I’m Steele Here
By: bookgrrrll
“The cities grow, the rivers flow
Where you are, I’ll never know
But I’m still here.
If you were right and I was wrong
Why are you the one who’s gone,
And I’m still here
I’m still here”
~ I’m
Still Here, by Vertical Horizon
*****
Why?
The same question continued to echo
through Laura Holt’s mind like a broken surveillance tape. Why would he leave?
Yes, their disagreement had been more intense than usual. Yes, she’d said many
things, awful things. Things she regretted to the bottom of her soul. Still,
he’d never fled, never abandoned her, until now.
With leaden feet and a stone-heavy
heart, she closed the door on the apartment and walked to the elevator. While
she waited for its arrival, images of the day she’d first rented the flat
flashed in her mind.
“Grand, but not ostentatious,” the rental
agent said. “Clean lines and gorgeous views. A cozy heart
with world-class charm.” She knew nothing could be that good.
How wrong she’d been. Laura tumbled head
over toes for the place the first time she laid eyes on it. Paid the security
deposit and three months rent in advance on the spot, despite the newly-formed
agency’s meager budget. It was the perfect cover for their illustrious
figurehead, the then-fictious Remington Steele, and a
gilded façade for the ultimate ruse of her life.
Yes, Laura fell in love that day—in more
ways than one.
Months later, when the mysterious man
who would become Mr. Steele first appeared in her life—moving into the Rossmore address, and into her life—a tiny, secret part of
her was thrilled. Thrilled to be wanted again, to be the
object of such a powerful male’s attentions and affections.
Unfortunately, the small flutter of
connection was also the piece of herself she guarded against with unbridled ferocity.
Her independence and respect were hard fought, hard won. She’d be damned if anyone or anything pilfered
her achievements. Still, late at night, in the quiet darkness of semi-slumber, it
was the memory of Mr. Steele’s heated aqua-blue gaze that set her heart a-thumping;
the quirk of his lips and the brush of his hand that brought her to life and satisfied
her bone-deep yearning.
No,
dammit! Laura climbed aboard the elevator and jammed
the button several times. The doors slid closed and she slumped against the
wall. Men made women messy. She’d vowed never to follow her mother’s fall down
love’s slippery slope, into the oblivion of desperation. She sure as hell
wasn’t going to start now.
Only the day before, Laura had given
a polite but firm refusal to William Westfield’s offer of a passionate getaway.
At last, her heart was strong, her resolve solid. Time to
make or break with her Mr. Steele.
She’d arrived at her warehouse loft to shower
and change and grab her mail before heading to the Rossmore flat. Spied the non-descript plain envelope tucked
amongst her bills. At the sight of Remington’s elegant penmanship gracing the
exterior, her heart tripped like a drunken sailor. When the agency’s license
spilled out with no accompanying note, time stopped all together. Something was
wrong, very wrong.
Screw the shower. Laura grabbed her
keys and hightailed the Rabbit straight to Remington’s
place. Only to find it deserted.
Gone. He was gone. She’d returned now to
verify and found the place still as empty as the night before, still just as
sad.
“Miss Holt?” Fred’s quiet, discreet
tone interrupted her despondent reverie. She blinked up at him then flashed a
wan smile. Dove through the open car door he held before the dam busted and she
blubbered like a fool.
Once ensconced in the shadowed
interior of the limo, she told Fred to take her to the agency then dialed the
car phone. She needed to see Dr. Griswold about the situation.
When the receptionist answered, Laura
scheduled a therapy appointment for later in the afternoon. Molly, a former
client turned friend, also happened to be one of the best psychologists in Los Angeles.
If the raging headache throbbing in her
temples was any indication, Laura was going to require all the assistance she
could get wading through the abominable mess of a warzone her staid, orderly
life had become.
###
At four-thirty sharp, Laura arrived
at Dr. Griswold’s office.
She’d invented some plausible excuse
about a toothache and had tossed a quick goodbye to Mildred before ducking out.
After spending an exhausting day avoiding her inquisitive assistant’s questions
regarding Mr. Steele’s whereabouts, her frazzled nerves were shot. She needed
this appointment.
No one knew she’d been seeing Molly for
anything other than the occasional girl’s night out for the last six months.
Laura planned to continue the deception.
With a black fedora pulled low over her tawny
hair and eyes and a bland gray trench coat covering her petite frame from neck
to shin, she was unrecognizable.
The receptionist announced her over the
speakerphone then waved her through to the inner sanctum.
Molly waited on the other side of
the door with a hug and a smile.
Laura removed her hat and coat
before flopping down on the overstuffed sofa along one wall. She raked a hand
through her ruffled curls and toed off her pumps. “Well, Molly, he’s done it. Mr.
Steele’s finally done it.”
The therapist perched at the edge of
the desk and leaned forward, her green eyes bright and shining with
anticipatory glee. “Done what? Popped the proverbial question?”
“Left.”
Laura glanced away and crossed her arms. Why did the word hurt so much? She
snorted and looked down. Her hands dropped to her lap and she fiddled with a
non-existent raveling on her immaculate lilac colored skirt. “I always knew he
would. One day. Same as all the others.”
“You’re sure he’s gone, Laura? Maybe
he got called away on a case and didn’t have a chance to call in yet?” Molly
moved into the seat beside her and patted Laura on the knee. “It happens
sometimes, right? Especially in your line of work.”
Yes,
my line of work. Laura blinked back the unwelcome tears welling in her
eyes. The agency had always been her safe place, her haven. Now the only thing
she could think about when she entered the Century City suite was Remington,
with his graceful movements and sharp wit; his ability to make her heart race and
her anger soar, all with the same waggle of his cultured brow.
She sighed and slumped into the cushions,
letting her head fall back and turned toward Molly. Her friend’s shoulder-length
auburn hair was secured off her model-perfect face in a chic, sloppy chignon.
Several strands escaped to curl around the collar of her white doctor’s lab
coat. Laura had always envied Molly’s ability to let loose. She herself had never
been able to subdue her own personal control demons long enough to try. At least
not while sober.
Was her tight-reigned heart the reason
Remington had disappeared? She rubbed her tired eyes and reached for her purse.
Answers weren’t forthcoming on the subject. No sense rehashing the impossible
to deny. Mr. Steele was gone and he wasn’t coming back. Laura dug in her bag
and pulled out a folded envelope. “Found this in my mail yesterday. Nothing
says goodbye like the return of your agency’s license.”
She tossed the packet on Molly’s lap and
pushed off the couch. Soon she paced the office as if it belonged to her. The
way she did when solving an intricate case. The way she and Remington had done more
times than she could count.
Dammit! She needed this to stop. Now.
“Molly, I need your professional help to end
my obsession with being abandoned, dependent. I refuse to become my mother.”
Laura sat down again, this time on top of the coffee table, facing her friend.
She reached out and gripped Molly’s hand. “Help me tackle these issues head-on.
I’m determined to beat this thing. I can’t jeopardize my life’s work.”
Her voice cracked. Laura released Molly
and cleared her throat, an index finger rubbing the area between her brows. She
stared hard at the floor, not above begging at this point. “Please.”
The therapist remained quiet until Laura
met her narrowed gaze. “This will take devotion, Laura, along with painful digging
into the dark recesses of emotion. You’ll have to be honest—with me and with yourself—about
the truth of your feelings. Are you willing to go there?”
Laura opened her mouth to answer, then halted. She closed her eyes. Fast-forward pictures
raced through her mind. The tomb her mother’s house became after her father left.
Nothing moved. Nothing changed. Nothing lived without him. Only
the solemn, gray wasteland of post-relationship desolation.
Flash forward again. The images skewed in
a rapid-fire kaleidoscope. Morphed into a pair of hungry,
heated, aqua-blue eyes and a sunny, seductive smile. Soft,
impressionist images of a shared picnic in the park, nights by the fire, and carefree
days in Acapulco.
The haunted past and the promising present
all wrapped into one. Hell and heaven.
She swallowed hard and met Molly’s direct
gaze with her own unwavering stare. “Yes. I’m ready.”
###
Later in the evening, Laura snuggled
into her favorite robe and slippers and pulled out her trusty notebook. The one
reserved for her private thoughts. She flipped to the next blank page and went
over Molly’s instructions in her head. Pick a song, a meaningful piece. Write
down the lyrics and ponder them. Why do they resonate with you? List all of the
reasons that spring to mind.
At first Laura had scoffed at the
idea. Really? She paid one-hundred-fifty-dollars an
hour for a sappy tune? She loved Molly and trusted her expertise, but come on.
In the end, after Molly extolled the virtues of the assignment and its amazing ability
to reveal hidden monsters, Laura relented. Fine. She’d
do her homework and report back the following day.
After searching her music collection
for a couple of hours, Laura made her final selection. Her choice turned out not
to be a anything she owned. No, this song was new. She’d
heard the melody on the way home from Molly’s office. The words haunted her,
seemed to mirror her exact feelings at the moment. Laura Holt considered
herself to be steady and practical. Still, a touch of serendipity now and again
was never bad.
A quick trip to the neighborhood Tower
Records and she’d emerged with her new purchase in hand.
Now, she popped the album into her
stereo system. Soon the notes washed over her and she closed her eyes, enjoying
the melody for a moment before jotting down the lyrics. A page and a half later, prophetic words filled the pad.
Following a gulp of cabernet and a
scratch behind Nero’s ears, she dug into her new assignment with gusto. In true
Laura fashion, she divided the song into neat verses and listed her thoughts
after each line.
###
I found the pieces in my hand
They were always there
It just took some time for me to
understand
You gave me words I just can’t say
So if nothing else
I’ll just hold on while you drift away
Cause everything you wanted me to hide
Is everything that makes me feel alive
###
I
found the pieces in my hand. They were always there it just took some time for
me to understand…
The day the license arrived in the mail.
Damn, the memory still hurt. Hurt because he was really, truly gone. Hurt because
he cared enough to make sure the agency survived, to make sure she survived and
kept going despite his loss. Hurt because she drove him away with her searing,
hateful words. Is a piece of paper all
that’s keeping us together? We should take some time and think about this—us—for
a while.
Her memories stretched further. A teenaged
Laura huddled over the family checkbook at the dinner table, balancing the
accounts her mother had no interest in dealing with anymore. Someone needed to
pay the bills, keep some semblance of life functioning. Her father might be
gone, but at least his generous bank account remained. Bastard.
You
gave me words I just can’t say. So if nothing else, I’ll just hold on while you
drift away…
Remington had given her the words. Had told her of his love several nights ago at his apartment, without
any coercion or reserve. After yet another heated tryst she’d pruned too
soon, before allowing it to blossom and grow. The need in his husky voice, the
desperation and want in his passionate gaze made leaving him the hardest thing
she’d ever done, but staunch resistance was her forte. Laura abandoned him at
the door with a chaste peck on the cheek and an imaginary bag of unfulfilled
dreams. Ouch.
The lid of the pen she was gnawing split beneath
under her vicious bite and pinched her tongue. She ripped the cap off and tossed
it on the nearby end table before continuing her ruminations.
Overcast day. Eight-year-old Laura
begging her beleaguered father for one more spin on the carnival
merry-go-round. Her father’s searching gaze as he bent to press a quarter in
her palm. Promise me you won’t tell your
mother.
From atop her white and gold pony, Laura
saw her father embrace another woman beyond the cluster of the crowd, kiss her
neck and spin her around in a crazy, cockeyed circle. The ride twirled and her
innocence shattered. Liar.
Laura batted away an errant tear and
finished off her first glass of wine. Got up and retrieved the bottle from the
kitchen then topped off another glassful and continued. Molly’s assessment was
proving correct. This assignment was more complex than she expected, harder
than she imagined.
‘Cause everything you wanted me to hide, is everything that
makes me feel alive…
She
was never quiet sure where she stood with Mr. Steele, his illusion versus her reality.
For a detail stickler, not knowing was
pure torture. Her heart longed for a close, intimate connection. For him to
know all of her deep, dark secrets and discover he loved her anyway and to do
the same for him. How many times in the past had he opened the possibilities,
only to have his options slammed shut because of her inability to relax, to be
still and surrender?
She bit back a tiny, stifled sob and
poked herself hard in the forehead with the butt end of her ballpoint. Dammit! The situation was Wilson squared.
Hell, the current mess was every relationship she ever had with a man in spades.
Why couldn’t she let go?
Laura released her death grip on the pen
and rubbed her eyes. Deep in the recesses of her subconscious, the answer
clawed skyward.
Late afternoon. Ten-year-old Laura
playing cops and robbers with her friends outside. This time she got to
be the thief and it was great fun outwitting those pesky officers. She always
beat them.
Crouched against the side of the house, Laura
scanned the nearby yard before making her escape. Darting through
the bushes toward the front stoop. She swatted at the gnats buzzing
around her face and tuned into the conversation trickling out of the open
window above, snippets of her mother’s overwrought phone tirade. Please come back. I miss you so much. I’ll
do anything you want. Give you anything you ask. I’m begging you. Please come
home. I’ll die without you.
Stomach clenched and breath hitched,
Laura moved out from under the window and stood on the sidewalk, open and
vulnerable. Her mother’s keening sobs carried on the warm, mid-summer breeze
like the last painful wheeze of dying prey.
“Caught you!” A kid
yelled from behind her, making her jump. The pretend police apprehended their
criminal and hauled her to make-believe jail. We’re locking you away for a long time, Laura Holt.
No kidding.
The first verse was down, along with two
glasses of wine. She eyed the half-empty bottle and ignored the light buzz flooding
her system, charging ahead with the second stanza.
###
Seeing the ashes in my heart
I smile the widest
While I cry inside and my insides blow
apart
I tried to wear another face
Just to make you proud
Just to make you put me in my place
But everything you wanted from me
Is everything that I could never be
###
Seeing
the ashes in my heart. I smile the widest while I cry inside
and my insides blow apart…
Wow.
Laura swallowed hard against the rising lump in her throat and looked away from
the page to glance at the clock above the stove. Ten pm.
Only a few weeks earlier, she’d been
cuddled close in Remington’s embrace, watching a Grant-Hepburn movie marathon
on cable. They’d fed each other fondue and chocolate while huddled amongst the
pillows then made up their own wicked game.
Decadent, wine-filled kisses and heated
caresses were the requirement whenever the lead actors said ‘love’. She didn’t
realize how often the word came up in the dialogue. Remington’s sly grin after
her acceptance of the dare indicated he’d done his homework and taken an exact
count before the game ever began. After the passionate evening in Remington’s
arms, Laura felt closer to him than anyone else in her life.
Always patient, he never pushed her to
give more than she was ready to surrender. Understanding,
even forgiving—after a cool down period, of course—when she lashed out at him,
hurt him with wounds both emotional and physical. Sometimes the injury
was on purpose, as with an occasional toe-crushing stomp to shut him up. Other
times they were accidental, with a careless answer or a flippant, defensive
reply to his innocent questions.
Those second slights too numerous to
count, of late.
Still, with his cover-ready smile plastered in place, he persevered. Now, it was
her turn to carry on. Alone. Again.
More wine. Deeper
memories. The school gym, festooned with paper streamers and balloons. Eleven-year-old
Laura in the scratchy, ruffled pink party gown her mother insisted she wear.
Her patent-leather shoes pinched her toes and the bobby pins in her hair itched
like the dickens. She fidgeted in the center of the floor, searching the crowd
for her special date.
The father-daughter dance was a big deal
on the school calendar and he’d promised to arrive by seven. She glanced at the
clock. Seven forty-five. Maybe he had to work late. Mother complained he always
worked overtime these days. It had been so long since she’d gotten alone time
with her father. She rose up on tiptoes, despite the uncomfortable shoes, and
craned her neck. The side door opened and a tall man in a bowler hat entered.
Not daddy. Darn it.
Laura lowered her heels to the floor and
glowered at the nearby couples dancing. Girls teetered atop their father’s feet,
giggling while they hobbled in time to the latest Motown tunes. Where was he?
She huffed and walked to the sidelines. Soon
Laura received a nudge in the side and a crude wink from Stacy Plodnick, class bully. What’s
a matter, Holt? Your old man a no show? Figures. Who’d want to dance with a loser like you anyway?
Heat flooded Laura’s cheeks and her hands
shook with suppressed, embarrassed fury. She shoved the bulky girl hard and
darted from the gym, racing past the hall monitors and out into the black, cool
night. Tears in her eyes, she slumped on the steps and stared at the twinkling
stars above.
Maybe Stacy was right. Maybe she was a
loser, a pathetic idiot whose own father wanted nothing to do with her. The
metallic cha-chink of the door echoed as it creaked opened behind her, breaking
into her thoughts. The concerned tone of a chaperone drifted her way on a
chilly breeze. Are you okay, Miss Holt?
Laura constructed her best carefree grin
and turned it on full watt. Yes, I’m fine, thank you. I’m perfect.
###
I
tried to wear another face. Just to make you proud, just to make you put me in
my place. But everything you wanted me from me, is everything that I could
never be…
She topped off her glass and flipped to a
new page in the notebook, losing count of how many glasses she’d downed and how
many pages she’d already filled.
How many times had she tried to change
herself—tried to force herself into the mold of the person her bosses, her
mother, her lover wanted her to be—all in a desperate attempt at pleasing them,
to gain their respect and admiration? It never worked, not in the long run. Her
personality was strong, defiant. She couldn’t sit idly by while the things she
believed, things she knew to be true and right, were trampled.
No, Laura was a fighter. Always had been,
always would be. For a long time, she carried the belief if the perfect person
came along, he’d love her for her true self and not what she pretended to be.
Detective work required effective covers
and Laura mastered deception, had learned from the best at Havenhurst.
At least she thought so until encountering her Mr. Steele, a somewhat rusty and
dinged knight-in-shining-armor.
The man could switch personas at the drop
of a hat, exuding wit and playboy swagger one minute then becoming a lost
vagabond the next. Laura always found the quicksilver transformations one of his
most fascinating qualities, and one of the most terrifying. Who was Remington
Steele?
A question they’d both asked many times
before. She believed him now, when he denied knowing his real name or his true
identity. He seemed so forlorn, so sad about the lack of clues. Only a tattered
pocket-watch remained to unlock his secrets.
All she wanted to do at the moment was hold him tight and tell him everything would be okay.
Except their embraces never stayed
platonic, not for long.
The way he caressed her nape and cupped her cheek when they
kissed. The way he held her firm and dominated the exchange, yet allowed
her room to move, to cuddle closer, to explore and initiate. His actions spoke
volumes about his care for her and the extent of his sexual prowess. Yes, lovemaking
with her Remington would be pure delight.
She sighed and glanced at the coffee table,
spotted the agency license lying atop it as a testament to his love and his
departure. Now, it was too late to plume the depths of his passion because she’d
driven him away. Her bottom lip quivered before she could bite down on it. The
tears welled again.
Why
can’t you be more like your sister?
Her mother’s harsh whine echoed through the quiet hallway of her childhood
home. Frances never gave her any headaches. Sixteen-year-old Laura pushed past
her mother and into the barren kitchen. No one ever went to grocery anymore. They
were lucky to have peanut butter and bread in the house.
All this was her mother’s fault. The
woman never rose from bed these days, stayed huddled beneath her covers with
the curtains drawn. Dinnertime? A free-for-all.
Home cooked meals were nothing but a long-lost fantasy.
The only time mother ventured forth was
to remind Laura of her failings as a daughter and the disappointment of her
achievements. When Frances made the cheerleading squad, the situation only worsened.
Laura excelled in math, English, history. Everything her mother said would
never land her a husband.
Laura loved her mom, honest she did, but
the woman drove her batty. There was more to life than men, husbands, and babies.
Laura intended to partake of all her opportunities. She wanted a career, excitement,
and a world away from the co-dependent prison of her present nightmare. She
vowed to never end up like mother. Never to let a man have such total control
over her that she ceased to exist without him.
Nero batted the notebook, demanding
immediate attention. Laura blinked several times and stroked his silky black
fur, returning to present reality.
Her gaze snagged on a black-and-white
photo. A candid shot of she and Remington together, his arm
around her from behind, pressing her back to his front. His lips nuzzled
close to her ear and eager, happy smiles graced their faces. Mildred had taken the
shot for them last month after they’d celebrated the agency’s anniversary. Her
tears now blurred the photo into an indefinable Rorschach blot.
###
Maybe tonight
It’s gonna be
alright
I will get better
Maybe today
It’s gonna be
okay
I will remember
###
Laura padded to the bathroom and returned
with a box of tissues. She pulled several out and blew her nose, the rough,
flimsy paper no comparison to Remington’s ever-ready linen handkerchiefs. When
had she become so attuned to the small details of his presence, the minutia of
his care? He always seemed to be there at her moment of need, ready with a kind
word, a tight squeeze or a tender stroke.
With the wine warming her blood and her
heart wrenched open, Laura now freely admitted how much she missed him. She
picked up a nearby toss pillow and hugged it tight. Traces of his scent—expensive
cologne and crisp starch and something indefinably Remington—wafted around her.
Her sobs intensified. God, she wanted him back. Wanted to apologize for all the
stupid, horrible things she’d said and hold him close, love him.
Love
him?
She hiccupped and dabbed her wet
cheeks. Did she love him?
Her gaze focused on the picture again and
she sighed. Yes. She did. Hell, truth was she’d loved him since the first day
he’d walked into her office pretending to be some South African special agent named
Ben Pearson. Laura gave an unladylike snort. Figures.
She would realize it only after he’d departed and she was alone.
Nero jumped down and wound around her
legs, purring loud.
No, she amended, not alone. Try a twenty-nine-year-old
crazy cat lady. Fantastic.
Mother’s words rebounded through her
now pounding head. When are you going to
get married? Pip, pip dear. You’re not getting any younger, you know.
Laura sighed and picked up her notebook
again. One more verse, one more chance.
###
I held the pieces of my soul
I was shattered and I wanted you to come
and make me whole
I saw you yesterday
But you didn’t notice
And you just walked away
###
I
held the pieces of my soul. I was shattered and I wanted you to come and make
me whole…
The last time she’d seen Remington
flashed into her mind. She’d sighted him through their connecting office door,
looking resplendent and impeccable as always in his tailored suit and crisp
shirt. Many a female client had swooned over his looks through the years, one
going so far as to call him God’s most beautiful creature. Laura had giggled at
the time, embarrassed on his behalf.
Yet he took the admiration in stride, downplayed
the glowing praise. Seemed to yearn for appreciation beyond his
dazzling appearance. The majority of men would be rolling in the attention
such gorgeous looks generated, reveling in the gifts bestowed. Her Mr. Steele
was different. He’d told her on more than one occasion how much he relished the
times he could dig into a case. Pull off the perfect double-cross. The man did
seem to love his disguises and false airs.
Her chest ached, remembering their
many incognito stints over the years.
Remington was her true partner in crime.
She hadn’t imagined his kisses growing a bit more daring, his ardor heightened
by the risk of danger. Desire stoked by the frisson of adrenaline, of being
caught around the next corner. She’d come to love the excitement herself,
because of him. Crave the seduction of the dark side. Yes, she and Remington
suited each other well in many areas.
###
I
saw you yesterday, but you didn’t notice. And you just walked away…
Laura was sure he hadn’t realized her
perusal of him in the office. Positive he wasn’t witness to the way her breath
quickened or her cheeks heated when the trail of her thoughts turned more
erotic. Something had cracked within her. Fissured open and refused to heal.
She wanted him and not only on a sexual level. No, she wanted all of him. The
unknown specter from his past and the wonderful, caring, trustworthy man he’d
proven to be.
Her sight cleared, drifted to another
picture on the wall beside the first. This one was an impromptu family portrait,
the setting a happy, serene spring day.
Mother, Frances and Donald, and their
children took center stage. Laura stood separate, off to the side and barely in
frame. Remington had snapped the photo a short time after the agency had helped
Donald through his dental conference snafu.
Laura stared at the image. Her face
looked tense, her expression distant and eyes stormy. Her mother had blamed her
dark mood on her lack of a spouse. Only Laura knew the real reason.
Him.
Father. She’d spotted the man easily enough, her
well-honed instincts pinpointing the shadow of his figure hovering near the
edge of the small park. The spook watching their group picnic and play Frisbee.
He gave no indication of being caught in his perusal, too wrapped up in his secret
surveillance.
After staging the impromptu photo tableau,
Remington took a seat beside her at the picnic table and slid an arm around her
shoulders, his long fingers returning to massage the tense muscles at her nape.
His gaze tracked her focus to a point beyond a copse of pines across the field.
He’d dropped a discreet kiss on her ear before whispering, “Laura, what’s
wrong?”
Her gaze flicked to his. This secret she
couldn’t share. Not yet. When she looked back again, her father had disappeared,
gone as quick as he arrived. She hadn’t seen him again.
How many years had she waited to find him?
How many wasted years of wondering why he left and awaiting his return? Now
Laura finally understood. Daddy wasn’t going to come back. Ever.
Nothing she said or did would change the reality.
An invisible weight lifted inside her,
the burden of unresolved childhood guilt slipping away. Abandonment was his
issue now, not hers. Not anymore.
Laura set down her notebook and picked up
the agency license. What would be required to get her Mr. Steele back?
Love? Yes. Devotion? Certainly. Sex? God she hoped so. The
wait had been too long and they’d suffered too much not to consummate this
relationship.
She glanced at the wall clock again. The
time now read well past midnight. She picked up her scattered tissues, the
empty wine bottle and her glass and deposited them in the kitchen. Laura stopped
to place a kiss on the cheek of the eight-by-ten glossy Remington Steele before
padding to bed with a smile on her face.
Long after she shut off the lights, she lay
staring at the ceiling, her mind racing.
Fred would know his last location. She
would discover the rest on her own.
Yes, she had every intention of bringing her
Mr. Steele home.
A line from one of their favorite movies
played in her head, made her giggle in anticipation. Laura set her alarm for
seven am and cuddled her pillow.
After
all, Mr. Steele. Tomorrow is another day.
***This
story depicts a lost day and night in Laura’s life following the end of Steele
of Approval and right before Steele Searching. A few artistic liberties were
taken with the timeline and location of the agency license delivery and also
with the release date of this song. The actual song didn’t come out until 2003,
but it fit their relationship so well, I couldn’t resist.