Class A Felony

By Deena Lee Davis

Chloe did her job and left promptly at five Monday through Friday and was thankful for a career that didn't encompass her whole life. One day, while sitting at the break room table waiting for her turn at the copy machine, she fell in a trance staring at the beautiful blue eyes of Travis Trammel as he leaned on the copier. He was being paid to watch one piece of paper after another spit out of that machine, and Chloe was being paid to watch him. She can't explain what made him so irrestible. She also couldn't explain the poor choices she'd made because of him that started at that moment in that room on that fateful day.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deena Lee Davis
• Release date: Sep 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393527039

Deena Lee Davis

Deena Lee Davis graduated from Indiana University with a bachelors degree in English. Class A Felony is her first novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Iminded my business at work.  I did my job and left promptly at five Monday through Friday and was thankful for a career that didn’t encompass my whole life. Then, one day, while sitting at the break room table waiting for my turn at the copy machine, I fell in a trance staring at the beautiful blue eyes of Travis Trammel as he leaned on the copier.  He was being paid to watch one piece of paper after another spit out of that machine. I was being paid to watch him. I can’t explain what made him so irresistible. I can’t explain the poor choices I’d made because of him that started at that moment in that room on that fateful day.

His body remained in that retail mannequin come buy what’s on me pose as his head turned slightly toward me. He took notice and he grinned.  I couldn’t breathe and he knew it.  It wasn’t the color of his eyes that put me in the trance.  It was the whites of his eyes.  How could eyes be so incredibly white?  We work at computers, in offices, stare at copy machines, drink coffee, and then go home and celebrate our evenings with three glasses of wine.  We get up the next day and do it all again.  The strain of such occupations takes their toll on people like us, but not Travis.  Oh, he was special indeed.

Travis worked in a different department, yet on the same floor.  This made dating doable.  Yes, my mind was wandering.  Within the two minutes it took for the copy machine to complete its task, I was married.  My name was Chloe Trammel.  I lived in a three-bedroom house, had rows of knock-out roses in the garden, and made love to my husband every night.  We had no children and no pets.  He was mine all mine.  All my problems were solved, and I lived in heaven on earth.

Yo. Chloe, Travis said as he snapped his fingers at me, pulling me out of my trance.  Do you want to go to lunch?

Uh, I replied, leaving my mouth slightly drawn, hoping I wouldn’t drool.  Sometimes that happens.  I drool so much when I sleep that I worry that someday the drool issue will rear its ugly head while in the company of others.  My face is chapped with a faint pink hue at the sides my mouth. 

Chloe? he said, looking at me.  Just looking.

As he turned his full face toward me, I swooned at the sight of his cheeks, his chin, and all body parts exposed. The texture and color of his skin was full fat half-and-half, all creamy and smooth.  No one nearing middle age could have skin so pure.  I became addicted to his skin and I belonged to Travis Trammel.

Yes, okay, I can do lunch.  Lunch is good, stopping myself before I started to sound like a Dr. Seuss book, I can lunch in a can.  I can lunch with a man.  On a boat, far remote.  Refraining from babble, I then just sat and smiled up at him.

Super.  Meet me on the second floor of the parking garage, over by the trash can.  Noon.  See you then, Chloe.

He darted out and I was left to sit there and be amazed at how my life changed in an instant.  I wondered if I would have noticed Travis if my coworker Monica hadn’t sparked my thoughts a few days before when she casually remarked, That hotty Travis is too beautiful to be working here. 

She was right.  Seeing that man walk down the hall was like watching Rob Lowe sauntering with a clip board at a cake decorating contest. If she hadn’t have said anything, would I have kept my head in my hands while Travis’s copy job spewed forth its product, and never noticed that beautiful man?  I wondered if that’s how fate works.  I wondered if there was such a thing as fate.  It was 10:30. I copied two pages, single-sided, against the rules of only double-sided copies, went back to my office, and pontificated on the power of suggestion, fate, coincidence, and life in general. 

Trenton University paid me to contemplate for precisely one hour and forty-five minutes.  I watched the second hand slowly make its way around the circle on my cheap, yet surprisingly attractive, clock on the wall. I tapped my finger along with the tick tick tick of the second hand and left my office at precisely 11:45 a.m.  The parking garage was directly across the street, but I didn’t want to be late and I didn’t want an awkward moment should we have gotten on the elevator at the same time.  I was to meet him at the second-floor trash can, not the elevator.  I didn’t want to mess this up.  I stood next to the smelly receptacle and tried to appear nonchalant as my coworkers passed by.  I gave a casual nod and a hello.  I knew they wondered why I was lingering near trash.  I didn’t care. 

He arrived at precisely 12:10. Again, I had been watching the time.  Watching, waiting, anticipating.  I couldn’t believe I was going to lunch with a man so gorgeous, he didn’t seem real.  He nodded for me to follow and follow I did, like a fluffy little goose waddling behind her mama to a retention pond. 

Travis led me to a shiny gray two-seater Audi.  I had no clue how a university administrative employee who taught professors how to teach could possibly afford such a swanky car. That car was as sexy as Travis. He noticed me admiring its sleek sides that curved at the waist like Barbie. 

I hand-wax each Audi ring every Sunday, he said, Okay.  Get in.  I’m in a hurry.

He hopped in his side and I opened my door while he tapped his hands on the steering wheel. I would like to say the tapping was the moment my head trumped my heart, but I was oblivious to his rude behavior. Instead, I noticed his manicured nails.  I was sitting in Travis Trammel’s gun metal gray Audi with rings that sparkle.  Life was good.  It was spring, the time for new beginnings.  He opened the sunroof, and the fresh warm air of the parking garage filled the vehicle.  Yes, this was heaven on earth.  I was sure of it.

He didn’t ask where I wanted to go.  He knew Bistro 101, a French café, would be the perfect place for a first date.  As soon as we walked in, the hostess greeted him by name and made no notice of my existence. A few heads turned to notice our entrance. Travis’s grin spoke volumes. I couldn’t help but feel we were being seen to be seen.  He liked this.  He liked the attention. 

His cocky confidence defied all the social norms of our community.  In this town, you are nothing if you aren’t a full professor with tenure.  He was a lowly master’s degree in higher education who taught professors how to teach, professors who didn’t want to teach. Research and publication were honored with tenure, which was equal to being God. Tenure meant a professor could do as he pleased and never get fired.  I envied Travis’ confidence and wanted a piece of the magic he owned.

He grabbed my hand, and we followed the cute young hostess to a table for four in the middle of the restaurant.  The electricity transferring from his palm into mine caused my heart to pound. I prayed my palms wouldn’t sweat. Two hours ago, I sat in a copy room, minding my business, waiting for my turn. Now, here I was in an almost pretentious café in a small town of a big college in the middle of the corn fields in Indiana.  At that moment, I made the conscious decision to stop analyzing and start enjoying.  Life is short. 

They have the best lunch menu in town, don’t you agree? he asked as he perused the list of $10.00 specials.

Oh yes, I replied, running my slightly shaking finger down the list.  Oh yes (yes yes) was the only reply I could muster as he looked up and smiled with teeth whiter than the whites of his eyes, straighter than my dad’s false versions of the real thing.

Lemonade for me, he said to the waiter who’d magically appeared, and you, Chloe...CHLOE, what do you want to drink?

Water, please.  Yes, water with no lemon will be just fine for me. 

Mr. Waiter said nothing.  He gave a slight nod and disappeared again.  He, too, was trying to be pretentious and doing a stunningly good job, despite the fact he was probably a sophomore engineering major working his way through life just like the rest of us.

I wondered if we were all pretending as I glanced around the room.  I recognized the provost dining with three others, all prim and proper donning classy suits that must have been purchased in Indianapolis.  Sitting by the front window were two older ladies sporting lovely hats...hats!  They were indeed splendid, classy hats that matched their dresses and shoes.  Who wears hats?  Do they wear hats in Chicago?  Did they realize they look ridiculous? Did they care? Why was I envious?  Did they get all fussed up just for lunch?  Were they going to go home and watch Dr. Phil, still wearing those classy hats?  Who were they trying to impress?

Hey Chloe, Travis said, again bringing my attention back to him. Take a sip of my lemonade.  At some point our future engineer had placed the drinks on our table.  I hadn’t noticed. 

I’m fine with water, but thanks, I said with a smile.

No, please, take a drink, he said leaning forward, closing in, and press those lips on the rim.  Lipstick on my rim turns me on. My God your lips are beautiful.

I sat there, disappointed, wondering what he wanted from me, wondering if he was joking.  He held out his glass, took my hand, placed it around the goblet, and lifted it to my lips as a priest lifts the cup.  As I sipped, he stared, pursing his lips together to direct me as to his desires.  The whole sucking ordeal took place in about five seconds but seemed like slow motion with the sound turned down low.  I did it.  I left those nasty lipstick marks on this glass.  He sat back, relaxed, and smiled.

The slinky waiter interrupted our moment and Travis took it upon himself to order for the both of us.  We’ll share the soup and salad.  You can place the salad with me and ensure there’s no dressing.  She’ll have the cream of broccoli soup.  We really aren’t that hungry.

Oh yes, I was hungry.  Surely this roller coaster descending into dating hell was about to turn a corner.  It seemed the motion downward was speeding faster and faster into an abyss.  Strangely, I was still attracted to this rude rude man.  He was so damn good looking.  His speech was like the sandman softly singing sweet nothings in my ear.  How could I still be in a trance? 

I want to have sex with you Chloe.

Hearing such blunt words woke me up, like being raised to attention when a fifth grader runs his fingers along a chalkboard.  Of course, I wanted to have sex with him, too.  Who wouldn’t? I hadn’t had sex in several years. I was needy in a multitude of ways.  I’d thought about it the moment Monica called to my attention the fine attributes of Travis Trammel.  I’m lonely.  I’m chalk full of desires, particularly now, but I’m no whore.  I’m also shocked and disappointed.  I had no intention of fulfilling his carnal desires outside of a committed relationship and knew it was time to move on my merry way.  He could hire someone if that’s all he wanted.  I looked at my dress.  Was cleavage showing?  Was it too tight?  Did I send signals that I’m just some easy bitch eager to give it away?  Should I wear a turtleneck tomorrow that wasn’t too tight despite the fact it’s spring and the average temperature is 70 degrees? 

CHLOE.  His voice showed his frustration, but his perfect smiling face still resonated to those around us to give the impression we were two somewhat young people enjoying a leisurely lunch.

How should I reply?  I had to return to work in the same office and share the same copy machine with this Greek god who has only one thing on his mind. I was on an emotional roller coaster and I had no idea even existed a few hours ago.

My mind raced, trying to conjure the perfect response.  I pictured myself cherishing my virtuosity, rising like a Victorian virgin, snooting my nose in the air, and haughtily exiting the scene.  Such a tactic was problematic, though, given that he drove, and we were returning to the same building, same floor, same coffee pot.  I learned several years ago that one should never burn bridges in a small town.  You may need this person to change your tire some day.

With my lips turned down, showing all the disappointment that was within me, I looked at him and tilted my head.

What?  He asked, still clueless.

The waiter politely placed the small cup of soup in front of me and the chintzy plate of iceberg lettuce embellished with a few shaved carrots in front of Travis. 

I had to speak.  I’m a good girl, Travis.

The soup rescued me from further conversation.  I looked down at my broccoli swimming in cheese and grabbed my spoon.  Still conscious of my surroundings and yearning to be the perfect lady, I dipped my spoon down and out toward him and wiped my napkin at the corners of my lips. 

I could see him from the corner of my eye as I pretended to be intently focused on my soup. He wasn’t eating his leafy wedge. His hands were in his lap, his spine erect.  So, are you frigid?  Do you have issues?  You can talk to me Chloe.

Frigid. Such a cold, hard word.

I slapped my spoon on the white tablecloth and looked straight at him.  There was no fake smile from me.  I was all Chloe, all real.  While I didn’t want to indulge him by defending myself, I just couldn’t stop the words from flowing. 

No, Travis, I said with a hard T that emitted just a bit of spit, I am not frigid.  I was hoping to enjoy a nice break by having lunch with you. I do not provide free sex for a bowl of soup. Please pay the bill and drive me back to the office.

I’m sorry, Chloe. He opened his wallet, thumbed through several hundred-dollar bills, found a twenty, and laid it on the dirty white tablecloth.  Ever the gentleman, he stood, walked slowly around to my chair, waited for me to begin to rise, and pulled it from me.  Hand-in-hand, we walked slowly to his car.  He drove through town at a snail’s pace, playing a slow lament from a YoYo Ma CD, oh so dramatic.  We didn’t speak.  He just drove. 

The parking garage was nearly full, so we rounded each level, more slowly than necessary, until he found an empty spot near the top.  As I sighed, he leaned over and kissed me.  He kissed me on the lips, gently, without greed or lust.  Just gently.  And he said, You’re a mystery Miss Chloe.  Please let me see you again.  I’m not a bad guy. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry.  I didn’t notice when he’d slid his hand on my thigh. 

As I glanced down at that manicured hand, he calmly drew it back and pulled out his cell phone.  Okay, what’s your number?  I’ll text you.

555-3074, I said, with my head hung down, as if I was having an out of body experience, watching myself make a huge mistake. 

He lifted my chin with his fingers and brought his lips so close to my ear, I could feel heat from his breath transfer to my cheeks as he said, You seem so sad.  So beautiful, yet so sad.  Don’t be sad, Chloe.

He hopped out of the car, dashed around to my side, and opened my door before I had a chance to touch the handle.  He swayed his free arm wide as if opening the doors for me to a castle.  No hands were held this time as we both walked back to the same floor in the same building to different jobs and different lives.

I returned to my office, sat at my desk, and immersed myself in my work, trying fervently to take my mind off the multiple mistakes I’d made in the last hour, the most notable being giving my phone number to a man who clearly wanted one thing.  I worked at a research university.  Surely there was an expert who could justify my actions through proven data, confirming that chemistry trumps logic in every instance. 

What if he called?  What if he didn’t?  Why would he ask for my phone number after all that had transpired?  Didn’t he realize I was angry?  Did he care?  Could it be he was really an individual who just merely needed that one woman he could bare his sole to, but hid behind the guise of lust?  Was I living a pipe dream?  I returned to my office, closed my door, and unsuccessfully attempted to bury my troubles in my work.  I failed at that as well.

Concentration on contracts was an impossible task, however, I’ve negotiated research contracts long enough that I was confident I could produce at least a few mundane tasks and not be called out for slacking the day away.  I knew a few tricks to keep the complainers at bay and keeping up with emails was one of them.  After about five minutes of reviewing and responding, reviewing and responding, I should have known Monica would be barging in without knocking, sitting across from me, eager to know every detail.

Well, Chloe, dish it out.  How was lunch with Mr. Hottie?  Was he as charming as I could imagine?  Quiet, yet distinguished?  Please don’t hold back.  Tell me every detail.  I simply have to know, Chloe.

Who told you I had lunch with him? I asked, knowing full well the gossip train would leave the station the moment I got in the car with him.

Carla saw you getting in the car with him.  How does he afford an Audi anyway?  I looked up his salary in the database and he only makes $60,000 a year.  This makes no sense.  Did you ask him how he paid for it? Maybe he’s leasing.  People do that, you know.  They put down a couple of thousand and lease to impress.  He’s so irresistible, though, he wouldn’t need to do such a thing.  He could drive a used Impala and women would still want him. Don’t you agree?  Did you ask him, Chloe?  I’m so curious. 

No, I can’t say we discussed his financial situation or how he came to afford a luxury vehicle. I responded, remembering those hundred-dollar bills in his wallet. I turned my attention to my computer, back at my emails, hoping she would just leave.  She didn’t.

Hmmm.  We were all wondering, Monica continued. That takes a lot of confidence.  Those professors, even the new ones, are full of ego. I’ve been tempted to peek in when he gives a presentation – check out his style.  Maybe he’s one of those introverts who are terrible at casual conversation, but then shine when given the chance to show their stuff in front of a crowd." Monica rambled on and on, imagining him this way and that.  I wasn’t about to burst her bubble and spread around the dirty dish that all he wanted was one thing. 

"The hour went so fast, there’s not much