By Any Other Name...(Closed)

[dirtybusiness]

"Kaylie, you did a great job today," Jillian said as she folded her arms on the pool deck, her long neck turning gracefully so sharp brown eyes could study the eagerly grinning face beside her. "But you're still turning your head when you breathe. Remember to stretch every stroke, and let your body roll to the side. If you're keeping your chin down a little, your mouth will come right out of the water."

Jillian glanced over the girl's head to the large clock. Their lesson had already run fifteen minutes over, and Kaylie's mother was watching from the cardio deck above the pool. Mrs. Parker caught her eye and tapped her wrist watch impatiently, looking thoroughly harassed and out of place in her crisply tailored suit amongst the sweaty group that was making use of the treadmills, ellipticals, stationary bikes and rowing machines.

She wanted to have Kaylie swim one more lap, but she was pushing her luck already. "You really did do better today, though. You're timing your kicks perfectly, and I can tell you've been practicing your backstroke." The girl flushed, visibly bolstered by the praise, and clambered out of the pool.

"I'll see you next week, Miss Reynolds!" Jillian grinned and waved goodbye before peeling off her Swedes, laying the goggles on the deck. Normally, she liked to swim an extra hour after giving lessons, but Sarah had called earlier to ask if Jill would cover a shift. The poor girl was in a wreck over her finals, so she had agreed.

Jillian liked working at Cool Beans. It was no Starbucks, but she thought it was all the better for it. She had worked there for six years, starting right after her sixteenth birthday. When she had taken the job, she just needed some cash to spend at swim meets.

Everyone in highschool, including the swim coach, had been certain that Jillian would go to the Olympics. She brought home State in her freshman, sophomore and junior years of highschool, and she had never come in anything less than 3rd in the nationals.

At the beginning of her senior year, several college scouts were interested in meeting her. She was by no means an A student, and the idea of making it to college on an athletic scholarship was a dream come true.

But when everything really started coming together, it all just fell apart. The drunk driver who wrecked into her didn't take her life, but he totalled her future. The doctors had done everything they could, but the damage was already done. "You'll swim again, Miss Reynolds, but only recreationally. You won't have the same strength or speed."

At first, she thought she would prove them wrong. But months turned into years, and what became her very best was left lacking in the wake of what used to be.

So her part time job at Cool Beans became permanent. She graduated high school with just enough to get by, but not enough to get her into any prestigious colleges. She posted an ad at the local gym for youth swimming lessons, and here she was, six years later.

Nothing had changed. The accident had happened, and life just sort of passed her by.

Hoisting herself out of the pool, she grabbed her goggles and took off her swimcap, shaking out her damp, wavy brunette hair. A quick shower, change, and off to work.

Her dark, intense eyes swept the length of the pool both ways as she headed for the locker rooms, imagining the could-have-beens.

It just isn't fair..., she thought, her throat suddenly tight.

But then again, no one ever said it would be.

* * * *​

At work, Jillian grabbed her nametag from the back room and couldn't help but grin as she deftly pinned it to her red Oxford. Her manager had changed it to Jezebel after she had gotten into a brief skirmish with a rather religious customer who couldn't think of anything else to call her.

As far as work was concerned, the name had stuck, and that was that.

Her dark hair was pulled into a high pony tail, no makeup needed to compliment what nature had already given her - high cheekbones, a ruler-straight nose, well shaped eyebrows and generously proportionate lips.

She was just tying her apron when Mandie, the barista for the evening, popped her head in. "Thanks for coming in," the shorter but curvaceous blonde said in her surprisingly husky voice. "We've already got a few warmers."

"Warmers" was their term for the people who came in and ordered plain coffee with free refills, and then sat there all night. They usually tipped poorly and did nothing but keep seats warm that spendier customers couldn't use. Jillian groaned and nodded.

"I finished the latest Gordon Starks. I even remembered to bring it for you, so if it's not too busy, there's something to look forward to at least," Mandie said with a grin before returning to her post behind the counter. Jillian shivered despite herself. She had liked reading his novels, right up until the last one. It had given her nightmares.

"Alright. Off I go." If it were Starbucks, she likely would have had to plaster a peppy smile on her face, but that wasn't necessary here. It was a laid back environment, and everyone who worked at Beans was practically family.

Out in the main lounge, she began making her rounds, weaving between overstuffed chairs of different sizes and upholstery, topping off cups while trying to avoid spilling anything on textbooks, laptops, essays and notebooks.

She hoped it wasn't going to be a busy night. Maybe she'd start on the Starks novel. Even though the last one had scared the bejeezus out of her, he was a damn good read.

 

[poohlive]

Jay wished his car had broken down. He actually hoped as he road down the winding highway in the dead of night that a tire would just blow. Let the whole car fishtail from the road, spinning end over end down some long cliffside until it reached the bottom a former shattered heap of what it once was.

Not to kill himself, Jay wouldn't want that. No. He just wanted the opportunity, so he could then crawl away, broken and bloody from the wreckage, cleaning himself off and getting up to start his life anew.

That would be a story. He paused, writing the first few trickles of it in his mind. The words scratched sheepishly onto the thick lined composition book. They were cursive, the letters all forming together, as if it were pure stream of consciousness that left him, nothing more than thoughts poured from a strainer down onto the white recycled page.

But that was it. After the initial thought he stared at the rest of the page, his fingers shaking for the next word, the pen dripping with incite but never putting down the rest of the sentence. His idea had actually died mid sentence, some aborted notion that had left his mind as easily as entering it.

He sighed, rereading what he had written, trying to get back into that frame of mind. Nothing came though. He didn't even know why he had put it down. A car, careening off a cliff? Apart from being cliche, where did it go, what did it do? The car meant nothing, it was nothing. How could he write a story about a car that just crashes?

Jay needed atmosphere. He couldn't stay here. He had picked up his books, walking down the three or four blocks to the local coffee shop. There might be a chance to think. The coffee shop allowed him that. It had the people with conversation, the human spirit without interaction. He could sit there, alone, surrounded by humanity and feel a part of civilization.

Of course, he wouldn't be. He wasn't part of civilization, not part of society at all. He was outside of society, some loner with a telescope, looking in on the dichotomy of human kind.

Yes, this person... this person who did not think of himself as human, walking around among them, seeing them, watching what they do. He lives outside of the normal society. He doesn't interact. No man is an island, except for him.

Jay sat down, already putting his idea to words. He stopped at the word island, feeling it sift through his mind already. He screamed no, trying to scoop it up, but it was jello, oozing through his fingers and falling down to the floor.

The only thought he remembered was that this human, this man outside of mankind did have one friend, a dog. His eyes looked up to meet his server. He smiled at her, at once feeling some connection.

"If you had a dog," He said, his pen poised, ready to write whatever she said down on his paper, "What would you name it?"

He loved the look she gave him. She didn't need to answer, already his pen was writing down everything. How her eyes grew wide in response, how her whole body stopped moving, as if some clock had been forced to stop tick tocking forward. The brush of one lone curled hair dangling from her brow, running past her cute face with tired eyes.

In spite of himself, he smiled at her. His eyes caught the attention of detail for his notebook, but to see her, to see her...

She was inspiration.

 

[dirtybusiness]

"Careful, Jezzy!" One of the usual Warmers snapped when she came dangerously close to spilling coffee on his lap. This was the same Warmer she had overheard last week telling one of his friends exactly what he'd like to do with her long legs.

If he hadn't caught on in time, her plan was to Oopsie the stream of hot jet right onto his crotch. Ah well.

"Oh! Sorry." Flashing a vapid smile, she moved on to top off the next cup, barely even looking at him as she did. His name was.... Jeff, or Jay, something like that. A name that suited him - overused and nothing special. The guy wasn't bad looking, and he was never rude. He'd been coming to Beans for at least a year now and no one had ever had any problems with him.

He was just so.... easily overlooked. Her lips formed a quick smile even though her eyes never touched his face as she finished filling his cup, straightening her spine with only minimal discomfort. Some days, it still hurt her quite a bit.

She had already taken a step away from him when he casually asked, "If you had a dog, what would you name it?" It was the way he asked her that caught her off guard, not the what. It made her mind click back twenty steps, trying to remember if they had been talking without her remembering it.

A little flustered, she lifted her free hand and absently hooked back an errant curl, tucking it behind her ear. "Clover," she answered a little belatedly, but it didn't seem like he was waiting for her to answer at all. He was already writing again, and for a second she thought she was going mad. Had she just imagined he had said that? It made sense. But that would mean she had just said "Clover," with surety to no one.

Then he looked up at her, smiling, and something about it made the skin at the back of her neck crawl.

"Can I get you anything else?" Unconsciously, she tried to take control of the situation, forcing it into something she could deal with rationally.

 

[poohlive]

She stared at him, through hue hazy eyes, darkened with a sun burnt kiss upon the earth. He stared desperately, or perhaps hungrily, trying to breathe her in, drink her essence as if pouring through the long desert wastes for days on end.

She pulled the strand back inside her hair, one flippant rogue curl that dashed pure beauty upon her cheek for being so different. It was the guesture of any woman, the gesture of time itself, drawing back the curl to give way to a pretty smile.

"Clover," The word, quiet, tentative, rolled off her lips as she spoke. The question had somehow caught ground in her mind. Wheels had been spinning absently over the question, but then touched the smooth surface and drove off. Yes, it would be Clover. The name of a dog. She could see him now, an australian shephard, or black labrador that barked at strangers and kept her bed warm at night. Clover, more than a friend.

Clover...

Jay caught himself, when he heard her speak again. He loved her voice. His mind reeled up from it, almost as if smelling the morning mist catch a sleepy meadow just as the sun rose. When he saw her, slightly impatient, waiting for him to answer before she could move off and dance to her other tables, he couldn't help but admire her.

"Yes... a sandwich. Something good, whatever you think is best. Surprise me."

He wanted to write more. He had caught something of the bug back, just looking at her, imagining her thoughts and her life pouring through him and his pen. Already two pages filled up with the idea, one coherent piece that could help revive his career.

"I... haven't written anything in weeks. I've had a dry spell, nothing that comes to mind has stuck inside. It's like trying to catch the wind."

He looked up at her, unsure why he was telling her this. He didn't even know her name. His eyes refused to look at her nametag just in spite of himself. To him she was some stranger, some muse that had returned his stolen talent.

"Looking at you just now, it's the first time I've been able to do anything. I don't know, maybe you're my good luck charm or something... my lucky clover."

He smiled at that, how clever.

"Thank you," He said, lowering his head, pen already scratching desperately across the paper.

 

[dirtybusiness]

"Alright, a sandwich, then. I'll be ri-"

Thick, dark lashes dropped once, then twice over brown eyes as he began talking again, his words almost hurried, as though he couldn't help himself. Without realizing what she was doing, she raised her hand again, this time to fumble at the top three buttons of her shirt. She normally left them open so she could vent off a little heat while working, but for some reason, this guy was making her feel extremely uncomfortable.

And then he just thanked her, bowing his head back over his notebook. With a subtle clearing of her throat, she nimbly stepped between the haphazardly strewn chairs, getting as much distance between them as possible.

"Mandie, I need a sandwich."
"Sure, what kind?"
"Surprise me."

The blonde just looked at her with an eyebrow quirked high, Jillian's humorless sarcasm having not gone unnoticed. "What's up, Jillybean?"

Sliding behind the counter with her, she poured herself a glass of ice water and downed half of it, catching Mandie's eye and then pointing surreptitiously with her pinkie at Jay. She caught on and flickered a glance in his direction before looking back, dropping her husky voice to a whisper. "What? Did he try to pick you up or something?"

"No," Jillian admitted, also speaking in a whisper. "He just... I don't know. He weirded me out a little." Mandie was already working on a sandwich, tossing ham and turkey, bean sprouts, mustard and swiss on wheat bread with practiced ease. Cutting it in half, she handed the plate over to Jillian with a chuckle. "He's harmless. Here ya go."

Sighing, she took the plate and made her way back over towards Jay. Mandie was right. The guy had been coming here for a long time, and he had never before given her any reason to worry.

She was just overreacting. Now that college or competitive sports were out of the question for her, she had too much time on her hands. Apparently, she had grown an overactive imagination.

This time when she reached his table, she looked right into his face and gave him a little half smile. "Your name was Jeff, right? Or was it Jay?"

 

[poohlive]

"It's... it's Jay," He said, his eyes travelling down her arm to the sandwich. He stared at it, unsure what had happened. Why had she brought it to him? Had he asked for a sandwich?

Yes, of course he did. He had asked for something of a surprise. From what it looked like, this sandwich definitely was a surprise.

"My name is Jay, and you are," He cocked his head to one side, "You are Jezebel. What a strange name, you don't hear that anymore. Like some old biblical name."

He jotted that down. Interesting. One moment of scratching notes before he came up to speak with her once more.

"Thank you for the name earlier. I don't know why my mind keeps slipping. Must be the coffee," He smiled at that, drinking what must have been his second or third cup. He lost track, it kept getting filled and that was enough for him.

He bit into the sandwich, the combination delighted his tastebuds. He tipped it in the direction of the kitchen, complimenting whatever chef had prepared it for him.

 

[dirtybusiness]

Her smile, feeble as it was from the get-go, had already threatened to falter with the curious look he gave the sandwich. She had expected him to tell her that wasn't what he wanted, that he was just trying to give a poor working girl a hard time, when he asked her name instead. The smile twitched back to life.

"No.. it's Jillian. Jezebel is just a nickname of mine at work. It's... a long story."

Nodding to him, she chuckled faintly. "I used to have a dog named Crimson. Do you remember the song Crimson and Clover? I loved it when I was little. I knew I would name my next dog Clover, when Crimson died."

That had been... ten or twelve years ago. She honestly hadn't thought of Crimson in months. She felt strange telling him this, but the memories had been gnawing back to the surface ever since he asked her that strange, out of the blue question.

His interest seemed to be waning again. She felt confused, and couldn't place why. He had never struck her as odd before tonight, just insignificant. Now there seemed to be something.... well, something missing about him. Like he was there physically, but somewhere else entirely mentally.

Not stupid. Just off.

"What are you writing? Can I see?"

 

[poohlive]

See his writing? He paused in mid chew, looking up at her as if she had asked him if he could take her to the moon. See his writing? No, no impossible.

Not before he rewrote it, re edited it, sent it off to his publisher to get back notes, different directions, different takes on the characters. Then, only then could she see it. Only then.

"It's... it's not very flattering. Just random thoughts."

What was he doing? He saw himself, picking up the stiff back of the composition, leafing through pages to the beginning, letting her hold it, see it, handle it. Some sadness entered him when he did let it go. He imagined this is what new mothers felt the first time someone else held their child.

"Ramblings mostly. I want to write a book, but I can't come up with a story."

Some markings of his mailman on the first page. A whole paragraph of who the mailman was, what he was doing with the mail. Notes off to the side about why his socks were different, and what color were his eyes.

A description of a woman buying milk from the store. The process of the milk, the cow, 2 percent, random edgings of why she stood in line, what she must be thinking. A million lists growing up inside of her head.

Random pages here and there. The car crash, a microwave explosion, a man who goes insane why staring too long at the three pennies he got back from a cashier.

Then her page. The words he wrote about her, specific words. He had jotted down how she limped, ever so slightly on her right foot, from a wound long since healed over, but never forgotten. He had written down Crimson next to Clover, he had circled the word Jezebel and put some funny question mark beside it and then scribbled Jillian. or was it Gillian?

It described her wonderfully, too wonderfully. It had the flair of an artist painting against the fine canvas, brush strokes against the pane. It was altogether sweet and yet too sweet.

"It's just randomness, don't..." But, don't what? What was she supposed to do with this? Pretend some strange man who just met her had already put her in thoughts and words in so close detail? Pretend that when he had said she inspired him, it only meant he had used her likeness to dive off into his own world of writing.

The writing was good, of course it was. It peaked on brilliance, had it been fiction, some unknown girl in an unknown diner, this Jillian (Gillian?) might have smiled at his work, happy that he had gotten so many significant details right. But, to see oneself in a half bred partition of fiction?

"I'm sorry, it's just random scribblings. You shouldn't have seen it," He snatched it away all too quickly, slamming the cover closed before her poor innocent eyes could read another word.

"I didn't mean to..." But he wasn't sure what the end of that sentence would be. A writer, lost for words. How was that for you?

 

[dirtybusiness]

From the way his body language seemed to be saying she was insane for even asking, she more than expected him to say no. Probably with a stinging reprimand to mind her own business.

But then his hands, with their long, graceful, almost feminine fingers, began to flip through the pages. He handed it to her, and she began to flip through them slowly, her brows seeming to want to touch one another as they drew close above the bridge of her nose.

Insightful, concise little descriptions of everyday life. An almost obsessive look into the mind of people caught up in the daily grind.

She stands there, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of one too many irrelevant cares, blue eyes vapid in a lackluster face. She shifts her weight in line and mechanically awaits her turn, either not caring that her life has come to this - an endless struggle to decide whether or not to buy the fancy creamer this month - or too numb to care.

Something about his writing was pulling at her subconscious, like marionette strings tugging the puppet, trying to make it work.

She leafed through the pages, some sections jumping out at her more than others. If the process of the pennies driving a man mad hadn't been written in such a mad way itself, she would have chortled. As it was written, though, it made too much sense how something so trivial could drive a person to the brink.

And then she caught two words on the next page that stopped her from skimming over it entirely.

Clover.. <-- Crimson

Tilting her head, the angle emphasizing the length of her slender neck, she began reading what he had written about her. Her already pale complexion lost what little color it had when she got to the part about the limp. She had to read it twice.

She winds through the chairs like water slipping through stones, lean, graceful, leading with her shoulders. It draws the eyes upwards, away from the slight way she limps on her right foot...

He snatched the book away from her before she could read any further, and she instinctively opened her hands wide, taking a step back. "I'm sorry," she interjected just as he said, "I didn't mean to," their words tumbling over one another like two dogs who had just pulled out of a fight, neither sure whether to be on the offensive or the apologetic side.

"You shouldn't be ashamed of your writing. It's..." Her throat worked over all the wrong words that never quite reached her lips. "...unique, yet familiar. It's good. I liked.."

Her mouth closed without finishing, her mind cutting back to some of what she'd read. She hadn't liked the parts about herself. It was too close to home. He saw too much, thought too much about what he saw. When it was about her, she felt like a studied specimen.

"I.. I'll get you more coffee," she finished lamely.

 

[poohlive]

"Ok," He replied, letting it tumble out of him almost as an afterthought. He wanted to say something to her, something a little more. But, nothing witty or clever came to him. This would be the perfect time too, to say something cute or funny, to put a smile on her face and let them get passed this awkward moment.

Instead, he watched her go. The moment stayed like some dark tarn between them, a pool of black oil they hade to wade through.

He began to write. It filled him, and he needed to. So many ideas came now. He had the girl, the character, he could see himself with her, what she did during break, how she moved, why she came to be here.

Except for Jezebel. He understood it all except for that.

She stood, frozen in time, one hand gently squeezing his shoulder, soft tender skin playing along his tatered shirt. Something streaked between them, a darkened lightning that drove away whatever madness he'd once had.

There it was. He could see it now. He saw the story. The guy, in the car. He rose from the ashes, he came here. He came to see this girl, this girl who pretended. This girl who fed him coffee, this girl who was not a waitress, but served him anyway.

He talked to her, she gave him a rare smile that not many people got alongside their runny eggs and piss warm coffee. He asked for her name, and she told him Jillian....

Even though it said Jezebel on her shirt.

Why had she given him her real name? It felt so good not to have them know her name. No matter how many stains covered her from this daily grind, she could always go home and wash them off. That name helped her. It was putting on the shoes, whatever happened here happened to Jezebel. Nothing more than a name, nothing more...

Why had she shared something so intimate, so crazy? He had a nice face. He wasn't bad looking, not at all. An attractive look ran through him like a streak, popping up here and there against his nose or along his cheeks. Mutty brown hair, deep hazel eyes, shown through high round cheeks. He was tall, his stomache pudged out with the start of a belly, or maybe the finish of one. It looked good on him, he looked comfortable in himself. A man who could move in a second if he wished, who wore his own skin better than most.

Yes, she liked him, but she would never admit it.

What was he doing? What was he writing?

Jay had been knocked from his writing because of Jillian. She came back, filling his cup. He gave her the weakest of smiles, a poor diluted excuse for a smile as she did so. He didn't want her to, he thought it would be better if she didn't have to speak to him again.

"Thank you," He said, for her kind words and for the coffee, and dealing with him, and everything.

"It was just writing. Random things. That's all."

But, he didn't know what he was doing. He had written himself in there, alongside of her. The fictional version of her in his new story came with a real version of himself. He had never written himself inside of a story before. What had he done, what was he doing?

What was she doing to him?

"I just...." Why was nothing coming to him? "Thank you, again."

 

[dirtybusiness]

Jillian's head bobbed in a single nod as she left his table, consciously thinking about her limp. The accident had compressed and chipped several vertebrae, dislocated her hip, torn several of the ligaments in her knee and broken numerous bones in her foot and ankle. It was amazing that she walked and swam as gracefully as she did; she hid it so well, in fact, that people who didn't know her and know about the accident never suspected anything.

Not until they got to know her, anyway.

And in truth, she never even noticed herself that she tended to lead her movements with her shoulder, subconsciously rolling her upper body in a way that rolled shoulders and hips in tandem, bringing the eyes up.

She didn't like that he had noticed this about her. It made her feel like a fake somehow, though she couldn't explain it.

Mandie was chatting up her boyfriend on the phone during a lull in orders, glancing around at all the cozy, overstuffed chairs and the Warmers who were reclining in them, working on homework, reading books, playing on their laptops or text messaging on cell phones

The sight calmed her down for some reason, and she picked up the fresh coffee pot, beginning her rounds again. By the time she reached Jay, she had her composure back, and she quirked a little grin at him, trying to brush it all off as casually as possible. "It's fine. Really. Enjoy your coffee."

Management was pretty slack with the girls. As long as they kept the place clean and customers weren't made to wait, they could sit out in the main room on their own overstuffed chair, with a book and a mocha.

Jillian thought it was a great idea. Mandie had brought Gordon Starks latest novel, Judas Kiss or something similar, and it would be a shame if she didn't at least turn a dent in it.

"If you need anything, just call for me." Leaving him be, she made her way back to the counter, coffee pot replaced on the warmer.

"Well of course it's a better OS, why else would Windows be ripping it off at ever corner with Vista?"

Mandie and her boyfriend were getting close to the phone sex part, judging by where they stood currently in the conversation. Shaking her head, she caught Mandie's attention and mouthed, "Where's the book?"

"In my purse," came the silent reply, before she plunged into a sudden tirade about the new Beryl.

Jillian made herself a cup of coffee and went to her favorite chair, a dark purple velour monstrosity that practically engulfed her when she sat down.

She had been right about the title. Judas Kiss. Solid black cover, printed in bold text that started white, but bled into red.

Simple cover. He didn't need to draw in his fans with flashy covers that promised unimaginable horrors. Just seeing his name on the front was enough.

 

[poohlive]

He spent the rest of the day in and out of his story. He wound through it, fleshing out parts, only skimming over others. Hours krept by peacefully. He finished his sandwich, and drank his never ending cup of coffee, and in the end, when the sun finally decided to grasp the earth with final desperate orange rays, Jay could only be thankful.

He paid his check, making sure to leave ample for a tip. She had put up with enough of him for one day, that deserved an extra fiver.

Then he saw her, lost in a book. It looked rather familiar, both her and the book. He loved the way she read. She had curled up in her chair, knees up, arms around her, almost shivering with each anticipating word. Those eyes just darted across the page, never ceaseless. He had thought her in a trance had he not known better.

He sat beside her, and it was quite a while before she even noticed him.

"Hi," He spoke, almost a whisper, trying not to interrupt her, even though he had, "You look like you're totally into it. What book is that?"

 

[dirtybusiness]

Hours ticked by on the kitty cat clock on the wall, it's tail a twitching pendulum and it's eyes rolling from left to right with every steady click of the second hand. Every half hour on the half hour, she would get up, grab the coffee pot, and make her rounds.

The clock meowed at 6pm, and as though it were a mystical cue, the doors opened and a group of people straight from work or college came tumbling in, the students laughing and jostling one another, the people in their smart business suits making it obvious that they tolerated it only with their last thread of patience.

The little rush lasted until seven, and then it was dead again. Even the Warmers started thinning out, until the only three people left were Mandie, Jay and herself.

Mandie's boyfriend came by for a latte and a nuzzle with her on one of the two loveseats. After topping off Jay's cup and refilling the sugar caddy's on each little coffee table, Jillian plopped back down on her favored chair and curled her legs up, feet tucked on one fat arm and her back nestled into the corner of the other.

She hadn't really gotten into reading until the accident. Television had always bored her, even as a child, and during the first horrific six weeks after the accident, she had been restricted to either bed or a wheelchair.

Books had been the only thing that could lessen the edge of her confinement, and simultaneously take her mind off of the curve life had thrown at her. Even now, she relied heavily on them to distract her from the monotony of her day-to-day existence.

With everything so quiet, she gradually checked the clock less and less, eventually forgetting to refill Jay's coffee entirely.

The plot was a living, serpentine entity, entirely unpredictable. The words slithered seamlessly through her mind as she devoured them. It wasn't until the clock meow'd again, making her glance up, that she took notice of Jay's nearness. Jerking, she dropped the book on her lap and then quickly picked it up, finding her page again with a soft, feminine but nervous chuckle.

"I'm sorry.. I didn't even notice you." Holding up the book, she gave it a vague wave, indicating the cover. "Gordon Starks' most recent. Judas Kiss. Do you like Starks?"

 

[poohlive]

Despite her reaction she recovered well. She brought the book up, letting him see it for effect. He nodded, seeing the title in that bold red lettering.

"I'm not a big fan," He said, shrugging his shoulders, "I really don't know him. You sound like you do. Is he any good?"

He didn't say it out of smugness, or eagerness to hear what she had to say. His words, his actions, his demeanors was purely honest. He was not a fan of Gordon Starks, probably one of the biggest critics of him. Although, he was curious what she had to say about his work.

She looked like she had gone through a lot of it already. Grinding her way through the pages, flipping them and dogging one of the corners so she could slip away and pour more coffee before she came back. It had the look of a good used novels.

All novels wished to look like that. They had a wonderful delight in wanting to be read and used, their spine crackled with white veins running down, the pages frayed and perfect. It was like dipping into a warm pool on a bright summer day, oh so inviting.

Despite the dark cover, the book was inviting.

But, his attention wasn't on the book, it was on her. Jillian and her answer, just what did she think of Gordon Sparks?

 

[dirtybusiness]

She hesitated, a slim shoulder rolling in a light shrug. "He's.. well, he's a phenomenal writer. Most books I've read, there's always something about the writing that snags you. It just doesn't read right one-hundred percent of the time. It's not like that with him. His plots are insane. I have yet to guess correctly on how it's going to end. It's hard to tell who the good guys and the bad guys are... the characters are so deep and involved, it's almost like seeing yourself and all of your faults there on the pages."

She felt like she was giving a book report, and she flushed, her creamy complexion darkening. "Sometimes, he's a little too intense for me. His last book, Requiem for the Children, gave me nightmares. I couldn't even look at people the same for weeks afterwords. I was even scared of the kids I give swimming lessons to for a while."

Smiling a little apologetically, she carefully creased the corner of the page she was on, sliding her thumb out of the book to close it properly. "But I can understand why some people don't like him. He can be pretty scary. Stephen King writes a good horror novel, sure, but... there's something about Gordon Starks' stories that just creep me out."

A wet towel landed squarely on her shoulder, and she squeaked, thinking it was a clammy hand. God, she was a real winner. Shooting Mandie a death-filled glare, she glanced back at Jay, shrugging again. "I guess that means it's time to close up shop."

The sense of familiarity was growing, now that she had actually looked at him more in one day than she had all year. "Hey - don't you work out at the community gym on Fontaine? I think I've seen you on the cardio deck when I give lessons."

 

[poohlive]

She spoke about Sparks with passion, something seemingly lost in this coffee shop. Some bright little whisper of life had lit up her cheeks at the mention of him. Even when she spoke of how scary and unpredictable he was.

How interesting.

He scooped up the rest of his stuff, putting it into a backpack and resting it on his shoulders. He seemed a little old for a backpack, but he had the kind of boyish grin of a man who would never quite give it up, not even at forty.

"Yeah, from time to time. Maybe I'll see you there sometime... or back here."

She would be going back to work, going back to her life. A brief moment of capturing her on paper, and now he must let her go, back into society where he had taken her.

"I'd love for you to read more of my work, if you get the chance."

He waved to her, a silly goodbye.

 

[dirtybusiness]

"I thought you looked familiar," came the easy response as she pushed herself out of the chair, the damp towel put to work on her coffee table. She hesitated when he said he'd like to show her more of his work. On second thought, it was a little flattering that he had written about her. Anytime she looked at herself in the mirror these days, or thought about her life, the first thing that came to mind was "Fails to Reach Expectations."

It was refreshing, even if a bit strange, that someone found her interesting enough to write about. Even if it had seemed a little creepy at first.

"Alright," she said at last, having moved to the nearest table as she mulled it over. "You know when I'm usually here. I guess I'll see you around."

He waved, and with the way he was holding the straps of his backpack, it made him seem much younger than he was. It disarmed her completely. "You take care of yourself, Jay."

Lifting an arm to return the wave, she bent her shoulders back to the work at hand, pausing mid-swipe for a few moments.

"When did you notice it?" she asked, straightening up to look back at him. "My limp, I mean."

 

[poohlive]

He had his hand against the door, the last of the customers getting out. When he looked outside, the sun just now blanketed the whole western sky. The dark patches of red were fading, already the brightest of stars began to twinkle their best in the coming twilight.

"The first day you served me coffee," He said, looking back at her, "I noticed it. I noticed everything. The details, they catch sometimes. Small, insignificant. I saw you walk towards me, then I saw you walk away, and I knew."

She couldn't feel self conscious about it, could she? It was a limp so slight, so delicate. It reminded him of some beautiful flower with only a single wilted leaf. Would anyone care when it was in full bloom, bees lazily flying around it to taste its nectar.

"You wore your hair down that day, and you smelled like fresh picked strawberries."

The door closed softly behind him as he left.

 

[dirtybusiness]

"You wore your hair down that day, and you smelled like fresh picked strawberries."

The door shut behind him with a gentle click, but her ears were burning too much to notice it. His last words reverberated in her head, her eyes wide and jaw slack, causing her lips to form a small, perfect "o" of surprise.

He had to be bluffing. That had been a year ago. She certainly couldn't remember the first time she had served him coffee - hell, she hadn't even realized he was becoming a regular Warmer until he had already been coming consistently for three or four weeks.

Mandie snapped her own towel at her, snatching her attention. "Somebody's got a crush on you," the curvy blonde teased, her boyfriend no where in sight.

"Shut up," she responded, visibly flustered. "Let's close so we can get out of here."

* * * *​

Three days later, Jillian had almost forgotten the incident. Sarah had finished her last final and was now snagging all the hours she could get from anyone who was willing to give them up.

Jillian didn't mind the sound of a three day weekend, and she had obliged without much more reason than that.

The past two days she had filled by calling the parents of her students, asking if they would like to take advantage of a half priced, unscheduled lesson. Four out of six had been happy to accept the offer, and that alone had given her something to do for most of her extended weekend.

Today, however, was just for her. Slipping into an unoccupied lane, she twisted her hair into a bun and then stretched her silicone swimcap over her head, stuffing any loose strands in almost as an afterthought.

Swedes were nestled over her eye sockets and the rubber straps slipped into place. She always felt most at peace in the water. Some of her friends that she still kept in touch with from highschool had been surprised when she continued swimming, even after she finally accepted the reality that she would never again have the same impeccable speed.

Instead of reminding her of failure, however, it brought back some of the happiest memories of her life and made her feel alive again.

Submerging herself in the water, she gave one last adjustment to her goggles and then pushed off the wall, gliding straight and narrow until she felt the resistance begin to drag at her shoulders, slowing her down. Then long limbs went to work, thighs kicking in a steady, consistent rhythm as her arms stretched and shoulders rotated, hands like scalpels making precise cuts into the water's epidermis.

Reach, stretch, push the water away from the body. She used every muscle with practiced ease, every movement concise and efficient. On every third stroke, her body rotated with a little more exaggeration, her chin and lips breaking the surface on first the right side, then the left.

The repetition was soothing. She could swim laps at this pace, flip-turning at each end of the pool, for at least two hours without breaking stride.

But that wouldn't be pushing her limits in the slightest, and when it came to this, she was still as competitive as ever. Her only opponent now was herself.

With each flip-turn, she increased the strength and speed of her body's pull through the water. She felt her muscles warming and put more emphasis into elongating her arms with each stretch, pushing herself, testing her prowess.

There was no thought but attaining perfection, streamlining her movements, shaving the unnecessary fat from each and every turn through the water.

The shrill whistle from a lifeguard brought her back to earth. An hour already? Finishing the lap she was on, she grabbed the edge of the pool and pulled herself onto the deck, pulling her goggle and cap off. She wasn't gasping, but she was a little out of breath, and her blood was moving ecstatically, filling her with elation.

Getting to her feet, she decided to hit the sauna before taking a shower. On her way, she glanced up to the cardio deck, catching sight of the guy from Cool Beans.

Her blood chilled a bit in her veins, but she managed a smile up at him and waved, ducking into the sauna just below him.

 

[poohlive]

He wiped the sweat rolling down from his brow. The towel felt good, cool cotton around his face. He stepped off the treadmill, letting the burn in his legs linger for just a moment longer. It felt good, relaxing. His whole skin tingled with a delicious after effect, the type he usually got after working out.

He went into the locker room, changing. He wanted to take a quick shower, but didn't think he had enough time. Instead, he grabbed his gym bag, tucking the old sweaty clothes inside, while he moved back out to the pool area.

She was inside the sauna. He sat there on one of the benches outside, pulling an old composition from his book. He opened it to the page, the same page he had left off that first night.

He'd gotten home after their talk, writing as much as he could, as much as spilled from his mind. These two people, meeting for the first time on paper. She was shy, and smiled warmly. He spoke too soft, but chose careful powerful words.

And then, around three in the morning he stopped. The last word fell from his pen, splashing onto the page, and then he felt it just gone. Whatever well he was purging into had now dried up. Nothing.

Whatever he tried to do could not start it again. Nothing. He had written page after page nearly seamless, barely able to keep up with his cramping hand. Now, he could not even decide where the next sentence began, or the next paragraph. Too many thoughts silenced inside of him.

He didn't have his muse. He could not write another sentence without her. Now, that he had seen her, she had given him some soft wave, he felt the pen already putting it down. When he opened up to the page he'd left off, it continued on, as if nothing had ever happened.

He wrote of her swimming, how perfect she was in the water, how balanced it was. She was more comfortable there, alone, fixed only by herself and that single rush of torrent that clouded her ears. Alone, with her thoughts, swimming in them as freely as she did the water.

And then the door opened, he looked up, smiling.

"It's been awhile..."

 

[dirtybusiness]

The fifteen minute rule of the sauna was never enforced, and she spent closer to thirty in the misty, humid chamber, her muscles relaxing sinew by sinew.

Seeing Jeff - no, Jay, she corrected herself - brought back the discomfiture she had felt that night at Beans. Now, however, it seemed much more foolish than it did surreal. So maybe Mandie was right and the guy just had a little crush on her. Maybe he just had a good memory and remembered little things, or he could have just made all that stuff up. Either way, it didn't mean he was dangerous or anything.

Just a little... off.

When she couldn't take the heat anymore, she eased herself off the bench and pushed open the sauna door, caught for a moment in the middle of a battle between the hot, sticky air of the sauna and the warm, dryer air in comparison from the pool deck. Letting the heavy door swing closed behind her, she took a step towards the locker rooms, not even noticing Jay on the other side of the door until he spoke.

"It's been a while..."
"Oh!"

Nearly jumping out of her skin, she turned quickly, her balance compromised when her good foot nearly lost traction on the wet floor. Reaching out to grab the bench beside her just in time, she shakily sat on it and looked at him incredulously, laughing despite herself.

"Don't do that, you scared me!"

Every inch of her exposed flesh was already reddened from her time spent in the sauna, reducing her blush to a moot point.

"I've had a three day weekend. It's been nice. What have you been up to?" She saw his composition notebook on his lap and for some reason, it seemed endearing to her that he would drag it with him even to the gym. "What are you writing about this time?"

 

[poohlive]

"I finally figured out another story. I pieced it together, I've been writing off and on since that day in the coffee shop," He didn't know why he lied just then. Maybe it made him sound better. Maybe it...

Why would he lie to her? He barely knew her. It was a simple lie, really, a small white lie, but it had been there, between them. And it was deliberate. What had happened to him in that crash? What was he...

Jay's pen scribbled with furious ease.

"When I get an idea I run with it. I had seen you in here, but I didn't know if I should go say hi. You looked like you were all right just by yourself."

What was he doing, why was he writing himself into the story? Both of them. They were both in the story now, playing two levels of existence. Here in the world, and on his paper. They swirled around each other, each story playing off the other, each existence not quite whole without the rest.

He purposely put the pen doing, smiling up at him.

"Three days off, that is great. So, do you have anything exciting you're going to do?"

 

[dirtybusiness]

"Do you write for school, pleasure, or being published?"

Her body was more than a little confused from leaving the hot, moist atmosphere of the sauna to the cooler deck air, nearly having a heart attack and then sitting straight down. As the dizziness wore off, she pushed a hand through her scraggly, damp, pool bedraggled hair.

She watched his graceful hand as it feverishly scrawled above the paper, the pen's scratch lost in the consistent splash of swimmers, low thrum of music and the noise from the cardio deck above.

"When I get an idea I run with it. I had seen you in here, but I didn't know if I should go say hi. You looked like you were all right just by yourself."

Smiling despite herself, she leaned forward on the bench, pushing the heel of each hand on the edge and wrapping her fingers around the lip.

"I wouldn't have minded.. if you even could have gotten my attention in the pool, anyway. I tend to have tunnel vision when I swim."

Tightening her thigh muscles, she lifted her right foot from the wet tile and rotated it slowly at the ankle, first one way and then the other, repeating the motion several times.

"I've mostly been working with my students. I don't really have anything special planned for the night. What about you? Heading off for Beans soon?"

 

[poohlive]

"Not if you're not..." He wrote a few more words, important things to remember when he came back to this idea. It was nowhere near finished.

"I hadn't planned on it," He would only go if she had been there, to freshen up his coffee, and keep him writing. He think... he was pretty sure he needed her to keep writing now. It was some sort of lucky trinket she had become for him, a muse to keep up his greatest work of all.

And this would be. Two pages into it, he already knew this would be the best of the best.

"I write for myself, but I've had a few things published. I should show them to you sometime."

He looked down at his writing. A sentence appeared, he didn't remember writing it, didn't remember putting it on the paper. He had been writing, as she spoke to him, as she sat, idly moving back and forth, watching him with a curious kindness.

So, if you're not free," He said, trying to keep the quiver down from his voice, "Why don't we go do something?"

Jay stared at it, reading it over and over again. He seemed lost in a little loop, the words on the paper holding so much meaning. They had been carved into wood, etched out of stone, revered for all time to command him.

"So... if you're not free," He forced himself to look up at her, to feel the weight of the novel tearing at his back, forcing him to say it. He tried desperately to keep the quiver from his voice, it remained steady, but Jay did not know how, "Why don't we go do something?"

Dinner, maybe? Or catch a movie?

As soon as he spoke, his hand wrote the next set of words. He only had time to see them a moment before he was speaking them already, knowing what next would come out.

"Dinner, maybe? Or a movie?"

He was breathing hard now, as if he'd just got off the treadmill, his heart racing inside of his chest.

 

[dirtybusiness]

His question caught her completely by surprise; not because she wasn't used to being asked out on dates, but because she hadn't expected this shy, quiet person she'd technically known for a year but had only spoken with twice to have the gall to ask her.

"I... um."

Her mind raced down two separate paths, torn between not wanting to hurt his feelings and the simple fact that he still kind of gave her the creeps. He hadn't really done anything to her that justified her fear, but there was just something about him.

Deciding to tell him that she just remembered she did have plans, and could she take a raincheck?, she lowered her foot to the ground and looked over at him.

"...sure. I mean, I was just going to go home anyway." What was she doing?! She looked a little bit stunned at what her mouth had blurted out against her will. Standing up, she picked her goggles and cap up from the bench, gripping them loosely in one hand.

"I'll need to go home and change. Do you want to take down my number? We can work out the details then."

She couldn't believe that she had said yes, but she had to go with it now. You're acting like an idiot, Jillian. He's just a shy guy, not a psychopath. Mentally chiding herself, she gently eased her weight more to her left foot, unable to shake her discomfort.