Crossover Crossroads (The Kell and Maille Story)

004: Excuse Me?

"Gay?" she repeated dumbly, and tried to draw away. He nodded, his eyes on hers calmly. But his mustache twitched at her reaction.

"Homophobic?" he queried softly, "But surely you realize I would do nothing to dishonor you. If I had wanted to, don't you think I would have already done so?"

Her fingers paused on the phone keypad. That was true, certainly, there had been ample opportunity presented in the last forty minutes. He wouldn't have given her phone back if he had lied and knew she could verify it, or call for security, or the police.

"Who safer to guard your virtue than one who doesn't crave it?" His voice was again that husky amused chuckle.

"You're just taking me to dinner?"

"Taking you would be a date, and I don't date." He said and unlocked the door with a flick of his wrist. "You are simply accompanying me."

"I see." She said as they went through the door. "I am just your dinner companion, to save you from the boredom of eating alone."

"Quite correct." He smiled and his teeth flashed ferally in the fluorescent hall lighting. Her dress swished and rustled.

"I can't leave here dressed like this. You know they'll stop me at the gate."

"Everyone is stopped at the gate." He was unconcerned, and briskly whisked her across the common grounds of the beautiful studio and as the warm Salt Lake summer evening breeze washed over her hot cheeks, Maille thought it quite plausible that he could easily stroll off the lot without a backward glance. He reached a parking lot, lifted a key from a pocket hitherto unseen, and unlocked the passenger side door of a fiery red sports car. Maille struggled to get her skirts into the small cramped space. And then the door was shut, and she was alone in a small car with a stranger.

He backed out sedately, his plumed hat crammed against the short roof, as they pulled up to the security gate, she fully expected to be ushered out of the stolen car, and taken into the welcome relief of custody, but the guard simply pressed his release button, and tipped his hat, "Evening, Mr. Stevak."

As they drove through the raised bar, her companion gave her a sidelong glance, and she gave him the same back, trying to place the name, Stevak, Stevak, Stevak... she did know that name. She also realized she could see in this close juncture that he was wearing a lot of eyeliner and mascara, both on the top and on the bottom. He must be an actor, she thought. He must be in Melia and Steve's adventure flick. It had to be. One of the extras? Maybe someone of a little more importance as he'd been known on sight at the gate. She hadn't missed that fact or the one that he wanted her to know it.

"What do you eat? Fish? Chicken? Italiano?" he never took his eyes off the road as he shifted bumpily into second gear. The car lurched forward and then took off, and Maille felt compelled to hang onto the door brace tighter.

"I'm easy." She replied, to which he gave her a startled glance, and she flushed once again. "I didn't mean it that way."

"Mexican, then?"

They didn't speak on the drive to the restaurant, which took some maneuvering as he drove around the block several times before settling on an entrance and a parking place. He seemed to be lining it up just right. She would have let herself out, but he jumped out of the car quite agilely for someone dressed in several yards of flamboyant buccaneer costuming, including tricorn hat and feathered plume. She also would have gotten out herself, but in the folds of the squashed peacock dress she couldn't locate the door handle, let alone her seat belt release. As she fumbled around looking for it, he stood at the door patiently, not in any hurry, simply watching her, and alternately staring at the traffic across the street thoughtfully.

Frustration welled. What was she doing anyway? Dressed like an English lady, in yards of satin, like she was going to the prom, she felt ridiculous. "Maybe we should go back."

"If you will permit me?" he squatted beside her, those dark velvet eyes staring disconcertingly into hers. He lifted his hands and left them poised over her lap, awaiting her nod of approval in helping her get out of the seat belt.

He took her lowered eyes as acquiescence and reached carefully through the folds, careful not to brush her legs at all, and unlatched the belt, then he stepped back and offered her his hand. Maille ignored it until she knew she couldn't get out by herself, and then it was there, wiry strength lifting her easily to her feet. He shut the door and presented his arm once more, daring her to do other than take it now that she'd accepted his help in getting out of the car.

There were stares, although not as many or as profoundly as she would have thought, yet she was relieved to slide into a booth. What she hadn't been prepared for was that he slid in next to her rather than across from her, and rather briskly told the waitress what they'd be having as he deftly tucked a large linen napkin around her lap. To her utter mortification, he didn't use a menu at all, but continued rattling off stipulations and cooking instructions for some time, while the waitress scribbled frantically, checking every few minutes to make sure she'd got it right. Maille turned astonished eyes on her companion and missed the adoring look the waitress gave before she departed, but Mr. Stevak sighed in contentment and glanced at her in challenge.

*****