Stars Align
Marley Quinn
Stars Align
by Marley Quinn
Copyright Information
Stars Align
by Marley Quinn
© 2026 Marley Quinn
All rights reserved.
Author: Marley Quinn
Contact details: marleyquinn.reformist760@passinbox.com
Twitter/X: marleyquinn2000
Book cover, illustration: Marley Quinn
Editing, proofreading: Marley Quinn
This e-book, including its portions, is protected by copyright and may not be reproduced, resold, or redistributed without the permission of the author.
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Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Table of Contents
A Note From the Author For the Pearl Clutchers of the World
The Fates
Seal the Deal
Fortune Smiles
Party Animal
Lucky
Mission Accomplished
Alas
Magic
Also by Marley Quinn
A Note From the Author For the Pearl Clutchers of the World
All of the characters in this completely FICTIONAL work of art are well past 18 years old, and being of sound mind and body, freely consent to all of the actions in which they participate.
The Fates
Sandra had been working as a housekeeper in the building long enough to develop a passing familiarity with the employees who stayed late.
Although she didn’t necessarily know their names or faces, they were always the ones on the lowest rungs of the totem pole, hunched over in front of the computer in their cubicles located in the middle of the floor. Occasionally, a middle manager might stay after, especially at the end of the month when all the most important reports were due.
What Sandra had never seen in all her years working there, though, was an executive working late. If they were important enough to have their own office, then they were always long gone by the time she started her shift. That’s why she was so intrigued when she noticed the lights on in an office on the north end of the floor.
Even more curious was the fact that she’d seen the guys from Service and Maintenance carrying in furniture to that office just a week prior, but there was still no name plaque on the door, so it must be someone who was newly promoted.
Indeed, the one time she’d made a pass through there, there hadn’t been so much as a single balled-up piece of paper in the wastebasket, so she had no idea who he was or what his role at the company was.
Keeping her eyes on the mysterious executive’s office as she did her rounds, she caught the occasional glimpse of someone pacing around. It was hard to tell from this distance, but he seemed quite young, perhaps in his late 20s or early 30s.
Nonetheless, she expected him to wrap up his business, whatever it was, and leave long before she got close enough to see anything else.
But he didn’t leave. He also didn’t seem to be on the phone, and he definitely wasn’t working on his computer, so what exactly was he doing in there? The blinds were open, so it couldn’t have been anything too private, causing her inquisitiveness to grow stronger.
Finally, after collecting the overflowing bag of used paper cones next to the water bottle at the end of the row where all the copiers stood, she got her first clear look at him. He was definitely a couple of years younger than her, dressed in an expensive-looking suit, although he had ditched the jacket, which was hanging on the back of his chair.
For all the world, it looked like he was just... thinking about things, which made no sense. Executives told other people what to do and then went off to a fancy meal in town where they’d swap jokes and network with fellow elites, not hang out in the office after hours to meditate on the meaning of life.
After cleaning out the corner office belonging to the head of the floor as well as his secretary’s desk, Sandra decided it was time to drop in on the late-night executive and see what he was up to. After taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she rapped on his door, announcing “Housekeeping!” so as not to startle him.
When she walked in, he was standing at the window, gazing out at the city skyline. At first, she thought he might be wearing headphones, but then he turned to look at her, revealing a handsome face and a thick head of hair that got her pulse racing. Nonetheless, he never said a word as she pulled out his empty wastebasket and put in a new liner.
Ordinarily, that would have been the end of it. She would move on to the next office down the line, and he would go back to doing whatever it was doing, both of them in their own separate but parallel worlds. They might both be employees of the same company, but normally, their paths would never cross.
Yet something caused her to speak up that fateful night.
“Is everything okay, sir?” said Sandra, surprising even herself as the words came tumbling out.
“Huh? Oh yeah, yeah,” said the guy. “Well, I mean, no, actually. Not really.”
“Ah,” said Sandra, bringing her cleaning cart to a halt, unsure how to process that.
Was he going through some kind of emotional breakdown of some kind? It certainly didn’t look like that. His eyes weren’t red or puffy, and there was no sign that he’d been drinking. So why was he confessing to a lowly housekeeper that he wasn’t okay?
“It’s just that I’ve got to write this email,” said the guy, giving her a sheepish grin. “And I don’t know where to begin.”
“Ah,” said Sandra.
That, too, seemed difficult to believe. An executive of his rank would definitely have a secretary, or access to secretarial support, and failing that, there was always ChatGPT and other AI tools. In this day and age, how incompetent do you have to be to be unable to cobble together an email?
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said the guy with a little chuckle. “You’re thinking I should just let AI do it, right?”
“Um...” said Sandra, trying to think of a polite way to say the obvious.
“The thing is, though,” said the guy, nervously scratching at the collar of his button-up shirt. “I tried that, and it said that that kind of content wasn’t allowed. Can you believe it?”
For a second, Sandra just stood there, trying to figure out what he was saying. Then it dawned on her that maybe he had taken some kind of pill or other drugs. That was the only thing that made sense. He was acting so incoherently because he was high.
“Anyway, it’s a pretty delicate, uh, topic, so it’s probably better if I just write it myself,” said the guy. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have any writing experience, would you?”
“Me?” said Sandra, her eyes going wide with disbelief. “I’m... I’m the housekeeper, sir.”
“Well, I know that,” said the guy with a little laugh, his eyes dipping down to her uniform. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t know how to write, does it?”
“Oh,” said Sandra, her dazed brain unable to come up with a more detailed reply.
Housekeepers were the invisible people of the land, barely seen or noticed, and treated more like machines than human beings. As soon as folks saw the uniform and the equipment, all sense of equality went right out the window. Unless a housekeeper made a mistake, they might as well be ghosts.
“It’s okay if you haven’t,” said the guy. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot there.”
“No, um, it’s fine,” said Sandra, her rational faculties slowly coming back online after recovering from the initial shock. “Actually yes, I used to write for my college newspaper.”
“Excellent!” said the guy, giving her a warm smile that had her buzzing all over. “Then you’re just the person I need. Do you mind helping me out?”
“Um, uh, okay,” said Sandra, nervously glancing around to see if anyone was witnessing this unexpected interaction, but of course, the office was deserted.
“Great, here take a seat,” said the guy, holding out the chair for her like a gentleman as he helped her get comfortable in front of the computer.
“What, um, is this all about?” said Sandra, her pulse racing.
“Oh right, right,” said the guy with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I guess I forgot to mention that, didn’t I? Sorry about that. It’s for my brother. He’s in a care home.”
“Oh,” said Sandra. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, me too,” said the guy, pausing for a moment to let out a little sigh. “Well, technically, he’s not my brother, but we grew up together and we’re the same age, so, you know.”
“Right,” said Sandra, her mind spinning as she tried to figure out what his angle was.
Based on the cut and quality of his suit, there was no disputing that he was a high-paid executive in the company. He also certainly had the confidence and mannerisms of someone who had enjoyed a lifetime of easy success. The real question, then, was why he was treating her so nicely. Surely, there had to be a catch somewhere.
“Anyway, he’s got M.D.,” said the guy. “Oh sorry, that’s Muscular Dystrophy.”
Sandra’s heart sank. She knew exactly what M.D. was because it was the merciless killer that had struck down her own mother. She’d gone from having an unexpected tremor in her right hand to the grave in just five years.
The disease hadn’t just stolen her mother from her, but devastated their entire family. Sandra had been forced to drop out of school to take care of her mother, and then after the heartbreaking decision to terminate life support at the end, she’d been "rewarded" with a slew of medical bills which she’d probably be still paying off even if she lived to be a hundred years old.
“I... I know what that is,” said Sandra, her mouth as dry as dust.
“Oh, you do?” said the guy. “Well, then you know it’s a motherfucker. Oops, pardon my language.”
“It’s... It’s okay,” said Sandra, smiling despite herself. “M.D. really is a motherfucker.”
“Damn right,” said the guy, tilting his head and giving her an intense look. “Say, did you used to be a nurse or something?”
“A nurse? No. At least not officially,” said Sandra. “My mother had M.D.”
“Ouch,” said the guy, wincing. “I’m really sorry to hear that. I’m assuming since you used the past tense that she’s passed?”
“Yeah,” said Sandra, her voice going quiet. “She died six years ago.”
“Oh man,” said the guy, shaking his head. “I can’t even imagine how it’s gonna be when Johnny goes. And your mother? Wow. I really don’t know what to say.”
“It’s okay,” said Sandra, still trying to figure out why she’d shared such personal information with him.
“Well hey, maybe the fates brought us together for a reason, yeah?” said the guy. “You’ve got the writing chops, and you know first-hand how bad M.D. can be.”
“Maybe,” said Sandra, although she highly doubted it.
“Shit, where are my manners?” said the guy, extending one manicured hand. “My name’s Morrison.”
“Morrison?” said Sandra, unable to repress a giggle as she shook his hand. “Is that your last name or your first name?”
“Huh?” said the guy. “Oh, no. Yeah, it’s my first name. Pretty pretentious sounding, right? I guess you could say my dad had high ambitions for me.”
“Well, it seems to have worked,” said Sandra, gesturing around at the grandeur of his office.
“Yeah, so far, so good,” said Morrison, giving her a toothy smile.
“My name’s Sandra,” said Sandra. “It was my grandmother’s name.”
“Wow, you know what? That name really suits you,” said Morrison, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Aww, stop,” said Sandra, not quite sure why her cheeks were tingling with heat.
“It’s a short version of the name Alexandra, right?” said Morrison.
“Wow, that’s exactly right,” said Sandra, astonished. “How did you know?”
Seal the Deal
“Ah, well, I studied a little Greek at university,” said Morrison with a casual shrug. “So where were we? Ah, right. So my boy Johnny is in a long-term care facility.”
“Right,” said Sandra, nodding.
“And, well, I’m sorry to say this, but his condition is deteriorating,” said Morrison. “He’s confined to a wheelchair, and he only has limited use of one of his hands.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Sandra, painful flashbacks of her mother’s rapid descent there at the end coming into her mind.
“Yeah, so, the thing is, I want to take him on a trip,” said Morrison. “His birthday is coming up soon, and I’m not sure he’s going to live long enough to see another one.”
“A trip where?” said Sandra.
“To Las Vegas,” said Morrison. “Actually, to Nye County, Nevada. It’s about an hour’s drive outside of Vegas.”
“Interesting,” said Sandra. “I’ve never been out that way.”
“Really? Well, Lake Tahoe is more my scene, if you know what I mean,” said Morrison with a grin. “Especially Martis Camp outside of Truckee. Absolutely gorgeous. I highly recommend it.”
“Right,” said Sandra, knowing full well she’d never be able to afford a vacation there or anywhere else like it.
“Anyway, yeah, so here’s the deal,” said Morrison. “The care facility doesn’t want to give me permission to take Johnny with me.”
“Um, and how old is your friend Johnny?” said Sandra.
“He’s 27,” said Morrison.
“Then he’s an adult and can do whatever he wants, right?” said Sandra, confused.
“True,” said Morrison with a nod. “But they’re afraid I’m going to kill him. The director of the care facility pretty much told me that if Johnny goes with me on this trip, they won’t let him come back.”
“I don’t understand,” said Sandra.
“Yikes,” said Morrison, a tinge of color on his cheeks. “See, here’s the deal. Johnny’s M.D. kicked in when we were both 16, right? So we were just kids.”
“Right,” said Sandra.
“I mean, we used to really raise hell back in the day,” said Morrison with a chuckle. “We’d cadge beers from Old Man Johnson’s corner store, toss cherry bombs into the dumpsters behind Goldman’s Pharmacy, and take the occasional joyride in a borrowed car, that kind of thing, if you get my drift.”
“Uh-huh,” said Sandra, smiling despite herself as she imagined a much younger Morrison engaged in such juvenile antics.
“But the thing is, ahem,” said Morrison. “Johnny never sealed the deal, you feel me?”
“Sealed the deal?” said Sandra.
“Yeah,” said Morrison. “I mean, he made out with a few chicks, and I know for sure he got Linda Haverly’s bra off one time after Homecoming, but he never, um, you know...”
“What? Never had sex?” said Sandra.
“Bingo!” said Morrison, grinning and touching the side of his nose. “So now that he’s, um, you know, coming to the end of his days, he really wants to get laid.”
“Woah,” said Sandra, trying to take it all in.
“Obviously, his parents are against it, his doctors, everybody,” said Morrison. “They’re afraid the strain might cause his heart to fail. That’s why he reached out to me.”
“Help me understand here,” said Sandra. “Didn’t you say he’s confined to a wheelchair? So how is he supposed to have sex?”
“Ah, well that’s why we’re going to Nevada,” said Morrison. “It’s the one place in this country where prostitution is legal.”
“Ah,” said Sandra, her face flushed with heat.
“I already reached out to one of the, ahem, I think they call them brothels,” said Morrison. “I explained the situation, and they’re all cool with it. I just need to transport him there to seal the deal.”
“Right,” said Sandra.
“So what I need is to write an email to Johnny’s care facility,” said Morrison. “I need to explain to them that it’s his, you know, last wish or whatever, and to not kick him out if he goes through with it.”
“Let me see if I understand,” said Sandra. “Your friend Johnny wants to go to a brothel in Nevada to lose his virginity?”
“Right,” said Morrison, nodding.
“But his care facility won’t let him go because they’re worried it might kill him?” said Sandra.
“Exactly,” said Morrison.
“And even if he survives, they won’t take him back?” said Sandra.
“Bingo,” said Morrison.
“I understand why they’re against him doing it,” said Sandra. “But if everything goes all right, why won't they take him back?”
“Oh,” said Morrison. “Because it’s a really exclusive facility. They’ve got a long list of people trying to get in there. It’s pretty top-notch, so the director told me his slot won’t be waiting for him when he gets back.”
“Well, can he go somewhere else?” said Sandra.
“No. I mean maybe some crappy government facility or something,” said Morrison. “But Johnny’s dad is a personal friend of the director, so he had to pull some strings to get him in there in the first place.”
“Ah,” said Sandra. “And your friend Johnny’s dad is against this little... adventure?”
“Exactly,” said Morrison. “So how do I convince everyone that it’s all right? I mean, it’s his birthday wish, you know? And Johnny’s my bro for life. I can’t let him down.”
“It’s quite a conundrum,” said Sandra, her mind racing as she parsed out all the implications of this strange request.
“Sure, I can get him to Nevada,” said Morrison. “But he’s got to have somewhere to go back to, you know? Somewhere that can give him the medical care he needs.”
“No, no, I understand,” said Sandra. “Hey, I know. Why don’t you just bring someone in?”
“What do you mean?” said Morrison.
“I mean, why go all the way to Nevada?” said Sandra. “There’s got to be some working girls around here.”
“Yeah, I thought about that,” said Morrison. “But here’s the thing. Technically, sex work is illegal in this state. I could lose my job if anyone ever found out. There’s a pretty strict morality clause in my contract.”
“Oh,” said Sandra. “I see.”
“But in Nevada, it’s all one hundred percent legal,” said Morrison. “Plus, I wouldn’t be partaking in their, ahem, services, so I can’t be held liable for doing anything illegal or immoral. I know it’s a bit of a legal loophole, but I checked with HR.”
“Wow, that must’ve been an interesting conversation,” said Sandra with a chuckle.
“Huh?” said Morrison.
“I meant you discussing all this with HR,” said Sandra.
“Oh yeah, it was a doozy, all right,” said Morrison, giving her a warm grin that sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. “So what do you think? Is there any way you could help me persuade the care facility to let me take Johnny to Nevada? His birthday is coming up in a few days, and I really don’t know what to do.”
“Well, to begin with, I understand why ChatGPT was of no use,” said Sandra. “Obviously, this is way outside its area of expertise.”
“Yeah, it yelled at me, saying something about how my request was obscene,” said Morrison with a little frown.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” said Sandra. “Why not just tell the care facility you’re taking him to a resort or something? Why do they have to know he’s going to a brothel, specifically?”
“If he’s gone overnight, there has to be a care plan in place,” said Morrison. “They’ll ask a million questions about where he’s going and all that. If I had enough time, maybe I could come up with something convincing, but as I said, his birthday is in just a few days.”
“Bummer,” said Sandra, shaking her head. “But he can go on unsupervised day trips, right?”
“Yeah,” said Morrison. “I think the rule is four hours. For anything longer than that, he has to get approval in advance.”
“You know...” said Sandra, looking up at his handsome face. “When I saw you in here working late, I was quite puzzled. People of your, ahem, rank don’t usually work late. Then I saw you pacing around, making me wonder what you were up to. Now I know. You’re in a real pickle, aren’t you?”
“Damn right,” said Morrison with a rueful chuckle. “So, do you think you can help me?”
“Yes and no,” said Sandra, her whole body growing warm. “I mean, sure, I could write an email to the care facility. I used to do copywriting before AI tools took over, and it was pretty common for me to write persuasive articles to convince people to do stuff like buy products.”
“Great!” said Morrison, clapping his hands together.
“But here’s the thing, Morrison, if I can call you that,” said Sandra. “Any place that provides specialized medical care is probably hamstrung by a million rules, and they’re not going to break them just to grant your friend’s dying wish.”
“Oh,” said Morrison, a crestfallen expression on his face.
“And if they were inclined to bend the rules a little, then they would’ve already done so,” said Sandra. “Plus, you said that your friend’s parents are dead set against this, including his dad who is personal friends with the director.”
“Yeah,” said Morrison with a sigh.
“So I don’t think anything I could write would change their minds,” said Sandra.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Morrison. “But I had to try, right?”
“Sure,” said Sandra, her whole body buzzing all over as she carefully considered her next words. “However, there is another option.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Morrison, his eyes going wide. “What’s that?”
“I could do it,” said Sandra, doing her best to keep her voice from trembling.