Word Play(closed for Hannah18)

[adamzapple]

WORD PLAY

(closed for Hannah18)


"Let me ask you something, Hannah. Hypothetical sort of question. Man, woman, thrown together. Older man, younger woman. Do you think they could just be friends or is it inevitable in your opinion that sexual tensions would arise?"

Peter Torrey looked at his neice. Cute girl, but shy, he thought. She blushed and he smiled disarmingly. Probably shouldn't have asked her.
Peter was standing at his writing desk. Outside, mist shrouded the cliffs and concealed the ocean. He could hear the waves below the cliff-top house but couldn't see them.

"Scratch that question," he said, suddenly. He looked into her eyes. It was her big, dark eyes that got to him every time. Innocent, or not? It was hard to be sure.
"Forget it. I was thinking aloud. Story idea. But I don't know if I have the energy to write it."

It was almost three weeks since Hannah had come to live with him. The arrangement was working, mostly. They shared the cooking. She typed up his handwritten manuscripts, answered the telephone, took care of his correspondence. She also did a little housework. Sometimes when he was deep in his work he barely knew she was there.

Hannah possessed a certain, attractive, waif-like innocence, big eyes, long, dark, curly hair, slim figure - but not too slim - quiet, attentive, demeanour. But using her for a sounding board for his story ideas wasn't working out too well. Not yet, anyway. It wasn't that she was un-cooperative, it was just... Well, she hadn't really lived. Her life experience didn't appear to amount to very much of anything. Sweet, sweet girl, but...

Peter sighed, "Listen, give me another hour and I'll be through here. We'll have dinner, say, one o'clock? Whatever you want is fine with me. Then, if the mist lifts a little, perhaps we could take a little walk, get some fresh air?"

When he was alone again he sat down at his desk. The words on the page before him blurred and ran together. His mind was busy. It was always busy. What was he thinking asking her that question anyway, he wondered? Stupid, stupid, stupid...

Story idea, my ass, he reproached himself. Little Hannah is getting to you, Torrey, he told himself. Better be careful. Work, is what you need to do. Work and write and write well and don't even think about anything else.

It was good advice but an hour later when he went through to the dining room he still hadn't written a thing. He was slipping, his productivity was down, and he didn't like it. It made him uneasy. It made him restless.

 

[Hannah18]

It had been a whole three weeks since Hannah had come to live with her uncle, and surprisingly she was enjoying her time there, she had expected the situation to be quite awkward and uncomfortable, but for the most part it wasn't.

"Let me ask you something, Hannah. Hypothetical sort of question. Man, woman, thrown together. Older man, younger woman. Do you think they could just be friends or is it inevitable in your opinion that sexual tensions would arise?" Peter asks, his voice pulling her out of her thoughts and back into reality.

The heat rises slowly up her neck, creeping over her cheecks, turning them a soft pink colour "I erm... I" she stutters out lamely, unsure of how one should reply to a question like that; what did she know of sexual tension.. nothing, nothing at all.

To her great relief, he takes it back and she doesn't have to answer, still she shifts in her chair uncomfortably, just a few minutes ago, she had been fine in his presence; relaxed even. Now she was just on edge.

Thankfully a few minutes later he politely dismisses her, she stands slowly, smoothing out the wrinkled fabric of her dress; it was a summer dress and while she admitted it wasn't exactly warm outside.. it was in here, besides she had always been a 'girly-girl' loving to wear dresses and other cute outfits; she was very modest about her clothing though. "Sure that would be great, I'll have dinner ready by then."

She walks to the door, opening it and glancing back over her shoulder at him, letting a small sigh escape her pouty lips, he was having trouble with his writing, he hadn't told her directly, but it was something she picked up on, and the fact that he was asking for her opinion on such matters? Well that just made it all the more obvious.

Stepping out, she let's the door close with a soft 'thud' from behind her and makes her way into the kitchen. It was lucky really that Hannah's mother had taught her how to cook from a young age as now it was really coming in handy, and her uncle seemed to be pleased with the results as well.

Rifling through the cupboards as she looks for something quick and easy to cook, but comes up with nothing, the fridge was looking surprisingly bare, she would have too mention that to her uncle later.

Finally settling on a simple meal of spaghetti and sauce, she gets cooking.

Forty five minutes later, she has everything ready, the food is in the oven keeping warm, the table has been set and she has cleaned up all the pots and pans.

She glances up at the clock, waiting for time to pass, one thing she learnt about her uncle is that he is always precise.. so if he said an hour he meant an hour. With just five minutes to go she takes the food from the cupboard, carrying it into the dining room and placing it on the table, sitting down and waiting for him.

As soon as he enters she smiles. "I made spaghetti, I hope thats okay" she informs him, pouring him a drink into a glass, before placing the bottle back on the table.

"Did you get any work done" she asks him quietly, chewing on her lower lip nervously, she had been unsure whether to ask him as It was probably a delicate subject, but there was no taking it back now. She hoped he had.

 

[adamzapple]

By the time the meal was over the sun had burned away most of the mist. The air was surprisingly warm as Peter walked beside Hannah along the deserted cliff top path. Gulls wheeled overhead. They were never far away from the sound of the waves pounding the rocks below.

"People should walk more," he said. "It's healthy. Fresh air, exercise..." He paused thoughtfully. One of the things he liked about living there was the peace and quiet, the isolation. "I mean, as long as they walk somewhere else," he amended. "I'd hate to see crowds of tourists down here making the place untidy."

He glanced down at Hannah as she walked quietly beside him. The ocean breeze was blowing her hair back from her face. The combination of sun and wind had brought attractive colour to her cheeks. It was a good look for her. She looked fresh, he thought. Fresh and pure. Her lips were full, her complexion clear. The breeze blew her dress against her legs and he thought that was a good look too.

Recognising where such a train of thoughts might eventually lead he looked away as she started to glance at him. Leave her be, she's a nice girl, he told himself, but like a lot of things that was easier said than done.

He'd lied to her when she'd asked about his work. He didn't like to admit it but he was going through a dry patch. Whenever he tried to write he found his thoughts turning towards Hannah. Sometimes he could hear her moving quietly in different rooms of the house. He heard her talking on her cell phone. Opening doors, closing doors, climbing the stairs. He was starting to feel haunted by her demure presence. Haunted in a good way. Or was it a bad way? He wasn't even sure anymore.

Sure, the writing's going well, he'd said at dinner. But that was bullshit. Never better, he'd assured her. Bullshit again. Sometimes it was easier to lie. He made a living writing fiction, lying came easy to him. The truth was, the writing wasn't going anywhere. He had deadlines to meet. In a couple of days his agent would be telephoning...

"People don't realise how much work is involved in writing," he said suddenly. "Everybody wants to write, they think it's easy, but it isn't. It's work and it's hard. The longer you do it the harder it gets. It should be the other way around but it isn't."

He felt oddly irritable, angry with himself, annoyed by the situation he'd found himself in.
"Environment is important. For me, everything has to be just so. I can't write if there are too many distractions. If things aren't just the way I want them. If a writer can't control his own environment how can he expect to control the characters in his story? Do you know what I'm saying?"

They'd stopped walking. Hannah was looking up at him. She looked confused and uncertain but he couldn't help that, she was the cause of his problems, even if she didn't know it. He knew his attitude towards her was unreasonable but he had to do something. He had to find a way to get back to work.

"Listen, Hannah, you've been a big help to me since you've been here. I appreciate it, but until now I've just been letting things meander along at their own pace. That's not the way I usually do things. I like order. I like formality. Rules."

He looked down into her attractive, upturned face. She was frowning prettily. The wind played with her hair.
"From now on I'll want things done a certain way. I'll be making some rules, things I want you to do. I'm going to make some changes in the way we do things, do you understand? It's nothing bad, it's just I like to feel in control."

He smiled absently, thinking quickly, then shrugged. He had a feeling she would accept his rules. He was generally good at reading people. If she wouldn't, well, he'd figure something out when the time came.

"It'll be okay, you'll see," he assured her. "It has to be this way, you understand, don't you?"

 

[Hannah18]

She had been struggling to keep up with his large paces, she wasn't quite used to these walks yet, when Hannah had lived at home she would never dream of doing something like this, but with him it was strangely enjoyable. The feel of the wind on her skin, contrasting wildly with the warm sun that stops her from becoming too cold. Yes she could get used to life here.

The way he was talking.. well she knew that he was building up to something. Maybe she was the reason that he wasn't writing properly, maybe he was going to send her home? For some reason the very thought of that filled her with dread!

"I'm sorry that I have dissrupted your work" she tells him quietly and honestly, she hadn't meant to really, infact Hannah had been trying her very best to make things as easy as possible for him.. it was her way of repaying him for the oppurtunity he was giving her.

Thankfully it seems that she has just got the wrong end of the stick, he wasn't going to send her away.

She glances up at him, listening to his voice as he talks. She cannot help but take it the figure before her, his feautres only slightly aged. Yes he looks good for his age. As soon as the thought enters her mind, her cheeks turn a dark shade of red, but it was barley noticable as the wind was already doing a good job of adding colour to her cheeks, but still she could not think of him that way it wasn't right.

"Rules" she repeats, gulping as she wonders what that might involve, but of course she would do anything to help him in his writing. "Of course I understand" she admits weakly "but maybe you could tell me what they will be?" she questions, pushing for an answer... hopefully it would be nothing too extreme.

 

[adamzapple]

It was two days since Peter Torrey had instituted a set of rules for Hannah to observe. On Tuesday morning he sat at his writing desk looking out at the rain. The house was quiet, perfectly quiet, not a sound from anywhere. Even the ocean seemed quieter this morning. He felt the silence of the house about him. So far, so good, he thought. Hannah was observing his rules.

"In future I want you to walk barefoot around the house," he'd told her as they'd returned from their walk on the weekend. The sound of her footsteps, soft though they were, clicking on the floors, thumping gently on the stairs, had been a growing source of annoyance.

He'd forbidden her to use her cell phone before 6:00pm each evening. Was there anything more irritating than someone tap-tap-tapping out those inane text messages?

Internal doors were to be closed without a sound. No rattling of pots or clattering of china when she prepared meals. She wasn't to come into his office unless she was called.

"I don't want to see you unless I call for you. I don't want to be interrupted unless it's a matter of extreme urgency. If there are any calls or correspondence, deal with them yourself, that's what I pay you for..."

Now, sitting at his desk two days later, he remembered his final rule and smiled to himself. It was the one that had given him the most pleasure, probably because it involved his first move towards influencing Hannah's personal appearance. It was just a little thing but thinking about it now gave him a deep sense of pleasure.

"And also, from now on," he'd told her as they returned to the house, "I want you to wear your hair tied back."
He'd demonstrated, standing before her in the sunlit hallway with the front door still open. Smiling gently, he'd carefully gathered her long, thick, very dark hair, and slowly drawn it back from her face. They'd been standing close together.

"Tie it back here somewhere, okay? Like this?"
He hadn't given her a reason. She'd stood silent and motionless before him and she'd avoided his gaze. He'd held her hair a little longer than necessary, enjoying her closeness, enjoying the thick, luxuriant feel of her soft hair. Most of all, enjoying his sense of power over her.

Living with Hannah, with a young, innocent and unworldly woman like Hannah, he now mused, was a little like starting to write a new story. He was beginning to feel the same sense of excitement and anticipation that he felt when he approached a new work. Before you started you didn't know how the story would come out. You experimented with characters and situations. You directed and controlled them. You had them do things, think about things, put them into situations they might not normally think about or consider or ever face in real life.

He smiled again to himself but this time it wasn't a particularly warm smile. Putting aside his current inability to write, the future was starting to look very interesting. Perhaps he needed a change, some kind of distraction from his work?

He sat a little longer then turned his attention to the typed copy before him. Some of it was correspondence Hannah had typed for him the day before. There were two newspaper articles he planned to submit. A short story, not one of his best, but his agent could probably move it for him. One of Hannah's duties each day was to file his work and type any correspondence that required attention.

Torrey frowned as he skimmed the sheets of paper. There were some mistakes in Hannah's transcripts. Spelling mistakes, grammatical errors. He could have let them go, it wasn't really that important, but then an idea occurred to him. He was paying her, wasn't he? Why should he settle for inefficiency? Perhaps it was time to see how Hannah responded to a little criticism?

Rising smoothly from his desk he was careful to compose his features as he crossed his office and opened the door. He was starting to enjoy himself, starting to get a good feeling about taking further steps towards establishing the nature of their relationship. But it wouldn't do to let Hannah see that.

His face was stern and set as he called her sharply. Brisk and businesslike, he thought, that's the way.
"Hannah," he called. "Come to my office, please. Immediately. I need to talk to you."

He was sitting, waiting, at his desk when she cautiously entered his office.

 

[Hannah18]

If had been two whole day's since Hannah had been given the rules, and she still hadn't got used to them. Most of the rules made sense to her, for she knew that he couldn't work with her making noise and distracting him; and after all she didn't want to be the cause of his writers block. So she was trying as hard as she could; always taking extra care when getting out pots and pans to prepare dinner with and whenever she was walking past his office she would do it as quietly as possible. The only one she wasn't sticking to was his 'cell phone rule' but she only did it when she was upstairs and she was always quiet about it and so far it seemed that he wasn't any the wiser.

The one rule she didn't get was why she had to tie her back, it seemed strange to her, how could that be distracting to him? However he had given her no explanation and she had not thought to ask. She knew he must have a good reason behind the demand, so she followed.

"Hannah," he called. "Come to my office, please. Immediately. I need to talk to you."

Her eyes widen considerably, this was the first time in two days he had called her too his office and for some reason she was nervous. A thought suddenly crosses her mind; I must have done something wrong, he certainly doesn't sound happy!

Waisting no time, she slowly rises, pushing the chair back and walking briskly to his office. She knocks softly on the door, before opening it, her small face peering round the edge, catching a glimpse of him, his face set firmly, his eyes piercing as he watches her; no he doesn't look happy either!

She enters slowly, her eyes downcast as she prepares for what she is about to hear.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asks quietly, her voice trembling slightly, Hannah didn't like to make mistakes.

Her hand moves up to run through her hair; something that she did when she was stressed or nervous, only to meet air.. she groans, letting her hand fall back to her side.

"Because whatever it is, I can fix it. I swear" she says, knowing that she is rambling now, but somehow she didn't care.