The ride back to Scott’s place seemed to be taking longer than usual. She was grateful the security guys were up front with the driver so they could have some privacy. Cricket knew she had pushed the envelope by making him wait for her to eat her pie, especially after his comments about gaining some weight. 

Once again, Cricket ignored her anger, stuffing it in some heart closet. Smiling to herself, she pictured body slamming the door to shut it. Spring cleaning was going to have to wait, again.

The weird part was she always blamed herself for not making Scott happy. She felt guilty for sticking up for herself and then, guilty at the outcome, meaning when Scott didn’t like it. Now, she was at the other side of the pendulum, trying to make time by flirting outrageously with him, using sex to make things better.

Good God, she thought, as she nibbled his ear lobe, boys have always had their Mamas kissing their boo-boos to make it better. Whether they were hurt or didn’t get their way, mom was always there with “Oh sweetie, it’s going to be all right,” kiss, kiss, kiss.  And then they grow up, and their girlfriends and wives are doing the same thing, kissing their boo-boos. When is someone going to kiss my hurts to make it better?  I’d just be happy if some guy asked me my opinion and listened, really listened to what i had to say, or told me they appreciated some little thing I did.

Whatever Cricket was doing, Scott was really liking it. “Baby, slow down. We’re almost there.”
The ‘almost there’ was a building in downtown Los Angeles that he had bought during the economic downturn. He had turned it into loft spaces for ‘the rich only’ and had kept the top three floors for himself. Being a bachelor, he didn’t want the suburban estate in Beverly Hills, Malibu, or wherever else the Hollywood crowd called home. Besides, being a security junkie, he felt he could control his environment better in a building, than over an estate with acreage that could be film fodder for all the paparazzi.

Scott’s home, if you could call a penthouse that, was amazing. It wasn’t so much the decorating, which was impressive, but the creative genius that opened up the space in ways that made you forget you were on top of a building. Actually, there was close to one hundred thousand square feet of usable space. Cricket had been invited to many rich and famous estates around the world, but she thought Scott’s was the most unique and different.

For starters, Scott liked to run, so the architect incorporated a running path throughout the structure, many times going behind walls, wrapping around balconies, siding along the stairs, and catching the perimeter of the roof.  He could run one mile and not repeat the path.  There were also different environments that Scott could control, like the desert run, where the path could be turned to a treadmill and he could bring the temperature up for a good sweat, or the mountain climb, where the path went up and down between the floors, and he could lower the temp to very cold conditions.

Guests were always in awe of the beautiful aviary that floated between floors. It was constructed to keep the chirping and squawking of the birds to a minimum, plus allow he and his guests to admire the zoo-like variety, up close and personal. Scott had thought Cricket silly because she had named many of the birds to go with their funny personalities and colors.

Of course he had the usual home theater, gym, basketball, and golf centers, but Scott’s creative genius pushed his architect into overdrive. His restaurant style kitchen, could cook and serve up to a hundred guests, faced a huge aquarium window, that made the Los Angeles skyline surreal, as the fish floated in and around the view of the famous Hollywood sign on the hill.

Since the architect had envisioned the space, not as three floors and a roof, but as a living concept, the separation between the floors had been demolished. Cricket knew that the Greco-Roman pool area, with museum quality statues and mosaics, rivaled Hearst castle. And Disney would have loved the skyscape, which could be manipulated to be either inside, outside, or both.

Scott’s home farm furnished organic fruit and vegetables. There was a state of the art water filtration system which not only supplied him with glacier pure drinking water, but irrigated the plants as well. All this, plus recycling most of the used water back into the system for environmental friendly standards.
 
They had entered the parking structure, through an entrance that was private and somewhat Machiavellian. The first gate was manned by one of his personal security guards who did a voice id of the driver. The second gate was a series of tire forks that came up and down from the garage floor,and were activated by sensors in Scott’s limo. No one was going in or out in a vehicle and as far as sneaking in physically, there were heat and tissue sensors that activated alarms.

When Scott first communicated this information to Cricket, she had laughed and told him he had to be kidding. She even told him “I think playing James Bond has messed with your mind.”  He didn’t think that was funny. For that matter, he didn’t think much of what she said was humorous. Good God, why were they hanging out? On the one hand, her hands were all over him, on the other, her thoughts were drifting about his radically cool home, which at the moment, she realized she liked more than him.

This is insane. Making love, make that lust, with a man, and your thinking about his possessions. She caught shame trying to sneak out of the closet, and yelled back ”Don’t you dare..get back in there.” while at the same time her conscience was timidly trying to make a few points. Cricket redoubled her efforts to shout down these mind voices that were definitely trying to crash the party, but not before she found herself mumbling some really revealing questions.

“Did you know that I like classical music? That Ferti Grofe’s Grand Canyon Suite is some of the best meditational music? That I wanted to be a meteorologist if singing didn’t work out?  That I collect old record album covers at flea markets, not E-Bay, so I can connect with the collector’s.” Her voice trailed off as Scott just looked at her like she had gone mad, which, she had to admit, she had.

The were alone in his elevator now, after dropping his staff off on their floor. Scott continued to stare at her. When he finally spoke, it was with a mixture of anger and incredulity. “All the way home it’s been ‘Oh, Scott. Yes Scott. Does this feel good, Scott?’ And now you’re telling me that you wanted to be a damn weather girl? I mean my hand is up your dress, I’m trying get your panties off, and your talking nonsense. I don’t think so,”  as he pushed her up against the elevator wall with a possessive, ‘shut up and stop thinking, ’kind of kiss.

Which she did. And went to that place where she could let her body take over. A place of mindless wonder, of sensation and touch, of drugging hormones that negotiated a mine field of past experiences, most good, some bad. A place where her soul drifted up and around two bodies twisting in ageless rhythm, but never really engaged. 

Love was the soul’s territory, the heart of the matter, and how could Cricket trust someone else, when she couldn’t trust herself.

Funny, I put love and trust together, she drowsily thought, as she let sleep claim her in Scott’s massive, heavily carved, pedestal bed.

And woke up with Scott still asleep, a pounding heart, and regrets the size of Texas. She slipped out of bed, quietly wrapping one of the sheets around her body as she picked up her bra and panties, and went to stand by the aquarium window. 

Cricket laid her forehead against the cool of the glass, trying to sort out what the hell was going on.

“I just can’t do this anymore,” she told the bullnosed fish that had slowly swam over. His Betty Davis eyes showed a purely imagined compassion, but darn if they didn’t trigger the tears swelling in Crickets eyes.

“Oh fish, what am I going to do?”

Scott groggily sat up, rubbing his hands over his face.
“You’re talking to the fish now?”

Damn, why did he have to wake up now, wildly thinking she didn’t have the answers yet. 
“Go back to be sleep. Everything’s Ok.” Liar! she added to herself.

“No, everything is not Ok, but it will be when you get back in bed” Scott ground out.

“I’m not ready yet,” rising hysteria lending an edge to Cricket’s voice. “Can’t we talk? Can’t you understand I need to talk about us? Can’t you just hold me?” she said, stringing the questions along in a cry of desperation.

“Us is over here in bed. And, Yeah, Baby I’ll hold you. You know I’m good at that,” replied Scott walking over to carry her back to bed.

“No!” she nearly shouted, stopping Scott midway. “No more sex until I get this figured out.”

“But that’s what you’re good at, with me. Nothing else matters. You belong to me now.” Scott finished the distance between them and started running his hands up and down her arms. “Come on, Baby Girl, make Daddy happy.”

Cricket stilled at his words, letting his reality meet hers. And nothing fit.

“Stop that,” she said, pulling out of his arms and giving herself some space between them.

“You’re not listening to me,” she spit out, over the edge in rage and anger at his unwillingness to talk. Clenching her hands at her sides, she bent into her words that were falling out of her like waves over a sand castle.

“Get this. I don’t belong to anyone. I’m especially not yours to drag in and out of bed, enjoying all my goodies, with no consequences. I’m not a dessert to be ordered up when you want something sweet. And I’m definitely not your candybar, to be unwrapped, savored for the time it takes to eat one, and then tossed aside to wait for you to get hungry all over again. And I’m sick and tired of trying to figure out if you want peanuts, nougat, or caramel. A little bit of me goes into the garbage every time you throw out the wrapper and I can’t handle it anymore.  I’m through.”

Cricket staggered back with the enormity of her words, and breathlessly wandered around the room looking for her clothes. Grabbing her dress, she threw it on, letting the zipper stay open, and shoved one of her feet into one of her shoes she found tangled in the blankets. She hobbled up and down, around the room, looking and muttering about stupid lost shoes that have to be somewhere.

Exasperated, she yelled at herself to forget it. She knew her purse was on the sofa, and would get it on the way out. Two beautiful words, way out.

Scott stood there like one of his stupid statues, unable to grasp what just happened. Shaking his head, he told her “you are one crazy bitch.”

She was at the elevator, punching in the security code, while she answered him.

 “You know, I’ll give you that. Actually, I don’t care what you think of me. Whether I’m nuts, insane, a brick short, possessed, a blond bimbo, or an alien, nothing matters except, I’m not,” here Cricket paused, getting into the elevator and waiting for the doors to close, “I’m not your Candybar.”