Karen Saves The Universe: Part 1

Desperate aliens kidnap a Karen to save their world!

Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

On the starship Onan, the Priamites dubiously watched the screen display the creature. Dr. Fehr's algorithm had brought them trekking across the galaxy to a smallish, blue planet around an unimpressive star. While there was no denying the power emitted by the angry, festering organic matter before them, the thought of containing it and bringing it back to Priam was daunting. Still, the fate of their world hung upon the success of their mission.

"Do we have; uh; audio yet, Lieutenant Cavill?" Captain Hemsworth said, pausing briefly to joylessly ejaculate into his cumsuit, which quickly reclaimed the essence he emitted and channeled it into one of the suit's containment pouches to be resorbed as nourishment.

Ever since the people of Eros had unleashed their horrific weapon on them, the Priamites orgasmed almost constantly. The Eros Curse, which seemed like a gift at first, became a tool of enslavement and oppression as the great Priam civilization devolved into listless people who passed the time sitting and staring at nothing in particular. Even special holidays were simply spent gathered in each other’s' houses, grunting intermittently. The children of Priam, spared by the curse of Eros by living in growth pods, were never exposed to the disease or its effects until the seemingly arbitrary age of 18, so at least there was no trouble with the censors. The demands of orgasming so frequently took its toll on the Priamite's bodies. Dehydration, muscle spasms, and fatigue were common. The effects on the mind were worse. It wasn't until the invention of the cumsuit, which not only reclaimed the fluid loss and prevented dehydration, but also reduced arousing sensations until the wearer was nearly numb, that it was possible for them to journey out into the stars in search of a cure.

Guided by the ancient journals of the revered Dr. Fehr, the Priamites had come to a small planet where it was foretold that there was a force of great and terrible power. It was hoped that this force could be used to break free of the cruel Eros Curse, but time was running out. Even wearing the cumsuits, the crew of the Onan, who were the most stoic, intellectual and sexless men of Priam, felt themselves progressively weakening to the Curse. It was only a matter of time until they lost all sense of duty and simply went adrift through the universe.

"No audio yet, Captain. The resonant frequency is so shrill that if we don't modulate the pitch; uh;” Lieutenant Cavill replied, closing his eyes and shaking as he orgasmed, then collapsed and stared blankly at the control panels as he recovered.

Another crewman took over at the panel, "Captain, I can give you audio, but only for a short time. Even on their planet, they; they; oh; oh fuck;” the replacement said, stiffening as he spurted inside his suit, then shook his head to clear it and looked to their leader for orders. Captain Hemsworth braced himself in his chair and nodded for him to activate audio.

A horrendous braying screech filled the bridge, “ No Idea Why You People Can't Even Take An Order Right! I Ordered The Cobb Salad With Extra Avocado! I Don't Care If It's Not On There Or Not! Fix The Damn Menu! I Have Been Coming Here For Over 15 Years And I Know For A Fact That You People Had Cobb Salad On There Two Years Ago When You Were Called Baker's Pie;"

Another voice interjected, soft and conciliatory, "Oh, yes, ma'am; I see the confusion. The Baker's Pie that was here went out of business. This restaurant is Snooker's, now, so we don't have the same menu, but our club salad is very similar to;"

"Are You Actually Interrupting Me? Get. Me. A. Cobb. Salad. Extra Avocado! Do You Understand? Extra Avocado! Mucho Amortado! Comprendo Estupido?"

Even in that short interlude, most of the Onan's bridge crew had begun bleeding from their ears and collapsing onto the deck. Captain Hemsworth, a man of rare tolerance and stamina, struggled past their unconscious bodies to the control panel and lowered the volume until it was barely audible. "Computer, disburse caffeline into bridge life support systems, 15 parts per million," he mumbled, leaning on the control panel for support as the strong stimulant hissed into the room. He didn't like to use the drug, because the heightened energy it gave often led to periods of prolonged involuntary masturbation, but he couldn't afford to waste time for the crewmen to awaken naturally. Not when conditions were so dire on Priam.

Lieutenant Cavill groaned and rose weakly, climbing back into his console chair and checking the readings. "What happened, Captain? Our scans showed a primitive civilization on the planet without any meaningful defenses. What was that? Some kind of weapon?" he asked.

Captain Hemsworth did a double-take at the crewman in wonder, but he said nothing. All around him, he watched the rest of the crew slowly getting to their feet and going back to their positions. All the men were alert, aware, and focused on their duties. Several of them were talking to each other; in full uninterrupted sentences. No one drooled, no one's eyes rolled back; not one of them stared off into space, as if dully re-living the curse that had infected their brains. He, himself, had not even felt the urge to sexually relieve himself once, even with the high levels of caffeline in the air. Indeed, he had not felt anything below the waist; not since he heard that voice. He doubted whether he would have the urge to orgasm ever again. They had finally done it.

"That was no weapon, Cavill; it is what we came here to find. It's the cure that Dr. Fehr told us was here all along. Contact High Command and tell them; tell them we found it. Tell them we have found; The Karen.

The man-eating woman.

After straightening out the incompetent waiter on her order, Karen Carmichael excused herself from her prayer group's table and walked to the restrooms, incensed. What kind of man actually cries when taking an order for a salad? Probably gay; or whatever kids were calling themselves these days. Was there such a thing as "gay" anymore, when people "identified" themselves as whatever the hell occurred to them? What was the point of picking a sexuality when people didn't even have a species anymore?

Of course, Travis the Waiter had to play the victim about it, too, making the entire restaurant gawk over at their table like they were monsters. He probably knew they were a nice church group and went out of his way to make trouble. Sure, they all scream for "tolerance," but their types couldn't wait to attack nice people of faith like her who showed the world what it was to be decent and pure of heart. Well, he could just kiss his tip money goodbye! Tipping had gotten ridiculous anyway; a generation of whiny babies feeling entitled to extra money just for doing their jobs. ‘If ‘; they did their jobs. She couldn't even get a salad; and, by God, if the Manager didn't make things right, her Yelp review on this place would burn a hole through people's screens!

Karen pushed on the door to the restroom tightly clutching her can of pepper spray, because sexual predators were always trying to rape women like her in public restrooms, and she nearly screamed when the door opened. Wet paper towels were everywhere. The garbage bin was overflowing, and some slob had splashed water all over the sink area! Now, she'd have to make the Manager take care of this, too! More drama, when she just wanted to have a nice lunch with her friends. And, of course, the Manager would just try to ‘handle ‘; her; as if she was some unreasonable bitch just for wanting to use a facility that wasn't absolutely disgusting! Then looking near her, but not at her, the Manager would apologize in that fake-nice voice and offer to comp her meal; offering her even more of what was bad in the first place. Managers and their fake apologies. They weren't sorry. The soulless jerks never meant it. They just wanted her to go away; acting like she was a scamming thief instead of someone who just wanted to be treated decently.

She settled on the toilet and tried to calm herself. Lately, half the time she wanted to cry, or scream, or tear out her hair; but it wouldn't matter. Nothing would change. Everything changed around her, though. Menus; her children; hairstyles; prices; everything changed. It felt like everything had just left her behind. She looked everywhere for the things she used to love, but she couldn't find them anymore; and if she did find them, they weren't the same as they once were. Nothing made her feel her joy like she used to. That was it. Maybe she was done; that her turn at having any real joy was over. Now, the only time anyone tried to make her happy, or even looked at her, was when she screamed at them.

Karen opened her eyes to a rattling sound at the door of her long, handicapped-bathroom stall. "Occupied!" she called out. To her dismay, the dial holding the sliding bolt turned all by itself and the door unlocked. "Hey! Get out!" she yelled, grabbing her pepper spray and holding it in front of her while she tried to stand and pull up her yoga pants.

"Nice human; good human;” a vaguely disembodied male voice said as a dark, hooded figure in a bizarre form-fitting spacesuit stepped into her stall holding what looked like a staff with a flexible loop affixed to the end of it. It slowly stepped toward her, as cautiously as one might approach a spooked animal. "Human want a nice piece of kale? Yes you do! Yes you do! Who's a good human?" it asked, holding out a curly dark green leaf to her and shaking it temptingly.

"What the hell?" she yelled, fumbling with the pepper spray can and trying to figure out how to make it work, just as the loop at the end of the staff went down over her head and around her neck, cinching tight.

Karen choked, clutching at the loop with one hand, trying to loosen it so she could breathe, and with the other she emptied the can of pepper spray into the hooded face of her attacker. She struggled wildly, but the staff with the loop effectively controlled her and prevented her from landing any punches or kicks on her attacker. As darkness started creeping in on her vision, the last thing she saw was the figure deeply inhale the cloud of pepper spray and hold its breath, then say in a choked voice, "Ready for transport, sir; and man, they've got some good shit down here;”

The forgotten leaf of kale fell down next to where Karen's cheek was pressed against the filthy bathroom floor, and with what she feared was her dying breath she choked out, "I want; to see; the; Manager;”

Karen’s ne victim.

"I used kale, Sir. Worked like a charm. It's one of the most nutritionally dense materials on the planet, so naturally, it was irresistible," a larger Priamite said to Captain Hemsworth, as he stripped out of his protective suit in a small enclave, bathed in an undulating light.

Captain Hemsworth nodded. "Good work, Commander Momoa. Decontaminate for a full four cycles and I want protective measures in place for all personnel. God knows what this thing is capable of when it wakes."

Karen heard garbled voices nearby, but kept her eyes closed and tried to steady her breathing. What had happened? The air smelled odd; almost crackling with ozone and energy, like a storm coming. The ambient sounds of the room told her she was not in Snookers anymore. Probably human traffickers. She saw a whole show about it. The bastards kidnapped her and were going to sell her into sexual slavery; except that she wasn't a teenager. She was 51 years old. Nobody would pay for sex with her, much less risk a felony conviction for it. Any ransom demands sent to her husband were going to have disappointing results, as well. So, what was going on? Why was she here? The kids were in college and wouldn't even notice she was gone until Christmas came. Her friends; her passive-aggressive competitors, if she was being honest; they'd just assume she left in a huff and stiffed them on the lunch check. The cold, hard truth was: nobody cared about her anymore and she knew it. That meant, if she was going to get out of this, she would have to do it herself. Her cheek hurt where it had hit that disgusting bathroom floor and she reached her hand up to touch it. The voices yelped in alarm and Karen opened her eyes to see two figures backing away from the enclosure she was imprisoned in.

"Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my purse?" she yelled, pushing herself to her feet. She walked toward them, crossing her arms and glaring. "I want whoever is in charge over here right now! I mean it!" she yelled, pointing as she walked toward them. One of the figures screamed, clutched at his ears and doubled over, staggering around the room dramatically. The other, larger one she recognized from the restaurant bathroom was in some tanning-booth-looking-thing, half naked and gorgeous in a likely-sexual-predator kind of way. Rather than flailing around the room, he seemed to have gone into a catatonic trance. God, people were useless. "You! Himbo!" she shouted, pointing at him. "Where is my purse? Did you even think to get it when you kidnapped me, or am I going to miss my Ozempic shot? I hope to God you assholes have good lawyers!"

The beefy kidnapper in the tanning booth wobbled, then vomited loudly. Karen snorted as he slid down to the floor, unconscious. Pathetic. The smaller figure dove toward a panel on the wall next to her enclosure and pressed a few buttons and she heard the ambient noise of her room change, like it was encased, somehow.

"I've muted it. It's become even stronger than before;” Captain Hemsworth gasped, helping Commander Momoa to his feet again.

"How are we going to get it back to Priam? We could choke it out again every time it awakens; give the privilege out as a reward to the crew?" Commander Momoa suggested eagerly.

"No," Captain Hemsworth said, coming closer to the force field separating him from the angry Karen still yelling and pointing from inside the enclosure. "The cumulative effects of throttling it constantly might affect its functioning. We need The Karen at full power if we are to rescue Priam. We need to keep it conscious. We must feed it, provide it breathing gasses, and keep it clean; it appears to be constantly decaying. That reminds me ; cleaning duty goes to Ensign Holland. He's still on my shit list after the incident with the Zendayans."

"Aye, sir."

Captain Hemsworth cleared his throat and pressed another button on the side panel. "Hail Karen, bringer of blessed flaccidity, destroyer of abhorrent lust, and banisher of all erotic thought. We are men of the planet Priam. We mean you no harm. We come to you seeking aid, and we come in peace. Actually, until we found you, we would come almost constantly. It was disgusting. Everything was sticky. You see, our enemies from Eros sent us the most perfect pornographic images disguised in an innocent-looking email attachment. Once they were seen, they could not be unseen. They were burned into our brains, cursing us with perpetual arousal. The first wave of Priamites were taken by surprise once they activated the link. The next wave fell victim when the first wave posted the link on their social media because it was just so unbelievably; anyway, after the rest of our population fell out of curiosity or boredom, our civilization was nearly destroyed. We have been searching the stars for a cure, but to no avail. Then, just as all hope seemed lost, we found you; we heard your voice; and our loins finally withered. You are now a guest on my ship, The Onan, en route to my homeworld Priam. There, we will deliver your noxious, strident sounds to everyone, freeing them from their intransigent arousal. Then, after we are assured that all have been cured, we shall return you to your home."

At this, Karen made an unpleasant face and began breathing on the clear wall of her enclosure, fogging it. Then, she quickly wrote a short message. "What does it mean?" Commander Momoa said, squinting at the squiggling lines she had made.

At this, the computer made a chirp and began speaking, "The message, from the American dialect of the language English translates to: Why didn't you just make a recording?"

Captain Hemsworth's shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes with a sigh. Commander Momoa's eyes went wide and he clapped his hand over his face in exasperation. "Fuck;” Momoa said in realization. "A recording;”

"Dammit. We didn't have to take her at all, did we?" Captain Hemsworth groaned.

Karen glared at them and wrote another word on the wall. As certain as Captain Hemsworth was that he did not need or want the translation, the computer was already on the job. "'Dumbasses,'" the computer cheerfully intoned, "a colloquial phrase, plural of the insult 'dumbass,' meaning 'a foolish or stupid person.'"

"End translation. Yes, Karen, if we had thought to record your voice instead of kidnapping you, this might have been a much shorter story, and considerably less inconvenient, but as it is, we are closer to Priam than Earth at this point, and our course is set. We will bring you to Priam and then return you home. Perhaps kidnapping you was not the most well-considered solution, but I defy you to think clearly after constantly watching porn for eons and let me know if you do any better."

Karen’s new calling.

Great; as if getting old wasn't insult enough, I've actually become an intergalactic sexual repellent, Karen thought to herself as she paced around her cell. A lifetime of trying to do things right, and this is what it gets me. She wasn't so surprised that there were aliens in the universe, or that they had somehow weaponized porn, but that with all their advancements they were still so stupid!

Sighing, she closed her eyes and listened to the ambient sounds of her cell. Life had been so noisy, the last 30 years. Everyone needing her, pulling on her for one thing or another. No peace. Lately though, with the kids gone and Cal; otherwise occupied; life had gone silent. The silence that she had wished for held no peace when it finally came. It just reverberated with the memory of things that had left her behind, making her anxious to fill the emptiness with noise. Nothing came to lure her mind away from the silence, no pleasurable temptations; her duties were done and it felt wrong to do, or even think about, anything else. My god, she had been kidnapped, was flying through the galaxy, and was surrounded by beefcake aliens and she was still thinking about that stupid loose tile in the master bathroom; she needed to get it fixed before the house was sold.

A slight sound outside her cell drew her attention. "Who's there?" Karen asked, softly, opening her eyes.

A wide-eyed figure peered around the edge of her cell, moving with cautious curiosity. It seemed younger than the other ones. It moved with a sense of barely-restrained eagerness, adorable and earnest. It also held a curved sort of wand in its hand.

"Honey, if you're here to anally probe me, I'll pass. I already had a colonoscopy this year, I'll have them send you the records;” she murmured, not expecting an answer.

After a pause as the figure listened to the translation, its large eyes got even wider. "Is that how you poop?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, looking more closely at the young alien.

"I'm supposed to clean your cell when you poop; but you haven't pooped yet; wait, do colonoscopies make you poop?" it asked, scandalized.

Karen closed her eyes and shook her head, "No. Colonoscopies put a small camera up your ass so that we can pay a doctor to do what we were afraid aliens like you would do to us if we got drunk in cornfields too much. They don't make us poop. In fact; well, never mind;” she trailed off, embarrassed.

She still had vivid memories of her first colonoscopy earlier in the year, drinking gallons of preparatory laxatives, and the resulting quality time with her phone on the toilet. It was an odd experience; not awful, but not one that she could talk to anyone about. Her friends only talked about their kids and their successes, or whose husband cheated on them with some young thing, viciously salivating over their friends' misery with barely concealed glee. Forget about talking through her fears about it with Cal; that wasn't something he was interested in. Not anymore.

After the procedure, she had been scared and disoriented from the sedation. For whatever reason, Cal hadn't shown up to give her a ride home. The stupid clinic wouldn't let her leave until someone could drive her home and take care of her. She just sat there getting more and more anxious. Eventually, she called an Uber and begged Xabiib the driver to pretend to be her neighbor; or just someone who cared about her. She spent the ride home trying to say his name correctly while he chuckled and repeated it for her. It was so horrifyingly embarrassing. It's one thing to have no one care about you, but another thing to have the whole world know about it when you were helpless and confused.

Tears had rolled down her cheeks and she absently wiped them off with her hand. The young alien sat up and craned his head to look at the liquid on her hand. Karen snorted, "At ease, Holland. It's not poop. You're not getting anything out of me unless you have some heavy-duty magnesium supplements or yogurt."

Holland's eyes went wide, "Are humans telepathic???" he gasped. "How did you know my name? Wow, that's so cool! Do it again! What am I thinking about now?"

Karen suppressed a smile. Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingers to her temples and swayed from side to side, mysteriously. "I see something; something in the mist; something about; could it be; no, it makes no sense. Is it; a Zen; Zendayan? Does that make any sense to you?" she asked.

Holland dropped his curved instrument in shock. "Yes! Yes! We just met them! We negotiated with them for supplies! I was there to carry stuff and; and;” he paused, shrinking in on himself a bit. "They are so beautiful. The Zendayans? So beautiful; and super nice; and just; like wow; I was supposed to just stand there until they were done with the talking and bowing and stuff, but they were just like so beautiful."

"Well, what happened?" Karen asked.

"Captain introduced me and I bowed to them. I was feeling dizzy because, you know, their beautifulness just keeps radiating off them. Then; then; the most beautiful of them; she smiled." Holland stared at nothing, immersed in the memory, then wobbled, tipped over, and lay on the floor staring at the ceiling.

Karen bit her lips in amusement. "I see. What did you do then?"

"I; I; I started talking and then I just couldn't stop because I was just trying to say how beautiful she was and how it just made my mind explode when she smiled and then I might have peed on the floor."

"Oh dear," Karen said, cringing in sympathy. "We don't always put forward the face we want to when we are in our feelings, do we?" she said, quietly.

"Yeah; I've been cleaning poop ever since;” Holland sighed. After a while he sat back up, picked up the curved instrument and began twirling it in his hands. "So, like; what about you? Have you always made horrible noises?" he asked.

Karen huffed, but then she saw the oblivious earnestness in Holland's face and sighed. "No; I wasn't always; like this. In fact, until about 30 years ago, I made beautiful noises. I was a pianist," she said.

"But, wait, they said you were a female;” Holland said, confused.

"Pee, an, ist," Karen repeated slowly. "I played the piano. It's an instrument; I was a musician. I was a student at Juilliard. It's a school on Earth; it was like a dream to even get in. I was on a scholarship, living in this shoddy apartment with my roommate Dana;” she trailed off, thinking about those days when everything seemed possible.

"Wait! Are you remembering?" Holland asked, breaking her reverie. "Can I remember it, too? Nobody wants to remember with me ever since the Zendayans, so I'm just left with my own memories and it gets so boring."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, it's kinda like; um; let me just show you. Computer, scan The Karen and project her memories," Holland ordered. A humming noise filled the room and a beam of light shot out of the wall and passed over her several times. Suddenly, her cell transformed into her shoddy apartment in Newark, New Jersey.

"Oh my gosh; it's just like it," Karen gasped looking around.

"Humans dream of getting into this?" Holland said, scrutinizing a cockroach scurrying along the floor.

"No, silly. This was our apartment across the river. We lived here when we weren't at school. Dana and I moved off campus in our second year. We took jobs on the side through an agency. That was when;” she sat down and a phone in the apartment's bedroom began ringing.

A long, pale arm reached out of a pile of blankets on the bed and grabbed the phone. "Hullo?" Dana mumbled. A voice on the phone sounded irate. "Yeah, I'm almost there," she said and hung up.

"You're not almost anywhere," Karen said, walking out of the bathroom in a towel.

"Late night at the bar. God, I'm wretched. Kare, baby, can you go do it for me?"

Karen watched her younger self shrink back. "I; I; I'm a; I just do studio work, Day. You know that. I record, I don't p-perform."

"It's just Phantom, for God's sake. You play it better than I do in your sleep. Just go, play for the rich farts and bring back some rent money. My dress is ready. Just put your hair up and go," Dana ordered, then pulled the covers back over her head.

Karen looked at the low-cut black dress and swallowed. With another glance at the bed, she did as she was told, took the hanger, and went back into the bathroom. Minutes later, she came back out with her long red hair wound up into a French twist. She was shocked by the amount of pale skin showing on her décolletage and grabbed a scarf to cover it before running out the door.

A train and subway ride later, she opened the doors to the event room and cringed in horror. As she walked through the gorgeous, historic mansion, she spotted numerous rooms with appropriate acoustics for a concert, but she was led to a rooftop greenhouse, decked out in sparkling lights. While it was fantastically beautiful, with starlight surrounding the room, Karen could immediately hear the dissonant reverberations of at least five loose panes of glass. They were going to have a tenor singing in this? Just standing in the space with her eyes closed was enough to raise the hair on her neck. She knew she was too sensitive. People had always told her that she was too sensitive, that she cared too much about too many things; things nobody cared about. Still, as she spotted the end of a caulking gun near the window; she just couldn't help herself.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" a man's voice boomed behind her as she smoothed a bead of clear silicon into place with her finger, stabilizing yet another pane. She wobbled and grabbed the stepstool beneath her, nearly dropping the caulking gun. Strong hands clasped her waist and remained there until she stepped down to the floor.

Turning, she opened her mouth to explain herself, but upon seeing him, words failed her. "I; I'm the; I penis; I play;” she fumbled.

"And, what, you're moonlighting as a glazier?" he asked, his sharp eyes taking in the scene of her crime.

"It's the; the sound is; I just fixed a few panes so they wouldn't rattle with the; music. They vibrate in the upper ranges and I stabilized them so that;"

"No one told you to do that; shit," he cursed, looking over her again, his eyes lingering on her hair. "You're the pianist?" he confirmed.

Karen nodded.

"You're the pianist; Dana Stevens?" he said, more skeptically.

Karen felt the hot blood rushing to her cheeks. She had gotten past security with Dana's ID because they looked a lot alike, but she certainly didn't have the confidence or guile to keep the lie up under scrutiny. "I'm;"

At that moment, the doors to the solarium were flung open and in walked Sir Andrew Floyd Lawford, the biggest peacock that ever strutted on a Broadway stage. His career had spanned decades, and his name was synonymous with stage glory. Stunned, Karen choked as the man interrogating her yanked the scarf off her neck and wrapped it around her head. "Cover it up before he flips out," he hissed.

"Calvin! So good to see you again. I hope your parents are well?" Lawford boomed, melodiously.

As Calvin answered, Karen tried to quickly style the scarf around her head and face, unsure of what she was supposed to be covering up, as he kept her hidden behind his broad back.

"And what are you hiding behind you, there? I've never known a man with such a luscious bevy of beauties as;"

"Actually, this is your pianist, Dana Stevens," Calvin answered, pulling her out from behind his back.

Lawford inhaled, staring at Karen. "Enchantée, my dear," he said, bowing low over her hand to kiss it.

"Uh; I; I'm not;"

"Actually, Dana would love to stay and chat," Calvin said, emphasizing Karen's fake name and squeezing her arm, "but the guests will be arriving soon and she needs to go take her place side stage, Andrew. We'll have you enter from the opposite side after the introduction, as usual. Come along, now; Dana," he said, taking her arm and pulling her off to a dark space near the piano.

Once they were alone, Calvin turned her to face him. "Look," he said, tilting his head down to see her eyes which were almost magnetically seeking the floor, "We both know you're not Dana. What I need to know is - can you really play or do I need to fire my security team? Tell me now, because if you can't; if you're just some fangirl that wanted to get a look at Lawford, I'll go play that shit myself and they'll cut me some slack because I'm me. If you go out there and fuck it up, they won't cut you anything and Page Six will have a field day ridiculing my parents. We'll sort the rest out later but tell me now ; can you play?" he asked.

Karen nodded, not meeting his eyes, rather focusing on his belt that probably cost him more than a month's worth of her rent.

Calvin tipped her chin up with his hand so that she faced him. He held her there until she forced herself to meet his eyes. A moment of swimming disorientation surrounded her, and she felt swallowed up by something she didn't understand. In his eyes she floated, weightless, pulled along in an overwhelming current toward an unknown destination. "Try that again," he said quietly, his eyes flickering over her face, lingering on her lips.

"I; can. I promise. I won't disappoint you," she whispered.

Karen closed her eyes and the two vanished, along with the greenhouse around them. Holland scrambled up from the floor and pressed against the clear wall of Karen's cell. "Wait! What happened?"

Karen sighed and ran her hand through her short, highlighted blonde hair, ruefully. "I didn't disappoint him. I would have walked through fire rather than disappoint him; and I didn't. I played Phantom like it had never been played. I might not have been a performer, but I was one that night. Passion, flair; and with the greenhouse panes fixed, it had never sounded better."

"Sir Andrew Floyd Lawford must have been thrilled," Holland said, sitting forward eagerly.

"Not exactly. The problem was, I seldom played with my hair pinned up; and while I was playing, I felt the scarf come loose. It fell down and almost covered my eyes. Well, Dana wasn't kidding when she said I could play Phantom in my sleep. Being blinded by my scarf didn't affect my playing. During a few measures of rests, I quickly snatched it off my head, threw it to the floor, and continued. Unfortunately, when I did that, my French twist also came loose and my hair went tumbling down my shoulders like a vivid red waterfall;” Karen said, covering her cheeks and shaking her head.

"What happened? Did Sir Andrew Floyd Lawford flip out?" Holland asked, transfixed.

"I didn't find out what really happened until the next day," Karen said, closing her eyes. The room transformed back into the Newark apartment. Young Karen leaned over the bathtub, hand-washing the dress she had performed in. The door buzzed and she pushed a few strands of hair out of her face and back up into the messy bun atop her head, as she padded barefoot to the intercom. "Um, hello?" she answered.

"Delivery for 314," the voice announced. Frowning in confusion, Karen buzzed them up and waited by the door to the apartment.

Karen looked through the peep hole to see a box obscuring the face of the delivery man and called "Can you leave it by the door, please?" she asked, wiping her wet hands on her ripped sweatpants.

"I'll need a signature."

"Oh, um; okay," Karen said, opening the door a crack.

The box lowered and to her horror and embarrassment, Calvin Carmichael's handsome face appeared behind it. "You left something at my house, last night."

"Oh;” Karen said, self-consciously pulling her wet tank top away from her pale skin. She didn't remember leaving anything at the Carmichael mansion. Of course, she didn't remember much of anything, except disappearing quickly after the concert when Lawford pulled her away from the audience and began screaming at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I was just; in a hurry."

"In a hurry to get away from the man loudly calling you a 'ham-fisted Whore of Babylon,' you mean?" Calvin asked, casually walking into the apartment and looking around.

"Um, yes. That. I'm sorry. I didn't know; I still don't understand. I played my best, but;"

"Oh, your playing was fine. Exquisite, even. Unfortunately, you transformed into his viperous ex-wife in the middle of the performance," Calvin finished, holding back a grin.

Karen stared at the floor, remembering. Her eyes went wide as she reached up to cover her hair with her hands, "Oh no;” she gasped.

"Yes; while Sarah Brighton Lawford was an unforgettable beauty of the stage, the two of them met a rather tumultuous end. Not exactly one of those civilized London divorces you hear about," Calvin mused, looking over a shelf with a few of Karen's treasured mementos from home. "That, and it didn't help when you stabilized those loose panes, because people could actually hear how thin his upper range had become. My parents have been moving his concerts around the house for years trying to hide it. He vowed he would never set foot in our home again. He may even retire."

Karen sat down on her twin bed and covered her face in her hands. Calvin walked closer and looked down at her in confusion. "Are you crying?" he asked.

"Is; is he going to be okay? He's brilliant; he ‘made ‘; that role, that whole musical, he made it what it was! Sir Lawford supports himself by singing. What if he;" Karen said, sniffling through her hands.

"You realize, Lawford actually tried to have you arrested, right? He was about to call your agency to get you blacklisted before I informed him that Dana Stevens wasn't really your name and that he could get himself sued," Calvin said, looking down at her bemusedly. "By the way, what is your name? I came by to ask Dana about you; and then I recognized your voice through the intercom," he said, reaching down to toy with a loose red curl near her neck.

"Karen; Dana calls me 'Kare;'" she said, lifting her face from her hands and shivering when his fingers brushed along her collar bone.

"Well, Kare, here you go," he said, handing her the orange box he was holding, and sitting down next to her. "Open it."

Karen lifted the lid of the box and the light tissue paper to see a stunning scarf, richly colored and obviously expensive. "Oh wow.; um; but, this isn't my scarf. Someone else must have left;"

Calvin smirked, "It's not your scarf. Your scarf disappeared when people rushed the stage afterward. This scarf is Hermès."

"Shouldn't we get it back to her, then? It's so gorgeous, she's sure to miss it," Karen whispered, her long, slender fingers hovering over the rich silk, afraid to touch it.

Calvin opened his mouth, then closed it with a smile, shaking his head. "Are you for real?" he chuckled, stroking her cheek with his fingers until she looked at him. "Hermès isn't a person. It's a gift. It's for you. I thought this would go better with your dress."

Karen bit her lips and looked down at the floor, still shivering each time he touched her. "Thank you. It's beautiful. But it; it was Dana's dress. I don't have one; I never really needed one; I don't perform," she confessed, quietly.

"Hmm, no dress, huh?" he asked, lowering his lips impossibly close to hers. "Well now; we can't have that, can we?" Holding her chin, he leaned in, and covered her mouth with his warm lips.

The cell on the ship returned as Karen looked down and shook her head. Holland sat up, excitedly. "He provided for you! He provided for you and initiated the mating lip dance!"

"He did; and I was so young; and stupid. I didn't know anything. I thought it was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me; and it was only the beginning. There was nothing so intoxicating as being the one thing that Calvin Carmichael wanted," Karen said.

The cell dissolved into a nightclub where a group drank around a table in a loft area above a dance floor. Calvin pulled Karen closer against him on his lap, his hand sliding up her thigh. "Happy birthday, Red. I can finally take you out for a drink, legally," he murmured in her ear.

Karen smiled at him, bashfully smoothing down the dress where his roaming hand had exposed her legs too much for her modesty. "These places always let me in when I'm with you, anyway, Cal. Was it really so hard to wait?" she asked.

"It's hard for me to wait for anything with you; for everything. I told you I wanted to wait and do things right with you, because you're nothing like all those other girls who tried everything to get with me, but when you look like you do tonight; you make it so hard. I want you, Red. I need to make you mine; mine forever. I've never felt like this before; I know never will again. Marry me."

To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts, for Literotica.