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Chapter.7.


“Hey baby.” Remy turned his head up in the direction of the sultry female voice that caressed his ears like velvet.


“Hey Stacy.” He replied, giving a nod in her direction but not taking his attention away from the joint that he was rolling between his long and dexterous fingers. Stacey walked over to him as he remained on his bed, sat upright against the grubby white, padded headboard, long legs stretched out in front of him.


Stacy, who was dressed in a rather low cut black dress and although it did come down to her knees---it didn’t exactly hide her trade, especially not in this neighbourhood, walked over to the bed and immediately snatched the joint from Remy’s hands.


“What de fuck?!” Remy snapped as he glared at her. But the dark haired woman, with the long shapely legs only laughed at him. She lay the spliff down onto the bed side cabinet as she climbed onto the bed, legs akimbo, either side of Remy’s hips.


“You know me Remy; I always want your full attention.” She laughed in that deep and throaty way of hers. It was so damn sexy---but it reminded him of---someone else he was trying hard not to think. That was certainly something he could do without right now.


“So, Stacy ‘X’,” He always called her that, partly because he didn’t know her last name and partly because of her other---talents. “What yo’ got fo’ Remy today chere?” He ran his hands over her fishnet stocking clad thighs as he spoke, making his way up and underneath her little, black dress. Hitching it up around her narrow waist he was pleased to find she had forgone the empty ritual of wearing underwear.


“Oh, anything you want baby!” She said into his mouth as she leaned in to kiss him, darting her tongue into the opening, he took it up immediately, ravishing it with his own as his hands gripped at her legs and then without warning moved them up to her arching back. She ground her hips into his, her naked sex rubbing up against his already hard ‘appendage’. Breaking from his lips abruptly Stacy entwined her hands into his thick, longish auburn hair and said between short teasing pecks of his delicious lips, “Anything you want---provided you’ve got the readies to pay for it.”


Taking one hand from her body, Remy reached into the back pocket of his grey suit trousers and pulled out a crisp ten dollar note. He brought it up sharpish, in between their close faces. Stacy smiled with her full dark lips and proceeded to clasp the green note between her perfectly white teeth---sharp little teeth as Remy knew from pleasurable experience. “That’s more like it.” She crooned as she took the money from her mouth and slipped it down her lacy brazier. Then she moved in with expert fingers on his fly, undoing the zip and the top button in no time. He was content to sit back and watch her in her trade, moving his hands to her hips. Suddenly his standing flesh was free and she was down on it with her throbbing heat between her thighs. No ceremony, no meaningless declarations and exaggerated moans of pleasure---this girl was straight down to business.


Remy pushed himself up and slid into her opening with no trouble at all. It was just what he needed right now---sex with no complications. He began to buck his hips upwards as she rode him with effortless ease, gripping at his hair, the only sound in the room being their quickening breaths. But it was more like a physical exercise than anything else, the way they went about it. It was of mutual benefit and neither minded.


Faster and faster Remy rammed himself into this woman on top of him, this meaningless means to an end and all the time he tried to concentrate on that---on the sheer physical pleasure of the act. But it was no use---there she was in his mind, like she always was. He began to pant harder as he thrust into the woman he was physically fucking, the more frantic movements of his sizable penis actually starting to bring this rather used woman some actual pleasure.


Remy gripped her hard and without warning lurched forwards so that he was on top of her and that was when he really cut loose, shunting into her with a passionate ferocity. Stacy actually began to make small sounds of pleasure despite herself as she moved her hands from his hair and gripped at his toned shoulders, relishing his every move as he came to her harder and harder.


Burying his by now sweaty brow against her shoulder Remy began to mutter words, unintelligible at first but she didn’t need to hear them, she already knew what he was saying---who he was thinking of.


“‘RORO!---urrr---fuck!” He came inside her, his entire body shaking with the release. “Mon Dieu!” He sighed against Stacy’s chest and then he rolled off her, lost in his own momentary nirvana, a miss to anything else. She just lay there for a second, not really feeling the emptiness of his withdrawal at first and not panting at all---she rarely worked up a sweat these days. The only time she ever really did was with the man who was now lay sweaty and breathless beside her, but he’d gotten back into bad habits these days---he’d started to think of his ‘padnat’ again. He’d started to call her by that name again and although it was unprofessional to get unduly attached to clients---with this one she just couldn’t seem to help herself. Sitting up and reaching over to the cabinet she retrieved the recently made joint, plus the lighter beside it and lay back at Remy’s side to smoke it.


Taking two long tokes, she exhaled leisurely, blowing out a cloud of yellowish smoke. “So when did you see her again?”


“What?” Remy asked sharply, turning his head to look at Stacey. She laughed, that oddly painful and jerky laugh people do when they’re laid on their back with a lung full of smoke. The laugh turned into a bit of a gruff cough as she struggled to compose herself. Beating on her chest in an attempt to clear herself of the affliction, after a moment or two she actually managed to stop.


“When did you see your little ‘Stormy’?” She raised her eyebrows in quick succession, in time with each syllable pronounced of Remy’s pet name for Ororo. His little ‘Stormy’---he used to call her that because of her at times tempestuous nature---she could be a real little fire plug when she wanted to be. He sat up, creating a peeling noise as his sweat soaked shirt wrenched up from the cheap sheets of his dirty little hotel room. He hitched his knees up and wrapped his arms around them.


“It ain’t none o’ yaw god-damn business woman, so keep this,” he turned his head to look down at her as he tapped the side of his nose. “Out of it.”


Stacy just rolled her eyes and sighed in a humorously over emphasised way as she turned over onto her front and continued to smoke the spliff. “Whatever you say Le Beau---whatever you say.”


* * *


Ororo hadn’t been in this part of town for a while but she still knew it like the back of her hand. She stopped in front of the rather dilapidated looking hotel that she knew Remy would be staying at---he always stayed here when he wanted to keep a low profile. Which, to be fair, was now every time he came to New York.


She went into the lobby and slipped the receptionist”who also happened to be the proprietor a few notes to glean the number of Remy’s room and swiftly made her way up there. The hotel was a complete shit hole, damp ran down the walls, old brown stained wall paper hung down because of it, waiting to be pulled off and as she reached Remy’s room Ororo looked up to see that the light just out side his room was stuttering on and off, water dripping from its fittings. She tutted and shook her head briefly in disgust but quickly hid the expression as before she managed to knock on the door it was suddenly yanked open.


Opening her mouth to speak, the words caught in her throat as stood before her was a very tall woman with cropped jet black hair, slicked to the side, in a style more akin to the 1920’s. Ororo fixed her eyes suspiciously on the woman’s piercing green ones as for a moment the two women were locked in some kind of stand-off. That was until a familiar voice came from the room, “Stacy, what’s de hold up chere?” Remy was a little impatient for the prostitute to leave, but he couldn’t see who was blocking her way.


Not taking her gaze from Ororo, Stacy called back, in a rather knowing, spiteful manner, “Just giving you a ‘Storm’ warning, baby.” She smirked at Ororo as she heard Remy quickly clamouring around to make himself and his bed presentable. Laughing lightly Stacy pulled on her old and somewhat tired second-hand fur coat and moved past Ororo, neither woman exchanging a word. But they didn’t have to really, Ororo watched her as she sauntered off down the hall way with a cocky strut.


After the woman had disappeared round the corner, Ororo finally went into the room, walking straight over to the open bathroom doorway where Remy was hastily washing himself. Leaning against the door frame with her back turned, she said, “So, have you had any luck in sorting out your little problem yet?” She looked down at her gloved hands, rubbing her thumb over her first two fingers to ascertain the amount of grime she had collected on them since her arrival.


“Yo’ know I ‘aven’t chere. I tol’ yo’, Remy can’t get de ‘ole amoun’,” He came back through the door, his wet hair slicked back, bare-chested and with nothing more than his slacks on, their braces hanging down about his sides. Bringing the tips of his fingers to Ororo’s chin, tipping her head slightly, he continued, “unless yo’ help me.” He gave her a light peck on the cheek.


Ororo said nothing as she moved away from him, arms folded across her chest. Then turning to face him from the safe distance of the middle of the room. “So, you can’t afford to pay your debts but you can afford the luxury of a whore.” Her tone was completely neutral, as if the fact that Remy had gotten so low that he was using prostitutes didn’t bother her. It did, but not in the way Remy was thinking or perhaps hoping.


“Well chere,” Remy had that loveable-rogue glint in his eye and a hint of humour in his voice as he said, “A man’s gotta ‘eat’.”


Ororo couldn’t help but laugh but whether it was with humour or pity, neither could tell. “Remy, I know you’re in serious trouble, but you have to tell me who you are in trouble with.” She shrugged her shoulders, “Maybe then I can help you.”


Remy scowled, biting at the inside of his cheek to stop a scornful comment coming from his mouth. Taking in a deep breath to calm himself he said quietly, “Chere....‘Roro, de only, an’ I mean, de ONLY way yo’ can help Remy now, is to get de money I asked fo’.”


“Don’t you understand?” She said, raising her voice a notch. “I can’t help you that way---maybe---maybe...” Trailing off, Ororo turned away from him and tried to think, desperately for some solution, she couldn’t help him in the way he wanted but there was no way she would abandon him to his fate. “What if I were to speak with Forge,” she turned back to face him, he was beginning to shake his head at her but she pressed on with insistence, “Please Remy, just listen. He has contacts, he could---.”


“He could do fuck all, is what he can do, chere!” Ororo jumped as he shouted the words at her, it wasn’t often the man raised his voice.


“Why?” Ororo continued regardless, “Why won’t you let him help you? If it’s as bad as---.”


“Look ‘Ro, just leave it---I don’ wan’ de homme’s help, yo’ got dat? I don’ wan’ him to know anyt’in’ about dis---or me.” Remy walked over to his dresser, several items of clothing spilled out from its half open draws. He tugged at a white shirt, the closest thing to hand and pulled it on quickly, but left it unbuttoned for the mean time.


“What have you got against him?” Ororo asked curiously as she moved over to the now stripped bed and perched on its edge, crossing her long, fish-net stocking clad legs, her skirt rising a little higher up her thigh. “You’ve never even met him.”


Remy was distracted for a second, by the sight of her hem riding up but quickly regained his chain of thought. “You hear t’ings chere, but dat’s not important is it.” He said quite spitefully.


“Oh will you just shut your mouth!” She spat back at him, she was sick of his constant jibes at her husband, that as far as Ororo was concerned were completely unwarranted. “I’ve had enough of this, what is your problem with Forge? What has he ever done that would make you hate him so?!”


Remy looked down at his chest as he set about the task of buttoning up his shirt, some of his dark, auburn hair falling down in a wet clump the cover half of his face. As he did this he muttered under his breath, “Why don’ yo’ ask dat little ‘birdie’?”


“What?” She asked sharply, straightening her back a little as her attention became more intent, she was eager to know what he was hinting at.


“Nothin’ chere,” he waved his hand dismissively at her as his eyes still concentrated on doing up his shirt. “Jus’ ignore me.” Finishing that task he grabbed for a tie and began to knot it loosely about his neck.


“No! I want to know what you were implying.” Ororo demanded angrily as she sprang up from the bed and stormed across the small hotel room to stand right in front of him. Remy didn’t look up at her immediately, fiddling without purpose at the chunky, incorrect knot of his dark grey tie. Irritated by this, Ororo grabbed at his hands, tearing them away from his neck, at which point he did look up at her, his expression none to pleased but she didn’t care. “What were you getting at Le Beau?” She only ever referred to him by surname when she was seriously pissed, either his surname or she’d use his full name, Remington.


“I said,” He deliberately over-pronounced each word. “Why don’ yo’ ask dat little ‘birdie’?” Giving her an all at once sly yet somehow regretful look, Remy walked away from her and sat on the rickety stool that was seemingly without place or purpose positioned by the small, grubby window, that afforded the north facing hotel room little light.



“And that means?” Ororo spoke softly now, she had an inkling at the far regions of her mind, about what he was alluding to, but she’d never let herself think about it in any depth---or at all, in fact.


Remy remained silent for a moment, clasping his hands together casually in front of him as he rested his forearms on his knees. Swallowing down in what seemed to be preparation he said quite clearly, without accent but in no particular tone, “Raven Darkholme.”


Ororo suddenly had a sinking sensation in her stomach, like a stone being dropped in a deep pool and speeding down to its dark depths immediately. She put her hand to her midriff for a moment as if to stop the feeling put it only persisted and was then joined by a dry mouth and cloudy sensation in her head. Her face became flushed, almost red, and she could feel a prickly heat rising up her neck to consume her face. Moving over to the bed side table she picked up an old copy of the New York Times and began to fan herself with it. “It’s---it’s hot in here---is it just me or is it hot in here?” She asked, stuttering distractedly.


Remy recognised classic avoidance tactics when he saw them and he warred with himself for a moment as to whether or not to play along and change the subject or challenge her on the matter, her reaction clearly showed that on some level she must have known. He got up from the stool and went over to sit next to her where she had now positioned herself back on the bed, still fanning herself albeit with less verve, staring blankly at the door directly opposite. Remy motioned as if he was going to put his arm around her but pulled it back at the last minute folding his hands together in a ball in front of him.


“Look, Stormy, I’m---.”


“Don’t call me that!” She snapped, her head still facing forwards. “I never want you to call me that name ever again.”


“O. K, O. K,” He said in a manner that bade her to calm down. “I jus’---look, I’m sorry O. K. ‘Ro? I didn’ mean to---to---.”


“To what?” She cut across, but not angrily, she seemed to have slipped back into her state of dazed confusion---or shock. “To hurt me?”


Turning her head to look at Remy at her left side Ororo just caught the look of guilt the flittered across his face as he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head a little as he turned his face to the floor. But bringing it back up quickly, a few stray drops of water from his hair flicking back onto the bed, he turned to face her and said, “No, Stor---‘Roro, I’d nevah hurt yo’ on purpose, yo’ know dat. Yo’ de only family I got in de world chere. I---.” He tried to cup her face with his hand as he continued but Ororo abruptly stood from the bed, knocking his hand away as she did so. “‘Ro, please believe me, Remy don’ wanna hurt yo’, girl.”


Ororo couldn’t look at him anymore, he appeared to be sincere and somehow that only made this all worse. Instead she let her eyes fall down to the paper she still held tightly in her hand, its black print staining her white gloves as the sweat from the tips of her fingers soaked through the silk material. On the front page was a picture of the rally. There was Warren, Betsy just behind, Scott, Jean and then next to her sat Forge, looking particularly smug. Dropping the paper to the floor, Ororo bolted for the door, she fumbled with the catch with slippery fingers as it blurred in her vision, thick tears filling her blue eyes. As she pulled more fervently at it her purse slipped from under her arm, opening on impact and scattering keys, lipstick, and other hand-bag paraphernalia over the mucky, olive green carpet. Remy watched for a moment not sure what he could do, not sure if he had the right to try and stop her from leaving. But when, with a few half-frustrated, half-tearful groans she finally managed to yank the door open, he almost jumped from the bed, hand out stretched, slamming it back closed.


“Remy! ---Remy!” she cried at him as she tried to reopen the door but met with resistance from him, fighting to take her hand from the copper-coloured catch. “Stop it! ---Let me leave!”


Eventually, Remy won the ‘fight’, managing to grab both her arms at the wrist, and then attempted to calm her, “‘Ro, please chere, calm down, hien? Jus’ cool it girl, come on...come on,” She stopped struggling, before collapsing into Remy’s arms with silently jerking shoulders. “Come on, shush...shush. I’m sorry padnat, Remy’s sorry.” He continued to sooth her as he lightly ran his hand down her silky hair that hung lose from beneath her hat.


Pulling her head back once she’d forced her sobbing to stop, Ororo wiped the wet from under her slightly reddened eyes, Remy giving her a hand. The intimately affectionate action made her smile at him, albeit a rather sad smile. “I’m sorry.” She offered needlessly.


“Hey, dere’s no need fo’ yo’ to be apologising to me. Yo’ ain’t de one dat’s in de wrong ‘ere.” Remy guided her back over to the bed, his arm about her shoulder. “Dis got nothin’ to do wit yo’ chere,” he shook his head ruefully as he said, more to himself than to her, “Yo’ a good girl Stormy...yo’ a good soul, de bas’tards in yaw life ain’t got no right to even breath de same air as yo’...me included.”


“Remy,” Ororo began quietly, looking over at him, but he still seemed to be lost in contemplation of his last words. “I know someone who might be able to help you.”


That startled him back to the real world, his own problem had actually slipped from his mind for a moment there, a rare occurrence these days. “How yo’ mean chere?” he questioned wearily, because he was fast giving up any hope of saving his neck, there seemed no point in getting optimistic for no reason. “Who?”


Standing from the bed, Ororo went to her purse, whose contents still littered the floor, gathering them all back up she said, “Just come with me now, and I’ll show you.”



* * *


*Tap, tap, tap* Logan looked over at the smoked glass panel in his office door, his eyes squinted to stop the thin, blue wisp of smoke that came from the cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth from getting into his eyes, to see the silhouette of two people against the glass. He dropped the file he was holding back into the top draw of his tall filing cabinet, slamming it shut. Taking the cigar from his mouth, wedging it firmly at the bottom of his first two fingers he went over to his desk and sat back down in his chair before calling out, “Come in.”


Amid a barrage of rattling and creaking the door opened quickly, but Logan had his face down, pretending to be studying some photographs. It was only when that particular scent drifted to him from the far end of the room that he stopped the pretence and froze. Listening intently to the two sets of footsteps as they came closer and closer---for a moment he dared not look up.


“Logan?” He closed his eyes for a second on hearing her voice---that beautiful voice calling his name...his name.


Pulling his head back up as casually as he could, Logan was about to smile when he saw Gambit; Le Blanco Diablo, close behind her. His face dropped into his customary scowl as he put his cigar back into his mouth and lent back in his chair. “An’ what can I do for you today, darlin’.”


Ororo did well to stifle a chuckle at his attempt to be aloof and professional. “Someone I want you to meet,” she motioned her hand in Remy’s direction and he stepped forwards, extending his hand down to the other man. “Remington Le Beau.”


“I know.” Logan said cautiously as he took Remy’s hand and gripped it with his usual firm greeting, but was somewhat surprised and oddly pleased to find it returned in kind. “So what can I do for you?” He asked out of formality, still looking up at the tall, auburn haired man with eyes that looked even redder than they had during their brief encounter in the corridor of the hotel.



“As if you don’t know.” Ororo raised her slim eyebrow at him as she sat in the chair, crossing her legs as she rested her hands on the edge of each wooden arm. She was wearing a hat with a net over her eyes again today, making it difficult for Logan to see her eyes properly; he did so love to see those glittering sapphires that she kept behind her sultry, hooded gaze. But today he felt she was hiding them for a reason, like she was pretending to be in control, affecting an air of cool indifference to everything that had happened lately.


Logan gave an indifferent sniff as he went for his stash of scotch in the bottom draw, despite the fact that it was only one o’ clock in the afternoon. He searched around for a clean glass; he couldn’t very well drink straight out of the bottle when he had company. Pouring it into the relatively unmarked tumbler he’d unearthed, he asked, “Want anythin’?”


Ororo declined the curtly spoken offer with a small shake of her head and a polite smile, but Remy, spying another almost spotless glass under a pile of unopened bills, held it out, as bold as brass. Logan quirked a thick eyebrow at him before pouring him one and then placing the bottle back into his draw.


“So---what do you want me to do,” he tipped his glass in Remy’s direction, “about his little dilemma?” He took a sip of scotch, not holding it his mouth long enough to savour the taste.


“You’ve got contacts Logan,” Ororo replied most seriously, “I’m sure you can find a way to help him.”


Logan swirled a large amount of liquid around his mouth, thinking about what exactly he had found over the past two days since the attempt on Forge, and by extent Ororo’s, life. For a second he wondered whether or not he should divulge what he’d discovered but it was all still a bit cryptic. But then, Ororo pre-empted him.


“Forge has something.” She took in Logan’s quizzical look and then continued. “I don’t know what it is but I’m certain it could help Remy---my husband has had dealings with many---unsavoury types. Whatever it is he’s hiding, I’m certain that it could be useful.”


“So you’d cross your husband,” he eyed Remy over the rim of his glass, “To help him. The man who was, to all intents and purposes, blackmailing you.” Remy flashed Logan a dark but simultaneously guilty look. Ororo didn’t reply, she stared at Logan with an icy indifference, unwilling to answer his rather personal inquiry. She just wanted him to help her---no questions asked. And somehow, she knew he would.


“O. K, “he said after thinking about it for a moment, “I’ll help ‘Silent Sam’ here,” Remy grinned at the good natured jibe as he took a drink. He hadn’t actually spoken to this man since he’d come into the office. “But it’ll involve gettin’ into Forge’s office.”



“That’s not a problem.” Ororo reached into her slim, black leather purse and retrieved a chunky set of keys, jangling them in front of Logan before throwing them onto his desk.


Logan snatched them up, examining them intently, quickly working out which one was for the main entrance. Rummaging in his jacket pocket, he took out a smaller bunch of keys and tossed them to Ororo, she caught them deftly. “Go back to my apartment, the two of you can wait for me there.”


Logan was surprised to find they both started their protestations at exactly the same time, an instant chorus of “I don’t think so” and “You’re not leaving me behind.”


“O. K,” Logan laughed, as they both quietened down, “Remy-Gambit- Le Blanco Fucking Diablo, or whatever the fuck your name is, you can come with me. But you,” He turned his chair as he addressed Ororo, “You can stay at the apartment---no arguments.”


She was about to protest but Remy cut in, agreeing with Logan, “Chere, let us deal wit dis, the further away from dis yo’ are...de happier I’ll be.” He laid his hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him. His strange eyes seemed to plead with her, so out of loyalty to him, the love of a friend---the love of a sister on her part at least, she reluctantly agreed to stay behind whilst they ventured to the club, to discover Forge’s ‘secret’. “Fine, I’ll stay behind. But I want you to come straight to me once you’ve got what you need.”


“Don’ worry chere...we will.”


Logan looked at the pair, noticed the closeness of their relationship and for a moment he felt a pang of jealousy, real raw jealousy. But he kept it hidden, for the simple fact that he knew that whatever the Cajun was feeling, he felt sure Ororo’s feelings for him were not the same. Breaking up their little connection he gruffly blurted, “Right then, come on. We’ll take you to mine and then we’ll work out when we can make our move.”


-TBC-





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