A Scarlet Ribbon

A Scarlet Ribbon-2899

         Friday night was coming up again, and the guys had another ‘happening’ after work at the Branding Iron Bar & Grill for him and the mostly single staff. It was a fairly regular occurrence, and provided a bit of distraction from the ‘death march’ deadlines that their IT staff faced on a daily basis. The ladies in their department had other plans on that night, as ten hour days cooped up with these nerds five to six days a week was long enough they said.

         Slipping into his cubicle, they made it a point to invite Blade as well, since he was considered their ‘good luck charm’ on those nights. What exactly did that mean? It meant that Blade, at six foot one inch tall, 190 pounds, 30 years old, and single, was the bait that brought young, nubile honeys to their table to tempt and beguile them.

         One thing never changed about these gatherings however; he always left alone, and long before the night came to its inevitable end. Blade was, as they knew, simply the ‘bait’. That was all right with him, as he was able to enjoy a couple of hours of social camaraderie with his workmates each week. He was also the manager of this particular group, and although he enjoyed their company in social settings as well as at work, he knew that at some time that night, one or more of them would be getting a little too deep into their cups, and THAT was the scene that he wanted; no, he needed, to avoid.

         Not that he wasn’t there if they needed him, but for the most part he kept a low profile. His success in business hadn’t come easily, as some suspected. In fact, he struggled through many of his required classes both in high school and college, his advancement and degrees obtained through sheer brute determination, and the assistance of a few very patient tutors.

         Not every tutor had the patience to drill through his dyslexia to a satisfactory conclusion, but once they did, they noted that his grasp of that concept, whatever it might be, was an indelible part of his personal memory banks. Only a couple of tutors followed him through college, and to those he owed his past, present and future loyalties.

         He managed his crew as he’d wished to be managed, and encouraged innovation and advancement amongst the group whenever possible. For that alone, he was admired and respected in the firm, but that wasn’t to say that he didn’t contribute in more financially economical ways. His customers loved him, as he presented a fiercely equitable stance between customer and company, ensuring that both parties were completely satisfied with their contractual agreements.

         It was understandable that his entire energy was caught up in dealing with the vagarities of his position, the push, the pull, even the duplicity of hidden agendas amongst his staff and customer relationships. He was determined to bring them to a common sense of goal, and once accomplished, he merely stayed alert to any obstacles that might come in their way, and removed them as quickly and as quietly as he could.

         This evening was a little different, as Blade felt more pressure on him to accept an invitation from the small bevy of young ladies that flocked around the consulting group. They seemed to be more ‘touchy-feely’ than previous Friday nights, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with that. As he surveyed the group of young women interacting with his staff, he tried to differentiate the ones who were always ‘hangers on’ from the ones who had newly joined out of curiosity, but as interesting as this exercise was, he couldn’t see anyone who would conceivably become a companion.

         Finally, giving his excuses for departing that evening, as was his custom, he bid his friends farewell until the following Monday, leaving them to sort out their various companions for the night amongst themselves.

         Stepping into the evening air, still displaying a bit of diffuse sunlight lingering on the sidewalk, Blade took in a deep breath and began to walk to where he’d left his car. No more than three steps later, his progress was halted by someone stepping in front of him, blocking his way. Short, squat, slightly balding, a middle-aged man wearing a suit nervously peered at him from a sweating face.

         “Mr. Jethro Bladen?” he queried.

         Blade examined the man carefully, but sensing no threat replied in the affirmative.

         The man wiped his face with a handkerchief and gave a sigh of relief, reached into his jacket pocket and handed Blade an envelope. Then wishing him a good night, disappeared down the street, leaving him standing on the sidewalk, wondering what had just happened.

         Sealed, the envelope only had one thing written on it, and that was his name; nothing else to identify its source or its purpose. He decided to wait until he returned home to explore this little mystery, along with checking out his more conventionally delivered mail.

         Sitting in his overstuffed chair, he picked up the enigmatic envelope, and after a cursory examination, slit it open with his pocketknife. An object dropped out of it into his lap, but there was still a single sheet of folded paper in the envelope. The object however, captured both his attention, and his memory in an iron-clad grip.

         Picking it up, he examined it closely, allowing the memories it represented to flood through his mind. A short piece of ribbon, scarlet, a bit frayed around the edges, but otherwise just as he remembered it nearly 9 years ago.

         Casey Stevens, he recalled—the mathematical prodigy that had ‘force-fed’ his progress in math through the last two years of his college—a scrawny, gangly, freckle-faced girl nearly four years his junior. Demonstrating a maturity and patience way beyond her years, she poked, prodded, cajoled and threatened him during their intensive lessons, ultimately propelling him into the prodigious Mathematics Contest, and the second place win.

         That ribbon had been a part of that award, and he’d removed it and given it to the one really responsible for his transformation, swearing that if she ever, EVER needed anything from him, to send it to him and he’d be there for her, wherever she might be.

         Sure that the sheet of paper held more information, he read the few words typed on it. ‘Meet me at the Ballroom at Jefferson Hotel on Saturday night at 7pm; dress for a party my HUSBAND, and don’t leave my side for any reason. It’s the Scalla, Inc. Company Ball. I’ll explain later. Your loving WIFE, Casey.  ’

         He chuckled to himself, thinking it must be some kind of joke; Husband indeed; loving Wife...? He DID owe her big time however, and still recalling the freckle faced young lady who had provided his mathematical lifeline in college, he made up his mind to play along with her little game just this once. He actually missed the time they’d spent together, and looked forward to meeting her again.

         Saturday was usually a sleep-in day and an opportunity to clean up his apartment, and this one was no different. What was different however, was the fact that he actually had plans for the evening, and once everything else was taken care of, he set about putting together his dress for the party. Long unused, he actually missed dressing up for a function once in a while, and made up his mind to make Casey proud that night.

         Arriving at the hotel ballroom a few minutes after 7pm, he discovered that Casey had apparently left his name at the entrance because after identifying himself to the greeter, he was allowed into the party area, and he was free to roam. He set about examining the ‘lay of the land’ for a few minutes, trying to see if he could spot Casey and join her at her table, assuming that she’d gotten there before him.

         It was a typical company party, and obvious that some of the participants had gotten a head start on the evening, being fairly deep into their cups and being a general nuisance to those around them. He hadn’t really managed to find Casey yet, but he did notice a bit of a disturbance on the very edge of the dance floor, where three fairly drunk men had surrounded what appeared to be a woman sitting alone at a table.

         Even from where he stood, he could see that she was trying to fend them off, but he could also see that none of the other participants at the party paid even the least bit of attention to her pleas. In fact, they seemed to be gravitating away from her table, leaving her to fight on her own.

         Now, Blade knew that he couldn’t allow that to happen, and even though he was here simply to be a companion to Casey, he wasn’t a physical fighter, but he began to walk across the dance floor towards the commotion.

         Stepping up to the table, he saw that one of the drunks had reached around lady’s shoulders from the back, and was trying to squeeze her breasts, while the other two kept her from using her hands to stop him. Her face was turned down towards her hands, trying to cover herself from the assault, and a thought came to Blade’s mind.

         Jessica Rabbit’s comment in that old animated film, “I’m not bad; I’m just drawn that way.” He was no fighter, but he sure as hell looked like one. Just then, the woman looked up at him, and he froze; it was Casey, a very much improved model, but Casey nonetheless. Fear was in her eyes, but as soon as she spotted him, she displayed a glimmer of hope.

         Using his brains instead of his strength, given that there appeared to be little support for her on the floor, he simply stepped into the group and pulled one of her ‘holders’ away far enough to reach her and said, “Ah, there you are my dear. I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I see that these gentlemen are keeping you entertained, but perhaps you should introduce your husband to your companions.”

         Watching all three of them fall away from her in confusion was encouraging, but the one mauling her breasts had a mean and evil look, and it seemed as though a mere husband wasn’t going to be enough to deter him from his goal, whatever that might have been. Blade’s goal was pretty straightforward however, and that was to reclaim his ‘wife.’

         Glaring at the one who’d been trying to maul Casey’s breasts, he said, “Unless you think tonight’s a good night to die, I’d suggest that you find your way away from us, and quick!” The other two had staggered back into the crowd, but this idiot looked as though he was ready to fight.

         As Casey composed herself and rose to stand by his side, Blade prepared himself for an assault, but suddenly a voice snapped out, “Rick! Get the fuck out of here! NOW!”

         Turning, Blade saw the sharp shadow of an elderly, white haired gentleman, his face twisted in disgust. He was leaning on a cane, but he exuded strength and power; Clifford Scalla, if he recalled the newspaper photos, patriarch of the Scalla corporation. A couple of middle-aged gentlemen bracketed him, but he was definitely running under his own power.

         “Ah’m terribly sorry, Mistah Stevens,…” he began, but Blade interrupted.

         “That’s Bladen, not Stevens… My wife has kept her own name and her own identity in her business. There’s only one thing that we don't share with anyone else; and that’s each other!”

         “Ah, yes of course, Mr. Bladen.” After looking at him for a few moments, he asked, “Might I ask if you are the Jethro Bladen of Devon Industries?”

         “Yes,” he replied. “Does that make any difference?”

         “In a way, I guess.” The old man said. “We are in the process of bidding for your company’s services, and I suspect that an unfortunate incident involving your wife might have put our proposal in jeopardy.”

         “Your suspicions would be correct, but I would like to find out how this unfortunate incident came about to begin with, as it might have some critical bearing on how my firm deals with yours from now on.”

         Blade half-heartedly listened to the usual platitudes offered by the old man about the bad habits of youngsters, hormones and such like, but his response when the diatribe finished was; “Why my wife? After she had rejected their advances, why had they continued to harass her?”

         Looking down, he was unable to answer for a few moments, but then assured Blade that the incident wouldn’t happen again, glaring at the two men accompanying him.

         Blade, holding Casey around the waist, noted that she was trembling, and on inspiration told the old man, “I believe you’ll have to agree with me when I say Casey has already had enough ‘entertainment’ for the evening, so if you’ll excuse us, I’m going to take my wife home.”

         Leaving the party, he led her to his car, after ensuring that hers was safely parked in the hotel garage. After she was seated, he closed his door and took in a deep breath. Looking across at her, he saw that she was still shaking, and asked her what she wanted to do now.

         “You told them that you were going to take your ‘wife’ home, JB,” she whispered, “our home.”

         ‘Probably in shock’, he thought, and decided that he’d take her back to his apartment to recuperate a bit, then return her to her own. On his way back, he had to admit that she certainly wasn’t a freckle-faced little girl anymore.

         Full figured and smoking hot, her face had morphed into classical beauty, freckles gone. That boor who mauled her at the party had apparently popped a couple of buttons from her blouse and he caught a glimpse of the top of her breasts, chiding himself because of the reaction stirring in his groin. This reaction was exacerbated by the sight of her thighs once her skirt had ridden up when she’d sat down. Yes, he thought, definitely all grown up.

         Once they’d arrived at his apartment, he watched as Casey did the typical ‘inspection tour’ so characteristic of women, noting everything and anything. Finally, she plopped down on his couch and looked up at him expectantly. Without saying a word, he removed his jacket and tie, and wandered into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of red wine and a small bowl of chocolate treats.

         Looking into her blue eyes, he raised his glass in a toast to their re-acquaintance, to which she solemnly responded. He then asked her how she’d managed to get in the situation she found herself that evening.

         “I’m not really an employee of Scalla,” she began. “I’m an independent contractor, and have been there only three months. Rick, that jerk you rescued me from this evening is the boss’s son, and has quite a reputation as a skirt chaser, and up until now, I managed to stay away from him.

         Lately however, he began to pay way too much attention to me, brushing up against me, trying to corner me in the offices, and making snarky sexual innuendoes around me. One of the friendlier gals in the office informed me that he’d made a substantial financial wager that he’d bed me sometime during their party night, and since most employees feared him because of his relationship to the owner, he felt confident that he’d win.”

         As she was talking, her hand slipped onto his thigh, and began a slow massage.

         “That’s when I contacted you, knowing that you worked in this city somewhere. With no time to find you, I hired a courier to track you down and deliver my message to you, hoping that he’d find you in time.”

         By now her other hand was sliding up his arm towards his chest, causing an awkward tightening in his groin, and a more visible expression of his appreciation of her touch. Her scent was beginning to make his head whirl, and unbidden, naughty thoughts began to invade his normal composure.

         “Casey, I…” he began, but she quickly placed her fingers on his lips, silencing him.

         “Shhh…” she replied. “No one but my husband has any right to this body. And tonight, I definitely heard you refer to me as your wife.” As she spoke, she’d rolled her hips over onto his, settling firmly on a very grateful erection, pressing her lips onto his, her tongue exploring his mouth.

         Breaking the kiss, Casey leaned back, picked up his hands and pressed them onto her breasts. Then, placing her hands on each side of his head she told him, “I lost track of you once, JB; I won’t make that mistake again.”

         The couch was christened that night; twice. The other rooms and various pieces of furniture were christened as the weekend progressed.

         Blade discovered that he’d been thoroughly snared and that Casey had decided to make an honest man of him, and you know what? He was perfectly all right with that. A few months later, he’d discover that married life agreed with him.

Prompt:Past Love

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