Romantic Forever

Romantic Stories Collection: Love with the Proper Killer Part 7 Final Posted: 01 Dec 2007 07:28 PM CST "See if I care," I told him, feeling an emptiness inside which I told myself was missing dinner. I turned toward the kitchen. "But I care," a voice said from behind me. Before I could move a hand was clamped over my mouth. Another grabbed my arm and twisted it behind me. "So you figured it out, did you?," the voice continued. "I thought you'd blame that fancy boyfriend of yours but when you called, I knew you hadn't. Too bad, baby. We could've been good together." "Mac? I mumbled through his fingers squeezing my lips. "Your own aunt?" "My own very rich aunt. Owns a string of buildings like this but she just kept living on and on with those damn canaries and she treated me like an errand boy. That Jerry you're so fond of just happened by at the right time. Once I get the guy across the hall to I.D. him, I'm home free." I tried to break free. Mac's fingers dug into my lips. I tasted blood. His other hand twisted my arm till I thought I could hear the bones crack. I bit down as hard as I could on the hand around my mouth. He jerked away and I screamed. "Now you'll get it like all the others, bitch!" Mac shouted. Still holding my arm, he reared back to belt me. At that moment something large, furry and furious with all the commotion and noise, leaped onto his head like one of those alien creatures that eat your brain. It was Mac's turn to scream and he did while lethal paws scratched at his eyeballs, dug into his scalp and took great strips of skin off his back. I rushed to the door and yanked it open, gasping. Mr. Jaspers was standing in the hall. "Wild party, huh? You got a cat in there?" "What I've got is Mrs. Patrickson's killer. Call the police." Leaving his door open, Mr. Jaspers went back towards the phone. I stood in the hall, listening to the screaming. Poor Fitzhugh, I thought. I hoped he didn't get any nasty disease from biting Mac. Mac was staggering around, cursing and tripping over furniture, blood running down his face, when the police arrived with their sirens blaring. All the tenants on my floor crowded into the hall to watch Mac led out in handcuffs. Fitzhugh washed his face and looked smug. It was the first time I felt favorably towards a cat. Next day I went to the hospital. Jerry was sitting up in bed, one leg in a cast. "Donna," he said huskily, taking my hand in both of his. "I was afraid I'd lost you." "Whatever gave you that idea?" He looked pale but great, the dark hair mussed, five o'clock shadow on the strong, firm jaw. I told him about Mac. "The police think he's the one who's been attacking all those women, using his role as a property manager." I waited for him to ask about his cat. "Oh my love. Did he hurt you? Are you all right?" He was stroking my hair and suddenly I was sobbing in his arms. "I'm an idiot," he was saying. "I hope you aren't going to let a little thing like a cat come between us." He kissed my neck, my cheek, my lips. "I could give him to my mother." "Oh, no. We've reached an understanding. I think I could learn to like him," I murmured, "given the right teacher." I would never tell him how close we had come to losing each other, due to my overactive imagination. Cupid may have been a day late this year, but the way I see it, Jerry and I still have forever.

Romantic Stories Collection: Love with the Proper Killer Part 6 Posted: 01 Dec 2007 07:27 PM CST "See if I care," I told him, feeling an emptiness inside which I told myself was missing dinner. I turned toward the kitchen. "But I care," a voice said from behind me. Before I could move a hand was clamped over my mouth. Another grabbed my arm and twisted it behind me. "So you figured it out, did you?," the voice continued. "I thought you'd blame that fancy boyfriend of yours but when you called, I knew you hadn't. Too bad, baby. We could've been good together." "Mac? I mumbled through his fingers squeezing my lips. "Your own aunt?" "My own very rich aunt. Owns a string of buildings like this but she just kept living on and on with those damn canaries and she treated me like an errand boy. That Jerry you're so fond of just happened by at the right time. Once I get the guy across the hall to I.D. him, I'm home free." I tried to break free. Mac's fingers dug into my lips. I tasted blood. His other hand twisted my arm till I thought I could hear the bones crack. I bit down as hard as I could on the hand around my mouth. He jerked away and I screamed. "Now you'll get it like all the others, bitch!" Mac shouted. Still holding my arm, he reared back to belt me. At that moment something large, furry and furious with all the commotion and noise, leaped onto his head like one of those alien creatures that eat your brain. It was Mac's turn to scream and he did while lethal paws scratched at his eyeballs, dug into his scalp and took great strips of skin off his back. I rushed to the door and yanked it open, gasping. Mr. Jaspers was standing in the hall. "Wild party, huh? You got a cat in there?" "What I've got is Mrs. Patrickson's killer. Call the police." Leaving his door open, Mr. Jaspers went back towards the phone. I stood in the hall, listening to the screaming. Poor Fitzhugh, I thought. I hoped he didn't get any nasty disease from biting Mac. Mac was staggering around, cursing and tripping over furniture, blood running down his face, when the police arrived with their sirens blaring. All the tenants on my floor crowded into the hall to watch Mac led out in handcuffs. Fitzhugh washed his face and looked smug. It was the first time I felt favorably towards a cat. Next day I went to the hospital. Jerry was sitting up in bed, one leg in a cast. "Donna," he said huskily, taking my hand in both of his. "I was afraid I'd lost you." "Whatever gave you that idea?" He looked pale but great, the dark hair mussed, five o'clock shadow on the strong, firm jaw. I told him about Mac. "The police think he's the one who's been attacking all those women, using his role as a property manager." I waited for him to ask about his cat. "Oh my love. Did he hurt you? Are you all right?" He was stroking my hair and suddenly I was sobbing in his arms. "I'm an idiot," he was saying. "I hope you aren't going to let a little thing like a cat come between us." He kissed my neck, my cheek, my lips. "I could give him to my mother." "Oh, no. We've reached an understanding. I think I could learn to like him," I murmured, "given the right teacher." I would never tell him how close we had come to losing each other, due to my overactive imagination. Cupid may have been a day late this year, but the way I see it, Jerry and I still have forever.

Romantic Stories Collection: Love with the Proper Killer Part 5 Posted: 01 Dec 2007 07:26 PM CST The doorbell rang. Oh, no. Jerry was here before I'd decided what to do. How could I go out with him with these suspicions crowding into my mind? And if he suspected I knew, what then? I'd been thinking I'd just call the whole thing off, but here he was. I opened the door. "Donna, you look great, as always." "Just my office clothes. I haven't had a chance to change yet." "Come just as you are. You always look wonderful to me." Jerry looked deep into my eyes. I stepped back and reached for my coat. Well, I had to eat. Lou Ann and Laurence were coming along, anyway. They'd wonder where we were if we didn't show up. I could decide what to do at dinner. Maybe I could slip out and call the police before we left. There was valet parking at the fine Italian restaurant. Jerry handed over the keys to the Caddy calmly. I was sure he had the cat along. I refused to look in the back, just in case. Inside, Lou Ann and Laurence waved to us from a table. "Won't you join us?" Laurence asked, just as though I hadn't set the whole thing up. "Delighted." Jerry gave me a bemused look. "Shall we?" "Fine," I said, feeling miffed that he didn't want me all to himself. What was the matter with me? Did I want to be alone with what was probably a psychotic killer on Valentine's Day? While not terminally brain-dead, I still felt a twinge of regret as he pulled out the heavy dark chair with the velvet seat for me and his long, slender fingers ruffled a tendril of hair on my neck. Stringed instruments were playing love songs through the ages. Candles were flickering, voices were soft and intimate. It could have been a wonderful evening with the right man. Maybe Mac next year, if I survived the evening. But something wistful in me still cried, 'Jerry, Jerry, Jerry'. I forced myself to study the wine list. Jerry was murmuring something in French to the maitre 'd, looking suave, competent and throughly adorable. I kicked Lou Ann under the table, to stop her from drooling. When I straightened up, Jerry seemed to have gone suddenly berserk. He leaped to his feet, overturning the thick crystal goblets of water onto the snowy white linen cloth. "That's my car!" he yelled. Under the bright lights that lit the entryway, his Caddy was coming slowly around the circular drive, blocked in for a moment by a driver who was backing up. I'd heard that sometimes parking attendants take these little joy rides when they think the patron's safely inside for an hour or so. Jerry was already on his feet and running for the door with a sea of fascinated diners staring after him. "Hey!" I could hear him bellow as he swung the door open. Several things happened at once. The driver in the front seat saw him through the rear view window, attempted to reverse, floored it and drove into Jerry and the side of the building with a resounding crash, just as Jerry was crossing behind the car. Then he leaped from the driver's side and ran away into the darkness. "Somebody call an ambulance!" I heard the maitre d' shout as I hurried towards Jerry. Laurence beat me to the scene. "Just lie still," I heard him saying. He took off his jacket and threw it over Jerry while he tried to keep him quiet. "There's an ambulance coming." "Fitzhugh," Jerry said weakly. "I'm sure he's all right. Don't worry. I'll take care of him," I promised like a fool. Although the car looked like a write-off, the cat carrier had unfortunately survived intact. It lay upside down in the front seat with a very angry occupant. The ambulance came screaming up. I watched as they loaded his now unconscious body onto the stretcher. What a Valentine's Day. First Mrs. Patrickson. Now Jerry. More like a Valentine Massacre. "I'll just go along home, if you don't mind, Lou Ann," I said. "Thanks for all you've done." "Call me," she said, pressing my hand. She looked genuinely sorry for me. I got into the Corvette with Fitzhugh in the cat carrier. As I drove out I saw them going back to the restaurant, peppered with questions from fascinated diners who were standing around watching. Oh, Jerry, who are you? I thought and felt weepy for no reason. After all, I reminded myself, he probably tried to kill me, psychopath that he was, and got Mrs. Patrickson instead. As I stepped off the elevator, the cat carrier bumped against my legs. The police tape and notice on Mrs. Patrickson's door seemed like a warning. Be careful. Watch out. I went bravely into my apartment, set the carrier down and opened its door. Fitzhugh stayed where he was, glaring.

Romantic Stories Collection: Love with the Proper Killer Part 4 Posted: 01 Dec 2007 07:25 PM CST Next morning they came to change the locks. It was Valentine's Day. Shop windows were full of cupids and chocolates. Love was in the air but the man I had chosen had a cat that came first in his heart. We would never make it together. Dinner tonight would be our last date, I promised myself. Why go on making us both miserable? At noon a dozen red roses came to the office. The card inside said, "Thanks for giving us another chance." It was signed by Jerry but there was a pawprint underneath. I fussed around till five, then cleared my desk and called Lou Ann. "Could you doubledate at such short notice? " "On such a romantic evening? Of course. Laurence probably doesn't even know what day it is. And who knows? Maybe Jerry will fall for me. You saw 'When Harry Met Sally', didn't you?" "Jerry and I are probably finished," I said, "but until I let you know, hands off." "Bringing another couple along isn't going to help, you know," Lou Ann said. "It'll keep us from having an unpleasant memory on Valentine's Day. Which we will, if you don't come." "We'll be there, don't worry." I pulled my little blue corvette out into rush hour traffic and turned the radio on. "An elderly woman was attacked and killed today in her apartment at Main and Charles..." My apartment was at Main and Charles. I braked for a yellow light and turned the sound up. "Police believe Mrs. Gilroy Patrickson, 75, was another victim in a series of assaults that have terrorized this South side community..." How awful for Mac, I thought, as tears ran down my face. How awful for us all. The carpet outside my door looked as though many pairs of dirty boots had been trampling it. There was yellow police tape criss-crossed outside Mrs. Patrickson's door, with an official notice forbidding entry. I felt tears in my eyes as I looked at it. The elevator opened behind me. I turned and Mac stepped off. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I opened my arms and Mac fell into them. I patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Did they catch the man who did it?" He shook his head and stepped back. "I'd just left. He must've been watching for me to go. If only I'd stayed a little longer..." "Don't think about it. Will you need any help with the arrangements?" "No. My mom's taking care of the... funeral and all that. But thanks for offering. I just came from police headquarters. I thought maybe if I came back I'd see something they'd overlooked but..." "I'd just leave it to the police. They'll will find him, sooner or later." "I guess you're right. She was very fond of you, you know." I nodded. It was hard to talk. Mac punched the ground floor button and held my hand till the elevator came. My apartment seemed very vulnerable when I opened the door. I stood in the doorway, looking around. Whoever had killed Mrs. Patrickson could crawl in any of the windows. We were only on the third floor. Terrorized. The radio had it right. "Bad news, Donna," Mr. Jaspers, the retired plumber across the hall, opened his door. "Fine lady." "Yes, she was. " "Some guy came around looking for you, right before." "This morning?" "Said so, didn't I? Had your keys." He started to close his door. "Wait! Mr. Jaspers." He eyed me suspiciously. "What?" "Tell me what he looked like. Please?" "Tall. Dark hair. Tweed coat." His door closed firmly. Cat hairs, I added, mentally. Keys? Mrs. Patrickson's spare key had been on that ring. What if--? No. It couldn't have been Jerry. Besides he wouldn't know what key opened what. He could have tried them, a small voice in my head said. He might've tried your door and then hers and she wouldn't've thought anything, supposing it was just Mac coming back, till it was too late... I crossed the hall and pounded on Jasper's door. "Go away." He was looking through the peep hole. "Mr. Jaspers. Did you tell the police?" "None of my business." Oh great. So it was up to me to let them know that possibly I was dating Mrs. Patrickson's killer and then they'd want to wire me up for our date to get some incriminating evidence on Jerry. And then they'd arrest him but his lawyer would get him off and he'd come looking for me... But I didn't call the police either. It couldn't have been Jerry. He was too nice, too honest. But he'd lied about not having the keys, a little voice said. He probably wouldn't have mentioned them at all if Mr. Jaspers hadn't surprised him holding them, in the act of breaking in. What other explanation could he have given? Perhaps he was planning to let himself in and wait for me, like he had for all those other women. When he found my locks were changed, he settled for my neighbour... But how could he know Mr. Jaspers wouldn't tell the police? That was easy. Anyone talking to the old curmudgeon for two minutes would know he didn't give up anything voluntarily. It was only by chance he'd told me. I'd talk it over with Mac. Maybe he could decide if I was just imagining things. I went downstairs and got his number from Masterson. "Anything I can take care of, Donna?" the old fellow said. "No need to bother the boss with every little thing." "This is personal, thanks." I went home and punched in his number. "Mac Patrickson." "Mac, I--" There was a little beep as his answering machine came on. "Call me," I said and gave my number.

Romantic Stories Collection: Love with the Proper Killer Part 3 Posted: 01 Dec 2007 07:24 PM CST "You're home early." Mac was just getting into the elevator when I stepped out. "Not soon enough." I started to brush past him. "I was thinking, well, maybe this isn't a good time," Mac hesitated. "I was just going down to the diner on the corner for a burger. But I suppose you've eaten?" "I'd love to," I made a quick decision and it wasn't till we were sitting in a back booth over coffee that I realized how I must look with my pantyhose flapping around my ankles. Mac hadn't even snickered. He was good company. Mac worked as a property manager, he said. Our building was on his list. I had to admit it was well-kept up. He didn't have any pets, a real plus and he did have a lot of funny stories about tenants who had them, that kept me laughing. "This large woman sat on her Chihuahua ..." he began and I watched the corners of his eyes crinkle like Mrs. Patrickson's did. He was wearing a yellow sweater over a white shirt, very collegiate. Our waitress came and he joked with her and left a big tip. I'd almost forgotten about the horrible start to the evening when Mac walked me back to the lobby. "I'll be fine," I told him when it looked as though he was going to come on up. "You sure? See you again soon, then. It's been... terrific." When I reached my apartment there were no keys in my purse. I thought back to the bag falling open in Jerry's apartment. Oh well. I ran down the stairs to Mr. Masterson, the superintendent. Mac was still there, talking. "I can let you in. Just take a minute." Mac took a ring of master keys from a hook near the door. "No, its fine. Mr. Masterson has had to do this lots of times". "I wouldn't take losing your keys lightly, Donna," Mac frowned. "With all these attacks on women in this area, lately. I think we'd better have your locks changed. In the meantime, you can borrow the master." Jerry called at the end of the week to say how much he missed me. "It was my fault," he said. "I should have prepared you for meeting him. Fitzhugh was mistreated as a kitten so it's hard for him to trust." "Me too," I said. "I thought he'd be familiar with you by now. I've taken him on all our dates." "What?? You and me and Fitzhugh?" "He's been in the backseat. In his cat carrier," he said hastily. "It gets lonely in the apartment and I don't like to leave him overnight. I take him with me everywhere. So I thought he'd sort of know you already. I'm sorry. Please let me pay for having your shoes repaired." "No need," I lied, looking at the toe of one pump protruding from the trash I'd been about to take to the incinerator when he called. "Show you forgive me and let me take you to dinner tomorrow. It's Valentine's Day, after all," he said with a plea in his voice. He named a restaurant I'd been dying to try but not alone. "At seven?" "All right," I said, hating myself for being weak. There was something about the man. "By the way, Jerry, did you find a set of keys after I left?" "No," he said. He sounded truthful. "Were they important?" "Nothing special. See you tomorrow."

Romantic Stories Collection: Love with the Proper Killer Part 2 Posted: 01 Dec 2007 07:23 PM CST "Don't look so worried. He'll love you," Jerry said as he opened the door to his late model Caddy. 'He'? Guess it wouldn't be his mother I'd be meeting tonight. My heart sank. Jerry was going to tell me he was gay and he'd tried one last time to see if he could be straight and I was it and he couldn't, so now we'd have drinks with his lover and he'd say we could still be friends... I didn't say much on the drive over. We pulled into the underground parking for his building and took the elevator to the tenth floor. Jerry turned his key in the lock of 1003. I had just decided on a gracious approach to whoever he introduced as his lover. "This is Fitzhugh," Jerry said, throwing the door open with one hand as though there would be trumpets blowing somewhere and Clinton or maybe even Newt Gingrich would come out. I stepped forward, set my purse down on a table beside the door and held out my hand. But there was no one in the room. It was a pleasant enough apartment; a long bank of windows along one wall, some plants and comfortable furniture in greens and browns. So I'd guessed wrong again. Jerry didn't want me to meet his mother and he wasn't gay; he was crazy. Fitzhugh was a hallucination, like that rabbit, Harvey, in that old Jimmy Stewart movie. Jerry had lured me up here to meet his imaginary friend who would find fault with me and they would find my lifeless body several days later in the park behind some bushes... At least Mac and his aunt had gotten a look at him, I told myself, sidling back towards the door. He won't get away with it. Jerry didn't seem the killer type but then that's what all the girlfriends and neighbours say on the tabloid shows after some maniac's been arrested. Even serial killers have a social life... "This is my cat, Fitzhugh," Jerry was repeating politely. I looked down. A feline monstrosity stared up at me. It was a lustrous black with glittery gold eyes, big enough to operate a can opener all by itself. "I can tell he likes you," Jerry said. "He's fussy about his friends." Yeah, sure, I thought. I have a theory about people who are too close to their cats. Not a normal relationship. "See how good we look together?" He indicated the mirror in front of us. There we were, Jerry's dark good looks, my slim blonde self and what looked like a furry demon glowering on the floor between us. That old saying about three's a crowd sure applied here. Jerry moved closer and drew me into his arms. I lifted my lips to be kissed, closing my eyes and feeling the rough tweed of his jacket against my cheek. 'Oh Jerry,' I thought, 'why couldn't it have been your mother?' Something raked my ankles as I kissed him back. I looked down. My pantyhose fell in shreds over my pumps. Fitzhugh was just taking a large bite out of my left heel. Then he stalked away to whatever dark places he inhabited in that apartment. "Donna?" Jerry moved and knocked my purse to the floor. "Sorry." He picked it up and jammed the contents back any old way. "Am I jumping the gun here? I mean, I don't want you to think I'm a date rapist or something. I haven't brought a woman up here in a long time." And he wouldn't again, if Fitzhugh has anything to say about it, I thought. I was still staring at the gouge in my heel. The cat had scratched the suede off the right pump. I'd have to toss the shoes. Jerry looked down. "Ohmigod, did Fitzhugh do that?" "Oh, no. I came over here with my pantyhose down around my ankles, cat scratches and gouges in my shoes." "You don't need to be sarcastic. I'm sure it was an accident. Fitzhugh probably smelled another cat on you." "I haven't been around any cats. Ever." "Maybe that next door neighbour, Mrs. Patrickson, has cats. She seems like a cat person." "Canaries. She hates cats." "Perhaps you hate Fitzhugh too?" "Darn right I do," I said. I grabbed my purse and stomped out feeling the draft around my ankles. Cat: 1, Girlfriend: 0.

Romantic Stories Collection: Love with the Proper Killer Part 1 Posted: 01 Dec 2007 07:21 PM CST Valentine's Day. Why doesn't it live up to our expectations? Remember when we were kids with a bagful of those awful- tasting little hearts? The ones with the words on them like 'True Love,' or 'You're Cute,' stuff like that? And your girlfriends would all dare you to give one to Danny or Johnny or whoever it was you were all weak-kneed over that year? And you knew when you grew up that love would find you and it would be wonderful and change your life. And then it doesn't happen. Even when you wait and wait and everything seems right. Take Jerry Martin. This year's flavor? I don't know. Six months ago when those deep blue eyes looked over at me across a crowded seminar, music started playing. "You have a kind face," he said when he came over at coffee break. And you're a hunk, I thought. "Looking for kindness?" I raised an eyebrow. "Well, I missed the morning session and I was looking for someone to fill me in. The rest of this afternoon is pretty familiar stuff." "I did it last year." "Really?" A wave of thick dark hair fell over his forehead and he brushed it away with a gesture that made my heart jump. "Say, there's a quiet place around the corner where we could talk." "Lead the way." I grabbed my little attache case and pointed my size fives in his direction. I think he was after more than kindness. We talked till dinner and then ordered wine with the sole and salad. After that, it was dinner and drinks whenever we happened to be in town at the same time. Turned out his office is fairly near mine in the financial district. He's an auditor for a chain of retail stores. I'm a sales rep for a publishing company. It was nice having someone who looked like that to dream about, someone gentle but not a wimp. There was something about Jerry that made you want to listen to him. At least I did. Lately the single state hasn't seemed all that terrific. Chalk it up to a schedule that doesn't give me much social life. And to the fear that has been stalking my apartment complex. Someone has been doing break and enters but it isn't just property he's after. Women have been attacked. He was waiting when they came home from work. Times like this the coupled condition has a certain attraction. Even without the romance. And I've got to admit, Jerry was romantic. Little by little he became the only one I was seeing. Then one day he called. I always got a little thrill when I heard his voice on the phone. "I think it's time you met the most important person in my life," he says. Oh, oh. I phoned, Lou Ann, my best friend. "He wants me to meet his mother." "His mother? You two that far already? I think he's a real dreamy guy and all that. In fact, if I wasn't all involved with Laurence, and of course, if Jerry wasn't yours, I could really go for him. Nice looking, on his way up, non-smoker. A girl could do worse." "Jerry's great. But maybe he's jumping the gun. I don't know if I'm ready for anything serious..." "Why don't you give me his number? Laurence will understand." "Now hold on, Lou Ann. Do I horn in on your relationships?" "What relationships? Laurence? You can have him." "I'm happy with Jerry, thanks. And I've got to get ready." "Call me with details." I hung up, wondering. You know all those stories people tell about their best friend and their boyfriend? Oh, nuts. I could trust Lou Ann, couldn't I? I got out the dress I use for weddings and funerals. Sort of a purply-mauve with a little scarf. The finishing touch is the expensive matching pumps I bought on a quickie tour of Italy. "Hi. You look terrific," Jerry said, when he rang the doorbell at eight. "Don't you look swell, Donna," Mrs. Patrickson next door was just limping in from her senior's foot clinic on the arm of her nephew, Mac. "This is Jerry Martin," I said. Mac gave me a friendly smile. He was tall, blonde and good-looking. Mrs. Patrickson often said she hoped Mac and I would become romantically involved but our schedules never seemed to work out. Now, seeing me with Jerry, Mac would probably give up trying. "Have a nice time, you two," Mrs. Patrickson said. "Glad to meet you both," Jerry said, shaking hands. He seemed oblivious to Mac's attractions. Was I with the wrong guy?

Romantic Stories Collection: True Soulmates In The Making Posted: 01 Dec 2007 07:19 PM CST I didn't believe in finding love online. I thought it was full of perverts, rapists, etc. One day, I was in a chat room, just bored out of my mind, because I was visiting my brother in Seattle and he was currently at work. So, I just basically put "Anyone wanna chat?" Little did I know that the man of my dreams would IM me. I was in a relationship at the time. It wasn't a very good one, though. My ex-boyfriend, Mike, whom I was dating then, was constantly getting jealous of my guy friends and he was very insecure about my love for him. I have to be honest, I did love him. I still do, kinda. But he brought the relationship to an end, not me. He pushed me directly into Chris, my new boyfriend and my best friend's arms. We just started talking about stupid stuff. And I asked if I could put him on my buddylist. He said yes and placed me on his. After talking online to each other every day for about a week or so, he asked me if we could talk on the phone. I, of course, was scared. The main reason being that I really didn't know him and he could have been a pervert or someone just looking for a good time. And he also lived in Florida, which was a slight problem. I had a couple phone cards to use so I wouldn't rack up my brother's phone bill. When I dialed all the numbers, I was extremely nervous. Afraid of what he would sound like. To be truthful, I thought he might have been some 50 year old, over weight, balding man who just wanted a younger girl to talk to. We talked for five hours that night, and I'm very shy when it comes to talking on the phone for the first time or meeting a person for the first time. So, it was just basically him making me laugh. He also had his eyes set on someone. But, later on, she had decided to go with someone else and she told him that she didn't feel the same way he did. I was having problems with Mike, and Chris helped me through it, reassuring me everything would be alright. Later on, I found out that he was jealous of Mike, because one night, I IMed Chris with Mike's screen name. And now, we have been talking for about four months or so online and on the phone. I am planning to visit him in the near future and, eventually, move to Florida to live with him. And marriage is going to be a part of the picture. Not right away, but in time. I love him with my heart and soul. I would do anything for him. And I know he feels the same. Now, some may call us crazy and say that love can't happen over long distances. But I truly think that we're soul mates in the making.

Romantic Stories Collection: Yvonne Posted: 01 Dec 2007 07:16 PM CST Yvonne rides the merry-go-round. She straddles the white, mystical unicorn that has a long, wavy mane and a spiral horn. The merry-go-round is a fanciful world, a menagerie of colorful, wood carved animals and chariots, three rows deep, parading among a grid of brass poles that seem to hang down like vines from a celestial array of sparkling red and blue light bulbs strung along the ribs of its umbrella-like canopy. It's a mechanical wonder, illuminated and revolving inside its pavilion. A pavilion filled with the dreamy, melodic notes of a waltz coming from the band organ at the center of it. The band organ is housed in a large pinkish-white cabinet decorated in rococo-style with pastel greens and violets dripping about like icing on a cake. In the center of the cabinet is a row of brass trumpet horns and above them a row of brass pipes and to the side, shouldered at each end of the cabinet, are snare drums set on edge. The band organ is affixed to the inner drum housing that also has a façade of scenery panels depicting exotic personages and places. The inner drum is crowned off by the revolving rounding board that is lined with tilted mirrors in ornate frames that captures the images of the marionette-like figures and their riders. Next to the unicorn sits a young mother and her toddler son in a chariot that has clowns painted on its side and drawn by two determined-looking kangaroos. The mother points out some of the fantastic sights that swirl about them, tickling her son's fancy with each sighting, then she settles back on the bench to rest and enjoy the ride. The tike is wearing a faded blue t-shirt and dungarees with little straps fitting loosely over his small shoulders. He has a large, round head and a fleshy face with big watery eyes. He twitches and turns his head to catch all the twirling sights spinning about him, until he locks his gaze on Yvonne. The youngster stares at Yvonne until she notices him. She becomes unsettled and self-conscious. The boy takes his finger from his mouth and gleefully points it at something in the air to show her. Yvonne is reluctant to play along, but finally pantomimes an ooh which delights him and he quickly pretends pointing at some other imaginary spot and, again, Yvonne pretends to be amazed and smiles. A loud buzzer sounds and the merry-go-round winds down and comes to a stop. The mother calmly stands and lifts her son up and plops his buttocks on her hip and heads off. The boy waves bye-bye to Yvonne from over his mother's shoulder. Outside the pavilion is a row of arcade booths bustling with teens. The booths stand on a sweltering tarmac that loops the pavilion and runs out to the arched portal that's cut in the tall juniper hedge that leads to the park. Behind the booths is a sidewalk with bicyclists and skateboarders zipping by, a street with slow cruising cars, beyond the street a gleaming wall of odd-shaped buildings, and, off in the distance, the city skyline and horizon. Yvonne slides off the unicorn and moseys along the sweep of figures until she comes to the tall, amiable giraffe. The grayish giraffe has chestnut spots and adorned with exotic saddlery, masterfully carved and brightly painted. The figure has two mushroom-like horns, perked ears, and an intricately carved yellow-blossom sunflower tucked in a braided bridle. Yvonne mounts the giraffe and wraps the leather rein round her hand. The giraffe was the favorite of Yvonne's dad. He thought it was a lofty jumper of good sport and he would perch Yvonne up on its big, slippery saddle as he stood guardedly by her side. Her father was a broken man of few words and would stare vacuously and quietly ahead during the ride, his big hands girded about her waist. Occasionally, he would grace Yvonne with his solicitously paternal glance. When the ride was done he would lift her off with affected cheerfulness and they would leave the ride to spend some time strolling through the park. As they strolled, he would tell her what a pretty thing she is and how she will find her one true love some day. Yvonne is a plain girl with round moping eyes and a large nose that, in certain lighting, seems to have a crook to it, and that worries her. Her father would lament on how he wished he had more time to be there for her. She would hold his hand to comfort him. Yvonne sees her reflection in the mirror sitting on the elongated giraffe. It's a frail and forlorn visage. The buzzer sounds and the rickety floor of the merry-go-round jolts and starts to rotate. Yvonne tightens her hand on the serpentine pole as the ride accelerates and the giraffe heightens its leaps forward. A pack of rowdy boys descend the area around Yvonne. They cavort about the various figures as though playing on jungle gyms, chat like monkeys, and guffaw at their silly antics. There is a tall hayseed boy that puts both his feet in one stirrup of the prancing reindeer and stands there at attention. The tubby one squirrels down on the floor beneath the neighing zebra. The impish one scampers aimlessly about mounting and dismounting the figures until he finally settles on hanging under the neck of a loping camel. The ringleader settles on the back of a prowling tiger next to Yvonne. He has a fresh, clean complexion, short reddish hair and green, knowing eyes. His presence is intrusive and yet captivating. He gives Yvonne a smirk and then stands on the Persian-style blanket draped on the tiger's back and climbs the pole to just below the crank in a show-offish swagger. He dangles there for awhile until the ride attendant heads towards him. The boy slides down and off the mount. He gives Yvonne a wild animal-like growl with a gnarly, strained expression on his face then leads his buddies away, whooping and hollering. The attendant heads toward Yvonne, yawing as he moves down the narrow row of thickly lacquered figures, retrieving tickets from the various patrons as he passes them. He stops in front of Yvonne and she holds out her ticket. He is a gangly palooka and smells of axle grease. His fingertips linger sleazily on her hand and then he takes the stub. He simpers in a scoff, and saunters off. Yvonne is embarrassed by the obscene touch and tries to forget it by listening to the grating notes of a ragtime tune. She looks up and gazes at the mirror and at her frail figure sitting airily on a giraffe. Through the labyrinth of poles and bobbing figures, Yvonne decries the young man that wears the beige windbreaker. She wistfully studies him as he rides a knight's charger outfitted in silvery faux armor. He chooses the black steed because it is on the outside row and he can go for the brass ring when it whizzes by. He comes here often, perhaps a student between classes or on a break from work. He looks intelligent and sensitive, perhaps an artist, a loner like her, or a mystical spirit, but he is not like the other boys Yvonne knows. Yvonne dismounts the giraffe and coyly meanders over to an ostrich just to the inside of the boy. The spunky ostrich has periwinkle-colored legs and neck and a yellow beak and bulging white plumage on its romantic side. Yvonne gets up on it sidesaddle and waits. Perhaps he'll notice her. Perhaps their eyes will meet. Perhaps he won't notice her crooked nose and will find her pretty. She watches as he readies himself for the approaching ring contraption. He leans out as far as he can and snatches the brass ring and pulls himself back in. Yvonne rejoices and flashes a smile that the elated boy catches before he puts his focus back down on the brass ring that he holds in his hand. Perhaps they'll speak now or exchange smiles again. Yvonne watches the dumbstruck boy as he contemplates the brass ring. He doesn't offer up another glance. She wants to say something to him, congratulate him, ask what he's going to do with it, but remains quiet and demure. The ride attendant comes by and straps Yvonne to her ride, dallying with the leather strap about her waist too long, and then he sidles off along the sweep, leaving Yvonne abashed. The boy tosses the brass ring into the passing metal mesh basket. The brass ring tinkles around the mesh basket and disappears down the throat to trigger the titillating clangor of its bell. The harsh, prolonged buzzer of the merry-go-round signals the end of the ride. The boy gets up and without looking over, quietly steps off to the tarmac before the ride has come to a halt. Yvonne dismounts and sulkily weaves her way toward the center of the merry-go-round. She slips past a haughty, yellow-billed stork with stern, censoring eyes and a silly motley-green toad leaping frivolously into midair and then a ferociously fanged blue muzzle dragon. She goes to the royal carriage on the inner sweep of the merry-go-round and burrows herself aboard it. It's an open carriage drawn by two harnessed horses in full, colorful regalia. They are gleeful steeds, with blinders on and lolling tongues. The body of the carriage is thickly painted in a creamy white and decorated with gilded filigree. Stenciled on the dashboard of the carriage is red and gold ribbons streaming from the beak of a blue bird and atop the front dash of the coachman seat are two mock gas lanterns. Yvonne slouches back and rests her head on the top rim of the carriage bench. She blames herself. Why did she think he would notice her? The buzzer sounds and the ride jolts and begins to rotate. Yvonne stares at the poster-like lithographic scenery panels on the façade of the inner drum. There is the Taj Mahal rising out of a mist, a plump belly dancer in bra and skirt with coin-laden hip belt posed with palms touching overhead and framed in orange flames, ancient pyramids with dwarfed camels in front of them, a fortune teller with tarot cards fanned out in front of her, the Great Wall of China snaking off through the hinterland, perky geishas fanning themselves dressed in carnation-red kimonos and gold obis, and a gilded Buddha temple, and then the Taj Mahal again and the belly dancer and so on. The band organ is playing a pompous lilt with snares and cymbals crashing in common time. Yvonne lounges in her carriage and envisions the figures and riders around her as a cortege leading her in a regal parade. All the animals are decked out in ceremonial finery and all of their riders have a certain stately air to them. She lingers there in her carriage and then slides down further on the bench and stares up at the canopy overhead that glitters with constellations of swirling lights. A boy hops in the carriage and hunkers down on the floor. He notices Yvonne and motions for her to shush as he peers back out from where he came. He's a scrappy looking lad with dark features and black cropped hair dressed in a t-shirt with a rock band logo on it, loose blue jeans, and black sneakers. Yvonne is intrigued and curiously permissive as she remains lounging with her feet up on the front dash of the carriage. The boy asks her if she's going snitch on him and she tells him no and why would she. He tells her he's just hiding from a doofus and not to get her panties in a knot, which she says she won't, and then he scoffs at the pedal pushers she is wearing and asks if she thinks she's really cool. He gets up and slouches down close to her and tells her how she probably got the knickers at Markies and how all the trendy girls go to Markies so she shouldn't be so snotty. Yvonne wants to know who he is hiding from and if he's in trouble. He finally admits he's really not hiding from anyone and that he just wanted to meet her, he thinks she's nifty-looking. He talks to her about his friends and places he goes and things he does and then, on an impulse, he grabs her hand and tugs her away from the carriage and leads her down a sweep of figures. He tells her he knows the best ride on the merry-go-round and that they should hurry before some one else gets it. He takes her to the large stallion that leads the carousel. It's a breathtaking palomino jumper with an aquamarine mane that's plaited along its arched neck and with a daunting glint in its eye. The boy helps boost Yvonne up and then swoops up behind her and sits snugly behind her. It's a ticklish escapade, perched atop a towering steed that races ahead in gigantic leaps and bounds. Yvonne tightens her fingers around the fluted pole as the boy wraps his arms around her midriff. She feels a strange intimacy between them, a familiarity with a boy whose body is rolling against hers. The merry-go-round whirls around in one jumbo blur like a pinwheel. There are illuminated faces and glistening figures streaming along in rows and sweeps that rise and fall in waves. Scintillating bells and whistles crackle through the air and blend harmoniously with the swooning of a carnival tune. It's a galaxy of light and sounds spiraling off in its own world. A young girl on a leaping gazelle appears alongside Yvonne. The girl has rosy, pudgy cheeks and a tiny nose and a blue ribbon in her smooth, shiny hair. She holds a white cone topped with a glob of flossy, pink cotton candy. There's the delicious burnt smell of caramel in the air. She offers Yvonne a clump of the sweet confection. Yvonne is hesitant to let go of the pole, but finally takes her hand and cautiously reaches out for the morsel just as the little girl drops back out of sight. Yvonne rights herself quickly to keep from falling and cling to the pole. The piercing buzzer shoots through Yvonne like an electric shock. She is winded and tries to catch her breath as the ride slows down and comes to a standstill. The boy leans up close to Yvonne's ear and asks her if the ride wasn't the most wildest and stupendous one ever, and with that said, he hopped down and scurried away without another word. Yvonne is stranded atop an inanimate palomino that's fixed at the apex of its jump. The ride empties around her leaving her alone with just the lifeless figures. There's an okapi with small disapproving eyes, a wistful mandrill with its purple and scarlet facial markings, a peacock with its tail fanned out, dotted with emerald eyes and, beyond that, a lupine leer. There is a tinny, cartoonish tune blaring away that Yvonne finds almost silly. She slides down off the stallion and plans to leave when her girlfriends swarm around her, all agog and drawing Yvonne along with them to their special rendezvous spot on the merry-go-round. The special rendezvous spot is a sleigh-like chariot with a front and back bench located on the center row of the merry-go-round. The benches are covered with cinnamon-colored Naugahyde simulating leather. The girls settle in the chariot and gaga over how the boy really wanted Yvonne and how he couldn't keep his hands off of her. They ask Yvonne what it was like. Yvonne tells them that the boy thought it was stupendous, but isn't sure what that meant. Next to Yvonne is her best friend packed in a preppy, pleated skirt and black leggings and covered by a layer of sweaters. Behind her in the back bench is grungy Sally with the black cowl of her hoodie over her head and next to Sally is the athletic Molly wearing her fashionable midnight blue gym shorts, teal tee shirt and running shoes with neon-blue piping and mauve laces. They chatter, noisily, as the merry-go-round gradually repopulates around them with a fresh batch of riders. The alarming buzzer cues the riders to be ready and the floor jerks into motion and starts to rotate. The ride attendant waits on the concrete floor of the inner well for the ride to get up to speed and then grabs hold of a passing pole and mounts the revolving floor in an oafish twirl. He makes a beeline to the chariot where the girls are to collect their tickets. He leans in close to Yvonne to retrieve hers. He smells of beer and cigarettes. He asks her if she enjoyed the last ride and tells her how he has something that will really make her ride exciting. Yvonne gags by his advances and tells the creep to get lost. The addled attendant looks at Yvonne a second and then smirks and slithers off down the sweep. The girls squeal in hysterics over Yvonne's newly found attitude as a group of boys gather around them. They're school-chums, the whiz kid, the air-guitarist, the jock, and the pretty boy, and they exchange persiflage with the girls and hang out with them. The whiz kid stands next to Yvonne and explains to her how merry-go-rounds are built starting from the laying of tracks in the pit to the rods and cranks of the overhead mechanical framework. Yvonne listens politely, though she feels he's missing the whole point of the ride and is about to tell him so when the air-guitarist dude slides in, pushing the whiz kid away. The air-guitarist frenziedly pantomimes the playing of an electrical guitar in front of Yvonne just as she espies the boy in black snickers skulking down a sweep of figures on the other side of the merry-go-round. She watches as the boy ducks into the white swan chariot and disappears. She feels a sense of humiliation and loathing and then perturbed with the air-guitarist who is head-banging in front of her as he pretends playing a guitar to the refrains of "Waiting for the Robert E. Lee." She tells him he's a dork. She feels bad about that, but before she can take it back the tall, sinewy jock shoves the air-guitarist off his spot. The jock tells Yvonne that he will be playing basketball Thursday night and she has to come and watch him play. Yvonne hears the titillating clangor of the bell and looks about the area and sees Bess, a string-bean with a sable-like bob, standing next to the boy in the beige windbreaker near the arcade. It's a pungent sight and disheartening and she grimaces. The jock asks her if she likes basketball and she answers yes and he proceeds to tell her that the Thursday night game is at seven, but she should get there early to watch him warm up. She tells him she's busy that night which is a lie, but she didn't know what else to say since she isn't feeling well and wants to be left alone. The pretty boy joins the jock. The pretty boy needs to know from Yvonne if he had made a good impression on one of Yvonne's acquaintances and before she could quiz him on it, he begins chatting with the jock about his recent encounter. Her best friend had left the chariot and is now speaking with the ride attendant and pointing over toward Yvonne. Yvonne glowers at her friend knowing her friend is setting her up with the attendant just to make her feel more like a floozy. As the boys chatter, Yvonne leans her head back and rests it on the top edge of the bench. She stares up at the pavilion roof that is spinning backwards overhead. She rolls her head to the side and sees herself in the mirror. She has a narrow oblong face with a large crooked nose. Her insides are buzzing and spinning with all sorts of strange sensations. The titillating bell rings. And he is nowhere to be found, Yvonne says to herself. Yvonne gets up and squeeze out past the two conversing boys and escapes down the sweep of figures. She heads against the flow of the revolving floor and totters as she walks. She finds herself in the midst of a birthday party with a covey of youngsters yo-yoing on their rides. The birthday party is for a pretty little girl dressed in a white ruffled dress on the unicorn with her dad attending her. The girl seems quite pleased with it all. Yvonne gives the little girl a tiny smile and heads on. She passes a young lad, decked out in cowboy gear with a black Stetson hat. He sits atop a galloping horse that's also outfitted in western gear. The lad frantically whips the figure about its neck with the leather reins trying to get it to giddy-up faster. Yvonne stops and gapes at Sally, the fashionable athlete, who's joined the air-guitarist in front of the band organ. The two strum away on their make-believe guitars to the blasting music coming from the cabinet. Such an odd couple, it's just not right, not right, Yvonne feels. Behind the cowboy flogger is an old blowzy gal with smeared rogue and lipstick on her face, a tattooed ankle, and a shabby toy doll on her lap, cackling as she rides on a jumper. Yvonne averts her eyes and sees the ride attendant slinking along the sweep, ogling her as he collects tickets. She moves on. She comes to her grungy friend, Molly, who is standing precariously on the shoulders of the jock that has her ankles locked in his hands. The jock is teetering on top of a glistering hippopotamus as Molly shouts and whoops boastfully. It's crazy, just crazy Yvonne feels, and far too dangerous. She comes to an empty hollow on the ride. She glances back and sees the ride attendant talking to the pretty birthday girl. It's sickening, just sickening. She grabs hold of a pole and bends her head back to stare at the bright nodes of lights running along the arms of the canopy. She closes her eyes tight and lets herself be pulled away by the invisible force. The specter of a huge black octopus swoops down over her. The silenced buzzer startles Yvonne and she opens her eyes and looks warily around. The mechanical ride comes to a standstill. The riders dismount and trample off. There is an eerie moment of stillness, as if the world has been unplugged. The menagerie of carved and painted figures is caught fixed in place and time. The boy in the beige windbreaker appears and asks Yvonne if she would like to join him for a soda or something. Yvonne smiles and loosens her grip on the pole and asks if he is speaking to her. He is and she accepts. The two leave the merry-go-round and walk past the bustling crowd at the arcade and past a clown holding a cluster of colorful helium balloons and through a group of young children chasing each other around. They pass through the placid portal in the tall hedge to the park. On the other side of the portal is a hummingbird with a kelly-green chest plate that hovers in front of them. Yvonne views the delicacy and liveliness of the bird before it darts away. They promenade along the path which winds through the pastoral greenery. Yvonne asks him if he likes the merry-go-round and he tells her that it's an amusing ride at best and she admits that it's a bit crazy and then tells him how her father would to bring her there when she was young. As they walk, he tells her about people he wants to meet and places he'd like to go and things he wants to do and she tells him how she feels.

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