Wild Sex In Car With My Ex Girlfriend
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January 21, 2012
I came wide awake at 4:30 am – damnable jet lag! Fortunately I had bestirred myself from the living room chair and the temptation of another Scotch and got myself to bed by nine the night before. So even though it was an early hour I had slept undisturbed by dreams or conscience for over seven hours. I couldn't bring myself to sleep in Robert Burns' bed and picked the closest bedroom to the living room. Showered and naked, I had discovered an amazingly comfortable queen bed with a memory foam mattress. The sheets seemed freshly laundered. I made a mental note to check on a cleaning service – and then wondered if whoever Burns used had ever met him. My last thoughts of the evening were of Cecilia.
I got out of bed feeling refreshed, pulled on some new socks and underwear from the packages of yesterday's shopping and slipped on a shirt and jeans and went to the kitchen in search of coffee. There was a coffee maker – and from the look of it an expensive one. It also looked like it had never been used. I discovered that Burns was most likely a tea drinker considering he had canisters of the stuff. Oh well, any port in a storm.
Fortunately the electric kettle was quick, and I soon had a pot ready. I made the tea strong, but it still wasn't coffee. I needed pen and paper to start making a list of essentials – and coffee was one of them – along with a robe. I figured Burns had one around, but I wasn't going to wear it. I vowed to clear out his clothes and other effects as fast as I could without raising suspicions.
I stood near the living room windows marveling at sight of the predawn city and Central Park laid out twenty stories below me. There was a light dusting of snow but nothing that should slow me down on my errands today. Fortunately it was a winter Saturday so the traffic should be lighter.
I refilled my cup and gravitated to the office. I knew I needed more information about Robert Burns and decided since I was up I would finish exploring the two-drawer cabinet next to the desk. I turned on the chrome floor lamp that acted as a desk lamp in the otherwise darkened room, and sat in the chair at the desk. The first file in the bottom drawer was one marked, "Roksana". It was a maybe an inch thick.
I pulled it out and put it on the glass surface of the desk and the first item was a newspaper clipping obituary for one Marcelina Propaskiev. The photo showed a very pretty blonde-haired woman, probably in her thirties. Of course, with obituary photos the reader has little frame of reference for how long ago the photo was taken. The obit said she, Marcelina, "Celina" to her friends, had lived in Arlington Heights, Illinois and worked at the Polish consulate in Chicago and died after a serious illness. The dates showed she was only thirty six. The clipping was from the Chicago Tribune, and someone had written in the margin in pencil, "July 2011." Of note under "survived by," the obituary said, "daughter, Roksana Burns."
Okay, that solved that part of the puzzle. But why were they living in a city just north of Chicago? Divorce would be my guess.
I set the clipping aside and the next document was a marriage certificate dated March 1999 showing Robert Burns of Chicago, Illinois married Marcelina Propaskiev of Warsaw Poland. How had that come about?
Next there was a birth certificate for Roksana Burns, born August 1999. Ah, a six-month baby and perhaps a shotgun marriage. So Roksana would now be twelve.
The birth certificate was followed by a decree of dissolution dated September 2004, and interestingly it showed Robert as a resident of New York state. The decree was fairly straight forward - Robert Burns agreed to give up all custody and rights of visitation in return for not paying child support or spousal maintenance. Usually the courts are loath to approve a deal like this unless there are extraordinary circumstances like inability to show evidence of paternity, child or spousal abuse, or perhaps when the wife has sufficient assets that she doesn't need nor want anything from the father. Regardless, there it was. The property settlement agreement was as straightforward - he keeps his stuff including retirement accounts and she did likewise. It all seemed very sad.
Next there was a large manila envelope with Robert Burns' name and address printed on the mailing label. Inside was a file containing a series of documents and photos which turned out to be a report from a private investigation firm in Chicago. It looked very thorough and included the photos that were on Burns' hard drive. Before tackling the report, I decided to see if I could do something to quell the growls from my stomach.
I put the file back in the envelope and carried it into the kitchen. There was bread in the freezer and some preserves in the pantry, but that didn't seem enough for a cold New York City morning. I went back into the office and fired up Burns' computer and searched for restaurants near Central Park. I found a café listed that was just a few blocks away and its web site said it was open on Saturday from 7 am. Perfect.
I walked up chilly Central Park South to Columbus Circle, all the while lamenting the lack of a hat, gloves, and a warmer coat, and then walked over a couple of blocks to find exactly what I was looking for. It was a neighborhood café and when I walked in it had all the right smells – fresh coffee brewing, bacon frying, and all those welcoming smells that denote an American café. Not wanting to take up a table or booth, I took one of the end stools at the red Formica counter. Even at slightly after seven on a cold snowy New York morning the place was surprisingly busy. Most, it seemed, were regulars who greeted each other and the two waitresses by name.
A surprisingly striking blonde in wonderfully tight jeans and dark blue fuzzy sweater put a steaming porcelain mug in front of me along with a plastic laminated one-sheet menu. I guessed they didn't get too many tea drinkers in this place. She was tall and thin and probably in her twenties with a mid-west wholesomeness about her. Just above her very nicely rounded left breast, was pinned a nametag that said "Robyn." She was just my type – or I should say she had the look of women I'd been attracted to all my life – model tall, willowy, nicely proportioned breasts and a fresh-scrubbed look with little makeup. Well, she would be just my type if I was twenty five instead of forty five.
Suddenly I realized I'd been staring and she'd caught me at it. I knew I colored a bit but I also suspected she had been looked at before. She was very attractive.
She smiled and said, "Anything suit your fancy?"
I grinned, stifling a laugh and glanced quickly at the menu.
"Two soft poached eggs, two strips of bacon and a short stack." I replied noticing her deep blue eyes. She nodded and wrote down the order as she walked toward the pass-through that held the metal order wheel that was ubiquitous to small American restaurants. The view of her from the back in those tight jeans was a delight. She was wearing running shoes, and I envisioned what a pair of three inch heels would do for that view.
Still watching Robyn's delightful backside as she moved down the counter to pour coffee for another customer, I sipped my coffee. It was perfectly brewed strong black coffee – just what I needed to get my brain in gear. I put the private investigator's envelope on the counter in front of me and again removed the file.
The preamble simply stated that they had been hired by Mr. Robert Burns to locate one, Roksana (Anna) Burns and then to observe her living conditions and general state of life and report to Mr. Robert Burns. From the thickness of the file these investigators seemed to have done their job well – or they could just be padding their bill – I would soon find out which.
Within the first few pages it became obvious they were not padding their bill. The report covered an initial period of a week and then periodic observations over the next couple of weeks. There were more photos, which included some that looked like they were taken at or near a school. I was surprised to see her school transcripts – straight A's - and wondered how they had obtained them.
I was so involved in the details of Roksana's life that I was surprised when Robyn arrived with my breakfast. I moved the file out of the way to make room for the heavy porcelain plates which held separately, my pancakes, and the eggs and bacon. On the side was a glass pitcher which contained a generous amount of warm maple syrup. She refilled my coffee and crooked an eyebrow asking if there was anything else. I simply smiled and shook my head.
The simple classic American breakfast was excellent, the poached eggs were perfect, and the buttermilk pancakes would put my mother's to shame. I cleaned up every bite, reminding myself that I had to add workout clothes to my list of purchases for today. I started a list on the outside of the buff-colored envelope.
Turning back to the report, I discovered that Roksana (who went by Anna) Burns was currently in foster care as a ward of the state of Illinois. Had there been no effort to find her father? The report spoke about her foster parents at some length, and it noted an appendix which contained a credit report. Alice and Jamie Staples appeared to be nice working-class people who were childless and used the state's money to supplement their income. They were in their fifties and he was retired with a disability from his work as a heavy equipment operator. Alice worked part time at the headquarters of a large insurance company. It appeared they took no more than two foster kids at a time and there had never been a complaint about them, nor had they ever been denied placement. Children from their home had little trouble with adoption placement. They seemed to be nice people who took good care of the kids placed with them, considering their somewhat limited means.
There was an interesting side note. It was about the dark-haired girl in the photos. She was Airlea Chronis, an orphan eleven, whose parents had immigrated to the US from Greece and had settled in Chicago, only to be murdered in a botched home invasion robbery. She had been eight at the time and had not spoken a word since, nor had she been able to tolerate crowds or large numbers of people without suffering panic attacks. In the few months Roksana had been in the foster home, she had befriended Airlea and they were inseparable. Anna had become her older sister, her friend and tutor, since Airlea was deemed not a suitable candidate for any of the local schools, even though she was very bright and seemed eager to learn.
I had no doubt that Roksana would be successfully placed for adoption, and from what the report said she would be adopted quickly. Would she then disappear altogether? She seemed bright and well-adjusted so that seemed likely. And what then would happen to the dark-haired girl?
It appeared that Roksana was Robert Burns only heir, and since I was now Robert Burns, I figured that now I was responsible for her welfare. Actually she was the rightful heir to a hell of a lot of money. Perhaps a lesser man in my position would have just put the folder away and forgotten about Roksana "Anna" Burns. It wasn't like I had placed her in these circumstances. But I wasn't a lesser man, and now I had the means, and even if I wasn't Robert Burns, I had the will to change her life for the better. I sat and looked at the report and realized with very mixed emotions that I had just become a father again.
I knew I couldn't leave her in foster care. I looked at the date of the report. It was October 1st 2011. What had Burns done to reunite with his daughter? Had he contacted the state of Illinois Department of Social and Health Services? Had he hired an attorney? If he was going to the trouble to find her there had to be some kind of a plan, shouldn't there be? I certainly couldn't fathom going on a cruise after finding my twelve year-old daughter in foster care after the death of her mother.
Quickly scanning the rest of the file, I saw no sign of any other action, other than a hefty invoice from the private investigators, marked "paid." What could he have been thinking? Did this have something to do with the relinquishment of custody? Was the divorce so acrimonious that he could ignore his only daughter? The divorce documents showed an equitable division. There was no evidence in his condo of a new marriage or other heirs. What was I missing?
I was so engrossed in the file that I never noticed Robyn leave the ticket for my breakfast. The little tan slip of paper was filled out in neat blue handwriting, written like someone who had been schooled in penmanship. I spotted her off near a corner booth, so I just left the cash on the counter, along with a hefty tip and walked outside where I was greeted by a cold wind, gray skies and flurries.
Despite the weather, my thoughts were lost in the life of two girls who were now orphans. Before I reached the Trump Parc, I had vowed to do all I could to quickly change their lives for the better, even if that meant I was to become their father. A plan began to take shape. Maybe I could avoid the mistakes I'd obviously made with my own children. Regardless, I would make sure Roksana Burns was reunited with Robert Burns, at least my Robert Burns, and I would do my best to help Airlea Chronis.
It was still too early for shopping so I returned to the condo and Burns' office. I put the report on the desk and returned to the "Roksana" file. I didn't find much else, but there was a light blue envelope addressed to Burns and the writing was definitely feminine. The return address and postmark were from Arlington Heights Illinois dated July 1, 2011.
There was a single sheet of matching light blue stationary covered with very precise handwriting. I could feel a mother's pain as I read,
My Dearest Robert,
I know I have no right to use terms of endearment with you for the terrible crimes I've committed against you, but other than a short period of insanity seven years ago I have always loved you. It is a cliché to say, you only realize what you've lost after you've lost it, but that was exactly what happened. I am sorrier than I can say that I hurt you and took Anna away from you – the child you loved much more than her father ever did – and she loved you. How she cried after I forced you to leave.
Michal was never really her father, he was just smooth-talking man who impregnated a young woman who fell for his lines and false promises, and then left.
Then you came and, like a knight on a white horse, you saved me. Your tenderness and your love enabled me to become the woman and mother I wanted to be – a woman and mother to make you proud. I thought it was merely gratitude at first, but then I realized I did love you – I loved your kindness, your willingness to put up with my moods, your help during my pregnancy, and most of all how you loved me without expectation of love in return, and how you loved little Anna. After you rescued me I was a fool, and for the longest time in that I denied the feelings for you I bottled up inside.
When Michal reappeared – again with his lies and promises, I did the unthinkable, the unpardonable – I betrayed you and our love. I will die with the hurt in my heart that I caused you, and with the image of your face when I told you I was leaving you for Michal.
I cannot face you and ask for your forgiveness for the unforgivable – but I do ask you take care of Anna. Please take her and love her as I know you – know you have never stopped. Michal never wanted her unless, as I discovered, as a means to extort money from you. This I would not allow. When he discovered I had signed the divorce papers asking for nothing, he became enraged and beat me. I deserved it – oh how I deserved the marks he left on me. And when he left, I cried out for you, knowing I would never feel your strong arms around me again.
Now I am dying. God is punishing me, but Anna doesn't deserve this. Robert, I beg you – please for the love you have for Anna and perhaps for the love you had for me – the love I turned to ashes – take Anna. She loves you and always will. She has no place to go, and you are a good man.
Fawn
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