Body Chemistry

by Dara Girard

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “Okay.” He stared at the ground. “Um…one said ‘This place has more rain than Seattle, hope you’re keeping dry.’” He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at her, unsure.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  “Another said how boring my meeting was and how much I looked forward to working with you. The last one said ‘Coming home.’” He shook his head. “I mean ‘Coming back soon. Looking forward to talking to you.’”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t receive them,” Brenda said softly. She remembered that he used to do that at the beginning of their marriage, although they were rarely apart back then. Whenever he traveled he sent a postcard, but as the years passed they stopped coming, and he was away most of the time.

  “And nobody called you?” Dominic asked, still amazed.

  She shook her head.

  “It doesn’t make sense. It’s not like Thomas not to follow instructions. Did you get the water heater installed?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “It must have been a misunderstanding. I specifically told him that I wanted you to know where I was and what I was up to.”

  She smiled. “That was nice of you.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be nice.” He sat beside her. “I told you things will be different this time.” Dominic pulled her to him and kissed her. His kiss reminded her of powdered sugar. She’d had some on her lips the first time they’d kissed and he’d used it as an excuse, he didn’t need one after that. She welcomed his kiss as the desert sands welcome a breeze. His lips reminded her of warm Hawaiian beaches where they’d celebrated their honeymoon, late night showers, early morning quickies and tangled sheets.

  There was something both safe and familiar yet dangerous and strange about him. He’d once been her husband but three years had made them strangers.

  She pushed him away, his kiss burning her lips and her heart beating like thunder. She stood. “No, we can’t do this again.”

  He stood too. “Do what again? Feel? You know enough about science to know that certain elements are drawn to each other because they have to be together.”

  “We are not single-cell organisms. We are rational human beings given the privilege of choice and I won’t do this again.” She turned away.

  He came up behind her and whispered, “Why resist what your body tells you is right?” His voice was warm against her neck, making her skin prickle with pleasure. “You know that no other man makes you feel this way.”

  She faced him determined to resist what her body told her was right. “You possessed me once, but you will not do so again.”

  “You’re already mine.” He playfully tapped her nose. “Try not to think about me tonight.”

  She brushed his finger away. “I’ll think of you as a warning never to trust my heart again.”

  He lowered his gaze. “I may have broken your heart.” He lifted his gaze. “But you’re the one who ripped it out and crushed it with your sense of right and wrong and unyielding judgment. I’m going to give you back your heart and make you whole again.”

  “Why don’t you just give me yours?”

  His gaze clung to hers. “Because I’d never trust you with it.”

  “No, you never did.”

  His face eased into an indulgent smile. “You can’t hurt me, Brenda, and you won’t get rid of me this time.”

  “I know. I didn’t ask for your money without knowing you’d be a technicality.”

  His smile became devious. “It’s not wise to make me angry when I haven’t given you any money yet.”

  “Then go ahead. Don’t give it to me, it will only confirm the ruthless side of your nature I know exists. Do I need your money? Yes. Does that make me vulnerable? Yes. Will I allow you to use that vulnerability to control and humiliate me? No.”

  He stared at her amazed. “You think I want to humiliate you?”

  “You’ve never forgiven me for divorcing you. Your pride took a direct hit. I know you’re trying to punish me for that.”

  He lowered his voice in pity. “How sad. I thought your new look meant something but you haven’t changed at all. You’re still fighting battles that don’t need to be fought. Have you ever thought, just for once, that I didn’t want a divorce because marriage meant something to me? And that I’m here now because I want you back.”

  “I won’t come back.”

  “Then we’ll go forward. This is our second chance and I’m going to seize it and one day when you open your eyes you will too.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “I’ll have the money deposited into your account and I will send you the manuscript and talk to you later.”

  “Next month perhaps?”

  He pulled her to him and smothered her mouth with a kiss that left her breathless. When he drew away his voice shook from a barely controlled emotion she couldn’t understand. “Remember that and don’t let me see your hand on Franklin’s arm again.” He slammed the door.

  Anger radiated through his calm demeanor as Dominic returned to his car. He’d returned to the city looking forward to seeing Brenda again. He hadn’t expected her to fall into his arms, but he definitely hadn’t been prepared to see her hand on Franklin’s arm as she flashed a coy smile at another man. He had struggled hard to stop the urge to knock the two men’s heads together.

  Brenda was his. He hadn’t sent her postcards and his manuscript just so she could toy with him. He’d never be anyone’s toy. He’d followed her home because he wasn’t going to allow her to dismiss him as she had the others. Sitting in the car only let his anger grow, but it warmed him as the cold air seeped in. When she’d finally invited him inside he was ready to unleash his fury, only to be met with her own fury. And in an instant his anger turned into disbelief. She hadn’t received any of his mail.

  Sergeant greeted him when Dominic made it home that evening.

  “Oh, you’re back,” Sheila said when she saw him. “I made you your favorite.”

  He patted his dog. “I’m not hungry,” he snapped, then saw her face fall and softened his tone. “Thanks. I’ll eat it later.”

  He went into his bedroom and sat on the bed without turning on the lights. Sergeant sat and stared up at him. “I’m all right,” Dominic told the dog, stroking its head. “Just disappointed.” He’d driven straight from the airport to Brenda’s office, eager to see how much leeway he’d made with her. When Chuck told him she’d taken time off, he’d been disappointed because he’d told her when he was returning. Seeing her outside the coffee shop had been an accident, but then again maybe it was meant to be.

  He looked at the bright red letters of his clock. He waited until late before he called Thomas.

  The ringing phone startled Thomas out of bed. He groped for it in the blackness of early morning, then picked it up. “Hello?”

  “What happened?” a dark voice said over the line.

  Thomas instantly knew whom it belonged to. “What do you mean?”

  “Brenda didn’t know I was away. I thought I told you to tell her.”

  He could feel Natalie waking up beside him and lowered his voice. “I did tell her.”

  “But she said you didn’t.”

  “Look, who are you going to believe? A bitter ex-wife or me? Your cousin and manager? Have I ever let you down? She probably lied just to put you on your guard.” Silence greeted him. “Dominic?” he said, wondering if the phone had gone dead.

  “Brenda doesn’t lie,” he said, causing goose bumps to form on Thomas’s arm.

  Thomas swallowed and turned on the lights, blinking against the shine. Wrong strategy. He wouldn’t attack her character. He had to think fast and come up with another reason. “Maybe she just forgot. It’s been a busy week and it was a short conversation.” He switched the topic, hoping to distract Dominic. “How does she like the water heater?”

  “She’s very pleased.”

  “See? I told you I’d come through for you. It was just a little mix up.” />
  “And it won’t happen again?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm.” Dominic paused, then said, “How’s the studio coming?”

  “The studio is fine. I’ve found a great location for her.”

  “Good.” The line went dead.

  Thomas hung up, then fell back on the pillow.

  Natalie sat up. “What was that about?”

  “Dominic was confused about something.”

  “What?”

  “Just something,” he snapped. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “He asked about the studio space?” Natalie asked unfazed by his irritation.

  “That’s right.”

  “Where?”

  “What do you care?”

  “I’m just curious,” she said in a small voice.

  He saw no harm in telling her and filled her in on where it was located.

  “You can’t put her there,” she said horrified. “That place is a dump.”

  He sat up and shrugged. “She’ll get used to it. Artists like places like that.”

  “She’ll blame Dominic. And he’ll blame you.”

  “No, he won’t. I’ll tell him that’s all I could find on such a short notice.”

  “Thomas—”

  “I know what I’m doing,” he said with a smug smile. “I’ve done it before.”

  “But—”

  “Are you his manager or what? I’m the one who’s gotten him this far. You got your job because of me. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you mean more than that. We both know that before me you were only qualified in how to spend your father’s money. Don’t put your pretty nose where it doesn’t belong. Brenda’s a gold digger.”

  “I don’t think she’s a gold digger.”

  “She’s not good for him and Dominic needs to see that. I’m helping to make his vision clear.” Thomas turned off the light and fell back to sleep.

  Natalie stared at the shadows on the wall.

  Chapter 9

  “Cooking lessons!” Brenda read her instructions again: Schedule an appointment with Rania for a special cooking session. She set the paper down. She hated cooking. Why would she need to take lessons? If this was going to be the way to finding her ideal man, she was beginning to doubt the Society’s claim of a guarantee. Her lack of cooking skills was known to her family and Dominic had never tasted it. She’d loved him too much to put him through that agony.

  Perhaps the Society could work miracles, things were going well so far. She’d gotten men’s attention, if this would improve her odds, she was up for the challenge. So she made an appointment.

  Rania arrived on time that Saturday. Brenda didn’t know whom she’d expected to arrive, but it wasn’t a striking, full-figured dark-skinned woman in a cashmere coat and high heels with her arms filled with groceries.

  “Put these items in your refrigerator right away,” she said, handing Brenda two grocery bags. She followed Brenda inside, then stopped and stared once she entered the kitchen. “Oh my.”

  Brenda rested the bags on the counter. “What?”

  “This looks like a science lab.”

  Brenda took it as a compliment. She took pride in her kitchen, although she never used it to cook in. It was orderly and immaculate, a masterpiece in design. All of the appliances were stainless steel, she had a granite countertop, a marble cutting block and a kitchen island. The herbs and spices sat lined up in neat rows, each one clearly labeled.

  Rania opened the cupboard. “It’s obvious you don’t cook.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Easy. Hand me the salt.”

  “Salt? I don’t have salt.”

  “How about the flour?”

  “No.”

  “Cooking spray?”

  “No.”

  “How about a skillet?”

  “Okay, you’ve made your point. I didn’t know I was supposed to have those items. But, I can go to the store and get them.”

  Rania began unloading the bag. “You won’t need to do that, Brenda. I came fully prepared. Do you have an apron?”

  “Yes. Actually, I have a total of ten.”

  “Ten? Why ten?”

  “It’s a little family joke. They love the irony of someone like me having an apron. I’ll get one for each of us.” Brenda reappeared with two brand-new aprons. “Here, you can have this one. I like the one with the big pockets. And here’s a box of latex gloves.” She rested it on the counter.

  Rania frowned. “Why do we need latex gloves?”

  “One of the things I hate about cooking is touching raw meat. I know that sounds odd for a scientist, but that’s the way I am. And I hate getting flour stuck under my fingernails. So whenever I cook, which is basically never, I always wear gloves.”

  Rania watched in amazement as Brenda carefully put on her gloves, as though preparing for a dissection. Rania sighed, then put on her apron. “Cooking is like chemistry. Simply science. That’s why I’m sure once you know the basics you’ll enjoy it.

  “I don’t intend to turn you into a chef, but the old adage, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, holds more truth than we would like to think. I am going to show you how to prepare one complete meal including dessert, and I promise you, by the end of the day, you will be able to prepare it yourself.” Rania briefly went over the basics, then pulled out three large laminated picture cards and placed them on the counter.

  “Here are the recipes with clear instructions. If you follow them step-by-step, nothing will go wrong.”

  Great. Brenda thought. Science she understood. Before beginning any of the recipes Brenda read each one, then organized each ingredient in groups on the cooking island. She used a yellow highlighter to emphasize the measurements.

  She pointed at one instruction. “What’s this?”

  Rania looked. “A pinch of salt.”

  “What exactly is a pinch?”

  “It’s small.”

  “I don’t understand. What is the unit of measurement a pinch of salt should be? Is it like grams?”

  Rania grabbed a pinch and put it in the bowl. “It’s like that.”

  “Oh. Could you show me again?”

  Rania took a deep breath. “No. We’re making a basic dish. Shepherd’s pie, a simple recipe that consists of a layer of browned ground beef and a layer of mashed potatoes on top, baked in the oven for approximately one hour at 350 degrees.”

  “Approximately? Does that mean less than one hour or more than one hour?”

  “It means approximately.”

  “You cannot set the oven timer on approximately. It’s either an hour or it’s not.”

  Rania rubbed her forehead as though she had a headache. “It’s an hour.”

  The session went downhill from there. Brenda burnt the beef, setting off the fire alarm; cut herself while peeling potatoes; washed the vegetables for nearly five minutes, then cut them into uniform, bite-sized pieces; demanded to know the difference among vegetable oil, canola oil, olive oil, corn oil, and sesame oil and then inspected each strawberry to be used in the dessert, throwing out any that looked bruised or defective.

  Rania threw up her hands. “Stop!”

  “What?”

  “The perfectionism. The questions. It has to stop.”

  “What questions?”

  Rania mimicked Brenda’s voice: “‘How small should the potatoes be cut? Half an inch or one inch in size?’ ‘Are you sure this is the right kind of butter to use?’ ‘What if I don’t mash the potatoes correctly?’ ‘What does non-hydrogenated oil mean?’”

  Brenda felt her face grow warm. “I just want to understand.”

  “You do understand. You’re afraid of making a mistake and that’s impossible. Mistakes are part of learning. You’re going to do this quickly.”

  Brenda froze. She never did new things quickly. She hated the prospect of failing at something. Growing up, she had succeeded at everything she had ever done. She had been the valedictorian at her hi
gh school, was on the Dean’s list throughout college and upon graduation had won a highly competitive international scholarship to study abroad for a year in London in a prestigious science lab.

  But Rania rushed her through the rest of the session and in the end the meal didn’t look as expected. Fortunately, it tasted fine. Both Brenda and Rania ate it, surprised.

  “Wow,” Brenda said with renewed confidence. “I would never have thought of making a dish like this,” she said, taking a second helping of the pie. “When I go to visit my mother, I’ll surprise her by making this.”

  “And others,” Rania said. “Try to experiment. Remember it’s not fatal to make mistakes.”

  The next day Dominic’s manuscript arrived in her e-mail and she printed it out. She started reading, planning on just skimming a few pages, then getting to her laundry, but the depth and passion of his prose captivated her.

  She finished the book and set it aside, amazed. He always told her how he envied her ability to draw, claiming he couldn’t draw a stick figure, but he could write. It was the same skill that kept people entranced around the world. She knew this book, like his others, would be a bestseller.

  She still had his first one. He’d dedicated it to her and signed it “With love.” She hadn’t looked at it in years, wondering when she’d be able to without feeling any pain. She lifted the manuscript again and ran her hand over his name, remembering his first effort at writing a book. She’d come home from teaching and found him sitting in front of the computer.

  “So how is it coming?” she asked.

  He glumly pointed to the screen. She peered over his shoulder and saw one sentence. “I can write papers, articles and lectures, but I don’t know how to write a book,” he said.

  She rested her hands on his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. “You don’t have to. Just think of it as a presentation.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

  “It is the same.” She gently shoved him from his seat. “Move.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re going to dictate.” He reluctantly stood and Brenda took his seat and flexed her fingers. “Okay, begin.”

  He folded his arms, unimpressed. “This is not going to work.”