Seven little ivory-colored buttons in a row. She had never counted the number of buttons on a man’s dress shirt before, she hadn’t intended to count them either, but she was the sort of person to let her mind drift when she was thinking of something she did not want to think about. Six of the buttons were fine, but one, that one that fit over where his navel would be when he wore the shirt, it was starting to get loose. Had she been more domestic she would have repaired the loose one, but she wasn’t good with buttons, avoided them at all costs if she was sewing, in fact. And for a moment she felt compelled to rip the thing off and keep it, her sentimental side wanting to act up, but she left the button as it was. She settled for pressing the fabric to her face and inhaling gently, enjoying the smell of his expensive cologne though she longed for the true scent of him, the scent that couldn’t be bought from Christian Cole for $850 a bottle. She wanted the sweat, the testosterone, the odd Kevlar and rubber mix that followed him about, those scents that still clung to her sheets. But she didn’t have time to linger about in bed, to close her eyes and pretend he was still sleeping peacefully beside her; the world was still turning and there were things that needed doing.
“Is everything alright, Ms. Kyle?” came that kindly voice from down the hall. She had liked him right away, his accent had something behind it that felt fatherly and comforting, even if their meetings had been nothing but awkward up to that point.
Lowering the shirt from her nose she called out to the older gentleman that was waiting in her living room. “Yes, just a moment.” With a sigh she neatly folded the shirt setting it down over the rest of the suit, then closed the suitcase. She wasn’t sure where his shoes had gotten off to, but glancing about her bedroom she could not find them, and since she had kept Alfred so long, she didn’t bother to look. She figured that if he wanted them so badly, which she doubted, he would have to come himself and search for them. Picking up the suitcase she left her bedroom and walked down the short hallway to her kitchen/living room/dining room, where the well-dressed butler was awaiting her. When she opened the door that morning it had been another one of their awkward moments, she had not been expecting company so she greeted him wearing just a bathrobe and a long pair of sleep-pants, and from the look on his face she knew he hadn’t been expecting that. But then of course she hadn’t been expecting him either. When his employer had come to spend the day with her the day before, suitcase in hand, she had expected him to leave with it the next day. She didn’t expect it to contain what he really wore to ‘work’, and she had been surprised when a spotlight shown on the clouds a little after midnight and she ended up having to help him put that suit on before he left her. She had even hoped that he might come back later the next evening to collect it himself, but Alfred being the one she opened the door to and invited in, those hopes were dashed. “This should be everything, you both know how to reach me if something is missing.” She smiled weakly and offered him the suitcase.
“Very good, Ms. Kyle.” He smiled kindly at her and took it, turning and heading for the door. The man gave nothing away as usual, but she was sure that if he was truly uncomfortable or did not particularly like her, she would have been able to tell. Regardless of that British stiff upper lip.
“One day, Alfred, we will have to try to run into each other under less awkward circumstances.” They shared a light, amused chuckle at that, and she had the distinct feeling that he didn’t mind in the least as long as she was fully clothed, unlike that third time. She blamed Bruce of course, he had let the two of them sleep in and the older man wasn’t to know she was there. She was a step or two behind him when he reached the door, “Are you sure you cannot come and sit for a moment, have a cup of coffee or something like that…” she let that sentence die, knowing well that the man was most likely too busy to spare any more moments for her. “Ah, uh… Could you… Mr. Wayne.”
Alfred smiled at her, understanding her even though she knew she was making no sense. The man was psychic, she was sure of it. “I will do my best to relay the message; he will be pleased to know you are thinking of him.”
“Did he manage any sleep at all?” she asked, the thought just popping into her head. She knew his sleeping patterns all too well, or rather lack of them, and she could sense his answer before he even opened his mouth. It wasn’t like her to ask questions that she already knew the answers to, but then again, a lot of things she had done as of late were not like her.
There was that smile, though his brow showed a bit of concern, he was quick to school his features back into his usual smile. But she was more willing to believe that the expression had been an act, Alfred wanted her to worry, he wanted her to make sure Bruce got a little sleep and she was the only one to successfully demand that of him so far, she was sure of that as well. “Does he ever, Ms. Kyle?” after another polite smile and nod, he left her to herself once again.
She shut the door and turned, letting her back rest against it as she let out another sigh, catching sight of Isis sitting on her kitchen counter. “You know, honey, I should have taken that button.”