Chapter 7

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      October 17, 1962,

     Chicago, Illinois.


With one hand I was hugging the edge of my fur coat to my chest. In the other one, I was carrying something that from outside looked like a female case of black color with golden trim and peculiar little pattern on top. My pace was confident and measured. My heartbeat was stable. The clink of my heels by the marble floor of the hotel echoed through the foyer.

Click...Click...Click...Click...Click...Click...

When I reached the reception area, my footsteps got muffled and mixed with the noise of the bell-boys that passed me by to the elevator pushing the carts full of suitcases. Right behind them followed an old couple. The gentlemen greeted me by lifting his hat and giving me the nod. The lady next to him smiled at me and snuggled closer to her husband. My lips stretched in a polite grin and wishing 'good evening' I headed straight for the doors.

The doorman saw me approaching and swiftly moving let me out. Then he walked me to the taxicab that was waiting for me, and as he pulled the car door open, I stuffed a dollar bill into his hand and wordlessly slipped into the salon. The car set into motion and my fists clenched into semi-fists. My thoughts went chaotic again.

This was my twenty-third trip. In a way I liked it. I knew that this was just a half an hour ordeal, and the cleanest job there is. To be a particular kind of courier never crossed my mind when I entered the office of Tyr Palus for the first time. But I had no doubt that whatever I delivered was something of great importance.

My paycheck was way bigger than of a standard mailman. After only four months of work, I could afford to buy my own apartment if I wanted to. That's how big it was. Though the best part of this job was my travel opportunities and the fact that I needed to show up in the office only by request. There was no need for me to go there every day.

Each place I was sent to located in different cities. It was always a big city. Never a small town and my staying never lasted more than one night. Actually, it was rather easy. All I needed was to be on time and act by instruction. And instruction stated that I didn't need to know what kind of package I carried through the country. I just knew that it was nothing illegal. That's all.

The taxi parked right in front of the restaurant I named. A valet pulled the door open for me and unhurriedly I stepped outside using a hand of the same valet for support. The guy smiled at me, but instead of smiling back, I tipped him and in the same casual pace continued strolling. My mind was set on the mission and the mission only.

A man in a tux greeted me upfront. His eyes scanned me up and down making sure I was a client worth receiving, and when I named myself he bowed plastering a pleasant smile and asked me to follow him. I was expected.

I slipped my coat off giving it to a buzz boy and started making my way to the hall to the table. The attendant once paused a waiter to give us the clear path, and when we reached the table, he smiled again and pulled a chair for me to sit.

My face stayed emotionless, I gave him the nod and focused my attention on the man who immediately stood up and nervously swallowed. His outlook was typical, I'd say even pleasant. His suit was not very expensive but neat and well ironed. Judging by his face, he was in his late thirties or early forties. His eyes seemed frightened and at the same time excited as if I brought him hope in that little case of mine.

"Miss Miranda Richardson?" He asked unsurely.

"Yes, Mr. Jackson," I extended my arm expecting him to shake my hand.

He nodded and gave my hand a gentle squeeze after what we took our seats and for a minute stayed silent staring at each other. His eyes were on me, but his thoughts someplace else. I broke the moment when cleared my throat and placed the case in the middle. The man blinked realizing something and immediately grabbed the case. His breath hiked, and eyes widened.

"So, all of it is in this little thing?" he asked me breathlessly.

I shrugged my shoulders and stretched my lips a little. "I'm just a courier, Mr. Jackson. I have no knowledge of the business you have with Mr. Palus. But I hope that whatever you discussed with him is in there."

"You don't know?" He asked me flickering his gaze between my face and the case.

"I'm afraid not," I shook my head negatively. "My job is just to deliver this case to you

"I have a wife and three kids," he suddenly said and sat back in his chair. His eyes started burning with fury. "I'm a good father and a good husband. I want the best for them." He grabbed the case and fluently stood up dropping the chair as he rose. "I..." he gasped. "Have a good night."

I shrugged my shoulders and followed him with my gaze watching him marching away. My job was done.

A waiter brought the menus and when noticed that I was by myself his eyes widened. "The gentlemen ordered our finest champagne, Miss. Shell I still keep the order."

"No, thank you." I tsked feeling my stomach grumble. "However, I would like..." I opened the menu and scanned the dinner part. " I would like some pork chops and a cup of lobster bisque as an appetizer." I gave the menu back.

"Right away, Miss."

While I was waiting for my food, my thoughts jumped from the client to Dwight. He asked me to be a Godmother to his daughter and honestly I loved the idea. To all I still stood as his fiancée and to keep our scheme running, he gave me his grandmother's ring.

I glanced at my fingers noticing the way the diamond sparkled in a yellow light and smiled. This time, my smile was sincere. I grew to love Dwight's little girl and his wife; I couldn't help but love them. Everything else seemed distant to me. Even Odette somehow slipped away and became just one of my many friends. Partially it was my fault. I kept pushing her away by helping Dwight in his problems. But when I look and him and Georgia, my sorrows melt away.

"Miss Miranda Richardson?" A voice interrupted my meditation.

"Hm?" I looked up meeting a face of an older man. My new name still sounded sour to my ear. I decided that there was no need to involve Jenkins last name into my job and after looking for an appropriate, suitable alias, I came up with Miranda Richardson. That was not overly exposed and definitely seemed real, rather if I'd name myself something like Annabelle Johnson or else.

"Are you Miss Miranda Richardson?"

"Yes, that's me," I answered grinning.

"There's a phone call for you," he explained.

"Oh?" I blinked and immediately rose to my feet. "Thank you."

"Please, follow me," he bowed slightly and started leading me to the bar.

As I arrived at the bar counter, I was given a receiver by the bar attendant. Trying to look confident, I murmured thank you and brought the receiver to my ear. Using my business voice I greeted the person on the other line, however inside my heart started drumming.

"Miranda Richardson speaking."

"Stacy Ann," a dark, penetrating tone of Mr. Palus sent my heart into a full gallop.

"Oh, Good evening, Mr. Palus," I replied my lips slightly stretching.

This man was something else. He held over me a definite influence. I could say that I was slightly affected by him and who wouldn't. His entire persona was wrapped into a thick attractively mysterious exterior that I couldn't help but wish to know and be around.

Of course, our relationship was strictly professional. Even if he would show some interest on my part, I don't think I would accept his advances. He was almost a decade older, and frankly speaking, he never showed that interest to even start thinking those thoughts.

"How is your evening going? Are you finished with Mr. Jackson?"

"Oh, yes. He's already left. I'm just having dinner by myself."

"Excellent, excellent. Was he a lot of troubles?"

"Not at all, he just took the case and left right away. He didn't ask me any questions related to your deal," I said dismissing the fact that Mr. Jackson tried to ask me certain things and even shared his family status.

"Wonderful, wonderful," he pronounced evidently pleased. "I'm just calling to inform you that Mrs. Jenkins kindly sent me a dinner invitation for the next Saturday. I'm jubilant that your family extended the invitation to me in honor of your engagement. Congratulations, by the way."

"Oh, thank you," I replied in a fake gleeful voice. "My mother is known for her dinner parties. I'm glad that you can finally meet them."

"Of course. And for now enjoy your dinner, Stacy. Don't worry about money. I got it covered." And saying that he hung up.

By now my heart was racing pumping blood to my head. Sheila took my job extravaganza categorically. Until General Sullivan told her that it would be a great experience for an exemplary young lady like myself to work, she refused to listen to a word about it not mentioning letting me out of the house.

When I returned to my table, I found an ice bucket with opened bottle and a glass filled with champagne waiting for me. A grin involuntarily found its way on my face. Tyr Palus was full of surprises. It was impossible not to enjoy the attention he showed me tonight. Calmly, I sat down and took a glass bringing it to my lips. A cocky smirk switched my smile, and I savored the flavor of this finest champagne. Life was good.




October 26, 1962. Jenkins residence.

Mr. Palus stepped inside the house, and I instantly knew that he liked what he saw. What he saw was a pair of crystal blue eyes, a carefully fixed hairdo, a pleasant smile and perfectly manicured nails of Sheila Jenkins's little hand. His lips touched her knuckles, and when he straightened up, I also knew that she liked him as well.

"Mrs. Jenkins, such a pleasure," his soft deep voice reached her ears, and my mother giggled.

"Mr. Palus, how charming! Such an honor," she purred.

"Tyr, please. I can't let such a beautiful woman call me Mr. Palus," he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it again.

"Stacy Ann," he swayed to me and reached for my hand gently bringing it to his face. "You look lovely," a touch of his lips sent chills by my skin.

I forced a smile looking straight into his eyes. My emotions were uncertain. On one hand, I rejoiced seeing him here and on the other, it felt uncomfortable, as if I've been robbed of something private. His eyes twinkled mischievously when our gazes met, but when his attention switched to Dwight, who stood right behind me, something in his eyes switched as well, turning from welcoming to cold and distant. Dwight's hands stiffened my shoulders and knowing him, I guessed that he felt the same resentment. I wondered why thought?

Later after dinner when I went to walk Dwight and his parents back to the car we stayed slightly behind. Dwight hugged my shoulders and leaned closer to my ear.

"I don't know, CeCe. I really don't like that boss of yours. There's something about him that I find unsettling," Dwight muttered whispered.

"He is quite mysterious, isn't he?" I nodded.

"I know that it is not of my business, but I worry about you as a friend."

"Don't worry. It's just your nerves. You have too much going on right now," I reassured patting his hand.

"Yeah, maybe you are right," he smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow." He pulled me and kissed me on my cheek. "We need to talk about the wedding and Grace's baptizing."

"I'll find a way to prolong it. Just stay put for now. By the way, I bought a present for my goddaughter. Georgia will be ecstatic, she'll love it."

"You shouldn't have, but thank you," Dwight grinned.

"There," I gestured him to leave while holding an angry grimace. "That child will be spoilt rotten. I'll make sure of that."

"Just be careful."



Meanwhile...

I watched Stacy waving goodbye to her fiancé. I knew that she was from a good family. The way she held herself was evident of her specific upbringing. But I didn't know that she was from a family of a prime sort. No wonder money and fortune looked so unappealing to her. She grew up bathing in galore, and there was no lure of wealth for her.

Her eyes were warmly gazing upon Dwight. There was no lust in them or even a sparkle of want, the way they looked at each other reminded me siblings, but definitely not lovers. Dwight. Thinking about that light worker brought the bitter taste to my mouth. I reached for my handkerchief and wiped my fingers before touching my chin with my hands. The filth of human God Follower twisted my stomach with loathing. The way his light spread everywhere only made me wish to separate him from her. Stacy was a human and quite a cute little thing. But she was useless. The only thing she brought me was a ticket to her cute little social circle. And once I get what I need, she'll be of no particular application.

Snip. Snip.

However... Sheila Jenkins had something that I've been looking for a really long time. Poor Thomas had no idea that without her he'd forever stayed a pathetic third-degree politician with no serious future and a wasted fortune. Sheila was my new project and to get Sheila I needed to keep Stacy at my hand reach.

Stacy, Stacy, Stacy. A lamb in a herd of sheep. Why can't you be a lioness like your mother? I would gladly exchange, but...

"Mrs. Jenkins, what a lovely evening," I smiled my charming smile and placed my hand on her back leading her into the house. Hello, hello, Dolly.    

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