Beauty vs. the Beast

by M. J. Rodgers

  “She had her final divorce decree in her hands. Like her, her ex-husband was thirty-two. Only, unlike her, he was still in college. He had several degrees; he just didn’t want to look for a job. She had gotten tired of supporting a perennial student. She had initiated the divorce. Still, the finality of it hit her hard.”

  “Is that what she said?”

  “She wouldn’t say anything at first, just sat there and cried. That was the same day that the insurance company’s lawyer told me he was going to settle Mrs. Nye’s suit out of court and, if I didn’t like it, the insurance company was just going to wash their hands of me.”

  “So you were feeling pretty rotten, too.”

  “I’d certainly had better days. Anyway, I told Tim, our receptionist, to call and cancel whatever appointments Priscilla and I had and then to take the rest of the day off himself. Then I dragged Priscilla out to my car and drove us to the nearest bar.”

  “And had a few.”

  “And had quite a few. Black Russians. Doubles. I told her about the Nye case and the insurance company. After the first two black Russians, she stopped crying and told me about the divorce. After another two, we both started laughing, and I don’t remember what we talked about. After six of those doubles, we were seeing double. There was no way I could drive. I saw her home in a taxi. I started to leave her place and she started to kiss me.”

  Kay tried not to sound disappointed. She tried to sound unaffected, unemotional and understanding. “So being a gentleman, you couldn’t refuse—”

  “So being a gentleman,” he interrupted with that direct look of his, “I pulled away and told her that it was just the drink and the emotional letdown of the divorce, and that I wasn’t staying.”

  “But she overcame your objections?”

  “She told me the drink had nothing to do with it and the only letdown she was experiencing was a letdown of her previous inhibitions. She said she needed me to stay the night.”

  “So you stayed.”

  “So I stayed. The next morning, I woke up with a horrible headache that got progressively worse as Priscilla brought me eggs and bacon, served along with a plateful of love-and-marriage talk.”

  “Love and marriage?”

  “Her assumption that my spending the night with her meant I loved her was in itself a very unwelcome surprise. But when she talked about our getting married, that really put me in shock. I had told her several times during our casual lunches over the years that I never intended to marry.”

  “You don’t believe in marriage?”

  “For some people, it’s great. I’m just not one of those people.”

  “You’ve tried it?”

  “You don’t have to jump off a cliff to know the landing won’t be pleasant.”

  So to him, marriage was like jumping off a cliff? No wonder he was still a bachelor at thirty-four.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I told her I didn’t love her and reiterated that I had no desire or intention of getting married.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She laughed and told me I’d change my mind after we spent more time together.”

  “To which you replied?”

  “I told her I had no intention of our spending any more personal time together. I apologized for allowing the drink to cloud my judgment. I totally accepted the blame for the inappropriateness of our sleeping together. I promised her it would never happen again. Then I left as fast as I could.”

  “I take it this incident is what later precipitated the severance of your shared offices?”

  “And not a whole lot later. Only a few hours after my leaving her place, she stormed into my office and accused me of lying to her until I got what I wanted and then dumping her.”

  “She couldn’t have really believed that?”

  “I’m certain that during the time I left her place that morning and the time she appeared in my office, she’d convinced herself of it. She was livid. She screamed her accusations at the top of her voice. They could hear her all over the building. The more I tried to get her to lower her voice, the louder she yelled. My other multiple-personality patient, Bette Boson, was waiting in the reception area. She fled. Tim, our shared receptionist, fled. And still Priscilla raged. I finally fled. The next day, I began packing to move out.”

  “You never suspected Priscilla would respond that way? Even after knowing her for three years?”

  He picked up his sandwich and looked at Kay over the top of it. “I would have given you any odds against it. Which only goes to prove that we’re all mysteries just waiting to unfold. Who knows what any of us might be capable of given the right set of circumstances?”

  His words echoed strangely in Kay’s ears as she gazed into the sudden hard glint of his eyes. For a moment, she had a glimpse of something very dark and very deadly. She felt an inexplicable rise of the peach fuzz on her arms.

  Then he winked at her as he licked off an excess gob of mustard escaping through the crack in the crusts. The quick glimpse of that dark side faded like a sudden summer rain.

  He was just a ruggedly attractive and far-too-charming man biting into a roast beef sandwich.

  She put as much professional control in her voice as she could at the moment. To her dismay, it wasn’t a whole lot. “I could never accept such a philosophy.”

  “Philosophy?”

  “The way you talk about everyone being a mystery in so nonchalant a tone. If I couldn’t be sure of a person, particularly someone I was close to, it would drive me crazy. Are all you psychologists so irritatingly tolerant of uncertainty?”

  He smiled that wonderful charming smile of his that made her stomach jump in several different directions all at the same time. “And you talk about psychologists with so much damnably delicious pique. Are all you lawyers so enticingly aroused without your logic?”

  The heat in his words and in his eyes poured through Kay like hot honey. Every ligament around every bone in her body threatened to liquefy at once.

  She took a big bite of her sandwich, both because she could think of no coherent retort and because she was afraid if she didn’t put something in her mouth soon, she might be tempted to lean forward and kiss this entirely too charming beast with the dash of mustard on his chin.

  * * *

  LEE NYE OPENED his eyes to suddenly find himself throwing a baseball in a grassy park on a bright, sunny afternoon. He was surprised and just a bit disturbed. Nothing looked familiar. Not the rolling hills of grass. Not the full, green leaves of the alder trees. Not the boys yelling insults at one another on the nearby baseball diamond as one of them came up to bat.

  How had he come to be here? Why had he come? What was going on?

  A rangy-looking black-and-brown mutt shot forward after the thrown ball. Lee watched it in a sort of stunned fascination as it dashed purposefully across the grass and scooped the ball into its mouth. He envied it. It seemed to know precisely what it was doing here.

  The rangy mutt tore back toward him at full speed, stopping just short of his shoes, dropping the drool-washed sphere and wagging its tail like a happy flag.

  Lee bent down to pick up the baseball, although he wasn’t quite sure why he would want to. That was when he noticed that he was wearing shorts and walking shoes. But how could he be? He was certain he hadn’t put on shorts or walking shoes this morning.

  “Hey, give us back our ball,” a young voice yelled from behind him.

  Lee slowly turned around to find himself confronted by an obviously irate eight-year-old with a catcher’s mitt hanging from his hand on his less-than-patient, shoved-out hip. About fifteen feet away, another youngster with another catcher’s mitt waited with an expression of similar displeasure on his young face.

  “And give me back my dog,” a girl of no more than six demanded as she stomped up and dropped next to the mangy mutt and put an arm around it possessively, as though Lee had been trying to steal it from her.

  “I don’t want your ball or
your dog,” he said calmly.

  “Then why you got ‘em?” the little girl challenged.

  Lee dropped the ball. He turned from it and the dog and the children and walked quickly away. He headed up the slope toward what he could see of a parking lot. He hoped he’d find his car there. He hoped he’d figure out where he was.

  “A big guy like that saying he wanted to play with us. We’d better tell Mom when we get home,” one of the boys commented behind him. “There are laws against guys like that bugging kids. You know what he really wanted, don’t you?”

  The boy’s voice descended into a conspiratorial mumble.

  Guys like that? What he really wanted? Lee knew he didn’t want anything. What did that annoying child mean?

  And what was he doing here in this park full of kids and dogs, his two least favorite things of all?

  He glanced down at the calendar watch on his wrist and got an uncomfortable jolt. Sunday. One-thirty. The last thing he remembered was coming out of Ms. Kellogg’s law office on Saturday afternoon around four.

  And now it was one-thirty on Sunday? Could this be true?

  It must be true. He was losing time again. Over the last few weeks, he’d begun to suspect as much. He would be doing something, and the next thing he knew, he’d be on the other side of the office or in another room of his apartment, doing something else. But it had seemed like only a few minutes here and there, and he’d told himself his mind had wandered.

  But he knew his mind hadn’t wandered today.

  He hadn’t been in his mind today. He hadn’t been in his mind since yesterday.

  Roy couldn’t be back, could he?

  No. Of course not. That was just as absurd as thinking that he was trying to steal some kid’s baseball or some other kid’s rangy mutt.

  Wasn’t it?

  Perhaps he’d best call Dr. Steele and tell him about the lost time. Yes. It would be the sensible thing to do.

  The decision suddenly rose into the attic in Lee’s mind. Then both it and Lee once again disappeared from the sunny day.

  * * *

  A ROUGH, SQUARE HAND shot out quickly to snatch Dr. Van Pratt’s article right out of Kay’s hands.

  “Damian, we have a million things to do this afternoon in preparation for your trial tomorrow,” she protested. “I have neither the time nor inclination for this...kayaking thing.”

  She watched him completely ignore her protest as he slipped her light suit jacket off the clothes tree in the corner of her office and held it out to her.

  “It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon in Seattle, and I refuse to spend it in your office as we’ve spent the last six days and nearly every night. I need a break.”

  She took her jacket from his outstretched hand but immediately hung it up again. “You go then. I’ll stay here and—”

  “And what? Waste another fifteen minutes reading a page you’ve already read?”

  Damn, she wished he wasn’t so observant. And persistent. She also wished he didn’t smell so clean and look so tanned and healthy and appealing in that short-sleeved, mint-green T-shirt that emphasized rather than hid the impressive physique it hugged. No wonder it had taken her fifteen minutes to reread that last page. He was more than distracting. A lot more.

  “I don’t know anything about kayaking,” she continued to protest. “I’ve never even seen a real one.”

  “You saw that model in my office, remember? It’s shaped like a long, slim canoe, made for just one person. You’ll love paddling it.”

  “If it’s made for just one person, what do you need me along for?”

  “Company. You don’t want me to get lonely, do you?”

  “I burn in the sun.”

  “We’ll douse you in sunscreen.”

  “I can’t swim,” she admitted.

  “How lucky then that we’re not going swimming.”

  “I’m not all that fond of water—”

  “Kayaking is great exercise.”

  “I use a treadmill every morning and a rowing machine three times a week. I don’t need any more exercise.”

  “You need fresh air in your lungs.”

  He retrieved her suit jacket and put it back in her hands. Then he grabbed her shoulders lightly and spun her around toward the door. She reacted to his touch, once again, with that crazy warm streak zigzagging down the back of her thighs. She knew she couldn’t blame the sensation on too-high heels anymore. She didn’t even have heels on today.

  His strong hands held her shoulders firmly. She twisted her neck to look up at him and tried to hold on to her reason. “Look, Damian, your financial well-being—not to mention your professional integrity—are both on the line here. Have you forgotten that?”

  “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

  His rugged face was smiling. Yet the knowing glint in his eyes told her he realized only too well what was at stake. And it told her something else, too. He was doing this as much for her as for himself. Her resistance began to crumble as she spoke after a nervous sigh.

  “I have to warn you, I’m terrible at sports. I always have been. Only course in school I ever got a C in was physical education, and they gave you that grade even if all you did was show up.”

  “Don’t worry, I grade on the curve.”

  “Who else is included in this curve?”

  “All the other lawyers I’ve taken kayaking.”

  “You take all your lawyers kayaking?”

  He exhaled in dramatic weariness. “Only the exasperating ones who can’t swim and who I have a chance of drowning.”

  She was still resisting his push toward the door, though not too strongly anymore—just enough to show him she was not succumbing too easily.

  “Are all you psychologists so pushy?”

  “Are all you lawyers so stubborn?”

  “I know I’m going to regret this.”

  “You’re going to love it. Soon, when another beautiful summer day like today comes along, or even a snowy winter one, you’ll automatically play truant, tie your kayak to the roof rack of your car and head out to Lake Union for a paddle.”

  “I’m sure I’d never neglect my work for—”

  “Never be totally sure of anything, Kay. Life’s more enjoyable when it can surprise you. And it can be even more fun when you end up surprising yourself.”

  “Is that sage advice from some psychological theory?”

  “No, it’s sage advice from my grandfather.”

  “My clothes—”

  “We’ll stop by your place so you can change.”

  “This is crazy. When I think of all the work—”

  “So don’t think about it. We’re taking this afternoon off and we’re going to have some sun, some exercise and some fun.”

  “But why kayaking? Why not some nice, safe sport like golf?”

  “Life wasn’t meant to be safe, Kay. Life was meant to be exciting.”

  “More sage advice from your grandfather?”

  “No, last Friday night’s fortune cookie.”

  She smiled in spite of herself. “Where do we get these kayaks? Can we rent them at the lake?”

  “I always bring my own. I have two foldable ones downstairs.”

  “You brought them here? You planned this?”

  “One must always be prepared for life.”

  “Psychological theory, grandfather or fortune cookie?”

  “Boy Scout motto. Now stop stalling. We’re going. And that’s all there is to it.”

  She sighed in good-natured defeat. “I’m going to bill these hours to you.”

  He smiled far too charmingly. “I had no doubt you would.”

  * * *

  “AT FIRST, it might feel a little tippy, like when you first tried to balance on a bicycle,” Damian explained as he eased Kay’s craft into the water.

  “Tippy as in tip over?” Kay said, her tone clearly raised in some trepidation.

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to hold it steady at the back in order
to give you a chance to get your balance.”

  “Oh, good. Training wheels.”

  Damian smiled. “Not for long, so concentrate on getting your balance quickly or else you’ll find yourself learning to swim the hard way.”

  Once again, she sighed for dramatic emphasis. “No mistaking you for Sir Galahad, that’s for sure.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to be treated like a baby?”

  “Do all you psychologists listen to everything people say so you can use it on them later?”

  “Do all of you lawyers make such difficult students?”

  “I haven’t seen any teaching yet. When is it going to begin?”

  Damian smiled. She could certainly hold her own in a verbal exchange. And despite all her comments to the contrary, he could tell she was excited and expectant. As he suspected, she needed this mental and physical break. They both did.

  “Is this thing you call a spray deck supposed to circle my waist so snugly?”

  “Yes, it’ll help keep you dry, just like the paddling jacket.”

  “So what now, Professor?” she prodded.

  The sun glistened through her honey-gold hair, and even the sparkle of the water paled next to the blueberry of her eyes. He knew what he’d like to do now. He’d like to forget all about being a gentleman. He took a deep breath. But what he would do was teach her how to use a kayak.

  “Okay, you remember how I showed you to paddle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, once you begin paddling, you’ll be moving forward in a straight line. That’s what a kayak is designed to do.”

  She tried two swipes with the paddle and her craft immediately began to wobble.

  “You sure this kayak knows about this straight-line business?”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, when I let go, your forward motion will help you to maintain your balance. Just like a bicycle, remember?”

  “What if I don’t maintain my balance? What if I start to tip over?”

  “Slap the flat side of your paddle blade against the water’s surface you’re tipping toward and just push yourself back up.”

  “Just push myself back up. Oh, sure.”

  “Part of the fun is getting dunked once in a while.”

  “Fun? You obviously have a strange idea about what’s fun.”