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Subject: {ASSM} Fonda and Cat [3,4/23] {John A and Virago Blue} MF,MFF,FF, Rom, anal
Date: Wed, 20 Sep 2000 14:10:03 -0400
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This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real
persons is unintentional and strictly coincidental. If you are below
the age of 18, or 21 depending on your locality, stop reading right
now. If your government prohibits erotic literature, stop reading
now and delete this. If you choose to continue, that is your decision
-- and your responsibility -- not mine.
This is intended solely for adults, and any other rebroadcast,
retransmission, and account of this game is strictly prohibited by the
National Hockey League. Wait -- The NHL doesn't care -- we care. Any
unauthorized redistribution of this is in violation of copyright. We
authorize the reader to make one copy for reading purposes only. We
expressly prohibit posting of this work on anyone's website, including
but not limited to pay-sites, sites with advertising, and any type of
site where a fee is charged. Any distribution without the authors -(TM)
permission is strictly prohibited.
DO NOT REPOST
"Fonda and Cat"
Copyright (C) 2000 by John3365A@aol.com (John A) and VBwrites@aol.com (Virago
Blue)
All rights reserved.
---------------------------
Note: Rest asured, faithful reader, the sex is coming soon enough. Just be
patient, there's a plot being developed. (hint: next installment)
We'd love to know what you think.
Positive or negative, We'll try to respond to everyone.
If you liked it, send us a note. Thanks.
Email us at John3365a@aol.com or VBwrites@aol.com
Fonda and Cat
by John A and Virago Blue
Chapter 3
Trina stepped from the subway and walked the three blocks to her
Greenwich Village apartment on West 10th Street. She sighed
audibly as she hiked up the four floors to her walk-up apartment
in which she shared with Margie. Unlocking the door, she entered
and saw her best friend sprawled out on the couch, obviously
sleeping away the bottle and a half of red wine she had instead
of lunch.
"Hey Trina," Margie stirred, squinting and stretching her arms
over her head. "What time is it?"
"A little after three. Did you come straight home after lunch?"
"I did a little shopping first, I couldn't go back to work. My
boss was out today anyway," she stifled a yawn.
"Oh, by the way Margie, thanks for stiffing me with the bill,"
Trina looked down at her friend, a hint of anger in her eyes.
"Which wouldn't have been bad because I know you're good for it
-- and I know where you live," Trina snickered but then continued
with a pained expression, "but, all I had was a little over six
bucks and my credit card was maxed-out."
"Oh shit, Trina. I'm really sorry. I feel awful," Margie looked
at her best friend apologetically. "So what did you do?"
"Oh, you'll never believe what I got myself into."
Trina proceeded to tell her friend about the suggestion to gut
fish and the interesting solution that Stavros had come up with
for Trina to get out of paying the bill.
"Oh wow, Trina. What are you going to do?" Margie sat up and
looked intently at her roommate.
"I don't know. What can I do? I don't want to go, but I don't
want to get fined or do community service. I'm not going to
shovel shit off the street, or whatever they make you do for
community service. Remember Frankie, the guy I met last year on
the Rage video? When they got him on doping with some street hack
he had to do community service and they had him digging up flower
beds in Battery Park," Trina sighed. "You don't really think
they'd do that for not paying a restaurant bill, would they?"
"No, they were just blowing smoke up your ass to scare you . . .
Probably," Margie stated less than confidently. "Unless there was
something wrong with your credit card. Have you been writing hot
checks to pay your credit card bill? I mean, I think that's a
felony or something," Margie added.
Trina bit her lip and stared at Margie. "Shit. A felony? Really?"
Margie nodded, "I'm not really sure but maybe you should just do
what these guys want."
"This just sucks. This guy is like, so not my type."
"Which guy is it?"
"The waiter, you know, the waiter we had today . . . the real
square," Trina plopped down on the couch next to her friend,
resting her head on Margie's shoulder.
"The big hunky guy?" Margie asked, stroking her fingers along
Trina's thigh. "He's cute -- really cute. But why do you have to
go out with the waiter?"
"'Cause he also owns the place. So it's either that, or the
fish," Trina shuddered as she tried not to envision her delicate
hands touching the business end of a fish.
Margie placed her hand inside the slit in Trina's skirt,
caressing the inside of her thigh and lightly brushing her
fingertips against her best friend's panty clad pussy.
"Mmmm," Trina moaned, closing her eyes. "I don't know what to do
about this."
"Go, Trina. What have you got to lose? He's a lot cuter than that
Chase guy you've been going out with."
"Stop it Margie, that tickles." Trina removed Margie's hand from
under her skirt. "I'm not in the mood, anyway. I'm pissed about
this. God, it's like you're a perpetual horny machine."
"What?" Margie asked innocently. "I thought it might take your
mind off of things."
Trina tucked her legs underneath her and spun on the couch to face her
roommate. "Chase *is* cute. The waiter guy, Fonda's his name.
Anyway, this Fonda isn't my type. He's just too straight. Plus
there was something a little too pathetic about the whole setup.
If I don't go, what's the worse thing that can happen? I'm going
to get paid on Friday for my gig, so I'll pay them then."
"If they pay you on time this time," Trina's friend reminded her.
"Yeah," she sighed and brought her hands up to her face in
resignation. "Anyway, if they -- hey! You could go down there and
pay now. Most of the bill was yours anyway," Trina felt relieved
that the solution presented itself to her so neatly.
"Uh . . . Trina, honey. Don't be pissed, but remember when I told
you that I, like, did a little shopping before coming home?"
Margie said hesitatingly.
"Yeah," she said warily. Trina didn't like where this was going.
"Well, here's the thing. I finally bought that pair of Ferragamo
shoes that I've been looking at for weeks. I thought buying them
would cheer me up and help me get over Mark. I also got a dress
to go with them."
"Shit, Margie. What am I going to do now?"
"Go out with him, have a good time. He seems like a nice guy --
normal anyway."
Trina didn't answer, she just huffed as she headed off to her
bedroom to sulk about her fate until it was time to meet Fonda.
Trina didn't even bother changing clothes. She wasn't interested
in impressing this Fonda guy. All she wanted was to 'Pay her
bill' as it was and meet Tracey at the pier for the nighttime
shoot. The antique clock above the bar said a few minutes before
five o'clock. Trina shook out her sleek black hair and stood at
the bar, one booted-foot propped on the brass rail, elbows
resting on the mahogany surface. She hooked her thumbs through
the straps of her black backpack, examining herself in the mirror
behind the bar. Deciding to touch up her dark lipstick, she
plopped the backpack on the bar and rummaged around until she
found the near-empty tube of "Vixen." Her hip cocked to one side
and a gleam of a white thigh peeked from beneath the hip length
slit of her tight black skirt. All this she ignored, or staged,
as she leaned forward to apply the dark gloss to her pursed lips.
Black lace up boots began to tap to a silent beat in her head --
the same choreographed dance moves from the evening's video shoot
constantly played over and over in her mind. The thin strap of
her deep purple top slipped from one shoulder as she returned the
tube of gloss to her backpack. She looked up as a glass of wine
was placed in front of her by the bartender. "Wait. I didn't
order -- oh, it's you," Trina remarked. Fonda smiled stiffly back
at Trina.
"This one is on the house," Fonda said, placing the glass on a
cocktail napkin.
"Thanks but no thanks. I've got a gig tonight. Alcohol makes me
retain water. And with the skimpy outfit I have to wear, I better
just stick to water."
"Gig? Dancing with monkeys again?" Fonda asked, taking a sip from
the rejected wine.
Trina gave him a sarcastic glare. "No. We're doing a video shoot
down at the wharf for some Latin band. It's a bitchin' little
salsa number, sorta."
Fonda nodded, eyebrows raised as if he understood. "Bitching? Is
this good or bad?"
Trina rolled her eyes. "Uh, like, are you always such a dweeb?"
Fonda looked at her smiling his amusement. "Dweeb? I don't think
so. Unless that's a good thing to be, then maybe I am," Trina was
so different, so radical, there was something about her
abrasiveness and temper that turned him on.
"Yeah, and a half . . . . Let's bail. I don't have all that much
time," Trina told him.
"You want me to show you how to gut a fish?"
"Hello? Let's get your mom's mongrel. I'll protect you from the
savage little beast," Trina tittered as she turned from the bar.
Fonda hurried around the bar and followed her, easing in front of
her to hold the door open. "After you, Trina." Fonda smiled down
at her, standing almost a foot taller than her.
Trina looked up at him and smiled slightly. She didn't know what
to think about this guy. Sure, he had manners. He had charm. He
wasn't a Baldwin but he was still attractive in a tall, dark and
handsome way. In fact, she liked the attention he was showing
her, even if he was a dweeb.
"Thank you, Fonda."
Trina actually warmed and flushed when his hand briefly strayed
to the small of her back. He applied gentle pressure, guiding her
to a silver BMW Z3 that was parked in front of the restaurant.
She tried to hide her surprise when he unlocked the passenger
side door, holding the door open in a very gentlemanly way.
"Whoa. Fish pays good, huh?" Trina couldn't help but ask. She
slid down into the soft leather seat
Fonda smiled, closed the door and leaned over the convertible
toward her, handing her the seat belt. "Depends. We're always
busy and I've invested my money wisely."
Trina watched him walk around the front of the car and get in.
The engine purred to life. Trina tossed her backpack on top of
her feet, looking at this guy in a slightly new way. Despite all
her shallowness, she firmly believed toys didn't make the man.
But this man was beginning to have an effect on her. Oh, no you
don't, she chastised herself. Just because he has a good job and
a nice car and he's all right to look at doesn't make him a good
guy. He could be a serial killer during a full moon for all she
knew. In fact, she didn't really know him at all and here she was
riding to God knows where with him.
"Uh, just so you know, Margie, my friend, knows where I am. I
told her we were going to take care of something for your mother.
So, you know -- " Trina's words trailed off when she met Fonda's
amused expression.
"You are afraid? Of me?" he chuckled, shaking his head.
"Hell no. I'm just letting you know, that's all. I mean, I don't,
like, get in cars with strange men, you know. It's not like I
don't know there are lots of weirdos out there," Trina huffed.
"Besides, my agent will be expecting me on Pier 35 at 9:00 p.m.
sharp."
"Such an odd place to dance. A pier. So dirty and all . . . a
woman shouldn't have to go down there alone," Fonda shook his
head.
"Oh please. Don't get all Cary Grant on me, okay? You're not one
of those old-fashioned types, are you?" Trina looked over at
Fonda with a teasing grin.
"Perhaps a little old-fashioned is not a bad thing. Is your seat
belt fastened properly?" Fonda tugged at her waist strap,
checking for himself.
"Stop it! That's so funny!" Trina was laughing loudly now,
slapping playfully at his thigh.
"What is wrong with being concerned over a woman's safety?"
"Nothing, I guess. Just don't lose any sleep over it, though. I
mean, like, I carry Mace and all," Trina responded.
"Mace. Ha!" Fonda scoffed at Trina's revelation that she carried
the blinding spray.
"And maybe something else," Trina shrugged.
"You carry a concealed weapon in that backpack? I believe that is
against the law, Ms. Trina," Fonda looked shocked. "Besides, you
could hurt yourself."
Trina rolled her eyes. "Just don't get any ideas, okay fish-boy?"
Fonda was silent. He turned his attention back to the road. Trina
peeked at him from time to time. He seemed to be tensing his jaw,
working a little muscle in his cheek. He shifted gears a little
harder this time. "Never call me that again."
Trina was silent. She was brusque on a good day and today wasn't
a good day. Maybe she had been a little too rude to this man. He
was being very nice to her, after all. She swallowed her large
pride and touched his leg. "I'm really sorry, Fonda. Really. I'm
kinda a bitch sometimes, especially before a gig. That's no
excuse." Trina removed her hand and stared straight ahead. "I
guess I'm not used to real gentlemen."
That seemed to soften him a little. Fonda glanced over at Trina
and smiled. "Let me at least drive you to your appointment at the
pier. Seeing that I am a gentleman with a car."
Trina smiled wanly. "I guess that would be all right."
"Except..." Fonda began and shook his head.
"What?"
"Well, I was going to remind you that you have not met Coco Puff
yet," Fonda chuckled, turning once more to smile at Trina.
Trina relaxed and smiled. "I can't wait," she said flatly.
Chapter 4
Fonda and Trina drove south toward lower Manhattan as Trina
fiddled with the radio. She changed stations every seven seconds,
it seemed, much to Fonda's consternation.
"Can't you find a station that you like and keep it there?" Fonda
asked in his slightly Greek accent.
"Noooo," Trina rolled her eyes. "There might be something better
on another station."
Fonda smiled as he reflected on the differences between the two
of them. Trina was always looking for something new and
different, where as he was perfectly content with finding
something he liked and sticking with it. He watched her brush the
hair from in front of her face and knew what he wanted.
Three years ago when his parents gave him and his brother
controlling interest in the restaurant, Fonda wanted to put it on
the map, make it one of *the* spots. Through tireless work -- and
yes, even giving free meals to a few well-placed theater
executives. He knew that, above all, theater folk loved freebies
and if producers ate there, the actors and directors would
follow. That opened the floodgates and the family restaurant
became a fashionable spot to be seen. Fonda felt as if he had a
license to print money. He was nothing if not driven, and now as
he watched Trina move and sing quietly to some energetic song
that he had never heard before, Fonda knew that what it was that
he wanted was Trina, and he wouldn't stop until she was his.
"Hey, why are you getting in the tunnel?" Trina stopped singing
and turned sharply toward Fonda as the BMW left West St. and
headed into the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel toward the borough of
Brooklyn. "I thought your folks lived in Manhattan? I didn't
realize they lived in Brooklyn. I hope I get to my shoot in
time."
"You'll be there in plenty of time, Trina. I don't believe I
indicated where they live," Fonda reassured her with a smirk that
went unnoticed.
"So, how does someone so young get to own, like, one of the
hottest restaurants in midtown?" Trina took a break from channel
surfing to turn and ask Fonda the question. As she did, she
pulled her legs underneath her, exposing part of her thigh. Fonda
noticed, looking for a bit too long, and had to swerve to avoid
colliding with a car in another lane. Trina took note and giggled
softly.
"Well," Fonda tried to glance at her without staring at her bare
thigh. He was only partially successful. "My parents owned it for
about 40 years; they opened it up when they first came to America
just after they were married. I've been running it for a few
years now. They retired for good three years ago. They left the
restaurant to me and Stavros, but he really wants nothing to do
with the running of it, so it's essentially my restaurant."
"Cool. The place is always totally busy. That's probably why you
can afford a car like this."
"Well, I work very hard and a lot of hours," said the young
Greek. "I don't reward myself often. But I walk by a showroom
every day, and I couldn't help but notice this car. Eventually I
said, 'What the fu . . .' I mean, 'to hell with it, I'm buying
the car,'" Fonda blushed slightly at his choice of words.
"So do you, like, do anything for fun other than buying expensive
German sportscars?"
"One or two things," he grinned slightly, but Trina took note,
and began to think there was more to fish-boy here than met the
eye.
"So, what about you? How long have you been a -- what was it you
said? A 'fly girl.'?" Fonda's look of confusion caused Trina to
chuckle.
"Well," her smile broadened as she turned almost fully in her seat
to face him. The scenery -- the Gowanus expressway, the Brooklyn
city scape -- passed forgotten as Trina started talking about the
love of her life: dancing. "I'm a dancer is what that means. Like
tonight, I'm going to be in a video shoot for a Latin band."
"So what kind of dancing do you do?"
"Any kind really. Tonight it's salsa but I'm classically trained
-- I really like traditional dance, you know, ballet."
Fonda eyed her last statement with a hint of suspicion and
chuckled to himself as he thought that 'classically trained' to
Trina probably meant that she was once a member of the 'Solid
Gold Dancers'. Trina, with all her black vinyl, excessive
dangling jewelry and attitude, didn't seem like the ballerina
type. "So why do you dance in these videos?"
"Because, Zorba," she said with more than a little impertinence,
"they pay the bills. It's a bitch getting on Broadway."
"Well, Broadway is tough. They only take the best."
"Yeah, well I went to Juliard and then I danced with the Jean le
Bon Dance Company for a couple of years." Trina swelled with
pride at her most notable achievements and Fonda was, for the
first time, impressed with Trina more than for how she looked.
"That's impressive. Why don't you still dance with them?"
"Well . . . it's a long story. You miss a couple of rehearsals
and they get all torqued off. It's all bullshit . . . And I
danced in the Jubilee show at the Sands in Atlantic City for nine
months last year, so I think . . . Hey! Why are we going over the
bridge? I thought you said your folks lived in Brooklyn. This is
going to Staten Island!"
"No, you assumed my parents lived in Brooklyn. I never actually
said where they live," Fonda snickered slightly. "They live in
Staten Island."
She began to wonder if she needed to remind him she needed to be
somewhere. Trina studied Fonda's profile for a moment before
speaking. "You know I have to be somewhere, don't you? I mean, I
just can't be late for this gig," she fumbled in her backpack for
some gum. If she showed up for the gig late Zeek would never hire
her again. She really needed this job. Trina unwrapped a stick of
gum, offering Fonda half. "I'll split it with ya'. It's my last
piece."
He turned and flashed a smile at her. "No, no, please. You take
the whole piece," he smiled, nearly laughing, as she shoved the
cinnamon flavored gum in her mouth. "Don't worry, I'll get you to
the pier on time."
"Okay, like, I don't know why, but I trust you. And if you make
me late for this *VERY IMPORTANT* gig I'll just . . . just . . .
well, I'll do something. Don't know what . . . but . . . " Trina
let the idle threat fade away as they continued their drive in
near silence.
"You know, I've lived in New York my whole life and I don't think
I've ever been to Staten Island," Trina said.
"Oh it's very pretty. You'll like it. It's so different from the
rest of the city. In fact, did you know that the Verazano Narrows
bridge was designed by Othmar Ammann, who used to sit in his
apartment on the 26th floor of the Hotel Carlyle and, with his
telescope, would look out at the nine New York bridges that he
designed?"
Trina looked at him sideways, "Wow. The flamenco guitarist, ya
know, New Age or jazz, dependin' what record store you visit? I
didn't know he was from New York."
"Plus," Fonda ignored her tangent, chuckling. "Staten Island,
whose official name is Richmond, is also home to one of the
world's largest landfills."
"What do you do, like, work for the visitor's bureau?" Trina
raised one eyebrow.
"What can I say? I love New York," he paused and laughed. "Yes, I
know that's a slogan."
Trina chuckled. "So, you still live at home? Like, with your Mom
and Dad?" Trina crinkled up her nose in distaste, imagining what
it would be like for her if she still lived at home. "I mean,
like, you're old." Trina watched the side of his face and noticed
his lips turn up in a smile.
"I do my own laundry if that's what concerns you," he turned and
winked. "I even make my own breakfast . . . And I'm not *that*
old."
Trina smiled a little, not sure if Fonda was trying to tease her
or not. "That's cool," she played around with the radio for a
while, looking for another distraction.
Trina barely noticed the scenery passing them by. Every time she
was scheduled for a shoot she became jittery and nervous. She
began counting the steps in her head, moving slightly back and
forth to whatever song came on the radio. Homes and green grass
passed her by unnoticed. Other cars didn't matter, Fonda didn't
even matter at the moment. She was already at the gig in her
head, performing to the very best of her ability. All eyes were
on her as she took the attention away from the star. She was the
star now.
"Here we are," Fonda interrupted her fantasy.
"Whoa. This is where you live?" Trina stared at the beautiful
home in awe. Trees and colorful flowers dotted the large lawn. A
working fountain, marble and graceful, gurgled happily at the
center of the circular drive. Trina hadn't seen anything like
that around New York that wasn't covered in pigeon shit.
"Gorgeous."
Fonda pulled his car around the drive, stopping at a porte
cochere on the side of the house. Before she had a chance to move
he had hopped around the car and stood holding the door open for
her. "Now, please, when we enter the side door, stand behind me.
I do not want Coco Puff to snap at you. The mutt has been known
to lock its tiny jaws and not let go for an hour or more."
"You must be joking. I'm so sure. A little puppy-dog," Trina was
already cooing, crouching to her knees as the handsome elderly
woman opened the door, allowing the dog to escape the house.
"Fonda! I didn't know you brought company! Shame on you, you
could have let me known. I could have cooked."
The woman approached Trina with her hand extended. Fonda had the
same eyes, big almond- shaped brown eyes. Trina couldn't help but
smile as her hand was engulfed by the older woman's firm grasp.
"Nice to meet you, young lady. My name is Alcina."
Fonda was speechless as Trina and his mother introduced
themselves to each other. One of Trina's hands was in his mothers
while the other was absentmindedly stroking the mutt from hell,
and the mutt from hell was loving every minute of it.
Coco Puff licked Trina's hand. Trina began to wonder if Fonda was
the over-reactionary type. This dog couldn't possibly be as mean
as he made it out to be. "I thought you said Coco Puff was
vicious?" Trina glanced suspiciously at Fonda.
Fonda's mother chuckled. "No, Coco Puff despises my Fonda. I
continually wonder if Fonda has done something to make my little
Coco so angry."
"I would never hurt an animal, mother. Tell me, did I even react
harshly to the mutt when he did this?" Fonda pointed to a small
scar on his forearm. "He is a vicious beast."
Fonda's mother tutted and shook her head, scooping up Coco Puff
from the ground. "You scared him, that's all."
The dog licked Alcina's hand lovingly before he turning toward
Fonda and bared his teeth, growling.
Fonda and Trina followed Alcina Daskalakis into the huge
Victorian house. Trina looked around, impressed with the elegant
ambiance of their home.
"Come here you two. Let me get you something to eat," offered
Fonda's mother.
"No, thank you mother," said Fonda. "I had something to eat
before I left the restaurant."
"Surely *you* want something to eat," she smiled warmly at Trina.
"You're so thin. You need to get some meat on those bones."
"No thanks, nothing for me either, Mrs. D. I have a gig tonight,"
Trina explained.
"A gig. What's a gig?" the small woman asked suspiciously in a
heavy Greek accent.
"Trina's a dancer. She has a performance this evening."
"Oh, a dancer. How lovely," Fonda's mother smiled and then turned
not too subtly toward Fonda. "Not one of those on 42nd street
with all the nakedness?"
Trina laughed. "No. I studied at Juliard. I'd like to get on
Broadway, but right now I do a lot of work for music videos."
"Oh, yes," she crinkled her nose. "I've seen one of those. If I
want to look at a woman's belly button, I'll lift my blouse."
"That's a pleasant image," Fonda and Trina thought almost
simultaneously as they turned to each other and smiled, trying to
suppress laughter.
At that point, the back door opened and a short, stocky man of
about sixty or seventy years burst through carrying a bag of golf
clubs. He had the hands of a lifetime of work and the face of a
lifetime of smiles.
Just as Fonda was about to introduce Trina to his father, the old
Greek started to speak in a thick accent. "Those goddamn dagos at
the club, do you know what they did now, Alcina?"
"Please Anthony, we have company," Fonda's mother was clearly
unnerved at her husband's racial epithet. Anthony Daskalakis was
just about the most ethnically tolerant man that anyone knew and
it bothered his wife of 43 years that he insisted on identifying
people by the slur that was associated with their nationality.
"They let that Turk bastard in," he said, ignoring his wife. "The
club's going to go to hell in a handbasket now." His ethnic
tolerance was almost universal, except when it came to the Turks
historical enemies of the Greeks -- whom he considered the
reason for all the world's ills. "I can't take much more of this,
Alcina, we might have to move to Miami Beach. No Turks down
there; just Jews and Cubans and they don't bother me."
"Oh, we have company? Who is this beautiful girl?" Anthony smiled
and took Trina's hand in his own and kissed the back of it. Trina
giggled.
Fonda introduced Trina to his father, and the four spent the next
ten minutes talking about the restaurant and Trina's dancing and
the weather and whatever else they could fill with until Fonda
announced that they needed to be leaving.
"Let me get the dog carrier for the mutt," Fonda said
reluctantly.
"Oh, don't be silly," admonished Trina. "I'll just hold him."
Trina picked up Coco, who proceeded to lavish licks all over her
face when he wasn't growling at Fonda. Fonda was amazed at how
well the dog took to her.
They drove the ten minutes to the groomer, Trina playing with the
happy dog as if they'd known each other for years. Fonda parked
in front of the groomers and got around to open Trina's door. As
she stepped out of the car, the dog snarled and snapped at Fonda.
Trina chuckled. "What did you ever do to this little dog to make
him hate you so much?"
"Nothing. He's just always hated me. But that's fine, because
I've never liked him much, either."
They brought Coco into the groomer, leaving the feisty animal
with the clerk. "His usual, Doris. Whatever the usual is for the
dog from hell." Doris scooped up the little package, winking at
Fonda.
"We're a little backed up today. Can Coco stay the night and
someone come for her tomorrow?" she asked Fonda.
Fonda nodded. "Actually, I like that idea better. Tomorrow it is,
then. Have a good evening, Doris."
Fonda and Trina left the small shop and returned to the car. "Now
I think all your worries should be over. I will be able to bring
you to your shoot even earlier than expected. How does that make
you feel Ms. Trina? A little better?" Trina smiled nervously.
continued in chapter 5 (to be posted in 2 days)
--------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright (C) 2000
John3365A@aol.com (John A) and VBwrites@aol.com (Virago Blue)
All rights reserved.
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