Message-ID: <27075asstr$972702639@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: John3365a@aol.com X-Original-Message-ID: Subject: {ASSM} RP Fonda and Cat [20/23] {John A and Virago Blue} MF,MFF,FF, Rom, anal Date: Fri, 27 Oct 2000 23:10:40 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, apuleius, newsman <1st attachment, "F-POS~11.TXT" begin> This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons is unintentional and strictly coincidental. If you are below the age of 18, or 21 depending on your locality, stop reading right now. If your government prohibits erotic literature, stop reading now and delete this. If you choose to continue, that is your decision -- and your responsibility -- not mine. This is intended solely for adults, and any other rebroadcast, retransmission, and account of this game is strictly prohibited by the National Hockey League. Wait -- The NHL doesn't care -- we care. Any unauthorized redistribution of this is in violation of copyright. We authorize the reader to make one copy for reading purposes only. We expressly prohibit posting of this work on anyone's website, including but not limited to pay-sites, sites with advertising, and any type of site where a fee is charged. Any distribution without the authors' permission is strictly prohibited. DO NOT REPOST "Fonda and Cat" Copyright (C) 2000 by John3365A@aol.com (John A) and VBwrites@aol.com (Virago Blue) All rights reserved. --------------------------- If you liked it, send us a note. Thanks. Email us at John3365a@aol.com or VBwrites@aol.com Fonda and Cat by John A and Virago Blue Chapter 20 "One and two and tour jete . . . hold and plie," Trina counted out as she practiced backstage. The smell of rosin permeated the air and Trina breathed deeply, the familiar aroma reminding her of the days she spent as a child in ballet class - knobby kneed, wearing a tulle tu-tu and pink leather ballet shoes, the satin ribbons laced up her bony ankles. She fell in love with ballet back then and that love never went away. She smiled fondly at the memory. Those same feelings, only stronger, came to her when she thought about Fonda. "Is there a Trina Murphy back here?" Trina turned to the voice, frowning slightly. One of the other dancers pointed the delivery man in her direction. "There she is, the one in purple." The delivery man nodded and stepped past a few of the other dancers stretched out on the floor, making his way to Trina as she gaped in the corner. "For you, miss." With a flourish the elderly man presented her with a bouquet of pink sweetheart roses and white orchids. Trina accepted the bouquet, stunned. "There is a card, miss." He continued to stand before her until Trina realized she should tip him. "Um . . . hang on . . . " Trina skimmed her hands down her body-hugging leotard as if to accentuate the fact that she had no pockets and kept no cash on her at the moment. The delivery man cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah . . . just a sec." "Here." Mindy handed a wadded up dollar bill to Trina over her shoulder. "It's all I got right now." Trina smiled back to Mindy. "Thanks. I'll pay you back," Trina said, dismissing the delivery man with his tip. "Hey, don't bother. Just tell me what the card says so I can daydream about a romantic lover," Mindy giggled. "Since I'm not getting any, I may as well live vicariously through you." Trina smiled up at Mindy as she opened the card. "Oh, Mindy. It's from Fonda," Trina breathed as she read over the note. "Trina, only seven more days and you'll be back. I can't wait to see you again. I've missed you so much. Love, Fonda." Trina folded the note and put it back in the envelope. She tipped her head down to smell the roses, closing her eyes against the sudden misting of tears in her eyes. "I miss him so much. I never thought I would ever feel this way -- about anybody. I almost feel . . . homesick." Trina shrugged, unable to find the words she was looking for. "Wow, you've fallen hard, haven't ya?" Mindy asked, putting her arm around Trina's shoulders. "Seven more days, like he said. It'll go by fast. Wait and see." Trina looked over at Mindy. She plucked one of the small pink roses from the bouquet and tucked it into Mindy's hair. "There. Thanks for being my friend, for making this time a little easier." The two women embraced warmly before Trina ran to put the roses with her things and they both resumed the rehearsal. Forty five minutes later, the rehearsal finally finished much to Trina's relief. Mme. Renault had gathered several dancers together, forcing them to go through the same steps again and again, but fortunately for Trina, she wasn't one of them. She grabbed a bottle of orange juice from a refrigerator backstage before rushing off to her dressing room to fish out Fonda's cell phone. Her fingers punched automatically at the numbers, the physical memory of the act already ingrained within her digits. "Hello," a masculine voice answered. "Oh, I love them Fonda. They're so pretty. Thank you," Trina gushed, looking at the roses in the pitcher she was using as a makeshift vase. "I'm glad you got them," Fonda said, smiling. "I wasn't sure if they'd be able to deliver them to the rehearsal hall. The last time we talked I wasn't certain if I'd gotten the address correct. How are things going?" "Great. Mme. Renault has been using me to demonstrate steps at times. God, I can't believe how much of a career break this has been," she gushed then diverted the attention away from herself. "Enough about me, how are you feeling? How's the PT going?" "I'm doing much better every day. Like I told you, the wheelchair is gone and I'm able to get around with a cane. And hopefully that will be gone in a month or so." "That's great. How's your little physical therapist? Kayla or Karen whatever." "You mean, Kimberly," he corrected. "Yeah, her," Trina said with a hint of jealousy in her voice. "Kimberly is wonderful," he said innocently, not picking up the envy in Trina's voice. "We've been making good progress. Next week, when we see each other, I'll be almost as good as new." Trina smiled. "You better be. I have plans for you when I get back." Trina's heart thumped in her chest, nervousness creeping up from her toes. Tell him you love him, she pleaded with herself. Tell him. Her fears and insecurities took control of her, however, and she couldn't bring herself to utter the words she wanted to. What if he didn't love her? Trina was confused and scared and frightened all rolled up into one. "Speaking of when you get back, did I tell you that mother, dad, and Stavros will be joining me there opening night? And then, we'll all go out to celebrate your debut on Broadway." "Really?" Trina squealed, washing aside her doubts for the moment. "That's so awesome. I'm so excited that you're going to be there. I just hope we don't suck." He chuckled. "You'll be magnificent. I can't wait to see you," Fonda said and Trina smiled until she heard a voice on Fonda's end of the phone connection. A distinctly female voice. Trina's fears and doubts came crashing back on her. It certainly wasn't the voice of Mrs. D; her voice was deeper -- older sounding -- than the voice on the other end of the line. Trina worked up paranoid scenario after paranoid scenario in her mind, barely hearing Fonda's words. "Trina, are you still there?" he asked. "Oh Fonda, sorry. There's . . . there's a lot of . . . stage hands moving around here. I couldn't hear what you were saying," she lied, sitting in the empty dressing room that she shared with Mindy. "Well, you must be busy. Everything we have to say to each other we can say after the show next Friday. I can't wait to see you." Fonda paused and took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I'm looking forward to being with you again, Cat, I really miss you." "Oh, I gotta go, Fonda. Soon, okay?" Trina disconnected the call, unsure of how to interpret his last words. Could he possibly love her or is he only interested in the sex? He could have been just being nice -- polite. But he wanted to be there for opening night, to see *her*. And who was the little bitch in the background? Maybe it was *Kimberly*, taking care of his *business*, she thought acidicly. Trina lay her head on the back of the chair and closed her eyes trying to sift through all of the thoughts colliding in her mind. She loved Fonda, only of that was she certain. He might love her, his actions sometimes spoke of deeper feelings, but she'd heard those words before and had always been disappointed. Why would he be any different? But why the flowers . . . and opening night, too? Surely he wouldn't string her along like that, would he? Maybe he was still upset for what she said to him. Maybe he blamed her for the accident and this was his measure of revenge. If only she could be with him, she'd know for sure. She could tell his true feelings if *she* was there with him, instead of the little nurse bitch. He had seemed so sweet, but Trina always expected the worst from people, always expected her feelings to be trampled over; it was why she built such a tough outer shell. A shell, she thought ruefully, that she allowed Fonda to enter only now to realize that it may have been the wrong decision. She threw on her clothes over her leotard, ignoring the shower until she returned to the sanctity of her hotel room, opting instead for a walk in a nearby park, hoping to make sense of all of her thoughts. The next seven days passed uneventfully. Trina's -- and, indeed, the whole ballet company's -- performances had been flawless and were rewarded with standing ovations and curtain calls each night. Trina relaxed a bit, but her paranoia refused to allow her to call Fonda for the entire week and she made a point of keeping the cell phone turned off, unless she had to make a call. *** Fonda stepped back from the floor length mirror. He checked his reflection carefully, smoothing back his jet black hair. When he had tried his tuxedo on a few days ago, he was thoroughly displeased with the way it hung loosely on his frame, since losing about fifteen pounds after the accident. Stavros had driven Fonda into Manhattan and brought him to Barney's, where he purchased a black Armani suit to wear at Trina's Broadway debut and was now looking at that tuxedo in the mirror. "Woo hoo, not bad at all," Kimberly whistled from the doorway. Fonda asked that she stay after his therapy session, so she could give him her opinion on the new suit. Fonda looked back at her reflection in the mirror. "You think so? Not too much?" "No way," she shook her head, a brow arched flirtatiously. "In fact, if she doesn't flip out, give me a call and I will." A little embarrassed, Fonda chuckled before turning to face her. "Kimberly . . . " "No, don't say it. I'm a shameless flirt. I know," Kimberly stepped forward, adjusting the black bow tie on Fonda's new suit, "you're just very irresistible, Mr. Daskalakis." "Thank you," Fonda blushed. "I'll say it again. That Trina is a lucky girl. I'll have to meet her sometime." Fonda gave her a chaste hug, smelling the slight fragrance in her hair, before pulling away. His thoughts briefly returned to the threesome with Trina and Margie, but now in his mind's eye, Margie was replaced by Kimberly. He ushered those thoughts out of his mind as quickly as they entered; the fiasco with Margie had almost ended his relationship with Trina and he couldn't risk doing anything like that again. "Trina is very special, very different. You would like her. But this," Fonda reached into one of the shopping bags at his feet, "I want to give you. For all the work and time you have spent here, even if you were a little mean at times." Kimberly frowned, taking the box from Fonda. "You really shouldn't have but I'll take it anyway," she grinned, carefully opening the box. "Oh, Fonda . . . " Kimberly exclaimed, lifting the delicate Lladro figurine from the box, "it's beautiful. Thank you." "I thought you might like it," Fonda said. More bags littered the floor around his bed. Kimberly looked at the bags in amusement. "We really spent some money, didn't we? You never told me what was in 'that' bag," Kimberly said, pointing to a small blue bag from Tiffany's. "No, I didn't. It's a surprise. I don't want anyone to know about it yet." Kimberly nodded, wondering what Fonda was hiding. "I understand. Hey, what time did you say your brother was going to be here to pick you up?" Fonda glanced at his wristwatch. "Any minute now, my parents went into the city early to have dinner and we're going to meet them at the theater. . . . but knowing Stavros' sense of punctuality, I could be waiting until tomorrow." He caught a look in Kimberly's blue eyes, one of interest and maybe a little excitement. He smiled. "Let's get you out of my bedroom, Stavros would tease you unmercifully." "You think? I mean, is he seeing anyone?" She nervously bit her lip. "You're interested in Stavros?" "He's very nice and . . . yeah, maybe I am." Kimberly smiled widely. Fonda chuckled, "He will be very happy to hear it." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Just that Stavros has also expressed the same interest in you, but don't tell him I told you so. He's actually quit shy." "I don't believe that for a moment," Kimberly laughed, blushing slightly. They both turned as Stavros stormed up the stairs toward Fonda's room. "You two can laugh at a time like this? Looks like rain and the traffic will be hellish if we don't leave twenty minutes ago . . . . What?" "Where are your manners, Stav?" Stavros frowned. He rubbed at his furrowed brow, running a hand through his sleek hair. "Of course, Fonda, you're right. Kimberly, how are you doing this evening?" Stavros approached the woman, towering over her tiny frame and reached for her hand. He smiled salaciously, a half-smile curving his lips as he brought the back of her hand to his mouth. He kissed it softly. Kimberly blushed again. "F . . . fine, Stavros," she stammered nervously, looking up into his dark eyes. "You look almost as handsome as Fonda this evening," Kimberly added, grinning up at the handsome Greek. Stavros feigned a look of pain, slapping his free hand over his heart, "Oh, Kimberly, surely you only say that because you have a soft spot for my brother and he just happens to be leering at you behind your back." Stavros grinned wickedly at Fonda before looking back at Kimberly. "But I'll forgive you if you will only agree to have dinner with me tomorrow night." "Well . . . " "You hesitate? I'm doubly hurt," Stavros said as the three of them began walking downstairs. Fonda laughed to himself as he saw how smooth and casual his younger brother could talk to any woman. Still, he thought, it didn't matter. Fonda had the woman of his dreams, and that's all that he concerned himself with. "Pick me up at 8:00 p.m. and I'll try and make it up to you then," Kimberly smiled coyly at Stavros. "You guys have a great evening." Kimberly turned her attention to Stavros's brother, "And Fonda, thanks again and I really hope you have a wonderful evening with Trina." Kimberly kissed Fonda on the cheek before turning back to Stavros and grazing his forearm with her fingertips. "Can't wait until tomorrow, Stav." Kimberly grabbed her bag and beamed at the two brothers before picking up her keys off of a table and bustling from the house, leaving the two men to gawk after her. Fonda was the first to clear his throat. He approached his brother and raised his good hand in the air. "Yes!" The brothers high-fived. *** "Oh my God, I don't even believe this is happening," Trina squealed nervously. She paced the highway shoulder with the other dancers, clutching her backpack. "We can't miss the show, we just can't." She was near hysterics, as were most of them, especially the two stars, who were already apoplectic that they had to travel from Philadelphia to New York in a bus and not in a plane, or at the very least, a separately chauffeured limousine. The bus from Philadelphia, crippled and steaming, spat and wheezed on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike, broken down in the middle of the meadowlands, a mere ten minutes from exit 16E that would lead to the Holland Tunnel and into midtown Manhattan. The hired driver had started pulling their luggage from the bus twenty minutes earlier, laying the hodge-podge of suitcases and trunks neatly next to each other in the grass on the highway's shoulder. "Ohhhh," Trina gnawed on a fingernail, looking up and down at the whizzing of cars and truck passing them. "How much longer to curtain?" "Two hours, fifteen minutes," one of the male dancers replied. "Oh, shit. We'll never make it in time. Oh my God . . . " "Ladies and gentlemen," Mme. Renault spoke up above the highway din. "Please gather your things from the bus. I have arranged for another bus to pick us up and take us into the city. The service has promised me that he will arrive in no more than thirty minutes. When the bus arrives, please thank the driver profusely and then proceed to applying your stage makeup during the ride into town." Mme. Renault paused before adding, "And it wouldn't be a bad idea to say a prayer or two that the traffic in the tunnel doesn't hold us up." The dancers reboarded the bus to gather the remainder of their belongings, all grumbling, their emotions vacillating between anger and helplessness. Trina felt like crying but knew if Mme. Renault saw that she would scold her further. She knew that she couldn't take the pressure or the embarrassment right now. This just seemed like everything else in her life: when things start looking bright, the big black cloud dumps a storm on her head. Mere hours from her Broadway debut and it looked as if yet another dream was going to be dashed, at least temporarily, she thought, wallowing in self-pity. She handed Mindy her makeup case from the seat next to hers and gathered her own. "It'll be okay, Trina. Don't worry. We'll get there. Besides, what bus driver would want to piss off Mme. Renault?" The two women shared a laugh as they disembarked from the bus. continued in chapter 21 -------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright (C) 2000 John3365A@aol.com (John A) and VBwrites@aol.com (Virago Blue) All rights reserved. --------------- Visit our story sites and with twelve visits get a free hummel figurine* http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/JohnA/www/ http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ViragoBlue/www/ *while supplies last. Offer not valid in Vermont, Latvia, the Northwest Territories, Jutland, and where prohibited by law. <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+