A Talespin fanfic by Lizzy Spencer (KarmaCat) Page 3
He had first met August Rosalyn De Sante in his office. She was the chair of a very profitable record industry with which he wanted to merge. The second he saw the long, beautiful tigress body of hers and the luminous yellow eyes his heart leapt into his throat with surprise; he didn't know what he had been expecting, but certainly not that. But, being as composed as he was, he expertly hid that feeling behind his stone wall of a face.He smiled to himself, remembering how she had moved across his office like personified music,
how she seemed a little bit afraid of him at first, being over polite and obsequious as most people
who saw him on business terms were. But it was when they got down to the share she was willing
to give Kahn Industries for distributing her music; that was when she showed her true nature.He could still remember the fierce conversation now, the money that burned in her eyes. Her
eyes. The thought of them made him famished for her, even after eighteen years.
"Thirty percent," Shere demanded of the lovely tigress before him.
She shook her head. 'Twenty. Twenty or I'm taking my business elsewhere." She had a
delicious English accent. She had flown in from London to meet with him.
"May I ask where you would get this kind of distribution plan for anything less?"
"I've got companies in the running who are willing to split fifteen," she replied unsmilingly.
"Is that so?"
"It is so."
"Hmmm." He shook his head, thinking that she was playing a haggling game with him. "Thirty,
Ms. De Sante. Thirty."
She smiled slight and her ear twitched. She leaned down from her seat, grabbed her black
leather briefcase, and slammed it down upon the desk, unsnapped it, and began to put her papers
into it.
Shere's eyebrow raised. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm taking my offer elsewhere, Mr. Kahn. It was certainly pleasant doing business with you, or
rather, NOT doing business with you, but I-"
It was then that he reached across the table and gently put his paw on her wrist as she tried to
pick up a sheet of paper. They looked each other in the eyes for moment, and Shere, just barely able to feel the rhythmic beating of her pulse, said, "Twenty seven."
She gave him a thoughtful stare for a moment, and replied, "Twenty five."
"Done."
His paw remained on her wrist a moment longer, and then she sat back down in her chair and
they resumed dealing. Signing the necessary documents took most of the day, wherein which they
discussed many things and he found himself quiet impressed with her; she was quite amusing and
clever. And beautiful. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her, the way her mouth moved when she
talked, her slight movements in the chair, how her long, elegant neck met her shoulders in a perfect
concave arc. After a while, she no longer seemed afraid of him, and they were talking like old friends about things that had absolutely nothing to do with the task before them.
Throughout the day he found himself more and more fascinated with her and that made him
nervous. He didn't show it.
There was one instance that day when he felt like slamming his head into the wall, but he didn't show that either. He had said in the midst's of some aimless conversation, "Have you ever been to
the Jungle Islands?"
"No, I haven't. I hear it's a fantastic resort, though."
"Hmmm. We - you should go there sometime."
August just lowered her head and smiled, thankfully pretending not to notice as Shere choked
down the slip.
"Oh, well, hmmm. I should, I suppose. They have those lovely roses there, don't they?"
Shere knew which one she referred too. They were huge, orange and red, called something like
Fire Island Blooms. They looked like little explosions. But by then he had locked up again. He had
come too close to the precipice and had to stop; he couldn't give her any indication of the thoughts, sometimes approaching sordid, that were speeding like imps in the back of his mind as he looked upon her.
He grew eager to get her out of the office, feeling strangely as if he would explode. He tried to
rush things along now, needing to get this wonderful music out of his sight and hopefully out of
his mind, but then, August did something that was so like her, with her eagle eyes and lightning
intelligence - she found a mistake in the contract.
A mistake that would take another day to repair.
Meaning he would see her again tomorrow.
After another half hour of wonderful torture she finally had to take her leave, and Shere felt so
spent he told Mrs. Snarly that he would be tending to his jungle and wished not to be disturbed. He could have stayed in forever, but, unfortunately, he had to go to a wedding that evening; an event he only attended out of pure business interest, as it was the wedding of a very wealthy company owner.
The ceremony itself went well enough, not that he paid too much attention; he had other
things on his mind. Business things. He walked into the reception, noticing the amount of small
children that looked up at his large frame with awe and then went back to their play. After a moment he found an old friend of his, a mentor, Mrs. Patricia Analisa Wright.
She was a bear, tan and quite elderly at the time; rich. She was thin, however, ghastly thin. She
didn't eat, only smoked. Her red satin dress hung lazily from her body like a shroud, as did the
multiple strands of pearls around her neck. Her hair, white and in ringlet curls, had grown thin as
well. Upon close examination of her wrinkled face he saw swelled purple circles under her eyes. A
twinge of worry rung in the back of Shere's mind, but then he thought better of it. Patricia, of all
people, could take care of herself.
She turned and spied him from across the room, flicking her bejeweled cigarette holder.
"Shere!" she exclaimed. "My boy! Oh, it has been ages!!!"
He first met Patricia when he was beginning to build his fortune. She had sold him the first
chain of stores he ever owned and guided him in managing them. She had been younger then, but
even so, her age did nothing to her spirit. Despite the fact that her body had a sickly look, her mind was still sprite and young, and Shere prepared himself to keep up with her wit and intelligence;
however, some of the most foul jokes he had ever heard came out of that woman's mouth as well.
They sat at a table together and spoke of old times, Patrcicia sometimes leaning in close and
telling him some revolting anecdote which he didn't laugh at, only smiled, and even then tried not
to.
Oh, come now, Shere," Patricia scolded. "You know you enjoy them." She sighed, looking
toward the dance floor where a great group of family was dancing in a circle around the glowing
bride and groom, who were being lifted on chairs. "Look at all these bamboozling fools. Do tell me,
how many of them do you own?"
"Oh, I couldn't say."
Her pearls jangled. "Hmmm." She watched the dancers. "When's it going to be your turn,
Shere?"
"My turn for what?"
"A wedding of your own?"
He gave her an incredulous look. "Whatever are you speaking of?"
She rolled her eyes and exhaled impatiently. "Don't be foolish. People are starting to talk, you
know. A man of your age and stature, well...you should find a woman who is good to you and
settle down."
"Oh no, I don't have time for that nonsense."
"Tsk tsk. That's too bad, considering how lonely you are."
He shot her a look.
"You are, my dear, you are! No one is meant to brood in an office all day. Not even you. Tigers
and bears are made in pairs!" He opened his mouth to object, but she only laughed. "Quiet! I know
what's best for you, young man."
Shere gave up, shaking his head.
"Now eat your peas and clean up you room." She laughed again. "Oh Shere, you are so good
to me! I-"
Her speech was suddenly interrupted by the bride, a golden-brown, raven haired bear, who
had gotten on-stage with the small orchestra and was calling into the microphone, "August!
August, come up here!"
Shere nearly jumped out of his seat at the name. Patricia saw this and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh Leslie, don't you do this to me!" called a laughing English accent from the audience.
The bride laughed back and glowed. "Everybody, I want you to meet my friend August who
flew all the way here from London just to attend my wedding! And I bet there's something you all
didn't know about August! She plays the violin."
"Stop!" she objected.
"Were you, or were you not, a violin virtuoso, August?"
Patricia turned to Shere. "Isn't that August De Sante, who owns that record monopoly in
England?"
"Hmm? Oh...oh yes, I believe it is. What of her?"
"Oh, nothing. Lovely girl, though."
August De Sante walked up on the stage with a halfheartedly stern look on her face. She was
wearing a cream colored suit that was immaculately cut, showing every delicate curve of her body.
Even from across the room Shere could sense the overpowering joy that poured from every cell of
her being, and despite all the resisting logic in his mind, he wanted to douse himself in it.
The bride smiled and hugged her. Old friends, it seemed. August took the microphone.
"Leslie-" she stopped, jumping at the lowness of her own voice. "Leslie, that was a long time ago,
and..."
"We'd all just love it if you'd play for us!" the bride purred, batting her eyelashes.
"Lesslie......"
Someone in the audience whistled and August laughed.
"Pleeeeeeasse?" the bride giggled a little.
"C'mon, play!" someone yelled.
"I-oh fine! But it's only because it's your wedding, Leslie!"
There was cheering as one of the hired orchestra kindly handed her his violin. Shere watched,
hypnotized, as she placed the wooden instrument underneath her chin, and it seemed an eternity
before she drew the bow across the strings and produced a melody so exquisite that it made every
feeling heart in the room float away into the stars. The wedding guests began to dance, and Shere
had never felt a deeper longing than he had at that moment, a longing to have this perfect angel for his own.
"Shere..." Patricia said.
"Hmmm?" he asked, only half hearing her.
"You're tapping."
He glanced down at his hand and saw that, indeed, his claws were extended and he was
tapping them rhythmically, one by one, against the table. "So I am."
Patrica's mouth warped into a ghost of a smile. "Did that lovely violinist make you tap, Shere?"
"Don't be silly."
Patrica only smiled, wise old bat that she was.
His eye averted back to August, and she looked across the room in this midst of her playing -
and saw him. Her face contorted with alarm and she misplayed a squeaking note, and then rushed
to get back on track. With a brief nod and embarrassed smile, she acknowledged his existence.
"You made her mess up," Patricia remarked. "I think there may be something here." She
smiled, and, when no one was looking, kissed him on the cheek. "I wouldn't worry, my boy. There's hope for you yet. Besides, what woman in her right mind would refuse you?"The next day he woke up feeling sluggish. He loafed about his office, nervous as he awaited
August's arrival. He told himself that was being weak becoming this fixated on a woman. He mused
briefly on all that he could understand; a three billion dollar company, various business moguls,
spoiled royalty, all the butt kissers and kowtowing employees the world had to offer...but not this
one perfect woman. Not that.
When she finally entered his office he quickly made up a coping mechanism. He would simply
pretend she was Patricia! Yes! He wasn't attracted to Patricia, but he thought her very amusing and clever. That would have to work.
But the moment he laid eyes on her, the moment he saw how she smiled when she saw him, he
knew that wasn't going to be possible. He had no doubt of being able to get through that afternoon without any visible signs of stress, since he was well practiced at that. She would never know. It was what was going on inside his head that worried him.
"You were at Leslie's wedding last night, I saw. Did you enjoy it?" she asked.
"It was pleasant enough," he replied coolly. "How long have you been friendly with Leslie?"
She sat. "Oh, we were college roommates at Oxford. We've been in touch since then. I was
delighted to hear that she was getting married." She smiled. "In fact, she was going to come to my
wedding-"
Shere jumped at the word. "Would you like some water?"
"-but that was before I called the whole thing off...excuse me?"
"No, go on," he tried to hide the relief in his voice.
"You asked if I wanted something..?"
"Water, if you'd like some."
"Oh, don't trouble yourself, Mr. Kahn, but thank you."
"Always."
"Right."
They stared at each other for a moment.
"Well, should we get to the task at hand?" she asked, taking out her briefcase.
And so they did, and an hour and a half later, they were finished.
They both stood, and she shook his hand. Her hand was soft.
She smiled that terrific smile of hers, and said, 'It was certainly a pleasure, Mr. Kahn. I'm glad to
know that De Sante Records are being distributed by Kahn Industries. In good hands, you know?"
"Indeed."
She looked at her watch, a gold Roarlex, and sighed. "I suppose it's off to England with me.
Plane to catch in two hours."
"Is that so." He was devastated.
"It is. My driver is waiting downstairs." She headed toward the elevator.
"I'll accompany you."
She glanced over her shoulder with a surprised look. "If you like."
"I - yes. There is someone I have to see downstairs." He winced at the fact that he had almost
replied, 'I like'. What that woman did to him.....
They stepped onto the elevator with a puzzled looking Mrs. Snarly watching from behind her
desk. She raised her eyebrow at her boss and he did nothing in response. The doors closed behind them.
August pressed the lobby button and they rode in silence for the eternity that it took the
elevator to reach the ground floor.
Or, what would have been an eternity.
No more than ten seconds into the ride, the elevator suddenly lurched to a stop. They both
stumbled in surprise, August falling against Shere as he grasped a fancy wall molding for support.
August quickly picked herself up, visibly embarrassed. "We're not moving," she said, just to
say something.
"Indeed, we are not." He pressed the lobby button again. Nothing. "Curious," he said. "This
has never happened before." He reached for a small compartment that held an emergency phone,
his heart pounding at the thought of being stuck in the elevator with her.
He dialed, and two seconds later a rather panicked sounding young man picked it up. "Yes sir,
hello sir. There, um, seems to be a problem with your elevator, sir." Shere half expected him to say,
"Don't kill me, sir."
"Yes, I am quite aware of that. How long will it take to fix?"
"We don't know, sir. Maintenance says that you're between floors and it may be an hour or
two, sir. Dreadfully sorry, sir. We're trying to fix it, sir. We apolog-"
"Just call up to my secretary, Mrs. Snarly, and tell her to cancel my appointments until further
notice," he replied with obvious annoyance.
"Hold on, sir," the young man tried to cover the phone, but he could still hear him say to
someone, "Mr. Kahn says for you to call up to Fraulien Nasty and tell her to cancel his
appointments."
Shere was used to the nickname. They had even worse ones for him.
He looked to August. "It's going to be an hour or two, they say. Do you need anything
done?"
"Bugger. If they could cancel my plane tickets, that would be great. I'm not going to pay sixty
dollars unless I'm on the plane."
He turned back to the phone, gave the order, and replied without even thinking, "If they don't
I'll cover the expense."
A slow smile crossed August's face. "That's very kind of you."
"Yeah, an hour or two," said the young man over the phone.
"Very well," Shere replied and hung up the phone. He turned. August wasn't there.
He must have looked puzzled, because August said, "Down here."
She was sitting on the floor, studying her claws.
Shere looked down at her, visibly at a loss for what to do.
She laughed a little. "Have you ever been stuck in an elevator before, Mr. Kahn? Standing up
becomes quite uncomfortable after a while."
"Well, I - yes, yes, I suppose it would." He hesitated for a moment, and then finally sat down
next to her.
She sighed, resting her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. Shere gazed
momentarily at the graceful line of her neck and shoulders and then looked away out of respect.
"So, who are you going to sue?" she asked.
"They already built the building."
"Hmmm."
They sat in silence for a few nervous moments, not really looking at each other. August
seemed to be avoiding his eyes, actually; she studied the flowers and fruits carved into the wall
molding. For the first time, it occurred to Shere that she was just as uncomfortable as he was...but,
he wondered, for the same reasons?
Finally, she began to laugh.
"Is something funny?" he asked.
"Yes. This is completely ridiculous, Shere, and I'm assuming that since we're stuck in an
elevator together, I can have the liberty of calling you Shere?" She looked directly into his eyes.
"You can. May I call you August?"
"You can call me Joe, for all I care. We have to talk about something. If we sit here in silence for two hours I fear we might both go insane."
Shere smiled. He couldn't help himself. But it was when he saw the delight that sparkled in
August's eyes when she saw that she had made him smile, well, he would have smiled for the rest of his life.
"Well, Joe, how long have you been playing the violin?" he asked, completely deadpan.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, the wedding. Hmm. Sometimes I think Leslie would put her life on the
line purely to embarrass me."
"Why would you be embarrassed? You play beautifully."
They went on like that for the next half hour, once again talking like old friends, but this time,
both were completely comfortable with each other. Shere actually forgot that he was, after all, stuck in an elevator. The only thing that mattered was that he was sitting on the floor with this beautiful
woman who was telling him story after funny story, and he was laughing, and he told her stories,
and she was laughing as well! He hadn't been so wholly amused since he was a little child.
For a moment, August tried to stop laughing long enough to say something, putting her hand
against Shere's chest, saying, "Wait, wait! I want to show you something. I-" they caught each
other's glance and started laughing again, because they both recalled the joke he had just told her.
It was one of Patricia's classics.
"No, we really do have to stop this nonsense," she said, catching her breath. Her eyes watered.
"I have something I want to show you." She reached into her purse.
"I presume you're going to pull a rabbit out of there?"
"Oh, I wouldn't be surprised if there was one in there somewhere. This purse is probably a fire
hazard or a national security risk or something of the like." She finally found what she was looking
for, which was a small silver figurine of an airplane, about as big as two marbles.
"You carry that around with you?"
"Good luck charm." She held a handkerchief in one hand. "But I'm going to make it disappear,"
she said with a dramatic flair. She wiggled the handkerchief over the figurine, covered it, and then
whipped it away. The airplane was gone.
"It's in your sleeve," he said.
She held out her arms. "Check."
He gingerly felt along her forearms.
"See? Not always right, are you? I, um....hmmm...let me see, where could it be?"
She suddenly reached behind his ear. He pulled his head away abruptly. "What are you
doing?" he demanded, alarmed.
"Not there..." She reached down, fiddled with his tie, checked his lapel, running her hands over his shoulders, and he could sense that she was enjoying making him uncomfortable. "Not there, or
there..hmmm...," Finally, she reached into the front pocket of his jacket. "There!" and she produced the silver plane.
"Very well then, how did you do that?"
"I don't know. It was in your pocket."
She looked directly into his eyes, her hand still on his shoulder, and Shere knew that he could
not deny it any longer. Any woman who would sit in a stalled elevator and do magic tricks for him
was one of a kind, and he finally admitted to himself the truth: that he had feelings for this woman.
Very strong feelings.
And that there was no way in glowing blue hell she was going back to England before he knew if she felt the same.
And then, there was a knocking on the roof of the elevator. Shere frowned. The workmen had
come to their rescue.
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