Author's note: In this chapter there are some elements of nonconsentual sex, but it all works out for the best and no one is hurt by it. Understand that the main characters are changing and their morals are shifting, too.
Please keep in mind that this is all a work of fiction. Incest, rape, stopping time- these are all figments of an overactive and feverish mind. They do not reflect Reality and I would NEVER suggest that anyone attempt any of these things in real life.
Your votes and comments are, as always, what keep me going. If you want more, TELL ME. Even suggestions for moving the story forward are welcome. Public comments, especially, are deeply appreciated. I hope all of you are enjoying this series and continue to enjoy what I can provide in the future. Just please remember to vote and comment!
-----------------------------------
As I walked into the dark Italian restaurant, dressed in blue jeans, a white button-down shirt and a pair of hiking boots, I felt like I was the luckiest and best-dressed man in town. The reason for this juxtaposition is the beautiful creature who was hanging from my arm, my daughter Kelly. Simply dressed as well in a cream-colored pleated dress that came down to her mid-thigh with an open back and simple sandals, Kelly looked positively radiant in her understated but self-confident way. When we stopped at the main entrance to survey the other clientelle in the restaurant, it was clear that Kelly was exuding some sort of mystical and non-verbal message to everyone there that, yes, she was most definitely with me. Her shoulders were back, her bountiful breasts showed lots of cleavage and her arm crooked into mine in a sort of possessive way. In truth, I felt like I was on top of the world. Indeed, there were lots of people there, the place being at about 3/4 of capacity and all of them much more nicely dressed, but not a one of them, male or female, could have felt as comfortable as we did at that moment. I guess you might say that the most important accessory either of us wore that evening was each other and clothing was a mere redundancy of social mores.
The hostess approached us within seconds with a slightly stiff air about her. She looked like she couldn't be much older than Kelly and might have disapproved that such an older man was out with such a young lady. "I'm sorry," the hostess told us, "but the wait for a table will be about forty minutes."
I took a better look around the place and saw that there were still plenty of tables available. I nodded to one in particular that was empty and asked, "What about that one?" As soon as the hostess turned to look at the table, I flipped Kelly and I into The Fold. Kelly looked at me quizzically as I went to the hostess station and quickly jotted down our last name in the reservation book, which I noted had only a few names written in it. In my earlier years I had taken a keen interest in art and could fairly well render just about anyone's signature. The penmanship in the book was easy to copy. I went back to Kelly's side, exactly where I had been before I flipped, and reinserted us into Normal Time.
The hostess, unaware of our second-long disappearing act, turned back at me with a disdainful look. "I'm sorry, sir," she replied, "but that table has been reserved."
I cocked an eyebrow and said, "Indeed? Perhaps it's reserved for us. I made a reservation this afternoon. The name's Baker."
The hostess' eyebrows knitted in slight confusion. "I'm sorry, sir, but we do not have a reservation under that name."
I smiled calmly, completely unperturbed. "Please indulge me and look again."
She rolled her eyes blatantly, went back to the book and gave it a cursory glance, "As I said, sir, there's no-" Then she stopped when she saw, in her own handwriting, my name staring back at her. "Uhm... what the... how could I have-? Well, Mister Baker, I guess you're right." She glanced up at me with an almost pained expression, her mind racing as it tried to reconcile how she could have missed seeing my name all night long. "Please give me a moment to, uh, prepare a table for you." I quickly got her attention before she could leave, produced a fifty-dollar bill and nodded towards a darkened corner of the restaurant where I wanted us to be seated. The hostess, being nobody's fool, snatched the fifty out of my hand and sped away to get a table ready for us.
Seconds after the hostess scurried away, Kelly leaned into my ear. "You, Dad, are an evil man."
I looked at my daughter with a blank expression, as though I had no idea what she was talking about, and said, "Only when I need to be."
The hostess came back quickly, two menus hugged close to her chest, and said, "Mister Baker? Would you and your wife please come with me?"
"My daughter and I," I corrected with a gentlemanly nod to Kelly, "would be pleased to."
"Oh, I'm sorry," the hostess said with a slight blush of embarrassment on her cheeks. "Please forgive me, then. My mistake. Uhm, right this way, please."
Moments later we were seated at a corner booth, somewhat removed from the other customers, and our drinks were on order. Kelly was all smiles when she said, "I was kinda hoping that you wouldn't correct her. When she called me your wife, I got a tingle down my spine."
I grinned ruefully at her. "I'm sure you did," I replied. "But I have a feeling that she would have disapproved."
"Who cares?" Kelly retorted saucily. "Her problem, not ours."
"You've never worked in a restaurant," I said evenly, "but I have, when I was about your age, actually. I worked as a bus-boy in a place not very different from this. The hostesses were all bitches and all of them took a sort of evil delight in passive-aggressive behavior. When they saw a couple they didn't like, they'd invariably give them a small table, instruct the waiters to make small mistakes or even be so bold as to spit in their drinks. A word to the wise, my dear: never piss off the host or hostess. Otherwise, your entire evening can quickly turn into a disaster."
Kelly's eyes sparkled with indignation. "It's terrible how some people can be so cruel for absolutely no reason," my daughter bristled. "I'd never do something like that to someone."
I shrugged. "Some people don't teach their kids good manners. Now excuse me for a moment while I enjoy a small amount of pride at having taught you so well." Kelly blushed slightly and her cheeks dimpled in a demure smile. "You know," I said happily, "you do look quite nice tonight."
Her blush deepened at the compliment and seemed to glow. "Thank you, Dad. You do, too. It's not the clothes, though. It's the happiness I see in your eyes. I don't think I've ever seen you so relaxed and comfortable." The hostess returned to our table and inobtrusively placed our drinks in front of us. I had a glass of wine while Kelly chose to have some iced tea. The hostess, I might add, didn't say a word to us and was gone almost as quickly as she'd arrived with our drinks.
I smiled wistfully at my daughter once I was sure that the hostess was well out of earshot and said, "Well, how could I not? I'm sitting in a four-star restaurant with the most beautiful girl in town."
At that precise moment, a reasonably attractive young woman came up to our table holding a small notepad and a pen. I glanced up at her and realized immediately that she was not one of the staff. "Exuse me," she said politely and addressing Kelly directly, "but... uhm... could I have your autograph?"
Kelly's eyebrows nearly shot off her head as she looked at me in surprise. Then she regarded the young lady. "I'm sorry, but I think you might have me confused with someone else."