Banging the Superhero (3 page)

So screw them all if they didn't like her body. She was a cook, for goodness sake!

Was she supposed to also look sickly thin?

She growled under her breath on her way down the stairs. Maybe she gave off a vibe that warned "stay away" because her family stayed a few stairwells above her, at all times. Rolling her eyes, she stopped walking and turned around.

"I want all of you to go home. Just go home. Don't follow me. I'll see you tomorrow."

Grayson called down to her. "Do you think that's a good idea considering what happened?"

"What's the worst that could happen? You could find me dead?"

Silence met her query and she wanted to throw something. Great. Taking the steps two at a time, she decided they were all fired. Every last one of them. If only her mother wouldn't lay into her for doing so. Truth was, Alice would never hear the end of it.

But really? At what point did she stop caring what her mother thought? Finally, reaching the lobby, she pushed open the door with less force than she'd used to open the door to the stairwell.

People in the lobby didn't need to witness her throw a temper tantrum. Keeping her head held high, she walked out of the building not looking at anyone except to smile to the guard who tipped his hat to her. He was always polite.

The rest of the numbskulls who worked there, who whispered whenever she walked through the hall or talked about her to the other hosts, well, they didn't deserve her time, let alone an acknowledgment on a night like the one she'd just endured.

She stepped out onto the street and the sounds of New York City wrapped around her, numbing her mind in the best possible way. Out here, with so much going on, so many people leading their lives, playing heroes in their own stories, Alice couldn't get lost in her thoughts—even if she'd wanted. On the miles of sidewalk, with its scored cement flowing around her as she passed, she could lose herself in the hugeness of it all and feel very small.

Until the first camera went off in her face.

Momentarily startled by the bright light, which caused stars to appear before her eyes, Alice almost fell backwards.

She was mortified. The photographers usually didn't wait for her outside the studio. Home, yes. But snapping pictures of her walking in and out to her car wasn't something that got the freelancers paid really well.

Perhaps having your life nearly ended by a toaster meant that photographs of you walking out of a building paid higher amounts. Trying to smile through gritted teeth, she stepped into the car waiting for her and nodded to Dugan who held open the door.

Her driver, Dugan, took her to and from the studio every day. He was one of the perks of the job and the only person on her payroll who wasn't related to her. As he climbed into the front seat, she smiled at him in the rearview mirror.

"Dugan, if this car acts strangely, please pull over right away. I'm sure what happened inside was a prank. But we can't be too careful."

He nodded his bald head and smiled. "Yes, ma'am."

"And would you mind closing the divider tonight?"

"Whatever you'd like."

She watched in silence as the barrier between she and Dugan raised. Unable to stop the barrage of emotions that overwhelmed her, she put her head in her hands and wept.

Someone had tried to kill her today, whether they'd meant it as a joke or not. The incident served only to illuminate how completely alone in the world she really was, even in the midst of a crowd.

* * * * *

Alice had soaked in the hot water of her filled-to-the-rim bathtub for half-an-hour and still felt no better. The house was quiet—almost too quiet. Finally, giving into the need to move, she stood, flipping the lever to empty the tub on her way out.

She reached for the towel to dry off and walked to retrieve her bathrobe when it dawned on her she didn't have to get dressed if she didn't feel like it. She was completely alone in her house. She grinned from ear-to-ear at the thought.

How decadent
.

How risqué
.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten, and an even more appealing thought than walking around the house naked thrust itself into her brain. If she wanted to, she could
cook
naked.

Why not? No one would ever know.

She rushed through the house glancing left and right as she did, as if someone might jump out at her and scream,
"Naked-naked, I see you naked."
Okay, she had to admit that perhaps her ultra-conservative background reared its head since her near death experience earlier. The windows were all shut, the drapes pulled, and the doors locked. No one was in the house.

She really needed to relax. If she was going to do this, she needed to enjoy it or not do it all.

Standing in her newly renovated kitchen, she looked around, unsure of what to do first. She hadn't really thought this scenario through and the nudity did nothing to help her plan her meal.

Conceding to herself that this was really not going to work, she rushed to the kitchen linen closet and pulled out one of her aprons. It was a plain white design with small flowers surrounding the edges. Her paternal grandfather had passed down the apron to her when he'd died.

Shrugging, she decided she could maintain some of her dignity, while still being naughty by wearing nothing underneath her apron. Now, to decide what she wanted to eat . . . .

Eggs. Far from glamorous. Not difficult to make. But for Alice, eggs were comfort food. She even knew how she wanted to cook them: scrambled.

Walking to the cabinet directly to the left of the stove, she pulled out her cast iron skillet. It was going to be a mess to clean up. Usually, she didn't use the cast iron for such simple things, but she was treating herself. The extra work in cleaning would be worth it. The seasoned pan would add flavor to her eggs.

After placing the pan on the stove, she moved to the fridge, singing a little ditty her grandmother had taught her; the lyrics had something to do with a lady waiting for her true love to sweep her off her feet. Ultimately, for Alice's life, it was bullshit.

Prince Charming had not shown up. She'd be happy at this point with a frog, considering the amount of snakes she'd gone out with lately. But like the eggs, the song comforted her, and she found herself feeling better already.

She took out the carton of eggs, placed it on the counter and shut the fridge. At the small noise from behind her, she froze.

What was that?

Was someone in the house? She swallowed a squeak of fear and discovered her mouth had gone completely dry.

If someone
was
in the house then, right at this very second, they were privy to an eyeful, starting with her bare ass, which had been left uncovered by the apron.

Fisting her hands at her side, she mustered the courage to turn around. This was her house. She'd be damned if she'd allow herself to be spooked.

She whirled around screaming a very unladylike, "Ahh," at the top of her voice.

Darting left and right, she scanned the kitchen, even strained to see the living room, located directly to the left of her cooking area.

Nothing. No one was there.

"Shit."

"Alice, cut it out; you have to calm down. It was a freak thing, nothing to get yourself worked up about at home. This is your safe zone. Make your eggs." She spoke aloud, feeling like the sound of her voice seemed out of place in her all-too-quiet kitchen. But some things needed to be said and not just thought. Even if only you heard the words, they still warranted the effort.

Feeling better after her self-delivered pep talk, she went back to the process of making her eggs. Just as she reached for the pan, the gas on the stove ignited on the burner, nearly searing her hand. She jumped back. What the hell? She hadn't lit the burner yet.

Gasping, she spun around as a strange noise sounded behind her. The refrigerator door opened and closed—opened and closed. Oh god, this was like what happened at the studio, only it had been the mixer and the toaster, instead of the stove and the fridge.

At once, all five burners lit, blazing to life. She took another step back and whirled around. Instinct told her to run from the house at top speed. Instead, she forced herself to stay where she was even as her hands shook. She couldn't just walk out. The house might burn down. She needed to do . . . something. But what? She bit her bottom lip as she contemplated charging out the front door.

Turning on her heel, she ran for the basement. She had to turn off the gas in order to prevent a disaster, and she needed to hurry. She flipped on the basement light, only to have it turn off before she'd made it down two steps.

"Mother fucker."

Whoever was doing this to her was dead, so dead. She'd string them up by their toenails. Or maybe she'd pay someone to do it. But that wasn't the point. Rounding the corner, she came to the fuse box that sat next to the gas line for the house. All she needed to do was to shut it off.

In the dark, she couldn't see anything.

Before she'd finished grumbling, the television across the game room turned on and upstairs she could hear the vacuum cleaner do the same. She glared at the TV

screen, only to recognize a video of what had happened to her earlier in the studio played in the background. She was the topic on one of the entertainment shows.

She laughed. A cold laugh, as if her world had gone insane. What else was she supposed to do? Craziness such as this didn't happen to people. Why was it happening to her?

The lights flipped on. She looked around desperately for the shut off valve for the gas line. It had seemed so simple when the inspector had shown her how when she'd bought the house. Now, however, she couldn't think straight.

Just as quickly as the lights flipped on, they turned off, and she shouted her frustration. This wasn't working. Even if she could find her flashlight, could she manage to flip it on before whoever was doing these things made the damned thing attack her also?

Just what she needed
—Death by Flashlight—
splashed across every newspaper headline. Of course, she wouldn't be here to see it. Well, she damn well wasn't going to stand in her basement while there was a risk the house would burn down around her.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she rushed out the backdoor, not even stopping to see if anything was aflame.

Barefoot, she ran across her yard, wishing for the first time that she lived closer to her neighbors. God, she needed help. Someone had to call the police. Out of breath, she rounded the corner and banged on her neighbor's door. She'd never met them.

Working in the city all day, commuting home, and having constant appearances to attend, did not make her particularly interested in house parties or neighborhood gatherings. She'd always sent her regrets and a bottle of wine.

Dancing from one foot to the other, she rang the doorbell a few times when her banging didn't work. These people—if she remembered correctly from all the times she'd seen them pulling in and out of their driveway—were elderly. They should be home, god damnit.

Finally, the door swung open. Both in bathrobes, her geriatric neighbors stared at her, their mouths wide in wonder. She couldn't blame them. She was, after all, naked except for her apron and standing on their doorstep at ten o'clock at night. She'd probably gape at herself too.

"Please, can you help me? I need to call the police."

The man reacted first, pulling her into the house. "What's wrong? Has someone attacked you?"

His wife spoke over the end of his sentence. "We saw you on television being attacked by appliances."

"They're attacking me at home now. Please, call the police." And then, when the police showed up, she'd phone Grayson. This had to stop. He had to figure out who was doing this to her.

"Come, dearie, sit down." The woman pulled Alice gently into the front hallway, wrapping her in her soft cotton bathrobe before showing her where to sit. Her husband called the authorities.

A sudden thought occurred to Alice. She glanced into the room off the hall, noting the electrical devices
here,
inside this house. Someone who could make machines do bad things was stalking her. Gnawing on her lip, she stood.

"I'm going to wait outside. I don't want anything to happen to you."

She apologized again and went back out into the night, this time clad in a robe.

Her entire body shook. Bad enough this was happening to her, she wouldn't be responsible for bringing it on anyone else.

A loud pop behind her made her whirl around. "Oh no."

The engine of a white Mercedes, parked in the driveway, turned over. All the lights flipped on and the car roared angrily like someone had revved up the gas with the transmission still in park.

She gulped as she searched for someplace to hide. Where could she go out here where the car couldn't get to her? Spotting a tree on the other side of the lawn, she ran hard for the oak.

With her legs taking her as fast as she could pump them, she hoped beyond hope that she had enough strength to make it up to the lowest branches.

As she heard the car take off behind her, she scrambled up the trunk and grabbed the edge of the one branch she could reach. She struggled to haul herself up, using only her upper body strength.

For one brief moment, she thought she wasn't going to make it. She closed her eyes and poured every ounce of energy she had into giving one final tug. Her upper body came over the top of the branch and she hung there, lifting her feet as high as she could. Clinging to the tree for dear life, she said a silent prayer of thanks as she heard the faintest sound of approaching police sirens. Shaking, she wondered how the police were going to handle out of control machines. One lone tear slipped from her eye and then another, until a stream of them poured down her face.

She hadn't cried this much in years.

The driverless car came to a stop just inches from the base of the tree.

If her mother had been there with her, she would have said Alice was getting everything she deserved for living such a sinful life.