being a Cherub is a tough job...but someone's gotta do it.
From the Desk of Minus Three
Welcome back. If you’ve read Vice (1) then you know that this is a different sort of tale than Welt was; some will be happy about that, some will be indifferent. Back into the light for a bit though, yeah? Those that crave wrath and hellfire will get their fill in the closing part of the series, Pyre. In answer to a question I was sent; Cassidy has two daughters, that wasn’t a mistake. Jasmine, the one Samael mentions in (1) is too young to be involved in chicanery of a Cherubic nature.
And now another note on music; it’s so central to what I do not just because I love it and it effects everything I do, but also because it is an integral part of an “angel’s” life. They can hear the Choir constantly…which is why Cherubs always seem to be grooving to some internal rhythm. Samael and Serielle have very different perceptions of the Choir than, say, Aliona, and as such those who are interested (as mentioned before this is far from necessary) this is a good snapshot of how the Choir sounds to them. They hear that sexy bump and grind in every thought and action of those around them;
I’ll probably post a link or two like this at the beginning of every chapter, but as always ignore them at your leisure. We’ve all got our runnin’s, after all.
Get Some Lovin’. You Want Some? Get Some…
“Oh, well that sucks,” I said to Kendra, bid my farewell, and shrugged as I hung up.
Samael had left. Either that or he told her to tell me he wasn’t there. I knew I’d made him uncomfortable when I saw him at her condo; no one expects to run into an angel as part of their daily routine, not even other angels. I had to admit to myself that seeing him sitting there on her couch I’d felt a bit star struck. Even when I was young a few hundred years ago all the young Cherubs talked about was him and his exploits. Everyone wanted to be like him because he’d seemed to have the most fun. Not like Aliona, always serving up wrath. Sometimes wrath was part of the job, but she had a monopoly on it and so the rest of us were free to move about with the mortals and spread a little love around. Thinking about wrath made me think of what had happened in LA recently, and thinking about LA made me think about Cassidy Swanson. That inevitably led me to go back to thinking about Becca, her daughter, riding in my car next to me.
Interestingly enough, Becca was thinking about Becca as well. She was small for her age, she barely looked a day over 15 on her 18th birthday. She had her hands in her lap and licked her lips thoughtfully from time to time, stealing a glance over at me. She was thinking about her mother as well, about how she wanted desperately for her mother to approve of her and that was the only reason she was going along with this in the first place. A string of unfulfilled hopes and desires about how she thought their relationship should be ran through her head and I frowned slightly. This wasn’t any good at all. Too repressed, too shy, too quiet, to submissive. Not good at all; young women should feel strong, not like servants or employees.
“So tell me something I don’t know Becca,” I said to her, peaking at her out of the corner of my eye and winking when she turned to face me. She blushed and smiled. The wink always got them; thank the Choir for that wink.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly, “what do you want to know?”
“What do you do when you aren’t trying to please your mother?” I asked her. My tone was syrup. It was saccharine. It was sticky and wet; it was sex.
“How did you know that I…” she started.
“It’s all over your face. It was plain when I picked you up. I used to care what my parents thought about me, too.” I explained.
“Sara, right?” she asked. I nodded, turning on the stereo. House. Sexy, sugary house; but not too loud. I bobbed my head and tapped my hand on the steering wheel as she continued. “Sara, I don’t want to sound rude or anything; but my mother drives me crazy.”
“Tell me how,” I prompted. I felt her thoughts loosen up and saw her visibly relax back into the passenger seat.
“All she cares about is image. All she talks about is her career and all the things that a woman needs to do to be seen as powerful and impressive by other people. I don’t care though, about any of that. I just want to do my own thing and not worry about all that crap.”
“What’s ‘your own thing’, Becca?” I asked her.
“I don’t even know!” she said, frustrated. “Everything is her thing. Etiquette, the private school, speech lessons, the gym. It’s all her. Like she wants me to do exactly what she did so that I turn out exactly like her.”
There might be a chance to wiggle in here. I could probably find out far more about my target, Cassidy Swanson, from her daughter Becca than I ever could from her. When we were together she was strict and commanding and told me exactly what to do. That control was all she loved as far as I could tell and that hardly seemed like something I could help her with. She was already plenty good at being controlling. I gave my head a shake and put my attention back on Becca next to me. “You’re nothing like her. Not yet, anyways.”
“Good! I don’t want to be like her. She’s so…uptight.”
“So if you could be anywhere right now, doing anything with anyone, what would that look like?” I asked.
“I don’t even know, Sara. I’m only here because she insisted I start ‘being a woman’. I didn’t know ‘being a woman’ meant being with a woman, though.”
“It doesn’t have to,” I said smiling, “but it could. A woman does what a woman wants. When I was your age all I wanted to do was swim.”
“Swim? Really?” she asked, wrinkling her cute little freckled nose at me. “Wait…‘when you were my age’? You don’t look that much older than me.”
“There’s no beaches where I come from. And looks can be deceiving, Becca.” She was right though; I'd found it useful to have a vessel that looked too young for the things I do. For centuries I'd looked not a day over 16.
“No beaches. That sucks,” she told me, shifting in the seat so she wouldn’t have to turn her head to look at me. “How did you get into…this line of work? I’m sorry, that was probably rude”
“Not at all, not at all.” I smiled at her and flashed my eyes. She relaxed even more. “I’m not really shy about much.”
She bit her tongue between her teeth and grinned shyly again. “Must be nice. Are we still going to your place?”
“If you want to,” I answered. She nodded so I turned at the next lights. “So Becca wishes she wasn’t shy. Is that it? No higher goal?”
“Now you sound like my mother, going on about higher goals and all of that.” She looked and felt disappointed. She thought a fast chain of thoughts; school, appearance, more school, appearance, career, poise, respect.
“That’s not what I meant by ‘higher goals’, Becca,” I explained to her playfully. “I meant more ‘higher self’ goals. The things you could do if you had everything and could anything you wanted. You still didn’t answer that question, you know.”
“I know. I guess I was dodging it. The way my mother tells it, the higher self is your credit rating. It’s your standing in the community.”
“But for Becca…” I prompted.
“For me, I’d be happy just to live and be happy. I don’t think I know how to do that though,” she laughed, at ease once more. “They don’t teach you that in private school.”
“You have an imagination though,” I said, “so picture it. What does Happy Becca look like?”
She struggled with it in her mind. A quick flow of mental images went through her; Corporate Becca, News Becca, Lonely Becca, Wife Becca. None of them fit and she frowned a bit in concentration. She really had no idea whatsoever. “Try this then,” I said. “Stop thinking about what you look like and think about how you feel.”
“I feel alone,” she said quietly. Great, I’d gone around back to square one. I had gotten used to people who at least thought they knew what they wanted. I wasn’t ever really good at this sort of Cherubing. I was good with the repressed, not the oppressed.
“Okay then,” I said, searching for the right thing to say. “You’re not alone right now though, I’m here and for the next three hours the world is your oyster. Cover it with hot sauce and slurp it down.”
She smiled when I said that and a scandalous mental image or two passed through her mind as she repeated the word ‘slurp’ to herself a few times. A wet kiss, a sensation between her legs, the clutch of a lover. It was her imagination though, not her memory. It was as good a place to start as any; most mortals started here because physical pleasure was one thing they knew they all wanted. It was one thing they could all agree upon. Once they got lost in it their minds were free to do what they wanted and all sorts of things that made them feel the same way started to bubble to the surface. Underneath Starched Becca was Wet Becca. Underneath Buttoned Down Becca was Horny Becca. There was no sharp focus to the image though; no faces to go with the feelings.
“Have you ever had a boyfriend Becca?” I asked her slyly, sneaking another wink at her. She blushed again.
“No, I haven’t. I told you, that’s the reason that my mother stuck me with you today.”
“’Stuck with me’?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry,” she rushed out, “That must have sounded mean. I just mean…it’s not like this was on my wish list for my birthday.”
“And what was?” I asked.
“I didn’t have one. My mother loves lists but I hate them. They’re like a straight line from her to the end. I don’t like lists, they take away choices.”
I smiled huge and happy, laughing loudly. I liked her already. Lists were a straight line past choice and into self servitude. I didn’t like lists either. “So Slave Becca wants to be Free Becca.”
“I guess you could say that,” she said as we pulled into the parking lot of the little compound of condos by the beach I called home. She looked out the window towards to surf with a wistful look on her face and I heard her thinking about lying in the sun and taking her top off to feel the hot rays kiss her soft skin.
As I parked I looked at her and put my hand on her leg, making her jump a little at the unfamiliar touch. “Freedom is a good first step, Becca. But once you have it…you have to do something with it.”
“Well, I’m not really free right now. My mother set this all up, didn’t she?”
She was right. This was no good at all. “You know what? It’s on me. I won’t accept the money into my account. This is just us hanging out. What should we do?”
She was surprised, then happy, then nervous. “Lay in the sun?”
“Lay in the sun,” I said as I got out and gestured for her to follow me.
We went up the outside stairs and to my door. I undid the straps on my high heeled shoes and took them off, wiggling my toes to stretch them out. I didn’t actually like those shoes but there was a certain image to uphold with certain clients. As she walked slowly around the living room, looking at this knick knack or that, I wiggled out of my tight green dress and let it fall to the floor at my feet. Becca turned around and her eyes and mouth went wide as she blushed at my naked body.
“Sorry, I don’t have any of that shyness we were talking about,” I told her with a smile as I went to my room down the hall.
I could hear her thinking about my breasts, small and pert. She was still dwelling on the image of my hairless mound and my gently curved hips. She thought about my red ringlets and the way they hung down to the top of my tight and tiny little ass as I’d turned and walked away from her. She tried to repress the things she felt, tried to stop herself from repressing them, and then scolded herself for the whole thing and gave up. My body came back to her mind and she sat on the couch. I put on a white thong bikini, the top barely covering my breasts and the bottom leaving nothing to the imagination, and came back into the living room.
“Are you going to lay in the sun in your school uniform?” I asked, winking.
She blushed again, deeper this time, and put her hand on her face. She was thinking about being almost naked in close proximity to me and the warm sensation between her legs returned. I smiled at her and quickly raised and lowered my eyebrow.
“I guess not,” she said timidly.
“Well, go on then,” I smiled, gesturing towards her.
Becca stood up and put her hands to her shirt, undoing the top button. She was scared, thinking about how this maybe wasn’t appropriate; stripping her clothes off in front of an escort in her living room. She slowly undid another button, wondering if she looked sexy or just foolish. She wanted so badly for me to like her, to think of her as she had been thinking of me. I smiled and looked at her appreciatively as she reached the last button and untucked the white shirt from her grey skirt. Her stomach was flat and toned and as she tensed up nervously I could see every muscle of her midriff outlined under her fine skin.
“Mmmmm,” I leaned against the edge of the wall by the large glass patio door and twirled a ringlet around my finger.
She thought to herself about how proud she was that I seemed to like the look of her. She lsipped the starched and pressed shirt off her shoulders and it fell to the couch. Becca took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. Her breasts were small but round and her little white bra held them up perfectly, the slight line of her cleavage looked to me like a fine work of art, traced delicately in clay by a master sculptor. I flashed my eyes at her again as she unzipped the back of her skirt and slowly, softly, worked it over one slightly rounded hip and then the other. Her panties were plain white cotton, small and clinging. She was scared again; nervous and shy at being so revealing in front of me. She thought about how many things I had probably seen and done with clients and I was surprised to find her thoughts trail through shy and into jealous. Jealous? I looked deeper as she took off her little saddle shoes and lace topped socks and stood straight in front of me again. She wasn’t jealous of what I did; she was jealous of how naturally I accepted all of this as normal.
“What could be more natural and normal than two beautiful girls in the sun together?” I asked her, and she relaxed almost instantly. I loved doing that; taking a surface thought and commenting on it. Mortals loved it too; they all wanted to feel normal and accepted and, well, that’s what we were here for. I pushed the French doors that led to the patio open and the long white sheers billowed in softly with the breeze.
“Go on, Becca,” I said. “I’ll be right out.”
She went outside and I went into the bathroom for the oil. I passed through the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses. Outside on the large square of concrete above the beach were two long chairs; she had lowered herself into one of them and sat self consciously with her knees pulled up to her chest. It was always like this to start with and I had forgotten. I was so used to people who wanted to throw off the bindings they placed on themselves with reckless abandon once given the chance. This was more delicate, slower and more lingering. I’d actually missed this, and a wide smile spread across my face. It relaxed her again, and she stretched her legs out and leaned back.
“I can’t drink wine,” she said.
“Oh? Why not? Isn’t it your birthday?” I asked as I set the bottle, the glasses, and the oil down on the little table between the chairs.
“I’m 18 today, not 21,” she said. I could hear it in her head though, she wanted this. She was starting to feel the freedom to make her own choices and she liked it.
“Oh, whatever,” I laughed. I was going to go on to say ‘surely you’ve snuck a drink here and there’, but it was clear from the terrain in her mind that she hadn’t. She was terrified what would happen if her mother found out. I’d never known Cassidy to drink in the time she’d been one of my clients. I poured a glass of the sweet white for myself and left the bottle next to the other empty glass. “You decide.”
Becca looked at the glass, looked at me while I sipped mine, and then poured half a glass for herself with a shy smile. She tested its flavor with a small delicate sip and then smiled.
“Is it always like this?” she asked. “So relaxed and laid back? I’d always pictured…what you do…as being a little different.”
“You mean is it usually fast sex in a hotel room?” The image flashed through her mind of me on my hands and knees while some anonymous man fucked me like a cheap tramp on the bed. “No, not usually. My clients don’t come to me for that. Yes, most want sex though of some kind; so no, it’s not usually like this. You’re not a client, remember? We’re just two girls in the sun on a hot day.”
The image left her mind and she smiled at me. Now that she was shrugging off her shell I could see more of Becca That Could Be and less of Becca That Was and I liked it.
“I don’t really know how I’m so comfortable around you. I don’t usually like strangers,” she said, sipping the wine again.
“We’re not strangers anymore, Becca.” I put my glass down and lay flat on my back with one knee cocked upwards to the sky. “Just enjoy your birthday.”
She thought about people from school and how none of them were really her friends. She wished she had one. She wished she could feel like this all the time.
“You could feel like this all the time if you wanted to,” I said quietly, putting my sunglasses on; in part to block the bright sun but also to block my eyes from her. I wanted this part to go naturally, smoothly, slowly, and at her will not mine. the eyes could get in the way of that. They were a good icebreaker, but I’d never really liked overusing them. It felt like cheating somehow. Taking advantage.
For a long time we didn’t say anything. Becca eventually rolled over on to her stomach and lowered the chair flat so the sun could caress her toned back. She was truly a lovely little thing, her curves were formed perfectly and her ass was rounded just a bit past girlishness. As the sun bore down upon her she started thinking about how much she didn’t like sun burns and I slowly rolled out of my chair and kneeled beside hers. I filled my hand with oil from the bottle and she thought about what I was likely doing, not opening her eyes but hearing me pop the cap and recognizing the sound.
“This might not help with a burn, but it might help with something else,” I whispered by her ear as I rubbed the oil between my palms and placed them on the small of her back.
She moaned softly as I rubbed my hands up her back, spreading the oil over her taut skin. She wished I could rub her whole back like that and so I gently undid her bra and pushed it softly to the sides. I traced every contour and surface of her back and shoulders, rubbing the oil in as she moaned and moved slightly under my touch. She was tense; her thoughts told me she was calm and so this must just be how she walked around all the time. That was no good at all. I pushed in with my fingertips now and then, trying to work the tension from her little body.
“Oh Sara,” she said softly. “That feels sooo good.”
“Mhm,” I breathed, moving both my hands to wrap around her leg and push my fingers into her athletic thigh.
Soon she was covered from the nape of her neck to the tips of her toes in fruity smelling oil and I had worked her muscles into softness. Becca’s thoughts had turned from peaceful relaxation to slightly simmering bliss. She was thinking about her ass and how she wished that maybe I’d touch it. I slid one of my hands wetly up the back of her slippery thigh and under her panties to rub my palm over the right side of her ass. She let out another soft moan and I slid my left underneath to do the same. She lifted her hips a bit and I turned my hands over to grab her panties and slide them down over her legs. She let me pull them off of her and as I took them over her tiny feet she lifted her upper body on her elbows and slid her bra from underneath her, letting it fall beside the chair she was lying on.
As my hands slid back up Becca’s oily thighs I let my thumbs trace along their inner sides so that I supped her ass in both hands and softly put my thumbs against her tiny slit. She moaned again, deeper this time. I massaged her ass while my thumbs rubbed gently against her and I could feel her pussy quivering under my touch. A reckless thought of passion flashed through her mind, fast and sudden, and she rolled over onto her back and moved her knees apart just slightly. Her eyes were still closed and she thought about me touching her deeper. I took the oil and poured more into my hands, rubbing them together to warm it. I slid one hand across her stomach and up to her breasts, rubbing the oil in as my left did the same on her legs. She was hoping for more so I gave it to her.
I pressed the flat of my left middle finger on her soft young pussy and rubbed it up and down while I continued massaging and caressing her slippery breasts with my other hand. She opened her mouth and sighed in a sharp breath when my finger pushed between her wet lips and stroked upwards from her opening to her little clit. Becca put her feet apart on the leaned back chair and her knees slowly fell wide apart to the sides. She was thinking about the times she had lain in bed frantically touching herself like this and how much better it felt to just relax and have someone else do it. I smiled in pride at a job well done and leaned my mouth to her small, round breasts and flicked at her nipple with my tongue while I slowly slid my finger up inside her. She put her hand on the back of my head and pulled my mouth harder against her, her other hand went to her pussy and her finger joined mine inside of her tight little opening. Softly and gently I pleasured Becca while she lost herself in nothing; her thoughts had gone blank and she had surrendered to the experience.
She arched her back and the straightened it over and over again with the rhythm of our fingers moving in and out of her tender young pussy. She was tight and small, but wet and lost. As she started working her hips faster I could feel her soft muscles inside tightening and loosening around our fingers and she moved hers up to rub her clit in tight little circles. She cried out softly, shyly, and new wetness joined the oil I’d rubbed into her slit and she came, her whole body going rigid and then limp. Her feet slipped off the chair to the patio floor and her arms hung downwards at her sides and she panted deeply. I lifted my mouth from her breast and she looked at me with half shut eyes and a slack look to her mouth. Her hand was still on the back of my head, her fingers had twined in my ringlets as she came, and she used it to guide my mouth up to hers. Becca kissed me softly on the lips several times and I licked at them slowly with my tongue.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ve never felt anything like that before.”
I leaned back from her and looked at her face, calm with the bliss of the touch of a lover. Her little frown had been replaced with a lazy smile and as she opened her eyes to look into mine I flashed them at her and winked. I couldn’t help myself; she was already over the edge anyways. She wondered what this all meant and then a little grey cloud of concern passed through her mind. Was I just working? Had I seduced her somehow? Was this all part of her mother’s plan?
I put my hand softly on top of her smooth and oily mound and kissed her lips again as I massaged her smooth skin under my fingers. She took in a sharp breath and her eyes went wide.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered, kissing her again. “This is just me and you. Becca and Sara. This is real. We’re friends now, right?”
“Mhm,” she moaned. She sincerely hoped so; I could hear it in her, desperate and clinging.
I put my mouth back on hers and our tongues twisted against each other. She felt relieved, clean, whole, pure. A thought passed through her; she wondered what else I could show her. I thought back to her earlier comment about her first time being with a man, felt a momentary regret that Samael hadn’t been at Kendra’s place, and then leaned back from her kiss knowing what I could do in the absence of his big cock and potent reputation.
“Come with me inside,” I said seductively, “There’s no clock, remember? We have all day, new friend.”
Becca followed my, her little hand in mine, and I took her to lie on the couch. She sat back with her knees apart, one foot on the floor and the other pulled up next to her ass and her right fingers tracing little lines in the oil around her inner thighs and her pussy. I went to the bedroom and into the drawer beside my bed; I selected one of my toys that wasn’t too big and wasn’t too small and went back to slide up beside her on the couch. She opened her eyes at my arrival and looked to the rubber cock in my hand, a head at each end and a grip in the middle.
“Oh my,” she said, her eyes going wide again. Her mind was a map of trepidation, uncertainty, and nerves; but it was also awash with desire and curiosity. Her breathing quickened and her young body tensed.
“Shhh,” I comforted her.
I moved in front of her and slowly guided her left leg over the arm of the couch, leaving her right foot on the soft carpet. I put my left leg over her right thigh and my right between her legs, kneeling in front of her, and sucked the toy into my mouth to get it wet. I lowered it between us and rubbed it forward and back, the twin heads touching both our pussies at the same time. I pushed one end into me slowly and she looked down in anticipation as I used my hips and my hand in its middle to slide it against her opening, readying her for what was to come. She was more than a little scared.
“I’m a little scared,” she whispered, looking up at me nervously. “I’ve never…”
“I know. Don’t be scared,” I said softly, putting the palm of my left hand on her right cheek as I started to slide it into her pussy. “Just trust me, Becca. I’ll be gentle.”
She licked her lips and nodded and I slid closer to her as the cock pushed into us both; slowly and softly, only an inch at a time.
“Thank you,” she whispered again, and then let out a cry and grabbed my ass with both of her hands.
Then the phone rang. I flicked a quick glance at it on the side table by the couch, intending to ignore it. Sam Samuels? What kind of fake ass name was that? Then it hit me; it was Samael. I could feel it somehow. I grinned a huge grin and to Becca’s surprise and slight dismay I pulled away from her gently and then answered it. When I was off I put my hand on her face and spoke.
“Don’t worry, Becca,” I crooned. “We’ll get back to that soon enough. This is going to be better, trust me.”
There’s really nothing not to like about being a Cherub.
You Are the Sweetest Disease To Me, Get On Your Knees and Pray With Me…
Sometimes I didn’t really like being a Cherub. The line between justified use of resonance and abuse of power was a thin one and I’d always had a problem knowing where exactly it was. Until now that is. Until Cassidy Swanson. Until her damned hips and lips and tits and power. I was tempted to reach through the phone and wrap some love around her and make her go out with me. I felt a little stupid and a lot like a child. Like I had just come from the crèche and didn’t even know how to use my wings yet. Like a school boy on one side of the room at a dance, looking at a girl he was besotted with on the other.
“You can just drop it off at the station,” she snapped at me, “I don’t let people know where I live.”
I wanted to tell her I already knew where she lived and that I could be there in less than five minutes. I could be there in any way she wanted me to be. Was she blind? Women found me irresistible; I’d been built that way on purpose. Was she deaf? I knew exactly the right things to say; I’d been trained for a century to say them at the right time. There wasn’t one thing other than power and control that Cassidy Swanson loved, and I saw where it would take her as easily as most people could see the end of the street from the corner. Was she just plain mean? I’d hear her malice towards me if she was in front of me and I could look into her eyes.
“That seems a little impersonal,” I said, as much warmth as I could muster in my tone. “I’d rather meet up with you somewhere. Anywhere you like.”
“What I’d like is to not be on the phone with you right now. What I’d like is to go back to eating dinner with my daughter and then go to the gym.”
“Jasmine could go to a friend’s house. Or you could bring her along. I just want to get this scarf back to you,” I tried again.
“Be that as it may, I’m not comfortable with…wait, how do you know my daughter’s name?” her tone turned hard and cold.
Shit; I’d bollocksed it up. Too eager, too confident, too careless. How was I going to explain that? I quickly rifled through my brain for a small human lie. “You mentioned her on the news one time. I’m a big fan. Of you, not her. I mean…of your show is what I mean.”
“You’re a creep is what I think. Good bye. Please don’t’ call again or I’ll report you to the police.” She hung up on me.
Damn. Fucking damn it all. Now what?
Cassidy had two daughters. The other I’d never seen because she ignored her even more than the younger one. I toyed with the idea of finding her somewhere and trying this from a totally different angle and then shook the thought from my head. That was young and clumsy; something like that never ended well; I’d tried it in the past and it only jangled the whole scene. I thought and thought and thought and nothing came to me. Then, it hit me.
Cassidy Swanson liked women.
That was the only possible explanation. Not even a Cherub could get through that. Mortals were wired to like what they liked and there was no way around it. I put my elbow on my knee and my hand on my forehead. I could only think of one way to get deeper into this and feel I’d made a difference. Damn. Fucking damn it all. I opened my phone and called Kendra to get ‘Sara’s’ number. Serielle was a dangerous commodity; young and clumsy. What choice did I have left though? She gave me the number and I dialed it. It rang and rang but she finally answered it, sounding out of breath and lusty when she did.
“I’ve been trying to reach you!” she chimed, her voice like the tinkle of china; or maybe it was the sound of little chains, binding me into something I might not be able to spin the way I wanted. “You should come over, got a pen?”
I took down her address and hailed a cab. I thought to myself that maybe I should get a car, but I had limited resources here in LA. I drove to the address she gave me and when she let me in, wrapped only in a mostly see through white sarong of some kind, I saw a smaller and younger version of Cassidy Swanson sitting cross legged her couch with a look of curious anticipation on her young face. She was wearing a small white silk robe that didn’t even cover her thighs and slipped off one shoulder, a glass of wine in her hand and a lazy smile on her face. Her eyes lit up when she looked at me. This was spinning out of control faster than I thought possible.
“Sam!” Serielle exclaimed brightly, gesturing to the girl on the couch. “I want you to meet my friend Becca…”
“What are you doing?” I sighed, shaking my head at ‘Sara’ and putting my fingers on my forehead.
“Bring people together. What else would I be doing, silly?”