The Rolls and the Pipe Ch. 06

This is, obviously, Chapter 6 of my novella,The Rolls and the Pipe. For those who are just tuning in, Kaiser Mattanthas is a highly successful academic (who looks like a Viking crossed with a blonde teddy bear), and Paige de'Lephaunt is a feature writer for a Chicago newspaper (petite-ish, slender with a fabulous mane of chestnut curls).

In the spirit of the upcoming St. Valentine's day, I thought I'd change the classification of this entire story line fromNovels and Novellas toRomance, improving upon the relationship between Paige and Kaiser. This story involves some celebrities (primarily to act as a hook to show just how far Kaiser's influence runs), and I extend apologies to them if they (or anyone else) finds the use of their image offensive.

I hope that people will start voting more often on my stories – the responses I've had have been extremely favorable: the last two episodes have kept an even 5/5. Note that I do not vote on my own stories... The feedback is strictly that of the readers. Thank you!

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(PS> This might get a bit steamy, but, as usual, I don't know where my creative juices will flow. No one under the age of 18 please!!! If you are underage, I might get literary on your asses! You've never seen a writer angry before... Pray you never have to! *lol* As with all my stories, the copyright is my own. I haven't bothered to mention it before, but I recently found that Ch. 1 had been plagiarized on another site. DON'T USE MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.)

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Paige's Perspective

I woke up the next morning to a blast of loud music and the sound of a hair drier.

I rolled over in bed and opened my eyes – I stared at an unfamiliar ceiling and sat up startled as I realized where I was.

"Kaiser?" I called.

"Yo," he said, waddling out of the en-suite with a brush in one hand and a blow drier in the other. "Sleep well?"

"Uhm..." I stammered as I realized what he was doing. "You dry your hair?"

"'Course. Mum bought me this thing eight years ago, and I've never been one to waste a gift. Besides, with as much hair as I've got, I smell like a wet dog for hours until it dries. Anyway – you didn't answer my question. Do you feel alright?"

"Did my apartment really get trashed?" I asked, fearing the answer. Kaiser sighed and put down the drier. He came over and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah. Just about everything was either burnt or water damaged. Glass was shattered. We got your clothes, I arranged your insurance, and I told you that you were staying here until this blew over."

"I thought so." I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged myself. He reached over and touched my hand.

"Hey. It won't be too bad, at least, I hope not!" he joked. "But I really have to fly – I told you last night that I had to lecture today. I still do."

He squeezed my hand and stood up, wandering over to his dresser and disappearing into the bathroom again. A few minutes later, he came sauntering out and started puttering about in the kitchen. He was whistling "Dixie Land" as he threw a couple of eggs into the fry pan. I got out of bed and got my housecoat on. I dashed across to my room, showered quickly, and got out just as he was putting on his coat.

"Your breakfast is on the stove," he said. "Rummage through the 'fridge and cupboards for anything else you need." He groaned as he bent over to tie his boots. "Jayline will be here around two to clean up – she's the maid – and I have a few guests coming over for supper and a nightcap around seven. If you get bored, use the red phone in my room to call for a ride. Marc will send someone by; He knows to expect your call." He threw his thick work jacket on over his shoulders and rushed out the door, closing it with a bang. I stood in the hall in bewilderment for a moment then headed back to the den.

A slight click caused me to turn around – Kaiser's head was half-visible around the door. "Do you know what day it is today?" he asked before closing it again.

I wasn't sure why, but a shudder found its way up and down my spine at the tone of his voice.

The cats were wandering around aimlessly as Siamese often do. Machiavelli alternated between the edge of the fireplace and the piano in the corner. Little Cleo stuck to my ankles like glue.. I soon found myself watching them in fascination, watching their tawny fur change colour as they breathed. Cleo jumped onto the breakfast bar as I ate, staring at me in a slightly cross eyed manner as she personally inspected every bite of ham and cheese omelet that passed my lips. Mac was murmuring to himself in the den, and every so often I'd hear him hit a piece of furniture. The first couple of times I heard it, I was startled into dashing into the hall, looking for an intruder. It turned out to be the cat running face first into a bookshelf as he traced a small moving spot on the floor. Soon it stopped bothering me, and by the time I finished eating and stuffed the dirties into the dishwasher, I had begun laughing at his antics. Little Cleo tagged at my heels as I went into the bathroom.

She critiqued my technique as I finished the aborted masturbation of the previous night and tried eating my hair as I dried it.

I kept to my room most of the day, getting up only to meet the maid at the door. She was accompanied by two average-sized men who introduced themselves as Harold and Eugine. They would be the guys who would be watching to make sure I was safe. I shook their hands, told them that I might need them later in the day, and shooed them out the door.

I lay on the bed, reading over my insurance policy, the list of damages, and the bank statements that Kaiser had written up for me. He had managed to secure over two hundred grand in damages, and then doubled it with his own cash. With the money I had in the bank and various investments, I had nearly $800 000.

Kaiser had left a letter for me in the file. It basically stated that I would not be allowed to access my money in any way. He'd cancelled my credit cards and had placed a temporary hold on my drivers' license. He said that this would prevent the crime syndicate from tracing my movements. I was not to drive anywhere (and with my license essentially withdrawn, I couldn't anyway), and I was to have an escort at all times. Anything I wanted would be paid for by an independent account. Kaiser had removed all of my freedom in a single deft move.

I cuddled with the cats in my room for a long time, trying to come to grips with what was happening: I had gone to interview him (and had ended up being interviewed myself); I had been exposed to danger through my acquaintance with him, and I was now essentially his prisoner. I was in a very comfortable prison, but a prison none-the-less. And what the hell was I supposed to think of last night!

I had gone into his room unbidden and begged for him to hold me. Kaiser did not take advantage of me at all – I had cried on his shoulder for hours, and he just let me cry. I think he fell asleep, but at no time did he ever loosen his hold on my shoulders. I had fallen asleep with him spooning into my back. Any other man would have had an erection, but he was calm and controlled. I didn't know whether to scream in frustration or to thank him for his sanctity. I mulled things around for a long time until I fell asleep.

I woke up in the early evening – it was only about thirty minutes later, but I felt like I had slept for days. I walked out into the main living area to find a note on the table. "Paige," it read,"I came home and saw you sleeping. I thought I'd let you sleep a while longer. I'm in a bit of a rush, but have you figured out what day it is yet? I'll see you tonight. Remember to call Marc if you need anything. /K". I looked up and saw a calendar on the counter. One of the days halfway through the month was circled. February the fourteenth.Valentine's Day, I thought. Saturday.No wonder yesterday was awful. I hate Friday the thirteenth. My first boyfriend had dumped me on a Friday the 13^th – just twenty minutes after he took my virginity so harshly that I was treated with vaginal tearing. My father had found out he had cancer on a February 13^th, and I had been threatened with expulsion from college on a Fri. 13^th.

And now my apartment, my cat, my fish and everything I owned had been destroyed on that same day.

How was he going to make this better?

Kaiser's Perspective

This was the first morning I had ever woken up with a girl in my bed – nevermind I hadn't had sex with her, but I was buoyant. I was floating on Cloud 9 as I strutted out of the class three hours later and headed home. I enjoyed teaching – I always dressed for my first class just like any other student would. I would sit in the back of the class and start discussing things with students as they came in. As the class clued in that the teacher wasn't around, they'd start talking about their personal lives and would begin filtering out the door.

At that point, I'd stand up and ask them where the hell they were going with all their books in the middle of class. That would throw them for a loop, and they would never miss another lecture. I loved fucking with their minds.

Some of the faculty members were on the payroll of my university and were familiar with my style. On occasion, I'd show up in their classes and start dominating the conversation, challenging the instructor on every point, making lewd comments and, usually, by the end of class, the students would have forgotten about what their Prof. was trying to teach and would listen to me teach the exact same information. Very few students knew who I actually was. They usually thought that I was a student, one who rarely came to class. One young man actually started challenging me, asking why I was arguing with his teacher so much. He shut up real fast when I told him I was his Prof.'s boss – and that I had taught his professor on that same topic!

I didn't feel like driving that day (I hate driving in traffic) and I had taken a cab. I stopped by a florist's shop and purchased a half dozen roses, asking to have them delivered around five in the evening. Dwane would take them up to my apartment, leaving them in the den. I puttered about for the afternoon, buying some tobacco, replenishing my supply of tinned lobster for the cats and hot dogs for me. I bought a copy of my mentor's newest book (I had given him a $4000 a year grant for research when the university was founded), and indulged in a lewd conversation with a clerk in a convenience store.

By three in the afternoon, I had received word that Paige had gone out for a time, apparently off to buy a new dress. Harold told me what she had bought (he and Eugene were far more than just business partners, and their background in fashion design factored heavily into my own choices), and I thought about what I would need to compliment her outfit. I decided I had suitable attire at home, and refrained from buying another suit.

Will and Jada called to tell me that they would be a little late for dinner – a photo shoot had run over time. Sean called to tell me he was bringing some good Scotch, and Angelina asked if she could bring her son. They were a bit older than they had been when they had been big on the silver screen, but they were all good friends. Angelina's beauty had only increased with age. She was now 36 and going very slightly grey at the temples. She had stopped dying her hair at my request, and she looked regal and impressive. Extending the invitation to Will and Jada that they should bring their kids (four now), I settled back and told the cabby to let me off at my building.

I wandered up stairs and puttered around, getting a couple of my purchases put into bags, cataloguing them so that they'd be included at my other houses by the serving staff, and informed my pilot that I'd need his services for an hour and a half that evening.

By the time Paige came back with Harold, all the preparations for the evening were complete.

Paige's Perspective

I stood in front of a rack of clothes for about five minutes, trying to decide which gown I should choose. Harold (who had confided that he was gay, and had taken a stereotypical interest in fashion when he was young) had already helped me choose a brassiere, a garter-and-stocking set and a hairpiece. I was confronted with five dresses:

The first was a midnight blue, pleated at the waist. It was low cut and would show a lot of leg. The second was blood red, trimmed with lace. It was sewn with colour-shifting thread placed in strategic locations, accentuating curves in certain lights. Third was a cream-coloured sheath similar to the one I had worn the first time I met Kaiser (an off the shoulder affair), followed by a tasteful kimono-style dress.

The last was one of Kaiser's own creations. In high school, Harold told me, Kaiser had entertained a notion of becoming a fashion desire – an idea planted in his head by one of his girl-cousins. This was a piece that had been his greatest pride – designed to be worn at any of three lengths (miniskirt, full length dress and with a train), the colours blended smoothly from a light blue at the top to a rainbow of greens and blues, ending in a shimmering blue train that could be zipped off at mid thigh, ankle or left long. It had one strap and the neckline scooped under the opposing arm. It revealed quite a bit of belly, but a navy-blue chiffon insert was available for the modest. Harold had laughed, saying that Kaiser had always believed in elegance and utility. For obvious reasons, I chose that dress, discovering it would compliment every asset while preserving respectability. It matched my hair, he said. He selected silver jewelry that would match my ever-present necklace, and suggested silvery stiletto-heals that tied up the calf with thongs. A matching belt of open rings hung loosely around my waist. Harold pointed out a pocket that looked like a fold in the fabric. I could use that as a purse. He hadn't been joking about utility!

When I got out of the changing room, I saw Harold speaking into a cell phone, but the teller intercepted me and I went to make my purchases. At the last moment, Harold came by and had the teller run up the bill on his card. He garnered an odd look, but paid no attention.

Harold was driving the Rolls Royce today, and I felt like a queen as I stepped into the back of the car. There were stares from passers-by as Harold played the part of haughty chauffeur. We giggled about it on the drive 'home'.

When we got into the apartment, I found Kaiser sitting in his study, running over a massive book. He sighed as he heard me enter the room and sat up.

"Had a good time?" he asked. I answered with an enthusiastic affirmative and he grinned. "Good. I wanted to let you know –" He hesitated.

"About what?"

"Well, supper, actually. My guests won't be able to make it here."

"Oh," I said, disappointed.

"- So we will be meeting them here!" I just gave Kaiser a blank look. "You asked when you interviewed me –"

"You interviewed me, and you know it!" I interrupted.

He chuckled. "Just so. Anyway, you'll get to see my home. Will and Jada were in Germany and they were caught overtime. Besides, Sean is confined to a wheelchair. It's not quite as far to meet in Scotland as it is to meet here. We've got to go fairly quickly – We'll be late otherwise."

I protested, and he waved it away.

"I have the school's jet waiting. The trip will take only an hour and a half, but there is a five-hour time difference. If we leave now, we'll get there by nine their time. Just in time for supper, our time!"

What could I say?

Kaiser's Perspective

Paige caught a nap on the way across the Big Puddle. The school's plane pushed Mach 3, and the plane hummed quietly, a relaxing vibration that soothed her to sleep. I didn't blame her. It was only the first day after her life had been turned upside down. I had told her she'd be feeling it today. Hopefully tonight would help her feel better.

Paige had the same entertainment education that I had, and would recognize my guests immediately.

Will and Jada Smith – I had met them the first time three years ago. After I made them a gift of free-tuition for their kids to express my respect for their skills as musicians and actors, they had become good friends and confidants.

Sean Connery – I respected the man, pure and simple, and, because I disliked celebrity image of any sort, I was more able to connect with him than most. Unfortunately, I had bought his friendship (in a way). He had been sued by a former employee the previous year and had suffered a massive stroke – a result of stress. He had been cleared out of all of his funds, and I had offered to pay for his care. I still felt grungy for doing that, but he appreciated it. He was writing a treatise on the history of acting at the moment, and enjoying his mobility-limited lifestyle. He continually complained about not being able to bowl, though.

Angelina Jolie. She was an odd case. The first movie I had ever seen with her in it was "Alexander", back in 2004. I was thoroughly impressed by her portrayal of a highly intelligent, conniving and manipulative mother, and out of sheer admiration I had embarked on a bit of a stalking campaign after I had established my security force. She was unaware of it (and I prefer working behind the scenes anyway), and it turned out for the best. Her adoptive son had been kidnapped three months after I had started surveillance. She had been suicidal for weeks until I had found him. Being a strong woman, she had stayed at work (filming a modern rendition ofHedda Gabbler, of all things), but she was breaking up. Her agent at the time had caught her trying to overdose at one point.

We had found the kid in Columbia, beaten, bruised and mentally traumatized. No ransom note had been issued, and no one at his day care had remembered seeing the men who had taken him. He had been taken purely because he was a boy. His mother didn't matter to those men. It was disgusting, the whole situation. My men had stormed the place and captured his captors – all thirty of them. Actually, there were four kidnappers and the rest were merely part of the conglomerate. We had enough information to sentence them to life in prison.

I personally returned the kid to Angelina on set. She was walking past where her son and I were standing, when I spoke. We were purposefully half-hidden in shadow (his idea), and all she saw was my right shoulder, chin and the gun on my hip.

"I think it is time you had your son back, Ms. Jolie," I had said, and I motioned him forward. Angelina was floored, and I stayed long enough to let her know I was safe and I disappeared. It took her two years to find me, and from that time she's referred to my by my true name, and I call her Angel. Every once in a while, she tries to find some way to repay me, but I've never taken anything in return. Her son calls me 'uncle', and I spend quite a lot of time in her company. She is a good, good friend. She thought I was just another schmuck until I leveled with her and told her what I thought of celebrity:

"It's a front portrayed by the media – the person you really are is hidden behind a layer of makeup applied by those who would make money off your image. It is done mostly for your security, partly to make money, and partly to give the sheep-like, shallow-minded populace something to talk about. I'm not interested in that – I don't care what looser you are dating at any given time, and I don't care about your money. Frankly, I can buy and sell you three or four times without flinching. You're a person, just like me, and don't deserve or warrant worship or undue respect. You have found a way to manipulate your way to success, and the use of others toward that end is something to respect. You needed your son back, and I wanted to judge your humanity. That's what happened, and that's what is. Nothing else."