this would be the weekend they finally got to whatever base they were trying to get to. That made Arty think. How long had it been since he got laid? A long, long time.

The halls had emptied pretty quickly today and Arty settled back into his desk chair. Checking his emails one last time, he opened the one from Mrs. Stratton. Jane's file was at that district office. They would put it in the inter office mail and he'd have it on Monday.

Leaning back in his chair, Arty thought more about the mysterious Ms. Sims. It seemed she was trying to reinvent herself. But didn't most people who did that go for an upgrade? Jane was going in the other direction. Her clothes for one. Arty was almost tempted to remind her earlier that she was going to a high school homecoming dance not the five o'clock performance at the Lonely Hearts Dinner Theater. Wear something appropriate for God's sake.

It was almost 4:30 now and Arty knew he'd better get going. He grabbed the shirt he wore this morning that hung from an office chair and started for the parking lot. Looking at the stained shirt, he thought you got a lot of room to talk about fashion don't you Arty. Docker khakis, Docker shirts, Docker shoes Docker fuckin everything. A far cry from those tailored Italian suits and hand made Italian loafers he 'd buy in Milan when he and Espy would go on one of their week long shopping trips.

Espy, Esperanza Chavez-Mendoza, there I said it. Fuck you voice inside my head. Espy, the only woman he ever loved. The woman who left him broken, destroyed and why. It's been almost 15 years now and he still didn't have that answer. Fifteen years since he returned from Barcelona, his basketball career over, the love of his life gone forever. Now here he was in the thriving metropolis of El Dorado, Kansas. The City of Lost Gold my ass. His current tailor was Barry, the manager of the Big and Tall section at the Men's Wearhouse in Wichita. Fine Italian dining meant the Olive Garden and clubbing was karaoke on Thursday at the Dew Drop Inn. Yikes!

As he opened the front door he was greeted with the grinding of a car starter in its death throes. Arty wasn't much of a mechanic but he had enough experience with shitty cars and old farm equipment to know the prognosis was not good. Who was the lucky owner?

The sound led Arty to a beat-up old Volkswagen. Inside, he saw Jane Sims doing on beat down on her steering wheel. Even though her window was only half way open, Arty could hear a barrage of "fucking this and fucking that" coming from inside. Well it looks like the day will end the way it started, helping out a damsel in distress. He hoped there wasn't a cup of coffee involved this time.

Arty approached her car with caution, like a cop on a traffic stop. Bending at the waist he tapped on the window. Jane looked up trying very hard to hold back the tears that cascaded down her cheeks.

"I think it's your starter. Look, I doubt very much you're going to be able to do anything about it this evening. Why don't you lock it up and I'll give you a lift home. I'll call the police and let them know it's here so they don't tow it. We'll tackle it in the morning."

Arty gave Jane his best smile and reached for the door handle.

Harper was certain that she looked an absolute wreck as she startled at the knock on her window. Her face felt tight, the salt from her tears drying against her skin, and she was sure her eyes were red and her cheeks blotchy. Definitely not the image she wanted to portray to anyone.

"I think it's your starter. Look, I doubt very much you're going to be able to do anything about it this evening. Why don't you lock it up and I'll give you a lift home. I'll call the police and let them know it's here so they don't tow it. We'll tackle it in the morning."


Hastily rubbing the tears away, her fingers coming back smudged with mascara, Harper opened the door and stepped out. She knew he was right, there was no hope for that pile of shit, at least not right then. Shoulders slumped in defeat, Harper nodded slowly.

"Thank you," she said, her voice rough with emotion. "I'd really appreciate that. And I'm sorry you had to see this." She gestured at her disheveled state. "I'm not usually such a mess."

Following Arty to his car, Harper smiled gratefully as he held the passenger door open for her. As he climbed into the driver's seat, Harper fiddled with her seat belt, suddenly uncomfortable in this enclosed space with a man who was far too interested in seeing beneath the careful mask she had constructed.

"I'm not usually such a mess."

Arty felt sorry for Jane as she gathered her things from the backseat and stepped out of the car. She obviously was quite embarrassed for losing her composure and having an eye witness, her boss no less, observe the meltdown. After locking her car, she trailed behind him as he walked over to the passenger side of his Camry and opened the door. Arty looked away as Jane gracefully slid into the passenger seat. He didn't want her to feel any more self-conscious than she already felt.

Arty started the car and looked over at Jane. She was fidgeting in her seat, trying her best to get comfortable or at least give the illusion she was comfortable. It wasn't working.

"Please don't apologize. We all have really crappy days. When I have one of those days, I go home, put on my sweats, grab a nice glass of wine and read a good book. That usually makes me forget about it. Where's home?"

"Where's home?"

Had such a loaded question ever been asked? Harper bit back the urge to sigh as her mind conjured images of her Manhattan apartment.

"Mrs. Henderson's, just outside of town." Harper sat back, trying to relax as Arty steered them out of the parking lot and onto Main Street. "I rent the barn behind her house."

Alice Henderson was a staple in town, her family had owned most of the land the town was built on. Her son had been the star quarterback before enlisting in the Marines. While he was deployed, Mrs. Henderson rented out the old barn that he'd converted to an apartment. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Harper.

The ride out of town wasn't long, but the awkward silence that settled over the pair made it seem that much longer. Harper sat, watching the barren scenery pass, keeping to her little corner of the car.

As Arty navigated the winding, dusty drive that led down to the Henderson homestead, Harper glanced over at him, taking in the way he focused on the path ahead. Harper hadn't spent any time with the principal outside of school, and the time she had spent with him had always been centered around staff meetings or other group gatherings. Never one-on-one, unless the horrible incident of that morning - and the subsequent conversation in her classroom - counted. He was an interesting man, her artist's eye instantly taking in the strong bone structure, the lean build of an older athlete. Despite his age, Harper could see why so many of her single female colleagues whispered about him being a "silver fox."

The car pulled to a stop and Harper quickly looked away, as Arty turned towards her.

"Thank you." She said softly, pulling the door handle. "I appreciate this." Flushing slightly, Harper couldn't believe she was about to ask yet another favor of him. "I don't want to impose, but I doubt my car will be ready by tomorrow night. Do you think you might...and you don't have to if you don't want, but do you think you might pick me up before the dance?"

Why in God's name would she be staying at Mike Henderson's "Banging Barn" as all the teenage girls in town had named it. It was a good distance from the main house so Mike could sneak all of his conquests over to avoid the prying eyes of his mom. Plus, the Henderson property was pretty much in the middle of nowhere in a middle of nowhere town. There were some nice apartments in El Dorado and the rents were reasonable, certainly affordable on her salary. Maybe it made sense seeing how she dressed. Trying her best not to draw any attention to herself.

The more he learned about Jane Sims the more intrigued he became. There was something in her eyes that piqued his curiosity. Being able to read people was one of his biggest strengths. It was his best asset on the basketball court. Knowing his opponents, capitalizing on their weakness on both ends of the court, made up for some of his physical deficiencies. Yeah, he was real good at it, except when it came to Espy.

There she was again, invading his mind, bringing back the sadness. He hadn't thought about her for years, then today, three times. Maybe Jane Sims had something to do with that.

Arty took a quick look over at Jane who was staring aimlessly out the window. She couldn't get any closer to the door on her side, hugging it like she was making love to it. If she would only wear something that was stylish at the turn of the century, and not the 20th, she already was doing that, she would be a real hottie. A nice little black dress, some FMPs, a term Espy and her best friend Maribel added to his vocabulary, yeah she would be real doable.

As he pulled into the driveway, Arty could feel her eyes on him. Just another carry-over skill acquired from years of being a baller. Stopping at the end of the driveway, Arty shifted into park and started to open his door to help Jane out. He barely had one foot out the door, before Jane started scrambling out his car.

".....................do you think you might pick me up before the dance?"

"Sure, it would be my pleasure. I was going to offer you a ride anyway but you beat me to the punch."

"I'm sure I'll run into Sam McKee at the game tonight. He owns the auto body and repair shop in town. I'll tell him about you car. Why don't you give me the car keys and he can get it over to his place and take a look at it."

Arty reached into his glove compartment and pulled a piece of paper and pen and began writing.

"I play ball over at the community college every Saturday at 6:30. I'll be out of there by 8:00. Here's my phone number. Why don't you give me a call and I'll give you a status update on your car. I usually go over to Emmy's Diner for breakfast afterwards. Care to join me?"

When they tore her away from her life the Marshals gave Harper two rules: don't contact anyone from her old life and don't get close to anyone. The second rule was the reason she turned Arty down for his breakfast invitation. Harper was all too aware that Arty Bradford was a man she could see herself opening up to, a man in whom she could easily confide. His gentle manner over her few weeks in El Dorado had proven that, which was why she'd kept herself so closed off from him.

But, as she sat in the apartment that night, soaking in a bubble bath with a glass of wine, Harper wondered at the urge she'd felt to say yes to his invitation. The word had been there, perched on her lips, before she'd swallowed it back down.

It's the hormones, she kept reminding herself. It's been three weeks since I've gotten laid and this thing is nothing more than hormones.

Harper ran her toes over the cold faucet, sinking further into the warm bath as she remembered the last time she and Clint had been intimate. It had been the morning that everything went to hell. They'd been in bed, half asleep when he rolled over her. What had followed was the hazy, half-dazed love making that felt more of a dream than reality. It was slow and tender. Loving. One of those moments when a couple wasn't just fucking, but worshiping each other's bodies.

Recalling the feel of Clint on top of her, his hands caressing her skin, Harper's hand dipped beneath the bubbles. Her head fell back against the tub as practiced fingers parted her lips and brushed against her clit.

"Oh god," she gasped as the finger massaged her clit, sending shivers down her spine. Back arching, she caressed her breast with her free hand, toying with the nipple until it was a hard pebble. A finger slipped between her wet folds, burying itself deep within her.

"Fuck." She bit her lip, eyes screwed shut as her hips rose to meet the thrust of her digit. Water sloshed over the side of the tub as she lost herself in the familiar pleasure.



At six o'clock the next night, Harper was waiting for Arty to pull into the driveway. She had spent that day mentally preparing herself for this. Not knowing what tonight would bring, Harper needed to keep her wits about her and she needed to make sure that she didn't allow Arty to see her as vulnerable as she'd been the day before.

Her looks had always served as her armor. The wonders a designer label could do for a woman's confidence were astounding. But, Harper didn't have access to the things of her former life and, thus, she had to rely on the good graces of her land lady for help. Mrs. Henderson, for her part, did not disappoint. The wonderful thing about old farmhouses were that the attics were full of trunks and trunks of old clothes. The Henderson family were not ones to throw things out and Mrs. Henderson had unearthed a plethora of dresses for Harper to try for the dance.

Now, standing on the farm house's wrap around porch, a glass of lemonade sweating in her hand, Harper resisted the urge to smooth out non-existent wrinkles in her dress. A cloud of dust rose in the distance, a sign that Arty was nearly there. Doubts flooded Harper's mind as she saw the car getting closer. Had she made the right decision in discarding her shabby spinster clothing for something the old Harper would have worn? There was no time to change, though, as Arty pulled up beside the house. Stepping down the steps carefully, her legs familiarizing themselves once more to the feel of stilettos, Harper approached him with a hesitant smile. She tried not to fidget as his eyes swept over her, taking in the way the sapphire blue dress clung to every inch of her body, extenuating the curve of her breasts and hips. It had reminded her of something Joan would wear on Mad Men, the 1960s style sheath dress ended just above her knees, showing off the lean, feminine muscles of her calves. She'd left her hair down, letting the rich brown tresses fall in their natural wave. She felt like her old self. Or as much like her old self as she could under such circumstances.

"So, should we get going?" She asked, stepping around to the passenger side.

Sitting on his couch, sipping his third or was it his fourth?, Johnny Walker Blue, staring a hole through his TV, Arty wondered if this was the second or third time he watched this edition of ESPN Sportcenter. He leaned back, letting his neck rest on the soft, suede cushion and gazed up at the ceiling. From a work perspective, the night went amazingly well. The pep rally went off without a glitch and good ol' El Dorado High won the game. From a personal perspective, not so much. Hence the need to break out good ol' Mr. Walker.

After the game he did manage to talk with Sam McKee. He told Arty he'd stop by the school in the morning, take a look at Jane's car and give him a call when he knew something. Arty reminded Sam that she was new in town and asked him to be as gentle with the cost as possible. That's when Jane entered his where she still resided despite Mr. Walker's influence.

When Arty asked her about breakfast on Saturday, the "No, thanks" came without the slightest indication she would have even considered another answer. It was probably for the best, Arty thought, what the fuck would we talk about. We had such a scintillating conversation on the way to her house.

Just then, a report from a NBA training camp came on which made Arty sit up and listen. He threw what was left of the amber liquid in his glass down his throat and poured himself another. Number four or five? Don't know, don't care.

"That's it, Jane. Let's talk about how we ended up here in Bumfuck, Kansas. OK, I'll go first. You see, I was going to play in the NBA. I was a star at UK, second team All-American, a lock to be drafted. At least that's what my agent told me. But guess what? He was wrong. What a shocker. But he got me this great deal to go to Barcelona and play. Five year deal, great money, but he was sure a NBA team would pick me up before training camp started. Wrong again."

Arty stopped his pathetic soliloquy to gulp down half his drink. Taking a deep breath now fueled by the Scotch he continued, his black Lab, Tex, his captive audience.

"Then there's Sara. You see, Sara and I were the perfect couple. The both of us from small towns in western Kansas, me the All-American boy, she the All-American girl. She was a perky, blue eyed blond, a cheerleader, she was going to wait for me when I got back and we'd get married. It was like a Rockwell painting, right Jane? He painted shit like that didn't he? Well guess what, I never came back and she didn't wait."

Tex let out a long sigh as if he was resigned to the fact that Arty was just getting started.

"So I stayed in Barcelona. Then one night one of my teammates told me his girlfriend, Maribel, had a friend who was dying to meet me. Her name was Espy and she was from LA but her father, a very successful business man, sent her to Barcelona to finish her Masters in Business. We hit it off right away. She was smart and boy was she hot. She had an ass that just wouldn't quit. Kinda like yours Jane, I think, if you ever wore something that didn't hide the fucking thing."

Arty swallowed the rest of his drink and Tex let out another sigh that was canine for "Oh fuck."

"Anyway I digress. Espy and me, we spent the next five years together, fell in love and we were going to get married. She went back to LA to plan the wedding and never came back. I tried to reach her, phones, emails, never heard nothin. Then, about a week after she left, there's a knock on my door. Maribel and a guy in suit ask if they could come in and talk to me."

With tears welling up in his eyes, Arty staggered to his feet.

"C'mon Tex, let's go to bed."






The next morning around 11, Arty was sitting on the same couch, swearing to God he'd never drink again when his cell rang. It was Jane inquiring if Arty had heard anything about her car. Sam called a bit earlier, and yes it was her starter but a replacement would have to be ordered and it might not be ready until later in the week. Arty reassured her he'd be more than happy to help her out and that he'd come by around six to pick her up.

As Arty came to a stop in front of the Henderson place, he noticed a gorgeous young woman standing on the front porch. He did a double take, looking at the house and surrounding property. Yeah, this was the Henderson place, but who the fuck was that standing on the porch? The woman descended the porch stairs with cautious but strangely confident steps despite the four inch heels. As she neared the car, Arty got a closer look. It was Jane alright, wearing a blue dress that did a great job displaying her body. Fuck me, Arty thought, I was right. She is really hot.

"So, should we get going?"

Arty had started to get out to open her door but Jane was already settling in her seat. Getting back in and turning to her, Arty tried his hardest not to gawk but he couldn't help it. Was his mouth open to? Just don't do or say anything incredibly stupid, Arty.

" You look very nice Jane. Yes, we really should get going."

Good job, Arty!

Harper was keenly aware of Arty's gaze as he maneuvered the car down the winding driveway and out onto the road. His attempts to subtly glance over at her every few minutes was anything but subtle and his attention brought a flush to her cheeks. Fighting the urge to fidget and adjust the skirt of her dress - which had ridden up to show a nice bit of thigh - Harper turned to Arty.

"So...um...thanks for taking care of my car." She said slowly, unsure how to break the silence between them. "I really appreciate it."

Fingers toying with the bracelet Mrs. Henderson had loaned her - an art deco piece with a gold cuff band and large, costume jewelry styled stones - Harper's fingers brushed over her tattoo. The little camera had been an impulse decision, made after she'd landed her first job fresh out of college. It was a symbol of pride for Harper, one that reminded her to keep going even when life was turning to shit. If ever she needed that reminder it was now.

"I heard we won last night." Harper fished for something to fill the silence. Maybe it was the dress and how it made her feel more like her old self, but Harper was determined to start making the best of the situation. And it all started with stepping out and making conversation.

This used to be so easy for her. Harper used to spend her days moving from one social gathering to another. Now, though, she struggled to hold the simplest of conversations. Used to discussion art and theater what was she supposed to talk about with people who had barely even left their hometown. But damn it she would try.

"I have to admit I don't know much about football. I've never really been a sports kind of person."

ms_tiff said:

Harper was keenly aware of Arty's gaze as he maneuvered the car down the winding driveway and out onto the road. His attempts to subtly glance over at her every few minutes was anything but subtle and his attention brought a flush to her cheeks. Fighting the urge to fidget and adjust the skirt of her dress - which had ridden up to show a nice bit of thigh - Harper turned to Arty.

"So...um...thanks for taking care of my car." She said slowly, unsure how to break the silence between them. "I really appreciate it."

Fingers toying with the bracelet Mrs. Henderson had loaned her - an art deco piece with a gold cuff band and large, costume jewelry styled stones - Harper's fingers brushed over her tattoo. The little camera had been an impulse decision, made after she'd landed her first job fresh out of college. It was a symbol of pride for Harper, one that reminded her to keep going even when life was turning to shit. If ever she needed that reminder it was now.

"I heard we won last night." Harper fished for something to fill the silence. Maybe it was the dress and how it made her feel more like her old self, but Harper was determined to start making the best of the situation. And it all started with stepping out and making conversation.

This used to be so easy for her. Harper used to spend her days moving from one social gathering to another. Now, though, she struggled to hold the simplest of conversations. Used to discussion art and theater what was she supposed to talk about with people who had barely even left their hometown. But damn it she would try.

"I have to admit I don't know much about football. I've never really been a sports kind of person."

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That is fine fine. Arty tried to make feel her comfortable. He did not know how to. This was a funny moment. They seemed to have a feeling between each other but did not know quiet what that was.

"May be you will chat a little bit about it. Strong bodies are the key, right?" Harper said.

"Yes. You are getting there. It is more than that." Arty replied.

Arty took another look over at Jane as he made the left hand turn from the Henderson place onto the road. Perhaps, he thought, she didn't notice him staring at her thigh like he was a sex starved pervert. Maybe she thought he was checking for oncoming traffic. It was a good thing there wasn't any because Arty would have pulled right in front of it. No, Jane knew he was checking her out. It looked like she wanted to fix her dress, but she started thanking him for helping her with the car, probably hoping some conversation would avert his view away from her exposed leg.

It was obvious to him he was making her a bit uncomfortable. She kept pawing at her bracelet. Was she that nervous or was she trying to hide the small tattoo of a camera on her wrist? Arty was even more intrigued. The dress, the shoes, the makeup, the tattoo, maybe Jane Sims wasn't a "Plain Jane" after all.

Jane continued making small talk about last night's game and how she wasn't into sports. Arty allowed Jane to initiate the conversation, trying to put her at ease. When she seemed to lose steam, Arty jumped in and talked about what everyone's duties would be this evening. it wasn't anything too involved, just making sure the kids stayed in the general vicinity of the gym, checking the bathrooms every once in a while and making sure nobody snuck into the locker rooms to make out. You know how horny teenage boys are. Yeah I'm sure she does he thought. Just like their horny principal.

The evening and the dance went very smoothly. The kids were all basically pretty nice. In fact Arty's biggest problem was having them address him as "Dude." Arty paid special attention to Jane, watching her interact with the kids and other faculty. Everyone was as surprised as he was at how attractive she was once she wore something that didn't come from "Forever 60." Especially a lot of those horny teen age boys. But she handled it all very well. She was engaging and it appeared that she was enjoying her self more and more as the evening wore on.

It was almost 11 by the time the gym had cleared and it was time to lock up. Jane had patiently waited for Arty by the front door as he and the custodian, Mr. Gifford, made their way down the hallway. Mr.Gifford told Arty he'd finish up and bid both Jane and him a pleasant good evening.

Jane and Arty crossed the now deserted parking lot and headed for the Camry. For the last hour Arty had struggled on how to end the evening. Tonight, he saw a very different Jane Sims and it was more than just the physical difference her attire had made. There's just something about her that reminds him of Espy, something in her eyes. He had to find out more about her. As he opened the car door for her, he made his decision.

"There's a nice restaurant near the university in Wichita. It has a nice lounge and a pretty extensive wine list, well as extensive as you'll find here in Kansas. It's about a 30 minute drive from here and I was wondering if you'd like to stop for a glass. I promise I won't keep you late. I can tell you all about sports and you can tell me about your tattoo."

Harper was shocked at how much fun she had that night. For the first time in a long time she had literally and figuratively let her hair down, and she didn't regret it for a moment.

The transformation from dowdy old maid to young woman did not go unnoticed. Throughout the night it wasn't just Arty's gaze that she could feel on her. More than one male student approached her with comments about her newfound hotness. Though she admonished each for their inappropriate comments, Harper secretly enjoyed the attention.

By the time the dance was over, Harper felt flushed and happy. An emotion she hadn't felt in nearly a month. It was amazing what a new dress and some high heels could do for a woman's confidence.

She allowed Arty to lead her across the parking lot. Though her back ached and her feet were sore from dancing with some of the other chaperones, Harper was not ready for the night to end. She wasn't ready for her Cinderella moment to disappear and revert back to the Harper that hid from life. So, when Arty suggested they go to a restaurant, Harper had to bite her tongue to keep from jumping on the offer.

"Well I never turn down a glass of wine." She said with a genuine smile. "I think I can be persuaded to extend the evening."

Her fingers went to her wrist as Arty glanced down at the tattoo that peeked out from beneath the bracelet.

"Oh, this?" She smiled as he held the car door open for her and waited until he climbed into the driver's seat before turning her focus back on him. "It's nothing really. Just something I got after college. I used to be a photographer." Used to, god those words sounded so final. Would she ever get back to where she once was?

Shaking the thoughts from her head, she turned her attention back to Arty. Maybe it was the magic of the evening, maybe it was the prospect of not being alone for an evening, but Harper was feeling daring. With a slight grin she cast a glance at Arty from the corner of her eye. "It's not my only one, you know. The tattoo. I've got others."

"It's not my only one, you know. The tattoo. I've got others."

Those words seemed to hang in the air over Jane's head like a bubble in a comic strip. Her smile, combined with devilish gleam in her eye begged the question in Arty's mind "Where the fuck do I go from here after that remark?"

Could this be the same woman who spilled coffee all over him yesterday morning, then proceeded to act like a skittish school girl, searching for the right words to say but never finding them? The same woman who barely spoke more than three complete sentences to him during the first month of school. The same woman who dressed like a 1890's Kansas school marm. Well, the woman who sat in the passenger seat of Arty's Camry certainly wasn't that woman.

No, the woman who sat in Arty's car was a really hot chick that fueled some pretty serious carnal aspirations in Arty's mind and his crotch. Tonight's version of Jane Sims was an outgoing, fun loving, vivacious young woman who reminded him of Espy. Not their physical appearance, although he found them both incredibly sexy, but more the attitude, confident but not arrogant, flirty but not overtly provocative. But Arty kept going back to the eyes, or the looks both Jane and Espy made with their beautiful hazel, flecked with a touch of green, orbs. He hadn't quite figured out the connection but felt he was getting closer to finding it.

Now his biggest problem was finding a good response to that cartoon bubble still hanging over her head. If Arty had just met Jane in a bar, the answer would have been quite easy. Especially if she were dressed as she was now and flashed what Arty liberally interpreted as that "Come fuck me" look. Alas, no such luck. They were sitting in the parking lot of El Dorado High School. Arty was Jane's boss and he was a firm believer in the "you don't shit where you eat" theory.

Pressure's on Arty. Dig deep and come up with something witty, charming anything but lame. Also remember maybe say something that doesn't shut the door either. Jane was hot enough to be an exception to the rule.

"I can't think of a better topic to discuss over a glass or two of wine. I'd be very interested in hearing a lot more about those tattoos, Ms. Sims."

Why the hell had she said that? Harper flushed as the words hung between them.

I've got others. Said like it was a fucking invitation. Harper blamed it on the hormones that hadn't been entirely satiated by the previous night's solo session. Whether she had meant it to be an invitation or not, the words were still there, waving in the air like a great big "Fuck Me" flag.

It wasn't just that she had, essentially, given another man permission to explore her body that made Harper flush. It was that she had said it to her boss. What the hell would he think of her now? Okay, granted Arty had been showing her quite a bit of attention of late and, with her hormones going haywire at the moment, maybe Harper had read more into it than there actually was.

God she was so confused. And it didn't help matters that she was, quite frankly, horny as a frat boy on spring break.

"I can't think of a better topic to discuss over a glass or two of wine. I'd be very interested in hearing a lot more about those tattoos, Ms. Sims."

"Get a few glasses in me and who knows what other secrets I'll spill." Harper bit her lip, regretting those words even as she spoke them. Pressing her thighs together in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure building inside of her.

She was totally fucking this up. If she wasn't careful she could blow her whole cover.

The evening had been going so well; Harper had been happy to be out of the house and doing something. She had been happy not to worry about pretending to be something she wasn't. Now she was ruining it all.

"Sorry, oh god I don't know what's gotten into me tonight. This is not at all professional of me." She ran a hand through her hair, afraid to look at Arty. Afraid to see what he thought of her.

"Get a few glasses in me and who knows what other secrets I'll spill."

Now we're entering unchartered and perhaps dangerous territory Arty thought. However, the expression on Jane's face screamed "Mistake, mistake." If she saw those words in a cartoon bubble, she would have snatched them out of the air and crushed it.

You're to blame for this you fucking idiot Arty. That comment about discussing her tattoos over wine was neither charming nor witty. But it scored a perfect 10 on the lameness scale.

"Sorry, oh god I don't know what's gotten into me tonight. This is not at all professional of me."

Talk about a buzz kill. This is one of biblical proportions all courtesy of Arty Bradford and his award winning way with words. What a fuckin douche you are.

Jane turned away from Arty and stared down at the floor mat as if she was trying to discover some hidden meaning to the word "Camry" printed on it. Arty saw that confident look slowly leak from Jane's face as she was rapidly reverting back to Jane 1.0, the bashful, withdrawn old but young maid. No, he liked Jane 2.0, the foxy young woman who he saw at the dance this evening and had been sitting in his car up until he botched things up. What was he thinking? He needed to fix this and fix it right now.

"Hey, not to worry, you're just fine. How about if I give you the 25 cent tour of downtown El Dorado instead. I'll just drive around and point out the hottest tourist attractions. Plus, I'll be more than happy to regale you with tales about your not so fearless leader."

Not waiting for an answer, Arty put the Camry in drive and off they went. For the next 30 minutes or so, Arty drove around the city and babbled on and on about himself, his basketball career, his exploits in Spain and his return to Kansas. Jane seemed to enjoy his ramblings even letting out a polite giggle every once in a while. Arty could be charming and funny and he purposely dominated the conversation, hoping Jane would forget about the tattoo disaster.

It was almost midnight when Arty pulled into the Henderson place and this time took the narrow driveway that led back to Jane's place. Parking the car in front of the "Banging Barn", Arty told Jane he would be happy to give her a lift to and from school until Sam McKee had her car fixed. Just as Jane started to open her door, Arty reached out and gently placed his hand on her bare shoulder, a non-verbal "wait a second."

Jane stopped and turned back toward Arty. A lock of her chestnut hair fell across her neck, landing on Arty's hand. The feel of her warm, soft skin and her silky hair draped over his fingers sent a bolt of lightening coursing through his veins, traveling directly down to his rapidly stiffening penis. Jane seemed surprised but not horrified that he was touching her.

"I had a great time and this last half hour was the highlight of the evening. How about we take a mulligan on the tattoo conversation and a rain check on the wine?"

The feel of Arty's hand on her bare shoulder, his rough callouses moving across her skin in a way that sent shivers down her spine, gave Harper pause. How long had it been since someone had touched her so casually? It was a friendly gesture, nothing more, yet it sparked something in Harper that had been dormant for the past three months. She glanced at his hand - broad and strong, a man's hand - and wondered it would feel like to have those callouses brush against other parts of her.

"I had a great time and this last half hour was the highlight of the evening. How about we take a mulligan on the tattoo conversation and a rain check on the wine?"

"Huh? Oh yes. I had a great time, too." Harper forced her mind away from such treacherous thoughts and back to the conversation at hand. "I really enjoyed hearing about your life. It sounds like you've had quite a few adventures." She smiled at him, remembering how he had weaved the tale of his career. She had laughed, genuinely laughed, as he recounted story after story. It had been refreshing to get out of her head for a little while and just be with another person. Harper couldn't remember the last time she had felt this relaxed with someone. Even with Clint there was always a sense of keeping up an appearance.

In the years that they had been together, Harper had never once allowed Clint to see her looking anything but her best. She always got up before him in order to have her makeup and hair done before he woke up. Clint, with his Upper East Side sensibilities, would have been appalled at her wardrobe these last three months. In some ways, it was a relief to be away from him. In others...well she would have to rely on herself for relief of that nature.

Looking at Arty, Harper realized she didn't want to retreat to her Fortress of Solitude quite yet. She wasn't ready to revert back to pre-ball Cinderella.

"Why don't you come up. We can have one glass of wine - just one won't do any damage - then call it a night." She flashed him a friendly smile as she opened the passenger door. "C'mon, I'm sure you're not ready to call it a night either."

"I really enjoyed hearing about your life. It sounds like you've had quite a few adventures."

Jane's smile triggered another lightning strike, this one a direct hit on the part of Arty's memory that stored the Espy files. It was the same smile Espy beamed his way when they were introduced. Warm and sincere but with an underlying message of mystery, adventure and a hint of mischief.

That reminder of Espy made Arty sad inside and now felt he hadn't been all that truthful with Jane about his time in Spain. There was no mention of Espy, and Jane got the PG-13 version of Arty's European Escapades. Sure he talked about the shopping trips to Milan, the museums of Paris, summers in Mallorca. But he carefully omitted where he, Espy and sometimes Maribel, spent the majority of their free time. He never mentioned the trips to Stockholm, Oslo, Amsterdam and Munich where they frequented the most exclusive sex clubs on the continent, the places where Arty had his best and greatest adventures. No, Ms. Sims didn't get that part but something told Arty she might have enjoyed hearing about it.

Arty felt some kind of connection starting with Jane and although he didn't quite understand it, he very much wanted to pursue it. Maybe it was just an over reaction to the reintroduction of Espy into his thoughts, or maybe he was just horny but he wanted to get to know all about Jane Sims. He knew he had to tread lightly for now. They had a professional relationship and this was a very small town where everybody knew everybody else's business. But Arty had done a pretty good job of leading another life that no one had any idea about. He knew he could make it all work if Jane gave him any indication she was the least bit interested in him.

Now he wondered if she knew what mulligans and a rain checks were. She told him she wasn't very interested in sports so maybe she didn't know what the fuck he was talking about. That invitation was a way to gauge her interest.

"Why don't you come up. We can have one glass of wine-just one won't do any damage-then call it a night. C'mon I'm sure you're not ready to call it a night either."

Mulligan schmulligan, Arty got his answer. He'd make sure it would be only one. He didn't want to be too aggressive but there's something here he thought. He needed to see if Jane was on the same page.

"Sure I'd love to have a glass of wine with you. Perhaps you could tell me a little bit about Jane Sims."