Sequel: The Sigh Of A Faraway Song 2 - (NC17), The End - 3Jan08 Options

[mezzogal]

Hi all! I'm back with my sequel to 'The Sigh of a Faraway Song'. As you can probably deduce, I can't for the life of me think of a good title so I'm reduced to the wonderfully imaginative 2. pretty excited and nervous about this story (guess cos I feel I gotta live up to my previous story standard). anyway, now that I've got enough chapters in reserve, I'll post every Wednesday. Hope you all enjoy this! (comments and feedback appreciated)

As usual disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I don't know Clay and any resemblance this story bears to his life or anyone else's is pure coincidence. (although I'd like to meet anyone who's life is really as dramatic as what I have here)

But, enough talk, on with the story:

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Prologue

Clay didn't know what was it that urged him to put pen to paper. His girlfriend was dead. She was dead for a year and reminiscing about her wasn't going to bring her back.

It is the mortal way You attend the funeral, you bid the dead farewell. You grieve. Then you continue with your life. And at times, the fact of her absence will hit you like a blow to the chest, and you will weep. But this will happen less and less as time goes on. She is dead. You are alive. So live.

That was the hard part. Clay felt much better after writing out all his feelings. It was raining. It had been raining for a while now, on and off for the past few days. It suited his feelings. It was as if the tears he felt inside was manifesting itself in the weather. He sensed that something was coming. A bit of faraway music that signalled a change.

Clay sighed. It was hard to let go. But it was simpler, now that he felt this way. He felt at peace with himself and with the world. The feeling of anticipation and completeness.

So live.

He would.


Chapter1

Clay looked out his window, staring out over the rain swept grounds. He thought he saw movement between the trees. But he couldn't have. No one was supposed to be here at this time. There it was again. A figure flitting and crouching among the trees. Frowning as he tried to think who it may be, Clay reached into his closet and pulled on a waterproof windbreaker with a hood and went downstairs, out his front door.

Crossing the yard, Clay did battle with the strong winds and piercing rain. No one would be crazy enough to be out in this weather. Why didn't he just stay in the house until the rain subsided before investigating? Doing a cursory scan of the landscape, Clay couldn't see anyone. Just before he decided that it was his imagination working overtime, he spotted someone crouched behind some flower bushes, keeping very still as if hoping for invisibility.

“Alright! Come on out you.” Clay called, wondering if his voice could be heard over the roar of the rain. His voice sounded higher than usual, the aftermath of this emotions and the cold. The person just remained still, shrinking more towards the bush, trying to hide. Sighing, Clay moved in and pounced, grabbing the person by the arm. “What do you think you're trying to do?!”

It was a girl. She was tall and thin waif like figure with deep set eyes and a hunted hollowed look about her face. Her auburn hair clung to her head and back. She was dressed in a yellow and white striped polo tshirt and torn jeans. She was also completely soaked. She looked up at Clay in absolute fear and twisting her arm, and tried to get away. Clay proved too strong for her however. “Stop that.” Clay sternly instructed, giving her arm a jerk, to pull her out from behind the bush.

“Let me go!” she whined.

“You wish!” Clay replied sharply. “You're trespassing, do you know? Maybe I should just call the police.”

“No sir! Please don't!” the girl pleaded. “I'll leave.”

“In this rain? What do you think I am?” Clay asked irritatedly. “You're coming up to the house with me.”

“No! No!” she screamed, trying to resist him. But Clay was stronger than she was and managed to drag her round to the back door. He entered the sheltered porch and opened the back door into the kitchen.

“In.” Clay pushed her, a little roughly, into the warm kitchen. “For god's sake don't move! You'll get wet spots around the house.” The girl stood shivering near the door. She looked like she was melting, the water flowing in torrents from her hair and clothes. “Sit here and don't go anywhere. I'll be back.” He pulled a chair for her to sit and left the room.

Clay was confused. What was he doing bringing this strange girl into his home? What did he expect himself to do with her? Well for one, he decided, he would get her warm and dry, then find out exactly what she was doing on his property in the middle of this rain.

As he dried himself off, he realised, the only dry clothes available that the girl could wear were Rosella's old ones. Clay wasn't sure if he was ready to see Rosie's clothes on a stranger like this. But his sense prevailed. Rosella was dead. The girl downstairs needed dry clothes or she'd fall ill. Like it or not, Clay made himself go into Rosella's old room and rummage through the boxes of stuff. He found a pair of pants and a sweater that might fit.

Going back to the kitchen, Clay found that the girl had obeyed him and not moved from the spot. He saw her glancing furtively around, interlocking her fingers as if awed by the surroundings. With a bit of heat, she had gotten some colour into her cheeks – the rosy circles on her cheeks matching her deep auburn hair, she looked like a porcelain doll. She gave a little start of surprise when Clay came in. He forced himself to smile at her – she was evoking feelings in him that he'd rather not feel. He kept reminding himself that she was the intruder, that she had broken into his property somehow.

“The kitchen bathroom is over there,” Clay gestured to her. “Go dry yourself up before you catch pneumonia or something.”

“Yes sir.” she mumbled, her eyes lowered to the floor. She did as she was told. Clay surprised himself by putting on the electric kettle to make some tea. He was amazed at his own behaviour. He stood at the stove trying to figure out just what the heck he was trying to do. Maybe it was a sign that it was time to move on with life.

He heard the bathroom door open and he turned around. Lord, he was right to have doubts over dressing her in Rosella's clothes. It took a moment for Clay to remind himself that this figure before him was not Rosie but a total stranger. “Better?” he asked weakly.

“Yes, I'm fine, thank you sir.” she replied, still looking guilty. After all, Clay supposed she must be thinking that he was up to something, forcing her into the house and making her wear clothes belonging to his dead girlfriend. He took her wet clothes and threw them into the dryer.

“Well, I'm Clay.” he began, after he had offered her a seat at the kitchen table and placed a mug of tea before her. “Who might you be and what in the world are you doing on my property?”

“Amy T.” she answered. “Listen, Mr Clay, I'm sorry I trespassed. It's just, I needed to get off the road and I saw your place and I climbed over the wall. I didn't mean no harm sir, honestly I didn't. Oh, please don't call the police, I'll do anything.”

“For starters, it's just Clay.” Clay informed her. “So, Amy T., why did you need to get off the road? Was it because of the storm? You could've rang the bell and asked nicely.”

“I'm sorry.” Amy T. apologised again. “I owe them money and they were after me. I didn't know where else to go. And your place had the wall and all. I thought it'd be safe.”

“Woah!” Clay stopped her. “Start at the beginning. I'm getting real confused about this.”

“You don't have to hear my life story sir. I shouldn't burden you with it.”

“You still haven't convinced me that you're not trying to break into my house and murder me in my sleep, let me remind you.” Clay threatened. But deep down, he knew it was an empty threat. He would not hurt her now.

“I grew up in Charlotte. Me and my mom moved to Raleigh when I was twelve. Mom's a druggie, there's no money in the house that she'll not take for herself. Me, she makes me doing drug running for her. I lost a stash once, almost got busted. The drug dealers been after me ever since. Said I gotta pay them back for the load I lost. Can't never pay them back. No one wants to hire the daughter of a druggie. They take one look at me and think I'm on weed too.” Amy T. explained.

“Are you?” Clay asked. He too received that impression when he first saw her in the rain.

“An addict? No. I mean, ok, I take it sometimes, but I can live without it.” Amy T. explained. “No big deal.”

“It is a big deal.”

“Hey, I'm just trying to survive. It's just a job. You think it's so easy. I bet you had to work just as hard to get this nice house with the nice heating and all.”

Clay was forcefully reminded of another little girl who had blurted out her life's woes to him. It seemed so long ago. If this wasn't a sign, then he didn't know what was. “So how did you end up here?” he asked.

“Tonight I was trying to cut a deal with them. See, I still owe them money and they ain't never gonna let me pay it back, they keep increasing the sum and it makes me more and more in their power. They were gonna beat me up cos I threatened to go to the police, regardless if I got into trouble or not. So I ran and the road came here. I saw the house, climbed the wall and stayed there till you came by.”

“I see.” Clay was thoughtful. They fell silent for a while as Amy T. drank her tea. It had already lost a lot of its warmth. “So where d'you live now? You want me to drive you home?”

“No. I'm fine with walking back myself.” Amy T. quickly said.

“Where do you live?” Clay persisted.

“Well...here and there.” she reluctantly replied. “Mom and me got evicted a couple weeks back. We just hang where we can.”

“You live on the street??” Clay was amazed.

“Not exactly. We bunk in with whoever wants to take us for the night.”

“Well then,” Clay deliberated. “I'm not about to drive you out to town in this weather. Neither am I going to throw you out, not after I've fed and clothed you. You'll have to stay the night then.”

His distaste must have shown in his face for Amy T. just said, “Oh, don't worry about me, I'm square with the rain. I can find my way home. Somehow.”

“No you don't. Walk home? And how'd you think I'd feel if I heard you got knocked down by a car or struck by lightning? Now what kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you do that, even after you've been trespassing my house? No Amy T., you're not going anywhere tonight.”

She looked stunned at his pronouncement. “You mean it? You're not gonna call the police and have them get rid of me? Lord, that's nice of you. Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.” Clay automatically returned. “But before anything else, I want your name. Your full real name. I'm not having any strangers in my house overnight. And don't try to make me believe that Amy T.'s your real name.”

“It is my real name.” she insisted. “Well, sort of. My full name's Evita Aimee Theodore. I just shortened it so it wouldn't sound so stuffy. It's such a weird name. I don't like it much.”

“It's still your name your mama gave you.” Clay stood up. “But I agree with you. I like Amy T. better. Suits you somehow. Well, come on. I”ll show you your room.”

Amy T. followed Clay through the beautiful house, her eyes roving all over the rich decorations and furniture. “You're that famous singer guy aren't you?” she asked, pausing in front of Clay's Measure of a Man double platinum award. “Gee, I love your voice. You've changed a lot. I used to watch you on TV. That was so cool.”

“Ah, well, American Idol was four years ago.” Clay drew up along side her, looking at the framed award as well, his expression unreadable. “This is now.”

“And what is now?”

Clay smiled a little ironic smile and did not reply. He turned away and continued to the guest room, with Amy T. trailing behind. It seemed that as she lost her shyness and embarrassment, she grew gay and chatty. Or she would have, had she not sensed that Clay was in no mood to hear her chatter. Clay couldn't help liking her more than just a little. In that hour, it seemed that she had grown onto him.

“Here's your room.” Clay opened a door on the left, flicking on the light to reveal a pleasant room done up in blue. It was small with a slight air of disuse, but it was adequate and quite cosy once Amy T. got used to it.

“Oh wow, this is sweet.” Amy T. commented. “Thank you so much.”

“Well, good night then.” Clay abruptly shut the door and hastened back to his own room.

This post has been edited by mezzogal: Jan 2 2008, 06:27 PM

[Canadian bAiken]

A sequel!

It was raining. It had been raining for a while now, on and off for the past few days. It suited his feelings. It was as if the tears he felt inside was manifesting itself in the weather. He sensed that something was coming. A bit of faraway music that signalled a change.

Right off, I loved this part. Nice imagery and nice sense of what's to come.

The girl seems to have as questionable a background as Rosie did. Clay seems to attract the troubled type. Hee.

It's weird reading about someone else knowing that Rosie is gone but I'm ready as Clay to move on. Looking forward to more!

[footloose]

you posted it! :rah

The girl seems to have as questionable a background as Rosie did. Clay seems to attract the troubled type. Hee

yeah that :lol. At least in Mezzo's universe *teases*

oh and they all are strong enough not to thud over him :giggle

what can i say...your stories are very unconventional, but interesting and leaving the readers wanting for more. very insightful too. good job! :flowers

[mezzogal]

The girl seems to have as questionable a background as Rosie did. Clay seems to attract the troubled type. Hee

seems to be the case doesn't it? hehe! makes for drama. where's the fun if they're all normal and fine?

oh and they all are strong enough not to thud over him

never got the hang of how to write stuff like that. :grin

what can i say...your stories are very unconventional, but interesting and leaving the readers wanting for more. very insightful too. good job!

thanks footloose! but this story's gonna be a bit different from the other one. less reflection, more action.

:smooch

[mezzogal]

Note: After a lot of discussion with footloose (who's always hankering after spoilers ), I think I should warn readers right from the start that this story is different from the prequel. It's kinda, darker. You will see sides of Clay that are usually not shown and may be a little extreme.

Anyway, that's still a way off. I just thought to prepare you first.

On with the story.

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Chapter2

Amy T. woke the next morning to a knocking at the door. For a moment, she lay in the soft bed with the warm covers, deliciously comfortable, not remembering where she was. Then it all came flooding back. The confrontation with the drug dealers, climbing the wall in the rain, getting caught by the singer Clay Aiken who later invited her to stay for the night. She shut her eyes tight. It seemed so unreal. It was too romantic to be real.

The knocking at the door was louder and more insistent now. “Amy T., it's time to get up now.” a voice called. It wasn't a dream then. “Are you awake or do I have to make you?”

“I'm coming!” Amy T. suddenly came to her senses. She was the unexpected visitor. It wouldn't do to anger the owner of the house. She was in his power. She quickly ran to the attached bathroom and splashed some water onto her face. Looking around for her shoes, she remembered that she had kicked them off whilst scaling the wall. The thought of having appeared barefooted before a man made her blush. What kind of an impression must she have made.

Opening the door, she found Clay leaning against the opposite wall, his arms folded together at the waist. He looked impatient. She felt shyness returning.

“Well, good morning Amy T.” he greeted cordially.

“Good morning Clay.” she returned. “Sorry I kept you waiting. I was looking for my shoes, only...”

“Only you couldn't find them.” Clay amusedly finished for her. “I wondered what'd you done with them last night.”

“I, um...I think I lost them while climbing your wall yesterday.” Amy T. sheepishly admitted. “I'll go look for them before I leave.”

“Don't bother.” Clay told her. “They're probably so soaked, they can't be of much use to you right now. It didn't stop raining all night. I'll find you another pair later.”

Amy T. gave a look of agreement. Clay led her down to the kitchen where he had tried to get breakfast, just tea, cereal and toast. He brought his food into the living room and ate in front of the TV, his two dogs hanging around hoping for scraps of food. The morning news was on. Amy T. followed him but was very careful not to spill or break anything. In the daylight, the house looked like a showroom, not like a place where someone lived in. Not anyone normal anyway and especially not a single male someone. It was beautiful but just a little too perfect to be true.

“Hey there little fella,” Amy T. said as Durham sidled up to her, looking at her with melting puppy eyes. “You hungry?” She made to give him a bit of her toast but Clay stopped her.

“We don't feed the dogs our food. Makes them sick.”

Amy T. quickly withdrew the toast, thinking about the pet dogs she saw around her neighbourhood. They ate just about anything and everything they could get their paws on, be it dog food, human food, or anything else remotely resembling food. And those dogs never got sick. She guessed it was to do with a dog belonging to a rich man or a poor man.

“Thanks a lot for last night.” Amy T. tried to make conversation Clay's eyes were glued to the huge TV screen. “The bed was so comfy, I don't think I've ever slept in such a bed before.” Silence. “The house is real beautiful too. Did you decorate? No, wait, it was your mom fixed up the place didn't she? I saw that on TV. You're lucky your mom's an interior designer. She knows everything about you, what works for you and all that. It was smart of you to get her to do it.”

“It was her idea.” Clay said, still not looking at her. “I went along with it. But she did a great job.”

“Yeah, it's great! If I had the money, I'd do something like this too.” But Clay did not continue the conversation. In fact, faced with a person like Amy T., Clay was thinking that if he didn't kill her, he could really start to like her. Truth was, although he didn't know it, and he'd only known her for a few hours, he was becoming very fond of this strange girl that he had picked up from his garden.

Amy T. had finished eating and wandered around the room. She paused by the fireplace, looking at the photographs over the mantel. Most of the subjects she recognised as Clay's family and friends from long ago. But there was one picture that caught her attention. Clay and a girl frolicking and laughing on the beach. It was a candid shot but taken at a perfect moment. It looked so light-hearted and natural. Amy T. picked up the picture to look at more closely. She detected a love between these two so strong that even the still image managed to capture and preserve it. “Who's this?” she asked, holding up the picture so Clay could see which one she was referring to.

“Put that back!” Clay suddenly snapped, jumping up and snatching the picture from her hands. “You've got no right to touch my things.”

Amy T. was taken aback. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean no harm.”

Clay seemed to cool down. He looked at the picture, an expression of sad tenderness crossed his features for a split second. Then he carefully replaced it where it had been.

“Who is she?” Amy T. asked gently.

“She was my girlfriend.” Clay's voice sounded tight.

“Was?”

“She died. Cancer. It was about a year ago.”

“I'm sorry.” Amy T. hadn't expected that answer. “I didn't know.”

“You wouldn't have. We tried to keep our relationship private.”

“You looked like you really loved her.”

“I do.”

Amy T. said no more. She could see that Clay didn't want to pursue the subject. She sat quietly and let him watch the TV and finish breakfast in peace.

When he was done, Clay took her up to a room which looked like it had recently been cleared and packed. There were some cardboard boxes on the floor and the room was bare. “I don't know why I'm doing this,” Clay began. “This was my girlfriend's room. I was clearing her things yesterday before you decided to drop in. I've got no use for her stuff. Was planning to drop them off at the Salvation Army. But, um...if you want anything...”

He trailed off and abruptly left the room. Amy T. took it to mean that he had decided to leave her alone, either so that it would be less awkward for her to dig around, or so that he wouldn't have to see a stranger rummaging through his late girlfriend's things. The girlfriend was smaller than Amy T. was, but her clothes were all very simple, pretty and good.

Clay did not return for her so Amy T. decided to risk it and find her way out herself. It was like a maze but she finally managed to arrive at the living room once again. Clay was there, looking at the pictures on the mantel, absently petting a dog in his arms. Amy T. cleared her throat loudly to get his attention. Clay gave a small start of surprise, as though he had forgotten she was there. He didn't ask her anything about what she had taken and Amy T. decided not to volunteer the information.

“So, where'd you like me to drop you off?” Clay asked as he drove into town.

“Um...anywhere is fine.”

“No, really. Where do you live? I'll bring you home.”

Amy T. gave Clay the name of a location. A trailer park on the outskirts of the city. “Me and mom had a trailer we rented, but we couldn't pay. So we hang with friends who are nice to take us for a night or two or five.”

“So, do you know where your mom is now?” Clay asked in concern.

“I'm not a kid any more. I'll find it. Me and mom's got a way of indicating where we are.” Amy T. grinned. “Kind of a secret code we know.”

“Doesn't your mom work? Then you'd be able to save money to get yourselves a proper place.”

“I told you last night. Mom's a druggie. She sits at home and gets stoned. I can't hang onto a job long enough to make any real money. We get by. Unless I get lucky and become famous or something. Then I'll get a place like yours.”

Clay nodded, understanding her situation. It was like himself when he was a child. Bunking in with Nanny and Pop, only scraping by on the bare minimums, nothing luxurious or extravagant. Idol had been his lucky break. “So...what'd you like to work as?” he asked curiously.

“I wanna dance.” Amy T. replied without hesitation. “I love dancing. Never had classes or anything to learn it, but I just dance. And I see all those movies and stuff where the girl dances her way to the top. I wish I could do that. But I don't live in New York. Nobody's gonna talent scout me out here.”

“You'd never know. Anything might happen.”

“Oh yeah! Look at you. One year you're a normal kid from Raleigh and next year, you're practically America's sweetheart with loads of cash.” Amy T. laughed incredulously. She was a realist. She may dream dreams, but she was firmly rooted in reality.

Clay parked the car on the street close to where the cluster of trailers stood. It seemed like a sad little community on the surface. The women doing laundry and men lounging around smoking stared at Clay's car. Kids ran around playing games between trailers. Life went on in this place, regardless of the economic status of its inhabitants. They were poor but they survived.

“Well, home sweet home.” Amy T. said sarcastically. “Thanks for everything Clay.” She opened the car door and alighted, resolutely walking away.

“Amy T.!” she heard him call her, and turned to see him striding towards her. He had a folded piece of paper in his hand. “Here.” he shoved the paper to her, dashed back to the car and drove off.

In the paper, there was $50, a phone number and a note: “Call if you need anything. C.”

[footloose]

i owe you comments

(Note: After a lot of discussion with footloose (who's always hankering after spoilers )

:blush hey, you like to share as well :lol

You will see sides of Clay that are usually not shown and may be a little extreme.

when she says 'a little', it's actually 'a lot' :lol j/k :grin

The confrontation with the drug dealers, climbing the wall in the rain, getting caught by the singer Clay Aiken who later invited her to stay for the night. She shut her eyes tight. It seemed so unreal. It was too romantic to be real.

finally you use 'Clay Aiken' and 'romantic' in the same paragraph

In the daylight, the house looked like a showroom, not like a place where someone lived in. Not anyone normal anyway and especially not a single male someone. It was beautiful but just a little too perfect to be true.

what does this say about Clay's lifestyle, i wonder?

“We don't feed the dogs our food. Makes them sick.”

Amy T. quickly withdrew the toast, thinking about the pet dogs she saw around her neighbourhood. They ate just about anything and everything they could get their paws on, be it dog food, human food, or anything else remotely resembling food. And those dogs never got sick. She guessed it was to do with a dog belonging to a rich man or a poor man.

kinda reminds me on how celebs and rich people feed/treat their animals. sometimes it can be a little too exaggerating.

looks like Amy knew enough about Clay to know his mom did the house for him.

why he gave up Rosie's stuff BTW? I thought he at least would want a thing or two to remind him of her. Or was it too painful for him to see her stuff?

it's very nice of Clay to tell Amy that she can call him if she needs help, especially after knowing her background. Most people would just give her money and be done with her. I guess he already started to grow interested in her.

nice chapter Mezz. Very...realistic :grin

[Canadian bAiken]

Mezz
I ain't scared o' no dark. :grin

In the daylight, the house looked like a showroom, not like a place where someone lived in. Not anyone normal anyway and especially not a single male someone. It was beautiful but just a little too perfect to be true.

That part reminded me of Elvis' "Jungle Room", and how weird his life seemed to be near the end. Also, it made me feel as if Clay wasn't actually living there...not actually living at all...just existing.

She guessed it was to do with a dog belonging to a rich man or a poor man.

I think it's just what animals are used to...any sudden changes in diet can upset their stomach...though if introduced slowly. Okay, I'm starting to sound lecture-ish. :lol

“Yeah, it's great! If I had the money, I'd do something like this too.” But Clay did not continue the conversation. In fact, faced with a person like Amy T., Clay was thinking that if he didn't kill her, he could really start to like her. Truth was, although he didn't know it, and he'd only known her for a few hours, he was becoming very fond of this strange girl that he had picked up from his garden.

You were right. This is not how we expect Clay to act. He's ignoring her, almost completely. And, if he is growing to like her, it doesn't really show. Is that what he's afraid of? Is that why he's keeping his emotional distance here?

“You looked like you really loved her.”

“I do.”

Very telling. She used past tense. He didn't. He still loves Rose.

Clay parked the car on the street close to where the cluster of trailers stood. It seemed like a sad little community on the surface. The women doing laundry and men lounging around smoking stared at Clay's car. Kids ran around playing games between trailers. Life went on in this place, regardless of the economic status of its inhabitants. They were poor but they survived.

I like this little look into their lives.

Interesting chapter. I can't always tell what Clay is thinking and we're not getting that usual look into the character's heads. What we are getting is a bit of his point of view but mostly from hers, though it feels a little outside that perspective as well. It's one of the things that makes your style so different from what I'm used to. It's good to read things that aren't what you're used to.

Looking forward to see how this progresses, and as for a darker Clay, I'm still not skeered. Hee.

[mezzogal]

thanks for the comments!

hey, you like to share as well

hee! just teasing ya. :lol

finally you use 'Clay Aiken' and 'romantic' in the same paragraph

yay! bring out the champagne! :wino maybe in time i'll learn to use it in the same sentence. :grin

why he gave up Rosie's stuff BTW? I thought he at least would want a thing or two to remind him of her. Or was it too painful for him to see her stuff?

Very telling. She used past tense. He didn't. He still loves Rose.

these two are very interesting. he's clearing up and moving on with life but at the same time, he still loves her. bit contradictory ya? but um...i think, in his mind, he knows he no longer can have her and i guess he thinks other people would benefit more from her things rather than keeping them in storage to grow mouldy. there could be painful bits too i guess, definitely. but these are just her clothes. he's got other mementos of her (remember the photo on the mantel?)

That part reminded me of Elvis' "Jungle Room", and how weird his life seemed to be near the end. Also, it made me feel as if Clay wasn't actually living there...not actually living at all...just existing.

i don't know about the elvis thing. but...this is starting to sound ominous. the second half sounds possible. perhaps it's not a home to him, just a place where he lives. or perhaps...he's like that Bree in Desperate Housewives. always having this impulse for perfection whenever anything upsets her. i think it's the former.

And, if he is growing to like her, it doesn't really show. Is that what he's afraid of? Is that why he's keeping his emotional distance here?

yay! glad you picked up on that distancing. it'll be talked about in the next chapter but i'll just say that he's afraid of attachment, of getting too close. yup, leave you to think on it.

I can't always tell what Clay is thinking and we're not getting that usual look into the character's heads. What we are getting is a bit of his point of view but mostly from hers, though it feels a little outside that perspective as well.

ya, it's different the way i write this time.

I ain't scared o' no dark.

and as for a darker Clay, I'm still not skeered. Hee.

ooh cba, you will be. muahahahahahahahaha! (evil laugh)

:giggle

[mezzogal]

hmm...just wanted to know, would you be interested if i post twice a week? or is once a week just nice?

anyway, enjoy this short clay chapter.

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Chapter3

Clay drove himself to work after dropping Amy T. off. The traffic was light, the weather was good and there were enjoyable songs on the radio. But Clay noticed none of it. His mind was too full of the events of the last twelve hours. He had a strong feeling that he had come to a turning point in his life. It wasn't a substantial thought, just a nagging feeling at the back of his mind. Amy T. was a very unique lady somehow. Plus, factoring in the timing of her appearance and the inexplicable things Clay found himself doing for her, what more of a sign could be needed?

Clay wondered what had possessed him to behave this way towards Amy T. Certainly he had not gone beyond the bounds of casual friendship with any woman since Rosella had died. He always found himself holding back. However, not far from Clay's thoughts was the promise Rose had wrangled out of him – that he must love again. It had been hard, especially when his friends, even his own mother, took it upon themselves to find him a girl. Clay usually cringed at the thought and tried to find any remotely plausible excuse to avoid blind dates. The number of failed and almost disastrous blind dates he'd been on over the course of the past year was enough to make one either laugh or cringe.

The truth was that Clay was tired. He was tired and worn out with his life. His chosen path to be a singer and celebrity was wearing him down so much. There were days he felt like just hiding under the bed covers, safe and warm, not to emerge again. The life he led was straining and fast becoming unbearable. It was difficult being scrutinised and watched by strangers all around every moment of the day, and often of the night too. There was practically no waking moment where Clay could forget who he was. He wasn't allowed to forget. Clay was beginning to understand why so many celebrities turned to alcohol and drugs for much needed relief. He too was beginning to indulge in the 'vice' for escape, to control his gradually surfacing sense of panic and manic fear.

He had had a breakdown after Rosella died. She had been his beloved, companion and safeguard against the stresses he faced. When he had returned home for the first time after the funeral, the realisation that he was absolutely alone hit him and waves of fear and terror swept over him, an internal tsunami which Rosie's presence had so long kept at bay. Everyone explained away his behaviour to depression and mourning. He postponed the debut of his CD to give himself time to pull himself together before having to face the public again. The fans knew Rosella only as a very close friend of Clay's. They knew nothing of the relationship they shared.

The past year, Clay had hid is feelings well, putting on an impenetrable facade of smiles. He found it so hard to maintain this masquerade. He dealt with the empty ache inside by taking anti-depressants, giving him too much energy, exhausting him out at the end of the day. But it kept him going, giving him the strength to put up the happiness that he did not truly feel. He nurtured his defences, eventually erecting a wall around his heart no woman had yet managed to penetrate.

Then, enter the strange girl who did the impossible deed of climbing into his heart.

Clay was in an unusual mood when he arrived at work. He felt queer, a light feeling that he had not felt in a long time. One thing that he couldn't see, but his colleagues noticed – there was a smile on his face, a real genuine smile.

“Well, someone's in a good mood this morning.” his PA Christie Alain noted as he sailed past her desk into his office, wishing her a cheery 'Good morning' as he passed. Clay laughed easily. Christie had only recently came to work for Clay and had never seen him in such a mood before. “What's the matter? Woke up on the right side of bed?”

“Nothing Christie, nothing. I just feel good today.” Clay dismissed the comments vaguely.

“I bet you met a girl!”

“Now, why would you think that?” Clay asked, blushing as he said so.

“I knew it!” Christie triumphantly concluded. “Well, congratulations, and I hope she's real good for you.”

“Oh, she is, she is. Though I don't know if I'll ever see her again.” Clay exclaimed, adding his second statement a little thoughtfully. “But she's already done me a world of good. I feel as though nothing can go wrong today.”

Jaymes entered Clay's office. Christie had warned her that Clay was in an unusually good mood that morning. Warned because he had never been this happy before and she was afraid that something had to show for it.

“Clay,” she began, making herself comfortable before his desk. “I'm afraid the firm's gotten back to us on the material for the new album.” Clay looked expectantly at her. “Well, they're not very happy with it. Actually, they prefer that you do something a bit more safe, more like what you usually do.”

“What's wrong with this Jaymes?” Clay questioned. They had recently tried out a different kind of sound, a little more edgy and emotional than Clay usually did. A demo had been sent to New York for the executives there to listen.

“They don't think that your audience is going to be receptive to it.” Jaymes explained.

“And they'd rather I sang like Justin Timberlake?”

“He's got the whole package. The upper levels are kissing his ass all over the place.”

“Jaymes, you've worked with me for a long time. Do I strike you as someone who will kiss ass? Or have someone kiss mine?” Clay laughed.

Jaymes was absolutely serious. “No you don't. I'm just saying that the executives don't think that music like this is going to be appealing. You know you need to bring in the money. It's not just about you.”

“It's never about me Jaymes. Have you noticed? Have I ever put out anything that hasn't first been given the stamp of approval?” Clay's happiness diminished in the face of this disappointment. He had come up with most of the music on his new album. True, he had been inspired by the sadness in his life, hence the reason why the music seemed so much darker than usual. “This is me, and I want that to be in the album. I don't want to put out something fake.”

“Clay, I understand. But you have to explain that to the firm.”

Clay sighed. The day had been going so well. Now he'd have to call up New York and talk them through his ideas for the album. They weren't going to agree with him.

“And you have that meeting later with the BAF sponsors, don't forget.” Jaymes reminded. Clay could be very forgetful when he had something on his mind. It wasn't her job to remind him, but there were things that friends helped each other with. Clay gave her a vague “MmHmm.” his mind obviously elsewhere.

“I think we should carry on with the music planning anyway.” Clay finally decided. “I'll talk to New York and make them see sense. I will not hold back just because they think my music is not suitable. I've spent 2 years trying not to get into their glamorised package.”

“But it's the audience that counts. Who's gonna be buying your album. You can't depend solely on your fans. You know you must put out something that sells.”

“Jaymes! Are you on my side or theirs?” Clay asked. “And yes, I trust my fans. And I think people should appreciate something that's honestly made and truly reflects me.”

“I'm playing the devil's advocate.” Jaymes countered. “You know they see you as the nice wholesome boy-next-door. I think they're afraid you'll ruin your image. What's that, corrupting innocent minds and putting ideas into their heads?”

“There's nothing vaguely 'unwholesome' in my music.” Clay argued. “It's not normal for a man to not feel sad at some point in his life. I think it's pretty nice that I can have some kind of music that caters to that emotion. I mean, I don't want people to listen to me and say, oh, this guy's an eternal ray of sunshine. I inspired people, I made them happy when they are already happy. Now I want to be able to comfort people. To help people when they are down. I understand how they feel and I want them to know that.”

“That's very admirable Clay.” Jaymes commented dryly. “Tell New York exactly what you told me and see what they say.”

Clay laughed. “Come on, I can't tell them that! They'll laugh themselves off their chairs. It's different telling you and telling them. But maybe I shall tell them. It'll do me good to get it all out with them.” He leant back in his chair, thinking hard. “But, I see their point also. The music is kind of depressing isn't it? I'll have a think then get back on that one. In the mean time, I'll just trash it out with Clive.”

“You're really scaring me today Clay.” Jaymes observed. “You're in such a weird mood. Are you saying that you're actually thinking of taking on the Firm? I'm impressed. Apparently this new lady of yours is giving you a lot of courage.”

Clay laughed again. He couldn't help it, he felt so good about things. “Well, I don't know about that. We'll just have to wait and see if it lasts.”

[footloose]

anything you prefer mezz. we can never have too much Clay :grin

:read

i'm glad you detailed here what happened to him after Rose's funeral, cos previous chapters never really addressed it. poor Clay...i'm surprised that his mommy didn't consider his feeling and act like some Chinese moms by introducing him to new girls. And i'm glad that despite his misgivings, he's still willing to open his heart for Amy T.

He too was beginning to indulge in the 'vice' for escape, to control his gradually surfacing sense of panic and manic fear.

what vice...alcohol or something else?

i have a feeling that this problem he has with his celebrity life and his label will finally takes its toll on him

love the "behind-the-scene" look at the music industry from Jaymes and Clay's conversations. For someone who's not an insider, you did a great job :thumbsup. and you provided good fictional explanation behind the making of ATDW :grin

great chapter mezz...you're one of very few writers who tackle on Clay's weaker, darker side and shows that he too can fall like the rest of us. :cheers waiting for more :popcorn

[mezzogal]

And i'm glad that despite his misgivings, he's still willing to open his heart for Amy T.

i don't think he had much choice in this. his heart decided for him. :grin

what vice...alcohol or something else?

[spoiler:603ae04a57]alcohol, drugs... remember this point for later in the story.[/spoiler:603ae04a57]

and you provided good fictional explanation behind the making of ATDW

ok, timeline here. this scene is around the beginning of 2007. the album they're talking about is a future album not yet released in RL. the CD debut that he postponed (after Rosella's death), that one is ATDW.


thanks for the comments footloose!

[Canadian bAiken]

Finally made it. :eee

When he had returned home for the first time after the funeral, the realisation that he was absolutely alone hit him and waves of fear and terror swept over him, an internal tsunami which Rosie's presence had so long kept at bay.

Wow. What a powerful image.

“What's the matter? Woke up on the right side of bed?”

:lol

You know, even though we really are in the dark about most things, it's still fun to speculate, and one way to speculate is to write fanfic. This is an interesting take on things, on his perspective of things on the business side of being a singing artist. And, I can't help but hope that things will happen in this story that will give us a little satisfaction too....stuff like Clay telling off Clive. :lol *slaps self*

It's nice to see him come out of his funk a little and it's sweet that it's because of her and he doesn't even know if he'll see her again. You know though, in the first few chapters, I got the impression she was a teenager. How old is she?

Great chapter, Mezz. There's a lot to be said for darker views of things. Very therapeutic, I think.

:flowers

[mezzogal]

cba, i envisioned Amy T. to be in her early 20s. maybe 22 or 23.
anyways, anyone up for the next chapter? :flowers

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter4

A few weeks passed since Clay drove Amy T. home and seemingly out of his life. She had not called him and he had no idea how to get in contact with her. It was night and Clay had just finished a tiring day at work. The firm had not approved of his decisions for the music to be in his new album. Clay did not agree with their decision. It was a battle of power between David and Goliath. Clay professionally knew he couldn't win them. He was on the losing end if he decided to go against his management company. They gave him freedom, but not so much that he may jeopardise their profits.

He settled down in his luxurious living room, a wood fire crackling in the hearth. It was a quiet and peaceful night. The dogs weren't doing things they weren't supposed to. No one to disturb him with demands on his time and energy. Clay put on some classical music and poured himself a glass of wine. His body was starting to unwind and he was feeling comfortably sleepy as he watched the hypnotic shadows play on the walls.

Then the ringing of his cellphone shattered the peace.

Clay was annoyed. More than annoyed, he was feeling the feeling of someone who had been rudely dragged back to reality from a very pleasant place between dreaming and waking. He had a strong urge not to answer. But the ringing continued insistently. Silently cursing, he pulled himself off the couch to where his phone lay, on the bar table across the room. It was an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” Clay tentatively asked

“Hello.” a male voice answered. Nothing else. It was noisy in the background, whoever was at the other end was at a crowded place.

“Hello?” Clay asked again.

“Hello!”

“Who's there?”

“Hello?!”

“This isn't funny mister. Who are you and who're you looking for?” Clay was exasperated.

“You know Amy T.??!” the man shouted.

Clay hesitated for a moment. “Yeah I know her. Who are you?”

“I'm Amy T.'s friend! I got your number in her jacket pocket! She's pretty smashed up now, can you come get her?!” the man was yelling so loud that Clay held the phone away from his ear.

“What happened to her?” Clay asked. The man didn't reply but instead rattled off a reel of instructions about how to get to wherever it was they were at. Then he abruptly hung up after yelling a goodbye. Clay was stunned for a moment. Then he went to get his car keys to go 'rescue' Amy T.

Following the instructions as best as he could remember, Clay found himself in an area of the city that he had been warned against. It was one of those places that was not safe for a rich man to be alone in. In the daytime it would have passed as an inner city park. At night however, it transformed into an arena of underworld thugs, a marketplace where everything was for sale to the highest bidder. Lawlessness, drunkenness and havoc reigned. Clay was frightened. He thought he should have called someone to go with him rather than brave it on his own.

A lot of eyes followed him as he parked his car (suddenly a whole lot flashier than he had realised before) and alighted to find Amy T. and her friend. It was difficult to find them amid the crowd. Clay had to be careful that no one tried to pickpocket him or otherwise hurt him. It was a kind of lowlife hell that he had only seen in movie shots of homeless people. Fires were burning in metal barrels with people huddled around to keep warm. There were teens running around in packs, yelling and shouting obscenities. In a corner a fight was erupting. Clay shuddered and walked on, peeling his eyes to spot Amy T. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

“Hey you. Mister.” a hard gruff voice sounded from somewhere before him. “Got any change?”

Clay took a quick glance at the man who spoke. He was half hidden in shadow but Clay could see that he was dressed in rags, his hands were shaking and he was very very dirty. Clay ignored him and walked faster. A sudden scene flashed into his mind from a book he had read, 'The Hunchback of Notre-Dame', when Pierre Gringoire accidentally ventured into the Court of Miracles, the so-called headquarters of the city's thieves, beggars, conmen and murderers and had been forced to become one of them or die. He began praying that he wouldn't be in such a situation, desperately looking for the elusive Amy T. and her friend.

Then his cellphone rang. Clay instantly stiffened. Already the sound had drawn the attention of those people closest to him. He debated with himself whether or not to answer. But the ringing tone was getting more and more loud and insistent. He took the risk and answered it.

“Where the hell are you??!” the same male voice of Amy T.'s friend asked.

“I'm at the place but I can't find you.” Clay tried to explain.

“Huh? What did you say? I can't hear you!”

“I'M HERE! WHERE ARE YOU?!” Clay shouted.

“The payphones opposite the park!” the man exclaimed. Clay took a look around him. He was quite far into the park already. He quickly stowed away his cellphone and made a run for it. As he ran, he imagined that hordes of evil beggars and thieves were bearing down on him. But he made it to the park entrance unscathed. He spotted the row of payphones almost immediately.

Amy T. was sprawled on the ground, propped up against the wall of a building. Her friend was standing guard over her. He was a fierce looking young man, barely older than Amy T., dressed in leathers and a cotton tshirt. He wasn't kidding when he said she was quite smashed up. Amy T. looked very badly beaten up. She was bleeding from numerous cuts to her face and arms. There was a huge bruise on her cheek that was already swelling. Most of all, Clay thought she looked stoned.

“What happened?” Clay asked.

“Crossed some of the drug dealers apparently. She's stuffed full of weed and they beat her up.” her friend explained. “Gotta get her off the streets fore they come back for her.”

“Why'd they do this to her?” Clay questioned anxiously. He had taken out his handkerchief to try to stop the blood flowing from a bad cut on her forehead.

“Something about her wanting to quit working for them.”

Clay asked no more questions but carried Amy T. to the car. She was heavier than he expected her to be and she seemed all over the place, he couldn't get a proper hold of her. But he managed to get her into the back seat and turned to thank her friend for looking out for her. But the man was gone.

Returning home, Clay helped Amy T. into the house. She was now semi-conscious and more or less aware of her surroundings. She staggered up to the house, leaning heavily on Clay. As Clay fumbled with the keys to his front door, Amy T. suddenly bent over and violently threw up over his porch. Clay clicked his tongue at this. He wasn't really in the mood to clean up.

Seeing that she was done, Clay brought her into the house, carefully laying her down on the couch and removing her shoes. Then he went to the kitchen and rummaged around for a first aid kit. He knew it was in one of the drawers somewhere. He tucked the kit under his arm and got a wide bowl of clean water with a cloth and returned to the living room. Amy T. was sitting up, her head hung between her knees, her finger tracing a pattern on the carpet.

“Hey, how're ya feeling?” Clay asked.

She jumped in surprise, her head swinging round so fast that Clay was afraid she might hurt her neck. Her eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. It appeared that she registered his presence but nothing else. Amy T. giggled, “Hello!”

“Hello.”

“You have a nice house.”

“Yes, thank you.” Clay sat beside her on the couch, placing the first aid kit and water on the coffee table before it. “I'm gonna clean out these cuts now ok?”

Amy T. nodded like a little girl. Clay was sure by now that she was at least drunk. Whether or not she was on drugs was another matter which Clay did not know how to determine. She was definitely high, looking in wonder around the room. Clay carefully dipped a cloth in water and began gently cleaning the cuts on her arms. She seemed to barely notice it, her free hand tracing patterns in the air before her.

“Ow! That hurts mister!” Amy T. squealed and jerked her arm away from Clay as Clay was trying to spray iodine onto the cuts.

“I'm sorry. I just have to put the iodine on it.” Clay explained. Amy T. looked doubtful for a moment. “I promise it won't hurt any more than it has to.” she finally offered out her arm again and Clay quickly dressed her wounds. Now there was the question of the cut on her forehead which looked a bit more serious than the rest. It was difficult to get to this wound because Amy T. kept fidgeting. As if on cue, Raleigh bounded up to them. Clay picked up the dog and placed her on Amy T.'s lap, fascinating her and keeping her gaze still.

“What're you doing?” Amy T. asked, watching as Clay cut a bandage for her head.

“I'm going to put a bandage on the cut.”

“Don't need it.”

“Sure it doesn't. I'm going to put one anyway. Hold still now.”

Amy T. obediently sat still, allowing Clay to tape the bandage on properly. “Will you kiss it to make it better? People always do that.”

Clay kissed her head on the bandage. It seemed the most natural thing to do. “Go to sleep now ok?” he instructed, half expecting her to argue. But she didn't. Instead, she curled up on the couch, still hugging Raleigh like a stuffed toy. Clay returned the first aid kit to the kitchen and came back to find her almost asleep. He gently draped a quilt over her. He decided to wash her jacket too, it was dirty where she had fallen. As he loaded the wash, Clay smiled as he realised that this was the second time she had strangely fallen into his hands and inexplicably made her mark in his heart.

[footloose]

i'll read this tonight. have stuff to do now :squish

[Invisible Ink]

This is definitely a different Clay!

Where was Jerome?

[footloose]

This is definitely a different Clay!

how different? i'm curious. Mandler's Clay is also different...less dorky and shy, grittier and more sexually assertive (not in the initial chapters, but later). as for Mezz's Clay, he sounds more brooding, for lack of better word. but prolly because he has just lost Rosie.

the battle with the record label sounds closer to reality tho.

He thought he should have called someone to go with him rather than brave it on his own.

:lol now that's very Clay.

A lot of eyes followed him as he parked his car (suddenly a whole lot flashier than he had realised before) and alighted to find Amy T. and her friend. It was difficult to find them amid the crowd. Clay had to be careful that no one tried to pickpocket him or otherwise hurt him. It was a kind of lowlife hell that he had only seen in movie shots of homeless people. Fires were burning in metal barrels with people huddled around to keep warm. There were teens running around in packs, yelling and shouting obscenities. In a corner a fight was erupting. Clay shuddered and walked on, peeling his eyes to spot Amy T. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

this is a very realistic picture. i can almost imagine him scared and bewildered in the midst of such crowd and yet driven by his concern of Amy.

Amy T. looked very badly beaten up. She was bleeding from numerous cuts to her face and arms. There was a huge bruise on her cheek that was already swelling. Most of all, Clay thought she looked stoned.

oh my, oh my, oh my...:cry

It appeared that she registered his presence but nothing else. Amy T. giggled, “Hello!”

“Hello.”

“You have a nice house.”

:lol sounds like she's really doped.

Clay smiled as he realised that this was the second time she had strangely fallen into his hands and inexplicably made her mark in his heart.

awww...

nice chapter Mezz. very realistic picture of the underground life and one's reaction to it. yet you still managed to insert tenderness and cuteness in. :flowers

[mezzogal]

:smooch

This is definitely a different Clay!

hang on to your hats. it gets more and more different as the time goes by.

Where was Jerome?

you know what??! i completely forgot about him. :hiding thanks for reminding me of him ink. :grin

the battle with the record label sounds closer to reality tho

i'm kinda nervous about writing about the label. cos i don't want the label to come and sue me for libel.

[mezzogal]

Chapter5

Amy T. woke the next morning to a rough wet thing licking her face. In shock, she abruptly sat up causing Raleigh to take a quick tumble onto the floor. She was stunned, not recognising her surroundings. Raleigh began licking and gnawing at her toes, and she saw another little dog come bounding into the room. Amy T. absently petted Durham's head, a heavy headache hitting her own head. Then she recognised the room. It was Clay Aiken's living room. These were Clay Aiken's two pet dogs. But why was she sleeping in Clay's living room?

She got up from the couch, her head reeling and her limbs feeling heavy and awkward. She was hung over and she knew it. Amy T. winced as she opened the curtains and the sunlight entered the room. It was a beautiful morning and Amy T. could feel the freshness of the greenery outside the room. Then her stomach rumbled, reminding her of the need for food. Turning, she tried to remember the way into Clay's kitchen. After a few wrong turns, she found it, the smell of toast and sound of singing wafting down the hallway.

“Hello.” she said, seeing Clay bent over the toaster.

“Well hello! And good morning Amy T.” Clay cheerfully greeted. “And how are you feeling today?”

“I've got a hangover. Other than that, I'm fine.” Amy T. couldn't help smiling. Clay's good humour was infectious.

“You must be hungry.” Clay presented her with a plate of buttered toast and honey, and put down a cup of tea before her. For a while, she ate in silence, too busy eating to talk. She wasn't just hungry, she was ravenous. Clay sat watching her, gently giving Raleigh a belly rub with his foot, a very enigmatic smile on his face.

Her hunger abated, Amy T. thought she must be being very rude, to be eating like she hadn't eaten in months whilst her host wasn't. “I'm sorry Clay, I forgot to ask if you've eaten.”

“I have. Don't worry about it.”

“Um...actually, I was meaning to ask...how did I end up here?I mean, the last thing I remember was having some drinks...” she trailed off, unsure whether to divulge her story to Clay.

“A friend of yours called me and told me to come get you.” Clay began. “And I must say, you were in a mess last night. You had a few drinks? No wonder. He said you had crossed the drug dealers.”

“I don't really remember that.” Amy T. said slowly. “Which friend called you? I wasn't with anyone last night.”

“I don't know. Big burly kind of guy. I don't know his name.”

Amy T. was a little confused but she let it be. Could have been anyone.

“Amy, can I call you Amy?” Clay began. “You have to be careful. Yesterday, your friend told me to make sure you got off the streets. Said you were in danger. Why are the dealers after you?”

“Cos I owe them money and favours. I can't ever repay them unless I get the money cos everything I do for them that's supposedly to pay off my debt only drags me further in.”

“Can't you find a job or something?”

“I said so before. I can't. Things always happen that make me lose the job.”

Clay looked away out of the kitchen window. He looked lost in thought. “But we have to help you before those drug dealers decide to kill you.”

“Why? You have a job for me Clay?” Amy T. asked jokingly.

“I might have. Housekeeping at a local hotel. Small place but they're ok. You want it?” Clay offered. He sounded like he was already planning to tell it to her but was just waiting for her to ask the right question. Amy T. was stunned for a moment. He was offering her a job? She was slack jawed and did not reply. Clay laughed, “Well look at you. You look like I just told you you won the lottery or something.”

“A job? This is a job you're talking about! A real job! It's the best thing that could happen.” Amy T. exclaimed. “Really? They need staff?”

“Yes for real. The manager is a friend of mine.” Clay rummaged around his wallet and passed her a name card. “Go ahead and say I sent you.”

“Gee. I mean, wow! I mean, thanks so much!” Amy T. was speechless once again. She held the name card as though it was gold. “I'll do my best. I won't let you down.”

[center:b6d4fee21c]~~[/center:b6d4fee21c]

About two months later, Clay received a call from his friend at the hotel. It had not worked out with Amy Theodore and he had to let her go. He thought it would be prudent to call Clay and let him know about it, seeing as it was he who recommended her in the first place.

“But what happened?” Clay asked in amazement.

“There were accusations of stealing. Amy doesn't get along with the rest of the staff and, well, she always seems to be in trouble with one or the other of them. She's a loose cannon.”

“I don't find her that way though. She seems perfectly alright when I meet her.”

“Well, in all fairness, perhaps it's the environment. I think she has to find a work environment that suits her and unfortunately, that isn't here.”

After the conversation was concluded, Clay sat back in his chair and pondered this assessment of Amy T. He didn't think that she was that kind of girl who tried to stir up trouble. On the contrary, she seemed the kind who would go out of her way to avoid trouble. On the other hand, Trouble seemed to follow her no matter what. This question dogged him for a while. He seemed to feel that he had an obligation to help her. He couldn't just sit back and ignore her, not after he had 'rescued' her twice.

At home that evening, after settling his own career, Clay continued thinking about Amy T. He sat in the living room with the TV on, though not really listening. It was more of a habit. The house got so quiet in the evenings with just him in the house.

“In local news, a devastating fire raged through a local trailer park in the outskirts of Raleigh city this afternoon. It is believed to have been caused by an electrical short circuit. The close proximity of the trailers resulted in the fire blazing out of control by the time the authorities arrived. The fire has left 25 injured and at least 3 dead.”

Clay's attention was drawn by the news bulletin being broadcast. He knew the place. It was where Amy T. lived. “Woah, back that up!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Amy T. lives there??!” Suddenly he felt fearful. Was she alright? Having no way of contacting her, he could only pray that somehow she would be fine.

The news having ended, Clay decided to go to bed. There was no point in worrying about what he couldn't help. As he lay in bed and stared at the shadows on the ceiling. Between the afternoon and now, he admitted to himself that he had feelings for her. He wasn't sure what to do about it. He was frightened to even think about going further than friendship with Amy T.

Drifting off to sleep, Clay imagined that he heard the doorbell ringing just on the edge of his consciousness. Turning to his bedside clock, he saw that it was already 12.30am. “Now who'd be at the door at this hour?” he asked his two dogs, sleeping in his room with him. He got up and walked to the window, not bothering to switch on the light. He was half convinced that he was dreaming anyway. Taking a glance down his driveway, he saw a figure standing by the gate.

Surprised now, Clay flicked his bedroom light on and strode to the intercom installed in the wall. “Who's there?”

“Clay? It's me.” Amy T.'s scared voice came through the intercom.

“Amy T.? What on earth are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” she asked.

Clay paused. He wasn't sure if she should come in. “Gate's opening.” he finally told her.

Throwing on a dressing gown, Clay went downstairs. Amy T. was already on the porch when he opened the front door. She looked worn and soaked, as if she had just travelled a long way. She had a small bag with her this time. “I'm sorry.” she began. “I didn't know where else to go.”

“What's wrong?” Clay asked as he ushered her into the house.

“I got fired.” her voice dropped a few decibels. “I'm sorry.”

“I know. The manager called me this afternoon. Something else...” An indescribable expression on her face told him that she didn't come calling just to tell him this news.

“I went home and there was this fire...” she began to sob. “I think Mom's dead. She was too stoned to run for it. And, I don't know... Oh god Clay. I don't know what to do.”

She broke into tears, her body shaking uncontrollably. Clay reached out and hugged her tightly. She seemed dazed, but it was not a surprise given what had happened to her that day. “I'm sorry Amy.” Clay consoled. “I'm sorry.” He held her till she was done crying by which time his shirt front was quite damp with her tears.

Amy T. calmed down a little and began to apologise again. “Clay, I really need your help. I mean, mom's gone. I don't know where to go. I don't have a job. I just feel so lost.”

She seemed to be getting hysterical again. Clay, wanting to avert another scene quickly said, “It's alright. Don't worry about it. You can stay here tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Clay toyed with telling her his thoughts or not. “And in fact, I was thinking about you today.” He took a tissue and gently wiped the tears from her face. Deep brown eyes looked up hopefully into his green. “I was thinking, I know this is kinda sudden. But, I need a housekeeper. I was told that you do your work well. Would you like to work for me?”

“Are you kidding me?” Amy T. seemed cheered up immediately. “Yes, yes! Anything.”

“That's great.” Clay said, kissing Amy T. on the cheek. “And don't worry about things. I'll take care of you now.”

[footloose]

it's late so i'm gonna read tomorrow, but just a quick question: did Amy really steal?

i was surprised he didn't immediately seek her out after hearing about the fire, especially since he has grown to like her. i kinda expected it but maybe it's just me.

:rah she gets to work at his house!

will comment more tomorrow

[footloose]

i'm still the first? hee.

He couldn't just sit back and ignore her, not after he had 'rescued' her twice.

you know, it's funny that after he thought like this, he did nothing when he saw the news abt the fire. as in, he didn't try to at least look for her and check if she's fine, especially after hearing that there were casualties.

Clay paused. He wasn't sure if she should come in.

this confuses me too. he had just heard about the fire. he was worried about her. he's attracted to her as well. and yet when he heard her voice, instead of rushing to meet her and ask if she's ok, he was hesitant to let her in? why? :oogle

poor Amy. but Clay was nice enough to take her in and give her a job

nice chapter Mezz :flowers. curious to your answers to my questions above (and in the prev. post) :biggrin