LJ Idol Season 8 Week 9 - A Sentimental Sap
o/` "I'm so hot and bothered that I don't
know my elbow from my ear
I suffer something awful each time you go
And much worse when you're near
Here I am with all my bridges burned
Just a babe in arms where
you're concerned
So lock the doors and call me yours
'Cause you took advantage of me." o/`
-- "You Took Advantage of Me" performed by Ella Fitzgerald
Author's Note: For those curious about chronology, this vignette takes place between this entry (written by me for LJ Idol in December 2009) and this entry (written by diagenou in March 2010). Enjoy!
* * * * *
He flipped through the stack of books Dorie and I had removed from the true crime section to be considered for purchase. "Garbage...garbage...had a beef against the investigators...oh, I remember this one! Damned near ruined that case with his yellow journalism and inaccurate press releases...rubbish...hmm, now this one might do you some good provided you read the text about forensics first....ah!" Diagenou's long, strong fingers stroked the shiny cover of the last book in the pile --- titled Manhunter by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker --- with a reverence at odds with all the sarcasm he'd demonstrated earlier. I recalled that Dorie and I had set that one aside almost immediately as a 'must have' because the man who had written it had been the one who initiated the FBI's profiling unit...the unit for which her brother now worked. I wondered if he'd known John Douglas or met him, thought about asking Diagenou about his work and then just as quickly remembered that I detested this man with his "shoot first, ask questions later" attitude.
Probably wouldn't give me a straight answer anyway, I thought sourly. Wonder how much of this is pure bullshit. He can't really get into my mind, just like that...can he?
"So glad I asked for your opinion on our reading material. We obviously can't do this without you." I wanted desperately to take him down a peg, to crack that superior know-it-all mask of his and see what true face he wore but I suspected that I might find nothing underneath. Unbidden, fragmented quotes from Douglas' autobiography floated through my mind: "Put yourself in the position of the hunter...I've got to be a hunter, I've got to be a profiler, I've got to be able to profile that potential prey....Behavior reflects personality....To know the offender, you have to look at the crime." I wondered if that meant he had to, at some point, become that predator and just how fine that line had been drawn. He moved like...well...an assassin. I had the uncomfortable sensation that if Dorie had not been present, if I had been here alone, he might have singled me out anyway. What on earth does he want? He couldn't be profiling me...could he? Why?
"Do you always ignore answers to questions if you don't like the answers?" Diagenou inquired, breaking my reverie.
"Dee!" Dorie snapped, apparently aghast at his manners, or lack of them. "I told you she has several medical conditions. She might not have heard ---"
"She heard, sister dear," he interrupted, his cultured voice carrying only slightly less sharpness than it did when he spoke to the mere human beings who were beneath his notice. Like me. "I would suppose a rare bit of enlightenment entered her empty little head and she is now pondering how, if at all, she ought to react to it." His voice softened as though he were talking to a small, frightened child. "It's not quite what you think," he repeated. "It's true I have to spend a lot more time than I'd like viewing things through the eyes of a predator but a good profiler also has to experience the crime through the eyes of the victim. I know every bit of suffering, every hopeless thought, every struggle that person goes through before the killer takes that life." Diagenou's voice had lowered to a tortured whisper and I nearly didn't catch what he said next. It may have been that mask cracking or it could have been meant for my ears only. "I've seen some terrible things, Kitty, and I never forget a case. Not one detail." In a normal tone he answered my unasked question, "I studied under John Douglas and learned his wisdom long before that" the long finger stabbed at the book "was published. I even worked a few of the cases he mentioned. So" he struck a ludicrous pose reminiscent of a maestro before an orchestra "if you and Dorie want to write a good detective novel, you do in fact want my input on which books to use for references."
Are those poses and postures how he acts or is he doing this just for me? I decided I wasn't going to be impressed but all I barely managed to squeak out, "Okay" as I gathered up the picked over pile. Only three titles had met his approval and one of them was a science manual on forensics. I didn't know what chance in hell I actually had of understanding what was in there, but if the great profiler Diagenou Marouche insisted this was what we needed, then by the gods I wasn't going to argue with him.
" Anybody hungry?" Dorie asked to cover what probably would have been another verbal sparring match. "There's a Chili's two doors down."
"I'll buy dinner," her brother responded with another of his predatory grins, "but you owe me at least one drink since I have to put up with your bone headed girlfriend here." He actually reached down and knuckled the crown of my head, but gently and almost affectionately.
What? He can't be interested in me. And I can't possibly be interested in him, he's not my type. He wasn't --- loud, arrogant, and too handsome for his own good he would ordinarily have been out of my league. I preferred my men, when I preferred them at all, somewhat gentler and more refined. Diagenou seemed kin to a knife which would cut no matter how carefully you handled it. I doubted he could even respect any boundaries we might agree upon; his type seemed intent on breaking rules at every opportunity regardless of consequences. Even a one night stand would have been too dangerous.
My libido disagreed.
I couldn't tell you what we ate or drank, only that he and I argued loudly about almost everything until Dorie threatened to go sit at another table and disavow all kinship with us. I found myself attempting to draw him out, warming up to him. Once in a while, if he didn't think I would be watching, the mask would drop and I would catch a glimpse of something soft and vulnerable under it. Hell with it. He needs someone and I want him.
"So," he inquired, twirling the wine glass between his supple fingers before he sipped the last of a dry white, "would you like to spend the rest of the evening with me? I...am not unfond of your company."
We argued about that, too, until Dorie tossed a key on the table. "I'm going home," she announced. "I have to go in to work early tomorrow. You can let yourself back into my apartment when Dee brings you back."
"I guess it's settled," I said, tucking my arm into his and finding myself vaguely surprised by how well it seemed to fit, almost as though we had been made for each other.
"Dog stays in the car," he responded with what I would eventually learn was typical tactlessness. "I don't share a bed with animals."
It turned out, in one sense, that Diagenou was completely wrong about that.
The breakfast may have been typical of New Orleans but the manner in which it was served turned out to be anything but orthodox. I dozed, comfortably sated in both body and soul, and only awakened when I felt the bed springs creaking.
"I...uh...thought you would be sleeping more soundly."
I raised myself up on one elbow and glared at him. He had been caught fully dressed, including his coat, except for one boot which he had been about to put on the stockinged foot which rested across his other thigh.
"You were going to sneak out! Without even so much as saying goodbye!"
"Kitty...." Diagenou sounded genuinely regretful as he dropped the boot to the floor and stroked a curl out of my eyes. "This was a mistake. You and I...we shouldn't have...."
"You're poison," I admitted candidly. "You're an incorrigible, arrogant bastard who could give a shit about anyone's needs but your own. I'm damaged goods; I've been used and abused, broken, and put back together with duct tape and baling wire. I don't even like men much. But" I laughed "somehow it fits. Trust me on this." I lay back, stroked his cheek with my hand. "No, don't say anything. I know --- you'll say things you don't mean, you'll forget to call, avoid me, we'll fight all the time." I made a shooing motion with my hand, a super sized Cleopatra dismissing her Anthony. "Do what you have to do. I'll wait and I'll be here."
know my elbow from my ear
I suffer something awful each time you go
And much worse when you're near
Here I am with all my bridges burned
Just a babe in arms where
you're concerned
So lock the doors and call me yours
'Cause you took advantage of me." o/`
-- "You Took Advantage of Me" performed by Ella Fitzgerald
Author's Note: For those curious about chronology, this vignette takes place between this entry (written by me for LJ Idol in December 2009) and this entry (written by diagenou in March 2010). Enjoy!
* * * * *
He flipped through the stack of books Dorie and I had removed from the true crime section to be considered for purchase. "Garbage...garbage...had a beef against the investigators...oh, I remember this one! Damned near ruined that case with his yellow journalism and inaccurate press releases...rubbish...hmm, now this one might do you some good provided you read the text about forensics first....ah!" Diagenou's long, strong fingers stroked the shiny cover of the last book in the pile --- titled Manhunter by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker --- with a reverence at odds with all the sarcasm he'd demonstrated earlier. I recalled that Dorie and I had set that one aside almost immediately as a 'must have' because the man who had written it had been the one who initiated the FBI's profiling unit...the unit for which her brother now worked. I wondered if he'd known John Douglas or met him, thought about asking Diagenou about his work and then just as quickly remembered that I detested this man with his "shoot first, ask questions later" attitude.
Probably wouldn't give me a straight answer anyway, I thought sourly. Wonder how much of this is pure bullshit. He can't really get into my mind, just like that...can he?
"So glad I asked for your opinion on our reading material. We obviously can't do this without you." I wanted desperately to take him down a peg, to crack that superior know-it-all mask of his and see what true face he wore but I suspected that I might find nothing underneath. Unbidden, fragmented quotes from Douglas' autobiography floated through my mind: "Put yourself in the position of the hunter...I've got to be a hunter, I've got to be a profiler, I've got to be able to profile that potential prey....Behavior reflects personality....To know the offender, you have to look at the crime." I wondered if that meant he had to, at some point, become that predator and just how fine that line had been drawn. He moved like...well...an assassin. I had the uncomfortable sensation that if Dorie had not been present, if I had been here alone, he might have singled me out anyway. What on earth does he want? He couldn't be profiling me...could he? Why?
"Do you always ignore answers to questions if you don't like the answers?" Diagenou inquired, breaking my reverie.
"Dee!" Dorie snapped, apparently aghast at his manners, or lack of them. "I told you she has several medical conditions. She might not have heard ---"
"She heard, sister dear," he interrupted, his cultured voice carrying only slightly less sharpness than it did when he spoke to the mere human beings who were beneath his notice. Like me. "I would suppose a rare bit of enlightenment entered her empty little head and she is now pondering how, if at all, she ought to react to it." His voice softened as though he were talking to a small, frightened child. "It's not quite what you think," he repeated. "It's true I have to spend a lot more time than I'd like viewing things through the eyes of a predator but a good profiler also has to experience the crime through the eyes of the victim. I know every bit of suffering, every hopeless thought, every struggle that person goes through before the killer takes that life." Diagenou's voice had lowered to a tortured whisper and I nearly didn't catch what he said next. It may have been that mask cracking or it could have been meant for my ears only. "I've seen some terrible things, Kitty, and I never forget a case. Not one detail." In a normal tone he answered my unasked question, "I studied under John Douglas and learned his wisdom long before that" the long finger stabbed at the book "was published. I even worked a few of the cases he mentioned. So" he struck a ludicrous pose reminiscent of a maestro before an orchestra "if you and Dorie want to write a good detective novel, you do in fact want my input on which books to use for references."
Are those poses and postures how he acts or is he doing this just for me? I decided I wasn't going to be impressed but all I barely managed to squeak out, "Okay" as I gathered up the picked over pile. Only three titles had met his approval and one of them was a science manual on forensics. I didn't know what chance in hell I actually had of understanding what was in there, but if the great profiler Diagenou Marouche insisted this was what we needed, then by the gods I wasn't going to argue with him.
" Anybody hungry?" Dorie asked to cover what probably would have been another verbal sparring match. "There's a Chili's two doors down."
"I'll buy dinner," her brother responded with another of his predatory grins, "but you owe me at least one drink since I have to put up with your bone headed girlfriend here." He actually reached down and knuckled the crown of my head, but gently and almost affectionately.
What? He can't be interested in me. And I can't possibly be interested in him, he's not my type. He wasn't --- loud, arrogant, and too handsome for his own good he would ordinarily have been out of my league. I preferred my men, when I preferred them at all, somewhat gentler and more refined. Diagenou seemed kin to a knife which would cut no matter how carefully you handled it. I doubted he could even respect any boundaries we might agree upon; his type seemed intent on breaking rules at every opportunity regardless of consequences. Even a one night stand would have been too dangerous.
My libido disagreed.
I couldn't tell you what we ate or drank, only that he and I argued loudly about almost everything until Dorie threatened to go sit at another table and disavow all kinship with us. I found myself attempting to draw him out, warming up to him. Once in a while, if he didn't think I would be watching, the mask would drop and I would catch a glimpse of something soft and vulnerable under it. Hell with it. He needs someone and I want him.
"So," he inquired, twirling the wine glass between his supple fingers before he sipped the last of a dry white, "would you like to spend the rest of the evening with me? I...am not unfond of your company."
We argued about that, too, until Dorie tossed a key on the table. "I'm going home," she announced. "I have to go in to work early tomorrow. You can let yourself back into my apartment when Dee brings you back."
"I guess it's settled," I said, tucking my arm into his and finding myself vaguely surprised by how well it seemed to fit, almost as though we had been made for each other.
"Dog stays in the car," he responded with what I would eventually learn was typical tactlessness. "I don't share a bed with animals."
It turned out, in one sense, that Diagenou was completely wrong about that.
The breakfast may have been typical of New Orleans but the manner in which it was served turned out to be anything but orthodox. I dozed, comfortably sated in both body and soul, and only awakened when I felt the bed springs creaking.
"I...uh...thought you would be sleeping more soundly."
I raised myself up on one elbow and glared at him. He had been caught fully dressed, including his coat, except for one boot which he had been about to put on the stockinged foot which rested across his other thigh.
"You were going to sneak out! Without even so much as saying goodbye!"
"Kitty...." Diagenou sounded genuinely regretful as he dropped the boot to the floor and stroked a curl out of my eyes. "This was a mistake. You and I...we shouldn't have...."
"You're poison," I admitted candidly. "You're an incorrigible, arrogant bastard who could give a shit about anyone's needs but your own. I'm damaged goods; I've been used and abused, broken, and put back together with duct tape and baling wire. I don't even like men much. But" I laughed "somehow it fits. Trust me on this." I lay back, stroked his cheek with my hand. "No, don't say anything. I know --- you'll say things you don't mean, you'll forget to call, avoid me, we'll fight all the time." I made a shooing motion with my hand, a super sized Cleopatra dismissing her Anthony. "Do what you have to do. I'll wait and I'll be here."