The Rolls and the Pipe Ch. 02

The normal schtick here. While nothing adversely sexual will be happening for some time, this story is on a site that is strictly legal-age only. The Rolls and the Pipe is a slow-moving story, but I would like to think that it is worth it. Please offer feedback!! Frankly, I don't expect you to offer feedback until the story is complete, but each to their own. Enjoy!

* * * * *

From Kaiser Mattanthas' Perspective:

I drove up to the doors of the Riva Café – it was one of my favorite haunts in Chicago, and the owners knew me by name. Their maitre 'd had been one of my students and they'd given me a discount from the moment he was hired.

I idled the Phantom for a few minutes while I collected myself. I didn't go on many dates by preference, and this interview was just that – a date. Young Paige d'Lephant didn't know it yet, but the staff did. I looked around my car for the things I would need: I pulled the SOCOM pistol and a spare magazine from the glove compartment and a small jewelry box from beside the gun. I slipped the gun into the holster in the small of my back and placed the magazine in my front pocket. I tucked the little box into the inside pocket of my sports coat and stepped out. I passed a box from the trunk to the doorman as he came to greet me, leaving instructions for it to be delivered to my table before the end of the night. The valet (a former member of the Navy Seals, and one of my agents) took the car and disappeared around the corner. I waited for a moment as I watched the smoky grey Rolls-Royce hum away.

I sauntered up the walk to the doors and Gerry opened the door.

"I understand you're here to see a skirt!" he whispered.

"Yep. You never know, I might get to see under it too!" I joked. He was an old school friend, and he knew that I was still a virgin – I'd made no bones about it. 28 years old, famous across the planet, and I'd never gotten laid. Oh well – better not worry about it. I'm not like other men, let me assure you – that's not just arrogance, either. I know I'm not – I don't think about sex all the time. I have little use for sex, and I've deadened myself to it. It's become a long-standing joke among my friends and comrades that I'll be the most successful virgin since Jesus. I walked into the restaurant laughing.

There before me stood this little, slight thing – 'bout five and a half feet tall (with high heels) long, long dark hair and this nervous look on her face. I always look at the face first – I believe the eyes are the gateway to the soul. If you can't read what's going on in a person's eyes, get the hell away as fast as possible. I had to stand still for a moment and catch my breath.

She was wearing this black dress...a sheath, really. The dress hung off of her upper arms, and it clung to her curves like it was painted on. It hung down to the tops of her knees (and what nice knees they were!), and she wore an anklet on her right leg. Her high heels were tied up her calves and she held a matching purse in finely manicured hands.

And her hair! I love hair. Her hair just hung! I'm sure that the golden streaks were natural – they had a similar sheen to my own hair – and the deep brown curls hung to her waist. The volume and body of her hair was just fantastic.

When you are worried about confronting someone, it is often best to leave them hanging for a moment, and that is what I did. I made the rounds and played with the staff. I knew them all except for this one girl, and I let her know she was welcome. Blushing girls are quite attractive.

I left Paige standing there for a few moments. She was nervous, more visibly nervous than I was. I didn't quite know what to do, so I left her hanging. Not the most gracious thing to do, but I'm insecure. By the time I made my way around to her, I knew what I was going to do.

Paige had a glazed look on her face as I circled around to look her in the eyes. "And I imagine that this enchanting creature is Miss d'Lephant."

"Yes sir," said Mr. Stefani, the owner of the restaurant. "She is the reporter from the newspaper." I knew that of course. I looked her in the eye and took a step backward, out of her comfort zone. I extended my hand to shake hers. She took my hand as I smiled and introduced myself.

"It is a pleasure, Miss d'Lephant. I am Kaiser Mattanthas."

"Kaiser?" It was the first word she'd spoken in my presence, and I hoped to Aphrodite that her voice was not as high as it sounded. I covered my mild disgust with a polite smile.

"A joke of my parents. They studied 19th Century German history," I said as I bowed my head and brought her fingers to my lips. I'd used this tactic a number of times over the years, and I always got favorable responses. Paige was no different. She brought her other hand to her lips as I gently caressed her knuckles with my lips, and a small gasp escaped her lips as I applied a little bit of tongue. Knuckle-kissing is an art, and I like to think of myself as a master. I effectively shut her up until we reached the table. This I was glad for because I was confused myself. She certainly didn't look like a reporter – she looked like she was out for a good time.

I'm certain that, at this point, I come across as a callus, deranged and thoroughly confused individual – Frankly, you wouldn't be too far off the mark. I'm male. We are not as stable as people like to think. Trust me.

The evening progressed in a pleasant manner. Paige, from the start, was very nervous, and I was having a great deal of fun irritating her. I have great respect for the media, but I am also wary of them. Anything you say or do can be used against you. I ordered for the pair of us – the chilled Buckingham fountain (a collection of oysters, shrimp, crab, mussels and tuna) as an appetizer, the rack of lamb for the lady and a massive twenty four ounce porterhouse with lobster bisque for myself. Suffice it to say, we were both pleasantly sated by the end of the evening. I felt slightly distended, but I have little trouble with that. I metabolize things rather quickly.

It goes without saying that her voice was anything but high – she had a pleasant alto voice with a phenomenal range.

I walked her out to her car after supper. I had been careful to let her know only the basics – what I'd done with my life, how I could afford a Rolls-Royce (a 2003 model, obviously used, but a Rolls nevertheless). We stood chatting at her vehicle for a time, the headlights from my following Rolls back-lighting us in the parkade.

"I had a good time, Paige," I said.

"Well Mr. Mattanthas, I would be lying if I said anything different. I think you learned more about me than I learned about you, but I don't think that should count against you."

I smiled. "I'm glad. If doing what I do best should count against me, I'd be a very unhappy man." Paige raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything.

I shifted and leaned backward against the low wall of the parkade. "This is going to sound a bit weird, Paige, but I need you to do something for me."

"What's that?"

I took the jewelry box from my pocket and opened it. "I need you to wear this. It has a tracking device and a small video camera in it. It projects the data to my security forces and, subsequently, to me."

She took the box and looked into it, gasping as she withdrew the necklace within. "Why?" she asked, holding it out to me. I took the fragile chain in my hands and looked at it.

"I'm a dangerous man to be around, Paige. You signed a paper before meeting me here, a waiver stating you knew the danger you were going into. You signed it, and I have the original," I said in response to her shocked look. "I'm hated by many paralegal organizations, and I'm being hunted by a conglomerate of weapons smugglers...and universities who believe I'm infringing on their profits. Frankly, you have no choice but to wear this – if you are being followed by anyone, I'll know, and I'll be able to take measures to protect you. It's not foolproof, but it's the best chance you've got."

I took the links in my hands and unfastened the clips. I stepped forward and slid my hands under Paige's hair, fastening the necklace around her slender neck. I stepped back and looked at it.

Now, I had the opportunity to watch the movie called The English Patient when I was young – I think I was eight – and I think I've liked necks ever since. Each link was made of damascus steel (a high-quality tool steel with a pattern formed from differing hardnesses of steel), and a titanium and platinum valentine hung from the apex. A clear diamond (really the lens of a miniature video camera) sparkled from between her collar bones. A thin ring of gold was wrapped around the circle that the valentine was suspended in. The necklace, one of my design, did nothing but accentuate her beauty.

"Oh my God!" she whispered. I nodded.

"Check it Gerry," I said. The doorman stepped out of my car (Paige looked surprised, she obviously thought it was the valet) and triggered a PDA.

"Up and working boss. View's not bad, though you might want to suggest to the lady that she tip the camera back to level!" I snorted as Paige blushed and pressed the back of the pendant against her skin.

"Good night, Miss d'Lephant. I hope you will be able to write a good story!"

I slipped into the driver's seat of my car and Gerry and I drove off.

I wondered if I'd ever see her again. For her sake, I hoped not.