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Subject: {ASSM} Fonda and Cat [20/23] {John A and Virago Blue} MF,MFF,FF, Rom, anal
Date: Wed, 11 Oct 2000 18:10:09 -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,
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DO NOT REPOST
"Fonda and Cat"
Copyright (C) 2000 by John3365A@aol.com (John A)
and VBwrites@aol.com (Virago Blue)
All rights reserved.
---------------------------
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Email us at John3365a@aol.com or VBwrites@aol.com
Fonda and Cat
by John A and Virago Blue
Chapter 20
"One and two and tour jete . . . hold and plie," Trina counted
out as she practiced backstage. The smell of rosin permeated the
air and Trina breathed deeply, the familiar aroma reminding her
of the days she spent as a child in ballet class - knobby kneed,
wearing a tulle tu-tu and pink leather ballet shoes, the satin
ribbons laced up her bony ankles. She fell in love with ballet
back then and that love never went away. She smiled fondly at the
memory. Those same feelings, only stronger, came to her when she
thought about Fonda.
"Is there a Trina Murphy back here?"
Trina turned to the voice, frowning slightly. One of the other
dancers pointed the delivery man in her direction. "There she is,
the one in purple." The delivery man nodded and stepped past a
few of the other dancers stretched out on the floor, making his
way to Trina as she gaped in the corner. "For you, miss." With a
flourish the elderly man presented her with a bouquet of pink
sweetheart roses and white orchids. Trina accepted the bouquet,
stunned. "There is a card, miss." He continued to stand before
her until Trina realized she should tip him.
"Um . . . hang on . . . " Trina skimmed her hands down her
body-hugging leotard as if to accentuate the fact that she had no
pockets and kept no cash on her at the moment. The delivery man
cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah . . . just a sec."
"Here." Mindy handed a wadded up dollar bill to Trina over her
shoulder. "It's all I got right now."
Trina smiled back to Mindy. "Thanks. I'll pay you back," Trina
said, dismissing the delivery man with his tip.
"Hey, don't bother. Just tell me what the card says so I can
daydream about a romantic lover," Mindy giggled. "Since I'm not
getting any, I may as well live vicariously through you."
Trina smiled up at Mindy as she opened the card. "Oh, Mindy. It's
from Fonda," Trina breathed as she read over the note. "Trina,
only seven more days and you'll be back. I can't wait to see you
again. I've missed you so much. Love, Fonda." Trina folded the
note and put it back in the envelope. She tipped her head
down to smell the roses, closing her eyes against the sudden
misting of tears in her eyes. "I miss him so much. I never
thought I would ever feel this way -- about anybody. I almost
feel . . . homesick." Trina shrugged, unable to find the words
she was looking for.
"Wow, you've fallen hard, haven't ya?" Mindy asked, putting her
arm around Trina's shoulders. "Seven more days, like he said.
It'll go by fast. Wait and see."
Trina looked over at Mindy. She plucked one of the small pink
roses from the bouquet and tucked it into Mindy's hair. "There.
Thanks for being my friend, for making this time a little
easier." The two women embraced warmly before Trina ran to put
the roses with her things and they both resumed the rehearsal.
Forty five minutes later, the rehearsal finally finished much to
Trina's relief. Mme. Renault had gathered several dancers
together, forcing them to go through the same steps again and
again, but fortunately for Trina, she wasn't one of them.
She grabbed a bottle of orange juice from a refrigerator
backstage before rushing off to her dressing room to fish out
Fonda's cell phone. Her fingers punched automatically at the
numbers, the physical memory of the act already ingrained within
her digits.
"Hello," a masculine voice answered.
"Oh, I love them Fonda. They're so pretty. Thank you," Trina
gushed, looking at the roses in the pitcher she was using as a
makeshift vase.
"I'm glad you got them," Fonda said, smiling. "I wasn't sure if
they'd be able to deliver them to the rehearsal hall. The last
time we talked I wasn't certain if I'd gotten the address
correct. How are things going?"
"Great. Mme. Renault has been using me to demonstrate steps at
times. God, I can't believe how much of a career break this has
been," she gushed then diverted the attention away from herself.
"Enough about me, how are you feeling? How's the PT going?"
"I'm doing much better every day. Like I told you, the wheelchair
is gone and I'm able to get around with a cane. And hopefully
that will be gone in a month or so."
"That's great. How's your little physical therapist? Kayla or
Karen whatever."
"You mean, Kimberly," he corrected.
"Yeah, her," Trina said with a hint of jealousy in her voice.
"Kimberly is wonderful," he said innocently, not picking up the
envy in Trina's voice. "We've been making good progress. Next
week, when we see each other, I'll be almost as good as new."
Trina smiled. "You better be. I have plans for you when I get
back." Trina's heart thumped in her chest, nervousness creeping
up from her toes. Tell him you love him, she pleaded with
herself. Tell him.
Her fears and insecurities took control of her, however, and she
couldn't bring herself to utter the words she wanted to. What if
he didn't love her? Trina was confused and scared and frightened
all rolled up into one.
"Speaking of when you get back, did I tell you that mother, dad,
and Stavros will be joining me there opening night? And then,
we'll all go out to celebrate your debut on Broadway."
"Really?" Trina squealed, washing aside her doubts for the
moment. "That's so awesome. I'm so excited that you're going to
be there. I just hope we don't suck."
He chuckled. "You'll be magnificent. I can't wait to see you,"
Fonda said and Trina smiled until she heard a voice on Fonda's
end of the phone connection. A distinctly female voice. Trina's
fears and doubts came crashing back on her. It certainly wasn't
the voice of Mrs. D; her voice was deeper -- older sounding --
than the voice on the other end of the line. Trina worked up
paranoid scenario after paranoid scenario in her mind, barely
hearing Fonda's words.
"Trina, are you still there?" he asked.
"Oh Fonda, sorry. There's . . . there's a lot of . . . stage
hands moving around here. I couldn't hear what you were saying,"
she lied, sitting in the empty dressing room that she shared with
Mindy.
"Well, you must be busy. Everything we have to say to each other
we can say after the show next Friday. I can't wait to see you."
Fonda paused and took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I'm
looking forward to being with you again, Cat, I really miss you."
"Oh, I gotta go, Fonda. Soon, okay?" Trina disconnected the
call, unsure of how to interpret his last words. Could he
possibly love her or is he only interested in the sex? He could
have been just being nice -- polite. But he wanted to be there
for opening night, to see *her*. And who was the little bitch in
the background? Maybe it was *Kimberly*, taking care of his
*business*, she thought acidicly.
Trina lay her head on the back of the chair and closed her eyes
trying to sift through all of the thoughts colliding in her mind.
She loved Fonda, only of that was she certain. He might love her,
his actions sometimes spoke of deeper feelings, but she'd heard
those words before and had always been disappointed. Why would
he be any different? But why the flowers . . . and opening night,
too? Surely he wouldn't string her along like that, would he?
Maybe he was still upset for what she said to him. Maybe he
blamed her for the accident and this was his measure of revenge.
If only she could be with him, she'd know for sure. She could
tell his true feelings if *she* was there with him, instead of
the little nurse bitch.
He had seemed so sweet, but Trina always expected the worst
from people, always expected her feelings to be trampled over;
it was why she built such a tough outer shell. A shell, she
thought ruefully, that she allowed Fonda to enter only now to
realize that it may have been the wrong decision.
She threw on her clothes over her leotard, ignoring the shower
until she returned to the sanctity of her hotel room, opting
instead for a walk in a nearby park, hoping to make sense of all
of her thoughts.
The next seven days passed uneventfully. Trina's -- and, indeed,
the whole ballet company's -- performances had been flawless and
were rewarded with standing ovations and curtain calls each
night. Trina relaxed a bit, but her paranoia refused to allow her
to call Fonda for the entire week and she made a point of keeping
the cell phone turned off, unless she had to make a call.
***
Fonda stepped back from the floor length mirror. He checked his
reflection carefully, smoothing back his jet black hair. When he had
tried his tuxedo on a few days ago, he was thoroughly displeased
with the way it hung loosely on his frame, since losing about
fifteen pounds after the accident. Stavros had driven Fonda into
Manhattan and brought him to Barney's, where he purchased a black
Armani suit to wear at Trina's Broadway debut and was now looking
at that tuxedo in the mirror.
"Woo hoo, not bad at all," Kimberly whistled from the doorway.
Fonda asked that she stay after his therapy session, so she could
give him her opinion on the new suit.
Fonda looked back at her reflection in the mirror. "You think so?
Not too much?"
"No way," she shook her head, a brow arched flirtatiously. "In
fact, if she doesn't flip out, give me a call and I will."
A little embarrassed, Fonda chuckled before turning to face her.
"Kimberly . . . "
"No, don't say it. I'm a shameless flirt. I know," Kimberly
stepped forward, adjusting the black bow tie on Fonda's new suit,
"you're just very irresistible, Mr. Daskalakis."
"Thank you," Fonda blushed.
"I'll say it again. That Trina is a lucky girl. I'll have to meet
her sometime."
Fonda gave her a chaste hug, smelling the slight fragrance in her
hair, before pulling away. His thoughts briefly returned to the
threesome with Trina and Margie, but now in his mind's eye,
Margie was replaced by Kimberly. He ushered those thoughts out of
his mind as quickly as they entered; the fiasco with Margie had
almost ended his relationship with Trina and he couldn't risk
doing anything like that again.
"Trina is very special, very different. You would like her. But
this," Fonda reached into one of the shopping bags at his feet,
"I want to give you. For all the work and time you have spent
here, even if you were a little mean at times."
Kimberly frowned, taking the box from Fonda. "You really
shouldn't have but I'll take it anyway," she grinned, carefully
opening the box. "Oh, Fonda . . . " Kimberly exclaimed, lifting
the delicate Lladro figurine from the box, "it's beautiful. Thank
you."
"I thought you might like it," Fonda said.
More bags littered the floor around his bed. Kimberly looked at
the bags in amusement. "We really spent some money, didn't we?
You never told me what was in 'that' bag," Kimberly said,
pointing to a small blue bag from Tiffany's.
"No, I didn't. It's a surprise. I don't want anyone to know about
it yet."
Kimberly nodded, wondering what Fonda was hiding. "I understand.
Hey, what time did you say your brother was going to be here to
pick you up?"
Fonda glanced at his wristwatch. "Any minute now, my parents went
into the city early to have dinner and we're going to meet them
at the theater. . . . but knowing Stavros' sense of punctuality,
I could be waiting until tomorrow." He caught a look in
Kimberly's blue eyes, one of interest and maybe a little
excitement. He smiled. "Let's get you out of my bedroom, Stavros
would tease you unmercifully."
"You think? I mean, is he seeing anyone?" She nervously bit her
lip.
"You're interested in Stavros?"
"He's very nice and . . . yeah, maybe I am." Kimberly smiled
widely.
Fonda chuckled, "He will be very happy to hear it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that Stavros has also expressed the same interest in you,
but don't tell him I told you so. He's actually quit shy."
"I don't believe that for a moment," Kimberly laughed, blushing
slightly.
They both turned as Stavros stormed up the stairs toward Fonda's
room. "You two can laugh at a time like this? Looks like rain and
the traffic will be hellish if we don't leave twenty minutes ago
. . . . What?"
"Where are your manners, Stav?"
Stavros frowned. He rubbed at his furrowed brow, running a hand
through his sleek hair. "Of course, Fonda, you're right.
Kimberly, how are you doing this evening?" Stavros approached the
woman, towering over her tiny frame and reached for her hand. He
smiled salaciously, a half-smile curving his lips as he brought
the back of her hand to his mouth. He kissed it softly.
Kimberly blushed again. "F . . . fine, Stavros," she stammered
nervously, looking up into his dark eyes. "You look almost as
handsome as Fonda this evening," Kimberly added, grinning up at
the handsome Greek.
Stavros feigned a look of pain, slapping his free hand over his
heart, "Oh, Kimberly, surely you only say that because you have a
soft spot for my brother and he just happens to be leering at you
behind your back." Stavros grinned wickedly at Fonda before
looking back at Kimberly. "But I'll forgive you if you will
only agree to have dinner with me tomorrow night."
"Well . . . "
"You hesitate? I'm doubly hurt," Stavros said as the three of
them began walking downstairs. Fonda laughed to himself as he saw
how smooth and casual his younger brother could talk to any
woman. Still, he thought, it didn't matter. Fonda had the woman
of his dreams, and that's all that he concerned himself with.
"Pick me up at 8:00 p.m. and I'll try and make it up to you
then," Kimberly smiled coyly at Stavros. "You guys have a great
evening." Kimberly turned her attention to Stavros's brother,
"And Fonda, thanks again and I really hope you have a wonderful
evening with Trina." Kimberly kissed Fonda on the cheek before
turning back to Stavros and grazing his forearm with her
fingertips. "Can't wait until tomorrow, Stav."
Kimberly grabbed her bag and beamed at the two brothers before
picking up her keys off of a table and bustling from the house,
leaving the two men to gawk after her.
Fonda was the first to clear his throat. He approached his
brother and raised his good hand in the air. "Yes!" The brothers
high-fived.
***
"Oh my God, I don't even believe this is happening," Trina
squealed nervously. She paced the highway shoulder with the other
dancers, clutching her backpack. "We can't miss the show, we just
can't." She was near hysterics, as were most of them, especially
the two stars, who were already apoplectic that they had to
travel from Philadelphia to New York in a bus and not in a plane,
or at the very least, a separately chauffeured limousine.
The bus from Philadelphia, crippled and steaming, spat and
wheezed on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike, broken down in
the middle of the meadowlands, a mere ten minutes from exit 16E
that would lead to the Holland Tunnel and into midtown Manhattan.
The hired driver had started pulling their luggage from the bus
twenty minutes earlier, laying the hodge-podge of suitcases and
trunks neatly next to each other in the grass on the highway's
shoulder.
"Ohhhh," Trina gnawed on a fingernail, looking up and down at the
whizzing of cars and truck passing them. "How much longer to
curtain?"
"Two hours, fifteen minutes," one of the male dancers replied.
"Oh, shit. We'll never make it in time. Oh my God . . . "
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mme. Renault spoke up above the highway
din. "Please gather your things from the bus. I have arranged for
another bus to pick us up and take us into the city. The service
has promised me that he will arrive in no more than thirty
minutes. When the bus arrives, please thank the driver profusely
and then proceed to applying your stage makeup during the ride
into town." Mme. Renault paused before adding, "And it
wouldn't be a bad idea to say a prayer or two that the traffic in
the tunnel doesn't hold us up."
The dancers reboarded the bus to gather the remainder of their
belongings, all grumbling, their emotions vacillating between
anger and helplessness. Trina felt like crying but knew if Mme.
Renault saw that she would scold her further. She knew that she
couldn't take the pressure or the embarrassment right now. This
just seemed like everything else in her life: when things start
looking bright, the big black cloud dumps a storm on her head.
Mere hours from her Broadway debut and it looked as if yet
another dream was going to be dashed, at least temporarily, she
thought, wallowing in self-pity. She handed Mindy her makeup
case from the seat next to hers and gathered her own. "It'll be
okay, Trina. Don't worry. We'll get there. Besides, what bus
driver would want to piss off Mme. Renault?" The two women shared
a laugh as they disembarked from the bus.
continued in chapter 21 (to be posted in a day or two)
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VBwrites@aol.com (Virago Blue)
All rights reserved.
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