• Lynette sat in her large, comfortable gray chair, nestling back against the over-stuffed cushions and tugging her feet up underneath her. Her honey-colored eyes were fixated on the screen of her television, riveted by the video game currently running in her Nintendo. She'd always loved Chrono Trigger and she played through it every few months, getting reacquainted with Marle, Lucca and Frog. A ghost of a smile curled her lips as she worked her controller, reveling in the music as she battled monsters and escaped from her own hum-drum existence for a few precious hours.

    The rumble of her stomach brought her crashing back to reality and she sighed, saving her game before turning it off and slipping from her chair. Her eyes roamed over the chaos that was her single-room apartment, nose crinkling at the sight of the second-hand furniture and dirty clothes scattered everywhere. "I really need a maid." She muttered to herself as she headed over to the wall of take-out menus beside her phone. Her voice was colored with a Texas twang and the sound of it made her cringe. She'd always wanted to sound like Audry Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's, or maybe Isabella Rossillini in...well, anything.

    She shook off her momentary lament about her unsophisticated voice and focused on the menus, trying to figure out what she wanted for dinner. She sniffed at the choices, in no mood for burgers, Chinese or pizza, although the menu for the new Indian place caught her eye. She plucked it down and flipped it open, studying the choices with a growing sense of excitement. She'd never had Indian food before, and the prospect of something original and exotic pleased her immensely. Before she could change her mind, she grabbed the phone and dialed the number on the top of the canary yellow paper, leaning against the wall as it connected and rang.

    "Shoo, Kippers." She nudged her chubby gray cat off her foot gently and then jerked as the ringing in her ear stopped and the most delicious voice traveled like warm syrup into her ear. "This is Ambrose. I can't come to the phone right now, please leave a message and I'll try and return your call when I come back from wherever it might be that I've gone." The heady accent made her knees weak and reminded her intensely of Alan Rickman, who had been her biggest celebrity crush since she'd seen him in Dogma. He'd taken the place of Tim Curry, though that sweet transvestite still held a close second.

    She'd been so stunned by the gorgeous voice that she hadn't thought to hang up before the beep sounded, and she found herself frozen, unable to speak or even move as the tape ran on the stranger's answering machine. Finally she let out a frightened squeak and slammed the phone down, her heart thundering away in her chest and her hands trembling so hard she dropped the menu. Kippers wandered back over and rubbed herself against Lynette's ankles, jerking her out of her frightened trance and bringing a deep blush rushing to her cheeks.

    How could she have been so stupid? If he had caller I.D., and who didn't nowadays, then he'd know who had called and breathed on his answering machine. Breathed and squeaked, no less. Oh, god. He was bound to call back, or maybe call the police and report her for stalking. No...no, she had to cool off, she'd only called him once, and as creepy as her silence had been, she couldn't be labeled a stalker for one measly phone call, right? Trouble was, she wanted to call him right back just to hear that thrilling voice one more time. No, she had to put him out of her mind. Surely he'd just erase her mortifying message and she'd never hear from him. Besides, she didn't even know what number she'd dialed wrong to get his answering machine, did she?

    She peered down at the menu and licked her lips, wondering if she dared to try the number again. Half of her hoped she would once more hear Ambrose's perfect voice, and the other half really wanted the whole thing to be over. Plus, she was really looking forward to the Indian food. "Well, nothing ventured, as they say." She muttered and bent to pluck the menu off a drift of discarded jeans, turning back to the phone and dialing before she could lose her nerve. It was answered almost at once, and a perky, feminine voice with a Middle Eastern accent chirped in her ear. "Hassan's, how may I help you?" With that, she put Ambrose at the back of her mind and made her order, determined to look forward to the spicy dinner and forget the stranger with the world's most perfect voice.