Hat Trick Read online

  Cuddlesack Queens

  A Hat Trick

  Morris Fenris

  Cuddlesack Queens: A Hat Trick

  Copyright 2016 Morris Fenris, Changing Culture Publications

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Bonus Stories

  Thank You

  Prologue

  Ten years earlier

  The bullet went zinging straight across the room, from doorway to vine-shaded window, which shattered upon impact. As it zinged, it passed through the bodies of three Harvey Benton College students, an economics professor, and a pendant lamp. Oddly enough, there was no blood. Only a long deep sigh, like the passing of a summer breeze.

  Someone’s heavy book slipped off his desk onto the floor, with a crash.

  Jefferson Quinley shook himself out of a boredom-induced stupor and back to full consciousness. No, that scenario wouldn’t work at all. Needed to change characters, or setting. Or ditch the whole fantasy and wake up.

  Whatever had possessed him to sign on for this class? Campus buzz complained about how the teachings of Elroy Hawkins notoriously put his undergrads to sleep. Stifling a yawn, Jeff glanced around the cramped overheated room, with too small a quota even to rate one of the bigger auditoriums. Two guys far to the right were staring dazedly off into space; another to his left, slumped far down on his spine, was actually nodding off.

  It didn’t matter to Professor Hawkins. He droned on. And on. Bumblebees collecting pollen in today’s September sunshine couldn’t have done better.

  Only three females had elected to set foot in this class. Two were decently attractive but were, he’d noticed, already attached at the hip to a couple of fellow academics. The third was barely worth his while. Slouchy, cheap clothes; schlumpy figure; unfashionable glasses on top of a sizable nose; long, sort of reddish hair braided like a milkmaid’s. Not much to look at there.

  Jeff, yawning in earnest, wondered if there’d be any point in moving in on her. Might as well add another notch to his belt. He’d already nailed a conspicuous number of co-eds, as it was, over the past three years. And, given the way she looked, she’d put out all over the place in sheer gratitude for the attentions of a sexy player like yours truly. Besides, a conquest would be something else to brag about to his crew of hangers-on. As if he needed anything to brag about.

  Huh. She seemed to be pretty pathetic. But plain girls were always much more appreciative of a little consideration, and it wasn’t so important how they looked above the neck if all the parts down below were working as they should. Plus, he was at loose ends right now, anyhow.

  “A question, Mr. Quinley?”

  Oh, bunkum. Unconsciously he’d stretched one arm overhead, as if calling for attention. “Uh—no, Professor. Sorry.”

  The ring of the bell brought an audible sigh as students, released from their seats like sled dogs released from harness, gathered their books, laptops, and miscellaneous belongings to herd noisily out into the hall. Anyone not tall enough to claim space might have been trampled in the rush.

  “Hey! Hey, you—uh, Miss, wait up a sec, will you?”

  She was a fast one, this girl he was claiming as his temporary target. Put her head down and barreled on through the crowd like a linebacker. But his voice, and the tap of a stretched-out arm in her direction, stopped her cold. Astonished, she backed up against the paneled wall, pushed her sliding glasses into place, and waited for him to approach.

  “Who, me?”

  “Well, yeah, you.” He gave her the slow, smoldering smile that never failed to elicit a response. Too bad no mirror was handy; Jeff knew he was always at his best during the initial stages of pursuit: biscuit-brown hair artfully tousled, blue eyes alert and attentive, tall athletic body with its work-out muscles the envy of males and females alike. “I’m sorry, I missed seeing you before, and I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Oh. Um. Well.” She seemed to have shrunk a couple more inches in height, if that were possible, and her gaze was fastened on her feet. “Yes, I—um—just transferred in.”

  “Yeah? Where from?”

  He had braced one hand on the wall behind her and eased in a step closer, which seemed to be causing her some distress. Her breathing had quickened, her complexion had flushed a little, and her myopic gaze slid up to his face and back down again. “Um—from New Hampshire…we just moved here, and I’ve been trying to—listen, I have to go. I mean, I really need to get going, because—”

  “Oh, too bad. I’m done with classes for the day, so I thought I’d see if you wanted to go grab something to eat. Jeff Quinley, by the way.” His left hand remained where it was; his right hand reached for a quick shake, which meant he could move closer still. Not pushy. Not aggressive. Just available.

  “Um—Olivia. Olivia Bower.” She ducked her head, and the untidy braid swung over one shoulder. “No, I can’t, I’m sorry. But thank you, anyway.”

  “Well, Olivia Bower, it’s nice to meet you. Guess I’ll be seeing you in class, then. Twice a week, right? Maybe next time you won’t be so busy, and we can get to know each other better.”

  She was like a little brown rabbit, frantic to escape. “Maybe.” And she hastened away.

  Jeff stood watching her bob and weave through the thinning crowd toward a doorway. An odd duck. Which might make his plans more challenging. Oh, well. What else did he have on his plate right now? Just studying, to get his degree, go on to graduate school, and make a fortune on Wall Street.

  It was another week before he saw her again. His behavior must have scared her away, because she didn’t show up for the next class. And he missed the one after that, because he had better things to do at the time. Namely, taking to bed one of the more popular girls from Advanced English Literature.

  But there he was, in early October, when maple and oak leaves were turning to burnished gold around this north Chicago suburb, sitting so directly behind her in that same stuffy classroom as to definitely cause unease. Oh, Jeff wasn’t crass or juvenile enough that he would poke her in the shoulder with his pen, to gain attention, or tug on the slightly frowzy braid that switched from side to side with every turn of her head. But he could read decided discomfort in her stiffened posture and refusal to acknowledge his presence.

  The professor had posted a few charts and graphs for a PPT lecture that was no more exciting than his usual nasalized speeches. Jeff suffered through the worst of it, yawning and mentally complaining about his lack of foresight. Instead he daydreamed about the luscious Lana, and what they had done for and to each other, until the crotch of his jeans began to feel inordinately tight.

  Which primed his physical state to casually accost the unluscious Olivia once more, halfway down the hall once their torturous hour was finished.

  “Hey, Liv. Are you rushing off somewhere again?”

  “Actually—um—yes, I am.” Apparently she had gained some courage from somewhere, for she bravely met his gaze without even a tremble.

  “Oh, yeah?” He flashed his dimples—not enough to set her heart thumping madly, just a small sample to keep her interested—along with the patented blue-eyed twinkl
e. “Got a hot date?”

  Color rushed into her sallow cheeks. “Not in the way you mean. I have a job.”

  A football player the size of Yankee Stadium squeezed through a nearby door and began huffing and puffing his way toward them. Courteously but quickly, Jeff drew Olivia out of the way of collision and then waited until the Colossus was safely past.

  “Job, huh? Well, far be it from me to keep you. Is it something you like doing?”

  Her face suddenly lit up, as if a candle had been set aflame somewhere inside, making her for a moment almost attractive. “I’ll say. I volunteer two days a week at Arnold Animal Shelter.”

  His hand on her elbow urged her forward, toward the door and a cooling autumn day. “An animal shelter? What d’you do there?”

  “Whatever needs to be done. Walk the dogs, write up intakes and adoptions, general cleaning, ordering supplies—you name it. They always need help, so I do what I can.”

  “Huh. Sounds like a worthwhile cause.” Jeff wouldn’t know, since he had never donated free time to any cause of any kind, anywhere. As for animals, he could take them or leave them. The only animal he felt totally concerned with was the one he saw in the mirror every day: his own beautiful self. “And you just moving into town, besides. I’m still trying to get you to join me for coffee sometime, Miss Do-Gooder Bower, to find out more about you.”

  Olivia stopped dead to peer up at him; the jade-green eyes behind the tortoiseshell glasses gleamed with sudden sharp intelligence. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to find out more about me?”

  “Well. Uh.” Never having been asked so direct a question before by his admiring fans, Jeff, who was no slouch either in the intelligence department, now fumbled for an answer. “Well. You’re new to the area. And the school.”

  “I am.”

  “And—uh…well. Just thought maybe we could—uh—be friends.”

  “Friends.” She repeated the word in a skeptical tone. “Sure.”

  Jeff was suddenly taken by the disturbing notion that that cool, penetrating stare saw right through him, past all the subterfuge, deep into the heart of where he actually lived. “Why not friends?” he decided to challenge her.

  Looking him up and down, as if the answer should be obvious, she then shrugged. “Because you’re BMOC, and I’m—well, I’m who you see here. But have it your way. I have to go now.”

  And once again she scurried away, leaving a disgruntled Jeff in possession of the corridor.

  At least she seemed to be coming out of her shell. He was beginning to wonder if that was a good or a bad thing.

  Another two weeks of cajolery and tongue-in-cheek flattery passed before he could convince her to at least meet with him in the student cafeteria for a Coke. Although she did inform him, in no uncertain terms, that she didn’t drink the stuff because it corroded the innards.

  “What, then?” Jeff asked without the slightest hint of impatience.

  “Hot tea. And honey with lemon.” Smiling, she pushed her glasses back in place and plunked herself and her battered laptop at a chosen table.

  Sighing, he shambled off in his athletic, loose-limbed gait. It was getting to the point where the game wasn’t worth the work involved. At this rate, he’d never get this wallflower into bed, and he might as well go back to Lana, if she were still available. Still, there was something about that smile…

  “You were going to tell me all about your background,” he finally said, once settled.

  Those amazing green eyes met his over the rim of her cup. “Was I?”

  Good to see that she had found some backbone somewhere, after their first encounter had left her shaking with anxiety. “Yup.” In pure defiance of her own stance, he popped open a can of Coke and slugged down a healthy portion. “You said you’d just moved here from New Hampshire.”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  He waited a decent amount of time before prodding. “Look, Liv, if you wanna play some kinda game here, fine and dandy. I’m the wrong guy for that.”

  “Oh, you don’t play games?”

  Damn. Better backpedal, and make it fast. “Only with the right girl,” he told her, in that warm syrupy tone that most of his dates found exciting. Hoping to clinch the deal, he reached across the small table to lace his fingers through hers. “Is it you?”

  “I don’t know, Jeff. I seriously doubt it.”

  There was just no dealing with this obstinate female. She seemed to actually take confidence in her lack of self-confidence! How off-whacked was that?

  “Well, let’s just say I’d like to try,” he concluded flatly.

  “Why?” She had tilted her head a little sideways, like a cockatoo, studying him as if he were some laboratory specimen to be checked for results of a test.

  “Why? Oh, hell, I dunno—for the experience, I guess! You can broaden my horizons.”

  “All right,” she finally acquiesced softly, with a sigh. Almost forlornly, as if she were surrendering some sort of battle.

  They arranged that he would pick her up at her dorm room Saturday evening for dinner and a movie. Something light, something fun, something that would leave dreary class work behind.

  Then she let down her defenses, just a little, to tell him about her family’s move from the northeast, after Martin Bower’s job transfer to midsize Fallkirk, Wisconsin, just over the border. And her own belated transfer to and enrollment in this small college. Not that she’d had to move halfway across the country with them, of course. But they were closely bonded, she and her parents and four younger siblings, and it seemed best that they all put down their new roots together.

  “Yeah?” Jeff, whose relationship with a neglectful father and a stepmother near to his own age could best be described as stormy, asked with some skepticism. “How’s that goin’?”

  “Fine. Sometimes I feel a little smothered—that’s why I insisted they left me live on-campus, and they’re an hour’s drive away from here, anyway. But they mean well.”

  In Jeff’s experience, parental involvement never meant well. “So what’s your major, and where are you going from here?”

  “I’m working toward my Bachelors in Fashion and Retail Management.”

  “Fashion?” Frowning in disbelief, he toyed with the pop top of his soda can so as not to meet her gaze straight on.

  Amazingly, she chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Me, right? Who’da thunk it? But it’s a good field, and it’s something I’m really interested in.”

  “Huh. Dunno as there’s much money available, is there?”

  “As long as there’s enough to make a living, that’s okay. I don’t expect to ever be a millionaire.”

  “Don’t you? I do.”

  Their Saturday night date, beginning with dinner at an upscale restaurant, continuing with the view of a current movie from new recliner seats, and ending with a chaste peck on the cheek at the door of her dorm room, went well enough that he was able to convince her to repeat the experience.

  Another time meant an evening at one of the local college watering holes; a time after that meant one rainy afternoon at the Milwaukee Art Museum; and yet one more time meant attendance at an actual live theatre performance. In between were stops at fast-food places or the library.

  He would reluctantly admit that, during their times together, he was coming to see her as a person rather than just a sex object: committed to her studies, caring and compassionate toward others, and quite admirable, personality-wise. Trouble was, he didn’t want Mother Teresa; he wanted somebody like Jennifer Anniston, of Friends fame, or that sexy, sultry Penelope Cruz. Shallow? Maybe. Probably. But it worked for him.

  It took him almost two months of determined effort before she finally gave it up. Mission accomplished; goal achieved.

  The following week, two days before Christmas, he dumped her.

  Just like the spider who devours its mate after procreating millions of little spiders, Jeff couldn’t help it. T
he thrill of the chase was gone, and he was ready to move on.

  Oh, the sex had been okay. Especially considering it was Olivia’s first time. She had showed an interest and an enthusiasm that was flattering, to say the least, and could no doubt be expanded upon. Still… All right, all right, so he was a shiftless no-good excuse for a man. A cur. A dog.

  Harvey Benton would be shutting down for the holiday. His going home from then until late January would give her the chance to get over him. And then, once back at classes, he could start fresh, with a new romance.

  Everything would work out perfectly.

  Chapter One

  Today

  “Jeff, Mr. Kingston is on Line One for you,” Patty’s crisp voice came through the intercom from her office halfway down the hall. “Says it’s urgent.”

  “Urgent,” muttered Jeff, studying the computer monitor at his elbow. “With Kingston everything is always urgent.” Nevertheless, he clicked to a new screen, brought up his client’s financial page, then reached for the phone. “Phil,” he said into the receiver with false heartiness. “How’s it goin’, sir?”

  His answer was more growl than spoken word. As one of the firm’s long-term and most prestigious clients, Philip Kingston could call or nag or stop in as frequently as he wanted—and often did, unannounced. Since the responsibility for hand-holding his accounts had fallen into Jeff’s lap, by default when a senior partner had recently and unexpectedly passed on to his maker, the tension level in this corner of the Thomas Yates Investments building had shot up into the stratosphere.

  “No, Phil, my advice is the same as it was yesterday, and the day before. Don’t sell anything, don’t move anything. Just ride it out.” With a barely stifled sigh, Jeff rubbed at his forehead, where several vicious little imps with hammers were doing their best to create a migraine.

  The shock wave of the Great Recession had hit, destroyed a few million lives, badly hurt many million more—mainly senior citizens, on a fixed income—and rolled on, leaving desperation and desolation in its wake. The fat cats at the top, the big rollers, hardly felt the impact. Smaller investors, whose portfolios had been decimated over a period of months since the first crash, caused by Wall Street and banks too big to fail, were dazedly trying to cope. Many of them would never recover what had been lost.