Improper English

by Katie MacAlister

  “He’s jealous.”

  “Yes, he certainly is,” Daniel agreed with a pleased nod. “That bodes well. Now, to get back to the—Alex, calm down, we’re through experimenting with your newfound jealousy, tuck it away and rejoin civilized mankind—to get back to the question you asked me, Alix, I would be happy to give you my opinion, advice, and help with your manuscript, but I must read the whole thing. I couldn’t begin to offer any help based on just one chapter.”

  The little voice in my head pointed out it was unreasonable to feel let down because Daniel hadn’t declared it the best novel since Gone With the Wind. Despite such sage advice, I had a hard time keeping my voice from sounding as disappointed as I felt. “Oh. I suppose that makes sense. I’ll drop the entire manuscript by tomorrow, shall I?”

  “As you like.” Daniel nodded, and made a dashing turn in his wheelchair, leading us out of his dining room toward an elegantly appointed sitting room. “And now, my friends, I have a treat for you both—a special movie in Alix’s honor.”

  “A special movie? How lovely!” I grabbed Alex’s hand as we followed after Daniel. Alex, still miffed, tried to pull his hand away, but I wasn’t having any of it. “Stop acting so jealous,” I whispered.

  “I…am…not…jealous,” he hissed in return.

  “Fine,” I whispered, and dropped his hand. “I’ll just go hold Daniel’s hand. I like him—he’s got bedroom eyes. I’m sure he’d be happy to hold my hand. He does the cutest little tickling thing with his forefinger—”

  Alex grabbed my wrist. I smirked to myself. He was jealous.

  “Don’t be so bloody obvious, Alix. I can see right through your little ploys.”

  “Ploys? What ploys are those? I have no ploys. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, wondering which ploy it was he had noted—the ploy to make him insanely jealous, the ploy to make him confess his undying love for me, or the ploy to drive him into the shower with me again. It could have been any number of other ploys I had entertained, but those were the first three that came to mind.

  “I know you’re flirting with Daniel just to get a response out of me, but it won’t succeed. I am indifferent to such petty wiles.”

  Daniel was busy selecting a video to play on the huge, wall-mounted television.

  “You’re right,” I told Alex, shaking his hand from my wrist. “That is petty of me. Shall I flirt with you instead?”

  “No,” he snapped, plopping down onto a lovely chocolate brown leather couch. “Yes. Oh, hell, I don’t care, do whatever you bloody well want to do. It’s not as if I have a say in my life anymore.”

  “My friend,” Daniel said, wheeling over to clap a hand on Alex’s shoulder, “you have learned the first truth of any relationship: Your life is no longer your own.” He glanced curiously at me as I stood before Alex. “If you sit in this chair next to me, sweet lady, I will be happy to hold your hand and do the cute little tickling thing with my finger.”

  “That’s very considerate of you, but I suppose I’d better humor the ’tec here. He does some pretty cute things with his fingers as well.”

  As I curled up next to him, Alex looked a little less starchy, actually unbending so far as to wrap an arm around me and tug me closer to him. I rested my head against his shoulder, breathing in that wonderful scent that always surrounded him, and wondered if Daniel would see if I slid my hand up Alex’s thigh.

  “Yes,” Alex breathed into my hair.

  I tipped my head back to look at him. “Hmm?”

  “He’ll see. Don’t do it.”

  “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  Daniel flipped off the lights in the room, but not before I could see Alex’s lips curl up into a grin. “Because I was thinking of doing the same thing to you,” he said just before his lips descended upon mine.

  I went limp against him, unable to withstand the delicious onslaught of his mouth. If I had been a spy, I would have told him anything when he kissed me like that. “Your tongue ought to be registered as a dangerous weapon,” I murmured when our lips parted.

  “If you two are finished snogging over there, I’ll show you my special movie. Alix, when the man here told me he was bringing an American with him to dinner, I knew I had to locate a special little something for you. It took Paula—she’s my research assistant—all day to find me a copy, but find it she did, and now we can all enjoy the fruits of her labors. Alex, you’ll like this one, too. The Yard plays a role in it.”

  “O-o-oh, I love mysteries,” I cooed, snuggling against Alex, prepared to be entertained by a special movie in my honor. “Is it the history of the Black Museum? I’m dying to go there, but Mr. Never Breaks the Rules won’t take me.”

  “It’s better than that,” Daniel said, brandishing his remote control with a flourish. He hit a button, and the big TV screen in front of us was filled with the image of the moon. “It’s American Werewolf in London!”

  “So it is.” I glanced at Alex.

  “Werewolves?” he asked Daniel.

  “Werewolves. Just wait, you’ll love it.”

  Alex didn’t look convinced.

  The movie wasn’t as long as I remember it being, and it did have the benefit of being partially shot in London, so I got to snicker at scenes like the one of a man running through the seemingly endless, labyrinthine, yellow-tiled tunnels in the tube station. I’d been in tube stations like that—in fact, that evening Alex and I had come through the very one shown in the movie—which added to the fun of seeing it being gently mocked onscreen.

  I would pay later for my enjoyment of that mocking.

  The rest of our evening at Daniel’s went well, with only minor complaining on Alex’s part. It was quite late when we left, and I was feeling no pain, having allowed Daniel to ply me with several glasses of a particularly succulent white wine that packed more of a wallop than I imagined. By the time we took our leave, I was mellow and happy and a bit light-headed. Alex was all for ringing up for a cab, but I told him he was being a sissy.

  “Come on, here’s our chance to walk through the Leicester Square tube station late at night, just like in the movie. You wouldn’t want to miss seeing a werewolf, would you?”

  Alex glanced up at the night sky and allowed me to tug him along the sidewalk. “It’s not a full moon.”

  “Good, it’ll be a wussy werewolf then, one weakened by the lack of a full moon. You ought to be able to take him on handily!”

  “Are you implying I couldn’t handle a burly werewolf?” Alex asked, pulling me toward him so he could nibble on my neck, growling a growl that sent shivers of delight up and down my arms.

  “You’re snockered,” I giggled, happy with him, happy with London, happy with the world.

  “I am not,” he said with great dignity as we rounded a corner and headed across the street to the tube entrance. “I’ve just loosened my vaunted control for you.”

  I giggled again. “Snockered.”

  On some days, Sundays especially, certain tube stations close down late at night. Such was the case with the Leicester Square tube. We just managed to squeak in before the guard closed the entrance gates.

  “You’d best hurry, then,” he nodded toward us as Alex dug out a few coins for the ticket machine. “Last train’s due here in four minutes.”

  We hurried down the stairs and started to wind our way through the eerily empty corridors, our footsteps echoing off the tiled walls.

  “Crikey, this is creepy,” I muttered as I clung to Alex’s hand and jogged alongside him, my nose wrinkling at the smell of stale urine kissed with just a hint of disinfectant. The air pulsed around us through the long, dimly lit, yellow-tiled tunnels connecting the platforms, making me think it was just like someone breathing down our backs. I looked behind us nervously, but there was nothing but blackness as the guard shut down the outer station lights. I swallowed hard and tried to fight down a rising sense of foreboding. There was no reason to worry about being alone in a tube station,
was there? “Alex, there’s no one else here! That always weirds me out, like when I’m alone in a building. It’s just like in the movie, eh?”

  “Crikey is another word that sounds odd when Americans say it,” he replied, then swore when we turned the corner. A metal gate had been drawn across the passage, locking off the easy approach to the platform. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end when the ceiling lights in the tunnel behind us blinked off one by one. It was almost as if some unseen person was walking toward us, turning off the lights as he approached. I watched horrified as the dense, inky blackness swept toward us, my mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara. Alex tugged me in the opposite direction. “Come along, we’ll take the other passage, but hurry! We’ve only two minutes left.”

  He pulled me to the opposite tunnel, grumbling to himself about me wanting to take the tube rather than a taxi. I slid on the slippery floor as we hurtled around a corner, and I would have gone down if Alex hadn’t been holding on to me.

  “All right?” he inquired as he hauled me along. “Damn! I can hear the train.”

  I could hear it, too, the peculiar rushing sound that echoed down the underground tunnels. The combination of the absence of people, the lights shutting down behind us, and the eerie echoing of our footsteps raised goose bumps along my arms. The very last thing I wanted was to be stuck in the creepy tube station—not even to be alone with Alex would I suffer that! My heart in my throat, I dropped his hand, hiked my skirt up above my knees, and raced ahead of him down the corridor. The rushing sound got louder as I dashed to the right, bursting out onto the empty train platform. The lights down at the far end flickered, then started going out in succession. I could hear Alex calling for me back in the passage, but that wasn’t what held my attention—that was consumed by the shaggy gray thing that lurked at the other end of the platform, curled up next to a candy machine. I thought at first it was a pile of trash, but when it suddenly moved, I was horribly aware that I was all alone. By myself. With the lights going out. In a tube station I had just seen on film, a tube station that had been the scene of a grisly murder by a—

  “WEREWOLF!” I screamed as the light above my head buzzed, then went dark. My evening bag slipped from my fingers as my heart stopped dead in my chest. “WEREWOLF! Aaaaaaaaaaah!” I spun around as the hideous gray thing got to its paws and lunged after me.

  “Werewolf! Werewolf! Jesus effing Christ, it’s a werewolf!” Alex was a dark shadow in the dimly lit passage I had just come down. “Run!” I shrieked, grabbing his arm as I pounded past him. “For the love of God, run! Werewolf!”

  “What the hell are you yelling about?” Alex jerked his arm back, bringing me with it. I peered over his shoulder, tugging on him, frantic to get him out of the corridor where the horrible thing could get us and rip us to shreds.

  “Run, Alex! It was right behind me! Please oh please oh please oh please, run!” I pulled him along with me a few feet, toward the platform on the opposite side where the rushing sound was getting louder. “Train! Werewolf! Come on, Alex, I don’t want to die!”

  The infuriating man just shook his head and put both hands on my shoulders. “In the future there will be no more horror movies when you’re drinking wine, sweetheart.”

  “Aaaaaaack!” I screamed, seeing the horribly mutated Undead emerging from the blackness beyond, heading straight for us. It had risen up onto its hind legs and was waving its razor-like claws at Alex’s back. “WEREWOLF!”

  Alex started to turn to see what it was I was shouting at, but I had a grip on both his arms, and with a strength I doubt I’ll ever again possess, dragged him with me to the platform. I looked around, desperate for a weapon, but there was nothing, no one to help us, no one to act as a sacrifice while I saved Alex and myself.

  A blast of air from the train tunnel presaged the arrival of the train, filling me with hope that we might yet escape an early grave. I prayed like I’ve never prayed before that it would get there before the Monster of Leicester Square feasted upon our tender throats. Alex was trying to talk to me, no doubt to calm me, foolish man, but the sound of the approaching train and my own terrified thoughts—along with my chant of “Please God, please God, please God”—made me deaf to his words.

  Just as I was sure the dread beast was going to burst upon us, the train pulled up, empty of all but one tired old man asleep on a bench. I lunged into the train, pulling Alex with me, and tried to force the doors closed behind us.

  “Now what are you doing? Alix, you haven’t been smoking your spiky plant, have you?”

  From the corner of my eye I saw a movement from the corridor we’d just escaped from. I almost wet my pants when I saw what it was. A horrible gargled scream rose from my throat as I threw myself in Alex’s arms, cowardly hiding my head in his shirt. “It has us! Oh, God, Alex, I’m so sorry for everything I’ve ever said that annoyed you. If I’m going to die, I want to die with a clean conscience. I love you! I love you more than anything in the world, and you’re not rigid, and you don’t have issues—well, you do, but they’re pretty minor ones—but I love you and I don’t want to die! Oh, God, I can hear it slathering behind me. Is it on us? Do you see it yet? Do you see the Hellhound of Satan?”

  “All I see is an elderly transient in a gray coat who is holding your bag. Here, madam, I’ll take that. Thank you. This is for your trouble.”

  Alex had to drag me with him because I wasn’t about to let go of him, not when he was delusional and seeing bag ladies when there were werewolves about. I forced my eyes open enough to peek over my shoulder, and almost died of shame.

  “Well, she looked like a werewolf,” I said defensively a few minutes later as the train was racketing and swaying its way toward home. “She was all gray and hairy and filthy. How was I to know she was a person and not a werewolf? People shouldn’t be allowed to have unkempt dreadlocks if they’re going to spring out on unsuspecting victims late at night in empty tube stations! They need to make that a law.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Alex said, a faint smile playing around his handsome, manly lips. “At least you’re sober now.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lady Rowena slipped her hand down the long, hard length of Raoul’s thing.

  “Oops, typo. That should be thigh, not thing.”

  Lady Rowena slipped her hand down the long, hard length of Raoul’s thigh, curling her fingers through the dense forest of hair covering his leg

  “Ew!”

  I looked up from the page and frowned at the interruption. “What? I told you thing was a typo.”

  The young woman standing at the table next to me shook her head as she reached for another item of clothing from her basket. She folded it carefully and stuffed it into a long green duffel bag. “I understand about the thing, but the way you describe his leg hair—it’s too grotty! It makes him sound like an ape man or something.”

  I looked at the page. “Well, he is kind of hairy—is that a turn-off? I’ve always had a bit of a thing for a hairy chest.”

  “Chest hair is fine, but hairy legs!” She gave a mock shiver as she stuffed a handful of underwear in her bag and cinched closed the opening. “It’s too barb!”

  I blinked. “Barb?”

  “Barbarian!”

  “Oh. Sorry it’s barb. I’ll watch that. Um…I’m afraid the rest of this scene has references to body hair, but I can skip that part and go straight to—”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go now.” She gave me a rueful smile and shrugged. “I thought that the part you read me was really good, although Rowena was a little too subjugated, don’t you think?”

  The buzzer went off on the washing machine behind me. “Hold that thought,” I said, and hurried to add my cup of fabric softener. “Subjugated? You mean, like she was browbeaten?”

  The young woman waved at someone outside the window and edged away. “Subjugated as in all of her freedom and choices were stripped from her by the male-dominated society. She had to do whatever the duke
told her to do. He told her to touch him, it wasn’t her choice.”

  “And that’s bad? It is a historical fact. Dukes were like that back then, always demanding their women to touch them.”

  She curled a lip at me. “Who wants to read a story about a spiritless, wimpy woman who can’t even stand up for herself?”

  I gnawed on my lower lip. Who, indeed? “I guess I see your point. You think she should be more proactive or something? The story is finished, but I suppose I could go back and change a few things.”

  She shouldered her bag and gave me another halfsmile. “Sorry, but my friends are waiting. I have to go.”

  “Thanks anyway.” I gnawed a bit more on my lip, wondering how I could make Rowena more independent and still keep the flavor of the time. The woman weaved her way through all the people in the laundromat, stopping at the door to turn and wave for my attention. “Have her refuse her lover. That’ll teach what’s-his-name to walk all over her.”

  “Raoul,” I said sadly, and pushed the manuscript back into my bag as I contemplated Steph’s bath towels spinning in the dryer in front of me. Somehow an independent, forceful Rowena just didn’t mesh with my idea of her. The old self-doubts came back with a vengeance as I watched the towels spin. What if the story didn’t hold together? What if my mother was right and I wasn’t cut out to be a writer? What if Maureen couldn’t sell the story and I had to go home after all?

  My mind ground to a halt as it suddenly hit me what I had been doing: assuming I would stay in England. In London. Specifically, at 35 Beale Square. With Alex.

  “Oh, man, am I in over my head,” I moaned.

  “You what?” asked a guy with pink hair and headphones who was sitting next to me.

  “Nothing,” I said with a feeble smile. “Just a complication in my love life.”

  “Ah,” he nodded, then, looking me up and down, leaned close and put a hand on my knee. “You lookin’ to have it away?”

  “Have what away?” I looked down at his hand, then pushed it off my knee. “Oh, have that away. No, sorry, I have a perfectly good man, I’m not looking for another.”