Her Hero

This short story is dedicated to my parents.

For all your support through the years, past and to come.

Finally a story without sex. Even dad can read it.

Stacy adjusted her seat for the third time. Pump up, down a bit. Just a bit further, she thought a millisecond before the damn thing went too far. With a sigh she let, the too low, seat remain as she stretched and felt her muscles complain.

             
This was her third week at Harper and Son and she was thoroughly bored. Looking around, she made sure no one was passing her little cubicle, tucked away at the far end of the office. Ignoring the smell of the toilets she had been placed next to, she pulled up ‘youtube’ and clicked straight on restore.

             
Smiling Stacy adjusted her skirt. The pencil tight monstrosity was a mistake purchase, she thought, hiking it up so she could scoot closer to her screen. She had bought it on a whim yesterday and now she knew it would be the last time she would wear the torturous thing.

             
With her close proximity to the screen, she could just barely hear the words murmured from the back of her monitor. She was getting more daring she knew as she increased the volume. Once again she scanned the area making sure she was alone.

             
This was what life should be like, Stacy thought while watching enraptured at the scene she had viewed a thousand times before.

             
“Hmm, Smallville or The New Adventures Of Superman?” Her fingers wiggled over the keys as the kissing scene from Spiderman ended.

             
“Have you finished those letters Tracy?” The sound of her supervisors voice sent her heart into her throat but she was a seasoned pro.

             
Clicking the minimizer Stacy had the letters in question displayed, just as the old battle axe rounded the corner.

             
“It’s Stacy.” She corrected but her voice petered out towards the end, noticing her supervisor’s impatient expression. “Just putting the finishing touches on.”  Stacy rushed on.

             
She held her breath as the rotund lady hovered for a moment giving Stacy her, it’s about time, expression. Clicking youtube back up Stacy noticed the related advert at the side and her heart palpitated as anticipation and glee took over. The new superman film ran like a beacon of light across the top of her screen. Searching endlessly she was only momentarily disappointed as the teaser, instead of the much anticipated trailer, popped up. Stacy couldn’t wait for the new film to be released but for now she contented herself with Dean Cain clips.

             
Wrapping the cling film around her half eaten peanut butter sandwich, she put the gelatinous lunch into her Vera Wang knock off and slipped unnoticed from the multi media building. Harper and Son was not the worst place she had ever worked but like all the others it was just a hiatus for her, until she found her true calling. At least that was what she told herself while she headed to the tube station and waited with the masses to go home.

             
Home was an attic room in an apartment shared with like minded people. Like minded, as in they worked during the day at dead end jobs. Kept themselves to themselves in the evening and disappeared at the weekends. Stacy had barely uttered two sentences to the three other occupants in the last month. Brian was some kind of computer geek, as for the other two Claire and Rebecca, well, she didn’t know what they did for a living but they seemed disturbingly similar to herself. Early thirties, single, with a rather nondescript look, she hated to admit.

             
Stacy stood in front of the mirror in her room and wondered if she was made in a lab with Claire and Rebecca. Her hair was a nondescript brown. Her mum had said it was blond, but if it was, then surely her hair was the dirtiest blond ever. Her features, not pretty or ugly, they neither stood out symmetrically or possessed any distinct feature, that would make her unusual. How she envied Madonna and the gap in her teeth, what she would give for Tyler Swift’s cat like eyes or Meryl Streep’s nose. Anything distinctive, exceptional or unusual. Better yet she could easily settle for a power like Mystique from X-Men but failing that she decided to tackle a much easier individuality.

             
Pivoting, Stacy surveyed her room and took in the white washed walls and pine furnishings. The half empty boxes that she had failed to empty in thee months. Usually Stacy saw no point in emptying them. What was the point she thought, she usually moved on every six months.

             
Not this time. Grabbing her keys and purse she ran down to the bazar on the corner and started to fill a basket with Indian throws, Chinese vases, beads that hung from doors and anything else she could get her hands on. Stacy was resolved, she told herself as she stuffed a picture frame onto the pile. She couldn’t move again and not just because she couldn’t afford to. Stacy was on her last point of call. The agency had told her this was it, the last placement. It was Harper and Son or bust.

             
To be fair she couldn’t blame them. It was after all, the twelfth placement she had been given and she had only survived that long due to her ability to bullshit.

             
First placement obviously just didn’t work out. Second, totally unreasonable and unfounded dismissal. Third, unclear management and general over expectation. After that she had to get a little creative. So far she had been sexually harassed, had an unhealthy work environment, feared for her life after co-worker threats and the list went on and sadly became more outlandish as the numbers accumulated. She should have kept it simple she thought as she paid for her basket of tat and returned to her hovel.

             
She ate the remainder of her lunch with a cup of tea and X-Men playing on her laptop and the bags of tat sat in a half empty box. She would make up her room, just not tonight, but definitely tomorrow she said to herself as she finished her dinner with a dark chocolate bounty.

“Tracy I need you to go across the road and buy some more staples, some idiot has under ordered for the stock room.” The old battle axe barely stopped at her desk as she threw the door open to the lady’s toilets and wafted Stacy with the familiar odors.

              Waiting for the door to swing closed she brought up her youtube page and closed down The Justice League.

             
“I need them NOW Tracy!” Stacy spun round placing her body infront of the screen, “Big meeting with the boss and I’ll blame you if I have to give the report paper by paper.”

             
Although she dripped with sarcasm Stacy knew she was deadly serious. Stacy had learned on her first day that Mr Harper was ruthless. Actually the term she had heard most when staff referred to the CEO was ‘Evil’. Among other descriptions, such as soulless, a machine and her favorite, Harper and Spawn. Despite Stacy’s sympathy for the old battle axe, she had never and was never likely to meet the notorious ‘Son’ in Harper and Son and so waved off the frantic supervisor, who was jigging with her legs crossed at the bathroom door. As Stacy reached the lift, she could hear her supervisor calling about a 4pm conference but all Stacy could think about was the coffee shop, right next to the newsagents.

             
The aromas hit her and Stacy practically sprinted across the road. Weaving through the heavy traffic she ignored the horns and entered the coffee heaven determined to resist the pastries this time.

             
“Hey, that bad?” Sadly in less than three months at Harper and Son Stacy had become closer to Sheila, the coffee server, than anyone else in the last decade, she noted while Sheila went to work on her Mocha.

             
“No. Got sent on an errand. Just thought I would use the opportunity to get a coffee.” Stacy clarified because she had stepped out of her usual, one in the morning, two for lunch and sometimes, one for the road home. God she really should cut back on the caffeine, she thought while waiting at the counter.

             
“We have those croissants you like. Shall I just go right ahead and pack one too?” Sheila asked tongs at the ready.

             
“Oh emmm,” Option one was to stick to her guns and feel empowered but with no one to notice her discipline, what was the point. “What the hell. You’ve persuaded me.”

             
Stacy reached into her wallet and came up empty. Brows furrowed she started pulling the contents of her Vera out onto the counter, becoming more frantic as she found the lining.

             
“I’ve been robbed!” Stacy practically screamed.

Anonymous faces started turning towards her but she didn’t care.

              “Call the police.” Looking up at Sheila she found her coffee friend looking worried but without the panic she expected.

             
“Well if you really...” She had hesitated just too long for Stacy’s liking. Why wasn’t she grasping the enormity of the theft.

             
“What?” Stacy asked incredulous, at her lack of panic.

             
“Well it’s just, that I can’t help but notice..., you have all your, cards, and emm your mobile and even your passport still.” She looked so sheepish as Stacy started to see the individual items among the receipts, packets of chewing gum and Tampax, across the counter. “It’s just that surely they would have taken. Only, maybe you forgot, or mislaid...”  Sheila left the sentence there as Stacy started to realise the ridiculousness of her assumptions.

             
Suddenly she remembered her late night trip to the bazar and the contents, that currently sat untouched in a box in her room.

             
Feeling the heat flare into her cheeks, she wasn’t sure how to salvage the situation. People were still looking. Stacy thought about the best response, option A; Laugh and say ‘oh yes what a ditz, now I remember I gave all my money to a charity collector this morning. Option B; Stick to the whole robbery thing but state clearly that she had left her wallet on her desk, so it must be that co-worker with the halitosis next to her. Option C. Tell the truth and then switch it.

             
Scrap option C, it’s not really an option she knew. Just as Stacy was mulling between A and B a hand reached around and laid down twenty.

             
“A double espresso and what ever she is having that is causing this maddening delay.” A rich and deep voice fused into the warm air that heated her back. Stacy could almost feel the heatwave steaming off the arm when it retreated from around her.

             
She turned to find darkness engulf her. She had to step back, pressing her back into the counter, just to look up to a steely face that was hidden behind stubble but the eyes were cold, despite there rich gold colour. The man didn’t actually make eye contact. Instead he watched impatiently as his coffee was made allowing Stacy to study his form.

             
He wore a waist coat, who did that anymore she mulled, despite the acknowledgment that he suited it. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he looked rumpled and tired but he refused to give in. His frame stood rigid in defiance and Stacy knew his bum would be like steel. The thought drew her eyes down legs impossible to define through almost casual trousers. Yet the shoes were all business, she noticed getting more curious as the contradictions enticed her more.

             
He stepped forward and Stacy gasped as his body stepped into hers. She held her breath and the rest of the room disappeared. That heat drew her chest towards his and the satisfaction of her breast grazing his waistcoat, separated her lips in anticipation.

             
Then he was gone and she could just blink as the doors swung on there hinges marking his absence, coffee in hand. He had just been reaching around her to get his coffee and looking around Stacy found the contents of her purse as they were, as if he had never been there. The only evidence that she hadn’t imagined it all, was his change and her coffee and croissants.