Behind Frenemy Lines

by Chele Pedersen Smith

  “Humph, men,” she joked. “I told you there was no need to pick me up, but you insisted, to make it a real date. But you're injured, and I owe you one. And I'm beat too.” Plus it'll give me a chance to search your apartment.

  “Thanks, it's been a long day. So what did you think of the movie?”

  “I like how Marilyn was a sex symbol, but she wasn’t a stick figure.” She scratched furiously at her stained sleeve.

  “Yeah, it was a healthier body image back then,” Lee said, tossing their picnic paraphernalia into the trunk. “What's up, do you have fleas?”

  “Sensitive skin, I guess. So, do you find her attractive?” She tried to sound casual as she slid into the seat. It would be a relief if men today didn’t expect women to look like supermodels.

  “Sure, there’s more to women than just their looks. What makes a woman a real sexpot is body confidence.”

  “Really? Where were you last year when I was a chunk?”

  “I doubt that made you less beautiful,” he conveyed, looking deep into her eyes. “I mean that you know. It's not bull. Oh, I remember reading yesterday that Marilyn was pregnant during the filming, so she was a little poofier than usual.”

  “Pregnant?” Gal asked, antsy in her seat. “You mean with Fitz? Oh wow, talk about coming full circle!”

  “No, calm down,” he laughed. “With Arthur Miller’s baby. Her husband, the playwright. Besides, it didn’t take, and it was 1958, a few years before she got involved with Jack Kennedy.” Lee zoomed down the maze of streets. “Hey, do you think Fitz knew she was prego and thought the same thing you did? Maybe that’s why he was there.”

  The uncanny conversation came screeching back. “I forgot to tell you!” Galaxy rushed, so excited she was tripping over words. “He was there because he wanted to introduce Sarah, the bakery chick, to his mother and he didn't mean his adoptive mom like I thought!”

  “Wow, Norman Bates much?”

  “Who?” Galaxy looked up, clueless.

  “You're kidding, right? A character in Alfred Hitchcock’s thriller, Psycho. He was deranged, owned The Bates Hotel, kept his dead mother’s corpse dressed in a chair. In his mind, she still controlled him.”

  “Eeww, that’s dreadful. Fitz really might be dangerous.” She reached behind her back to brush the creepy-crawlies scurrying up her spine.

  “Nah, probably not, but we should keep an eye on him just in case. Are you okay?”

  Flinging off the navy blue scarf, Gal hopped about in her seat, slapping at her skin. “Dammit. Ants!”

  “Guess we weren't the only ones dining al fresco.” He veered over, parking on a curb. She fled, flapping fabric, flinging the freeloaders. He followed, frisking her outfit to help rid the pests.

  “Never a dull moment.” She snickered a self-deprecating snort as they staggered back into their seats, howling at the hilarity.

  “Who needs cinema? We're the comedic duo. Oh hey, speak of the devil. Look what's playing next week.” He pointed to a bus stop marquee. “When Psycho came out, people were afraid to take showers, can you imagine? You know, because of the famous scene with the high pitched stabbing music?”

  Her face remained blank and her nose scrunched in bewilderment. That expression again. A repetitive blip sent him back in time. It was the same strange sensation that tripped his instincts a few nights ago and again earlier this evening. When she craned her head to glance at the poster, a lamp post highlighted her posterior neckline, and finally, everything made sense.

  “Gal, we've met someplace before!”

  Chapter Twelve

  C utting the motor behind a dark, deserted warehouse, Lee stared at the steering wheel, digesting this latest revelation.

  His words had ricocheted down the empty alley, spreading an eerie sensation over Gal. Was he hallucinating, slowly dying? Was it possible she injected him with the wrong chemical?

  “What are you saying?” she asked, cautiously. “We met in another life? You must be delirious! It's a side effect of the toxin. We better get you to the hospital!” She leaped out to switch places.

  “It's not the poison—it's you!” He lifted his arm a little to prove it. “I keep having these warped out moments. It can't just be sleep deprivation. The first one happened the night in your office before we even begun. Gotta be a fluke, right? Fate or something. I remember clearly now.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, returning to her seat. “You're scaring me.”

  “I'm pretty sure we had a meet-cute at a deli a few months ago. Do you remember bumping into me at the IGA?”

  “Hmm, no. And believe me, I'd definitely remember you.”

  “Really? We reached for the ticket at the same time. You don’t remember that?”

  “Wait, IGA? I might have gone there once for artichokes or something when I first moved here but found it too pricey. Or maybe that was Metro Market. Regardless, both are too far from my place now.”

  “Yes,” he whooped. “That's right! You just moved here. That girl had your magenta hair color and said she was from Europe. I remember feeling a shock when our hands touched. Is that destiny or what?”

  “Or static electricity,” she chortled. “As romantic as that sounds, it wasn't me. Sorry. I have burgundy streaks… see?” Crap, even when I looked like a sweaty gym troll, he remembers! She was on the treadmill when she got the call, deciding it was as good a disguise as any. She was sure the Coke-bottle glasses she grabbed from lost and found did the trick, even if they made her nauseous.

  “Of course it's you. I know because of that memorable scar. It alarmed me, but it makes sense now, you're an agent. It's a bullet, isn't it?” Why was she playing dumb? He was sure this was more than just a coincidence, in one way or another.

  She instinctively touched the haunting wound, a souvenir from a lifetime ago. Having gone to great lengths to conceal it, she knew there was nothing left to do but face it.

  He took her hand. “You don't have to tell me about it. I just think it's remarkable we’ve crossed paths before.”

  She sighed relief. “Good, it was a close call I'd rather not talk about.”

  “Viktor?”

  She nodded. “Not by his gun, just a mission gone wrong.”

  “No worries, you're safe with me. Who knows, maybe that's why we were paired up?” He squeezed her hand, and they resumed the ride to Logan Circle.

  “Well, here's the piddlee'o tour, short and sweet.” Standing in the living room of his rented condo, Lee pointed in an arc from right to left. “T.V. space, dining area, kitchen, laundry closet and my bedroom with full bath, if you want to rinse off.”

  She followed him there. “My sofa pulls out if you want to sleep separately.” He held up his hands like a blackjack dealer. “See? No pervy motives!” He handed her a luxurious towel and a green plaid bathrobe.

  “Thanks, I can't wait to wash this food fight off me.”

  “And to commemorate the day we met...” He held out a Wizards sweatshirt.

  “Oh right, I can't believe you remembered that,” she marveled with a chuckle.

  “I guess you're hard to forget.”

  She accepted the last item, their fingers touching in the transfer. An electric shiver catapulted through their capillaries. Lee leaned in, drawn to her lips, but she smiled, stepping back to shut the door.

  While the water warmed, she spied his medicine chest. It was cliché to pry, and she thought better of it but decided a small peek wouldn’t hurt. She could investigate more thoroughly later. Advil, Band-Aids, jock-itch cream, shaving gel, and toothpaste. Nothing suspicious, just run-of-the-mill sundries. She didn’t know what she was hoping to find, erectile dysfunction meds maybe. No way the cowboy's campfire was that naturally lit.

  Swaddled in steam, she closed her eyes, the embarrassment of the evening washing down the drain. Lee seemed to like her goofy side. Maybe she didn't have to try so hard to be perfect. Not that she was. Far from it. But she had an image to uphold. Without it, how would anyon
e know she meant business?

  She chastised herself for giving away the scar. It was a careless move, but the store's heat was blasting, and she was too warm from her workout to wear her coat. Or maybe it was the ants she should be cursing. It was probably just as well. Summer was coming, and she couldn't exactly keep up the turtlenecks, could she?

  She emerged from the bathroom sans robe, carrying her balled up outfit. Lee took inventory of her legs, accentuated in his large shirt, and led her to the folding doors that housed his stacked appliances. “Voila!” He presented the stain stick, gently cupping it like precious diamonds. While the wash sloshed, Lee set out the bedding then clattered through kitchen cabinets. “How about a nightcap while we wait. Any of that wine left?”

  Tossing cushions on the floor, Gal tugged the hinged contraption, bouncing a bed out of nowhere. “Almost a quarter,” she called, peering over the mattress into the picnic basket as Lee eyed her curvy derriere. She arranged the upholstery invitingly on the floor.

  “Still holding up?” She poured the refreshment while he offered fresh glasses.

  “Yeah, surprisingly. I think it's wearing off.” Weight-lifting the goblets, he almost regained half range.

  “Whew, I feel so bad about that. Good thing you’re athletic. You're the last person I want to poison.” She took a drink off his hands and inhaled a long sip.

  “Thanks, I'm flattered… I think. So is 'botching' people a habit?” This risky bad-girl side tickled his curiosity.

  “Not necessarily, my left Manolo Blahnik is arsenic.”

  “What?” he nearly choked. “What kind of crazy-ass shoe store do you shop at?”

  “Oh, you can't buy these. I devise them myself. You're lucky. I almost wore my lethal Louboutins. They're literally poison darts—batrachotoxin from the arrow poison frog. I also have Jimmy Choo cyanides and Sergio Rossi ricins.”

  Lee spat mid-sip. “Calamity Jane! How do you keep them straight? I could’ve been one fashion misstep from the pearly gates!”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. The deadly ones have red soles.”

  “Man, I'd hate to be one of your intended targets,” he whistled, downing the rest of his glass. Or… is that exactly what I am? Reflecting on the events unfurling since they've met, he realized this could be a real possibility. That’s what I get for fooling around with an assassin. Still, he couldn't deny the arousal her danger provoked.

  “I can hardly keep my eyes open,” she yawned, shaking the empty bottle. “I think our night is officially capped.”

  “Yeah, for some reason we haven't gotten much sleep lately,” he teased, rising to tidy after their impromptu cocktails. Gal snapped the crisp sheet corners around the mattress, billowing the blanket with a crack of a whip.

  They lingered with their good night kiss, finally deciding actual shut-eye was in their best interest.

  Galaxy crawled into the sofa bed, directly across from Lee's room. From her vantage point, she watched amused as he dropped trou, revealing muscularly toned thighs and calves.

  It occurred to her that most of their ravished moments were in the dark. True, the wildflower sexcapades were in pure daylight, but in the rush, she didn't get a close look at the goods. Now she could enjoy her own private peep show.

  Lee stripped off his shirt, revealing brawny pecs. Taking his time, he peeled off his PJ bottoms, giving her a bold eyeful. He turned around to untuck the covers, flexing his glutes for her benefit before climbing into bed.

  “Good night,” he grinned, snapping off the lamp. Gal blushed and pulled the blanket over her head, embarrassed to be caught drooling.

  Awakening first and forgetting where she was, her fight or flight instinct bolted her upright. Squinting at the blurry red numbers blaring across the room, her brain registered 5:11 a.m. The sun would be up soon. The shag carpet tickled her feet as she slowly crept out of bed, feeling her surroundings. The blanket around her waist tried to follow, but resistance tugged her back. Mattress spring snag? Her gaze fell upon the outline of a body instead.

  Oh, right. The looming intruder in the middle of the night. It had to be the most pleasurable invasion she'd ever encountered. For a split second, she fought the urge to crawl back in and spoon. But not wanting to risk waking him, she freed herself, eyes adjusting as she tiptoed into the bathroom.

  Splashing cold water on her face—ah, the old Siberian wake-up call—she knew this was her chance to snoop once and for all. Catching her reflection, she hooted at herself. Oversized sweatshirt, smeared make-up, rat-nest strands. “Should've kept the ponytail,” she mused aloud, searching for a brush. Finding one in the last drawer, she was about to run it through her hair when a few leftover strands gave her pause.

  Not a good idea leaving evidence behind, but hmm, wouldn't hurt to run a DNA diagnosis, get some info on her partner. Being careful, she unwound the threads, plucking a Puffs Plus and tucking them inside.

  She spotted a jar of Noxema in the cabinet above the John and washed her face. Thankfully blessed with a nice complexion, she didn't worry about going without makeup. She rinsed off a comb standing vertically against a corner and unsnarled her tangles. What else did Lee have in here?

  Rummaging amongst the shelves, the sight of spermicide short-circuited a brain wave. It hadn't sunk in that he had lovers in his closet and for some reason, it made her jealous. She sat on the seat disheartened. She had divulged the tragedy of Viktor but never asked him about any romantic anguish of his own. Of course, hunky Lee had a past! At least it was just a sample-sized tube, and the important thing was, he was free for her now.

  When she pushed the lever down to flush, the jolt vibrated the shelf, causing the aluminum tube to roll off, plop into the bowl and slip away with the vortex. Oh no, water was backing up! Even though it appeared to fit through the opening, it must've stuck sideways along the way.

  Quick thinking, even before six in the morning, she yanked the lid off to slam the fluid master down. Whew! In a rush, her hand dislodged something loose and was now bobbing along the tank water. It didn't look like the usual mechanisms. She fished it out, examining it closely.

  A thin vial. She rolled it over, managing to read the worn miniature label. Bombykol. What the hell was that? She added it to the hair samples, planning to research it later at her desk.

  She scrubbed her hands and then brushed her teeth with a toothpasted finger. Wadding the tissue in her fist, she quietly exited the room—”Oomph,” right into Lee's rock-hard chest.

  “Good morning!” he greeted, amused. “Everything okay in there? I heard clanging.”

  “Yes, well, sort of. The cabinet rattled, and some ointment fell in. Water started backing up, so I intervened under the lid. Do you have a plunger?” Asking for a toilet tool was the least romantic thing ever.

  “Should be under here.” He fiddled under the sink, producing an auger. “This should grab it. Like a claw game.”

  He aimed the wire, bending it under the cavity. “So the door jiggled open, and it just rolled out?”

  “Well, I forgot to shut it when I was looking for a comb,” she admitted. “I didn't realize it would shake so much.”

  “Yeah, plumbing is oddly rigged. The owner promised to refurbish this summer.” Lee gritted his teeth, wriggling the snake. “A tube fell in? Was it the anti-itch cream? I think that was all I had in there. I get eczema in warm weather,” he confessed, revealing just about his only flaw. “Thought that was the cause of my thumb trouble, but it must have been something else.” He looked her in the eye, a fleck of mischief flashing in his own. “Tube was almost gone, rolled up pretty good. It might have wedged in tight. I'm surprised it could even get past the outlet.”

  Gal tried to disguise her shame. “I didn't see the label. Just a splash, swirl, then poof.” Would he be embarrassed if he saw what disappeared? Men didn't seem to mortify as easily, so maybe she should just come clean. She squeezed her hands to brace her nerves, then remembered the evidence in her palm. “I'll go make coffee.”


  “Great idea. This isn't hooking anything. I think I can reach in and get it, maybe bend the tube manually.” He dropped the device and grabbed some gloves from under the sink.

  She hurried into the living room, slipped the crumbled tissue into an eyeglass case, and then dashed into the kitchen to fumble with a coffee filter. She measured a scoop of grounds when she heard the all-clear gurgling and knew Lee would be out any moment.

  On the fourth scoop, she felt arms around her waist. “Let's start over with a proper greeting,” he nuzzled below her ear.

  “Our first sleepover,” she agreed, turning around. Kissing revealed his minty breath too.

  “Don't worry, that spermicide was old,” he murmured into her hair, squeezing her close.

  “What?” she asked, bewildered, masking the panic bubbling within.

  “You heard me,” he chuckled. “I had it pushed back pretty far, behind a box of Q-tips. Doubt it could kamikaze into the can.”

  Gal forced a laugh, grateful for the good timing of roasted beans. She busied herself pouring, stalling for words.

  “I'm surprised cotton swabs weren't splayed haphazardly on the floor, like pick-up sticks,” he bemused with a wink.

  “Yeah, a miracle,” she offered with the steaming cup. “Do you have any cinnamon? Oh, here it is,” she rambled, rummaging through a cabinet. A few spicy sprinkles later, she spat a mouthful into the sink, holding up chili powder to her chagrin.

  Lee chuckled, “You don't like your coffee caliente?”

  “Very funny, you really should get a spice rack!”

  “So you could snoop through that too?” He was only poking fun but noticed her discomfort. “Gal, it's okay. Nothing to hide. No hideous diseases.” He kissed her forehead then sipped the overflowing brim. “Are you hungry? I can rustle up an omelet.”

  She nodded. “Sounds delicious. I'm sorry, my hair looked like a yeti, and I saw a comb—”

  Lee waved her off. “It's fine. I used it once, about a year ago. Hated it. Scorched like Hell.”