TheRapist by J. Levy

floor like a child while he re-dialed again. Voice mail. Shit.
    ‘Devon, honey please I need to see you. I have something for you, call me as soon as you get this message. Bye hon.’
    He put his cell down carefully, going over the message he had left, wishing that he had worded it another way, then transferred the phone to his pocket so that he could feel the vibration when it rang. Hopefully, when it rang. One of the secretaries knocked softly at the door, peeking her head around as she opened it a few inches. She was small and skinny and wore her jet black hair in a choppy, pixie cut with a white slashed highlight at the front. Faux pearls around her white throat, a starched white shirt with over-sized frilly cuffs and a knee-length black jersey skirt with a huge teal colored bow tied over her sharp, right hip.
    ‘Excuse me Mr. Kofsberg please, but there is a lady in reception who wants to see you. She has blonde hair and bright red eyes from crying I think. She sure seems pretty upset. Is she Russian? Her name is Miss Pavlova.’ Betty the secretary tapped her left foot around the back of her right ankle. Manny wondered if she was trying to trip herself up?
    What on earth was Meringue doing here in the daytime? He felt sweat beads moistening his armpits. Shit, he would have to be wearing a silk shirt.
    ‘Ask her to come in Betty and you can take your lunch now.’
    ‘Ok, surely, thank you,’ smiled Betty, moving into the room and leaving a blue folder at the edge of Manny’s desk. As Betty left, Meringue was in her place in moments.
    ‘Close the door,’ hissed Manny, pulling at his tie. His neck began to flare up, leaving a ring of red blotches, tainting his skin. Meringue’s eyes were red raw . T heir visual combination looked like a before ad for psoriasis.
    ‘What are you doing here? We never meet in the day?!’
    ‘I’m homesick!’ wailed Meringue.
    ‘So why are you telling me?’ Manny faced the window, his back to Meringue. She looked closely at the grey flannel of his Zegna jacket. His black shoes shone and she knew that his Armani boxers would be spotless and white, as usual.
    Meringue leaned against the desk, wiping her eyes and nose with a used tissue from her pocket.
    ‘Why aren’t you ever nice to me? You’re never kind.’ She asked softly. ‘For months I have done exactly as you want, all on your terms. I’ve asked nothing of you. I’ve always come when you called. Why, I’m not even sure if you like me?’ A small choke knotted in her throat. She swallowed, all at once looking so vulnerable.
    Manny turned to her. She looked up at him, lit beautifully by the natural light from the window and for a moment she took his breath away and he couldn’t speak. Her eyes were red rimmed, but there was no denying the intensity of color. They were the deepest shade of violet. Her skin was milky white and her lips looked as if she had been stung by a bee, they were so plump and moist and pink. But it was the color of her eyes that captivated him. He had never seen her in daylight before. He realized sadly that he had never even looked into her eyes before. He had only looked at the top of her head while she sucked his selfish dick. Now she was looking into his eyes. A girl from the south who was far from home and lonely and lovely. He felt stirrings of emotion inside him. It was new but not entirely unwelcome. He held open his arms and then Meringue was inside them. He encircled her as fresh, warm tears rolled down her cheeks and onto the collar of his jacket. He held her tighter, breathing in the scent of her peroxide blonde hair. It smelt of roses from a far away, faded garden. He looked down at her dark roots and saw a few specks of dandruff. He felt her heart beating just below his own. An emotional shift prompted him to ask her a personal question about herself, the first one ever.
    ‘What the fuck is your real name?’ he whispered gently into her hair.
    She gazed up at him, her violet eyes