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  A GREEN KNIGHT AND A HOT NIGHT

  An Erotic Halloween Story

  by

  Rona Valiere

  Copyright © 2012 Rona Valiere

  Published by New Dawning Bookfair at Smashwords

  Callie loved Barry—beyond question, beyond doubt. And how wonderful it was that they worked together and saw each other every day. Both were employed by Paradise Party Planners, an organization that focused more on corporate functions and huge galas than on simple birthday parties and other small affairs.

  Whatever a particular event called for in the way of lighting, it was Barry's job to oversee it. Callie's primary responsibility was floral placements. From a single rose in a bud vase to a plethora of potted palms, and whether real or one of the many artificial flowers and plants stored in Paradise's warehouse, Callie was the go-to gal when it came to greenery. She loved the challenges and the creative aspect of her job almost as much as she loved working with Barry.

  It was Robin who ruined everything for Callie. Robin was a client, the president of the Greenvale Better Government Organization, and she engaged the services of Paradise Party Planners to handle every detail of the organization's year-end awards banquet. She took an immediate fancy to Barry when he met with her to discuss her needs for lighting, and after that there were no holds barred. Robin pursued Barry unabashedly, and he seemed flattered that a woman of so much prestige and wealth would be interested in him. To Callie, Robin was just another cougar on the prowl, but Barry was flattered…and caught up.

  "You're acting like a lovesick puppy," Callie told him as Barry once again stared with glazed eyes at Robin's retreating form after one of her visits to consult with the staff.

  "I don't know what you're talking about!" Barry's eyes flashed with indignation, and anger sparked in his denial.

  "If you really don't, you're the only one in the office who doesn't." Callie's firmly declarative voice punctuated her statement emphatically, but it was a disagreement they would return to several times more before The Incident.

  The Incident occurred after Barry had gone to consult with Robin at her home—at Robin's request. He returned to the office smelling of something other than aftershave. Specifically, Callie recognized it as Beautiful by Estée Lauder. Callie knew the scent well and was aware that it was Robin's signature fragrance. When she turned Barry around to perform a sniff test on the back of his neck, she discovered a lipstick smear there.

  "Well, of course I smell of her perfume!" Barry exploded. "Wouldn't you expect me to hug her 'Hello'?"

  "It rubbed off that strongly from one little hug?" Callie asked scathingly. "And that still doesn't explain her lipstick on the back of your neck. Or do you have a convenient excuse for that, too?"

  But he didn't. In fact, despite his blustered, "Am I subject to a top-to-toe inspection every time I return to the office?" his face appeared to be reddening more out of embarrassment or shame than out of anger.

  "You've been cheating on me!"

  "Since when do you have such a suspicious mind? I won't put up with that kind of attitude!"

  "I don't hear you denying that you cheated. You're just accusing me to divert attention from your own guilt."

  "If you don't trust me, we're finished!" Barry stormed.

  "Fine with me!"

  And just that quickly, a loving couple broke up and became antagonists.

  Clearly Callie was going to need a new job. Staying at Paradise Party Planners and working alongside Barry seemed insufferable. She handed in her resignation even before she had found another position, but fortunately she soon secured a job managing a floral warehouse. Callie remained friends with a few of her old co-workers, though, and not long thereafter she heard from one of them that Barry had resigned, too. The reason for their breakup had become common knowledge, and popular sympathy was with Callie. Too many of her former co-workers were casting aspersions at Barry, and he could no longer be comfortable working there.

  Callie tried to put Barry out of her life and move on, which proved a challenge. For the first couple of months, learning her new job occupied much of her thoughts and kept her busy, but eventually Callie could not escape facing the reality of the hole in her life. Barry was gone, leaving her evenings empty, and her heart in quite the same condition. A couple of months had passed since the breakup, time enough to start healing, time enough that she felt ready to at least attempt to move on.

  A proposal now in front of the city council would ban dog-walking by the lakeshore, and as a dog owner, Callie objected vigorously. When she heard that a new group called Pro Dog had been formed to oppose the proposal, Callie decided to get involved. Maybe it not only would be worth it to invest her time for the cause but would take her mind off her being alone, too. Most of the group's activities and communication took place online, in a Yahoo group.

  In a preponderance of caution, Callie got a "throwaway" email address and joined the group under the online handle "Furbaby," using her new email addy. She met a lot of new people online in a short time, a dizzying number, and she had trouble keeping them all straight in her head, but one in particular caught her attention early on. "GreenKnight," as he called himself, spouted fresh and often innovative ideas for how to combat the anti-dog-walking proposal. Unbounded zeal sparked his every post. If he could have, he would have taken on the city council single-handedly. Fortunately, of course, he had a whole organization behind him.

  The force behind a lot of the group's machinations as they fought the council's proposal, GreenKnight wangled TV interviews on two different local stations for the group's spokeswoman. He organized a letter-writing campaign. He staged a protest in front of City Hall.

  He even attended that one himself. For the most part, GreenKnight stayed behind the scenes, not appearing in public. But when none of the other Pro Dog members expressed willingness to put on a Saint Bernard costume to take part in a demonstration, GreenKnight donned the costume and wore it downtown during lunch hour. He got a lot more people to sign the petition, a lot more people to join Pro Dog, and he also caught the attention of the local newspaper, which sent a reporter and photographer to interview him and take his picture…in costume, of course. The newspaper article identified him only as "GreenKnight, the code name of a local resident who's upset about the city council's new proposal to…."

  Callie wondered if GreenKnight might be her "white knight," the man who would sweep into her life, rescue her from her aloneness—and her residual anger and hurt over Barry—and bring new joy and a new dimension into her world. But of course, she had never seen his face. She didn't know if he was young, old, or possibly even had an off-putting face in some way. Well, she could even handle it if he turned out to be disfigured, but if she was spinning fantasies over a teenager or a geezer.…

  And she was spinning fantasies. There was no denying how caught up she had become, enraptured with this crusading do-gooder with the can-do attitude and the get-it-done results. But she had to know if she was chasing up a blind alley.

  They had begun a correspondence by now. Callie took it as a good sign that "Green" (as she now called him) appeared interested enough in her to write back and forth to her, and she used this opportunity to try to find out more about him. "It's unusual to find someone with the energy of a teenager yet enough free time to do as much as you do, such as usually only a retiree would have at his disposal. Am I stereotyping here or what?" she wrote cautiously.

  Callie held her breath when she got his reply, but she exhaled deeply and gratefully when she read, "I am neither a teen nor a geezer. LOL. Try splitting the difference. I am in my early thirtie
s." She was twenty-nine herself. Whew! That made him just the right age for her.

  Callie's next discreet inquiry dealt with Green's occupation…if he had one. Since he had so much free time, she reasoned, he might be unemployed. Once again, the answer reassured her, "I'm on the tech crew of the Sunnyside Theatre. I have so much free time by day because the bulk of my work is done in the evenings. Yes, we have rehearsals and other work during some daytime hours, but most of my working hours are put in after dark."

  The correspondence flew thick and fast now, although they still mostly talked about Pro Dog matters. Callie did tell Green that she managed a floral warehouse, and Green did admit to an overwhelming fondness for chicken-fried steak, but mostly they didn't talk about themselves except in relationship to the organization. The more passionate Green became about their cause, the more Callie respected him. The more creative Green became in dreaming up ways to advance their agenda, the more Callie admired him. Although halfway enamored of him already, however, she still didn't know his name or what he looked like.

  Maybe it's best if I never meet him, she thought to herself more than once. This way I can't get hurt or disappointed. She certainly didn't want a repeat of what had happened with Barry. Then again, she did want a boyfriend. She did want to fall in love again…if only she could have some kind of guarantee that this time she wouldn't get hurt. She knew she couldn't go through life forever shying away from relationships for fear of getting her heart broken, yet she couldn't help being gun-shy after this last bad experience.

  Green wrote to her one day early in October, asking her if she had plans for Halloween. "Are you the type who loves to stay home and give out candy to the little ghouls and goblins, or do you throw a party, or do you have a friend who always invites you over to her (or his) party?"

  Callie wondered if the "or his" was a veiled attempt to find out if she had a boyfriend. She was inclined to believe it was a straightforward question, but she wasn't sure. "I don't have a set routine for Halloween," she wrote back. "I only gave a Halloween party myself one time, about six years ago. I like staying home and giving out goodies, but I'm not a fanatic about it. If I get invited to a party, I go. What about you?"

  In Green's next letter, he answered her question with, "We don't get many trick-or-treaters around here. I usually wind up eating more than half the candy myself. Since I like to stay trim, that's not a good idea. :-( I'm not a raving rah-rah Halloween type, but if I'm invited to a party, I'll go, and if not, I do answer the doorbell on Halloween…unlike some of my neighbors. Well, some of them are fogeys…or at least, they seem that way to a guy my age. :-) I might get invited to a party this year, though. One of the owners of the theatre I work at said something about inviting the whole crew to his mansion, though that could be all talk. So far, there's been no actual invitation. If I do get invited, though, wanna go with me?"

  The note intrigued her on a number of levels. First, his comments, his use of "wanna" for "want to," his describing his older neighbors as fogeys, and his use of emoticons bore out his earlier assertion regarding his age. Never having met him, she had wondered about the veracity off his self-described age, or if he was, like so many other people on the internet, fudging his age or even lying grossly.) Then, she considered the fact that he was now proposing a face-to-face meeting. This excited her tremendously. At last, she might get to meet GreenKnight and see if he might be her "white knight."

  "I'd be pleased to go to the party with you if you're invited," she wrote back. "Will you be wearing a green knight costume?"

  "No, but I will be in some kind of a costume. From what I hear—and, again, so far it's all been just rumor. There's been no official invitation yet—it's going to be a costume party. What about you? Do you have a suitable costume to wear if I do get an invitation?"

  She puzzled over that one a bit before replying, "I don't have a costume but will make one, rent one, or improvise one. I'm not one of those party poopers who shows up at a costume party in street clothes or in something lame."

  "That's good to know," he wrote back. "I still have my dog costume from the demonstration, but I don't favor wearing it to the party. Not because it's not Halloween themed. I don't think Halloween costumes all have to be scary. But for one thing, the costume is terribly hot, and for another, I can't eat or drink anything with the dog head in place. The guy who's supposedly giving the party is rich, rich, rich, so I certainly want to be able to avail myself of the food at the party."

  He's well spoken. "Avail myself of." That's not some undereducated ignoramus talking, Callie thought. She wrote back, "Maybe there will be caviar? I haven't had good caviar in years, just the cheap stuff you can buy at the supermarket."

  "If there isn't caviar at the party—or if there's no party to begin with—I hereby pledge to personally deliver a jar of caviar to you. Of course, you'll have to provide me with your address. I have no idea where you live."

  And I'm comfortable leaving it that way for the time being, Callie thought. Green still didn't know her right name, either. She continued to sign her emails to him as "Furbaby" and felt more comfortable that way. She had heard too many stories of weirdos prowling the internet, trawling for victims. She didn't think Green was one of those. In fact, she found herself growing quite fond of him through their ongoing and ever more intense and voluminous correspondence. But still, it didn't hurt not to take chances. The big reveal would come when they met at the costume party…if it happened.

  And if it didn't? Well, she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, she felt more comfortable remaining "Furbaby" to him and not giving out her address…just in case. Even if it meant giving up a shot at some caviar.

  "I wonder if any of the city council members will be at the party." Green wrote next. "If this guy giving the party—his name is Alan—moves in lofty circles, he might have local 'movers and shakers' among his guests. Perhaps I could collar one of them and plead Pro Dog's case face to face?"

  Bless him, Callie thought. Always has Pro Dog's best interests at heart and close to the top of his head.

  Indeed his next letter made no mention of the party, or of any personal matters, but was entirely about Pro Dog. "When the legal fight is over about the lakeshore, win or lose, it would be a shame to see the group disband. We've coalesced for the good of dog-owners throughout the city, and we ought to keep it together and look for other dog-related issues we need to address. Your thoughts?"

  "I think we ought to police ourselves," Callie wrote back. "There are entirely too many owners who don't clean up after their dogs. Sometimes I feel great sympathy for those who oppose us when I see stinking piles of poop on the sidewalk. And maybe if the anti-dog forces saw us taking positive action to ameliorate the situation, they'd be more sympathetic toward us."

  "You have a point," Green wrote in reply. "But how about taking on the puppy mills?"

  "Agreed, but what about people who chain dogs in hot yards with no shade in the summer? That needs to be addressed, too." She was in full "crusade" mode now, and when Green wrote back in firm agreement, it strengthened her positive feelings toward him.

  Then came the letter about the party. By now, it was less than two weeks until Halloween. "Hooray!" he wrote. "We're officially invited. Well, I am, and you're coming with me. The party starts at seven and includes drinks and hors d'oeuvres. It won't be chips and dips, I can guarantee you. I can't promise caviar. I haven't been told what the menu is. But I'm sure it will be quite a spread. Now we have to think about costumes and arrangements. I can pick you up, or if you're more comfortable having your own car and picking me up, I'm modern enough to go along with that. Or we could meet at the party. I'm amenable to whatever arrangement works best for you. Just let me know. Have you looked into a costume yet?"

  Callie hadn't. She'd meant to go window-shopping for a possible costume but hadn't gotten around to it so far. She wasn't a procrastinator. She'd been genuinely busy. Now she had to move fast. She felt sure most of the
good costumes available for sale or rent were gone already. She wasn't going to buy a cheap kiddie costume in a teenager's size. And she didn't want to just dress as a vampire, a ghost, a Goth, or a witch. She wanted to be more clever than that.

  Finally, she had an idea. In a shop window, she saw a fly costume, complete with head, wings, and body. She bought it. At a yarn shop, she bought skeins of white yarn and some Velcro, and at a hardware superstore, she bought thin, lightweight wood dowels. From the wood and the yarn, she fashioned an elaborate and quite large spiderweb and attached the Velcro to it and to the fly costume in such a way that she would be able to stick the spiderweb to the back of the fly costume and make it look like she had gotten caught in the web.

  She described the costume to Green, and he wrote back, "ROFLMAO. That's entirely too clever. I commend you on your ingenuity. And I promise not to dress as a can of Raid."

  "What ARE you going to dress as?" she wrote back.

  "I have an idea, based on your costume and my earlier Raid comment," he answered. "I have a buddy who has an Arnold Schwarzenegger mask. I don't think he's planning to wear it on Halloween, so I'm sure he'll let me borrow it. I'll wear a big sign across my chest: 'THE EX-TERMINATOR.' How do you like it?"

  "I LOOOOOOOVE it!" she enthused in her reply.

  They settled all the details including where to meet. Callie decided that prudence was always in order, and so she would not have him pick her up at home. Rather, they should meet outside the mansion where the party would take place. They'd arrive promptly at five minutes to seven, and Green would attach the costume to the web, since it would be difficult to drive with the web attached. Then they would walk in together. He gave her the address, located in a very swanky part of town, and assured her there would be on-premises parking.

  Indeed, when Callie got to the party that night, quite a few cars already had been parked right on the front lawn. They're going to need to re-sod tomorrow, she thought, but she followed suit and parked among the other vehicles. It was dark out, of course, but by the glow of a nearby light she noted that the car to her left was a Mercedes and, to her right, a BMW. We're running with a rich crowd tonight, she thought.