Steele Alive and Kicking Scrap Scene
“Good Lord, there’s glass everywhere.” Laura surveyed the condition of her kitchen.
“Not to mention. . .that.” Remington grimaced, pointing to the slimy splotch on the wooden floor.
Laura handed him a full roll of paper towels with some cleanser, pleading, with a mix of damsel squeamishness and temptatious possibilities, “Would you?”
Caving to her charms, he reluctantly took the supplies, “Would you happen to have any rubber gloves?”
Laura smiled and reached under the sink. She was strangely pleased with herself that she would manipulate him like that, but she also felt that he should be rewarded in advance, for his courageous act. Ever since he showed up at her door with that loose shirt, she had fantasized running her hands up underneath; feeling the contrasting sensations of warm skin beneath her palms and the cool silk caressing the back of her hands. Instead of simply handing the gloves across the counter, Laura stepped around the corner and closed in. She offered Remington the gloves. Then, without hesitation, her hands glided under the fabric. Pressing flat against his stomach at first, then traveling up his chest allowing her fingers to comb through the compliant hair. Remington quickly chucked the paper towels and rubber gloves since there was something so much better within his own reach. His hands moved around to her backside then up to her waistband where he began to extricate her shirt searching for some skin to skin contact as well. Before he could get even one hand up her shirt, she wiggled away. Damn.
Once his disgusting deed was accomplished, Remington returned to the kitchen. What little was left on the paper towel roll was tucked under one arm. He held a very large wad of used towels in his outstretched other hand. Laura was just about to comment if it was necessary to use so many on such a small mess, but thought it better to just forget the demise of that poor turtle all together. She returned her attention to sweeping up the glass and debris.
Remington relieved Laura of the broom and directed, “Why don’t you pack a few things and come home with me and we’ll deal with all of this in the morning?”
“I can’t leave my loft like this.” Laura answered, surprised that he would even suggest it.
“. . .Or I would be happy to go browse your extensive collection of intimate apparel and make a few selections of my own.” He eagerly offered with a naughty grin.
Resolutely, she walked over to her small desk and flipped open the phone book. “There must be a glass company with twenty four hour emergency service.”
“That’s what I love about you, Laura. You are always so, so damned practical.”
“See, here’s one. Pane in the Glass. . .” She pointed to the ad in the yellow pages and annunciated proving her point, “Prompt. Twenty-four hour emergency service.”
Remington opened his mouth to protest but Laura was already dialing. “You don’t have to stay, Mr. Steele.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with a stranger this time of night. Nor do I feel at ease knowing an even stranger Vinnie could drop back in on you at any moment.”
Laura was just about to go into her ‘I-can-take-care-of-myself’ speech when her call was answered. She left a message with the service, detailing the time of her call and address.
Laura sat on the sofa. Remington was in the red chair across from her separated by a small coffee table. After numerous hands of gin, with Laura owing Remington $27.45, he checked his watch and commented while dealing the cards, “It seems like this glass company doesn’t quite understand the meaning of the word, prompt.”
Laura yawned and leaned back, “I just wish he’d get here. I want to go to bed, Mr. Steele.”
“Hmmm… I like the sound of that.” Remington tossed his cards on the table and joined Laura on the sofa. He snuck closer to her and maneuvered his arm around her. “We should have thought of this hours ago.”
He leaned into her but just before their lips met, Laura pulled back and asserted, “Why? You know we would have just been interrupted.”
“That’s what I mean. All we had to do is start. . .” Remington pressed his moist lips to her neck, parting his lips slightly allowing the tip of his tongue to trail up to her ear, “something . . And that Pane in the Ass person would be pounding on your door.”
Laura laughed, tickled by his perverse reasoning, not to mention the placement of his tongue. “You’re probably right.”
“I’ll prove it to you. C’mon.” He led her up to her bed. One hand on the back of her neck, veiled in her soft hair, the other wrapped around her mid section, Remington reclined on the bed and pulled Laura on top of him. ‘Pulled’ may be an overstatement since there was zero resistance from Laura. They kissed deeply, allowing passions to escalate under the guise of testing Mr. Steele’s theory. Despite their utmost effort, no one came to the door.
“I don’t think this is working, Mr. Steele,” Laura breathe heavily.
Remington guided Laura’s hips purposefully against his groin, “Oh I assure you, Laura, everything is working.”
“Not that,” Laura scolded. “I’m fully aware that’s in working order.”
“Rather noticeable, eh?” Remington proudly acknowledged.
“Modesty never was one of your better qualities, Mr. Steele.” Laura chided, “Too bad your own ego isn’t the only thing you’ll be stroking tonight.”
“And cooperation was never one of your better qualities, Miss Holt.”
“So, do you think the glass guy will ever show?”
“I’m not sure we should abandon our current course of action. We haven’t really tested it’s limits.” He fingered the top button of her shirt. “I guarantee. . .” (the first button slipped through the hole) “that once we approach a higher. . .” (another button opened) “level of intimacy. . .”(he undid the third and fourth button)“it will be cruelly. . .”(Remington pulled her shirt free and dispensed with the remaining buttons) “and rudely interrupted.”
“Just how far do these limits go?” Laura warily asked, but otherwise was not stopping him.
Remington lightly ran his hands across her back, then up and down her sides with his thumbs circling her satin and lace covered breasts. Soon all his attention was centered on her taut nipples. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic and caressed them. Laura, desperate to reciprocate, impatiently pushed his loose shirt up to once again touch his chest. Just as Remington unhooked her bra and was about to see Laura for the first time, there was a knock at the door.
“Oh God.” Laura gasped. She jumped up and hastily hooked her bra and buttoned up her shirt. “Good thing he showed up. A few more minutes and we wouldn’t have answered the door at all.”
“Yeah, good thing.” Remington sarcastically agreed.
Laura missed two buttons and was noticeably askew when she opened the door. Remington smoothed his shirt down and even though the shirttail partially hid his erection, he made it a point to stand behind Laura at all times.
“Laura Holt?” The serviceman read from his work order. He then noticed her disheveled appearance; her shirt, the flushed looked, and tousled hair. He was momentarily distracted. “Ah. . .I understand you ahh. . . have a glass emergency.”
“Right this way.” Laura directed him to the kitchen. While the repairman examined the damage. Remington reached around her to try to fix the button problem. She slapped his hand away, thinking he was trying something, but soon became aware of her state of undress. She quickly turned out of the glazier’s view to face Remington and set her buttons straight. Remington assisted with the top buttons while Laura worked up from the bottom. After taking a few measurements, the repairman turned back to catch a glimpse of what looked like: Remington in Laura’s shirt and her hands fondling his privates. The glazier didn’t want to know what they were doing that caused the kitchen window to break nor why they had all those animals on the counter. These nighttime service calls were always such an adventure; a bar fight here, a lover‘s quarrel there. Some day he was going to write a book.
“Listen folks, I’ll just get a few pieces of plywood and secure this and I’ll be out of your hair in a jiffy.”
(Fade to Black)

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