Chapter three: wild imaginings
Kayla waited nervously for Brett. She imagined his firm jaw, his sharp, clear eyes boring into her. She hoped she wouldn’t have to find some lame excuse for the mistake in his book reservation. He’d been coming into the library for months, but she’d never had the nerve to say more to him than “Hello,” “Goodbye,” and “Your books are due back in two weeks.”
Now, he’d called about a book he’d reserved, Tropic of Cancer, and she’d assured him there would be a copy today. She’d been so flustered when he called and asked for her that she hadn’t checked the status of the damn book — nobody ever checked out the good stuff — and now he was coming this afternoon and there was no book! She’d called the person who’d checked it out, a Starr Mason (was that really her name?) and Ms Mason had promised to bring it in today. It was a week overdue and Ms. Mason hadn’t brought in in yet.
Kayla eyed the clock; Brett had said he’d come by after work. Kayla wondered where he worked. He always dressed in such nice, fitted suits. She liked the way he smelled, clean and masculine, not drenched in cologne the way some men did. Here in the library, the overpowering scent of cologne made her eyes water sometimes. She wished more people were like Brett. Clean. The door opened, and she looked up from her task, loading books onto the cart for reshelving.
Brett. He looked around the library, until he found her. He smiled and walked across the carpeted floor, smiling. Kayla noticed the few people in the small library looked up as he passed. She liked working in a neighbourhood facility, just one big room, really, because it was so much friendlier, so much quieter. Was this his neighbourhood, she though abruptly as he reached her, or just on his way home?
“Hi there, Kayla. I thought I’d pick up that book if you’re not busy. If you need to finish that I can look around, there’s no rush.” Brett started to move away, and Kayla put her hand on his arm to stop him.
“Oh no, this is something I do all day! If you’d like to look around a bit, though, please do.” She hoped he’d get absorbed in something and the tardy Ms. Mason would bring the book back in the meantime.
“OK, I think I’ll check out some things while I’m here. Maybe another 20 minutes or so. You finish that cartload and we’ll meet over at the checkout desk. Is it a date?” Brett was grinning as he walked away. Kayla stood and gaped after him. A date? He’d dropped the word so casually. Did he have any idea how that affected someone like her? Of course not. He was handsome, obviously successful, probably had a zillion girlfriends. Probably wouldn’t even recognize her outside the library…
“Oh my God, are you really making her into some shy little rabbit? You think Brett would go for that? No one is going to go for that!”
“Go away, Starr! I really mean it today.”
So, Amaryllis typed. And typed…
“Hi, Kayla? Sorry to bother you, but I’d like to get that book now. I got so absorbed in something back there in adult fiction I lost track of time! Things to do, you know. Sorry I’m being a pest.”
“You’re never a pest, Brett.” They walked to the counter and Kayla made a show of looking for the book in the shelving behind the counter where reserved books were piled and shelved, little notes sticking out of the pages. She frowned and turned to the computer, typing and shaking her head.
“Brett, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this. It looks like…”
“It looks like your book is coming Special Delivery.” Starr stood at the counter, holding the book toward Brett, grinning at Kayla.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t see you come in. Is that Tropic of Cancer? Are you Ms. Mason?” Kayla asked stupidly, watching the sparks between Brett and this woman. Kayla groaned inwardly. He’d never glance at her while this woman was in the room.
“Kayla, this is the book, and this lovely woman knew I was coming to pick it up today. Meet Starr Mason, my fiancée, and someone who loves to drive me crazy from time to time.” Brett put one arm around Starr’s shoulder and shook his head.
“Brett, I meant to get it here sooner but the traffic… And I had a late client today. Portrait couldn’t get the Polaroids done in time. I’m really sorry.” Starr looked at Kayla, then smiled. God, she’s beautiful, Kayla thought as she took the book. She scanned it and waited for the receipt to print out, still staring at the handsome couple. Say something to them, she commanded herself miserably.
“Gosh, you could have just called it in, Ms. Mason, and given it to Brett, um, Mr. Danning, it would have been OK, and you wouldn’t both have had to drive all the way here.”
“Don’t be silly. Besides, I had things to do and Brett loves any excuse to visit the library, don’t you, Brett? Of course, he didn’t mention how cute the librarian was, but we know how men are, don’t we, Kayla? You don’t mind me calling you that, do you? Even though we just met?”
“Oh, no, that’s my name. What else would you call me?” Kayla stared at Starr and felt her own cheeks flush. Starr picked up the book and turned away. Brett held up his hand and smiled.
“Thanks, Kayla, see you soon.” Brett turned and followed Starr out of the small, quiet building. Kayla stood and turned toward the doors watching the sky begin to darken.
As the last reader waved goodnight, the door opened, and Kayla started to say “Sorry, the library’s closed,” when she realized it was Brett. And Starr.
“Hey, we know you’re probably tired, but how about we buy you dinner? We’d love to talk more about the book and figured you’d be the closest thing to a literary expert we’ll ever get to know. What do you say? Reilly’s in 30 minutes? It’s just down the street. We’re going there now for drinks.”
“Oh, yes, Reilly’s. I’ll be there, just have to shut everything down. Thank you.” Kayla stood another moment after the door closed. Reilly’s? She’d never been in Reilly’s. Not on a librarian’s salary.
“Hey, before the librarian gets here, can we talk about, you know, the other thing?”
“Starr, you know I don’t like to talk about that, not while I’m living it, only in between. I’ve talked about this enough. You’re getting paranoid. She won’t write us apart. Why would she? Writers want to write what sells. It’s their existence, you know. She has a couple of great characters and readers who love our stories. You know, you should stop popping into her head. You might get this whole thing fucked up and…”
“That’s what I’m trying to stop, Brett. She’s in love with you, that’s the problem. I think she’s trying to write herself into the Kayla character…”
“Starr, stop. Stop. If she starts writing and overlaps into this conversation… oh, shit, I can feel her… Kayla, talk about Kayla.”
“Actually, there’s Kayla now, just coming through the door. You were right, we’re back in the book…”
“Hey guys, thanks for asking me to join you.” Kayla smiled, dropped her shoulder bag onto the floor, and sank into the empty seat between Brett and Starr.
“Kayla, love, what would you like? We were just talking about you.”
“Good things, I hope?” Kayla smiled shyly as the waiter walked up. “I’ll have a cold beer — do you have Moosehead? Good, thank you. No glass.”
Starr and Brett stared as Kayla settled into her seat and looked around.
“Gosh, I’ve never been here before. I have a Library Science degree, a master’s in literature and I do love my job but unfortunately, it doesn’t pay enough to get much exposure to places like this. Again, thanks for inviting me.” Kayla settled back and smiled at both of them. Kayla’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes were shining, and, Starr noted, her nipples were pressed against her Oxford shirt. Damn, Starr thought, they must be something else — her bra has to be some great support structure made of canvas and that shirt…
“Hey, Starr, wake up, Kayla asked you about your work.”
“Yes, I’m sorry, Kayla, what is it?”
“Brett mentioned you were an artist. I’d love to hear about it. I’m a reader first, but museums are one of my favourite places to spend Sunday afternoons. Please, tell me about your art.”
“Well, I’m not a museum artist, nor do I aspire to be one. At least, not until decades after I’m gone. I’m a realist, mostly portraits because that’s what people like to pay for. People like to look at themselves, you know. When I paint for myself, it’s usually something erotic. I like the human body. I think it is one of the great landscapes. Tell me, what do you like to read, Kayla?”
“Me? I read almost anything that’s well written. I wanted to be a writer once, but I spent more time reading about writing than writing. And I get so lost in whatever I’m reading that I lose track of time. I stopped bringing books to read at lunch because of that. Now I just try to use that hour to get outside, walk or something.”
“You’re so bright, Kayla. And very pretty, an interesting kind of beauty. Smouldering, shadowy. I’d love to paint you sometime.” Starr lifted her glass and asked the passing waiter if their table would be ready soon.
Kayla woke the next morning before the alarm went off, still thinking about their conversation during dinner. Tropic of Cancer was the first book they discussed, then they went through all the erotic classics, Kayla asking about some she’d never read, amazed that often Brett and Starr actually knew the writers. They’d had such an exciting life! Brett was so handsome, yet he listened to every word Kayla said, and Starr included Kayla in everything she said to Brett, as if they’d been friends forever. When they’d finished dessert, and the second bottle of wine, they offered to drive her home, but Kayla didn’t want them to see her dreary little house, her tiny yard, the shabby neighbourhood.
Kayla lived where it was cheap and had never really minded her neighbours. They were older, for the most part, but clean and honest. There weren’t dogs barking at all hours, and no loud parties up and down the street. The neighbourhood was a bit frayed, but clean and quiet. Until now, Kayla hadn’t minded living there. Suddenly, she didn’t want Brett and Starr to feel sorry for her. They’d had such stimulating discussions she didn’t want it spoiled by the depressingly ho-hum reality of her life.
Today, she thought, I’m not wearing something practical. I’m wearing something that looks good. Something with color. And make-up. And I’m going to go online and check out some of those books Brett mentioned. I should add them to my library. Maybe I can’t have a sizzling relationship with someone like him, but I can read about it to my heart’s content.
Kayla thought about her bedside drawer filled with toys and lubricants and scented candles and the big mirror on the back of her bedroom door. Her face flushed, and she felt a sudden thrill running up her thighs, jolting her pussy. Her underpants were damp, and she sat up slowly, not wanting the moment to end. Sitting on the side of the bed, she looked at herself in the mirror. She raised the shirt of her light cotton pajamas and cupped her breast with one hand, stroked her flat stomach with the other. Slowly, she worked her hand into her pyjama bottoms and circled her fingers around her wet labia. Her hand on her breast pinched her nipple gently, then harder. Gripping her breast, digging her fingers into the soft flesh, Kayla worked her pussy with her other hand, beginning to grind her hips into the mattress.
Moaning slightly as she thought of Brett and Starr, how they must look together, naked, licking, biting, sucking; Starr’s black river of hair falling over Brett’s stomach as she bent over him, as she took his cock into her mouth. She imagined Brett lying back, his eyes closed, his tongue running over his full lips, moaning softly as he tangled his hands in Starr’s hair. Kayla could see Starr’s head moving over Brett’s dick, his hips moving with her. She imagined Starr moving one of her own hands down between her long, beautiful legs, circling her cunt, slipping her fingers into her juice. Kayla moaned and lay back on the bed, her hand moving faster, pulling her pajamas off until she was naked, then turning her head so she could watch herself as she touched her body, bit her lip and finally clenched her eyes shut as she came in shuddering gasps.
To be continued…
Read chapters one and two here: