KITTEN III

Kitten III

When the phone rang, I nearly jumped out of my chair. The anticipation I had felt all day had been exhilarating. I made sure the kids got a lot of exercise so that they would zonk out immediately upon going to bed and sleep soundly. I couldn’t take any chances of them awakening with Kitten coming over later this evening. I reached over to the end table, picked up the phone and greeted the caller.

“Mr. Grey?” a young girl’s voice inquired.

“Yes.”

“Hi. This is Charesse Dole – Mike and Becky’s daughter.”

Her image came to my mind. Her family lived just down the street. I hadn’t seen much of her for a few years, but remembered she had been nice enough to play with my kids in the yard a few months ago. I remembered thinking that she had suddenly blossomed as a teenager; losing the gangly look and seeming more like a young woman.

“Oh, hi, Charesse. What’s up?”

“Well, I was talking to Kitten this afternoon, and she said she had promised to sit for your kids tonight,” she stated with a somewhat shaky tone to her voice.

I suddenly felt flushed and wondered why in the world she was calling. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, Kitten, like, forgot that she’s gotta to go to her sister’s recital tonight.” Her voice seemed rushed and breathy. “So, I, um, like volunteered to take her place and watch the kids for her. Is that OK?”

My heart sunk. Was Kitten upset about what happened last night? Had she regretted what we’d done so much that she couldn’t call me herself and let me know she wouldn’t be here? My mind was racing as it tried to consider all of the ramifications of the situation.

“Why didn’t Kitten call me?” I stammered.

“Oh, like, she really didn’t have time, and I told her I would call and sub for her,” she said anxiously. “Is that gonna be OK with you?”

What else could I say? I needed a sitter, and at the last minute Charesse would be an excellent replacement. But I couldn’t stop wondering what Kitten must be thinking.

“Yes, Charesse, I’ll be gone…”

“You can call me Char, everybody does,” she interrupted.

“Alright, Char, I’d like you to be here from around six until about eleven or midnight. I just have a short dinner meeting tonight.”

“Great, Mr. Grey, I’ll be there at six sharp. Thank you so much,” she added excitedly. “See ya!”

The connection went dead. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I wondered whether what happened last night had been so traumatic for Kitten that she might divulge our secret. She seemed so level-headed and mature when she left, and appeared to look forward to tonight.

Charesse arrived right on time. The kids remembered her and immediately ran to her for a hug. I noticed that she was wearing makeup that accentuated her deep blue eyes and high check bones. Her blond hair was perfectly arranged. Clad in the typical high school girl’s outfit of jeans and a tight tank top, she most definitely displayed that her body pert body was developing nicely.

“You have fun with Charesse. In bed by nine, OK?” I said to the kids after their goodbye hugs and kisses. “I shouldn’t be any later than eleven,” I said to my substitute sitter. “My cell number is on the cork board in the kitchen if something comes up.”

“Don’t worry,” she replied with an odd gleam in her eyes. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Throughout that evening’s dinner meeting I couldn’t concentrate. I excused myself at one point with the thought that I should call Kitten’s home to inquire about her. But what would I say to her parents? Instead, I took the opportunity to call my wife to check in with her and make sure she had no plans to return home early.

Needless to say, in my mental state I didn’t make much headway toward a sale, but didn’t totally blow my chances either. When my client left the restaurant, I realized it was only eight o’clock. I had a seat in the bar and ordered another drink to allow myself some more time to ponder the predicament I might be in. Three drinks later, I was a bit more calm, but still in dread that something awful could happen very soon.

Driving home, I realized I was a bit tipsy. I pulled the car into the garage and entered the house through the family room door. Entering the kitchen, I saw that it was spotless except for the kids’ before bed snack dishes. Entering the living room, I saw Char lounging on the sofa watching television.

When she saw me enter, she jumped to her feet. “Hi, Mr. Grey? Did you have a nice dinner?” she asked softly.

I noticed that her makeup had been refreshed and her hair was as perfectly styled as when I’d left. That seemed strange because my kids are notorious for wanting the roughhouse on the floor whenever they have a sitter over to watch them.

She glanced at the clock and said, “The kids have been in bed for over an hour.” She opened her right leg and bent her knee so that her foot pointed away from her body at a forty-five degree angle. Using her slender fingers to smooth her hair behind her left ear she continued. “I’m sure they’re fast asleep.”

“Great, Char. Thanks for pinch-hitting. By the way, have you heard anything else from Kitten?”

Her mouth fell open for a second and she stared at me blankly. “No,” she stated nervously. “Like I said, she’s at her sister’s recital thingy.”

We stood looking at each other uncomfortably for a few more seconds. I couldn’t interpret the wry expression on her pretty face, but I noticed an increase in her breath rate that caused her breasts to rise and fall enticingly. But for my concern about the situation with Kitten, I might have become aroused at the sight of her alluring body language.

“I guess,” I said, taking my keys from my jacket pocket, “I need to run you home.”

“Um,” she objected quickly, “I’m not, I mean, I was kinda really into this show I’m watching and would hate to miss the end.” Her tongue darted between her lips to moisten them. “Could I, like, just stay until it’s over?”

I glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to nine. “Oh, all right. But I don’t want you to get home too late.”

She plopped down on the sofa and continued to play with her hair. “It’s OK,” she assured me, paying no attention to the program she’d been watching, “I told my mom I might not get home until after midnight.”

I took off my jacket and tie and laid them over a chair. Suddenly feeling thirsty again, I went into the kitchen and poured myself a Scotch and water. The booze eased my worry about Kitten and, hopefully, would allow me to fall sleep more easily.

I took a healthy gulp and heard a noise behind me. Charesse stood in the doorway of the kitchen. I glanced at her to see that her tank top had ridden higher to allow me a good view of her tight stomach and flat abdomen above her hip-hugger jeans.

“Show over?” I asked.

She cocked her head to one side and shifted her weight on her slim legs. “Nope,” she replied. “I’m, like, really not that into the show.”

I downed the rest of my drink, set the glass on the counter, and moved toward her. “So, ready to go, then?”

“No,” she whispered. Her face was flushed and the skin of her chest above the fabric of the tank top had become rosy. “I…” Her Adam’s apple rose and fell as she swallowed heavily.

“You what, Char?”

“I know what you and Kitten did last night.” She strung the words out rapidly. “I mean, she told me about it. Well, she didn’t really tell me, you know. I just kinda, well I guessed it.”

I was horrified. How could Kitten have betrayed my trust in her? I felt like such an idiot for getting myself in this kind of mess. I started to tremble with a combination of fear and anger.

“What did she tell you we did?” I asked, hoping that she might have made some innocuous comment that had been misintrepreted.

Char stepped closer until we were only two feet apart. “She told me that you… um, that you did her,” she declared as she stared directly into my eyes. She started to ramble on in hurried, excited speech. “She told me that you did her and that it was really great. She told me that it was safe because you couldn’t get her pregnant and, like, how much she was wanting to come do it again with you tonight.” She breathed deeply and sighed heavily after her rant.

I could no longer maintain eye contact. I turned, reached into the cabinet, grabbed the bottle and poured an even stiffer drink. I was speechless until I had downed half of the glass.

“You know, Char,” I tried to say in a calm, fatherly tone, “sometimes kids say things that aren’t really true to make an impression. I’m sure that whatever Kitten told you, you, uh, might have misunderstood.”

She moved even closer and placed her tiny hand on my chest.