Alternate Universe
NC-17

Nikita Wirth arrived at the Airport in Sydney with a backpack of well-worn jeans and tees, a one way first class ticket to California, $1,000 and a dream. She had left her Australian life behind and was going in search of her roots. Roberta Wirth, the woman that had mothered her for most of her life, had passed in her sleep after a bout with a rare ailment that had left the Wirth coffers all but dry.

The beautiful blonde woman scraped enough money together to pay for a funeral, buy a plane ticket and get out of 'Dodge' quoting her favorite old western movie. She was traveling to look for her father and her extended family. She had gleaned enough information from Roberta to at least start her search.

"Nik, you are not my natural daughter." Roberta had repeated through her life. "But I love you as though you were. Your mother was a USO hoofer, do you know what that means?"

They would laugh, for every time Roberta said this, Nikita who was quite touched by the exchange would come back with "Yes, it is much better than being a USDA heifer." This in reference to the United States Department of Agriculture approved meat the American woman liked to splurge on.

The Wirth girls, as Roberta liked to call them, lived a simple life in a suburb of Sydney. This was where the Wisconsin born woman had moved after following her husband to Australia. The man had abandoned her once she landed there and she had eventually divorced him. She had met and become fast friends with another American girl who had run away from her much older husband in order to have her baby.

The Americans found jobs in hotels and eventually when Nikita mother's pregnancy had been noticeable, Roberta had taken over the providing for all of them. When Nikita's mother had died, a year after giving birth, her father had paid Roberta a lump sum to keep the child away from the States and see that she was at least comfortable. Roberta had never told Nikita much. Just enough to keep the girl quiet. So Nikita knew that her mother was from California and that her father was Mr. Jones. Roberta wanted Nikita far from that good for nothing father.

Nikita moved quickly, she was not going to waste time for California was waiting. Most people dreamed of going to Hollywood to be in the movies, Nikita had no desire to do this. She wanted to find her roots, learn who she was and move on with her life. All she knew was that her father lived in a beautiful house on a cliff in Malibu. Roberta had repeated this in her semi-conscious state, over and over again.

----

The trip from Australia to the United States was long and tedious. Many hours, time zones and oceans were crossed as one journeyed from the land down under to the California coast. This was the reason for a first class ticket; Nikita needed to be comfortable on her first journey abroad.

Nikita read voraciously about California on the flight. She wanted to know everything there was to know before setting foot on this strange land of silicone implants and exercise videos. The beautiful woman sitting to her right explained how that description was unfair and quite offensive. California, like any place in the world, was inhabited by all kinds of people.

The seatmates spoke about the wonders of this side of the world. Spoke about how amazing this planet was, about men, about life, and Nikita told Madeline what she was going to be doing in the States. When the trip ended the beautiful brunette handed Nikita a piece of paper with her private number. "For whatever you need." Kissed her cheek and parted – Madeline who was Canadian had to go on the Customs line for foreign visitors.

Nikita had an American passport. Both her parents were US citizens and that made her one. Her mother had acquired her passport long before. 23 years and many updates later the blue booklet afforded her proof of US Citizenship. Nikita Jones had arrived in LA.

/////

Nikita got in a cab and asked to be taken to a small motel, which was nearest to the Malibu Canyon. Inexpensive, but still too expensive for the blonde, she decided to forego the motel and save the $98 a day. She needed to start her adventure, so she bought a map.

She formulated a plan and then bought a bicycle, packed some food and pedaled the 15 miles or so to the secluded and gated community bordering the Pacific. She looked at the piece of paper with Madeline's phone number and realized she didn't know the woman's last name. The piece of paper flew out of her hand and Nikita almost fell off the bike trying to retrieve it, failing miserably at the task.

She approached the gate and saw that the guards were asking for identification and such, so she took a convoluted, difficult hiking trail and descended to the beach. The secluded coves that made up the backyards to the multi-million dollar homes more than impressive. Nikita found herself between the beach and the rocks. Her first night in the States was spent on the beach – she was cold, miserable and sorry she'd come.

When the sun came up, Nikita who had found a dry patch of sand to lay her body and personal belongings stripped naked and went swimming. The morning was beautiful, she realized there was no one in sight and thought perhaps this was not such a bad scenario. But then wondered how long could she live on the beach before being found.

She stashed her bike and gear behind a cluster of rocks and cutting off the pant legs of a pair of jeans she started down the beach to explore. She was amazed that she had been meandering around for hours and had yet to find one living soul. She returned to her patch of beach and wondered if there was still 'squatter rights in them there hills', again quoting an old western.

She took her bike and gear as the sun was setting and started back up the hiking path. Because she was basking in the beauty of it, she took a wrong turn and wound up in the carport of a three-story house. The place looked abandoned compared to everything else she had seen. The grass was tall, the weeds overtaking the beautiful landscaping which was dying from lack of attention. The carport was empty, as was the house that sat above it.

She looked around and found a bathroom, shower and all, next to the open area of the carport. It was full of spider webs and in need of a good cleaning. Further exploring found a beautiful outdoor kitchen, with working refrigerator that also needed cleaning. And in another unlocked closet, the size of Nikita's bedroom back home, she found all kinds of outdoors-wooden furniture and cushions, a color television and a radio. She walked around the property, and then around the locked house's veranda to the front door. On a table next to the mail slot she found a stack of junk mail addressed to Occupant that had been piling up for over a year – the post office had stopped delivering a couple of months before.

Nikita made a decision. This, for as long as she could manage, would be her home. She would not break into the locked house, she would just be outside and make the closet, the bathroom, the carport and the outdoor kitchen her home. The view alone was worth the time in jail – if it came to that.

Nikita set out to clean the area. It had taken her a couple of days to clean the living quarters, as she had decided to call it. Bringing the beautiful yard back to life would be a more tedious job.

/////

She was weeding by the side of the road, behind the gate to the house, when a guard, who made his rounds hourly stopped to greet her. Nikita froze thinking she had been busted, but since the security in the area was supposedly so tight, the man could not fathom that she did not belong there.

"Hello" Marco O'Brien called out.

"Hello yourself", Nikita said through the Iron Gate.

"You have your work cut of for you." He shyly stated before the beautiful woman.

"My name is Nikita, I was hired to bring the house up to speed." She boldly lied.

"Oh, we wondered when Mr. Schtopel was going to put the house up for sale," O'Brien said. "Marco O'Brien at your service miss."

"No, no he has not put the house up for sale, he just wanted the place fixed up." She stated shaking the man's hand.

"Of course, I bet you the other neighbors have complained." He stated.

"For sure." Nikita said and then felt a need to cement her cover. "You were not at the gate when I came through."

"Oh no, I just started my shift." He said.

"No, no I have been here for a couple of days already." She continued "I got dropped off and have not moved from here, all I have is my bike.

"You are right I work the mid week 12 hour shift, to get the weekends off." He said. "I am an aspiring songwriter."

"Yeah probably Elvis' songs." She smiled; a bit worried that he would wonder when she was going to open the gate she didn't know how to open.

"How did you guess?" He flirted and then asked. "So are you married?"

"No, actually I just got here from Australia, started this job right away." She lied.

"I must introduce you to my girlfriend Carla, she just moved here from Toronto, we are getting married soon." He stated and moved to put the code in the gate. "Do you mind?"

Nikita shook her head and watched the fingers push the code. "I would love to meet some people my age." They shook hands now standing on the same side of the fence.

"Listen the garbage comes by on Tuesday and Thursday, tomorrow as a matter of fact. You are going to make this place sparkle aren't you? Look at it already." He said. "Do you need me to bring you anything, or take you somewhere?"

"That would be great, I need to go buy some food." She stated.

"I see you are not staying in the house." Marco pointed to the makeshift bedroom on the carport.

"No I didn't think that would be right." She said.

"We have a copy of the key if you need it." Marco believing Nikita's cover continued.

"Oh I could use the code, but I won't go in there until it is time to clean the inside." She told him.

"I leave around 7:00 tonight. How about if you ride that bike of yours to the gate, and when Carla comes to get me we can take you to the grocery store and maybe we could all have dinner together, my treat. There is this friend I would love you to meet." Marco said and Nikita couldn't back out.

/////

Agreeing they parted, she closed the gate and hurried to make her makeshift bedroom less visible from the road. She then went to the front door and used the code she had watched Marco use to enter the house. The luxurious home was truly gaudy.

The floors although covered by a think layer of dust were like mirrors. White and shiny and complementing the white walls. Of course that was not what bothered Nikita about the place - from the tall ceiling hung a huge disco ball. The walls that were not white were covered in mirrors.

The staircase handrail was shiny stainless steel. The furniture and cushions were 'hairy', the carpet shaggy and the enormous portrait over the fireplace reflected a hairless, suave and debonair dandy. Nikita laughed out loud as she continued touring the palace of ill repute.

"Yeah baby." She yelled.

Mick Schtopel was obviously quite the lothario. Hundreds of pictures of young attractive women, posing for professional photographers on the arm of Mr. Schtopel lined the mantel of the gigantic fireplace. Made entirely of mirrors and lights, the electric monstrosity sparkled. Nikita's unknowing host was quite the character.

The red bedroom, now that was a treat. A round huge bed sat on a platform and when Nikita went to turn on the lights, the bed started spinning slowly. Then after a pause the music started playing and the red velvet drapes opened to a most amazing view. The touch of another button revealed a roof that opened, changing from a ceiling of mirrors, to the most beautiful view of the sky.

A walk around the room and she discovered a white marble bathroom, a walk-in closet full of truly hideous clothing and a fascinating small room. It housed all kinds of video equipment and row after row of videotapes with the names of women and some sort of star rating system. Looking through the camera Nikita discovered that the lens was focused on the bed.

"Well, well Mr. Schtopel what goes on in this den?" She said to herself.

----

She had finished touring the house. Laughing out loud at the choices in decorating this man made. She noticed the phone, and sure enough it was connected. She noticed the kitchen and the refrigerator was full of champagne bottles, caviar tins and frozen expensive food. She found the servants' quarters and decided she would move in there, after all it had a door to the outside, she didn't need to use the rest of the house.

She could start looking for her father in the comfort of the servant's room. Not so 'house of the rising sun'. So she stripped the beds, and started her move. If nothing else, Mr. Schtopel had just hired himself a caretaker.

/////

Nikita sat in the library and started looking for a phone book. She found on the top drawer of the sleek stainless steel desk a scrapbook of Mr. Schtopel's appearances in the media. Newspaper columns, magazine articles and loads of trashy rags' clippings.

"Quite the busy porn film producer." Nikita commented as she read.

"Here is my schedule of residency…" She stated. The last newspaper article dated a year before talked about Mr. Schtopel's incarceration for a 5 year minimum stint in Federal prison for tax evasion. Although he had paid his taxes, he still owed the government jail time. A trust fund would pay for his homes' upkeep – listing a series of cities where he had homes, Sydney was one such city.

Nikita made a decision to go visit Mr. Schtopel at the Federal prison he now called home. He was in a minimum-security complex in an Air Force Base close by. They called these types of jails 'Country Clubs' the article went on, due to the type of individuals that were held there, and the type of facilities they proved to be.

////

Nikita went through Mick's closets and found some revealing women's clothing. She took a skirt, quite short and tight but black and one of his black sweaters. After taking a hot shower, and washing and drying her hair she found the keys to an automobile with the number 3 on a tab hanging from it. She decided to ask O'Brien about the keys when he rode by again.

Marco explained that those were detached private garages that people who lived in this community used to house their automobiles. The garages were closer to the road and thus away from the beach. Not only did the salt air rust the chassis of the vehicles, but also, land was extremely expensive and most of these people didn't want to waste space with garages.

She asked him to take her to Mr. Schtopel's garage, since she had to visit him the next morning at the penitentiary and a car would help. Nikita's cover was sticking and she was happy to say the least. The rows, upon rows of garages surprised Nikita, Marco had told her there were only a dozen houses in this community.

"So many of these, so few houses." She commented.

"Well there are just a few houses, but loads of money here. Most of these people own 5 or 6 cars each and never even come to these houses." Marco informed her, helping change the battery in the garage door opener attached to the key.

When the three-car garage opened it revealed a black Porsche, a BMW Mini – the cutest thing in red and white and a golf cart. The new friends looked at each other and Marco laughed.

"I would go directly to the Porsche, but you chicks, I bet you are heading for the Mini." Marco quipped.

"That is where you are wrong. I am going straight for the Porsche." Nikita said.

"Don't you think that was an awfully sexist remark on Marco's part?" A male French accented voice remarked.

Marco and Nikita turned to find an impossibly handsome man standing by the garage door. His antique Triumph motorcycle propped on its kickstand, his helmet on his hands. His eyes so green that even in the virtual approaching darkness of the afternoon they sparkled with amusement.

"Shit Michael you startled me." Marco stated.

"Hi." He had not taken his eyes of the magnificent wheat haired creature before him. "Michel Samuelle." Extending his hand and once he captured hers kissing it.

"Nikita Wirth Jones." She said.

"Ms. Jones it is indeed a pleasure to meet you, but wonder what you are doing with Marco and in Mick Schtopel's garage?" He said, moving over to Marco and patting him on the back.

"Well, she works for the man." Marco said, for Nikita was rooted to her spot and could hardly move a muscle, all kinds of desires arising by just looking at this man.

"She does?" Michael smiled.

"No, I only am his groundskeeper." She blushed at the intensity of his gaze.

"Good." Michael said. "My step father is Mr. Schtopel's attorney, I am glad something was done about the property. Tell me Ni-ki-ta how did you meet Schtopel, after all he is not a character a lady as pretty as you would hang out with."

The man let the words roll off his tongue and the smug look on his face gave notice that he knew how he was affecting her. He was gorgeous but absolutely not aware of it. He was tall, dark and handsome. When Nikita regained her ability to talk she said.

"Mr. Schtopel has a home in Sydney, I had done some renovating in his home there and when he was getting ready to go to jail he called and asked me to come."

"But that was over a year ago." Michael questioned her.

Marco interfered "What's up with the inquisition man?"

"It is ok Marco, after all Mr. Samuelle is looking out for his neighbor, that is great." She was afraid, but not showing it. "My mother got sick and eventually passed away."

"I am sorry, please forgive me. You are right, it really is none of my business. I just couldn't believe this beauty was employed by the likes of Mick." Michael smiled; moving closer to the blonde whom was now playing with the Porsche key.

"I have an idea." Marco said. "Why don't you take her tomorrow to see old Mick."

"That would be great, like that I won't get lost." Nikita bluffed, she had made up her mind, she would be leaving tonight, why risk her freedom?

"I'll draw you a map, how about it? Just give him my best." Michael smiled further, took the key and tried to start the car, and then he popped the hood. Before he started to check the engine with Marco's help he asked him. "What did you need to see me about. My office says you called."

"Well, Carla and I are going out to dinner with our new friend here after we take her to the market, and I was wondering if you…" Marco didn't need to finish.

"That would be great. My treat, I want to try out this new French restaurant." Michael said and smiled at Nikita when the engine started.

"I am sorry, I don't have clothes…" She told him.

"You look fine." Michael added. "I'll take you to the market and like that we won't waste time. Do you need a lot of groceries?"

"Well, not really, just some milk and bread." She shyly stated.

"Then let's go on the bike. You have not visited California until you see this part of the State from the back of a hog." Michael pulled her towards the bike handing her the car keys.

"But I am wearing a short skirt." She said.

"Ride side-saddled." He smiled and handed her a helmet.

////

Nikita held on to Michael's waist as he pulled out into traffic. He held her hand to his body and smiled at the soft smooth limber fingers. He turned and told her to hold on tight. Her long limbs hanging over the side of the bike.

They arrived at the Fresh Fields' Market on an upscale strip mall about a mile from the entrance to the canyon. Nikita took off her helmet and her blonde hair floated down, making Michael's groin tighten at the beautiful picture she made. She smiled at Michael and then pouted as she handed him the helmet.

"I am buying a pair of shorts. This side-saddle stuff is for damsels in distress and not mini skirt wearing women." She remarked, her husky laugh warming him.

"I gather you are not the damsel in distress type?" He said helping her off the bike.

"Absolutely." She answered pulling down her skirt.

"Then why are you worrying about the length of your skirt?" He laughed guiding her inside the market.

"I am bashful." She said, swinging her arms like a little girl.

"Hmm" Michael said smiling inside. "You have great legs, it is a sin to cover them."

"A sin? That bad?" She flirted and he loved it.

Nikita bought milk, bread, cheese and bananas. He excused himself, went to a sports shop next door and bought her a pair of sweat pants. She thanked him and went to the bathroom to put them on.

"Why did you get sweat pants?" She asked, "I thought I had beautiful legs."

"You do, but I decided that you didn't need to show them to anyone else." He smiled guiding her to the bike.

////

Michael took Nikita to the house. She went in through the servant's quarters and he followed. She put the groceries in the kitchen and turned to find Michael standing by the door smiling.

"What?" She asked.

Michael answered, "You look fetching wearing those sweat pants in Mick's porno palace."

"I thought you like these…wait, you had been here before?" She asked.

"I do like them, and yes I have been here many times before…" He laughed. "Let's go, I want to get my car."

"Wait, let me take these off." And quickly, in front of Michael she removed the sweatpants. He was smiling broadly.

"I have never removed my clothes in front of anyone without…" She blushed.

"Well, I have never been with anyone who has removed sweat pants in Mick's house." He kidded "We are even."

Before they could go to Michael's house, Marco and Carla showed up. "Ready?" The man asked as Michael hugged Carla and introduced her to Nikita.

"So you are Australian?" Carla asked. The women became friends quickly.

/////

Michael was riding his motorcycle as Carla, Marco and Nikita followed in Carla's Honda Civic. The friends had decided to take two cars to the restaurant. Michael who lived about a city block down the canyon from Mick decided to take a Cadillac SUV. They arrived at an ultra modern glass home, which sat on a corner lot overlooking an inky blue ocean. The waves broke below with a fascinating fury.

Michael parked the bike and everyone else got out of Carla's car to move to the white automobile. The evening was warm and the sound of the ocean melodic. Michael's home in perfect harmony with the landscape.

"A white car Michael? It can't possibly be yours." Marco kidded.

"Nikita, Michael has a penchant for black." Carla added.

"Actually the car is not mine, it is my mother's, she left it here while she is out of the country." Michael said, grabbing Nikita's hand and pulling her towards him. "Would you like to come inside?"

"Maybe later Michael. I think we should go eat something, I for one am starved." Nikita said.

Nikita had decided to play it cool with Michael. It was obvious by his money and looks that the man was a player. It was also obvious to Nikita that her priorities at this point in her life were to find herself a place to live, find herself a job and find her father.

"Penny for your thoughts." Michael whispered as he helped Nikita with her seat belt. He had opened the front passenger door for her to sit next to him and had gone around to the driver's side. Marco and Carla were in her car.

"Are you married?" She came out and asked him.

"No." He answered smiling.

Nikita didn't want to know anything else; if he had a girlfriend, if he was divorced, she just wanted to spend a nice evening. After all her visit to Mr. Schtopel could prove to be a bust and this could be the first and last night she would see these people. Her response to Michael's answer was short.

"Good." She said smiling herself.

-----

The ride to the restaurant was short. Nikita had been amusing Michael with stories of Australia a country he had only visited twice. Michael was easy to talk to, he was attentive and interested in everything she had to say.

The French Bistro, small and cozy was relaxed and charming. Michael explained how it reminded him of a little restaurant in Marseilles where the old owner made his own cheese. Nikita tried what Michael offered without question. The delicious fare ordered in perfect French by a most engaging Michael.

There was a three-piece band playing old sad songs and Michael asked Nikita to dance. The slow sensual moves' creating all kinds of longing and desires in the new friends, but it was Michael who stopped after one dance. Carla and Mick excused themselves after arguing with Michael over the check. Nikita sat at the table with a glass of wine while Michael took the small stage and played the cello.

A wonderful chocolate confection followed the sumptuous meal and then expresso dark and bitter until Michael placed two dollops of whipped cream and some unrefined brown sugar in the dainty cup. He asked for Brandy and smoked a cigar telling her about his days as a college student in Paris. The couple talked and laughed until way pass midnight and then Michael excused himself to make a phone call.

When Michael returned to the table he had settled the bill and helped Nikita by pulling the chair out for her. He held her elbow as they left the restaurant and he promised he would bring her again soon. They drove back to Malibu continuing their stories, this time Michael telling her about his first trip to Australia. They arrived at Mick's house, to Nikita's disappointment and Michael helped her out of the car.

"Would you like to come in?" Nikita asked.

"Not tonight, you have to get up early tomorrow to go see old Mick. Be sure you follow the map I drew you, you won't get lost that way." Michael said.

He held her hand and brought it to his lips. He then moved forward throwing caution to the wind and embraced Nikita kissing her slowly at first and then as she opened her lips so his tongue could gain entrance the kiss intensified. A long wet kiss that seemed to go on forever. But then just as he had started, he brought the kiss to an end.

"You're sure?" Nikita asked still in his embrace.

"Hmm Ni-ki-ta…I must go…" He kissed her mouth one more time and left. Leaving her standing by Mick's front door. "I'll phone you." He called out as he drove off.

Nikita floated into the house. This night she was going to sleep in a bed and have hot wet dreams about this gorgeous man. She walked into the house stroking her lips with the hand he had kissed and humming the music to the song they'd danced to. As she served herself a glass of milk, she realized that she had not given him the phone number for she didn't know it. She excused the errand thought with the knowledge that Michael knew Mick and thus probably his phone' number.

Nikita took off the tight skirt and sweater; she put on the sweat pants Michael had given her and a tee shirt and lay on her nice bed. She was thinking about Michael and realized that his conversations although interesting had not given her much information. Who was he really; what did he do for a living; how old was he; did he have a family? All questions she would have liked answers to. She had learned very little about this man. Nikita quickly drifted to sleep.

////

The morning arrived promptly. The Minimum Security Penitentiary was about a 30 minute drive, the visiting hours started at 8:30 am and she wanted to be there when the doors opened. It was now 6:58. Nikita went into the bathroom took a hot shower, washed her hair and put on one of her conservative loose blue dresses, she walked to the garage, took the Mini and started off for the Air Force Base that housed the jail.

Nikita decided by looking at Mick's belongings that she would take him a couple of photographs of him with some of his 'friends', a handful of cigars and a sealed box of imported praline candy. She looked respectable with her hair up in a braid and no clothing too tight or revealing. She also took Mick some of the mail that did not appear to be advertisements and his checkbook just in case.

As she arrived at the penitentiary, the prisoners – a very small group of 50 – were in the yard for their weekly visiting hour. She learned Mick had no visitors since he'd been placed in the facility over 8 months before. Because the visits were reserved for close family members, she lied and showing her passport said she was a half sister of Mick that had just arrived from Australia. The guards bought it.

"Schtopel" a guard approached him while he watched television alone in the rec. room. "There is a good looking blonde out there claiming she is your sister from Australia."

Mick perked up, of course he had no sister and especially from Australia, but a visitor was a visitor and he was dying to talk to someone from the outside. And whatever this woman wanted it was ok with Mick. Perhaps she had been sent there by…who cared. Mick stopped speculating and said to the guard.

"She exaggerates, she is just my step sister." Mick smiled and walked out to the waiting room where he found the beautiful blonde waiting for him.

"Babe…you look terrific." This for the benefit of the guards who stood like buzzards sizing up the beautiful woman that had come to see the Porno King.

"Mick, brother – mom sends her best." Nikita replied loud enough for the guards to hear.

Mick moved closer and hugged Nikita. She looked at the guards who were all smirking. She was relieved when he told her they could go outside and talk privately.

"It is visiting hours boys…" He smiled and guided Nikita out to the patio and a table in a corner of the busy loud yard.

"Who are you? Not that I am complaining mind you." He said as they sat.

"I am sorry Mr. Schtopel, you do not know me, but I have a story and a proposition for you…" With this Nikita told him the story of how she had wound up in his house and what she had done and why she was there. Handing him the stuff she had brought and that the guards had inspected and allowed her to give him.

"Bloody 'ell" He said looking at his belongings. "How are the roses next to my bedroom window?" Smiling.

"They needed a lot of pruning and some food." She said confused, of all she had told him how could he just be concerned with the roses.

"You mean my house looked abandoned?" He asked.

"Yes, it is my understanding the neighbors were complaining." Nikita said.

"Smart bird you are, aren't you." Mick smiled. "If I hire you would I be in trouble? I need to talk to my lawyer…nah hate that asshole if he had not shortened my sentence magically, I swear I would have fired him."

Mick was babbling and Nikita was amused, the portrait didn't do him much justice, the man was pleasant looking in his prison uniform. "Let's see what you brought me…I am going to make an executive decision and hire you. I can't pay you until I speak with my lawyer, but I want you to fire the company I hired to keep all my homes throughout the world" and he wrote a number down.

"You can stay in my homes, use my cars, buy what you need using my accounts in the grocery and the dry cleaners. Hire a new gardener, do what you must. You are probably wondering why am I trusting you. I am wondering the same thing myself…" Mick said.

The visiting hour was coming to an end; he had given her all kinds of orders and requested all kinds of things. He also wrote her a check for $2500 for expenses and told her she had to come every week to visit with him or he would have the police and the INS after her. Nikita agreed and promised to do more than her best.

When the hour came to an end and Nikita had to leave she noticed that a number of the guards and a number of the prisoners were staring at them. Mick said, "If you don't mind I am going to tell them you are my fiancé, that will give me some leverage here – you are quite the looker."

Nikita felt sorry for the man that had been more than generous with her without knowing her from Adam. So she stood, at least two inches taller than Mick grabbed him by his shirt and gave him a searing kiss. The yard broke into applause; Mick slapped Nikita's ass as she strode past him.

////

By 11:30 in the morning Nikita was back in Malibu. She was, to say the least, overwhelmed by her good fortune. She had a job, a house, a car and money. She had even elicited permission from Mick to change the décor of the house. After all, he had said in his most amusing accent that he was not going to be using the facilities for the next couple of years and when he got released he wanted to turn a new leaf.

Of course he had charged her with much more than the house in California and that was all right also, she was capable of handling Mick's affairs or so she thought. Who was Mick and what had she gotten herself into was the first thing she needed to research. And then in retrospect, she was only going to tend to the actual upkeep of his properties and visit him in jail. She was not going to become his confidant, his secretary or his gofer; she would remain simply the caretaker of his homes.

Nikita stopped at the Home Depot on the way to Malibu Canyon to get paint samples. She saw an electronic sign advising the driving public that 'From December 3 through January 2 there would be traffic delays on Malibu Canyon between 8:30 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. weekdays. Traffic would be reduced to one lane; northbound and southbound traffic would alternate.' Nikita thought 'Welcome to LA' as she sat in the horrendous gridlock.

She turned to a radio station that carried the audio portion of a television news show and she heard the announcement "Coming up the conclusion of the continuing report – The New Mafia – this time Crime is organized." Nikita laughed and decided to enjoy her cold drink, study the paint chips and listen to the show. She was humming and whistling to the radio's rendition of the Godfather theme.

The very informative discussion explained how due to the times we were living in and the influx of foreign crime figures in our midst, such as Russian, Colombian, African and Israeli to name a few, things even in the underworld had been altered. The Cossa Nostra or the Italian Mafia had melded into an International Conglomerate with the smartest lieutenants surviving. The Dons of the old ranks disappearing to be replaced by captains of industries. The legal counsel, usually a family member, playing a prominent advisory role with a more modern approach.

In the United States the authorities had more than controlled the situation. The majority of the Mafiosos were either dead or incarcerated. Thus they had to create a better, improved and aggressive syndicate. As of the airing of the program, sources close to the mobsters were seemingly cooperating with the authorities. But in the bowels of the organization, the efforts were in desperately trying to turn the crime industry of the past into a profitable above the law business concern – with a couple of skeletons in their closets and not forgetting some in the bottom of the bay wearing cement shoes.

'In the United States, land of opportunity, where the streets are paved in gold, the most powerful and wealthy crime family in the entire country was presently the Viscano Family. This group of 200 individuals from all ethnic backgrounds came together bringing with them their own offerings to the table, whether skills or/and money. The 'Collective' as they liked to call themselves were a group of surreal individuals, who replaced scary cartoon characters – these members hard to pinpoint.' The host reported.

After a commercial break, the host asked if they still maintained major muscle in drug trafficking, narcotics, loan-sharking, extortion, pornography and labor unions. The unidentified male replied in the affirmative and went on to describe their facilities for racketeering, restaurants, seafood distribution and vending machines – all illegal, but borderline law abiding. The host was trying to cover his fear while the guest continued.

'This family, now mostly the only recognized organized crime family left, have been silently and with reservation conducting successful businesses. There has never been a successful indictment or for that matter any indictment at all. So mostly this criminals are left alone.' The guest spewed.

During the tag of the previously recorded show, a news flash reported that a masked gunman had gunned down the host of the show and the incognito guest at separate locations. Nikita's cerulean eyes were now the color of the deep part of the ocean while a chill covered her body, she didn't know why. She turned off the air conditioner and lowered the window allowing the warm breeze of the canyon to enter the vehicle.

She smiled to herself, this was the stuff fiction was made of. As she waited for the alternate highway lane system to finally let her through, she would have sworn she saw Michael riding with a pretty brunette in the opposite direction of his home. The couple in an intimate exchange where laughing happily at something the woman had said. This was no sister or casual acquaintance; this was a lover or better yet a spouse.

"Nikita, your imagination is getting the best of you." She said in a loud voice to no one in particular. "Next thing you are going to surmise is that Mick is in this Collective and Michael's father is Marlon Brando." She laughed. "That was not even his car."

//// Michael entered the Viscano guarded compound with the same resignation he seemed to carry around since he found out he was to marry Don Viscano's daughter. The woman was a basket case; a crazy obsessed stalker that Michael had trouble stomaching. He had spent a couple of hours with her this morning and was now gladly returning her to her home. Thank God her father had made it quite clear to Michael that the woman was to remain chaste until their wedding day. Michael wondered, as he was backing up the car, how he was going to be able to live through the wedding night.

"I love you Michael." Carol Viscano yelled as the red convertible Thunderbird sped off the property. Its wheels spinning gravel as he hauled ass off the Mafia enclave. His stepfather Paul Wolfe and the woman's uncle Jurgen, had arranged Michael's engagement to the daughter of the Godfather of the most powerful organized crime family in the world.

As Michael returned to his home in Malibu he thought back as to how his life had quickly gone in the crapper. Michael had received his law degree, with the full knowledge that he was never going to use it and just to please his mother. Yale undergrad and Harvard Law was something his mother had required of him. Michael had his own money and businesses and didn't have to depend on his stepfather or mother for his grand life-style, but he did love them, so he gave them the degrees.

Michael's father was a well known weapons manufacturer who, after making more money than anyone had a right to, died in a stupid boating accident off the coast of New Guinea. His business partner Paul Wolfe, after a 5-year mourning period, had married Michael's mother Madeline. Michael, then 9 had accepted Paul as his father and had lead a life of leisure, wealth and indulgence.

Paul had found out that his first wife, a Vietnamese beauty named Simone and a son he didn't even know he had, named Steven, had been killed in a botched up attempt to extract ransom money from him. Paul a Vietnam War hero had wanted to make amends. Through his contacts he had approached the INTERPOL and found out that the Viscano Organized Crime Family had been responsible for his son and ex-wife's death.

The INTERPOL's General Assembly of the member countries had adopted the term Organized Crime and had defined it as 'Any enterprise or group of persons engaged in a continuing illegal activity which has as its primary purpose the generation of profits irrespective of national boundaries.'

The General Assembly needed funding to create the OC Branch to deal with the identification, centralization, evaluation and analyses of information and activities of those criminal organizations operating internationally. Not only did Paul and his family volunteer to fund it, they decided to run it. And so Section One was born, and Michael had been recruited without much choice.

He understood what he needed to do and why. He didn't mind being the unsung hero type. Section One, which included Madeline's father and mother, was necessary and noble. Michael's maternal grandparents, the very wealthy and kick ass pair were the brains behind Section, however all their perfectly laid plans never netted them an inch inside the Viscano clan.

Enter Michael - his good looks caught the attention of the unstable Carol and she became so insistent that her father hired Michael as his Consiglieri. And so, finally, S1 had their way into the Organized Crime Family.

'Not quite', the powers that be had said, they needed a stronger bond. Michael didn't remember who or why, but all of sudden the Godfather's brother was asking Paul to intercede with Michael. Shortly thereafter, like in the movies, Michael was engaged to the Mob.

--- His thoughts back to the present as he drove into the driveway of his Malibu Canyon home. He first stopped at the mailbox on the side of the road and picked up his mail. Few people knew that Michael was the Viscano family attorney, even inside the organization and thus he enjoyed a bit of safety.

Walter and Adrian Jones were proud of their grandson; although quite peeved that the young man had to marry that poor crazy woman. The couple now stood in Michael's living room waiting for him to arrive. Michael's face broke out into a wide smile when he saw his grandparents, holding hands and standing by a balcony looking towards the beach.

"When did you two arrive from Paris?" Michael asked as he rushed his frail, proper grandmother and hugged her.

"About an hour ago. Seymour let us in." Adrian replied.

Walter was still peering through a telescope. "And what are you looking at so intently?" Michael asked his grandfather placing an arm around his shoulders and kissing his bandana-wearing head.

"Hmm. Old Mick has a house guest?" Walter asked, still glued to the telescope.

Michael had picked up a pair of binoculars and saw what Walter was looking at. Nikita in a black bikini top and shorts, running by the shore, playing and being chased by Michael's German-Shepherd Hazard. She was laughing and splashing water at the dog, obviously enjoying herself.

"Ni-ki-ta." Michael whispered for his grandfather's benefit.

"A girlfriend of Mick's or a business acquaintance." Adrian inquired.

"Neither, she is house-sitting." Michael clarified.

"Named after some Old Russian communist, the woman is…" Walter remarked.

"Walter, some decorum. You become quite crass at the sight of a tight ass…" Adrian remarked pulling her husband to sit by her.

"Yeah Michael, you should hear how crass I am when your grandma shows me hers." Walter said, laughing and kissing a smiling Adrian.

"She is quite lovely." Michael said, still watching the woman enjoy her solitude. "Too bad…"

Walter and Adrian looked at each other, sadness overwhelming them both. Their honorable grandson was going to sacrifice himself for the benefit of the few. Remarkable man – too bad indeed.

////

Nikita heard someone whistle from afar. The blonde woman quirked her head in the general direction of the whistle, so did Hazard. The woman tried to see where the whistle came from and the dog took off without saying 'goodbye' – Oh well. It was good to know the dog had an owner and knew his way home.

Nikita sat and continued pondering her future, her past and then wondered where her newfound friends had gone. She looked at her watch and started towards the house. Painting and redecorating were eminent.

The living room presented a decorating challenge, where was she going to hide all that glittered. She got a long extension ladder from the attic and removed the disco ball. Good start to the daunting task of 'un-Micking' Mick's pad, it was going to be a long afternoon.

The phone rang; it was Carla. "Hello Nik, I'm sorry I didn't call before, I wanted to go window shopping for a wedding dress and thought perhaps…"

Nikita asked Carla to come over, after all she was just minutes away and they could leave from Mick's house. The blonde woman was convincing in the argument that she should make the wedding dress, after all Nikita was quite the fashion bug. Nikita took a quick shower and donned her low hung jeans, a little white tee shirt top and sandals, just in time for the doorbell to ring.

She rushed to the door excited with the prospect of creating the wedding dress and flung the glass door opened without seeing who was at the other side. There stood the hippest looking dude she had ever seen, bandana and all. Michael's motorcycle parked on the driveway below.

"Hi Sugar." Walter remarked his smile beaming from ear to ear.

"Yes?" She answered amused. She knew he had to belong to the neighborhood, security and all.

"I bet you are wondering what good deed you must have done to have the good fortune of having me show up at your doorstep." He quipped.

"On the contrary, I have not called Security because I recognize Michael's bike." She said.

"I, dear sweet lady, am Michael's grandpapa – don't you tell anyone I have a 32 year old grandson, because they will think you are nuts." He continued. "It seems that Hazard took something that belongs to you."

Nikita who had now opened the door enough for the man to step through her threshold asked confused, "Hazard?"

"Yeah, I know Michael is one – sometimes that boy…never mind. Hazard is the dog." He laughed.

"Oh, he is your dog, he didn't have a collar…" She said.

"I know he is wild and free." He snapped his fingers. "Like me." And handed Nikita her hat.

"I didn't even miss it. Thank you." She said.

"So Sugar," he said "I assume that is your name, it fits you well, I am Walter Jones."

"Oh I am sorry, I am Nikita Wirth." She answered shaking his hand and not bothering to tell him about the shared last name, common as it was.

"I see you are improving Mick's pad." He said laughing.

"I am afraid only a wrecking ball could do that." She kidded. "Do you know Mr. Schtopel?" Nikita asked making sure Walter saw there was no intimacy with the owner of the house.

"I know his work…" Walter said. "Not the Porno stuff – he is quite an accomplished painter."

"You are kidding…please sit down, can I offer you something to drink?" Nikita asked as they went towards the kitchen.

"Soft drink will be fine. I've been here for a show of his work." Walter said as the doorbell was ringing.

"That must be Carla." Nikita stated.

"Chicky Carla is here? This must be my lucky day…two beautiful women all to myself." Walter kidded one more time.

-----

Nikita was surprised as to the closeness between Walter and Carla, after all Marco had told Nikita that Carla had just moved to Los Angeles from Toronto. Walter was an older gentleman with an obvious extensive history in this country, not to mention businesses, real estate, family and friends.

So Nikita's curiosity got the best of her. "And how is it that you two know each other?"

Without missing a beat Walter smiled, so did Carla, and he said. "Carla's family works for our concern in Toronto, that is how she met Marco. My wife and I knew Carla when she was just a twinkle in her daddy's eyes."

"Oh, Marco is from Toronto also?" Nikita asked.

"Yes he is. And Michael was also born in Canada, but in Montreal." Carla answered.

Nikita decided this was a good a time to ask about the charming hunk she'd met through Marco. "And how is Michael doing?"

"He should be here with my wife soon. They went to pick up a couple of things from the grocery store and I can guarantee that when he sees his bike here, he will stop." Walter laughed.

"Walter you took the bike without permission again?" Carla asked.

"Have to get that boy out of his funk." He said.

"Funk?" Nikita asked.

"Yeah, Michael has to get married and that is driving him nuts." Walter said.

"Michael is engaged?" Disappointment clearly heard out of Nikita's mouth.

"An arranged marriage, having to do with business, his dead father and…" Walter was refilling his glass of pop "the Vietnam prison camps."

"But…" Nikita protested.

"Yeah we know it is the 21st Century, but…nothing can be done…Michael is a man of honor and this was his father's request. He will make it work." Walter said.

----

Nikita said goodbye to Walter. Michael had gone home, dropped off Adrian who had called her husband's cell phone wondering where he was. Walter had said goodbye to the women and left. Carla and Nikita also left in search of the perfect white taffeta after having perused the newest 'Bride's Magazine'.

Walter entered the house and Adrian was waiting for him. "So…how did it go?"

"She is a beautiful girl. Charming, smart and…quite the looker." Walter reported. "No wonder we heard 'longing' in Michael's voice as he spoke about her."

"Stop being so melodramatic old man and tell me what happened." Adrian laughed.

"Told her what we had agreed to say about Michael's engagement. Carla has her orders, don't worry, the blonde is not going to be a problem." Walter answered.

"I hope not my dear. If Michael gets too interested we will have to…" Michael walking into the house interrupted Adrian.

////

"You'll have to what?" Michael asked as he rushed through the door of his home, he could see Hazard jumping into the pool. He had just spent time shopping with his fiancé and was in no mood for nonsense from anyone.

Walter and Adrian stood still, like if not moving would make Michael forget that they had not answered the question. Michael, after ordering the dog out of the pool, entered the living room again and asked the question one more time.

"So…you'll have to what?" Michael asked his grandmother.

"What are you talking about Michael?" She asked feigning ignorance.

"As I walked in you said that if I got interested you would have to - and then stopped talking." He said smiling and kissing his grandmother on the top of her head. "And I want the truth Lady Adrian."

"You know you only call me that when you are angry my dear." Adrian stalled.

"Cut it out Adrian. Michael has a right to know what is going on." Walter said.

"Hey give the man a cigar…go on what is going on." Michael asked.

"Nikita is going on." Walter answered.

"Ni-ki-ta?" Michael asked confused.

Walter responded. "Look Michael, we noticed how interested you seemed to be on her…"

"And…" Michael said, sitting on the arm of the chair his Grandmother occupied. "She will not interfere with my mission."

"Oh but she would." Adrian said. "If Carol or her father find out that you are even having impure thoughts, the deal would be off and that woman's life wouldn't be worth much."

"She would be in danger from Viscano or from Section?" Michael wisely asked.

"I can guarantee we would not be happy; Michael we would have to either cancel her or recruit her." Adrian said.

"For heaven's sake I went to dinner with her once. I have no intention of pursuing a relationship with the woman and further more this is none of your business." Michael said angrily.

"Well Michael can we trust that you won't let your 'southern brain' do the thinking for you?" Walter asked in his smart-ass way.

Michael laughed and Adrian yelled "Walter!"

"Well…Michael?" Walter asked again, ignoring his wife.

"I don't let personal concerns interfere with my responsibilities." Michael said.

"As long as we are clear on this. By the way I went to see her and told her you were engaged."

"I think this conversation is over." Michael said as he stood and left the room.

Walter and Adrian sat alone in the living room and heard the bedroom door slam. Adrian said, "I think this is a potential problem."

"Let's keep this between us, not tell Madeline and Paul and let us trust Michael to do the right thing Adrian, he has never let us down." Walter said. "Now, let's go home I am jet lagged."

"Michael we are going." Adrian called out. Michael came down the staircase having changed his clothes; he was wearing running shorts and a tee shirt.

"Don't leave on my account. If you two can't trust me, then who will – obviously not Mamman or Paul." Michael said to his grandparents.

"Michael we just don't want you hurt." Walter said walking towards the door and getting in the car.

"Then find someone else to marry Carol." Michael said hugging his grandparents and bidding them farewell. His land phone was ringing.

-----

Nikita was arriving home after having dropped off Carla when Walter and Adrian passed her; Walter honked and Nikita waved. The women had bought the necessary supplies to make Carla a one of a kind dress. Nikita had made plans to meet with her new friend the next morning.

The blonde woman looked at her watch, it was already 5:00 and she had accomplished very little that day. She went into the kitchen, put a chicken in the oven to bake and took out the makings of a salad and poached vegetables. She then changed into a one-piece bathing suit.

----

"Oui" Michael answered.

"Oh, sorry Michael, I was calling Walter or Adrian." Carla said.

"Carla you can report to me. What were you able to accomplish with Nikita." Michael figured that his grandparents had recruited Carla's help with the Nikita situation.

"Err…Michael, Walter told me to call him." Carla answered; Michael's silence scared her a bit though. "She asked a bunch of questions about you, trying to discern why you would follow your father's request and enter in this prearranged marriage."

"Call Walter on the cell phone…don't tell him we spoke." Michael ordered and hung up.

Michael knew that getting involved with anyone would create a problem for him and a potential catastrophe for the woman. But Nikita was someone Michael could easily spend time with, even if it was just to make his disastrous existence more bearable.

He thought of his grandfather and smiled; he was letting his manhood make decisions. He picked up the binoculars and spied Nikita as she dove into the pool. Right then he made a decision fraught with a potential slew of adversity – but who cared, she looked like an angel. He whistled for Hazard and ran down to the beach to start his jog.

---

Nikita swam four laps and got out of the pool. She dried her body as she thought of Michael. The man who brought strong emotional reactions to her lonely heart was out of her reach…or was he? She wondered what rules applied to men about to enter into arranged marriages.

While she looked for an excuse to run into him again, spend some time in his company, he stood by the steps that led to the beach and cleared his throat. Nikita turned as in slow motion, Michael could see the shadow of her nipples through the white bathing suit. His mouth watered as he watched a drop of water travel from her earlobe down to her cleavage and disappear.

"Hi" he said exuding sex.

"Hi" she answered shyly. "Want to stay for dinner?"

"Only if I can help." He said reaching for her wet hair and caressing it.

"Hello Hazard." Nikita patted the dog that licked her leg.

"Stop Hazard." Michael ordered.

She blushed fiercely, "It's ok. He is not bothering me."

"He is bothering me and making me jealous." Michael remarked as he followed her into the kitchen.

///

Michael was looking for trouble, for himself and consequentially for Nikita. The simple move of her hips as she walked away from him stirring pure male lust. She was having difficulty walking, could feel the intense heat of his gaze on her half-clad behind.

Without turning to face him she said. "You are going to have to excuse me so I can change into dry clothes." And disappeared to her bedroom. "Check on the chicken." She yelled from the landing.

Michael's wicked smile reached his eyes as he whispered. "Why bother? I plan to have you out of your clothes soon enough." Bending to pat his dog.

Nikita took a quick shower and put on a blue jeans long flowing skirt and a white blouse tied in a knot at the waist, no buttons fastened, no bra or shoes and a tiny black lace thong. She towel dried her hair and combed it. Checking herself out from every angle in front of a full-length mirror she liked what she saw.

"Just this night, he can then go fulfill his duty." She said under her breath; obviously the blonde woman had plans of her own.

----

When Nikita descended the stairs less than 10 minutes later, Michael had set the table, prepared the vegetables, found a bottle of Chardonnay and opened it – letting the wine breath. He was standing by a floor to ceiling window watching the waves. He could smell her delicious perfume and rested his forehead on the cool glass, feeling his masculinity stir.

"I better go." He said turning slowly. When he saw her magnificent gas light blue eyes sparkle he added. "Yeah, I don't trust myself."

"With what?" she asked approaching him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

Michael shuttered his eyes for a second and asked, "What are you doing Ms. Wirth?"

"Hmm." She answered softly, the hand on the shoulder moving to his face. "There is a much better question Michael."

He took the hand on his face and kissed first the palm, then the pulse. "What do you want Ms. Wirth?"

She smiled, shuttering her own eyes and rubbing her lips with her tongue. "Much better question indeed. Where is the self control I hear you are famous for."

He pulled her to him by her waist and bringing his mouth close to her ear he whispered. "I am engaged…not dead."

The sigh Michael breathed after finishing his statement displaced the hair near her ear. She wanted to move but was afraid he would stop holding her. He rested his forehead on hers and let out a long breath closing his eyes.

"Perhaps…" she wondered out loud.

"What do you want Ms. Wirth." He insisted, softly.

"You." She answered, moved a bit away from him and shrugging, "Perhaps one night won't kill you."

Michael smiled pulling her to him one more time. His arms went around her waist, hers around his neck. He started a slow kiss, tentative, his tongue taking its time to arrive at the equation. When it did, Nikita saw fireworks behind her closed eyes. The sensual sexually charged mating of soft lips, wet tongues, raking lips made them both weak- kneed. If they had not been caressing each other they would have fallen.

Her fingers buried deep inside the curls at his nape. The softness elicited all kinds of needs. Her usual Pollyannaish stance varying at the emotions cursing through her veins. She was grabbing what she needed and wanted at that point – the consequences and usual inopportune thoughts gone.

He on the other hand was letting that southern brain command his actions. The hell with the fiancé, with the promises to and of his dead father and with the likely wake this tryst would surely bring. He wanted this woman, this creature of light that was obviously made to enjoy. He would protect her later on, but for now he wanted to feel, to own her, to posses her.

Michael moved her even closer. Her moans filling his ears which quickly sent stirring messages to his manhood. He was floating in an ocean of desire and she held the only lifesaver. Her hips swaying ever so gently against his, following the soulful music in her head. Just as the moment was passing from the inspiring to the concrete Michael's cell phone jingled.

///

Michael shuttered his eyes, did a quick hip drop ¾ turn and picked up the phone he had placed by the window, flipping it open. "Oui?" His voice melodic full of pent-up emotional need.

"Michael, were the hell are you? The meeting started 5 minutes ago without you. How am I to convey to you Son how important it is to be on time for these things!" It was Paul.

Paul Wolfe, Michael's stepfather was an impatient man with a tightly reigned self-control. He rarely screamed, he was screaming now. The veins of his neck popped out as he snuffed his dark cigarette. A Waterford crystal ashtray sitting by the head of the mammoth black-marble-conference table took the brunt of his anger. The Board of Directors, all close family members looked on in astonishment.

SAM [Samuelle Armaments and Munitions] Enterprises, leading weapons' manufacturer, both listed and trading heavily on the newly created Defense Index of the American Stock Exchange was run jointly by Michael and Paul, with Michael 71% owner of the concern. The biannual stockholder meeting was coming up and the Board was holding an assembly called by Paul, Michael obviously a no-show.

"I told you I am not coming." The younger man answered, turning to find that Nikita had moved out of the room to give him privacy. He searched with his eyes and saw her in the dining room smiling at the table he had set.

"Well…are we pouting Michael?" Paul now back to speaking in a normal tone said. "We are not still throwing temper tantrums are we?"

"Paul, I love you, will obviously do whatever you ask of me – including sacrifice my life for some vendetta of yours; but listen well – I am still the majority shareholder of SAM and I will or will not attend as I see fit." Michael softly whispered and moved towards Nikita who now sat reading a magazine in a hideous couch in Mick's living room.

He sat by her as Paul spewed statistics about the state of the Defense Bills now active in Congress and about no one in the industry wasting time in capitalizing on the newly found generosity of Congress. Adding how their most important lobbyists were there to advise them on the active defense contracts being worked on Capitol Hill and how the military budgets were going to be big.

"Yeah, war mongering pays well." Michael said in disgust. "But I don't need to be there, will not be there and furthermore…"

Next voice he heard was his mother's sweet voice. "Michael I told Paul that I could represent you not to worry."

This was a statement to both disarm Michael and warn him. Michael could not resist his mother's requests. He loved the woman so, that he would allow her to manipulate him constantly. But not when it came to SAM, that was another story. His natural father had taken precautions to safeguard Michael's interest. He knew that the young beautiful widow would marry soon enough, probably his minority partner and he wanted to make sure Michael was always the owner of SAM.

"Hello Mother." He called her that only when he was angry. He placed a hand on Nikita's lap and raked his nails over her lap. "There is no need to represent me, you have no authority to do so and that is that. There is no official meeting scheduled, there is an assembly that Paul called for his own reasons. I am busy now mother."

"You win Michael, waste your time with the Tart du jour, get it out of your system." Madeline was furious and knew how to goad her son.

"I will Mother, thank you. Listen I have another call coming in. I love you." He hardly ever spoke to his mother in English, except when he was mad – and that he was.

"Oui?" Michael said his head hitting Nikita's lap in a mock show of frustration.

"Hair-Boy," it was Chuck Michael's trusted secret ally and close friend "the meeting was cancelled, Paul sent us home saying there was no use in holding it without you."

"Thanks man, I can always count on you." Michael genuinely answered.

"Hope you are having fun with the Tart du jour." Chuck answered mocking Michael's mother.

"Don't call me Hair-Boy again and my mother's French is better…" Laughing with his friend and hanging up.

Michael sat up and looked at the warm lap he had cradled moments earlier. His hand started the dance of stroking fingers gingerly over the skirt-clad thigh and then raking nails in the opposite direction. Back forth, eyes fixed on his hands both hers and his eyes.

"I am sorry." He finally said. "Now where were we?"

She smiled and stood. "I think we should eat." She threw a shield up – and she didn't even know she was being called the Tart du jour.

"Are you ok? He asked her.

"Fine." The evening took a turn sometime after the phone call and it was down hill from that moment on.

When they finished eating a quiet but delicious meal Michael again asked, "Are you ok?"

"Look Michael, you are engaged. What we almost did here was wrong, I don't want to be a one night stand, and least of all, the other woman." She smiled bitterly. "I want more than that out of life."

"You are right. You deserve much more than a…" Michael separated from her further. He knew he had to give her space.

"Cheap affair." She finished the thought.

"Affair maybe. Cheap never Kita." He held her hand and kissed it reverently. "Good night." And with this he whistled for Hazard, who was sleeping under the table, and left.

----

Nikita had cried when Michael left, she didn't know why, she had just met the man. Perhaps because he had thought of her as casual sex, perhaps because he was so damn handsome, who knew? With all the 'perhaps' thoughts in her mind, she fell asleep, just to be woken by Mick calling collect from prison.

"Hey Blondie" he said "you sound like you were sleeping, its early, are you shagging in my pad?"

"Mick, I am in no mood for stupid remarks, I will not do anything in this place that you wouldn't have done." She was mad, meaning something else it came out a silly remark so the man laughed, dragging her into the unintended joke.

"Nik baby I filmed XXX movies in that house – every room – go ahead disrespect me – screw to your hearts content." They laughed.

"I wish Mick there was someone around to help me do you proud." She continued the gag, her shoulders shaking from the laughter.

"So you have not met beautiful Michael?" He said. "Sha-ge-li-cious I tell you…eye candy extraordinaire."

"Mick – are you…is he…gay?" Nikita asked concerned.

"Yeah…sure…Michael gay…if there was anymore masculinity in that man, he would burst…and by the way neither am I. But the girls used to ask me to hire him as they would watch him jogging down on the beach twice a day. Start running you'll catch him." Mick was laughing.

"He exudes sex." She whispered.

"So I see you've met him." Mick said as Nikita noticed she had another call, looking at the caller id, she saw it was Michael and her face lit up. "Well my time is up, this was great, thanks I chose well…how is the house?"

"Intact still." Nikita answered ignoring Michael's insistent ring.

"You only have four more years to make it look presentable…" Mick commented. "Perhaps when they spring me from here I could go to Veterinary School."

"Perhaps you can study while you are in prison – it couldn't hurt." Nikita advised.

"I see you want me to take care of your schnauzer. Listen I've got to go, talk to you tomorrow." Mick said and hung up fast, after all he was in prison.

She lay down in the maids quarters and smiled then walking up to Mick's bedroom. Earlier that afternoon she had stripped the round revolving bed and sanitized the sheets. She now opened the ceiling and lay on the bed watching the stars and trying to ignore her reflection in every other surface around the room. She fell asleep holding the phone to her chest – it did not ring again.

///

In the middle of the night, a couple of hours after Nikita fell asleep on top of the bedspread she was woken by a noise. She incorporated herself on the bed and frightened turned on a light. Her mind was foggy trying to figure out where she was or what she was hearing, to no avail. Then the sound came again and she realized it was coming from the full-length glass wall on the lower level. The veranda that surrounded the house cloaked in darkness. She turned off the lamp in the room and turned on the exterior lights.

There dressed in jeans and a white sweater stood Michael, he was attempting to hit the living room glass with a pebble one more time, what a charming sight – Michael like a schoolboy trying to contact her. Failing miserably he now was cursing in French 'Merde', a loud whisper she could hear from the third floor.

She moved slowly to the sliding glass doors off the second floor and stood in front of an obviously inebriated Michael. She wore the pair of sweat pants he had bought her and a long sleeve tee shirt he recognized as his.

"Hi." He said bashfully. "Where did you get my tee shirt?"

She smiled, "You left it here tonight. Michael what are you doing here, it is 2:00 a.m."

"I…I…didn't like how things ended between us this evening." His speech was slurred and his eyes brilliant. "I don't want to get married Kita…" He was whining.

Nikita said "Get in here it is starting to rain." And pulled him inside as the sky began to empty.

"It never rains in California, but girl don't they warn 'ya…" Michael was singing.

"Have you been drinking?" She asked smiling and pulling him to the kitchen to brew some coffee.

"If you had to spend time with the likes of Carol and Don Viscano you would drink too." Michael said, trying to hold her by her waist, he just got her hand.

"Let me get some coffee into you." She moved without loosing contact with his warm arms.

"Hmm, can I sleep with you?" He asked holding her tighter. "Please, I just need you to hold me…if at least for one night." Again the sadness covered his beautiful face.

"Michael I'll take you home, you are – not you." Nikita said.

"I came on the Harley." He whispered.

He finally wrapped his arms around her and held her close; and placing his forehead against hers he pecked her nose with a sweet soft kiss. "I am drowning here, I don't know what to do, forgive me if I am drunk with lust for you. I want to taste your skin, your kisses, I want to lose myself in you, forget the promises of my father, please." He kissed her again. "I want to love you slowly, want to learn each corner of your body, fill you with caresses and kisses."

They separated and Nikita saw more than lust in the man before her. She had to be strong, not give in to the need growing desperately inside her. He was never going to be hers, he belonged to someone else and she would be nothing else than a passing fancy. With another man perhaps a one-night fling would be acceptable. But somehow, for some reason, not with Michael.

"Michael" she started softly, her resolution strong. "You can sleep here, but…don't do this please, I can't surrender myself to someone that is promised to another."

"Then let me just hold you. Let me share my grief – sigh - where is that coffee?" He smiled, she nodded and they proceeded to have some coffee.

Michael, his green eyes the color of moss, sat across the table from Nikita. He spoke softly and with great sorrow. He shared his hopes, his regrets and his pain with this somewhat stranger that somehow had earned his trust.

"My stepfather is a ruthless man." He confessed. "He loves me, I know this, but…and my mother, the queen of manipulation – how do I stop this wedding?" He mumbled the last comment.

"What does your stepfather have to do with your marriage?" Nikita asked. "I though that your natural father had arranged the marriage."

"…Yes…of course, but Paul feels that he has to guard my father's wishes." Michael lied to Nikita she didn't need to know the truth of the upcoming nuptials. The least this innocent knew, the safer she would be.

Michael realized he needed to end this dangerous conversation. He looked at Nikita and said. "I feel better now, perhaps you are right – I'll go home now."

She smiled and said, "It is 3:40 am, it is pouring rain and you brought your bike. I think you can stay here, and just behave."

"Of course, where is the guest room?" He asked and she guided him to the said room.

"Michael." She stopped at the door. "When is the wedding?"

Michael held Nikita in a warm embrace; he kissed her mouth really slowly, softly and then released her, "Tomorrow."

Her heart sank to the floor; he let out a loud sigh. She smiled and said. "Remember, if you ever need me, I'll be here – for at least the next 5 years."

"She is allergic to the sun – I'll have to sell the house." He smiled. "Oh God – good night Kita." And closed the door.

Nikita moved purposely to Mick's room, whispering "Good bye Michael."

The next morning early when Nikita awoke she found a note on the pillow next to her head – "Not making you mine will be my only regret."

////

Saturday was going to be a long day; Michael was getting married. She had known the man a scant couple of days and his visits the night before had brought a sense of understanding for whom she was – an honorable woman. She had needed him with the same intensity as he had professed, but yet she had managed to keep her integrity unmarred. Yes, definitely the man had awoken her honor as well as her need.

As always was the case when she was depressed or sad, Nikita started a demolition job. The room on the first floor that Mick used as a closet would be converted into a beautiful cabana by the time she was finished. With chisel and mallet in hand, she proceeded to make the interior wall between the closet and the bathroom disappear. Soon there was debris and dust flying and the bandana covering her head and the safety glasses covering her eyes were thick with white and gray sheet rock dust.

The phone rang in her pocket and she dropped everything removing the cover over her mouth just in time to answer "…ello". Her deep husky voice returning to her usual timbre. The electronic voice of an operator requested acceptance to a collect call, surely the blonde knew who it was and she welcomed the comedic interlude that would surely follow.

"Popsicle, what's shaking?" Mick asked, humor even inside prison.

"The walls of your porno palace." She answered. "I am glad to hear from you. Isn't it early – oh no, don't tell me you've escaped."

"Very funny. When you come I want you to bring me a cell phone. They've changed the rules and I can have one in here – there will be some restrictions but call ATT and explain my request. For long distance purposes I need some calling cards, can you do that for me?" Mick asked.

"Absolutely. Anything else?" She asked.

"Yes, yes. Today they are releasing a young man by the name of Grey Weldman." Mick said. "Nice boy, well if you think 32 is a boy. He spent a year here for trying to steal something or other, who cares, oh yeah, corporate espionage…"

"Mick, to the point please." Nikita asked.

"He is going to be your new roomy. He will be staying until he finds his way back to Berlin, trying to find his ex-wife and daughter…he'll fill you in I am sure." Mick told her. "How you doing? I know today is Michael's wedding. Hell - use my invitation, it should be a great party."

"Pluezze Mick, I don't know anyone there why would I want to attend?" She answered.

"You know the groom. It would be kind of an exorcism. I hear your voice – it has to be Michael that is making you sad." Mick said.

"Shut up Mick." The blonde answered.

"Ok do as you may. Take care of Grey, he is my pal. Kisses." And Mick hung up.