For those of you who stuck with "Coldwater Crossing" I apologize for letting it drop off so abruptly. I can't actually run Sims 2 on my machine anymore, so I don't really have a way to finish the story. However, you may see a familiar face from that town in this legacy in future. (: For now, enjoy!
Rochelle Tyson was like most girls who grew up in her hometown: average student with a few subjects she really liked, nice-if-slightly-out-ot-touch parents, small home, boyfriend. But one day, she came home to a find a moving van in front of her house. Her father's company was downsizing, and he had been transferred. There hadn't been time to tell her, Rochelle's mother explained. He had been offered the position yesterday and told today that if he didn't accept it, he was fired, effective immediately. So Rochelle picked up empty boxes from the porch and sent texts out to all of her friends to tell them goodbye in between cleaning out her dressers and closet.
By 1:30 a.m. their lives were completely loaded into the cargo bay, and she was in the back seat of the car reading over her messages. She and her boyfriend had mutually decided to call it quits, seeing that they wouldn't be able to see much of each other anymore, and her best friend promised to text her all the time. Rochelle smiled. Good ol' Brittany. Knowing her, she really would text all the time.
The van started up with a roar, and the Tysons moved quickly towards the nearest highway. Before long, the town of Coldwater Crossing vanished behind them, swallowed up by the desert.
They were all settled in the town of Thompson’s River less than a week later. Her mother was completely enchanted. "God's country," her father called it. Rochelle called it boring.
For the rest of the school year and the entire summer, she hardly left her room, emerging solely for school. Otherwise, she was texting, texting, texting. Her mother fretted; her father threatened to take her phone. Rochelle simply pointed out that she would use the computer instead, which immediately made her parents back down. They just barely understood texting--computers were completely beyond them.
And then the day came when she simply went too far. She came home from a "sleepover" with her lovely red hair chopped into drastic black spikes, brand new snakebite piercings and goop all over her eyelashes. (1) Her mother took one look at her and locked herself into the master suite with a bottle of expensive tequila. Her father sighed, said something like "I guess you're an adult now" and gave her a sheaf of dusty savings bonds before eyeing her luggage significantly.
"Never was any good at goodbyes," he mumbled. "Call once in a while."
The value of the savings bonds turned out to be substantial enough to support her for a while. Rochelle went to live with an acquaintance and even managed to weasel a low-level job as a receptionist for a spa. It was soon quite apparent that she had made a mistake. The job itself was soul-crushing and obnoxious, and because she had never gotten around to washing out the dye job or touching up the roots, she eventually had black hair with long red roots, which made her look more out-of-place than ever. Her roommate was one of the spa technicians, a perky brunette with a love of short skirts and romantic movies. They did not speak often.
Rochelle was at home alone on a Friday studying her shoelaces and wondering how she had ever gotten herself into this mess when her phone rang. The caller ID flashed "unavailable." She was bored enough to answer anyway.
"Roc!" The voice on the line was deep, masculine, cheerful and very familiar.
"Who's this?"
"Awww, man! We break up for nine lousy months and you forget all about me?" Laughter. "This is Theo. How are you?"
"Theo" was Theodore Winchester, her ex-boyfriend from Coldwater Crossing. They had separated on good terms and even though she hadn't called him since she moved, his voice brought back a host of old memories and she told him so in a messy gush of emotion. When she finally fell silent, he laughed again. "Well! I'm glad I called since you obviously wanted to talk. I want someone to talk with too. Do you have to work tomorrow?"
"No."
"Why don't you come back to Coldwater for the weekend? I'll buy you a ticket on a red-eye. You can fly into the International Airport and I could pick you up and take you downtown." Yet more laughter. He was obviously in a very good mood. "Remember downtown? When we were in high school, we thought it was the coolest thing ever to be able to visit it because we weren't supposed to be there."
Of course she remembered. "That was crazy. Your dad was the mayor and you couldn't even visit him at his house."
"Yeah ... I kind of wanted to talk to you about that. You're going to come, right?"
Of course she was coming. What did she had to look forward to otherwise? A night of TV dinner, reruns and listening to her roommate/landlord either fight with her boyfriend or make out. Yeech. "See you around midnight?"
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#1
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- 4,733 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 11 July 2009 - 09:32 PM
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#2
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- 4,733 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 11 July 2009 - 09:33 PM
"You know," Theodore said after greeting her with a warm hug and a huge smile, "I'm glad you were willing to come. I haven't seen any of my friends for a while. I just got back from Europe myself a few days ago."
"Senior trip?"
"Oh, no. I was living there. It's a long, weird story. Do you remember my mom Daphney? She was the police chief when we were little kids. And you remember my dad the mayor, of course."
"Of course."
Daphney Winchester's stellar career as a police officer came to a strangely ignominious end as a result of a brazen daylight attack which left her crumpled at the bottom of the grand staircase in City Hall, nearly every bone in her body broken. There was the expected public outrage and minute scrutiny of surveillance video, an enormous memorial courtesy of the local police, and endless rumors. Two of the more scintillating tidbits were that in addition to the wedding certificate located in her briefcase, there was also her official resignation from the police force (signed and notarized the day of her death), and that the will pronouncing her first son Brandon to be the family heir had been nullified. In the meantime the media blamed the vampires and the police force also blamed the vampires and public opinion naturally blamed the vampires. But Brandon Winchester emerged on the scene with a lawyer in tow, took the bull by the horns and found a different target. He blamed the mayor's office in general and Henry Nelville, the mayor, in particular. And to that end, he sued Mayor Nelville and the city of Coldwater Crossing for wrongful death.
The lawsuit began when Brandon was seventeen and dragged out until he was nearly twenty. Much to the surprise of many, he actually won his case; to the surprise of no one, the Mayor responded by levying an enormous lien against the Winchester estate. The amount of the lien would have effectively reduced Brandon's settlement to less than half of what it should have been. The drama played out in the papers and on the nightly news for several weeks before coming to an abrupt end one morning when Henri climbed into his Porsche, turned over the engine and the car exploded underneath him. He managed to live for another eight days, which incidentally was just long enough for Brandon's newly-constructed 4000 sq. ft. mansion and the vintage cars it housed to go up in rather aggressive flames. Brandon himself vanished into obscurity again before vanishing altogether one day and resurfacing in the bay. There was a cursory investigation, but the majority of the interested parties were already too dead to care about the results and it was closed after two weeks.
Henri's children--Melanie and the twins, Theodore and Walker--were mostly shielded from all of this foolishness. Henri had a large home in the countryside of Spain that he often visited, and shortly after Brandon's initial lawsuit began, he sent his daughter and his sons to that home to live, where they primarily spoke to their father on the phone, occasionally through webcam conferences and the rare in-person visit. After his death, they found themselves the main beneficiaries of not only the Winchester estate, but the Nelville estate--far more money than any of them knew what to do with.
"... Melanie tried to be a mother to us as much as she could, but I mean, c'mon. She was just barely an adult herself and suddenly she had it all--absolutely gorgeous, filthy rich, living in Europe with hordes of servants at her beck and call. Walker and I were mostly raised by an old maid named Genevieve who had lived and worked in that house all of her life. She died just recently."
"I'm sorry, Theo."
"Yeah," he sighed. "Terrible story, huh? Anyway, after we turned eighteen they asked us what we wanted to do with our lives. Walker got into raising wolves and you can't really do that stateside, so he's staying in Spain where he can. Melanie's gotten way too used to the jetset lifestyle to settle down. There was only one person in our family besides me who's still alive. Did I ever show you a picture of my older twin sisters? Kyle and Lindsey?"
"I don't remember."
"I only know them from photos and what Mom told me about them. They were in their twenties when I was first born. Kyle was going to be a chef, but she's dead too--she was in a bus accident in college. My only other surviving relative is Lindsey. I don't think I've ever actually met her, but the lawyers have contacted her and she said she doesn't want to come back." Theodore stretched himself against the lounge chair. "So that effectively makes me the family heir. Now all I need is a wife." He gave her another one of those smiles.
Rochelle thought about it, though by now her mind was dulled by liquor and the long flight. She begged off for the evening, and Theodore took her to his loft, although he didn't join her. A friend of the family wanted to see him, and he likely wouldn't be back until the wee hours. He kissed her sweetly on the forehead. "Have a good night and make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything in the fridge."
Theodore hadn't lied about the money. While he wasn't flashy, it was obvious that he was very well off and he looked every bit the part of a young heir with metro leanings. Rochelle somehow felt even more out of place by his side now than she had back in Hayseedville, but he introduced to his friends without a hint of embarrassment, and they were gracious, at least to her face.
He told her what little he knew about his extended family. He had relatives in nearby Plateau Verde, but his uncle Omri Nelville had followed coming out of the military with coming out of the closet, and his cousin Andi Nelville Jr. was likely to be a cop all of his life. Neither man was particularly fond of children. He talked with his sisters on occasion--when he could catch up with them. Lindsey's job as a factory mechanic for an exclusive line of exotic cars kept her busy, and Melanie was just preoccupied with being rich and beautiful. He hadn't seen or spoken to Walker since he left Europe.
Rochelle became jittery as he continued on, more so when he spoke about introducing her to all of them soon. It was becoming perfectly obvious that he had flown her back to Coldwater Crossing with the full intention of making her into his wife by Monday. He took her around the town, pointing out school districts and playgrounds. As the day wore on, she noticed that he kept his hand on the small of her back, and she began to wonder a bit too much about the "surprise after dinner" that he mentioned more than once. And perhaps unfairly, when he stopped to speak with a pregnant friend and gently nudged her forward for an introduction, she very nearly slapped his hand away. It was too much. It was too constricting.
She pleaded another headache and asked to be taken back to the loft. But as soon as Theodore lay down for a nap, she began packing. She was in a cab within the hour and well en route to the airport when her phone rang. She didn't bother to look at it. After the fifth unanswered call, the cab driver looked at her strangely, but said nothing.
*ping* Rochelle, I'm sorry for coming on so strong. I thought you were as happy to see me as I was to see you. I know that sometimes I'm pushy, but I can't imagine life
The message cut off there. A few seconds later, the phone pinged again.
without you and the years apart felt like they never happened when you were with me. If you ever cared at all, please call me. I'm not sure what I'll do if
Her phone beeped miserably and turned itself off as the battery died. Rochelle studied her split ends in silence as the miles rushed past.
One drink at the airport bar while quickly became three. A discreetly offered bribe turned the complimentary martini on the flight itself into an actual liter bottle of liquor. And once she touched down again and managed to locate a cab, all she could think about was the tiny bar on the corner of Plane Street. She staggered in an hour before closing, threw her duffle bag on the floor and called the bartender over with a crispy §100, ordering him to pour until she said stop.
So when she woke up in the middle of a field with a damp title deed in her hand and scribbles all over her face (2), she somehow wasn’t a bit surprised.
"Senior trip?"
"Oh, no. I was living there. It's a long, weird story. Do you remember my mom Daphney? She was the police chief when we were little kids. And you remember my dad the mayor, of course."
"Of course."
Daphney Winchester's stellar career as a police officer came to a strangely ignominious end as a result of a brazen daylight attack which left her crumpled at the bottom of the grand staircase in City Hall, nearly every bone in her body broken. There was the expected public outrage and minute scrutiny of surveillance video, an enormous memorial courtesy of the local police, and endless rumors. Two of the more scintillating tidbits were that in addition to the wedding certificate located in her briefcase, there was also her official resignation from the police force (signed and notarized the day of her death), and that the will pronouncing her first son Brandon to be the family heir had been nullified. In the meantime the media blamed the vampires and the police force also blamed the vampires and public opinion naturally blamed the vampires. But Brandon Winchester emerged on the scene with a lawyer in tow, took the bull by the horns and found a different target. He blamed the mayor's office in general and Henry Nelville, the mayor, in particular. And to that end, he sued Mayor Nelville and the city of Coldwater Crossing for wrongful death.
The lawsuit began when Brandon was seventeen and dragged out until he was nearly twenty. Much to the surprise of many, he actually won his case; to the surprise of no one, the Mayor responded by levying an enormous lien against the Winchester estate. The amount of the lien would have effectively reduced Brandon's settlement to less than half of what it should have been. The drama played out in the papers and on the nightly news for several weeks before coming to an abrupt end one morning when Henri climbed into his Porsche, turned over the engine and the car exploded underneath him. He managed to live for another eight days, which incidentally was just long enough for Brandon's newly-constructed 4000 sq. ft. mansion and the vintage cars it housed to go up in rather aggressive flames. Brandon himself vanished into obscurity again before vanishing altogether one day and resurfacing in the bay. There was a cursory investigation, but the majority of the interested parties were already too dead to care about the results and it was closed after two weeks.
Henri's children--Melanie and the twins, Theodore and Walker--were mostly shielded from all of this foolishness. Henri had a large home in the countryside of Spain that he often visited, and shortly after Brandon's initial lawsuit began, he sent his daughter and his sons to that home to live, where they primarily spoke to their father on the phone, occasionally through webcam conferences and the rare in-person visit. After his death, they found themselves the main beneficiaries of not only the Winchester estate, but the Nelville estate--far more money than any of them knew what to do with.
"... Melanie tried to be a mother to us as much as she could, but I mean, c'mon. She was just barely an adult herself and suddenly she had it all--absolutely gorgeous, filthy rich, living in Europe with hordes of servants at her beck and call. Walker and I were mostly raised by an old maid named Genevieve who had lived and worked in that house all of her life. She died just recently."
"I'm sorry, Theo."
"Yeah," he sighed. "Terrible story, huh? Anyway, after we turned eighteen they asked us what we wanted to do with our lives. Walker got into raising wolves and you can't really do that stateside, so he's staying in Spain where he can. Melanie's gotten way too used to the jetset lifestyle to settle down. There was only one person in our family besides me who's still alive. Did I ever show you a picture of my older twin sisters? Kyle and Lindsey?"
"I don't remember."
"I only know them from photos and what Mom told me about them. They were in their twenties when I was first born. Kyle was going to be a chef, but she's dead too--she was in a bus accident in college. My only other surviving relative is Lindsey. I don't think I've ever actually met her, but the lawyers have contacted her and she said she doesn't want to come back." Theodore stretched himself against the lounge chair. "So that effectively makes me the family heir. Now all I need is a wife." He gave her another one of those smiles.
Rochelle thought about it, though by now her mind was dulled by liquor and the long flight. She begged off for the evening, and Theodore took her to his loft, although he didn't join her. A friend of the family wanted to see him, and he likely wouldn't be back until the wee hours. He kissed her sweetly on the forehead. "Have a good night and make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything in the fridge."
Theodore hadn't lied about the money. While he wasn't flashy, it was obvious that he was very well off and he looked every bit the part of a young heir with metro leanings. Rochelle somehow felt even more out of place by his side now than she had back in Hayseedville, but he introduced to his friends without a hint of embarrassment, and they were gracious, at least to her face.
He told her what little he knew about his extended family. He had relatives in nearby Plateau Verde, but his uncle Omri Nelville had followed coming out of the military with coming out of the closet, and his cousin Andi Nelville Jr. was likely to be a cop all of his life. Neither man was particularly fond of children. He talked with his sisters on occasion--when he could catch up with them. Lindsey's job as a factory mechanic for an exclusive line of exotic cars kept her busy, and Melanie was just preoccupied with being rich and beautiful. He hadn't seen or spoken to Walker since he left Europe.
Rochelle became jittery as he continued on, more so when he spoke about introducing her to all of them soon. It was becoming perfectly obvious that he had flown her back to Coldwater Crossing with the full intention of making her into his wife by Monday. He took her around the town, pointing out school districts and playgrounds. As the day wore on, she noticed that he kept his hand on the small of her back, and she began to wonder a bit too much about the "surprise after dinner" that he mentioned more than once. And perhaps unfairly, when he stopped to speak with a pregnant friend and gently nudged her forward for an introduction, she very nearly slapped his hand away. It was too much. It was too constricting.
She pleaded another headache and asked to be taken back to the loft. But as soon as Theodore lay down for a nap, she began packing. She was in a cab within the hour and well en route to the airport when her phone rang. She didn't bother to look at it. After the fifth unanswered call, the cab driver looked at her strangely, but said nothing.
*ping* Rochelle, I'm sorry for coming on so strong. I thought you were as happy to see me as I was to see you. I know that sometimes I'm pushy, but I can't imagine life
The message cut off there. A few seconds later, the phone pinged again.
without you and the years apart felt like they never happened when you were with me. If you ever cared at all, please call me. I'm not sure what I'll do if
Her phone beeped miserably and turned itself off as the battery died. Rochelle studied her split ends in silence as the miles rushed past.
One drink at the airport bar while quickly became three. A discreetly offered bribe turned the complimentary martini on the flight itself into an actual liter bottle of liquor. And once she touched down again and managed to locate a cab, all she could think about was the tiny bar on the corner of Plane Street. She staggered in an hour before closing, threw her duffle bag on the floor and called the bartender over with a crispy §100, ordering him to pour until she said stop.
So when she woke up in the middle of a field with a damp title deed in her hand and scribbles all over her face (2), she somehow wasn’t a bit surprised.
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#3
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- 644 posts
Friendly Townie
Posted 12 July 2009 - 01:11 PM
Brilliant start! I am so pleased that you have started this and that I am there right from the start. You have got at least one regular reader now...me! :lol:
Sue :D
Sue :D
Beacon Falls a group neighbourhood.
#4
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- 2,204 posts
Potion Zombie
Posted 12 July 2009 - 03:07 PM
Wonderful! :D
"Be a best friend, tell the truth and overuse 'I love you'. Go to work, do your best, don't outsmart your common sense. Never let your prayin' knees get lazy and love like crazy." ~Love Like Crazy by Lee Brice
#5
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- 76 posts
Team Mascot
Posted 12 July 2009 - 10:55 PM
Outstanding. I know this will shape up to be a legendary story!
My Sims3 Blog - catherinesims3.wordpress - if you can't figure out how to get there, you can PM me.
#6
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- 4,733 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 13 July 2009 - 02:14 AM
The next day, Rochelle had no job.
Her roommate, irate over her welching on the cable bill, had told the shift supervisor that Rochelle was bungling the spa reservations. It wasn’t true; anyone who bothered to look at the reservation book could see it. The problem was that Rochelle never showed up to work to defend herself, and that was that. She received her pink slip in the mail with §7 worth of bills. It would have been funnier if she had more than §6 to her name.
“This is bad,” she muttered to herself, searching carefully over the plot of land for her bag. It wasn’t here, which meant that not only was she broke, but she didn’t have any other clothes than the ones she was wearing. And they happened to be soaked through with cheap beer. “Way to go, genius. How am I supposed to get a job like this?”
She washed her clothes in a lavatory stall at the town gym and counted on the sun to dry them. And then she filled out application after application. Some places wouldn’t even allow her to apply, stating ‘all openings for your qualifications are currently filled.’ It was humiliating and exhausting. But her stomach growled, reminding her that she had no choice, literally.
It was near 5 p.m. when her phone rang back. The local paper needed a route driver for the rural areas. Was she willing to accept? She quickly choked down a bite of pilfered lettuce and took the position.
“Excellent,” the cheerful voice responded. “Your manager’s name is Tanisha Cano. She just went to the Villages on the Square to purchase your uniform, perhaps you could meet her there so that she doesn’t have to guess your size?”
She got directions while sprinting over. Sure enough, Mrs. Cano was just about to enter a store that specialized in generic clothing, perfect for low-wage employees. Rochelle introduced herself hurriedly. “Hi there, Mrs. Cano, I’m the new paper girl and they told me to come over and see you so that you could get a uniform for me—”
“Excited, honey? Wait until you actually see the job first. Tanisha’s fine, by the way.” Mrs. Cano stared her with an appraising eye. “I think a small shirt and a pair of 5s would be perfect on you. If you’ll give me five minutes, I’ll be right back.”
Rochelle stood there nervously rocking back and forth until her boss reappeared with the clothes. “You should try them on now and see if you like them. You’ll be doing a lot of sitting, so they need to be comfortable.” Mrs. Cano waited outside the store as Rochelle rushed in. Never seen one this jumpy. She must need the money bad.
“And ... perfect. I’ll see you in the morning then.” (3)
Rochelle turned uncomfortably in her lounger. Her t-shirt was soaked through with sweat and her jeans felt tangled. She slowly opened one eye only to squeeze it shut immediately. The sun was up. No wonder she felt so hot. (4)
Man, the sun was really up. What time was it? Hadn’t she set a cell phone alarm for 6?
... oh. 6 p.m.
... uh oh.
She fearfully looked at her missed calls. Seven calls all from the same number, at approximately 8:04, 8:10, 8:29, 8:55, 9:30, 10:00, and 10:30 respectively. It was nearly 11 a.m. by now.
For a brief moment of madness, she thought about quitting, until she remembered that she couldn’t get a job anywhere else in town and that she was likely to starve to death without this one. There was nothing else to do except call in. She dialed the number, the blood pounding in her ears.
“Thompson Tribune, Alexia speaking.”
“Hi there. My name is Rochelle and—”
“One moment, please.”
... uh oh.
The line clicked over. “Rochelle. Hi. Not the way to begin your first day at work, huh?”
“Mrs. Cano, I’m really sorry. I—“ A hundred lies rushed through her head, but she stammered out, “I overslept.”
“I’m aware of it. The carpool driver saw you sleeping in a lounger when she passed by your address. Heavy sleeper?”
“Not usually ... I don’t really have an excuse.” Silence. “Please don’t fire me.” (5)
“I would have told you this when you came in, except you didn’t. I don’t like idiots and I don’t suffer fools gladly. You get one chance to really blow it with me before I let you go. And judging by the word around town, you might be in trouble if you don’t keep this job. So you’ve had your one chance. I’ll see you tomorrow. Right?”
“Yes. Ma’am.”
“Get some sleep tonight, Rochelle.” Click.
She went scavenging after that encounter. She distinctly remembered seeing an overgrown garden full of produce that was spoiling on the vine, as it were, because no one was bothering to harvest it. When she mentioned it in front of the manager of the local grocery, his eyes lit up. “You know the restaurant’s been buying up all of my apples lately. I barely have any left for regular customers. Please take some apples to them so they can get off my back and I can stop hiding the fruit.”
Between an errand here and a favor there, she went back home with a new §100. It wasn’t much—hell, it was barely anything. But after selling the smelly lounger, it turned off to be enough room for a second-hand bed and frame. She had just gotten the mattress and boxsprings situated when a man’s voice called from the street, “What in blazes is that?”
Rochelle marched out to see a guy just standing there staring at her lot. (6) “Excuse me? I hope you’re not talking about my place.”
“Place is the word for it,” the man, chortling. “I hope that’s a garden shed, but I’m guessing from the bed on the lawn it’s your house.”
“It’s none of your business, is what it is.”
He looked at her for the first time, but she hardly noticed. “Who do you think you are to be going around to people’s houses and judging them anyway? What makes you such an expert?”
“Who, me? I’m nobody. Just a firefighter who knows a lot about building codes. And that thing there looks like something we burn down for practice.”
“You’re not burning my house!” Rochelle stormed. “I just had it built!”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. We’ll have it condemned it first and then we’ll burn it.”
Rochelle stomped her feet and flailed the air with her fists, which unfortunately made the man laugh harder than ever. “Good god, you’re immature! Look, I’m going to guess that’s your bathroom? It needs to have a window or vent to be compliant with city code. Otherwise you’re going to come home from work one day and find that they’ve knocked it over with a wrecking ball. So yeah ... you might want to get that.” He took one look at her face and sprinted off, laughing loudly.
It occurred to her much later that night that he had winked at her when running away.
Her roommate, irate over her welching on the cable bill, had told the shift supervisor that Rochelle was bungling the spa reservations. It wasn’t true; anyone who bothered to look at the reservation book could see it. The problem was that Rochelle never showed up to work to defend herself, and that was that. She received her pink slip in the mail with §7 worth of bills. It would have been funnier if she had more than §6 to her name.
“This is bad,” she muttered to herself, searching carefully over the plot of land for her bag. It wasn’t here, which meant that not only was she broke, but she didn’t have any other clothes than the ones she was wearing. And they happened to be soaked through with cheap beer. “Way to go, genius. How am I supposed to get a job like this?”
She washed her clothes in a lavatory stall at the town gym and counted on the sun to dry them. And then she filled out application after application. Some places wouldn’t even allow her to apply, stating ‘all openings for your qualifications are currently filled.’ It was humiliating and exhausting. But her stomach growled, reminding her that she had no choice, literally.
It was near 5 p.m. when her phone rang back. The local paper needed a route driver for the rural areas. Was she willing to accept? She quickly choked down a bite of pilfered lettuce and took the position.
“Excellent,” the cheerful voice responded. “Your manager’s name is Tanisha Cano. She just went to the Villages on the Square to purchase your uniform, perhaps you could meet her there so that she doesn’t have to guess your size?”
She got directions while sprinting over. Sure enough, Mrs. Cano was just about to enter a store that specialized in generic clothing, perfect for low-wage employees. Rochelle introduced herself hurriedly. “Hi there, Mrs. Cano, I’m the new paper girl and they told me to come over and see you so that you could get a uniform for me—”
“Excited, honey? Wait until you actually see the job first. Tanisha’s fine, by the way.” Mrs. Cano stared her with an appraising eye. “I think a small shirt and a pair of 5s would be perfect on you. If you’ll give me five minutes, I’ll be right back.”
Rochelle stood there nervously rocking back and forth until her boss reappeared with the clothes. “You should try them on now and see if you like them. You’ll be doing a lot of sitting, so they need to be comfortable.” Mrs. Cano waited outside the store as Rochelle rushed in. Never seen one this jumpy. She must need the money bad.
“And ... perfect. I’ll see you in the morning then.” (3)
Rochelle turned uncomfortably in her lounger. Her t-shirt was soaked through with sweat and her jeans felt tangled. She slowly opened one eye only to squeeze it shut immediately. The sun was up. No wonder she felt so hot. (4)
Man, the sun was really up. What time was it? Hadn’t she set a cell phone alarm for 6?
... oh. 6 p.m.
... uh oh.
She fearfully looked at her missed calls. Seven calls all from the same number, at approximately 8:04, 8:10, 8:29, 8:55, 9:30, 10:00, and 10:30 respectively. It was nearly 11 a.m. by now.
For a brief moment of madness, she thought about quitting, until she remembered that she couldn’t get a job anywhere else in town and that she was likely to starve to death without this one. There was nothing else to do except call in. She dialed the number, the blood pounding in her ears.
“Thompson Tribune, Alexia speaking.”
“Hi there. My name is Rochelle and—”
“One moment, please.”
... uh oh.
The line clicked over. “Rochelle. Hi. Not the way to begin your first day at work, huh?”
“Mrs. Cano, I’m really sorry. I—“ A hundred lies rushed through her head, but she stammered out, “I overslept.”
“I’m aware of it. The carpool driver saw you sleeping in a lounger when she passed by your address. Heavy sleeper?”
“Not usually ... I don’t really have an excuse.” Silence. “Please don’t fire me.” (5)
“I would have told you this when you came in, except you didn’t. I don’t like idiots and I don’t suffer fools gladly. You get one chance to really blow it with me before I let you go. And judging by the word around town, you might be in trouble if you don’t keep this job. So you’ve had your one chance. I’ll see you tomorrow. Right?”
“Yes. Ma’am.”
“Get some sleep tonight, Rochelle.” Click.
She went scavenging after that encounter. She distinctly remembered seeing an overgrown garden full of produce that was spoiling on the vine, as it were, because no one was bothering to harvest it. When she mentioned it in front of the manager of the local grocery, his eyes lit up. “You know the restaurant’s been buying up all of my apples lately. I barely have any left for regular customers. Please take some apples to them so they can get off my back and I can stop hiding the fruit.”
Between an errand here and a favor there, she went back home with a new §100. It wasn’t much—hell, it was barely anything. But after selling the smelly lounger, it turned off to be enough room for a second-hand bed and frame. She had just gotten the mattress and boxsprings situated when a man’s voice called from the street, “What in blazes is that?”
Rochelle marched out to see a guy just standing there staring at her lot. (6) “Excuse me? I hope you’re not talking about my place.”
“Place is the word for it,” the man, chortling. “I hope that’s a garden shed, but I’m guessing from the bed on the lawn it’s your house.”
“It’s none of your business, is what it is.”
He looked at her for the first time, but she hardly noticed. “Who do you think you are to be going around to people’s houses and judging them anyway? What makes you such an expert?”
“Who, me? I’m nobody. Just a firefighter who knows a lot about building codes. And that thing there looks like something we burn down for practice.”
“You’re not burning my house!” Rochelle stormed. “I just had it built!”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. We’ll have it condemned it first and then we’ll burn it.”
Rochelle stomped her feet and flailed the air with her fists, which unfortunately made the man laugh harder than ever. “Good god, you’re immature! Look, I’m going to guess that’s your bathroom? It needs to have a window or vent to be compliant with city code. Otherwise you’re going to come home from work one day and find that they’ve knocked it over with a wrecking ball. So yeah ... you might want to get that.” He took one look at her face and sprinted off, laughing loudly.
It occurred to her much later that night that he had winked at her when running away.
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#7
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- 108 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 13 July 2009 - 05:47 PM
:lol: She sure is having a hard time. And that's a good looking firefighter by the way. Possible first gen spouse?
Come read my Sims story blog! Stories from the Sims-side *PG-13*
#8
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- 4,733 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 16 July 2009 - 10:09 PM
Not only did Rochelle have to contend with the general embarrassment of not having a proper home (7), she managed to make an enemy at work right away. On Tuesday, Bryant Tomlinson asked her to change the printer settings for him, and feeling snarky, she snapped, “Earning every bit of that paycheck, aren’t you?”
Not so coincidentally, life at work suddenly became much more difficult. She came in to deliver her papers on Wednesday and found that her route list “wasn’t available.” On Thursday the papers themselves were mysteriously missing. While everyone else was marching out of the door, she was frantically searching for her delivery packages. She saw Bryant smirking from the hallway, but worse yet, the boss was watching. She sat still for a moment, chest pounding and ears burning.
“Rochelle.”
“Yes, Mrs. Cano.”
“I see you’re having a problem finding your papers. When that happens, let me know and I’ll call the printing department first. It’s possible that they just don’t have your batch ready yet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tanisha walked away. Rochelle stared at the floor, determined not to let Bryant get her attention. But when she heard him hiss “Earning every bit of that paycheck sitting there, huh?” she was sure no one would blame her for keying his cute little convertible.
On Friday, Bryant and Rochelle were sitting in the conference room several seats away from each other. Her face was red with mortification of being “dressed down” in front of the entire break room; he had a huge coffee stain right in the middle of his otherwise crisp shirt. Neither of them looked at the other until the door opened and their managers and the HR director entered, holding their personnel folders. Rochelle felt a bit of mean happiness to see Bryant wince. He was rumored to be in line for a promotion. Maybe he wouldn’t get it now.
“All right.” Mr. Underwood set his coffee down and stared at them all in a business-like way. “I understand that we have a bit of a problem here. No, no—I don’t need an explanation from either of you, I’ve already heard quite enough from just about everyone in the company. We don’t expect everybody in the office to be best friends, but we also don’t need to see open feuding. If the two of you can’t speak to each other without throwing coffee, then don’t speak. I’d like to think that you’re both mature enough to do that much. So Bryant, here … and Rochelle, here. I just need the two of you to read over these acknowledgments of a verbal warning and sign right—there.”
“Am I being written up?” Rochelle dared to ask. At least if the answer was yes, that meant Bryant was too.
“No. This is just a written acknowledgment that HR had to get involved,” Mrs. Cano explained. Bryant’s manager nodded in agreement before tapping his shoulder and gesturing to him to leave with her. Mr. Underwood also left, leaving Rochelle and Mrs. Cano alone.
“Rochelle, I thought I made it clear that you get one *****-up. So if you can, please explain to me why you threw hot coffee on one of our best reporters.”
“He’s mean to me!” Rochelle cried. “They just told me that he’s trying to get me fired by saying that I’m the slowest person here! But I can’t help being slow when my stuff is never where it’s supposed to be, can I? And he’s telling people that I hold up the carpool and make people late! He’s not even in my carpool! He’s just totally out to get me, and I don’t even know why!”
“Are you kidding?” Mrs. Cano interrupted. “A senior employee who didn’t know how to change the printer settings asked you for assistance because he assumed that you would be capable of helping him and you insulted him. This may come as a surprise to you, but quite a few of our most valuable workers aren’t very technologically savvy and sometimes they need help with the stuff that you take for granted because you grew up using it. And you might think that Bryant is the one out to get you, but actually several people are complaining about you. We can replace you a lot more easily than we could him.”
Rochelle could hardly speak. If she couldn’t even hack it as a paper girl, what was left here for her? It would be better to go back to Coldwater Crossing and be Theodore’s wife than keep struggling to get by here. He would never have to worry about money a day in his life. She tried to force out the words, “Well then, I quit,” but they stuck in her throat.
Tanisha reached over and squeezed Rochelle’s icy hand. “Listen, honey. You’re on the bubble and I think you know it, but I’m going to tell you some good news. They just promoted Bryant. He’s in a totally different department now, so the only reason you should see him is if you go looking for him. This is your chance to prove that everyone is wrong about you, so make the best of it. Okay?”
“Okay,” Rochelle whispered.
“And hey. If you actually feel half as humble as you look right now, you should apologize to him. It might go a ways towards convincing folks that you’re not just a whiny kid.”
It took her until Monday to work up enough goodwill to do it, but on Monday she approached his desk with a small basket laden with fruit, mumbled out “I’m sorry,” and ran away too quickly to see the delighted smile that spread across his face. A few minutes later she got a text message.
U run rly fast (:
Im sry 2
see I cn use a blackberry lol
Friends?
The promotion that she received on Friday went a long way towards more drywall and furnishings. She found an older refrigerator on clearance, bought a tiny table and two chairs at a garage sale, managed to snag a single countertop from the hardware store, and even located some discontinued floor tiles and carpet on markdown prices. When she flipped the brand-new light switch and saw her brand-new fixtures light up the brand-new wallpaper, she felt deliriously happy. (8) She had an actual house! It even had a front door and two windows!
“Uh-oh!” a very unwelcome voice yelled right outside the front door. “The shack is turning into a bigger shack!”
She jerked the door open to see that firefighter standing right there. “Would you go away? I was having a good day until you came.”
“No way! Lemme see this joint.” He muscled his way in, taking in the counter immediately behind the door, the refrigerator, table and bed crammed into less than 100 square feet wide, and the second door concealing the bathroom. From the motion of his eyes, he appeared to calculating the size of the space. “Lemme guess. No shower?”
“Would you mind your own business?”
“You know, City Hall has small house plans, and they’re available to city employees. I could bring you a copy of one so you don’t keep building fire hazards.”
“Can you email it to me?”
He pretended to be upset by the question. “It’s a package deal! You can’t get the plan without the man!”
“Oh, gawd.” She tried to shove him out, but quickly snatched her hand back. She hadn’t expected him to be so...in-shape.
“Oh, man, frisky! Copping a cheap feel already! Let me tell you my name if you’re gonna grope.” He offered his hand. “Luke Houle.”
She refused to shake. “Rochelle Tyson. And let me state for the record that you’re a jerk.”
“Just keeping you on your toes! So you want me to bring it over now or later?”
“Mail it, since you know where I live.”
“You’re killing me! What would I do without our weekly fight?”
“What are you, my boyfriend?” She regretted saying that as soon as she opened her mouth, because that insufferable smile grew even wider and he took off, slamming the door so hard that the newly-erected drywall shook.
She watched him go from her new window. But just to be sure that he was actually leaving. Not because she wanted to see him from behind. Not at all.
Not so coincidentally, life at work suddenly became much more difficult. She came in to deliver her papers on Wednesday and found that her route list “wasn’t available.” On Thursday the papers themselves were mysteriously missing. While everyone else was marching out of the door, she was frantically searching for her delivery packages. She saw Bryant smirking from the hallway, but worse yet, the boss was watching. She sat still for a moment, chest pounding and ears burning.
“Rochelle.”
“Yes, Mrs. Cano.”
“I see you’re having a problem finding your papers. When that happens, let me know and I’ll call the printing department first. It’s possible that they just don’t have your batch ready yet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tanisha walked away. Rochelle stared at the floor, determined not to let Bryant get her attention. But when she heard him hiss “Earning every bit of that paycheck sitting there, huh?” she was sure no one would blame her for keying his cute little convertible.
On Friday, Bryant and Rochelle were sitting in the conference room several seats away from each other. Her face was red with mortification of being “dressed down” in front of the entire break room; he had a huge coffee stain right in the middle of his otherwise crisp shirt. Neither of them looked at the other until the door opened and their managers and the HR director entered, holding their personnel folders. Rochelle felt a bit of mean happiness to see Bryant wince. He was rumored to be in line for a promotion. Maybe he wouldn’t get it now.
“All right.” Mr. Underwood set his coffee down and stared at them all in a business-like way. “I understand that we have a bit of a problem here. No, no—I don’t need an explanation from either of you, I’ve already heard quite enough from just about everyone in the company. We don’t expect everybody in the office to be best friends, but we also don’t need to see open feuding. If the two of you can’t speak to each other without throwing coffee, then don’t speak. I’d like to think that you’re both mature enough to do that much. So Bryant, here … and Rochelle, here. I just need the two of you to read over these acknowledgments of a verbal warning and sign right—there.”
“Am I being written up?” Rochelle dared to ask. At least if the answer was yes, that meant Bryant was too.
“No. This is just a written acknowledgment that HR had to get involved,” Mrs. Cano explained. Bryant’s manager nodded in agreement before tapping his shoulder and gesturing to him to leave with her. Mr. Underwood also left, leaving Rochelle and Mrs. Cano alone.
“Rochelle, I thought I made it clear that you get one *****-up. So if you can, please explain to me why you threw hot coffee on one of our best reporters.”
“He’s mean to me!” Rochelle cried. “They just told me that he’s trying to get me fired by saying that I’m the slowest person here! But I can’t help being slow when my stuff is never where it’s supposed to be, can I? And he’s telling people that I hold up the carpool and make people late! He’s not even in my carpool! He’s just totally out to get me, and I don’t even know why!”
“Are you kidding?” Mrs. Cano interrupted. “A senior employee who didn’t know how to change the printer settings asked you for assistance because he assumed that you would be capable of helping him and you insulted him. This may come as a surprise to you, but quite a few of our most valuable workers aren’t very technologically savvy and sometimes they need help with the stuff that you take for granted because you grew up using it. And you might think that Bryant is the one out to get you, but actually several people are complaining about you. We can replace you a lot more easily than we could him.”
Rochelle could hardly speak. If she couldn’t even hack it as a paper girl, what was left here for her? It would be better to go back to Coldwater Crossing and be Theodore’s wife than keep struggling to get by here. He would never have to worry about money a day in his life. She tried to force out the words, “Well then, I quit,” but they stuck in her throat.
Tanisha reached over and squeezed Rochelle’s icy hand. “Listen, honey. You’re on the bubble and I think you know it, but I’m going to tell you some good news. They just promoted Bryant. He’s in a totally different department now, so the only reason you should see him is if you go looking for him. This is your chance to prove that everyone is wrong about you, so make the best of it. Okay?”
“Okay,” Rochelle whispered.
“And hey. If you actually feel half as humble as you look right now, you should apologize to him. It might go a ways towards convincing folks that you’re not just a whiny kid.”
It took her until Monday to work up enough goodwill to do it, but on Monday she approached his desk with a small basket laden with fruit, mumbled out “I’m sorry,” and ran away too quickly to see the delighted smile that spread across his face. A few minutes later she got a text message.
U run rly fast (:
Im sry 2
see I cn use a blackberry lol
Friends?
The promotion that she received on Friday went a long way towards more drywall and furnishings. She found an older refrigerator on clearance, bought a tiny table and two chairs at a garage sale, managed to snag a single countertop from the hardware store, and even located some discontinued floor tiles and carpet on markdown prices. When she flipped the brand-new light switch and saw her brand-new fixtures light up the brand-new wallpaper, she felt deliriously happy. (8) She had an actual house! It even had a front door and two windows!
“Uh-oh!” a very unwelcome voice yelled right outside the front door. “The shack is turning into a bigger shack!”
She jerked the door open to see that firefighter standing right there. “Would you go away? I was having a good day until you came.”
“No way! Lemme see this joint.” He muscled his way in, taking in the counter immediately behind the door, the refrigerator, table and bed crammed into less than 100 square feet wide, and the second door concealing the bathroom. From the motion of his eyes, he appeared to calculating the size of the space. “Lemme guess. No shower?”
“Would you mind your own business?”
“You know, City Hall has small house plans, and they’re available to city employees. I could bring you a copy of one so you don’t keep building fire hazards.”
“Can you email it to me?”
He pretended to be upset by the question. “It’s a package deal! You can’t get the plan without the man!”
“Oh, gawd.” She tried to shove him out, but quickly snatched her hand back. She hadn’t expected him to be so...in-shape.
“Oh, man, frisky! Copping a cheap feel already! Let me tell you my name if you’re gonna grope.” He offered his hand. “Luke Houle.”
She refused to shake. “Rochelle Tyson. And let me state for the record that you’re a jerk.”
“Just keeping you on your toes! So you want me to bring it over now or later?”
“Mail it, since you know where I live.”
“You’re killing me! What would I do without our weekly fight?”
“What are you, my boyfriend?” She regretted saying that as soon as she opened her mouth, because that insufferable smile grew even wider and he took off, slamming the door so hard that the newly-erected drywall shook.
She watched him go from her new window. But just to be sure that he was actually leaving. Not because she wanted to see him from behind. Not at all.
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#9
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- 108 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 17 July 2009 - 03:37 PM
:rofl: Ok I can see her hooking up with Luke or Bryant. I love how she's quibbling with both of them! Nothing like some tension to get the sparks going ;).
Come read my Sims story blog! Stories from the Sims-side *PG-13*
#10
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- 288 posts
Tragic Clown Catcher
Posted 20 July 2009 - 04:23 AM
:rofl: This is fantastic. Luke is awesome, but for some reason I'm rooting for Bryant.
Great start! :D
Great start! :D
#11
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- 2,204 posts
Potion Zombie
Posted 20 July 2009 - 01:43 PM
Me too. I would like to see Bryant
"Be a best friend, tell the truth and overuse 'I love you'. Go to work, do your best, don't outsmart your common sense. Never let your prayin' knees get lazy and love like crazy." ~Love Like Crazy by Lee Brice
#12
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- 4,733 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 22 July 2009 - 01:26 AM
"Rochelle, come in my office, please."
Rochelle dutifully marched into Mrs. Cano's office and shut the door behind her. Tanisha quickly finished typing before turning around. "First off, let me congratulate you on doing an excellent job in the spellchecking pool for the past two months. You are in consideration for a cub writer position." She smiled at Rochelle's obvious excitement. "Let me also congratulate you on showing obvious improvement in your overall attitude, because now you'll be working in close contact with Bryant Tomlinson. And since it's customary for a new writer to introduce herself to her coworkers before she begins working with them and it's already Friday, might I suggest that you have a party this weekend?"
"My place is a little small," Rochelle protested. "How many people are coming?"
"About six. But don't worry, we can pay your promotion forward if you need the money now."
Rochelle thought quickly while looking over the HR paperwork. The money would be enough to take advantage of one of the small house plans that Luke had given to her. But these were big-time reporters! And she was supposed to entertain them in a house that was less than the size of some of their living rooms? What if they hated her house? What if they did nothing but laugh at her? "... do I have to invite Bryant?"
Tanisha leaned over the desk with a feral grin. "You absolutely must invite Bryant. And don't get cute and 'forget' because everyone's going to ask where he is if he's not there." She sat back, once again all business. "Look, we all know you're broke and you don't have much elbow room. It's okay. Most of us have been there. We can make it a potluck party if that helps you budget-wise. But you really need to make the effort, because if you don't, you'll find yourself on the outside looking in again. And you don't want to be there again, I'm sure."
Rochelle pushed the brand-new couch in front of the brand-new double bed and stared at the newly-enlarged room with pride. Her house was still little more than one large room with a closed-off toilet, but somehow, it was beginning to feel more like a home. She almost wanted to call her father and gloat. Almost.
The doorbell rang.
"Come in!"
Bryant strolled in, looking around him. Rochelle watched his expression, worried. His eyes met hers and he laughed. "Sorry to look so intense. I'm just remembering my first place from a few years back." More of her future coworkers came in, some carrying plates of food. "So you're gonna be one of the freelance writers, huh? Good for you. Congratulations." (9)
"Thanks." They both watched as the women set down plates of fried chicken and fresh waffles. Bryant grinned at the look on her face. "You have to be careful in our department. Someone's always cooking something and everyone's expected to eat it all. Just tell them that you're macrobiotic if someone brings in something you don't like." He introduced her to the other guests.
"Who's he?" one of the women suddenly asked.
Rochelle looked back to see Luke strutting in as if he lived there. (10) He gave her a saucy grin. "'Sup, folks? Don’t mind me, just here to make sure the roof doesn’t cave in on you. Carry on, carry on." He helped himself to some of the food and began bantering with one of the office managers. Everyone else turned to Rochelle with puzzled looks. Do you know this guy? Is he supposed to be in here?
“Luke!” Rochelle whispered frantically, rushing over to him. “Luke, please. This isn't a house party! These are friends of mine from work and it's business-related. You can’t just barge in any time you feel like it!”
“You’re not overjoyed to see me? And after I spent all that time helping you remodel your shack to a sort-of house? I’m hurt! I’m really hurt. I’m so hurt in fact, I’m just going to sit here and drown my sorrows with this food.” He continued to eat and watch TV, and Rochelle turned away, aggravated. More than one of her guests was giving her a knowing smile, Bryant included.
“Nice party,” Tanisha said dryly. (11) “Are you on such good terms with all of your neighbors?”
“He’s not my neighbor,” Rochelle grumbled.
“Well, he’s got nerve then to just invite himself in like that. Unless he already knows he’s welcome?” Tanisha chuckled at Rochelle’s horrified look. “Not trying to imply anything. I mean, he is pretty nice to look at.” They both looked back. At the urging of the other guests, Luke had begun a terrible imitation of a pop singer and was shimmying around the small space with a lampshade on his head. The women were laughing hysterically. The two men were egging him on.
Rochelle was too mortified to speak. Tanisha giggled and blushed. “Wow. Looks like a keeper there.”
“Keeper my butt! I hate him!”
“Suuuuure. Well, stop blocking the view just because you don’t wanna see.”
“Rochelle.”
“Mmmph.”
“Wake up, you! (12) Party’s over. Everyone’s gone.”
“Nopf youse.”
“I had to clean up since your peeps left the place in a mess! (13) C’mon.” He poked her in the ribs. “Say ‘thank you.’”
He quite suddenly found himself on the floor, in blinding pain from a knee to the groin. Rochelle opened one eye lazily to look at him before rolling over. “Reflex, sorry. Thank you.”
“Any time ...”
Rochelle dutifully marched into Mrs. Cano's office and shut the door behind her. Tanisha quickly finished typing before turning around. "First off, let me congratulate you on doing an excellent job in the spellchecking pool for the past two months. You are in consideration for a cub writer position." She smiled at Rochelle's obvious excitement. "Let me also congratulate you on showing obvious improvement in your overall attitude, because now you'll be working in close contact with Bryant Tomlinson. And since it's customary for a new writer to introduce herself to her coworkers before she begins working with them and it's already Friday, might I suggest that you have a party this weekend?"
"My place is a little small," Rochelle protested. "How many people are coming?"
"About six. But don't worry, we can pay your promotion forward if you need the money now."
Rochelle thought quickly while looking over the HR paperwork. The money would be enough to take advantage of one of the small house plans that Luke had given to her. But these were big-time reporters! And she was supposed to entertain them in a house that was less than the size of some of their living rooms? What if they hated her house? What if they did nothing but laugh at her? "... do I have to invite Bryant?"
Tanisha leaned over the desk with a feral grin. "You absolutely must invite Bryant. And don't get cute and 'forget' because everyone's going to ask where he is if he's not there." She sat back, once again all business. "Look, we all know you're broke and you don't have much elbow room. It's okay. Most of us have been there. We can make it a potluck party if that helps you budget-wise. But you really need to make the effort, because if you don't, you'll find yourself on the outside looking in again. And you don't want to be there again, I'm sure."
Rochelle pushed the brand-new couch in front of the brand-new double bed and stared at the newly-enlarged room with pride. Her house was still little more than one large room with a closed-off toilet, but somehow, it was beginning to feel more like a home. She almost wanted to call her father and gloat. Almost.
The doorbell rang.
"Come in!"
Bryant strolled in, looking around him. Rochelle watched his expression, worried. His eyes met hers and he laughed. "Sorry to look so intense. I'm just remembering my first place from a few years back." More of her future coworkers came in, some carrying plates of food. "So you're gonna be one of the freelance writers, huh? Good for you. Congratulations." (9)
"Thanks." They both watched as the women set down plates of fried chicken and fresh waffles. Bryant grinned at the look on her face. "You have to be careful in our department. Someone's always cooking something and everyone's expected to eat it all. Just tell them that you're macrobiotic if someone brings in something you don't like." He introduced her to the other guests.
"Who's he?" one of the women suddenly asked.
Rochelle looked back to see Luke strutting in as if he lived there. (10) He gave her a saucy grin. "'Sup, folks? Don’t mind me, just here to make sure the roof doesn’t cave in on you. Carry on, carry on." He helped himself to some of the food and began bantering with one of the office managers. Everyone else turned to Rochelle with puzzled looks. Do you know this guy? Is he supposed to be in here?
“Luke!” Rochelle whispered frantically, rushing over to him. “Luke, please. This isn't a house party! These are friends of mine from work and it's business-related. You can’t just barge in any time you feel like it!”
“You’re not overjoyed to see me? And after I spent all that time helping you remodel your shack to a sort-of house? I’m hurt! I’m really hurt. I’m so hurt in fact, I’m just going to sit here and drown my sorrows with this food.” He continued to eat and watch TV, and Rochelle turned away, aggravated. More than one of her guests was giving her a knowing smile, Bryant included.
“Nice party,” Tanisha said dryly. (11) “Are you on such good terms with all of your neighbors?”
“He’s not my neighbor,” Rochelle grumbled.
“Well, he’s got nerve then to just invite himself in like that. Unless he already knows he’s welcome?” Tanisha chuckled at Rochelle’s horrified look. “Not trying to imply anything. I mean, he is pretty nice to look at.” They both looked back. At the urging of the other guests, Luke had begun a terrible imitation of a pop singer and was shimmying around the small space with a lampshade on his head. The women were laughing hysterically. The two men were egging him on.
Rochelle was too mortified to speak. Tanisha giggled and blushed. “Wow. Looks like a keeper there.”
“Keeper my butt! I hate him!”
“Suuuuure. Well, stop blocking the view just because you don’t wanna see.”
“Rochelle.”
“Mmmph.”
“Wake up, you! (12) Party’s over. Everyone’s gone.”
“Nopf youse.”
“I had to clean up since your peeps left the place in a mess! (13) C’mon.” He poked her in the ribs. “Say ‘thank you.’”
He quite suddenly found himself on the floor, in blinding pain from a knee to the groin. Rochelle opened one eye lazily to look at him before rolling over. “Reflex, sorry. Thank you.”
“Any time ...”
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#13
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- 288 posts
Tragic Clown Catcher
Posted 22 July 2009 - 03:30 AM
He's acting like an idiot, so I don't know what's wrong with me, but I think I may love Luke. :rofl:
#14
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- 108 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 22 July 2009 - 03:10 PM
:rofl: I've gotta stop reading this at work. My co-workers will keep wondering why I'm laughing at my desk.
Come read my Sims story blog! Stories from the Sims-side *PG-13*
#15
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- 4,733 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 23 July 2009 - 03:57 AM
Working as a writer, Rochelle soon found, was much different than following a paper route or endless editing. For one thing, her coworkers were openly nosy and in some cases utterly shameless. She learned far too much about several of them, to the point that she was could hardly look them in the eye after only a few days of work. She also learned that she was already an object of speculation. When she tried to ask Jenny McNichols about Bryant's dating status discreetly, Jenny informed her that Bryant was indeed single, but immediately followed that with: "But what do you care, anyway? Aren't you dating some fireman?"
"Excuse me?" Rochelle stammered.
"Well, you are, aren't you? I heard about the entertainment at your parties, sounds like they're pretty awesome. You throwing another one soon?"
Rochelle took an early lunch.
She asked another coworker about Bryant again, this time using slightly better judgment. Tanisha gently drummed her fingers against the office wall. "Technically, yes, Bryant's single. But I don't know if that's a road you wanna go down. He and Georgina are kind of on-again off-again all the time, I'm sure you've heard. Not to say that he would lead you on or be rude to you, just that ... well, if things go sour, not only would you have to face himon Monday, chances are you'd see him dating her again. But hey, I'm not your momma."
"Are you saying not to date him?"
"I'm saying ... don't call it a date. That way if it's good you have something to look forward to, and if it's bad, no one's feelings have to be hurt. Just ask him if he wants to hang out some evening. And ask him, not everyone else in the office this time!"
"Bryant."
"Hmm?"
"Do you ... wanna ..." Heads began to peek over cubicle walls. Rochelle quickly wiped her palms on her slacks. "You wanna g-go out?"
Bryant looked up from his computer screen.
"Out?"
The heads began to rise higher. In the sudden silence, Rochelle heard muffled giggling. "Y'know, like ... to a park, or a movie, or something?"
"Are you asking me on a date?"
"No!" The giggles increased. "Just, y'know ... out."
"Oh, I'm sorry. You're asking me to go out with you, just not on a date. I don't know how I could have mixed the two up." Bryant was terribly handsome when his eyes crinkled like that. "Well, tell me where and when and I'll be there."
"Okay," Rochelle stuttered and wobbled back to her cubicle.
The hooting began right after she sat down. The hail of wadded paper began shortly afterwards. Nice to see they're so mature here, she thought, ducking as fat pink erasers rained over the walls and bounced off her keyboard.
"Oh, really," Luke said when she told him.
She couldn't keep the happy snark out of her voice. "Yup, jealous?"
"Maybe if you were really going out with him, but why should I be jealous of your sissy un-date?" He looked past her to the tiny adjoining room that she had just had constructed off the living area. "What's going in there?"
"An office! I just found an old desk." For a moment, her smile was so bright that he really was jealous of this Bryant clown. Then she looked pensive again. "Hard to practice writing without a computer though, huh?"
"What, the written word's not good enough anymore? What happened to the 'pen mightier than sword' and all that jazz?"
"The pens all leaked in the wash. By the way, thank you for cleaning up last night."
Luke pretended to protect himself.
"I'm serious! Thank you. Really. Thank you."
"Well, good citizen, my job is done." He stretched widely and wandered away. A moment later, she heard the bathroom door close.
"Luke!"
"Be right out," he called back.
"Luke, wait!" She rushed to the door, but it was locked. A few moments later, she heard a shout and an unnerving rattling in the pipes. She backed away from the door, cringing at the sound of boots stomping through water. Luke suddenly emerged, pants soaked to the knee.
"The toilet's broken too," she said in a tiny voice.
He clapped her on the shoulder. "It's okay, Rochelle. I already know you just wanted to get me out of my pants. See? I'm already two bases ahead of your date."
"Dope," she muttered, but she was wearing that huge smile again.
"Excuse me?" Rochelle stammered.
"Well, you are, aren't you? I heard about the entertainment at your parties, sounds like they're pretty awesome. You throwing another one soon?"
Rochelle took an early lunch.
She asked another coworker about Bryant again, this time using slightly better judgment. Tanisha gently drummed her fingers against the office wall. "Technically, yes, Bryant's single. But I don't know if that's a road you wanna go down. He and Georgina are kind of on-again off-again all the time, I'm sure you've heard. Not to say that he would lead you on or be rude to you, just that ... well, if things go sour, not only would you have to face himon Monday, chances are you'd see him dating her again. But hey, I'm not your momma."
"Are you saying not to date him?"
"I'm saying ... don't call it a date. That way if it's good you have something to look forward to, and if it's bad, no one's feelings have to be hurt. Just ask him if he wants to hang out some evening. And ask him, not everyone else in the office this time!"
"Bryant."
"Hmm?"
"Do you ... wanna ..." Heads began to peek over cubicle walls. Rochelle quickly wiped her palms on her slacks. "You wanna g-go out?"
Bryant looked up from his computer screen.
"Out?"
The heads began to rise higher. In the sudden silence, Rochelle heard muffled giggling. "Y'know, like ... to a park, or a movie, or something?"
"Are you asking me on a date?"
"No!" The giggles increased. "Just, y'know ... out."
"Oh, I'm sorry. You're asking me to go out with you, just not on a date. I don't know how I could have mixed the two up." Bryant was terribly handsome when his eyes crinkled like that. "Well, tell me where and when and I'll be there."
"Okay," Rochelle stuttered and wobbled back to her cubicle.
The hooting began right after she sat down. The hail of wadded paper began shortly afterwards. Nice to see they're so mature here, she thought, ducking as fat pink erasers rained over the walls and bounced off her keyboard.
"Oh, really," Luke said when she told him.
She couldn't keep the happy snark out of her voice. "Yup, jealous?"
"Maybe if you were really going out with him, but why should I be jealous of your sissy un-date?" He looked past her to the tiny adjoining room that she had just had constructed off the living area. "What's going in there?"
"An office! I just found an old desk." For a moment, her smile was so bright that he really was jealous of this Bryant clown. Then she looked pensive again. "Hard to practice writing without a computer though, huh?"
"What, the written word's not good enough anymore? What happened to the 'pen mightier than sword' and all that jazz?"
"The pens all leaked in the wash. By the way, thank you for cleaning up last night."
Luke pretended to protect himself.
"I'm serious! Thank you. Really. Thank you."
"Well, good citizen, my job is done." He stretched widely and wandered away. A moment later, she heard the bathroom door close.
"Luke!"
"Be right out," he called back.
"Luke, wait!" She rushed to the door, but it was locked. A few moments later, she heard a shout and an unnerving rattling in the pipes. She backed away from the door, cringing at the sound of boots stomping through water. Luke suddenly emerged, pants soaked to the knee.
"The toilet's broken too," she said in a tiny voice.
He clapped her on the shoulder. "It's okay, Rochelle. I already know you just wanted to get me out of my pants. See? I'm already two bases ahead of your date."
"Dope," she muttered, but she was wearing that huge smile again.
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#16
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- 4,733 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 23 July 2009 - 04:01 AM
After all that build up, the date could hardly be anything other than a let-down.
Not that the date itself was going badly, because it wasn't. Bryant had picked her up right on time, and his convertible was every bit as cute as it looked from a distance, and he had taken her to a nice jazz bar for drinks and a snack. (14) They laughed over their first impressions of each other and learned a little more about each other's family. She wouldn't have guessed that he was an army brat.
"Born in Germany, but I wasn't there long enough to remember anything except how much I hate sauerkraut. I used to have a little plastic radio with a rubber-band microphone, and Mom tells me all the time how much I loved that dumb thing, so they sent me to school for radio broadcasting. As soon as I get up the nerve to completely shave my head, I'm going to apply for a job with network broadcasting and I'll be in Brazil for breakfast and Dubai for dinner, same as all the other crazy newshounds." He knocked back a slow sip of whisky. "How about you? How'd you end up in this little place? You planning to make journalism your career, or is it just to tide you over?"
Rochelle looked at him cautiously, but he seemed genuinely interested in her answer. "I used to live in the Southwestern US. Then Dad lost his job and we had to move where he could still work. I ... had a boyfriend in high school who just became his family's sole heir. He wanted me to come back and marry him." She chewed her straw. "He was really freakin' rich. I sometimes think about doing it."
"What's stopping you?"
She shrugged. "Who knows ... I mean, it's not like I can just walk back in as his high-school girlfriend and we can pick up where we left off. He's a multi-multi-multi-millionaire, and I'm just a girl barely holding down a writing job."
"Unequal?"
"I got a bad feeling every time he mentioned it," she said in a lower voice. "Sure, I’d be wealthy, and have anything I wanted for the asking ... but I would never be Rochelle, just 'his wife.' Also, he comes from a line of police officers. And not like beat cops, I mean bomb techs and SWAT team. He didn't talk about it much, but he told me once that when he was a little boy, he would cry and cry if his mom wasn't home by 11. They were waiting, y'know. Waiting on that phone call you get in the middle of the night. "
“I understand.”
A crowd of people rushed by at the same time that a loud siren blared nearby. Bryant immediately perked up. “That’s a fire truck! Let’s go, might be a story.”
“It might be a fire!” Rochelle objected. “You really want to go see it just like that?”
“That’s journalism, baby! Here’s my card. If you’ll pay, I’ll get the car.”
He was waiting for her as she trotted to the parking lot. They didn’t need to go far to find the source of the blazes. One of the old warehouses on the wharf was completely alight. Bryant gently edged himself right next to the fire chief, the better to scoop his competition. Rochelle hung back, watching the fire company do battle.
The firefighters ran back and forth, wielding axes and enormous hoses. A group of four was relieved by fresh manpower and they staggered back towards the crowd. One of the four was being carried out in the arms of his companions, his face mask completely blackened. Despite herself, Rochelle leaned forward to see as they removed the man’s partially-destroyed helmet and covered his face with an oxygen mask.
And then she screamed.
Bryant heard the commotion just after persuading the fire chief to give him an exclusive interview. The chief looked startled, then frowned. “Walk with me, wouldja? Something’s up.”
But before they got anywhere near the source, Rochelle came out of the crowd, practically shoving people aside. Her face was tear-streaked. “Bryant, I want to go home. Now.”
He groaned to himself. He really needed this interview ... “Chief, can I give you my card?”
“Sure thing, call in twenty minutes.”
“Ouch! ‘Scuse me, please.” The crowd was parting for a man filthy with soot. He ignored the paramedics trying to attend to his burns and grabbed Rochelle’s arm. (15) “What is your problem? What the hell did you think I meant when I said I fight fires? Did you think that meant I actually cuddled puppies? I’m doing my job! Don’t you get that?”
She didn’t even turn around. “Bryant, take me home.”
“Wait a minute! I’m talking to you! Could you at least look at me? I mean, blow me off if you have to, but meet my eyes when you do it!”
“Fine! I’m looking at you! Right at you!” The tears ran freely down her face. “Keep your damn hands off me and go throw your life away in a fire if it’s that important to you!” She ran, a frail ghost in the darkness.
Bryant caught up to her two blocks away. She only spoke twice the entire way home: once to ask him not to spread the issue around the office, and once again to apologize for the lousy date. She hadn’t meant to make a scene like that. But the whole thing had reminded her of why she couldn’t marry her old boyfriend. “I can’t be that wife, always wondering if he’s late because he’s late or because he can’t get home.” She sighed. “This was probably all a big mistake. If you want, you can tell everyone I stood you up.”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” he replied. “If anything, it’s helped me understand you better.”
Her home stood dark and silent on her huge lot.
“I would invite you in, but ... I think I just want to be alone tonight. Y’know?”
He knew.
Not that the date itself was going badly, because it wasn't. Bryant had picked her up right on time, and his convertible was every bit as cute as it looked from a distance, and he had taken her to a nice jazz bar for drinks and a snack. (14) They laughed over their first impressions of each other and learned a little more about each other's family. She wouldn't have guessed that he was an army brat.
"Born in Germany, but I wasn't there long enough to remember anything except how much I hate sauerkraut. I used to have a little plastic radio with a rubber-band microphone, and Mom tells me all the time how much I loved that dumb thing, so they sent me to school for radio broadcasting. As soon as I get up the nerve to completely shave my head, I'm going to apply for a job with network broadcasting and I'll be in Brazil for breakfast and Dubai for dinner, same as all the other crazy newshounds." He knocked back a slow sip of whisky. "How about you? How'd you end up in this little place? You planning to make journalism your career, or is it just to tide you over?"
Rochelle looked at him cautiously, but he seemed genuinely interested in her answer. "I used to live in the Southwestern US. Then Dad lost his job and we had to move where he could still work. I ... had a boyfriend in high school who just became his family's sole heir. He wanted me to come back and marry him." She chewed her straw. "He was really freakin' rich. I sometimes think about doing it."
"What's stopping you?"
She shrugged. "Who knows ... I mean, it's not like I can just walk back in as his high-school girlfriend and we can pick up where we left off. He's a multi-multi-multi-millionaire, and I'm just a girl barely holding down a writing job."
"Unequal?"
"I got a bad feeling every time he mentioned it," she said in a lower voice. "Sure, I’d be wealthy, and have anything I wanted for the asking ... but I would never be Rochelle, just 'his wife.' Also, he comes from a line of police officers. And not like beat cops, I mean bomb techs and SWAT team. He didn't talk about it much, but he told me once that when he was a little boy, he would cry and cry if his mom wasn't home by 11. They were waiting, y'know. Waiting on that phone call you get in the middle of the night. "
“I understand.”
A crowd of people rushed by at the same time that a loud siren blared nearby. Bryant immediately perked up. “That’s a fire truck! Let’s go, might be a story.”
“It might be a fire!” Rochelle objected. “You really want to go see it just like that?”
“That’s journalism, baby! Here’s my card. If you’ll pay, I’ll get the car.”
He was waiting for her as she trotted to the parking lot. They didn’t need to go far to find the source of the blazes. One of the old warehouses on the wharf was completely alight. Bryant gently edged himself right next to the fire chief, the better to scoop his competition. Rochelle hung back, watching the fire company do battle.
The firefighters ran back and forth, wielding axes and enormous hoses. A group of four was relieved by fresh manpower and they staggered back towards the crowd. One of the four was being carried out in the arms of his companions, his face mask completely blackened. Despite herself, Rochelle leaned forward to see as they removed the man’s partially-destroyed helmet and covered his face with an oxygen mask.
And then she screamed.
Bryant heard the commotion just after persuading the fire chief to give him an exclusive interview. The chief looked startled, then frowned. “Walk with me, wouldja? Something’s up.”
But before they got anywhere near the source, Rochelle came out of the crowd, practically shoving people aside. Her face was tear-streaked. “Bryant, I want to go home. Now.”
He groaned to himself. He really needed this interview ... “Chief, can I give you my card?”
“Sure thing, call in twenty minutes.”
“Ouch! ‘Scuse me, please.” The crowd was parting for a man filthy with soot. He ignored the paramedics trying to attend to his burns and grabbed Rochelle’s arm. (15) “What is your problem? What the hell did you think I meant when I said I fight fires? Did you think that meant I actually cuddled puppies? I’m doing my job! Don’t you get that?”
She didn’t even turn around. “Bryant, take me home.”
“Wait a minute! I’m talking to you! Could you at least look at me? I mean, blow me off if you have to, but meet my eyes when you do it!”
“Fine! I’m looking at you! Right at you!” The tears ran freely down her face. “Keep your damn hands off me and go throw your life away in a fire if it’s that important to you!” She ran, a frail ghost in the darkness.
Bryant caught up to her two blocks away. She only spoke twice the entire way home: once to ask him not to spread the issue around the office, and once again to apologize for the lousy date. She hadn’t meant to make a scene like that. But the whole thing had reminded her of why she couldn’t marry her old boyfriend. “I can’t be that wife, always wondering if he’s late because he’s late or because he can’t get home.” She sighed. “This was probably all a big mistake. If you want, you can tell everyone I stood you up.”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” he replied. “If anything, it’s helped me understand you better.”
Her home stood dark and silent on her huge lot.
“I would invite you in, but ... I think I just want to be alone tonight. Y’know?”
He knew.
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#17
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- 108 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 23 July 2009 - 03:19 PM
Hmm still can't really see which one she's going to go for. Though I think I'm rooting for Luke.
Come read my Sims story blog! Stories from the Sims-side *PG-13*
#18
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- 288 posts
Tragic Clown Catcher
Posted 26 July 2009 - 01:58 PM
Awww. *Pats Luke*
*Died at the "Cuddled puppies" comment.*
*Died at the "Cuddled puppies" comment.*
#19
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- 4,733 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 27 July 2009 - 09:50 PM
"Rochelle!"
Startled, she sat up, wincing as the comforters tore away from her face. She hadn't realized that she had gone to sleep. She hadn't even undressed; she was still wearing her shoes. Her cell phone clock read fourteen minutes 'til midnight. Who was coming over this late?
The second round of pounding on the door made her jump. "Knock it off!"
"Then open up!" The form at her door was covered in shadows, but she already knew who it was. He pushed his way in and flipped on the lights. Even through her wincing, she could dimly see him looking around the room, fists clenched. "Where is he, damn it?"
"He's not here, okay? We went to get drinks, he brought me home and that was it--would you stop that?" Luke was making a show of smelling her neck and hands, presumably to see if they smelled like cologne. "We didn't even kiss goodnight."
"Good," Luke said flatly. He was far too close for comfort. Rochelle blushed, then shivered as her arms broke out in goosebumps. "Could you let go, please?"
"Hell no."
"Luke--"
"Why'd you come to my fire anyway? What was that all about? You show up with your fancy date and throw a tantrum in front of everybody? Is that journalism nowadays? That's how you get your stories?"
She almost stomped on his foot with her boots before remembering that he was covered in bandages. With the shape he was in right now he'd probably lose a toe. She settled for glaring daggers at him. "That's not fair."
"Not fair? Try getting hit in the head with a girder and passing out, then waking up to see the woman you love going off to cry on some guy's shoulder if you want 'not fair!'"
This time she did slap him. Her handprint instantly flared on his cheek. "You moron! You complete idiot! I was crying over you! How do you think I felt seeing you hurt? Not knowing if you were even still alive? And you have the colossal nerve to act like I made a scene to show off for my co-worker? You--mfph--"
"I'll have you know," she said much later after catching her breath, "I expect you to replace my wall."
Luke looked at the damaged drywall panels behind her headboard and chuckled. "Sure, first thing in the morning." (16)
Startled, she sat up, wincing as the comforters tore away from her face. She hadn't realized that she had gone to sleep. She hadn't even undressed; she was still wearing her shoes. Her cell phone clock read fourteen minutes 'til midnight. Who was coming over this late?
The second round of pounding on the door made her jump. "Knock it off!"
"Then open up!" The form at her door was covered in shadows, but she already knew who it was. He pushed his way in and flipped on the lights. Even through her wincing, she could dimly see him looking around the room, fists clenched. "Where is he, damn it?"
"He's not here, okay? We went to get drinks, he brought me home and that was it--would you stop that?" Luke was making a show of smelling her neck and hands, presumably to see if they smelled like cologne. "We didn't even kiss goodnight."
"Good," Luke said flatly. He was far too close for comfort. Rochelle blushed, then shivered as her arms broke out in goosebumps. "Could you let go, please?"
"Hell no."
"Luke--"
"Why'd you come to my fire anyway? What was that all about? You show up with your fancy date and throw a tantrum in front of everybody? Is that journalism nowadays? That's how you get your stories?"
She almost stomped on his foot with her boots before remembering that he was covered in bandages. With the shape he was in right now he'd probably lose a toe. She settled for glaring daggers at him. "That's not fair."
"Not fair? Try getting hit in the head with a girder and passing out, then waking up to see the woman you love going off to cry on some guy's shoulder if you want 'not fair!'"
This time she did slap him. Her handprint instantly flared on his cheek. "You moron! You complete idiot! I was crying over you! How do you think I felt seeing you hurt? Not knowing if you were even still alive? And you have the colossal nerve to act like I made a scene to show off for my co-worker? You--mfph--"
"I'll have you know," she said much later after catching her breath, "I expect you to replace my wall."
Luke looked at the damaged drywall panels behind her headboard and chuckled. "Sure, first thing in the morning." (16)
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#20
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- 4,733 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 29 July 2009 - 10:06 PM
"I think you need more than a new wall,” Luke said, running his fingers over the hairline fractures. “You need a new house more than anything.” Rochelle didn’t say much, but he didn’t expect her to. Her face had been practically glued to the toilet from the moment she woke up.
“I think I have a hangover,” she groaned when she finally came out.
“No one gets hungover from a pina colada. Though you do look like a lightweight. You sure he didn’t slip you something?” She burrowed under the comforter and ignored him. “My dad was a rock collector and he gave me a crapload of the ones that weren’t good enough for his collections. I could see if they’re worth something. Maybe I’d have enough to buy you that word processor you need.”
She snored.
He smiled to himself and quickly changed into some shabby clothes. He needed to exercise for a bit before he reported to the fire station. He turned the TV on to a cardio program and began to jog in place.
Before he even got warm, Rochelle was wide awake and furious. “Turn that off! Turn it off, damn it!” She flung a stuffed animal at the set. Luke took a nervous step back. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay! I’m sick and my head hurts and I can’t stop puking and now you got this TV blaring just when I fall asleep!” (17)
“… it’s barely on! I can hardly even hear it!”
She looked at him with bloodshot eyes and a fairly dangerous expression. “You’re shaking the bed every time you move.”
He did some half-hearted jumping jacks while eyeing the bed, which wasn’t shaking. Rochelle turned off the TV, gave him another evil stare and went back into the bathroom to heave.
“Do you want me to leave or something?” he asked the closed door. He got the sound of retching for an answer.
what do u mean u h8 him
I thought u said u <3 that guy
Rochelle eyed her latest text from Brittany from the comfort of the bathroom floor. There was clearly no reason to leave here since the entire house was spinning around wildly, Luke or no Luke. She regretted yelling at him, but he wasn’t there anymore to apologize to and she had realized belatedly that she didn’t have his phone number. Of course, she had never needed it before because he was always just barging in.
k if u didnt mean it tell him
when did u start 2 get sick
after drinks? or after nasty? ^_~ (18)
Hard to believe she’s married with three kids, Rochelle thought, smirking.
duhh ur preggo! DUHHH lol
ur gonna be a mom! is dad hawt?
She stared hard at the phone. Pregnant? Pregnant? Somehow the thought had never entered into her head. And pregnant—by Luke? The thought made her head spin horribly and she slid into darkness. The phone fell to the floor and broke apart.
“… what the hell, Rochelle? Do you just really not want to see me? You could at least pick up your phone and tell me so. You better call me back soon if you don’t want me banging on your door again tonight.” Luke slammed the gym phone down for the fifth time in less than two hours and went back to pumping iron, but his arms were shaking so hard that he couldn’t budge the weight and with an exasperated grunt, he gave up.
“If I didn’t love her so much, I’d break her neck,” he muttered under his breath.
“Sounds like you two get along well,” his dispatcher grinned. “Is this that same girl you were carrying on over last week?”
“Yeah, same girl. She’s driving me nuts. One moment she’s fine, the next she’s like a baby, the next she’s ready to eat me like a rare steak! I swear to God I’m not being a jerk with her.”
The dispatcher looked skeptical.
“I’m not!”
“Did you leave the toilet seat up? Eat all of her special cheese? Leave your boots in the wrong spot?”
“Funny, Janice.”
“Look, sweetie. It’s probably nothing to do with you. It’s probably her hormones. We women have issues around a certain time of the month. They did teach you about that in school, didn’t they?”
Luke suddenly looked cognizant. “Y’know, she’s been throwing up all day.”
The dispatcher leaned over with a motherly smile. “Well, maybe you’d better take the afternoon off, daddy.”
That evening, he came in through the office window with a move that would have made any firefighter proud. Rochelle had managed to uncurl her body from around the toilet and drag herself to the middle of the kitchen floor. He very gently set her upright, having no desire to see the contents of her stomach.
“Luke,” she sobbed at the time he said, “I know.” He turned on the lights and she immediately hid her eyes.
“I sold those rocks today. Look, I got a fat check.”
“Can’t see …” she groaned.
“Okay, take my word for it, it’s a lot of money. Guess what?"
"You're rich?"
"Well ... not so much rich as 'not completely freakin' broke.' But no, that's not it. One of the stones was a pretty nice diamond. Aaaaand ... one of the other stones turned out to be platinum ore. So ... rock, metal ... ring! Ta-da!"
"Oh," she gasped, short of breath. "That's beaut--urk!" And she dashed to the bathroom yet again.
"I suppose this means no reception dinner necessary?" he yelled over the running water.
“I think I have a hangover,” she groaned when she finally came out.
“No one gets hungover from a pina colada. Though you do look like a lightweight. You sure he didn’t slip you something?” She burrowed under the comforter and ignored him. “My dad was a rock collector and he gave me a crapload of the ones that weren’t good enough for his collections. I could see if they’re worth something. Maybe I’d have enough to buy you that word processor you need.”
She snored.
He smiled to himself and quickly changed into some shabby clothes. He needed to exercise for a bit before he reported to the fire station. He turned the TV on to a cardio program and began to jog in place.
Before he even got warm, Rochelle was wide awake and furious. “Turn that off! Turn it off, damn it!” She flung a stuffed animal at the set. Luke took a nervous step back. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay! I’m sick and my head hurts and I can’t stop puking and now you got this TV blaring just when I fall asleep!” (17)
“… it’s barely on! I can hardly even hear it!”
She looked at him with bloodshot eyes and a fairly dangerous expression. “You’re shaking the bed every time you move.”
He did some half-hearted jumping jacks while eyeing the bed, which wasn’t shaking. Rochelle turned off the TV, gave him another evil stare and went back into the bathroom to heave.
“Do you want me to leave or something?” he asked the closed door. He got the sound of retching for an answer.
what do u mean u h8 him
I thought u said u <3 that guy
Rochelle eyed her latest text from Brittany from the comfort of the bathroom floor. There was clearly no reason to leave here since the entire house was spinning around wildly, Luke or no Luke. She regretted yelling at him, but he wasn’t there anymore to apologize to and she had realized belatedly that she didn’t have his phone number. Of course, she had never needed it before because he was always just barging in.
k if u didnt mean it tell him
when did u start 2 get sick
after drinks? or after nasty? ^_~ (18)
Hard to believe she’s married with three kids, Rochelle thought, smirking.
duhh ur preggo! DUHHH lol
ur gonna be a mom! is dad hawt?
She stared hard at the phone. Pregnant? Pregnant? Somehow the thought had never entered into her head. And pregnant—by Luke? The thought made her head spin horribly and she slid into darkness. The phone fell to the floor and broke apart.
“… what the hell, Rochelle? Do you just really not want to see me? You could at least pick up your phone and tell me so. You better call me back soon if you don’t want me banging on your door again tonight.” Luke slammed the gym phone down for the fifth time in less than two hours and went back to pumping iron, but his arms were shaking so hard that he couldn’t budge the weight and with an exasperated grunt, he gave up.
“If I didn’t love her so much, I’d break her neck,” he muttered under his breath.
“Sounds like you two get along well,” his dispatcher grinned. “Is this that same girl you were carrying on over last week?”
“Yeah, same girl. She’s driving me nuts. One moment she’s fine, the next she’s like a baby, the next she’s ready to eat me like a rare steak! I swear to God I’m not being a jerk with her.”
The dispatcher looked skeptical.
“I’m not!”
“Did you leave the toilet seat up? Eat all of her special cheese? Leave your boots in the wrong spot?”
“Funny, Janice.”
“Look, sweetie. It’s probably nothing to do with you. It’s probably her hormones. We women have issues around a certain time of the month. They did teach you about that in school, didn’t they?”
Luke suddenly looked cognizant. “Y’know, she’s been throwing up all day.”
The dispatcher leaned over with a motherly smile. “Well, maybe you’d better take the afternoon off, daddy.”
That evening, he came in through the office window with a move that would have made any firefighter proud. Rochelle had managed to uncurl her body from around the toilet and drag herself to the middle of the kitchen floor. He very gently set her upright, having no desire to see the contents of her stomach.
“Luke,” she sobbed at the time he said, “I know.” He turned on the lights and she immediately hid her eyes.
“I sold those rocks today. Look, I got a fat check.”
“Can’t see …” she groaned.
“Okay, take my word for it, it’s a lot of money. Guess what?"
"You're rich?"
"Well ... not so much rich as 'not completely freakin' broke.' But no, that's not it. One of the stones was a pretty nice diamond. Aaaaand ... one of the other stones turned out to be platinum ore. So ... rock, metal ... ring! Ta-da!"
"Oh," she gasped, short of breath. "That's beaut--urk!" And she dashed to the bathroom yet again.
"I suppose this means no reception dinner necessary?" he yelled over the running water.
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
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