To read Stuart - part 1, please click here: The Day She Showed Up. There are still some plot holes that need to be fixed. Yes, I know what I deserve for leaving them out there. But I really wanted to post the second part. So, here we go...
It was nice to be here, in the back seat of the car, to be driven, instead of driving it. That's why Stanley is who he is. When Stuart barged in into Stanley's office, despite the screaming protests of his secretary, and asked for a car with a siren, he just took one look at his, Stuart's, face and said yes. Then being Stanley, he improved on his offer and sent a car with a siren, to get out of the city fast, and a driver. Granted, that was to guarantee that the aforementioned driver will drag his, Stuart's, arse out of his whorehouse on time and get him back, on time. Because he, Stuart, cannot be one minute late today or else. And, yes, Stanley had no doubts about what kind of "emergency" he had at home. Stanley dealt with Nick's emergencies of a similar nature on a daily basis. Is that clear, Chef?
The car hits a bump, and the shallow carton box from this morning vegetables delivery, now overflowing with takeout containers, shifts off the leather seat. Stuart catches the corner just in time to prevent the food from spilling all over the floor. What a mess and a waste that would be! While he was talking to Stanley, Sarah packed some obscene amount of food, cold and hot, from today's staff dinner and from whatever they will be serving later on tonight, including two bloody branzinos. When did she have time to prepare all this, that minx? Did she fillet and sous vide it first? Sarah texted him to come by the kitchen and didn't say what for. Silly goose, she was afraid that he will refuse to take it. Bollocks! Firstly, it was the staff meal time, and Stuart was hungry already. He didn't even know, when will be the next time he will have a few minutes to grab some food, definitely not while at home with Sherry.
Hold that thought! The smell of yucca fries, sprinkled with Sarah's own secret spice mix, coming from the top container, was driving him up the wall. And the small plastic cup with yuzu mayo got all warmed up from the fries, and now was adding its own tangy undertone in this divine cacophony of smells. Stuart dug into fries, as he kept looking what other finger food is there. Bingo! Mini arancinis stuffed with asiago and mushrooms. Any real protein, perhaps? Here we go, the famous bison meatballs. Now, all set, munching through all three, Stuart could get back to his train of thought.
No, he's not wasting one fucking minute on food, out of two measly hours he is left with. Sherry can take a bath and eat later, after he will leave. Or, maybe, they will still have time to hop in the shower together. Stuart shifts uncomfortably, should have rubbed one off, but he didn't have a bloody minute to spare, since he got her message, the fateful message that set in motion all this kerfuffle.
For some strange reason, at that point Stuart recalled a seemingly insignificant incident that happened a few days back, right after Nick appointed him as a scapegoat, responsible specifically for feeding and plumping up Izzie. Stuart just personally delivered a piping hot dinner upstairs and chatted Izzie up. She was getting all squirmy and jittery, when she finally blurted out that Nick will be back any minute. That was definitely Stuart's cue to skedaddle. To avoid bumping into Nick, Stuart took the back stairs. Lo and behold, panting and skipping three steps at once, here he was, Nick himself, tie undone, jacket in his hand, unbuttoning his shirt further down and pulling the hem out. With that particular look on his face, the same look that Stuart is sporting right now. Exhausted and frisky, depleted and horny, tired beyond any measure after a fourteen-hour day but still ready to devour her, the one so impatiently waiting for him upstairs. Two men just nodded to each other, acknowledging the unfortunate fact of getting in each other's way, and that was it.
A pang of jealousy washed over Stuart. It was not the fact that Nick was in a hurry to see Izzie. Stuart's own fling with Izzie was ion years ago, way before these two lovebirds met, and, truly, after being friends with benefits, they became just friends, real friends for life. That shit does not happen often, whether Nick likes it or not. It was the fact that Nick and Izzie had this hunger for each other in their lives, and he, Stuart, did not. Well, he did, but the object of his affection lived thousands of miles away. That was about a week ago.
Right now, in the back of this car, skillfully whisked away and out of the city, finally, on the country road, he could exhale and think of Sherry, who was not thousands of miles away anymore.
Stuart replayed in his head the last conversation he had with her two days ago.
"Are you still counting, the extra swats?" she asked.
She was referring to the extra spanks that Stuart had assigned for mentioning Clayton, her spineless cunt of an ex that abandoned Sherry at her most vulnerable. Long story to be told some other time. By all means, the spanks were not meant to be a punishment of any sorts, as Stuart did not want to discourage her to vent out. But, dear God, at first, it was non stop, Clay this and Clay that. So, to curtail the nasty habit, Stuart jokingly offered five spanks per uttering of the C-name. Sherry didn't seem to worry and did not slow down one little bit. When the total number climbed up into the second hundred, he took a pity on her bum and unilaterally reduced the sentence to three per occasion, instead of five.
Stuart kept his math silent, but Sherry occasionally asked about the total. Mind you, with her living on the West Coast, the chance of Stuart ever collecting his debt were slim but not none. They did talk about her visiting but never ventured into the logistics of it. After all, Stuart's days were ridiculously long. It could only work, if he will get a few days off, but then she wouldn't need to come over here, they could meet anywhere.
"Naturally. We are at two hundred and sixty-seven."
"Oh... Are you sure?" Her enthusiasm audibly deflated at the number.
"Most definitely. Not to worry, mon cheri, I can split it, say, into three visits to the woodshed? Ninety-ish each?" Stuart tried to present his spanking math in the most casual manner, maybe with a good dollop of sarcasm. While he was the bottom feeder in the sarcasm food chain when it came to Nick and Stanley, right now he got the upper hand, and Sherry was folding.
"You mean, your woodshed?" she squeaked.
"The proverbial woodshed, Sherry. My humble woodshed doesn't have any suitable furniture in it. But, if you wish so, I can always bring over a chair or even a--"
"Ninety? Did you say, ninety? Clay would never--"
"Too bad. That will be two-seventy, ma'am." Stuart dropped the new total.
"Fuck off, Stuart!" screamed Sherry.
"That's exactly the bloody problem, Sherry! If you would've been here, in this room, you would be right here, bare arse up in the air, begging for mercy in fifteen seconds flat, yes, hard and fast. And then whatever swearing is still left in you, along with that spineless cunt's name--"
"Stuart!" Sherry was an American and didn't take the word lightly.
"My apologies, darling, I meant, coward. That coward's name, I will fuck out of you for as long as it takes." Surprisingly, Stuart didn't raise his voice and kept his calm to the end. "These pouty lips of yours, unless wrapped around my cock, will be sputtering one name, Sherry, one name only, mine!" Crap, that last word came out a tad louder. Maybe, a lot louder. "Sherry? Hello?"
