The Rat And Rachel Sue

She was in between straightening a suede fringe jacket and a huge 60's flowered mu-mu on the rack when she heard the front door open.

Working in a vintage clothing store sometimes had its advantages--as soon as she could find some guy short enough, her Halloween Sonny and Cher costume was in the bag.

But there were disadvantages too--like all the weird teenagers who came in looking for "Like, those jeans my mom wore in, like, the olden days, y'know?"

Today, however, seemed like a *particularly* advantageous day.

The man who walked in was instantly recognizable; her heart almost jumped into her throat. No, she had to be calm about this. God, that was all she needed. He would walk over, his eyes would meet hers, she would faint, and the rack of beaded and smiley-face-patched bellbottoms would crash down on her head.

He was dressed in his usual outfit: black leather jacket, dark shirt that was so smooth and rich-colored it *had* to be silk, and tight, tight black Levi's. Oh God, and he even had the black boots on. In a vintage clothing store. Where she was working. And he was moving her way.

So she tried to look busy without actually looking busy. Occasionally she would pretend to re-hang a piece of clothing, then sneak a peek over the rack, just to watch him slink in the Levi's.

Poetry in motion, she thought.

The next time she looked up, she discovered he had disappeared. She glanced around the store, turned to see if he had wandered over to where they kept the thigh-high Go-Go boots, and almost came nose-to-nose with the dark man himself.

He smiled at her with that electric grin of his, and she had to put her hand on the rack to steady herself.

"I got your letter, Rachel Sue," he said quietly.

Rachel Sue had been working only a few days when she first saw him, crossing the other side of the street opposite the clothing store. It seemed he spent a lot of time moving between a computer store and a gun shop, and it caught her attention.

Well, her attention had been elsewhere for a while before she saw him. The only reason she was at the store in the first place was because she had been screwed on another job offer. No matter. *He* made up for it. This dark stranger intrigued her so much that she had begun taking lunch breaks outside, just to watch his ass move in those jeans. He was tall, with short hair and amazing green eyes that almost spoke to her. Cried out her name, actually, according to her fantasies.

It was totally weird and bordering on psycho, but she had indeed sent him a letter. She watched him closely one day and kind of followed--not stalked, she kept reminding herself--and found out where he lived. After a night of tequila shots and beer chasers, anything in the universe is possible, so she had composed the letter.

The leather-clad man tapped her on the shoulder. "Rachel Sue?" He placed a hand on her arm. "Did you hear me?"

He looked closer at her, and she swore to God she could see his eyes swirling with lust.

"Uh..." she started.

"Did you think I wouldn't come looking for you after getting a letter like that?"

"Well..."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. The letter had a Polaroid picture attached, and he unfolded it to read.

"To My Dark Stranger:
Here's where I work, here's me naked, come visit sometime.
Rachel Sue."

"Of course," he said, "it would have been easier to read if it weren't written in green crayon."

Green crayon? Was she that drunk?

"Were you that drunk?" he asked, grinning.

"Tequila. And beer chasers," she admitted.

"Yuck. I prefer Jack and Coke. Or Captain Morgan and Coke. Puts hair on your chest." He looked down at the Polaroid and smiled. "But I guess hair on your chest would draw attention away from your...better assets."

He removed his jacket and draped it over one of the racks. She couldn't help but take him all in with her eyes, and yes, it was a silk shirt, she thought. Dark and rippling like his eyes.

"I've actually been meaning to stop by," he said, beginning to browse. "It's an interesting store."

She nodded absently. "Uh-huh. Interesting."

"I've been looking for something particular, though. Think you might be able to help me find it?"

She could only stare at his back, wondering how strong and muscular it would feel if she were running her fingernails...

He turned suddenly and looked down at her. "You know, I didn't even introduce myself," he said with a tinge of embarassment.

"No, you didn't," Rachel Sue answered.

He reached out his hand. "Alex."

"Alex," she repeated, her voice throatier than usual.

Before she could shake his outstretched hand, however, he took hers and kissed it. "The pleasure's mine, Rachel Sue." He pulled her a little closer, and leaned his lips to her ear.

She could smell him, feel him, touch him...it smelled like he used Herbal Essences shampoo. She began imagining those sounds they made on the commercials...and now his breath was hovering over her ear.

"The pleasure's mine," he teased, "but it can be yours too." Alex slowly pulled away, his fingers running across her cheek. "I liked the photo."

She was breathing heavily now, and she glanced around to see if anyone was looking. "I...I think we need to get out of here," she stammered. "My lunch break is coming up."

"Your lunch break won't be nearly enough time for what I have planned, Rachel Sue," he purred.

"Maybe...maybe if I make a sale I can leave early."

"Now that's an idea," he grinned. "Have you got any of those white John Travolta disco suits around anywhere?"

"We have a white shirt that Horshack might have worn on 'Welcome Back Kotter'. That's kind of close to John Travolta."

Alex walked behind her, and ran his fingers over her neck, tickling the wisps of hair that hung there.

"No, not what I was looking for, exactly." He moved past her, his arm brushing one breast. "No disco suits, huh? Hmm...what else...anything here in leather?"

"We have some..."

"Something like...chaps."

Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest at that moment. "Ch...chaps?"

"Yeah," he whispered, "the roomier in the crotch the better."

"Um..."

"I want them really tight, though, so I would need someone to help me get into them."

"Tight," she repeated.

"Yep. And hard. Soft leather just doesn't do it for me."

"Tight and hard."

"Exactly," he said, his eyes meeting hers again.

"But...wait a second..." she said, thinking out loud, "chaps are already open in the crotch. They're just supposed to go over a pair of pants..."

"Who said I wanted to wear pants under them?"

"Good Lord..."

"That's what they all say," he replied huskily, "especially when they see the tattoo."

"Tattoo?" she gasped. "Can I see it?"

"You want me to pull down my jeans in the middle of the store?" he asked with a smirk. Then, to her amazement, his fingers slid to the top button until she put her hand over his.

"Are you saying..." said Rachel Sue, breathing hard, "that the tattoo is..."

He smiled and patted her hand. "That's why the chaps need to be roomy in the crotch. Otherwise...you kind of miss the fireworks."

"I'll bet."

"No, really. It's a tattoo of this giant Chinese dragon, see, and when I get..."

Rachel Sue held up her hand. "We need to find leather chaps. Right now. Soon. Immediately." She grabbed his arm and made her way to the exit. "Hell, *I'll* buy them for you. Screw my lunch break, I need a drink...and a camera."