- Challenge 5: Steele Under
The Influence
Date: Tuesday, November 06, 2001
- Sabrina Noack <erdgeist_bini@web.de>
Title: Steele Under The Influence
- belated response to the RSFic Challenge, elements
can be found at the end of this story
Feedback: strongly encouraged, send to erdgeist_bini@web.de
or the list, please
Thanks again, Sue, for the excellent beta-reading.
Standard disclaimers apply
Quietly humming to himself and greeting people here and there,
Remington Steele stopped dead in his tracks. He came to an abrupt
halt in front of the glass panel doors, bearing his name.
The reception area of Remington Steele Investigations was empty.
Everything looked the same as it did when he first set a foot
in these rooms. However, the one little thing that worked its
special charm on the grey walls and the well-grown green plants
was not there.
Where was Miss Wolff?
Entering the office cautiously he looked around and listened,
searching for any clues, but finding none. Contraire to Miss
Wolff's usual habits, the brassy red nail polish and the newest
issue of "Cosmopolitan" were amiss.
Checking under the front desk and risking a peek in Miss Holt's
office he still came up empty.
Strange, very strange. Of course, Laura's desk was neat as a
pin. The life expectancy of dusk flocks reduced to close to zero
in the vicinity of the ever tidy, Laura Holt. Lamp in one corner,
stack of folders in the other corner and a row of pencils, each
sharpen to a deadly point, arranged
as only the efficient lady would- relegated in order from left
to right in ascending length.
That left only his office as a possibility. Taking another look
around the reception area, he grabbed the door handle and taking
a deep breath, he opened the door and entered the room in one
long stride. Nothing, not even his wildest fantasies, could have
prepared him for the scene that spread out in front of him.
The air was warm and heavy with the fragrant smell of coconut
oil. Opposite to the picture wall there was a small group of
palm trees in one corner. Beneath them, heaps of sand piled up
on canvas. Somebody had built a small sandcastle and written
the words "Happy Birthday" with seashells. In the center
of the room was a screaming orange and blue, children's blow-up
pool, filled to the brim with water. Next to that was a foldable
beach chair, complete with sunshade, both toppled on their sides
. His desk was scattered with the remnants of what appeared to
have been a small buffet; pineapple halves, straws and little
umbrellas meshed in-between. Party lights resembling tiki torches
along with exotic flowers and garlands were all hanging from
the ceiling. It had looked as if Frankie and Annette had played
far more than Bingo in his office.
At last, his gaze came to rest on the passed-out ladies he was
in search of . The word 'Wipeout' certainly seemed fitting for
the two of them. They were wearing rags of clothes that didn't
justify the much more elaborate word, bikini. Miss Wolff, half
slipping off of one of the armchairs, was wearing a leopard-print
string two- piece. Her red lipstick had long lost its usual luster.
But it was still visible, outlining her half-opened mouth. The
flower lei around her neck did little to cover her busty d_collet_
and the birthday crown atop her brunette mane sparkled in the
brightest colours. She looked like the average porn-watching
male's wet dream.
Miss Holt, on the other hand, gently tanned skin clad in dusty
rose with a scarf slung low around her hips and a delicate flower
in her hair, looked like *his* wet dream come true. She lay sprawled
out on the office couch, one leg dangling from the cushions,
a slight blush on her cheeks, strands of hair whispering across
her face.
Being the gentleman he was, he should have averted his gaze.
But, being the virile, healthy male he was, it gave him the most
spontaneous erection of his life. Maybe he wasn't that different
from the average porn-watching male after all. Nonetheless, his
sense of decency finally kicked in, making him scramble out of
the office in a rush, closing the door tightly behind him.
What would he do now?
Breathing evenly, he tried to restore some normal thoughts in
his head. That unpleasant little guard dog of a secretary from
Henderson & Branwell modeling bikinis. Humphrey Bogart living
happily ever after together with Sam in Morocco. Laura stamping
off to marry a banker. Murphy Michaels -What did Murphy Michaels
-?
"Still here, Steele? How come you didn't run off with the
petty cash the day I left?"
He looked up, there he was, a bit more tanned, but all the same
- Murphy Michaels.
"Try thinking in grander dimensions, Murphy. To what do
we owe you for your early return? Didn't Hawaiian straw skirts
hold what they promised - I'd hate you to destroy the image of
that idyllic postcard of yours," Steele flashed him a toothy
smile. The heavens must be kind on him. Murphy Michaels was just
what he needed.
"Yeah, I'm all giddy to see you again too, Steele. Where
are Laura and Bernice?" Watching the slimy beetle in front
of him silently, he waited for a reply. He couldn't stand him.
Not even after two Steele-free weeks.
"Oh - you mean Miss Holt and Miss Wolff?" Shoulders
squared, Steele posted himself in front of the doorframe of his
closed office. "Right now at the moment?" Touching
his earlobe he paused for some seconds, " They're having
an in-depth conversation about vacation locations. Pros and cons
- you know the drill - Miss Holt gives every place the same chance
- Alaska - freezing cold but great for skiing with nobody around
for days - Idaho - I heard fishing is great there -"
"Steele-" the menacing quality of Murphy's voice told
him that he had him where he wanted him. Annoyed and just a little
bit angry.
Without another sideward glance, the American stormed into Laura's
office like a football player into his opponent. When the office
door leading to the reception area opened once again, Steele
knew one thing for sure: he wouldn't forget the expression on
Murphy Michaels's face for quite a while.
"What the hell happened in there?"
"Looks like a birthday party," Steele provided helpfully.
There was nothing more valuable for a man with his professional
skills than a counterpart who was impatient. They were unpredictable
to a certain point, but still, it was their impatience that made
them easy to handle. Impatient people needed solutions, quick
solutions and he surely could provide them any time. Luckily,
when it came to Murphy Michaels being impatient, it only seemed
to focus on him and not on clients or cases which was something
he could live with well enough.
"I can see that. What happened to them?"
"Oh, Murphy, didn't pay attention to what the natives drank
on Hawaii, did we? My reliable experience indicates Mai Tai and
Pina Colada - white rum, pineapple juice -"
"God, you are truly useless, Steele. I mean theyÆre
drunk and they're dead on their backs. How do we get them home?"
Exasperated, Murphy leaned against the wall. He should have stayed
where he was. Hawaii was such a nice place. This all must be
HIS fault. Murphy would never let a party get that much out of
hand.
Inwardly chuckling to himself, Steele noticed how his fellow
friend's patience wore thin. No need to thank. The pleasure was
entirely his. Entering his office, they were facing the scene
again, as Steele stated the most simple and enjoyable solution
to the problems at hand he could think of, "I'll ensure
Miss Holt of a safe and discreet ride home, you'll lend Miss
Wolff a hand."
Murphy frowned. There was no way to trust this guy. His smarmy
charm might work on the ladies, but not on him. He doubted Steele
would only take care of Laura's safe ride home. Ride? Maybe.
Safe? Never.
"Why don't you take Bernice? Are you chicken?"
"But no - my loyal fellow - I just don't think it would
be in any way appropriate for me to take Miss Wolff home. We
both know of her dislike for my persona. You see, in case she
wakes up she at least won't endanger herself. It's only for her
benefit. Allow me, I'd like to wrap Miss Holt into my trench
coat now and take her home-" Making a move to the couch,
Murphy's voice suddenly rose, bordering on panic for a moment.
"What about Bernice?"
Fastening the belt on the trench coat Steele only shrugged and
lifted Laura gently off the couch. "You won't mind calling
Fred and telling him to meet us in the garage, will you? And
don't forget to lock up-" With that, Steele was on his way
out, an unconscious Laura in his arms.
"Fred?"
"Well, Mr. Michaels, you don't expect me to carry her all
the way to her place, do you? I don't want to be bereft of the
ability of fulfilling tasks that need more precise motor abilities.
Aside from that, Remington Steele Investigations can't allow
his most valuable associate to be denounced by a little revelry
in the afternoon."
"You don't happen to have a spare coat, do you?"
"Now, we both know about Miss Wolff's liberal styling preferences,
but I'm sure she wore something else than this to work today
-"
* * *
The ride to Laura's house proved to be uneventful. She slumped
against him, oblivious to the world around her, breathing quietly.
He could feel her body's warmth seeping off onto him, sharpening
his senses for her every little movement. She still smelled like
liquor and coconut oil, but there definitively was something
left of that clean, fresh scent he came to connect with Laura
Holt and her only.
The rain fell steadily, a monotone staccato on the car's roof.
When they reached their destination, the street was empty. When
he pulled her out of the car and into his arms, the limp rag
doll sprang to life. For a second he felt like Master Gepetto
missing the fairy, reviving Pinocchio. He gently set her on her
feet.
"Hi there," he greeted her, steadying her swaying body.
"Hiii," she smiled at him, drawing the word out. "Where
're we?"
"We're home," stroking an stray lock of hair out her
face, he stuck close to her, "Let's go inside, it's raining.
WouldnÆt want you to catch cold."
"Who has a cold?"
"Nobody - I just said-"
"You 've a cold?" Her head lolled a bit and he actually
feared it would fall off. This Laura Holt definitely wasn't in
possession of her physical forces right now. Still, her eyes
and voice worked quite well, pointing out something way more
interesting than the cold-stricken man by her side.
"Awww, look, there's Nero! Hi Neero," he watched her
waving at the cat and shook his head in disbelief. Why hadn't
she been drunk before? If he'd knew it would be so much fun-
"Oh no, Nero! You sh-uunk!" The horror was written
all over her face. "Nero has shrunk - what am I gonna do
now...oh no! We need to take him to the vet - we - call an ambulance
-" a litany of possible things to do, flew out of her gab,
having a high pitched and loud edge to it. Desperately searching
for a way to calm her down, to reassure before the whole neighborhood
would notice the little fairy trip of the young single, he came
to an almost dead end.
"Laura, don't worry - cat's don't shrink. They just look
smaller when their fur is wet", he tried his most genuine
smile -
"Ha, and who told you this, Mister?" - and failed.
Sighing he risked a glance skyward, half hoping for some heavenly
help, but finding none.
"Actually, I'm sure somebody else already stated that fact
beforehand, but to be correct, it was Col. Bellows in -I dream
of Jeannie, TV series Columbia 1965-70, starring Barbara Eden
and Larry Hagman -", dumbstruck, Steele watched the woman
crouching to his feet, listening to her cooing her pet.
"J.R. Ewing's a very, very bad guy- don't worry, Nero, Mr.
Steele and me are gonna protect you from him," watching
how she clutched the cat tightly to her chest, he wished only
for a moment to trade places with her furry companion.
Being safe for the moment, he let Laura tend to her cat. He unlocked
her door and ushered her in hunting after the cat that escaped
into the confines of the house. Grabbing the lady before she
tumble unceremoniously to the ground, he seated her on the couch
he sank into the armchair next to it, watching her. God, she
was gorgeous. Hair mussed and wild, a little chaotic almost,
face flushed, cheeks a bright pink, eyes big, luminous and a
bit unfocused.
"How about bed?"
"I'm not seepy," rubbing her eyes, she yawned. "Did
you hear that? I said seepy. I meant I'm not seepy."
"Yeah," a slow grin spread over his face. This day
was too funny. First, the almost disaster at the Mayor's luncheon
when one of the waiters stumbled about the Mayor's fat dog "Grumpy"
and almost spilled the hot soup on the hotdog shaped animal.
The dog squealed like an upset pig, but moving far slower than
he'd ever seen a pig come to life. And he'd seen quite a few.
It had been fun to vex pigs, one just had to be quick enough
and pay attention not to overbalance and go sliding down in the
mud. Pigs were challenging, they learned rather quickly, and
after some time, they'd figured out his every move if he chose
to repeat them. Still, he never had been bitten as often as some
of his friends - but each time he was as muddy as the pigs themselves.
When he came out of his reverie, Laura had once again maundered
off into the land of dreams, her body relaxed into the cushions,
her head slightly curved to one side. Carefully, he hauled her
up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. Her small weight
rested against his upper body, moving slightly with each breath
taken. She was warm, alive, right there, right now, and it felt
unbelievably good, filling him with a sense of peace he didn't
knew he ever missed.
* * *
The bed, to his surprise, was unmade, a selection of clothes
lying on the left side, her pajamas at the foot of the side she
slept on, covers struck back in a gesture of obvious hurry.
Lowering her down, fighting with her arms, which hung limply
to the sides, he arranged her on the pillows. He decided for
the moment to just make her as comfortable as possible and opted
not to try to peel her out of the trench coat again. He was in
her bedroom, her shelter. She lay there, completely vulnerable,
at his mercy almost. He felt as if he had no right to do anything
besides putting her to bed and making sure she was securely tucked
in, that was, until he found the large box of Godiva chocolates.
The lid half open, on the floor next to her nightstand, along
with what appeared to be a corny romance novel.
He couldn't help the wide grin that spread over his face. He
was hooked instantly. The box of chocolates, when he opened it,
was empty. The smell of cocoa that clung to the boxes insides
and the little golden wrappers were evidence left behind at the
scene of crime. Remembering her flat, ever so softly curved belly,
he was sure he knew about the whereabouts of the heavenly candy.
The case of the missing candy wasn't so baffling.
Why Miss Holt, I could have saved a lot of money, investing it
into Godiva instead of Dom Perignon. Red roses and dark, luscious
chocolate went together just as well, if not even better.
When he rose again, he positioned the box of Godiva back in place,
carefully arranging it, so it looked untouched. He felt like
he was still holding her, her small warm frame resting against
his chest.
With a touch of surprise, he realized, it was the coconut oil.
* * *
The sun was lazily shining through the window, highlighting sections
of his newspaper while he indulged in reading the latest gossip,
covered securely by the "real news". He was a serious
newspaper reader after all, he was English, not glossy-glittery
American.
Silently scouring the room, Miss Wolff had her gaze averted to
the floor, weaseling from one corner to the other. Letting her
stew for a while, he finally looked up from his lecture, eying
her curiously.
"Looking for something, Miss Wolff?"
Bernice hesitated for a moment, weighing her options. "Erm,
yes. I'm looking for paperclip. You know, such a sweet heart-shaped
plastic pink one. It went with one of my gifts."
Appearing to think about it, making a effective pause before
answering, he peeked over his paper, "I'm sorry, Miss Wolff,
haven't seen anything of the sort. But maybe this can cheer you
up a bit," he proceeded to draw a coloured box from beneath
his morning lecture, "Happy belated birthday."
Taking the box, Bernice smiled, she *was* curious of what he
got her. It was a nice gesture, and he didn't tease her about
yesterday's turn of events. He didn't even make a single remark.
But certainly HE would never let either of them forget about
it.
Opening the box, a bundle of lush pink tissues overflowing, blocked
the view to the treasures it held. Digging a bit deeper into
the box, the secretary fished out a shoe.
"Laura, this guy's driving me bananas!"
With the box, an unsigned handwritten card went, reading: "In
memory of your exuberant birthday party in 1982 I shall retrieve
your missing shoe I bumped into under my desk."
The End
Elements:
- Laura and Bernice shocking Steele and Murphy
- a greeting card from Steele to Murphy
- a paperclip
- a woman's shoe under Steele's desk
- a bag of chocolate wrappers (no candy)
- BACK