Chapter 2

After the fiasco with my friends at the bar, the rest of homecoming weekend went by fairly quickly. Before I knew it Tuesday had rolled around again and I found myself making my now weekly trek to Pablo's. Happily I was alone as I entered the dimly lit bar. I scanned my eyes from the back of the room to the front hoping to see my crush, but didn't see her anywhere.

Sighing, I made my way to what I realized I was thinking of as "my" bar stool and sat down, ordering a double scotch on the rocks. Billy, who seemed to always be working on the nights I came in, nodded and before long I was getting ready to toss back my first swallow of the sharp amber liquid.

"Hey," I heard a tiny voice say from beside me and I turned, my breath catching as I saw it was the girl. Immediately my tongue tied itself in knots as I tried to think of something suave and debonaire.

"Hi," I stammered, nearly knocking over my drink in my attempt to wave. The girl just smiled at my clumsiness. "How are you?"

"Good," she said. "Can I sit with you for a minute?"

"Sure," I answered as smoothly as possible. I stood, nearly knocking the bar stool to the floor as I tried to play the part of true gentleman. I grimaced, quickly moving behind the girl to pull a stool away from the bar for her. I sat quickly and carefully to avoid any further embarrassment.

"Thanks," she said. I realized the stool I had pulled out was in use, and quickly picked my coat up off the seat next to me, holding it in my lap as I watched the girl sit demurely on the high bar stool next to me. Her tan legs peeked out from under the short pleated skirt as she sat there. I caught myself staring and shook my head, quickly jerking my head up to meet her gaze, only to realize she had been watching me the whole time.

"Sorry," I said lamely, feeling myself blush at being caught looking.

"Don't worry about it," she laughed. "And relax, okay? Getting people to look is the whole idea of the uniform." She bent at the waist and I suddenly found myself with the delicious view of her breasts as they swayed enticingly, clearly unfettered by any hint of a bra or other restraint. I could see all the way down her shirt, which was opened to the fourth button and nearly all of her creamy flesh was visible, all the way to her barely covered nipples.

I gulped loudly, trying to will my erection down, suddenly glad my coat was in my lap.

"See?" she giggled, seeing the expression on my face. "Doesn't that make you want to buy my flowers?"

"Among other things," I said before I could catch myself.

"I don't want to talk about that," she answered, her face darkening and I realized she was thinking of the other night.

"Shit," I swore. "Let's start over, okay?" I extended my hand in greeting, happy when she returned my handshake after a moment's thought. "I'm Daniel. Daniel Parker. I'm a grad student down at Emerson College and I think I need to apologize for my friend acting like an ass last weekend."

"Apology accepted and it wasn't your fault," she answered. "My name is Heather, by the way. Heather Morris. I'm just a working girl, trying to make a living," she sighed.

"Pushing your petals?" I laughed.

"It's not like that," she sighed darkly, to my confusion. What had I said?

"What?" I asked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything."

"Oh. It's just... a lot of the girls here do some other selling on the side. They call it pushing the petals."

Oh. Oh!

"Shit," I said again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

Heather looked at me intently for a moment, as if judging my sincerity.

"I know you didn't," she finally said, nodding her head. "You're one of the nice guys and I still need to thank you for buying those flowers the other night. It was unnecessary, but still... thanks," she said, reaching for her basket.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Consider them a gift." I laughed shortly. "They kind of pale beside your beauty anyway."

Heather groaned and I wondered again if I'd said something inappropriate.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "It's just... for a minute it sounded like one of the dozens of bad pick-up lines we get."

"Really? Like what."

"Oh God, we hear them all... You're the prettiest flower here... The girl I want to give a flower to is already holding them... that kind of crap. I just get sick of it and I'm constantly wondering if I'm going to lose my job."

"Why? Why would you lose it?"

"Because of people like Michelle."

"Oh, yeah. She seemed... a little forward, I guess."

"Humph," grunted Heather. "That's an understatement. If anyone ever catches wind of her little escapades, the whole group of us flower girls will get kicked out of here for sure."

"That kind of sucks," I said.

"Yeah... she does, and that's the problem."

I looked at Heather, trying to see if she was being serious or trying make a joke, relieved when she finally burst out laughing.

"Sorry," she giggled.

"You got me," I confessed. "Take me away, I think it's time for me to go."

Heather laughed with me, pretending to throw a pair of handcuffs around my wrists, but to my dismay she got up to leave, once again giving me a long look down her shirt as she stood.

"Are you sure you don't want... those flowers you bought?" she asked.

"Nah, consider the money a donation to a good cause," I said, waving my hand dismissively.

"Thanks," Heather said brightly. She paused for a moment, reaching into her basket to retrieve a card. "I'm going to give you this," she practically shouted, and I wondered if she was speaking loudly for my benefit or someone else's. Maybe trying to convince whoever might be her boss that giving me her card was on the up and up, and not some attempt to push her petals, as she had put it. "It's good for two free flowers should you ever change your mind."

"That's really okay," I said, but she insisted, pushing the card into my hand.

"Take it," she said. "Just in case."

"Alright," I said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said. Heather picked up her basket and started looking over the other bar patrons. "Sorry," she apologized. "I've got to work. If my regular customers don't see me, they'll start buying from another girl."

"I understand," I said. "It was good to meet you, and it was fun talking to you."

"Me too," Heather nodded. "Don't lose the card," she reminded me.

"I won't," I replied. I watched her ass sway underneath her short skirt as she walked away, feeling my prick once more swell with arousal. I kept my eyes on Heather's retreating form until she turned the corner and walked out of my view. I decided that one drink was enough for the evening and stood to go, palming her card as I put on my coat.

Wondering what she could have written I turned it over. Her writing was curvy and hard to read in the dim bar light, but when I finally made out her words my heart skipped a beat.

"Call me," she had written, and underneath her short message had included her phone number.

Lose the card? There was no way that would happen. I slipped the card into my wallet and practically skipped home, feeling as high as a kite over my good fortune.

Of course all my good feelings and happiness evaporated in a second the next morning when I walked into the music offices. Dr. Bergerud's normal secretary was a nice middle-aged woman named Estelle, but she had been replaced - or so it seemed - by a severe woman named Ms. Janet Parker.

"Where's Estelle?" I asked when the professor called me into his office. The new secretary, although my office was only one door down, had scrutinized me for what seemed an inordinately long period of time before allowing me into the professor's office, where Dr. Bergerud sat slumped behind his desk.

"She's taking a few weeks off," the professor sighed and I noticed he looked haggard, far more tired than he normally did.

"What happened?"

"Seems she slipped and fell in her kitchen last night and... no, she didn't break her hip," he interrupted, seeing my look of concern. "But she's in a lot of pain."

"You seem kind of blue," I ventured, thinking I knew the reason why.

"Oh God. Don't get me started. The Nazi in the next room has been reorganizing since she got here. I'm afraid to go out of my office."

"Come on," I laughed. "She can't be that bad!"

"You want to bet?" he countered. "That woman scares me."

I shook my head as I left his office, nodding to the new secretary as I passed. I was almost to the door of my own office when I heard the woman's voice call after me.

"Mr. Parker," she said, her voice overly loud in the quiet of the early Wednesday morning. "You'll see a few projects I put on your desk. I think they'll help you out of the mess you seem to be in. Have them back to me by noon."

Mess? What kind of a mess was I in? I groaned when I saw the pile of papers on my desk. Apparently Dr. Bergerud hadn't been kidding. The new secretary was demanding progress reports and updated student information on the entire student file Estelle had kept.

"Are you serious about this?" I asked as I walked back to the reception area. "A lot of these students don't go here anymore. Estelle just kept them on file for some reason."

"Then they should be thrown out," she sniffed. "And you should refer to her as Mrs. Larson. I believe you owe her that courtesy."

"I'm sorry Janet. She always asked us to call her Estelle. And you can call me Dan."

"I would prefer to call you Mr. Parker, if you don't mind. And you will definitely refer to me as Ms. Parker. Not Mrs. or Miss," she sniffed.

"Sorry," I said, raising my hands in surrender as I backed out of her area. "I'll get right on that paperwork."

I shook my head as I walked past Dr. Bergerud's office, wondering how long Estelle... Mrs. Larson would be gone. I could here the professor laughing at me as I passed.

"I told you," I heard him whisper as he gently shut the door. "She's a Nazi."

As the day progressed I had never been so glad for classes to roll around. I generally didn't sit in on a lot of the professor's classes, choosing instead to catch up on the paper correcting assignments I had been given or to work on my own projects. This particular day was different, and simply escaping the glaring face of the new secretary was reward enough, even if it meant subjecting myself to asinine questions from the freshmen.

"What do you say we get a drink?" Dr. Bergerud asked at the end of the day. He slapped me on the back as I let out an overly dramatic sigh of weariness. "I think we've both earned it," he laughed.

"Jesus! You weren't kidding about the new lady. How long before Estelle is back?"

"I called her this afternoon. I begged and pleaded. I promised that if she hurried back we would both wait on her, hand and foot."

"Damn right," I muttered. "She wouldn't even need to do any work, just as long as Ms. Parker is gone."

"That's what I said," Dr. Bergerud laughed.

"Well?" I asked. "When is she coming back?"

"Two more days," he replied.

"Well... that's not too bad."

"Yeah, but you're not in tomorrow."

"Lucky me," I grinned.

"So what about that drink?" he repeated. I didn't normally go out except on Tuesdays, but tonight seemed to be a good exception.

"I'll buy you that drink if you drive," I offered.

"You're on. Where do you want to go?"

"How about Pablo's?" I asked casually.

"Ugh... is that the rat hole place you students normally hang out?"

"Yeah, but they make a great Long Island iced tea," I said, knowing it was his favorite drink. It only took a few seconds for him to come to his decision.

"I suppose we could go after all," he agreed. "I'm sure the place isn't all that bad."