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Subject: {ASSM} Fonda and Cat [11,12/23] {John A and Virago Blue} MF,MFF,FF, Rom, anal 
Date: Thu, 28 Sep 2000 19:10:04 -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.
---------------------------



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 11



"I thought you were different, but you're just like any other
guy. You'll fuck anyone who spreads her legs. I expect this out
of Margie because she's a slut, but you were supposed to be
different," Trina accused loudly, her voice cracking. She had
found Fonda in his office off the massive kitchen and stared down
at him, trembling in anger and despair.

"Cat . . . " Fonda began, rising from his chair. "What are
you..."

"Don't ever call me that again!"

"Trina, please listen to me. I was confused. After that night
with the two of you I felt like I was in over my head. I'd never
done anything like that. Then Margie came on to me and . . . "

Trina glared as her booted foot beat a rapid tattoo on the tile
floor.

"And on to you and on to you. How many times? Or was it you
coming on to Margie? Don't play the innocent with me, Fonda. Be a
man and just admit you were going to take what you could get no
matter who got hurt in the process. Bastard . . . " Trina took
one step back from him, clenching her fists in rage.

"It was only the one time. I didn . . . "

"Fuck you. You've been screwing her for the last two weeks."

"Honestly, I haven't. It was just a mistake. I should have never
done it. I felt terrible about it afterward," Fonda apologized. 

Trina fumed. "Damn right you should have never done it. I thought
what we had was special. I should have known better. I mean, here
I am feeling good about being with you, finally thinking I found
someone that I want to get to know better and Margie starts
feeding me all this shit about you. It's over, Fonda. It wasn't
all that great anyway," she cried, trying to spare her own
feelings.

"Trina, you're special to me."

"Bullshit. You can take your restaurant and your boat and your
waltzes and your fucking BMW and shove them all up your ass. I
never want to see you again." Trina turned and stormed out of the
office door, pushing past Stavros and several kitchen staff. She
ignored Fonda's last effort to call her back and only glared at
Margie as she left the restaurant. 

Trina left the restaurant hurriedly, wiping a tear from under her
eye. Instead of heading up the street toward the entrance to the
subway she turned back toward the fish market. She needed a
friend and she knew just where to find one. Corey should be
working today. Besides, Corey always managed to cheer her up. If
he was high or coming down off of something she would be able to
tell. If he was, she told herself that she'd never speak to him
again. Fucking men, she thought.

"What did you tell her?" Fonda sat down at the table and asked
Margie angrily.

"What do you mean?" Margie avoided his eyes and spoke softly.

"Don't give me your shit. Trina was just talking to me about how
we've been sleeping together several times. What's your game?"

"I don't know what y..."

He cut her off and slapped his hand down on the table, eliciting
some stares from nearby diners. "I'm tired of your lies. I don't
want to know what you did, or why you did it. All I know is that
you've managed to ruin two people's lives. Are you happy with
yourself?"

Margie started to say something, but Fonda wouldn't let her get
the words out. "Just get out of here. Get out of my restaurant
and get out of my life."


Trina shifted her backpack to the other shoulder and scanned the
group of workers in the fish market. It didn't take long to pick
out Corey among the staid looking men. She had to laugh at the
way his long hair was tied back and stuffed under a hair net.

"Corey!" Trina called out as she trotted over to greet him. He
looked up, immediately recognizing her.

"Hey Trina!" Corey smiled. "What's up, babe?"

"Margie told me you were working here. How's it going?" Trina
asked, closing the distance between them only slightly; she
didn't want to get too close. The sight of blood and other
unidentifiable smears on his apron made her stomach lurch.

"Not too bad. It stinks, but at least it pays," Corey laughed at
his own joke. "You lookin' a little pale, babe. What's wrong?"

Trina shrugged. "It'll pass. I just wanted to see how you were
doing. We haven't talked in a couple of months." They chatted a
few more minutes, catching up with each other.

"It's been good seeing you again, Corey," Trina meant it. She was
convinced he was clean and it lifted her mood slightly. "I've got
to head over to my agent's office and check if I've been paid
yet."

"Money tight?"

"No more than usual. I hope it picks up soon. I'm waiting to get
paid for that video I shot a couple of weeks ago. I won't start
getting paid by the ballet company until a week after opening
night. We start on Broadway in three weeks."

"Broadway? No shit, babe? Fuckin' A. great."

Trina beamed. "Yeah, I killed at an audition."

"Cool. Hey, you still doing some stuff for Ray?" Ray was a small-time 
choreographer Trina had worked with a few times. He was on
the sleazy side, but always seemed to find her some kind of work,
big or small, in some number he was producing.

"Yeah, a little here and there. I haven't talked to him in about
four months, though," Trina considered for a moment. "But,
y'know, maybe I should stop by and see him, I think he still owes
me some money."

"So you think you'll be in his neighborhood today?" Corey asked.

"Yeah, I guess," she shrugged indifferently. "I gotta stop by my
agent's office and Ray's place isn't too far from there."

"Could you drop something off to him for me?" 

Trina shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Like what?"

Corey smirked. "He's on some kind of high protein diet kick. He
keeps asking for salmon and shit. I keep having to run down there
and bring him all his orders. It's a little out of my way. I
mean, he pays me for the delivery and all that but I'm really
beat today. If you could pass by his place first and drop off his
order I'll pay you the twenty bucks he gives me. Plus, I'd really
appreciate it." 

Trina shrugged and thought for a minute. "I could do that. Only,
could you, like, wrap the fish up extra special so I don't smell
like fish after that? I mean, that is, like, so gross, you know.
. . um, no offense," she smiled up at Corey.

"Cool. Let me get his order ready and pack it up for you. Give me
a few minutes," Corey gave her a wink and turned away,
disappearing among the crates and ice.

Corey looked over his shoulder at Trina. The old guys were busy
unloading a truck. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a
plastic bag. He licked his finger and touched the powder. Good
shit. He licked his finger again, closing his eyes to the
quickening of his pulse. He opened his eyes and darted a look
here and there. As far as he could tell none of the old geezers
had seen him take this little break. To them, he just looked to
be getting together a special order. He slapped the fish down on
the cutting board and dug out the slimy guts with his gloved
hand. He put the bag of heroin in another plastic bag and wrapped
it in tape. He stuffed the package into the belly of the fish,
wrapping the fish with several layers of newspaper and stuffed it
into a plastic bag. Minutes later he was back in front of Trina,
handing her the bag. 

Trina picked up the bag delicately with two fingers. "Yuck. But,
okay, it's twenty bucks. Enough to pay my half of the phone
bill," Trina quickly pocketed the twenty dollar bill and turned to
leave, waving over her shoulder.

Corey watched Trina exit the restaurant and head up the street 
toward the subway entrance. She would deliver it to Ray, none the
wiser for making the drug run. He turned back to walk into the
open air market, smiling to himself. 

Stavros stepped out the back door of the restaurant just as Trina
walked by with a bag from the fish market. He frowned, watching
Trina's retreating back and decided to call after her. "Trina!
Wait!"

Trina paused in her tracks and looked over her shoulder at
Stavros jogging after her. "What do you want?"

Stavros put his hand on her arm, "Fonda is really messed-up about
all of this. He really likes you, Trina. I don't know when I've
seen him this happy."

Trina shrugged his hand off of her arm, "Yeah, well, he's got a
weird way of showing it by fucking my best friend."

"She means nothing to him. She's just a bimbo. You're different."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better? Listen, I thought
your brother was different, you know. I thought he showed more
respect and kindness than other men I've met. I was falling for
him, you know. I thought we had something real together. I was
wrong. You don't know how bad that hurts, Stavros." Trina turned
her head and fought back more tears. "I just thought he was
different and now I know he's worse than the others."

"Worse than that Corky fellow you were talking to? What is that
about? You decide not to work things out with Fonda and run to a
scumbag like that?" 

"It's Corey and he's not a scumbag. At least he's honest about
where things stand," Trina said and turned to leave.

"Wait," Stavros pleaded again.

"No, Stavros. I've got places to go, an agent to see and a fish
to deliver." Trina raised the plastic bag before walking away
from him.




Chapter 12




Fonda paced the floor as Stavros filled him in on the details of
the latest employee drug test. His brother decided to delay telling 
him about his encounter with Trina until later. Fonda was furious
enough. Will entered the office waving another envelope, smirking
menacingly. "Here's the one we been waiting for. Corey's busy
with a new order. I don't think he suspects nothin'," he said in
his usual gruff manner.

"Did he see you?" Stavros asked.

"Naw. He never noticed."

"Something is bothering me," Stavros said. "Trina, your
girlfriend. I saw her leaving here after talking to Corky with a
bag from the market. What could that mean?" Stavros paced along
with Fonda.

"Corey. Not Corky. For Christsakes, for the last fucking time his
name is *Corey*," Fonda snapped and both his brother and Will,
the manager of the fish market, looked at each other in surprise.
It was rare for Fonda to display that much emotion. "She knows
the prick. I don't know why she would buy a fish, though."

"Maybe I know," Will offered. Fonda and Stavros looked up at him.
"For the past few weeks or so Corey's been having a fish
delivered to a friend of his, some dance guy he says. I noticed
it because I see a ticket on it every other night or so. It's
just one o'those things that catches my eye, ya know? It's like a
standing order and he pays by the week."

"Can you find the invoice?" Fonda asked.

"Sure, got it right here on my desk," Will answered, shuffling
through some stained and rumpled paperwork. "Here it is. Ray . . . 
can't make out the last name on this one. Should be able to
read it on last week's invoice though, but I'm gonna have to look
through the books."

Fonda took the receipt from Will's hand, reading over the
information and the address. "This man, if it is only him, could
never possibly eat that much fish. Eight, nine pounds of salmon
every day? Something is not right about this." Fonda looked at
Stavros. "Could Trina have been delivering a small order
somewhere else?"

Stavros shook his head. "No, the bag was quite large, not the
size of bag for a small order. There was definitely a big fish in
there." Stavros stopped and looked at Will. 

Will shook his head. "I'll go keep my eye on things."

"Stavros, how long ago did Trina leave here?"

"I don't know. Twenty, twenty-five minutes maybe. Why?"

"I don't know. I just have a bad feeling."

"What if she wasn't heading home?" Stavros asked.

"Who buys a fish and then doesn't go home?"

"I spoke to Trina briefly outside the market. For you . . . "

"Not a good idea, Stavros . . . "

"She said she had places to go, an agent to see and a fish to
deliver."

"I want to speak to Corey now," Fonda said as he headed through a
back door in the kitchen which connected to the back room of the
market.

***

"Corey, I need a word with you," Fonda said, striding quickly into 
the cleaning room of the fish market.

Corey looked around nervously, wondering if his boss knew what he
was up to. "Yeah," he stammered. "What's up man?"

"A while ago, you sold a fish to Catrina Murphy. Do you know if
she was taking it home or where she was going with it?"

"I don't remember, man," he lied badly, darting his eyes around
nervously.

"What do you mean, 'I don't remember'? You know Trina. You sold
her a fish. This isn't complicated," he raised his voice. "I want
you to tell me if she said she was going anywhere?"

"I don't know what you're talking about man," Corey began to
sweat and looked down at the floor, unable to think of a
convincing lie to tell his boss.

"Listen to me you fucking little weasel," Fonda picked the
smaller man up by his shirt and thrust him into the wall,
garnering stares -- and even a few grins and smirks -- from the
other workers. "Trina came in here and bought a fish. You wrapped
it up for her. Now tell me if she said where she was going."

"Hey, lighten up," Corey said fearfully, his legs still dangling.
"She was bringing it to Ray. Ray Cippolini, a choreographer. He's
on some sort of fucking protein diet. He pays me to deliver him a
fish every other day. I was beat today, so I asked Trina if she
could bring it by. He's on Grand St., near Allen on the lower
east side."

Fonda released the human pincushion who slumped to the floor. As
he fell, a few small packets fell out of his pocket. He shot his
hand out for them, but Fonda got there first.

"What is this? Cocaine? Heroin?" Fonda asked, looking at the bag.
"What did you put in the bag with the fish?"

"Fuck you," Corey shot back, slumped on the floor.

"You're fired," he said flatly. "Will, call the police and make
sure he doesn't steal anything."

"Sure thing Mr. D. He ain't taking nothing."

"Tell Stavros I'm going to go looking for Trina. I'll be back in
a while."

As Fonda headed out of the fish market, Will called the police.
Two other men put Corey in the office to wait until the police
arrived. Corey had ideas about trying to make a run for it, but
several of the workers, most of whom didn't like him to begin with,
were between him and the exit. He thought it much safer just to
wait. 

Corey looked at the phone on the desk and had an idea. The men 
guarding him stepped outside the only door to the office to resume 
work and wait for the police. Corey quickly picked up the phone and 
made a call, turning his back to the door in case one of the men 
should glance back at him. He sat back in the chair and snickered as 
he hung up the receiver.

***

Trina sneezed as she entered her agent's office, the dust as
thick as ever. She stopped just inside the doorway, allowing her
eyes to adjust to the darkened rooms -- the only light filtering
into the room coming through the slats of almost fully closed
Venetian blinds -- feeling somewhat uncomfortable toting around a
large fish in a plastic bag. Ira was sitting behind his desk, an
old mahogany monstrosity covered almost totally with stacks of
files, leafing through a sheaf of papers while chomping on a
cigar that looked as if it were first lit during the Kennedy
administration.

"Trina, I didn't even see you come in. Sit down my dear," Ira
Katz, Trina's long time agent, said.

"That's ok," she looked at the only other chair in the room,
noting that what parts of it that weren't covered in file folders
were thick with dust. "I can't stay too long. I have to go
bring a fish to a friend."

Ira's bushy brows shot up in question and he switched the cigar
to the other side of his mouth, "You makin' fish deliveries,
girl?"

Trina smiled at the elderly man. "A girl's got to make a few
bucks somehow, eh Ira? Unless you got a paycheck for me or
somethin'?" Trina smiled sweetly at her agent, using her charm to
melt the tough man's defenses.

Ira chuckled and leaned back in his creaky leather chair. He
opened his top desk drawer and pulled out an envelope. "For you,
my dear Trina. Glowing reviews on that last video. I have a
feeling your rate might have to increase a little. I sense a
demand for you, at least that's what I hear through the
grapevine. Of course, with the ballet starting in a few weeks, I
don't think you'll have much opportunity for videos now." Ira
placed the check in Trina's outstretched hand, noting the pretty
blush creeping up her neck to stain her fair cheeks. "Oy, my
girl, if I were only thirty years younger . . . " Ira clucked,
placing the cigar back in his mouth. 

Trina smiled back at him, breathing deeply. The smoke and dust
irritated her already burning eyes. 

"Is that a tear, Trina?" Ira asked, concerned.

"No," Trina tried to shrug it off. "Just my allergies, is all."

"Something Ira should know about?" he asked kindly.

"No, Ira. I'm fine. You should stop smoking those awful things,
though. It tends to keep the ladies at a distance, you know."
Trina shook her head, scolding the man for his long-time habit.
She couldn't -- and wouldn't -- tell him how depressed she was at
the moment at not being able to share this bit of good news with
Fonda. Fonda, she thought angrily to herself. Bastard.

"Trina, darling, I wouldn't know what to do with a lady at this
point in my life anyway," Ira wheezed and the winked. "Heart
condition."

Trina leaned over the cluttered desk, braving the rancid smoke
and towering piles of paper, and gave the old man a peck on the
cheek. "Thanks, Ira. For the check. You don't know how much I
need this." 

Ira waved her away, coughing loudly into his hand. "You earned
it, my dear. You earned it. Now, go on and deliver that fish
before it stinks up my office."

"Yeah, it might improve the smell," she teased.

Trina shook her head feeling a bit better than when she entered
and smiled, glancing back once as she left his office. 


continued in chapter 13 (to be posted in a couple of days)

Like it so far? Let us know! 
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Copyright  (C) 2000 
John3365A@aol.com (John A) and 
VBwrites@aol.com (Virago Blue) 
All rights reserved.





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