Inspired by Sue Grafton’s alphabetical series.
Lieutenant Sean M. Tompkins carefully checked the address scribbled on the paper in his hand and looked up at the black numerals on the stucco wall. It was right. This was is. This was the place. He took a deep breath and wiped his hands on the clean pants of his uniform, checking for smudges. There were none. His pants were perfectly creased and the shoulders of his jacket perfectly blocked. His face was clean-shaven, his hazel eyes clear and his brows trimmed. In other words, he was perfect. He had to be perfect. He was going to meet her.
He pulled the outer door open and checked the buzzer panel, searching for her last name. There it is! He swallowed past the lump in his throat, rubbing his finger across the raised lettering. Sawyer. Apartment 3B. He depressed the button and waited.
“Who is it?” He was so startled to hear her voice that he couldn’t speak. “Who is it?”
“Uh, good afternoon, ma’am. My name is Sean Tompkins. I came to speak with Eliza Sawyer.”
“I don’t know any Sean Tompkins. Goodbye.”
The intercom went dead and he stared at it for a long moment. She had hung up!
No!
He rang the buzzer again, contemplating his words.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Sean Tompkins, ma’am, and before you hang up, please give me a minute.”
The tiny speaker buzzed with static and silence. “Clock’s ticking.”
“I know that I’m imposing on you, but I’ve come a long way to meet you. You see, I just got off a flight from Germany. I was in the Landstuhl Med Center there because I got shot in the line of duty.” He leaned on the cane, ignoring the bite of pain in his hip. “Anyway, they gave me an early release, honorable discharge, the whole works and now I’m here.”
More static. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“While I was in the hospital, I found one of your books and I fell in love with you. I had the nurses find more and now, I’ve read them all.”
“You must be mistaken. I’m not a writer.”
“It took me a long time and nearly a thousand dollars to find the information. But I know that you’re Rayvn Velvett.”
More silence and static from the intercom speaker. “You are mistaken … “
“Let me give you a description of me. I’m six foot one, 235 pounds, stocky and sturdy. I have hazel eyes, large hands and my dick is six inches, thick and long.”
He thought he heard a gasp from her side. “It can’t … you can’t … “
“I am.” He whispered, caressing the cold metal of the intercom’s protective grate. “I know you’ve been dreaming about me. Your books described me so perfectly that I can’t be wrong.”
“But … “
“And I’ve been dreaming about you, too.”
Her shields rose again. “Then what do I look like if you’ve been dreaming about me?”
“You’ve got the face of an angel. Brown eyes, black hair, soft lips. You love to be touched, to have a man’s hands caressing your skin and to be kissed on the nape of your neck.”
“You read that from the books. Goodbye, Mr. Tompkins.”
“WAIT!” He leaned close to the speaker again. “You have a large scar on the inside of your right thigh from a car accident and you always wear sweats to cover it. And you’re black. Not Ivory Coast dark. Milk chocolate dark. Comes from the mix of African and Cherokee in your blood.”
“How did you … “
“Please let me up. I’m not a crack pot. You know in your heart that I’m not.”
She hung up again. Sean’s shoulders sagged at the realization and he slumped against the wall. Could he have been mistaken? He knew he couldn’t be. He remembered the feeling in the pit of his stomach as he read that first novel. The subtle details that described him … there could be no mistake. He’d just have to figure out how to make her see …
The door release buzzer nearly startled him off his feet. He stumbled, yanked the door open and regained his balance, using the cane. He was grateful to see that there was an elevator just inside. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to navigate three flights of stairs. He wasn’t even supposed to be on the hip yet, grimacing as a spear of pain lanced through him. He thumbed the UP button and shuffled inside.
When the door opened, she was waiting in the hallway and even in mid-morning disarray, she took his breath away. Her toned upper body was encased in a pink A-shirt that clung to her slightly sagging breasts and accentuated her flat stomach. Sweats completed the outfit, soft and grey, with an amoeba-like bleach stain on the left knee. A black chopstick held her long hair in place and a blue pen jutted out, just above her right ear.
He limped over to her, trying to maintain his military bearing and held out the bouquet he’d brought for her. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Sean Tompkins.”
Sean saw the struggle in her eyes but she gave a shy half-smile. “Eliza Sawyer.” Her lips were soft and dark pink, in perfect contrast to the beauty of her skin. “Come on in.”
Sean stepped into her apartment, closing the door behind him and taking his hat off. It was tastefully decorated, but he had already known that it would be. The narrow entranceway held a populated coat rack with an errant umbrella or two and a gold-framed print of a Paul Collins print. It was Harriet Tubman’s Underground Railroad and the atmosphere of the piece drew him in like a magnet. He could almost feel the cold of the night surrounding the escaping slaves, the fear evinced in their expressive features, the hope in their hearts.
“That’s my favorite piece of his.” She moved close enough that he could smell her scent, a mix of fabric softener, chocolate and her natural musk. “I like their faces.”
“I do, too, especially hers.” He pointed to the woman who was leading the group of slaves, a shotgun in her hand. “She knows that their lives depend on her. That their survival is up to her.” He saw her turn towards him out of the corner of her eye. He wondered if he had said the wrong thing.
“You’re the first person that’s ever said that.” Eliza’s smile was brilliant. “Would you like to sit down? I was just going to have a little lunch. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, ma’am. Last time I ate was on the plane.”
“Will a grilled ham and cheese be okay? I haven’t been to the store today.”
“That would be perfect.”
“Great.”
