False Facades (Best Sellers: Best Romance/Humor )

by Martha Greenwood

  Sammy shifted her feet uncomfortably, chewing her lip. He eyed her speculatively. Could it be that he was . . . somehow . . . wrong? Perhaps Sammy was just a really befuddled drunkard and was prone to babbling nonsensical things like . . . he was a girl . . . or he had a dust bunny for a pet. Oh geez.

  Vincent's grip slowly slackened and he contemplated just ignoring Sam's words for the rest of their lives . . . NO! He shook his head furiously. He had spent the whole night thinking things through and he realized that the "Sammy = Girl" theory explained a lot of things such as the locker room syndrome, the family picture with the eerily familiar looking girl, the same bed discomfort, everything! There was no way he could be wrong . . . right? No? Before he could lose his nerves, he tightened his hold on Sammy once again and proceeded to enunciate carefully as if she was his deaf Aunt Beatrice, "You're a girl."

  * * *

  Sammy felt like she had been socked in the gut and she immediately started choking – apparently on thin air or something since she obviously hadn't been drinking nor eating – but she was running off on a tangent here.

  Vincent knows.

  The way he had so matter of fact stated her real gender indicated that there was no way she could wheedle her way out of this - and she suddenly realized that she didn't really want to find a way to hide the truth from him any longer. She immediately felt lightened as if a sudden burden had been lifted off her shoulders. Yes, she felt relieved, but she was also in excruciating pain.

  Vincent had decided to gallantly slam his hand against her back to try to help her out with her choking. It only served to make her cough and hack even more. She wanted to groan if she wasn't trying to suck in a breath of fresh air. Oh great. This is just how I pictured Vincent finding out. "Yo, you a girl?" Cough, wheeze, choke, gasp, gurgle. "Yo, you dead yet?" SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! Yep,she could just see the headlines.

  EXTRA! EXTRA! CROSS-DRESSING GIRL FOUND DEAD ON THE FLOOR AFTER CHOKING ON NOTHING. Small subtitles underneath: EXTREMELY WEALTHY AND HANDSOME ROOMMATE TRIED TO OFFER ASSISTANCE BUT CROSS-DRESSER ONLY ENDED UP WITH MULTIPLE BRUISES ON HER BACK. Going out with style.

  She cringed and then graduated to Rosy Red Cheeks Version 5.0when she noticed Vincent's intense scrutiny. Forget choking to death. How about internal combustion from humiliation?

  It was time to pull back and regroup. She needed to reassess her situation and perhaps call in reinforcement. Too vulnerable now. Must prepare herself with the proper ammo and equipment before moving out with some sort of a strategy. Art of Warfare 101. She wished she had her military and foreign affairs advisors with her right now. Danielle! Willy! S.O.S!

  "I –"

  He stared at her expectantly.

  She couldn't do it. Feinting to the left before ducking under Vincent's arms, she effectively dislodged his hands on her shoulders and she darted forward to freedom.

  Startled, he turned around and tried to follow but he was too slow. Vincent stared in bewilderment as the door to the bathroom slammed in his face. "Sammy? Sammy!"

  The sound of running water. She called out, "I have to freshen up first. Talk to you later!"

  What the – Vincent gaped in disbelief at the door. This was probably the most important conversation in their lives and she runs off to wash her face? He frowned darkly. "Sammy. Sammy, you can't put this off forever." He spread his palm out over the wooden door, fingers tensed. "Just – just answer me this. Are you a girl? Simple as that. Yes or no?"

  The sound of the sink running was the only reply and he was beginning to believe that he was never going to get a clear cut response from Sammy when her voice wavered out from behind the wooden door, quiet and faint. It was so soft, so meek, he almost didn't hear her. "Yes."

  * * *

  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. The noise of all those instruments and technology of the medical world. The fragrance of alcohol and excessive cleanliness. The blinding grim whiteness. Hushed voices whispering, echoing in each hallways. A familiar characteristic of all hospitals in the world.

  Frank Westlane's shiny brown Italian shoes echoed resoundingly through the pathways with each step he took. He carried nothing with him because he had nothing he wished to give to his nephew. A vegetable needs no platitudes, no petty gifts. Flowers were only a waste of his money. They were the most frivolous things in the world. Wilting shortly after they bloom, inevitably dying off. They were even more useless to a coma stricken patient.

  Entering a dim room just off the side of the hallway, his eyes immediately sought out the prone figure positioned on the bed in this near darkness. The garish light from the hallway illuminated the motionless body once again when Frank moved out of the doorway into the room. The once robust and cheerful features were relaxed into a grim, wan visage. Samantha's dear beloved brother looked like a corpse.

  Terry Westlane's light eyelashes fell against deep, dark circles underneath his eyes. The boy's face was pale and thin. His tan had long faded away. Even the bright coppery hair seemed to have dulled into a lifeless pale orange like the waning of varnish on a glorious oak table. Wires and tubes connected to arms, fingers, nose, mouth, everywhere like a maze. Terry looked absolutely lifeless and the doctors had finally said that the boy's chances of recovery were now declining to minimal if he didn't show any sigh of reaction soon.

  Frank's lips quirked and a victorious smile slowly emerged from its burial underneath the bushy moustache. He slinked over to Terry's side and sat down heavily on the bed before leaning his head close to the vegetable's ear. Any doctor or nurse passing by outside would smile sadly at the obvious display of affection and how admirable the uncle was still trying to talk to the boy. How lovely it is to still have hope. What a true tragedy, indeed.

  Frank would have laughed himself to bits and pieces should he have known what the others thought. He would have crowed in delight at his excellent acting skills for this little uncle had absolutely no intention of ever displaying any sort of affection for his pallid nephew. Bent close to Terry's ear, he hissed, "Sleep well, brat. Enjoy it while it last. Once I have sweet Samantha in my hands, say bye bye respirator."

  His lips twisted in a cruel imitation of a grin. "I haven't seen you in a long time, have I? Perhaps I should update you on your sister's condition? Your darling sister was quite skillful. Quite resourceful, indeed. While I was out on a business trip, she managed to escape from my house. Lord knows how the guards could have missed her but believe me, I won't make the same mistake twice. I'll quadruple the guards and lock her away nice and tight once I get her back."

  He snarled, "She only packed up my stupid brother's things and left without a trace. Didn't even take the beautiful silk dresses and jewelry I had so generously bestowed upon her. That ungrateful little –" He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. "Just like her mother. So ungrateful. So undeserving . . . but no matter. I'll teach her to know better later. Yes. I'll kill that rebellious spirit of hers. She won't run away again. She won't betray me again. No. Not with my brother. Never again." He stopped and chuckled lowly. "Oh, of course not. What am I saying? That bastard's dead already. And she's Samantha, not that slut of her mother. Right."

  He gritted his teeth, "But Samantha! How could she do this to me? She actually had the nerve to run away, hack off her glorious hair and enroll herself in some - some all boys school! Can you believe this? It's her mother's bad influence, I tell you. Yes, I have to teach her to know better later. And to think, she almost got away with it and ruined her life permanently if I hadn't found her at that Christmas party."

  He whispered dreamily, "Yes, it's fate. Destiny has decreed that Samantha and I will always meet up together . . . somewhere . . . somehow . . . some time . . . yes. She belongs to me. It's always been this way. Right from the start. She was with my brother at first, you see, because he corrupted her but after a while, she knew better. She knew it was me all along who truly loved her. Her purity. Her fire. Her passion. Her crimson heart, blood, tresses. Sweet girl."

&
nbsp; He bared his teeth as he turned his attention back to the pathetic boy. "So you listen to me now, you stupid brat. When you go find your father, tell him that I win. He might have had his fun, but I will always win. Always. You can convey that message to that senile father of mine as well. Tell him to look at where his favorite son is and then look at me. I came out just perfect and happy without his help. You tell him that!"

  He fell back into that eerie, dreamy voice again. "I've decided to be nice and allow Samantha to run around for a little while more. She's going to realize soon how kind I've been to her and she's going to regret running away. She'll come back to me soon . . . and if she won't . . . if she's too stupid to wake up soon . . ." His voice turned dark and ugly. "Then I'll just have to rescue her again. I'll make her understand. Oh, I'll punish her first for disappointing me, but she'll soon understand. It'll be that way, you'll see. She'll accept me for who I am, unlike all the others. Unlike Father, unlike my brother, unlike – unlike her mother. Your sister is mine."

  He laughed hollowly before shifting around to stare at Terry. The man jerked and nearly fell off the bed. Mouth dry, he swallowed deeply as he stared in wild shock. "Wh – what –"

  Terry's dark green eyes were finally open - and they were pinned directly on his uncle. Frank twitched. "What are you doing? Close your eyes! Stop staring at me like that! Stop it! Stop!"

  The doctor rushed in at the noise and blinked in surprise. Frank stumbled back in horror as the physician brushed past him to Terry's side. Checking the brain pressure as indicated on the machine by the bed first, the doctor proceeded to move onto checking up on Terry's vital stats. The man nodded once before uncapping a small penlight. Shining it in Terry's open eyes, he smiled. Frank's heart pounded. Smiling was not a good thing.

  The doctor turned around and smiled, "Congratulations, Mister Westlane. It appears that Terry's finally responding to stimuli. While it is not entirely certain that he'll recover completely, considering the fact that he has not shown any reaction for the last couple of months, this is definitely a good sign. Terry's pupils are dilating to light and they are tracking movements now. Through coma recovery therapy, perhaps he might actually get back to normal soon . . ."

  Frank tuned out the rest. His world was crashing down around him. He must think of a new plan now. Should the brat revive, Samantha will – no! No! He clenched his fists painfully and his heart thumped in his chest when he noticed that Terry's eyes were trained on him again, slicing into him in what appeared to be an accusatory, resentful, lethal glare. Stop looking at me like that!

  Chapter Twenty

  Sammy cringed. "Vincent? Did – did you hear me?" There was absolutely no sound outside. Oh my god. Is Vincent . . . dead? Her mouth went dry as she pictured yet another headline: BOY'S PREMATURE DEATH INDUCED BY SHOCK FROM CROSSDRESSING GIRL! She perked up slightly. May – maybe he just . . . I don't know . . . fainted? She pressed her ear hopefully against the bathroom door, trying to pick up any sounds of vital stats. Breathing, hiccupping, gasping, choking, gurgling, burping, any of those would do. "V – Vincent?"

  BAM! BOOM! BAMBOOMBAMBAMBAMBAM! She jumped at the sound and her heart faltered. It sounded like Vincent was . . . stomping something. Unless there were suddenly a battalion of cockroaches stampeding inside the dorm, Sammy had the funny feeling that the boy's sudden spout of exercise had something to do with her. The corners of her lips drooped as she sagged against the door. Twisting her hands frantically, she chewed her lip as her eyes darted around the room in search for an escape route. Unfortunately, her last escapade with Will had taught her that bathrooms were virtually impenetrable fortresses. She sighed miserably. Just like I thought, Vincent did not take the news very well. Well . . . how else did I expect him to react? Go out and buy me a dress so I could whirl around in it for him? Or squeal and clap his hands happily and say "Oh, I've always wanted a lil sister!"?

  The pounding outside had yet to cease. It's okay. It's good for him to work out his fury like this. Yes. It's okay. She dropped her head heavily until her chin touched her chest. I'm so dead.

  * * *

  Well, if it's any indication by the expression on Vincent's face, it didn't seem like Sammy was going to die any time soon. But quite frankly, it was also pretty ambiguous exactly what Vincent was doing. Eyes crinkled, a small smile on his face, Vincent pumped his arms in the air as he jumped up and down and up and down and up and down. He paused and shook his head at his idiotic antics. Then he activated a complex routine of excited flapping of his limbs before sinking down on his bed, perching on the edge as he buried his face in his palms, nearly quivering with relief.

  An hour later, he was sitting there on his bed, staring glumly at the bathroom door. "Sammy?" he called out.

  There was no answer and he tried again, "Sammy!"

  "Huh?"

  "What are you doing?"

  "Freshening up."

  "Well, I think you should be quite . . . refreshed by now. Don't you?"

  There was no response. Vincent frowned darkly before getting up. Crossing the room in three brisk steps, he knocked on the door. "Are you purposely avoiding me?"

  "Well . . . perhaps not purposely . . . and I wouldn't really call it avoiding –"

  "Then perhaps you should come out now?"

  "Well, perhaps I could just stay in here for a few more –"

  "Perhaps no?"

  "Perhaps yes."

  "Perhaps I should think about breaking down this door and dragging you out?"

  "Definitely perhaps no."

  "That doesn't even make sense."

  "As if our whole scenario actually makes any sense at all."

  His eyes narrowed. "Sammy . . ."

  * * *

  Sammy was feeling quite bored. There wasn't much you could do in a bathroom. So far, she'd wet, shampoo, rinse, and repeat until her hair felt squeaky clean enough to use as rubber bands. Then she sat down and read the labels on the shampoo bottles. The amount of chemicals used was certainly astonishing.

  How very stimulating. She stifled a yawn before stiffening up as Vincent's voice floated through the door.

  "Sammy, come on. Won't you come out? Please?" He murmured cajolingly.

  "Ah!" She glanced around, panicking. "Just a few more minutes."

  "Sammy. Come on. Won't you just come out? Please." He sighed in exasperation.

  "Just a few more minutes."

  "SAMMY! Come on! Won't you just come out already! PLEASE!" He raised his voice as he slammed his fist on the door – which sounded more like he was roundhouse kicking the wooden frame.

  Okay. She had to admit it was getting a bit tiring – not to mention, childish – to keep herself locked inside the bathroom. Yes. She definitely understood that point. The only problem was that she just couldn't somehow bring herself to turn the stupid doorknob. That was all. No biggie.

  Sammy buried her face in her palms as her foot jittered involuntarily. She just knew that once she steps outside that door, everything would change. She couldn't pretend anymore. Vincent would know. He would finally know and he'd treat her differently . . . talk to her differently . . . smile at her differently . . . look at her differently. She knew.

  The thing is . . . was this good or bad?

  She suddenly noticed the abnormal silence outside the bathroom and she frowned. Did he finally give up and leave? A pang of regret swept over her and she could almost kick herself for her indecisiveness. Heaving a deep sigh, she gathered up her courage, bounced up onto her feet, squared her jaw, threw open the door, and promptly ran into Vincent's lips.

  * * *

  Vincent certainly hadn't been expecting that. It wasn't like he purposely maneuvered himself so that his lips were positioned at exactly the right height for Sammy. No way. He wasn't planning at all to kiss her. Well, at least not that soon.

  No, he'd just been casually propping his forehead against the door while trying to figure out a way to break down the door without attracting the attention of the autho
rities, just casually stumbling in when the door suddenly collapsed on him.

  Except his casual posture had just lent him an extremely casual way of crashing into the girl, his startled hands fumbling over her shoulders as he stumbled, lips brushing against the corner of her mouth.

  Although "casual" certainly was no suitable adjective to describe the moment of impact. In fact, Vincent was having quite a problem coming up with the right description. In fact, Vinnie was having quite a problem piecing his thoughts together.

  * * *

  Sammy almost choked when Vincent, eyes widened, toppled in on her. His hands flew up to catch her as he tripped, lips meeting the side of her mouth. They both froze, her breath catching in her throat as if the guy had just cut off her air supply. Fortunately, she managed to regain her composure before she started hacking. Her heart quickened and her hands turned sweaty, thanking her stars that she had somehow managed to remain standing as Vincent propelled into her. Maybe rigor mortis had already settled in?

  Dimly in her mind, she registered how warm Vincent's lips were and a thin sliver started to crack in her icy stance. Her heart went into overdrive. Oh boy. Isn't this . . . She had trouble coming up with a proper adjective.

  Vincent pulled away, lips parting, but as his gaze settled on her face, his eyes darkened and his mouth snapped close. Slowly, he drew closer to her, inclining his face as he murmured, "Sorry." His hands came up in a light hesitant caress of fingertips against her hair, her ears, her cheeks and a loud roaring noise echoed inside her ears. Perhaps it was her blood boiling up?

  Her voice was faint. "It's okay." She leaned ever so closer against him and Vincent's arms seemed to instinctively close around her. Her own arms meandered up around his neck and he kissed her, lips firm against hers. Posture lax, her eyelids closed as her mind went catatonic on her. Inside his embrace, all masks were finally unveiled, all facades were finally dropped.