Beautiful, Inside and Out

by Larry Hammersley

  “Not meaning to sound harsh, but as long as Angie is calling your shots, that isn’t going to happen.” Bess took a deep breath and watched Art slowly raise his head and look at her.

  “You’re right, of course. But I can’t...” As Art hesitated, the bus slowed for a stop sign. Everyone swayed forward as the driver came to a full stop before revving the engine and proceeding. Bess could see they were nearly to the airport and regretted the ride would soon end.

  “Can’t what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “You must really be crazy about her, to be willing to jeopardize your math grade.” Bess decided not to throw in a jealous comment regarding Angie, wondering if she should give herself that much credit, despite the bathroom scene.

  “Let’s not talk about this anymore.” Art’s sheepish grin accented his coloring face.

  The bus pulled into the circular drive in front of the main aeronautics building, a sprawling three-story concrete structure with the cross-section of a wing over the multi-door front. A distinguished-looking man stood near, dressed in a dark pinstriped suit. His blond hair was neatly combed above a face of leathery wrinkles with steel-rimmed glasses.

  Art rose from his seat and seemed in a hurry for the people in front of him to move on. Bess followed.

  “There’s Professor Samuelson. Gotta go. See you sometime, Bess.” He leaped onto the curb and approached the man in a rapid walk.

  Bess thought a moment. Samuelson. That was Angie’s last name. Bess remembered seeing in the course catalog that the department head of metallurgical engineering was Delbert Samuelson. A moment of clarity came to her. Is Art that shallow, to think he needs to date his department head’s daughter, if indeed that’s the case? She couldn’t believe the professor would be influenced in that way, either. Well, Bess thought, I need Milla right about now to say something positive about all this. The biting wind accented her negative thoughts.

  ****

  Bess sat in her easy chair, staring at her advanced aerodynamics text but not actually seeing it. Milla sat in the adjoining kitchen munching on a Clark Bar and drinking a bottle of Barq’s Orange Soda from its glass bottle with the small diamond pattern around its perimeter. Bess looked at her grandpa’s striking clock on a high shelf above a bookcase. She couldn’t concentrate for thinking of Art’s possible stunt in trying to influence his department head. She wouldn’t judge him, or anyone else. She didn’t think less of him, but she felt helpless to make a lasting impression on him.

  “Hey, Bess, check out the front page of our student paper,” Milla said, tossing her candy wrapper into the wastebasket before she guzzled the last of her orange soda and handed the paper to Bess.

  Bess stared at the photo of Professor Samuelson and Angie, posing as Angie received All-Conference honors as the drum major. Bess now had confirmation of her suspicions. Angie was Dr. Samuelson’s daughter, and Art and Angie’s relationship had to be based on that.

  “Oh, Milla, I’m sure Art is dating Angie to impress his head professor.” Bess tossed the paper on the end table.

  “If that’s true, he’s pretty shallow.” Milla placed her hands on her slender waist.

  “I have to think he isn’t happy with himself. Despite his motives, I still care about him,” Bess said, drawing a deep breath, the image of Art in his jeans and T-shirt seared into her mind.

  “That’s my girl, always giving somebody the benefit of the doubt.” Milla tapped her on the shoulder.

  “I have you to thank for that.” Bess grabbed Milla’s hand and gave it a brief squeeze.

  “Oh, Bess, you’ve always been that way.” Milla’s smile brought tears to Bess’ eyes as she uttered a soft “thank you.”

  The phone rang. Milla was closest and answered. She motioned for Bess and formed the words in silence, “It’s Art.” Bess wasted no time grabbing the phone.

  “Hi, Art. How are things going?”

  “Bess, are you still open to tutoring me?” She heard that hesitation, ever so slight between his words. She decided not to beat him over the head with the Angie issue.

  “Sure. The usual night and time still work?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Bess. I’ll be there.”

  Bess hung up the phone and smiled to herself, wondering indeed about the issue of Angie and her father.

  “Why didn’t you say something about Angie? Well, I guess that’s a silly question, knowing you.”

  “Art doesn’t realize I’ve figured out the finer details between him and Angie. I only hope he will eventually talk it out himself.”

  “If he does, you’ll have him. All you need to do is reel him in,” Milla said, mimicking the operation of a rod and reel.

  “Not hardly.”

  Art didn’t talk about Angie during their first tutoring session after the temporary hiatus. Bess noticed he didn’t try to hide his bicycle around back, either. She thought she spotted Angie’s truck driving slowly by once. Its driver appeared to be a small woman, at any rate. Bess’ heart was warmed by Art’s appreciation for her help, and naturally her reaction to his closeness hadn’t dimmed, either.

  ****

  Friday nights Bess always took a break from studying. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, and on this mid-November night adding a light jacket, she rode her 1948 Hawthorne bike with the basket over the front fender across town and over the Main Street river bridge to shop at River Front Bookstore. They carried rare and out-of-print books. Art had spoken often about a scarce old metallurgy book he’d wanted but couldn’t find. She hoped she could find the clothbound volume at the bookstore, a place students didn’t venture often.

  She rode across the bridge on the walking corridor, feeling the vibration from the metal grate as she stared down at the dark waters below. As chilly as the night air was, she hated to think about plunging into the river and was glad for the reinforced railing beside her. Turning right on the other side, she coasted downhill to the brightly lit bookstore near the water’s edge, inserted the bike’s front wheel into the bike rack, and entered the store’s toasty warm atmosphere.

  Heading downstairs to where the rare science and engineering books were, she was greeted by the musty smell of the aging works of pioneers in their field. After ten minutes of searching, she gasped, her hand over her mouth—she had found the actual text Art had mentioned. The hardcover edition of Introduction of Physical Metallurgy, by Rosenheim, came out in 1919, but here so many years later was a copy in very good condition. Bess fastened her fingers on it and almost ran upstairs to the checkout. The lady wrapped it in brown paper, and Bess gladly forked over the thirty bucks. The book would be gift wrapped later for Art.

  Before Bess could back her bike out of the rack, she heard loud talking from a group of women near the river’s edge. There was a commotion, one woman screaming protests. Bess recognized that voice—Angie’s. Bess walked slowly toward them, hearing the conversation.

  “If you want in our house, Angie, in the drink you go.” Bess could see Angie fighting as three women dragged her toward the water’s edge.

  “No! Don’t throw me in. I don’t know how to swim,” Angie yelled.

  “The river is shallow. You can stand up when you land.”

  Bess knew the river to be deep here. The area was well lit, and she could tell the bank sloped sharply to the river.

  With a sudden spurt of adrenaline, Bess broke into a run as she yelled, “Don’t throw her in. The water is very deep here.”

  “This isn’t your business. Get lost,” the ringleader, a buxom blonde, yelled back and then, with the help of two others, threw Angie in.

  Reaching the riverbank herself, Bess saw Angie beat the water, trying to stay afloat. She didn’t yell—she couldn’t—and Bess knew right away that Angie hadn’t lied. She honestly couldn’t swim. The girls on the bank panicked, one running to the store to call for help. The rest screamed, standing frozen. Bess didn’t hesitate. She shed her jacket and dove into the chilly waters. Angie had just gone under for the se
cond time.

  Bess came up, took a sharp breath, reacting to the cold water, and saw in the bright lights from the shore that Angie was nearby but slipping under for the third time. Bess power-stroked over and caught Angie’s hand a second before it dipped from sight, bringing the girl above water. “Stop struggling!” she told her. Surprisingly, Angie complied.

  Despite Angie’s smallness, it was not easy to get her to shore, and Bess clawed at a small rock outcropping as she pulled first Angie out of the water onto the muddy shore and then herself. Angie, coughing, turned on her side and continued to hack. Bess pulled her away from the water’s edge as her coughing slowly subsided. As she managed some breaths, she clung to Bess and began to sob. Bess hugged her, giving consoling pats, whispering, “You’re okay now.” A couple of the women who had thrown her in were still there at the top of the bank.

  “Oh, Angie, we’re so sorry,” the ringleader said.

  “Yeah, right. I don’t want in your house,” Angie managed. As they took the hint and left, she looked at Bess for the first time, and shock spread across her face.

  “Bess?”

  “Here, put my coat around you before you freeze.” Bess picked up her coat and draped it around Angie’s shoulders. Its size covered her like a blanket.

  “My truck is right up there.” Angie pointed.

  “I insist on driving you back to your dorm. I’ll throw my bike in the back,” Bess said, cradling Angie’s shoulders and helping her up the incline and away from the river.

  “Thank you.” Angie pulled the coat together and shivered. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “I have a lot of natural padding,” Bess answered, pointing at a hip with her free hand.

  When they reached the truck, Angie reached behind the seat and pulled out a blanket.

  “Wrap this around your shoulders while you drive. I always carry it in the winter. The previous owner of my truck fooled with the carburetor and I haven’t had time to work on it, so I never know when the engine is going to quit, especially during cold weather.”

  “You know engines?” Bess asked, helping Angie in.

  “Uncle Charlie always let me help at his garage when I was a kid.”

  Bess got her bicycle from nearby, removed the book, and hoisted the bike into the truck bed, then got behind the wheel. As she drove back across the river, she could sense Angie had something on her mind. Finally, the shivering girl broke the silence.

  “I know you’re crazy about Art. I told him to stop having you tutor him. I guess this will swing him your way when you tell him about tonight.”

  “That’s not my style. In fact, I don’t want you to tell anyone. Those girls back there don’t know me, so let’s keep it between us.”

  “Why? That was a brave thing to do. People should know about it,” Angie said. She pulled a wet strand of hair away from her eyes.

  “I want to keep a low profile, something hard for me to do with my body mass.” Bess chuckled.

  “Everyone knows how smart you are, so forget about trying to maintain a low profile. In the bathroom I...what I said...well...” Angie hung her head, wringing her hands.

  “I don’t remember anything about a bathroom.”

  Bess pulled into the parking lot of Angie’s dorm, shed the blanket, and prepared to help Angie, but she had already gotten out and handed Bess her coat.

  “Don’t expect me to hand Art to you on a silver platter after tonight,” Angie said, but her smile was not an arrogant smirk.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Bess replied. Angie hugged her tightly around her neck.

  “I owe you my life,” Angie sobbed, then released her hold on Bess and headed toward the dorm, her head down.

  Bess watched Angie go, pulled her own damp jacket around herself, and let loose the shivering she had kept bottled up during the drive. She lifted her bicycle out of the truck bed and laid Art’s gift into the basket. She was thankful Milla had gone home for the weekend so she wouldn’t have to explain why she was thoroughly soaked. A hot bath and some hot cocoa to follow would take care of the chill.

  ****

  “Look at this, Bess. The student newspaper reports that someone jumped into the river and saved a student’s life.” Milla waved the paper at Bess from her desk.

  “Did they give any details?” Bess hoped she didn’t sound overly interested, but most of all she hoped there were no details given.

  “No. The witnesses were near that bookstore across the bridge. They said the rescuer was fat and the drowning girl small. Boy, I’ll bet that water was cold.”

  “That’s interesting. Let me see that a moment.” Milla tossed the tabloid-sized paper to Bess, who was propped up on her bed studying.

  She read the article, a short front-page story. Numbness took her at the description of the rescuer. She drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and laid the paper down.

  “What’s wrong, Bess?”

  “Oh, reading this makes me shiver, thinking how cold that water probably was.” Bess bit her lip, wondering if such a deceptive remark could qualify as a lie. She hoped she didn’t run into those girls who threw Angie in. The article verified something else. She was indeed fat.

  “This sounds like something you’d do. Say, you go to that bookstore on Friday nights. Did you see anything?” Milla asked, squinting her eyes at Bess.

  Bess feigned concentration on her tensor analysis book.

  “It was you, wasn’t it? Who did you save?”

  Bess continued to fix her gaze on her studies.

  Undeterred, Milla continued, “You and your low profile policy.”

  Bess was thankful Milla let it drop at that. One of many things she loved Milla for was not revealing their personal discussions.

  ****

  Art arrived ten minutes late for his study session with Bess. She fussed during those ten minutes, afraid he wasn’t coming. As she opened the door, he was quick with an apology.

  “I’m sorry to be late, Bess.” He laid his math book on the coffee table in front of their study couch.

  “That’s okay. I was afraid you might have gotten hurt riding your bike over.” She sat down, Art joining her.

  “Thank you for being worried about me.” Bess watched his smile, partly subdued, pleasant, and—did she see affection in that look? He looked down, then back up and continued. “Angie and I argued. That’s why I’m late. She doesn’t like me coming back to you for help on math. There’s something else, too, but... Sorry, Bess. I didn’t mean to burden you with my domestic problems.”

  “Think nothing of it. What are friends for?” Did she assume too much with the “friend” statement?

  “You are a good friend.” Art laid his hand on hers for a second. That brief touch revved Bess’ senses like her little brother’s Fire Baby model airplane engine reacting to fresh nitromethane.

  “The final exam is next week, and I’m still in the dark about the application of differential equations to electrical circuits and networks.” Art’s smile was meek, and Bess wanted to dispel his hopeless feelings about this difficult section for him. Could she eliminate her own hopeless feelings regarding Art accepting her as more than just a good friend?

  They worked for an hour before Art left, his attitude upbeat, Bess could tell, after their help session. He did mention meeting Angie at the library for more studying instead of a movie, and chuckled as he described Angie’s gripes at that plan.

  As Bess closed the door behind him, Milla entered from their small bedroom.

  “How did it go?”

  “Art told me he and Angie fought. He started to tell me something else, but stopped. He also considers me a good friend. Oh, Milla, I’ll never be more than that to him.” Bess wrung her hands a few seconds.

  “Of course you will. I know you’re constantly bothered by your weight and Art’s preference for small Angie, but look around you. There are always men and women of contrasting builds, personalities, and nationalities that are paired up, and they’re
happy. I think that is so romantic. It also sounds like he’s ready to fess up to his shallow agenda.”

  “Maybe, but on the fat issue, I’ve overheard men talking on campus about how they are totally turned off by ‘fat chicks,’ as they call us.”

  “I’ll bet the women on campus are turned off by those opinionated jerks, too. Don’t listen to them,” Milla said.

  “I’m sad that next week, just a day before Art’s final math test, will be the last time I’ll be helping him. Our semester will end three days later.”

  “If that concerns you, perhaps you should tell him how you feel. Don’t worry about what he left unsaid awhile ago,” Milla said.

  “Oh, that wouldn’t be proper. I do have a gift for him, though.”

  “Well, the gift will say it for you. I’m telling you, Bess. Things are going to turn out for you.”

  ****

  Mid December called for heavy coats, and Bess watched Art park his bicycle and remove his earmuffs and gloves before he stepped to the porch. She opened the door for him, took his coat, and heard him thank her softly. As they settled on the couch, she noticed his attitude seemed more relaxed than usual. She didn’t inquire about that. She straightened her skirt, smoothing it over her uncrossed legs.

  “My final math exam is tomorrow. Dr. Clemmons said if I can pull a B on it, I’ll get a B for the semester. With your help, I think I can do it.”

  “You deserve all the credit. You’ve worked hard,” Bess answered, giving him a smile and receiving one in return.

  “Somehow I expected you to say that.” Art opened his book to the appropriate section, and they entered an intense study session.

  Bess thought the help session was short when in fact it was longer than usual. She was surprised the time had stretched to an hour and a half. She could read Art’s facial expressions like her flight theory text. With his mouth partly open, he turned to face her, swallowed slightly and then closed his mouth with a sheepish grin. Something quite serious was forthcoming.

  “I broke up with Angie.”

  Well, Bess wouldn’t lie and say she was sorry.