Lillian and Sharon Ch. 05

All the illusions about her Greek God crumbled into dust. He was nothing but a fuck-em-and-forget-em type. She restrained her hand from flinging her water glass into his face. She had picked up a few tricks from Lillian, though, and said, "I'd hate for this beautiful gown to go to waste. Not to mention all the work Ramona and Jasper put into my makeup. How about if we just spend a little while there and see what happens later?"

"That's cool by me," he answered.

He blasted his Porsche into the school's parking lot, revving high and screeching into a parking slot. He got out, looked around and started walking toward the door. Sharon had to open her own door and worm her way out clad in her gown. She glared at his retreating back and slammed the door as hard as she could. He spun around. "What the hell was that for?"

Her special evening was rapidly becoming her special nightmare. She feigned innocence. "Er. It slipped. Sorry."

He walked back and pulled the latch to make sure the door still opened and then lightly closed it. "You got any idea how much this fucker cost? If we hadn't been picked up for next season, I'd have a hard time just meeting the insurance premiums. Come on. Let's get this shit outta the way."

As they approached the door, he slid an arm around Sharon's waist, becoming a gentleman once again. Several people outside saw them, a few running inside. The cheerleaders manning the ticket table just gaped slack-jawed when Ouranos turned on his charming smile and flipped two hundred dollar bills their way. He and Sharon stuck out their hands to get stamps and went into the auditorium.

Principal Winslow stood on stage in front of the band pointing frantically toward the door. A spotlight came on and pinned the couple with its harsh glare.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the principal, "I present to you the star of, 'Mean Miami Streets,' Jose Montego himself, OURANOS STAVROU!"

The auditorium erupted in thunderous applause, cheering and whistling. The pair was immediately surrounded by high-school students eager to shake hands with or at least touch a television star. He plastered his winning smile in place as he shook hands and hugged people continuously. Sharon was roughly pushed back by the mass of people trying to get at the star.

Crestfallen and feeling four inches tall, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned to see Cindy and Regan standing behind her. She collapsed against Regan, hugging her tightly, sobbing into her shoulder. Regan and Cindy moved the weeping girl away from the crowd into a forgotten corner. Everyone else's attention was fixed on, "Jose Montego."

Sharon clung to Regan, the only sounds from the girl were sniffles and wails; Cindy stroked her hair. Presently, they were joined by Ryan and Amber, Ryan staring at the autograph on the back of his hand. He looked up to see Sharon crying, started to make a smart ass comment and thought better of it. Everyone stood around consoling Sharon, not speaking, just lending a friendly touch to her. Ryan made the connection, spitting on the ink on the back of his hand and rubbing it off. Sharon saw the action and spoke up, "Ryan, why are you rubbing it off? You love that show."

His reply earned him a post-dance fuck from Amber, "Sharon, I love you more than a damn TV show. You're my friend. He's an idiot."

Regan said, "How fucking shitty. I thought he was so cool, too. God, I hate assholes like that. Want me to go kick his ass, Shar?"

Sharon smiled through her tears, mascara smeared around her eyes, eye marks left on Regan's jacket. She touched Regan's shoulder, unintentionally smearing the mascara further. "I ruined your coat," she mumbled. "You won't get your deposit back."

"No big deal. I used BFH's credit card to rent it," Regan grinned. Sharon chuckled and looked over at the thinning crowd.

"God, I just wish people knew what a jizzbag he really is," Sharon muttered, then told the group about dinner. Cindy actually clenched her fists; her savior, indeed her whole family being talked about in such a fashion.

After an hour or so, Ouranos drifted over to them, smiling and glad-handing the whole way, pausing now and again to sign an autograph. He sat down next to Sharon and put his arm around her as if he owned her. She endured his arm, finally asking to be taken home.

"Shar, are you out of your fucking mind?" asked Regan. "After what this fuckhead just did?"

Ouranos glared at the blonde beauty, asking, "You jealous cause she's gonna get to sleep with me and you're not?"

Regan grabbed Cindy in response, bending her into a deep kiss, then recovering, saying, "Sorry, Dickhead. I don't do guys."

Ouranos said, "That's damn hot. You two wanna tag along and put on a private show for me?" Regan spit on his shoe, took Cindy and stalked off, leaving Sharon to fend for herself. Amber and Ryan were out on the dance floor.

"Damn, you got some pendejos for friends, babe," he one-arm-hugged Sharon. "Let's get out of here." He pulled her toward the exit, smiling and waving with his free hand. Sharon trudged along, staring at the floor.

As they approached his Porsche, the hand around her waist started to wander to her butt. She pushed it away and he promptly grabbed her ass roughly. "Stop it," she said. "You're not getting anywhere with me."

He pushed her back roughly against the car, saying, "You owe me. I hate these things and I've spent a ton of cash tonight. I want some pussy for my efforts. And with you shacking up with that dyke who can write like she can? You gotta have a few tricks stashed away in that little pussy of yours."

He was a foot taller and outweighed Sharon by a good hundred pounds. He was solid muscle, good-looking and knew it.

"Just...just take me home."

"Nah, I think I'll just take you here," he leered, kissing her neck roughly, reaching inside her gown to squeeze a breast.

"Ouranos," Sharon said in a flat voice, "This is your last warning to get off me and take me home." She put everything she had into pushing him back several steps.

He grinned wolfishly. Beneath her gown, unseen by him, she slipped off her shoes. He charged her. "Let's dance, motherfucker," she said.

His two-hundred plus pound body hurtled toward her as she took two steps away from the car. Her right leg snapped up to land squarely in his chest and "vertical stomp" him backwards to land on his butt. He stood up and came at her again. This time, she had placed her left foot firmly on the ground, her right foot slightly behind her at a 45 degree cant with her heel off the ground. Her closed fists came to either side of her face.

Somewhere in the back of her awareness, she heard the slamming of car doors and the clicking of shutters. Her focus was on the man attempting to rape her, however.

Timing the hit precisely, her pastel green gown seemed to extend into his crotch as her leg snapped upwards, doubling him over in pain, his own momentum propelling him toward the car. As he shot past her, bent over and trying to maintain his balance, she brought her fist down with all her strength to a point high between his shoulder blades. He crumbled to the ground as she backed away, her guard still up, facing his inert form.

Regan and Cindy ran up; Cindy grabbing Sharon's discarded shoes, Regan pulling the green-gowned beauty towards her own car.

The next morning, Saturday, Sharon descended the stairs to find all the drapes closed with Caylie and Alyssa sipping coffee in the living room. Both beauties wore the trademark black bodyguard uniforms, and Sharon caught sight of a pistol underneath Caylie's jacket.

After returning home last night, Sharon had taken a shower to try to wash away the evening, changed into sweat pants and a t-shirt and gone straight to bed.

Caylie saw the tousle-haired girl first, a huge grin spreading across her face as Alyssa turned and grinned, too. "Good morning, Captain Krav!" enthused Alyssa. "Did you sleep well?"

"Huh?" was the response. Cindy appeared from the kitchen carrying a cup of coffee for the teen.

"Good morning, Mistress," she said, newfound respect in her voice. "Mistress Lillian requests that you call her as soon as you are fully awake."

"What's going on? Why are the drapes closed?" She started to open them but was stopped by Caylie.

"Not the best idea in the world, Madame," said Caylie, reverting to her professional tone. "If you really want to know, my suggestion is to look through the peephole in the front door."

Sharon sipped from her coffee cup and peered through the door. She was so startled by what she saw that she almost dropped her cup. The wide angle view of the peephole allowed her to see uniformed guards on either side of the door. Out in the street were parked news vans from three area television stations, as well as Fox News, MSNBC, and CNN.

Her normal demure nature disappeared. "What the FUCK?!?!?"

An arm slid around her waist, the clean scent of Regan followed. "You're national news, Shar. Some are calling you, 'Kiddy Kop Kruncher,' others are calling you, 'Captain Krav Maga.' EVERYONE'S calling you a hero...except, probably the producers of, 'Mean Miami Streets.' they lost their meal ticket. When you kicked that fucker's ass last night, the press was all over it."

Regan snickered, "Told you those Krav Maga classes were good for something. Better call Miz Lillian."