Chapter 1: Local Color and Cleavage

Friday, July 10, 2009, 3:00 PM

¡Dios mio! ¡Odio mi trabajo! Tricia Sanchez silently cursed to herself as she slid the door to the news van open. She clutched her clipboard to her chest and jumped out, landing with a painful, breast-jostling thud. OW! God damn this stupid job! And God damn this worthless bra! No fucking support.

She glanced at the clipboard and scowled at it. Hate these damn fluff pieces. If I wanted to be a fluffer, I would have stayed in California. She read the assignment again and growled at it. Two years at this job and I still can’t get a decent story. She looked about, surveying the street and buildings around her. Endless construction projects littered the streets. Homeless sat invisible against buildings watching the fortunate pass and ignore them. People walking past stared at the news van and her with interest. The men were mostly staring at her. She was used to that. Grin and bear it, chica. One good thing about these fluff pieces; There’s no story, so it’s all about me. I can deal with that. She took a deep cleansing breath and blew out the anger, concentrating on the guilty pleasure of being the center of attention. So keep the temper in check, and set a good example for the boys. Just get this gig over with so I can go out to the clubs and get laid.

Tricia turned and whipped her long curly brown hair around and out of her eyes. “Okay boys!”, she called out cheerfully to the others. “Anton, you know the drill. Set the uplink, and...” She pointed at the other man, snapping her fingers. “You. New guy! ¿Cuál es su nombre? ... Kevin!”

“Charlie,” he corrected.

“Yeah. Whatever. Grab your camera and come with me.”

She picked up a cordless microphone and started attaching it to her clothes. Anton started turning on equipment in the back of the van, while Charlie loaded his satchel with spare batteries and video tapes.

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Charlie lean in to Anton and speak softly. “So, Anton ... You work with her much?” he whispered.

Tricia grinned to herself, and gave Anton a sly wink as he glanced at her. Lay it on thick, Anton.

Anton nodded while pulling cables out, acting as casual as possible. “Yeah. ‘Bout a year.”

“Is it true about her?”

“About what?”

“About what they say about her?”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely! You can assuredly trust anything anyone ever says about anyone ... What the hell are you talking about?”

Tricia giggled to herself and pulled out a compact. She posed as she checked herself in the small mirror. Come one, Anton. You know what he wants to know. Give him what he wants.

Charlie glanced back at Tricia’s direction and watched the caramel-colored beauty for a moment as she touched up her makeup. “That she’s easy?”

“Oh, that!”, replied Anton. He peered at her, admiring her full curves. “Yeah, but you really have to be into hot, meaningless sex with young, buxom, Brazilian nymphomaniacs.”

Tricia bit her lip trying hard not to burst out laughing. She continued to touch up her makeup, pretending to not overhear, and she shifted her body slightly, posing and bouncing softly on one hip to a steady internal salsa beat as the cameraman ogled her.

Charlie raised his eyebrows and chuckled. “No shit? Brazilian? Hot damn!” He watched her as she stood and subtly danced to a hidden tune while examining herself in the mirror. His eyes darted up and down her curvy body, taking in her firm rounded ass, wide hips, and then up to her voluminous breasts which shook and jiggled with each hip-bounce. “Is she seeing anyone?”

Anton stopped and gave Charlie a serious look. “Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t try it.”

“Try what?”

“What your dick is telling you to try. Look, Charlie. There’s not a man alive who can keep her satisfied. And if she’s interested, she’ll tell you. If not, forget it.”

Charlie shouldered the camera and headed towards Tricia, eying the gorgeous woman as he approached. She was tall, with long, brown and auburn streaked hair curled loosely into a wild mane. Light blue eyes shown brightly against her flawless, coffee-and-cream colored skin. Her cheeks were flushed and strong, and her lips lush, full, and inviting. His eyes darted down to her body. Her peerless and superb ass shifted, rocked, and shook as she bounced on one hip, dancing to her own internal rhythm. She was dressed in a smart dark-blue pants suit with a rich purple zipper-closed blouse that was open slightly at the top, and she turned slightly as he approached, showing off her upper torso. Charles found himself gaping in wonder at the sight of her full, bounteous bosom as it stretched out her blouse.

Or in simpler terms, Tricia Sanchez was gorgeous, stacked, and sexy, and she knew it.

“So ... where are we headed?”, Charlie asked, as he managed to pry his eyes off her tits.

Tricia snapped her compact shut and turned, whipping her hair about wildly. “Bank of America first. Mr. Peterson and any employees who are still there. ¿Está listo?”

He squinted in confusion. “Huh?”

“You ready?” she translated.

“Oh, er ... Yeah.” He grinned at her. “You got any special good side I should know about?”

She gave him a dazzling smile and a heart-stopping wink. “Honey, every side of me is good. Come along. Let’s go make the locals nervous.”

She spun and strutted confidently toward the bank, turning the head of every man and woman she passed. Charlie started after her, but Anton called out to him. “Charlie!”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let her make you pay for anything!”

Charlie shrugged and ran up behind Tricia, carrying his heavy equipment and trying to keep up with the Hispanic beauty. He watched her superb ass bouncing sexily with each stride, and briefly considered turning on the camera just for this performance.

She reached the bank, pulled the door open, and walked in, letting the door close behind her along the way. Charlie had to awkwardly shift and juggle the camera to get a free hand to open the door for himself. Once inside, Tricia surveyed the place. People stood in line for the tellers. Others sat with bank employees in small cubicles. One young couple caught her attention as she overheard a snippet of conversation. They were pleading for an extension on a mortgage.

Oh look. An actual story, she thought to herself. Oh well. Back to the fluff. She struck an attitude pose. “Mr. Peterson!”, Tricia called out, fairly loudly. Everyone in the bank jumped and stared at her.

An older and rotund man stepped out of his office, saw the woman, and nervously adjusted his tie. “M ... Miss Sanchez?”, he asked nervously.

“Call me Tricia,” she said with an inviting smile.

He flustered and blushed, occasionally glancing at her chest. “Ah, yes ... Tricia! I got your call. How do we...?”

“Shall we retire to your office?” She blinked her eyes at him innocently.

Mr. Peterson nodded eagerly. “Yes! Yes, that will be just fine. Right ... right this way.” He then noticed the cameraman coming up behind her, and briefly appeared crestfallen. He led the gorgeous woman and her cameraman into his office.

Tricia summed up the small office immediately. “Okay. Why don’t we take these two chairs here, and Chuck can set up behind your desk?”

“Charlie,” mumbled the cameraman. He set his satchel down on the desk.

Mr. Peterson eagerly took his chair as Tricia opened the satchel and pulled out a cordless microphone. “Now if we could just get this on you,” she said to the man, and she leaned down over him. Her heavy breasts fell forward, strained against her blouse and inadequate bra, and nearly spilled out the open top. A small, silver crucifix hung around her neck, barely blocking the view of her spectacular cleavage. Mr. Peterson’s eyes grew wide as he got a clear view down the front of Tricia’s blouse. He swallowed nervously as the beauty fumbled with his clothes.

Tricia smirked to herself and casually swung her shoulders as she worked, causing her large breasts to sway hypnotically in front of the man. His mouth dropped open, and he stared openly into her full cleavage.

“Getting an eye-full, Mr. Peterson?” she teased with a grin. He blushed and muttered an apology. Satisfied with her work, she turned on the microphone. “Can you just give us a sound-check?”

“Uhh,” was all he managed to say.

“Sound is good”, reported Charlie, listening in on his headset.

“Okay! We’re ready!” Tricia took her seat and sat down sexily, crossing her legs and bouncing her foot. She casually opened her jacket a bit, exposing a bit more chest, then pulled her compact open, checked herself one last time, and snapped it shut. She waved to Charlie.

“We’re rolling”, he reported.

“Good. Now Mr. Peterson. We don’t really have to go through any formal introductions. I’ll fully introduce you with a voice over. You were the bank manager five years ago, and here that day. That sort of thing. ¿Esta bien?”

“Oh, yes ... um ... Fine.”

“Good. Now...” She paused, allowing a bit of lead time to record. She put on her concerned face. “Mr. Peterson, can you tell me ... What was the first thing that happened to alert you to what was going on?”

“Well... <ahem> ... I was here in my office, so I did not see them come in, so my first indication that anything was wrong was when I heard the gunfire.”

Tricia nodded sagely, and gave a serious and supportive look. Meanwhile, she cringed internally at the thought of the next question she had to ask.

“And tell me ... how did that make you feel?”

Half an hour later they had completed, having bagged interviews with two other employees who were also at the bank five years ago. Tricia flirted some, gave her goodbyes, signed an autograph for a nervous young teller, and turned down his offer for a date. It bothered her to turn him down, as he was young and quite attractive, but Tricia simply didn’t want to set up a date this far in advance. Too much work. She preferred to take her time to get ready for a date before picking out a man.

She headed out onto the street. Charlie managed to follow her, carrying the heavy equipment.

“Now where?”

She nodded across the street. “Chinese restaurant. The police used it as a base during the hostage negotiations ... OH!” She pointed to another storefront. “Get a shot of that store over there.”

“Which one?”, he asked, lifting the camera.

“International Bazaar. See the signs? ‘Going out of Business’?”

“Yeah. I see it.” He started taping. “What about it?”

“They were here five years ago too.”

“So?”, he asked. “Weren’t most of these stores here too?”

“So was the ‘Going out of Business’ sign.” She smiled. “I saw that in the archive footage. I’ll put it in the montage. See if anyone notices it. ¡Sígame!”

Tricia ignored the traffic and quickly stepped through the streams of cars on the busy city street, beckoning Charlie to follow her. Washington D.C. streets were always busy, and traffic was always slow in this area due to the eternal construction. Charlie followed, nearly getting hit by a driver who was watching the busty Brazilian bounce in front of him.

She stepped into the restaurant and approached the hostess. The Chinese woman smiled at her. “Taber foll one?” she said in her thick Chinese accent.

Charlie managed to get in the door. “No...”, Tricia began.

“Taber foll two?”

“Actually, we would just like to talk to you about...”

“Olldell to go?

“No food,” Tricia tried to explain. “I just wanted to talk to you about what happened five years ago. You know? Omega Man?”

The hostess furrowed her brow. “No! No olldell, no intellview!”

Tricia rolled her eyes at Charlie, groaned, and pulled out her cell phone. She pressed a button and listened. “Anton? Yeah, we’re picking up some Chinese. ¿Qué quiere?” She listened, and turned to the hostess. “Egg fu yung with fried rice, egg roll, Coke. Gracias Anton.” She closed the phone. “What do you want Charlie?”

“Umm ... General Tso, fried rice, spring roll, and Sprite.” The hostess nodded, took the order, and turned to Tricia.

Tricia groaned inwardly. I love General Tso’s ... Be good, Tricia. Be good! She smiled resignedly and sighed. “Chicken and vegetables, white rice, no egg roll. Diet Coke,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to be proud.

The woman took their order to the back of the restaurant, where there was a heated discussion in Chinese. Then she returned to Tricia. “Okay. We do intellview now?”

Tricia set her up with a microphone and they sat together. Charlie turned the camera on. “Okay. Let’s get started. Now, you were here five years ago?”

“Ten yealls!”

“Yes, but five years ago, the bank across the street was being robbed, and Omega Man...”

“MEGA MAN!”, the Chinese woman yelled. “OH! Velly bad! Velly bad business. Poreece! They take whore lestaulant! No customells! No pay birrs!” She waved her hands frantically. “And Mega Man! Big exprosion! Blake all windows. Velly expensive!”

“Were you frightened?”

“Velly anglly! Bad man, Mega Man!”

Tricia nodded and continued the interview, silently deciding that she would not use any of this footage. She then thanked the woman for the interview, got her to sign a release statement, and started packing up.

As they were packing up, Charlie watched Tricia for a moment, and built up his nerve. He cleared his throat. “So, Tricia ... Anton tell me you’re Brazilian,” he opened.

She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Is that Spanish you’re speaking?”

She gave him a slight smile and coy wink. “¡Si!”

Charlie chewed his lip.

“Don’t Brazilians speak Portuguese?”

Tricia’s smile vanished, and she gave him a steady glare. “Don’t get smart with me.”

Her cell phone buzzed. Tricia checked the text message. It was from Anton, and it had one word. “Pilgrims.”

“WE GOT PILGRIMS!”, Tricia yelled, and she grabbed her clipboard and ran to the door. She stopped and saw Charlie struggling with the camera equipment, and the three bags of food arriving at the counter.

“Charlie, dear? Could you take care of that please? I gotta go!”, and she ran off, leaving the cameraman behind with a heavy camera, satchel, and three bags of unpaid food.

She held her clipboard to her chest, supporting her painfully bouncing breasts as she ran back to the van. Anton was standing outside with a second camera, recording the pilgrims. She stopped and watched them. There were about eight of them, all wearing either Omega Man t-shirts or bright yellow home-made Omega Man costumes with the big blue Omega symbol on the chest, masks, and dark blue capes. Tricia’s mouth dropped open in utter horror ... for they were singing.

“O-Meg-Ahhh ... the Man ... He is gone!
O-Meg-Ahhh ... the Man ... He is gone!
O-Meg-Ahhh ... the Man ... He is gone!
Ohhh-Mega ... you the man!”

Tricia cringed as she looked at Anton. She mouthed silently to him. “Is that Kumbaya they are singing?” He nodded. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, feigning nausea. Then she turned back to the pilgrims, and gave them a warm, supportive smile.

The news van had obviously started to attract some attention, because there was now a growing group of people standing around watching them. Tricia noted that the pilgrims were not near the bank, where they really should be. Obviously they wanted to be on television, so they had set up next to the van instead.

“Any other visitors come?”, she asked Anton.

“You missed Multiplex. He zipped in, saluted the bank, and zipped out before I could get a camera.”

“Damn. You sure he’s gone?”, Tricia asked. “All of him?” Anton nodded.

Tricia turned around looking for signs of the hero and instead saw Charlie coming up, struggling with equipment, camera, and three bags of Chinese food. She ran over to him and graciously took one bag of food. “Gracias, Charlie!” she said, pecked him on the cheek, and then stuck her food in the van. Then she went into the crowd, looking for people to interview.

Anton saw Charlie with the bags of food, and shook his head in disappointment. Charlie rolled his eyes and dropped most of his load into the van. Then he followed Tricia into the crowd.

“Hi there!”, Tricia said as she approached a young woman. She was in her late teens, with bright white skin, jet black dyed hair, black clothes, and thick black eyeliner. “Tricia Sanchez, WKMB News.”

The goth girl nodded to the van. “What’s goin’ on?”

“We’re doing a retrospective on Omega Man. It’s the fifth anniversary of...”

“OH!”, she exclaimed, understanding immediately.

“Would you like to say a few words about him?” Tricia pulled out her clipboard and a pen, showing the release statement.

“Sure!”

“I’ll need you to sign a release.”

As the girl signed the paper, Tricia looked around and noticed a young boy standing nearby, watching attentively. He was in his early teens, skinny, with long, stringy, dirty hair, some bad acne, rumpled clothes, and he was carrying a small dog. The dog looked at her and wagged its tail. Tricia noticed the young boy admiring her figure, and she gave him a mischievous wink. He blushed, and averted his eyes for a moment. A secret thrill bubbled up inside her. There was something about teenage boys that always got her going. She loved their nervousness and excitement, and she especially loved teasing them.

She turned her body towards him, displaying her curves. “Would you be interested?” she asked him.

He looked surprised. “Huh?”

“Omega Man. Would you care to say a few words about him?”

“Oh. Ummm...” He shifted nervously, and shook his head. “No.”

Charlie handed Tricia a hand-mike, and turned the camera on. Tricia returned her attention to the goth girl. “So. Omega Man. Any thoughts?”

“Yeah”, the girl said. “It’s a shame he died and all, but you know? The whole superhero thing is pretty stupid. You know? I mean, the guy runs into a building with men with guns and shit, and you’d think he’d know it was dangerous!”

Tricia winced at the S-word.

“Oh fuck! I said ‘shit!’ Is that all right? Can you like bleep that out or something?”

Tricia nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it ... But don’t you think superheroes are useful to society?”