Should you wish to comment upon my story, I can be reached by 
E-mail at: 

delta @ nym . alias . net

Comments and critizisms are welcome.

Standard disclaimers:  This is a work of fiction - no character 
within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead.  No 
place or event described within exists outside of the writer's 
imagination.  Copyright retained by the author and this post
is for private use of the reader only.  It is not to be published 
in any form whatsoever, including being made available on BBSs, 
or on Web Pages, without the express prior consent of author.
     Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which
they reside are asked to please pass by.


Delta.


                    Don't Get Involved
                       by Delta  (c) 2001


     There are times when everything goes right.  Times when 
nothing you do goes wrong, no matter how cock-eyed the scheme.
Times like those you feel on top of the world, and you hear a
voice in your head telling you that nothing can bring you 
down, that it will never end.  This is not a good voice to listen
to.
     Dan checked his watch again.  It was a ten dollar special, 
ten dollars which he couldn't afford, but he could less afford to be
late for interviews.  That alone could lose him the chance at 
earning minimum wage.  So he paid the ten dollars (plus taxes)
and took the money out of his food budget.  Rice is our friend,
Dan thought.  He was getting tired of having friends.
     The wind came up, pushing the cold air in his face, causing
him to put his hand to the collar of his coat, holding it closed
and cursing the button which had fallen off.  He plodded past the
movie theatre.  It had been months since he'd last seen a new 
film.  Films were luxuries.  When on welfare one didn't spend 
one's money on luxuries.  The tax-paying public wouldn't have it.
The poor deserved to be poor.  Well, he wasn't on welfare, not
yet.  Dan figured he had about one month to go before that became
necessary.  It didn't matter though.  He had been on the other
end once, not all that long ago, and he knew what people thought.
     He wished they could all have a taste of poverty.  In this
world, money was everything.  Sometimes, just to feel alive and
a part of the world, it was necessary to spend on something you
didn't need.  Those with more than enough wouldn't understand that.
They simply took it for granted.  It was a way of life.  And if
you didn't have the money, you didn't deserve it.
     Two boys were arguing on the sidewalk.  The larger of the two
was pushing the smaller around.  Don't get involved, Dan told 
himself and cut sharply across the street.  He looked again at his 
watch.  He had plenty of time.  Too much time.  It wouldn't do to 
get there too early, either.
     He turned a corner and stopped in the shelter of a building, 
waiting for the light to turn.  His breath hung in the air.  He 
should go into a store and get warm, he knew, but the sight of all 
the things which he could not afford depressed him.  He wished 
there were a branch of the Public Library nearby, but there wasn't.
     "Can you spare some change, mister?"
     Shit.
     She was young and had a child with her.  Was that her angle?
Was it that anything she got would go for drugs, or was she intent
on feeding the child?  Dan figured he knew the answer, but it was 
the quiet desperation in her eyes which had his hand reaching into 
his pocket.  He just couldn't take the chance.  
     "Here."  Dan handed her a dollar.  That meant water with
breakfast this week instead of frozen orange juice.  She thanked 
him and moved on.
     "Spare any change, lady?"
     The light changed, but Dan remained in the lee of the 
building.  He had time to kill.  He thought he heard a slight 
sound behind him and turned to look.  She was lovely, hell, she 
was beautiful.  The woman was talking quietly into her cell-phone 
and tears were rolling down her cheeks.  Dan turned away.  He was 
torn between leaving and staying.  No one wanted their privacy 
interrupted--or did they?  Were the tears an invitation.  No,
probably not.  He would go.
     Too late.  The light had changed again.  Dan stood quietly,
waiting, listening to the murmur of words broken by sobs behind 
him, then silence.  He glanced back.  She was just replacing the 
cell-phone in her pocket as he turned his head.  Then she leaned 
against the building and covered her face.
     Don't get involved.  Be smart.  Don't get involved.  Ah,
hell.  He had just decided to ask if he could help when the
woman suddenly straightened and walked past him, brushing at her
eyes.  The light had changed again.  
     Dan followed her, allowing her to get about five metres
in front of him.  He liked the way she walked, the smart way 
she was dressed, her legs.  She was, he knew, a dream.  She
was someone he could fantasize about.  He would take her
somewhere warm and quiet and brush away the tears, show her
that someone cared.  She would be grateful . . .
     The woman walked into an up-scale coffee shop.  Such is
the way dreams die.
     He was twenty metres past the door before he turned 
about.  Don't get involved.  I won't, he promised himself as
he opened the door and was struck by the heat.
     Once he wouldn't have felt out of place here.  Once.
He sat at a table where he could watch the woman out of the
corner of his eye.  She had taken off her coat and hung it
on the back of her chair.  Nice curves in all the right places.
Dark, shoulder-length hair which now hid, now bared her face
to him.
     Covertly, Dan checked his finances.  They didn't amount
to much.  Was he really going to do this?  Stupidity.  Yet even 
the desperately poor have their right to stupidity.  He ordered, 
ignoring the look which the server gave him.  Wasn't his money as 
good as everyone else's?  Perhaps she was thinking of her tip; 
thinking that he was a waste of her time and effort.  Being in
a place where he felt he wasn't wanted caused his stomach to
tighten.  It was not a good feeling.
     But the coffee was hot and good.  He nursed it, enjoying the
warmth as it spread through him.  The bagel with lox was excellent.
But the cost!  Five kilos of rice.  But rice was not the friend 
it once had been.  In fact he was beginning to hate rice.  On the
other hand, it filled his stomach; staved off the pangs of
hunger.  Rice was a friend.
     He ate slowly, remembering better days.  A now unaccustomed 
feeling of well-being clothed him.  There was something about 
being served, knowing that he was capable of paying for this 
luxury.  And he would pay, he knew, much more than he wanted to.  
Five kilos of rice--hunger.  But in the between there was
warmth and the woman to look at.  She sipped her coffee waiting,
it seemed, for each time the door opened, she looked up.
     A mixture of sadness and hope; and then one replaced by 
the other.  He could help, he knew he could.  
     Don't get involved.
     I won't.
     The door opened and the woman looked up, a half-smile coming
to her face.  He was handsome, well dressed and cold, Dan 
observed as he casually glanced out the window.  He knew that
kind of face, especially when it went with those clothes.  A user.
It was hate at first sight.  Why would a good-looking woman like
you get involved with someone like him?  Bastard.
     From within his coat, Dan pulled out the want ads.  His gaze
went again to those he had circled.  The dates and times of the
interviews were penciled in beside each circle.  He looked again
at his watch.  He should leave.  Time was getting short.
     "Look, Moira, I'll explain it in words you can understand."
The bastard lowered his voice as Moira put her hand on his,
alarmed that others would hear.  Her cheeks were red and it wasn't
from having been out in the cold.
     Dan couldn't catch all the conversation, just enough to get
the gist of it.  The bastard was attacking and she was defending.
He was making her feel an idiot.  Dan felt his hands beginning
to tremble in anger.  This was not something one did in a public
place . . . unless, of course, one was a bastard.
     Don't get involved.  No one appreciates a stranger taking
their part.  It is too embarrassing.  Just pretend you don't hear.
     Dan wanted to shout at her to stand up for herself, but he
could tell by her posture that she wouldn't.  The bastard had her
cowed.  There was no fairness in the universe.  She was near tears
again.  The feeling of well-being evaporated.  The mood which the
expensive food and coffee had engendered disappeared.
     "Oh, for Christ's sake, get a grip, Moira."  The words were
delivered as cruelly as Dan had ever heard, master to slave.
     Dan was standing at their table, not remembering getting up
from his own.  His eyes blazed anger.
     "No one," he snarled at the bastard, "deserves to be treated
like that."  The bastard was too shocked to reply.  Dan turned
his head and looked at the Moira.  His voice softened.  "No one,"
he said deliberately, "deserves to be treated like that."  The
same words but a much different pronouncement
     The manager of the shop was scurrying from behind the counter.
He'd have to get out quick, before he was thrown out.  Can't have
the rabble insulting the People.  With as much disdain as he could
put into his voice, Dan turned back to the bastard and fired his 
final shot.  "You," he said, "are a worm."  A heavy silence filled 
the shop.
     Dan was out the door before the manager could reach him.  He
didn't look back.  He was halfway to his destination before he
calmed down and began to think again.  Stupidity, sheer stupidity.  
He'd allowed himself to get involved.  Worse, he'd forgotten his 
paper behind.  Still worse, he was going to be late.  
     Shit.

     Moira, along with the rest of the patrons, sat still in the
silence.  Frederick's face was red with anger, but she was barely
aware of him.  
     The stranger's words had a catalytic effect on her.  Fragments
of old scenes replayed themselves, one after another.  As each went
by, she heard again the words: No one deserves . . .
     Slowly she straightened in her chair.  A quiet dignity came
over her.  She looked at Frederick in a new light, wondering how
she could have allowed him such power over her.  He was still too
angry and embarrassed to speak.  All the better.
     "You may leave, now, Worm," she said regally.  "Don't worry,
I'll look after the bill."  She turned her head away, dismissing
him.  He might yet have said something, were it not for the
sudden smattering of applause from the other patrons.  It was
too much for Frederick and he turned and bolted.  Her hands were
shaking.  The manager, who had stopped when the stranger had fled
before him, was nearby.
     "Another coffee, please," she ordered and he nodded, happy
enough to be away from the scene.
     Moira waited quietly for her coffee, gazing out the window,
watching the people pass by.  People who were happy and smiling,
those who were grim.  Across the street she saw the woman who'd
asked her for change, who she had ignored.  She closed her eyes
and saw again the stranger's eyes, his gaze locking with hers.
     She nodded to herself.  It was the same man who had been
huddling out of the wind while she'd been on the cell-phone.
He had given the woman something.  And he'd followed her here.
She had been aware of that on some level.  She'd noticed him
quietly counting his money, looking with both anxiety and 
determination at the price list.
     "Your coffee, miss."
     Moira smiled at the server and paid her, hiding the
embarrassment she felt.  She wondered why she remained here
where everyone had heard the way she'd allowed herself to
be treated by Frederick.  Perhaps because here was where she'd 
finally stood up to him.  Funny how just one sentence had turned 
her around.  Now all she had to do was to stay turned around.
That would be the hard part.
     The paper caught her eye, the red circles.  It was the 
matter of a few steps and then it was in her hands.  They were
not good jobs, the ones he'd circled.

     Dan shoved his hands deep into his pockets and bent his
shoulders as he left the building.  It had gone badly, as he'd
known it would.  Being late was a sure way to lose the favour
of a prospective employer.  He shouldn't have become involved.
It was getting late and it was getting colder.  His room was a
long way off and he debated walking the distance to save bus fare.
     "You forgot your paper."
     Startled, Dan looked up to see the woman from the coffee
shop standing there.  She was holding out his paper.  He glanced
quickly around for the bastard.
     "You were right, so I got rid of him."
     Don't get involved.  It'll only cause you pain in the end.
     "Good choice."  He accepted the paper back and thrust it into
his coat.  Why had she brought it back to him?
     "Yes, I think so.  Sometimes you slip into a way of life 
without realizing what you are doing.  Then you forget that there
is any other way."
     Her eyes were serious.  They were also searching.  What were
they looking for?  Was there some sort of sign he was supposed to
give; was there something written on his face that she was trying
to decipher?  He shivered in a sudden gust.
     "It's getting colder," she agreed and began walking.  He was
only a half-step behind.  He caught up, squelching the warning
before it resurfaced.
     "When you've forgotten that there is another way, it is easy
to go back to the old."
     What was that supposed to mean?  She turned at the cross- 
street, clearly expecting him to turn with her.  He did.  There
was a long silence between them, lasting most of a long block.
They were going the wrong way and he was getting colder.  It had
been a very long day.  He was tired.  He should turn around, let
her go where she would.
     There was nothing waiting for him back in his room--except
the rice.  He kept on walking.  Condensation from their breath
gleamed in the light from windows, the light from inside, from
the warmth.
     She stopped.
     "It's easy to slip back if you don't know any other way."
     It was both a statement and a question; an assertion and
a plea.  All he had to do was recognize it--if that was what he
wanted.
     Dan looked into her eyes, keeping his own face expressionless.
Getting further involved was not a good idea.  She was asking, but
not begging; desperate, but unwilling to show her desperation.
His eyes flicked to the door behind her.  He closed his eyes for
a long second then opened them again.  He gave her a curt nod.
     The doorman did his job and they entered, moving through the
warmth of the foyer to the check-in desk.  If the clerk noticed 
that they had no luggage, he kept it to himself as he validated
her charge card.
     "Room 1537.  Left out of the elevator and down the hall."
     "Thank you."  Moira led the way to the elevators.  On the
way up they kept their distance.  Two strangers in an elevator,
both looking forward, eyes on the numbers as they crept up to the
15th floor.
     Moira didn't do things by halves, Dan thought.  The room was
huge with all the accoutrements.  A fitting room for the king-size
bed which lay waiting.  Dan took off his coat and hung it over 
the back of a chair, then helped her off with hers, hanging it
carefully in the closet.  She laughed at him.  
     He was stung for a moment, then grinned ruefully.  "Force 
of habit," he said.
     The laugh did wonders for her.  It livened her face and
brought out the beauty which he had only glimpsed before.
     "You're beautiful."
     That sobered her.  She searched his eyes again in that way
she had.  "Truth or part of the program?"
     This time he *was* hurt.  It must have gotten past his guards
for she winced.  "I have no reason to lie."
     "I'm sorry.  Truly sorry."  She moved close to him and took
his hand.  He allowed it, then breathed out slowly, deeply, 
letting the tension fade out of him with the breath.  "Okay, but
don't do it again."
     "I won't."
     But the moment had been spoiled and Dan didn't know whether
they could get it back again.  What was he doing here?
     "You're my knight in shining armour."
     "Got rusty in the last rain."
     "Still shines a bit, here and there."  She lifted his hand
and drew him over to the window.  There she snugged into him put 
his arm around her shoulder.  "I like the city from up here."  
The room overlooked the park and they could see a long distance.  
The city's lights seemed warm.  Once out there, though, it was 
cold.  A cold city.
     Stop it.  Let the cold be outside for this moment, this
hour or how ever long it was to be.  Moira was warm and 
close.  He pulled her in even closer, enjoying how she melted
into him.  It had been a long time.
     "The worm stirs."
     For a moment Moira tensed, then she relaxed and laughed.
"Sorry, I thought you were referring to Frederick."
     It took a second for him to catch on.  "Ah, yes, the Worm."
     "You certainly took the wind out of his sails.  And you
should have seen his face when I called him that, too."
     Dan could imagine and suddenly they were both laughing.
Laughing too loudly and too much, but neither could stop.  When
one tried, the other dragged them both back into it.  Finally,
weak and out of breath, they collapsed onto the sofa.     
     As beginnings go it was a fair start, perhaps the only
logical opening they had.  Laughing together, even if it were
laughing at someone else, created an instant bond:  We are the
same in this.  From there it was not difficult for him to cup
her face in his hand, to study that face and to show his 
enjoyment of the study.
     Moira's enjoyment was tremulous, as if she thought he 
might see something negative which he would have to comment
on.  It angered him.  The bastard had much to answer for.  After
it became apparent that no such comment was forthcoming, she 
began to relax into his hand and he tilted his own head slightly, 
opposite to the way hers was tilted.  A slow smile was what
was called for, he decided.  He had very little time in which
to win the confidence of the lady.
     He was about to speak, then reconsidered.  Instead he
brushed the back of his free hand across her other cheek, 
smoothing the skin.  Her reaction startled him. 
     Suddenly he was within her embrace, her arms tight about
him.  His own arms encompassed her and they remained thus a
long while, not speaking, only hearing each other's breathing.
Dan waited until he felt the slightest slackening of pressure
before joining the process of parting, allowing her to set the
pace.

     Moira slowly disengaged.  It was difficult for her to come
to terms with what was happening.  Each time she feared he would
reject her, hurt her the way she had been hurt before, he had
done precisely the correct thing to reassure her.  She began to
allow herself to hope.  The strength she had shown in finally
throwing off Frederick, in tracking the stranger--she realized 
that she still didn't know his name--to his interview, had been
mostly bluff and adrenalin.  
     Taking him into the hotel had been a rash act, composed
of equal parts desperation, hope and the knowledge that she
had, at one time, been very good at reading people.  Now her
courage of the moment was gone.  The impetus for the hug had
been the dreadful need to escape his eyes that he not see the
fear within her own.
     His warmth and acceptance allowed the will to risk to
build back up.
     "I want you to see me . . ."  
     "Dan."
     "Dan."  She savoured the name as her hands fumbled at the 
buttons of her blouse.  And as each button slipped loose, Dan's
attention went to the new view with anticipation, then back to
her face.  Quietly encouraging, saying without saying that he
knew there was better to come but he was there to enjoy the
journey.  With the last button her hands had ceased to shake
or fumble.  It was done.
     Slowly she peeled off the blouse, allowing his gaze to
see her full glory, now covered only by the bra.  Her hands 
went behind her to disengage the hooks, but stopped short as
he raised his hand.
     With the kindest of smiles, he told her, "My turn."
     Her mouth quirked up.  "If that is your desire."
     "Oh, I can definitely say that it is my desire."
     She rounded her eyes.  "Can you do more than say?"
     His eyes twinkled, the kind of good-natured twinkle
backed by gentle humour that Frederick's eyes had never
shown.  She trembled as his fingers skillfully tripped the 
catch then slowly slipped the straps down her arms until
she spilled loose.  His gaze fell to her breasts, to the
upturned, hard nipples as he removed the bra and set it down 
on the sofa beside him.  His eyes closed in momentary 
contentment.
     Moira realized that she had been holding her breath,
anxious that he not find fault.  He hadn't, his whole being
radiated contentment instead, and she exhaled slowly.
     "Oh."  Dan's hands now held their weight, supporting in
the place of that which he had removed.  His gaze met hers and
the minute raising of his eyebrows asked, the equally minute
nod answered.
     The warmth of his mouth felt so good and Moira placed her
hands at the back of Dan's head and held him there as his 
tongue soothed and teased her.  And he made no effort to 
move away until with gentle pressure she guided him over to
the other point of interest, which had been feeling quite 
lonely.  "Ah."  
     Moira felt the need to stretch and did so, enjoying the
tensing and relaxing of her muscles all through her back and
chest.  "Now you."
     Dan released her and sat back.  Her hands found his
buttons and slowly exposed his chest.  Her hand reached in.
Smooth skin.  Muscles reasonably toned, not hard and definitely
not flabby.  He positioned his arms behind him and allowed
his shirt to be slid down and off.  He shivered suddenly and
she noted the coolness of the room as well.  
     "We'd better fix that," she said.  She rose and went to
the thermostat, where she turned up the temperature.  It 
wouldn't take too long.
     By the time she turned back he had his pants off and
was approaching her.
     "Allow me."
     She allowed him and he deftly removed her long skirt.
     "A kiss would be in order, Dan."
     Dan moved to obey.  It had been a quiet test of her
authority and he hadn't questioned her for an instant.  Her
confidence rose and she felt the delicious hunger as his
mouth met hers, as his fingers floated up and down her back
then pressed her firmly against him as the hunger overcame
him as well.  
     The backs of her legs were against the bed and she
let herself fall, pulling him with her, breaking the kiss.
The hunger was in his eyes now, just as it must be in hers,
and it was only moments before they were both naked.
     Hands slipped over skin; touches soft and feathery
teased nerve-endings no longer used to such play.  Fingers
found moistness and explored.  She gasped and her legs 
parted a bit to give him more room.  He took advantage and
soon her gasps turned to moans.
     Silence.  Stillness.  Moira opened her eyes.  He 
looked down, then up again.  A slow smile came to her and he 
accepted the answer, his head moving to where his hand had been; 
his tongue taking over from the fingers.
     "Oh, God!"  It was better than good.  She was flying, her
body recalling other, far-off, times and moving to the rhythms
which were forgotten no longer.  
     Release.  The cry which came from within sounding far away,
not really a part of her.  Floating.  Slowly coming down to the
soft strokes on her stomach, her thighs, her arms.
     Back.  
     "My bag."
     He rose and brought it to her.  She fumbled the clasp
open and quickly found what she was looking for.  "I'll do
the honours."
     He laughed.  The laugh was different than the one they'd
shared earlier.  It was a joyful laugh.  Then he gasped as
she rolled it over him.  
     Moira positioned a pillow under her hips and bade him
move between her legs.  "Come in me."  A request, an order, a
double meaning.  He looked eager to obey all.
     "Yesss."  The moment of entry felt so good, he filled her
so nicely, then the slow strokes began.  She held him tight.

     Dan pressed past the momentary resistance and slid slowly
all the way into her.  It had been such a long time.  It was
so good being here.  His speed increased.  Such a long time.
Since . . .
     "Oh, oh!"
     Lost in memory, he hadn't realized he had begun riding
her like a man possessed, his body angry, thrusting hard.  
This was an innocent.  With her he didn't need to overcome.
That wasn't the goal here.  So much offered and he would
profane it?  He slowed again, bent down to kiss her.  She
accepted it, him.
     Then it was she who was urging him on to ever greater
speed and force.  This time it was a joint effort and their
bodies came together in the joy of the moment, driving hard
towards completion.
     He was almost there.  It took every fibre of his being
to concentrate.  "Oh, Moira!"  Then there was no more
remembering, only shuddering breaths and release.  When he
could think again he withdrew and lay beside her.
     "*That* is how you deserve to be treated."
     Her hand found his face and brushed back an errant lock
of hair.  It was so comfortable, so warm.

     Dan awoke before the dawn and looked at the woman sleeping
beside him.  He shouldn't be here.  She wouldn't want him here
when she awoke.  He had provided her with something she had
needed, that was all.  A memory of a different way, the way
it should be, a reference.  That was all.  And in return, he
had felt alive again for a time.
     But they knew nothing of each other.  In the light of
morning reality would re-present itself.  She was out of his
league.
     It was the work of several minutes to get the words just
right.  He folded the paper and inserted into the envelope,
writing her name on it.
     Once again dressed, he placed the envelope on his pillow
and gazed down at the sleeping woman.  You'll never know, he
told her silently.  Thank you.
     She woke to his touch on her face, eyes startled.  He
shouldn't have done it.  He turned quickly and fled before she
could say anything which would ruin the memory of the night.
     In the elevator he sighed.  Almost better to have not
gotten involved.  The memory would plague him.  Another 
reminder of what had been but could be no longer.  He sighed
again.  
     His ten-dollar watch told him that he had time enough to
get home and change before his interview for this day.  He
would have to catch the bus, though.  His stomach growled.
Rice was his friend.

     "Connie Wenders," the voice came clearly through the
phone.
     "It's Moira, Connie."
     "Moira," the voice sounded happy to hear from her.  Then it
changed.  "How is Frederick?"  Polite only.
     "I woke up, Connie."
     The expulsion of breath.  Moira thought she heard a faint,
'Thank God', but wasn't sure.  "How are you?"
     "Better than I've been in a long time.  I'll tell you all
about it sometime soon . . . if you're still talking to me."
     "Of course I am.  I've always been here for you.  I'm so
glad to hear it's over.  Can you make it for lunch today?"
     "I need a favour of you, Connie."
     "Do my best."
     "You have a job opening."  Moira recalled it from her 
memory.  Sometimes things seemed predestined.  She almost 
laughed.
     "I'd love to have you working for me, but we can do better
than that."  A chuckle.
     "I would hope so.  You'd have to do a lot better.  Actually,
I don't think you could afford me."
     "True.  So, what's the favour?"
     "There's a man coming for an interview today.  He has my
highest recommendation.  He has a gift, and I don't think you'll
regret it.  He cares."  She looked at the note.  'You are worth
it.'  A tear trickled down her cheek.  He was right, she was.
     A moment's consideration.  "Screening is done by my staff.  
I'll make sure that he gets through it and talk to him personally.  
He'd better appreciate what you are doing for . . ."
     "No, Connie.  I'd rather he not know.  He mustn't know
I got involved."
   
END