Sleeping with the Fishes (11 page)

"I had a cup of yogurt," she replied, blinking up at him with her exotic, almond-shaped eyes.
Oooooh
, he was getting that
trembly
/firm feeling he got whenever he talked to Dr. Barb. And not just because he knew he could give her a kick-ass makeover. "Nonfat."

"You call that breakfast?" he cried.

"Well. Yes."

"Ham and eggs, that's
breakfast
. Grits and anything, that's breakfast," he added, taking her by the elbow and trying not to be obvious about dragging her away from the group. "Eating nonfat yogurt is punishment for jaywalking, right? Come on, I know a great place right across the street."

"Well," she began, and it must have sounded so good she said it again. "Well… I couldn't be gone for long."

"Aw, who are you kidding? You probably weren't on the schedule for this morning, either."

"Well… I'm the one who draws up the schedule…"

"So cross yourself off it long enough to have a bagel with yours truly." He noticed her toes were practically skimming the tile and eased up, but didn't let go of her arm.

"Well… as I said, I couldn't be gone very long…"

"Right, right,
place'd
probably implode if you left for more than ninety minutes. We'll have you back in eighty-nine."
After Fred and the guys get lost
.
"But you can't expect to go charging all over the NEA on yogurt. I thought you were smarter than that, Dr. Barb."

"I had no idea you were so worried about my welfare. Thank you, Jonas."

Jonas felt a thrill inside. Was it possible that Fred—dour, sour Fred—was shooting him the most grateful, sweetest smile of her life?
And
he was about to take his longtime crush on their first date?

This is the greatest day of my life
!
he
thought, exalted, as he steered Dr. Barb past the throngs of tourists and students. He saw Madison's stare turn into a glare, but managed to give her a cheery wave.
And it's not even ten fifteen in the morning
!

Barb Robinson was having
a
a
puzzling morning.

First, her dry cleaner hadn't had her eight lab coats ready, so she was down to three, low starch.
Having so few symbols of her authority available to her made Barb extremely nervous.
How was she expected to keep order at the NEA when everyone else there was so much smarter, younger

(
better-looking
)

and
better educated? Answer: a crisp, blinding white lab coat with her name (Dr. Barbara Robinson, Ph.D.) in red script over the left breast. She could feel her authority shoring up whenever her coat settled over her shoulders, when she buttoned it all the way to the top. She kept her long hair in a braid so everyone could see her name. So the volunteers and fellows could easily spot her.

You could, Barb had thought more than once, talk people into almost anything if you were wearing one of the things. It reeked of authority. The lab coat whispered to their subconscious
trust me, do your work as diligently as I do, tell me your troubles, promise to work late on Friday
.

It was less effective, she thought wryly, in an Au Bon Pain.

"You want to take that off?" Dr.
Bimm's
nice gay friend said to her. He'd insisted on paying, almost like it was a real date, and had bought her a bagel with lox and cream cheese, and two milks. ("Dairy is dandy," Barb's nutritionist mother had been fond of saying.) "
So
you don't spill on it?"

"Oh, no.
I'm fine. Thank you for breakfast."

Jonas gave her an odd look.
"No big, Dr, Barb.
You looked a little hassled."

"Oh. Well, you know.
Saturday morning at the aquarium.
Always a bit of a madhouse."

"Yeah, but it doesn't all need to be on your shoulders. I mean, you've got ticket takers and volunteers and stuff to worry about all that, right?"

"Well, I—yes.
But the NEA is my responsibility."

"Boy, you and Fred," he muttered, working on his second chocolate croissant.

"Dr.
Bimm
is very dedicated to her work," Barb said proudly, for she had handpicked Dr.
Bimm
from a pool of several dozen highly qualified candidates, and had been justified in her decision many times over.

Of course, the odd punk hair made some of the fellows nervous, and Dr.
Bimm
wasn't the cheeriest employee she'd ever had, but her work was top quality and her devotion to duty was unwavering. She could think of no greater compliment to bestow upon anyone. "She is a credit to the NEA."

"Yeah, and two guesses when she had her last date." Jonas colored and Barb watched, puzzled,
then
realized Dr.
Bimm's
last date—oh, no. It couldn't have been—

"Not…Phillip?"

"Phillip," Jonas confirmed with his mouth full, lightly spraying her with crumbs.

"That was most likely a mistake," she admitted, taking another bite of her bagel. "But she seemed so—and we parted amicably enough—at least I did."

"If you don't mind me asking, what happened? Who'd be crazy enough to drop-kick somebody like you out of their marriage?"

Barb smiled, feeling a warm glow of pleasure. It was nice that Dr.
Bimm's
best

(
only
)

friend
was so nice. It was a pure crying shame he was off the heterosexual market, with that blond hair and the incredible body which, she happened to know, he honed weekly in the dojo.

She had seen Madison flirting with him and felt sorry the girl; she probably should have taken her aside and warned her, but Jonas's orientation was nobody's business. Certainly Madison's flirting was nobody's business also.

She realized he was waiting for an answer.

"I dumped him, actually."

"Oh."

"It was my fault, really. I just couldn't overlook all the sleeping around."

"
Ob
," Jonas grinned. "Don't stop now.
Dish!"

She found herself telling him. How they'd met at a fund-raiser for the NEA. Both in their late thirties, both ready to settle, both wanting to get married.

But
getting
married wasn't the same as
staying
married. Phillip had really wanted someone to go to events with, someone to be on his arm.
A name on a mortgage application.
The ability to check the "married" box on any form.
Not a living, breathing, loving wife who expected him to stay out of other beds.

"The nerve!"
Jonas mock-gasped.
"You and your incredibly unrealistic expectations."

"Right," she said dryly, sipping her milk.

"What a
dumbass
! Man, if I'd known
that
, I never would have let Fred go out with him. No offense."

"None taken.
But could you have prevented Dr.
Bimm
?"

"Well… she only went because—I mean, she didn't want you to—I
dunno
. It
was,
what? Six years ago?"

"About that, yes. Who is Dr.
Bimm's
new friend?
The large man with the red hair?"

"Oh." Jonas's blue-eyed gaze went vague, and he waved off something invisible.
"Just some guy from out of town.
Let's get back to the
dumbass
you married. I mean, he's got you and he's out cheating?"

"Uh, yes.
But I—" She looked down at her lap. She'd never see forty again, she didn't get much exercise, she was devoted to her work, and she had worn her hair the same way since ninth grade. Why
wouldn't
Phillip look for something a
little

(
younger
)

fresher
? Somebody like

(Madison)

a
college student?

"I guess the thought of a long-term marriage just made him feel blue," she said, her smile fading. Blue made her think of Dr.
Bimm's
hair, and Dr.
Bimm
made her think of… "This man, he's from out of town, you say? How does he know Dr. Pearson? And why were they all—"

"Shit!" Jonas leapt out of his chair, and she saw the dark stain spreading across his shirt.

She jumped, too, grabbed her napkins, and dabbed at him frantically. "Are you all right? Are you burned? Get that shirt off," she ordered. Coffee burns could be nasty, even after all the silliness with the suit against McDonald's. If she could get the hot cloth away from his skin in time, he might not be—

In response to her command, Jonas instantly stripped off his polo shirt, revealing a lightly furred chest, gorgeous
pecs
, nicely defined shoulders, and a by God six-pack set of abs.

She stared.

"I don't think I'm burned."

She stared.

"Dr. Barb? Am I burned?"

She stared some more.

He clicked his fingers in her face. "Dr. Barb? Come back now."

"My God." she said at last, almost shaking herself like a dog out of a pond. "I could grate cheese on your stomach."

"Uh—maybe later."

She inspected his skin closely and after a minute actually remembered why she was staring at his taut, muscular flesh.

"You're not burned," she assured him.
She
was feeling rather warm, but that was just too bad. Jonas was always nice, always seemed pleased to see her, always hanging around Fred, always lugging around
Aveda
bags, and—

"Look, let's go up the street and hit
Filene's
. I need a new shirt, and you've got to let me do something about those lab coats."

—loved to shop.

It just wasn't fair.

"Ah Little Rika.
At
At
last I have you alone."

"
Sshhhh
!"

Fred had
Artur
by the hand and was leading him to the waterline. That was tricky at the NEA on Saturday mornings, as the place was jammed. She and
Artur
couldn't just strip in public and leap in.

"I do not understand why we do not merely leap in."

She rolled her eyes and they crept closer. They were beneath one of the observation decks, a glorified cement dock which, luckily, led straight to the water. With luck, they'd be twenty feet in and way deep and no one would see them.

"Look,
Artur
, you might not care if the entire world knows what you are, but I do. I managed to keep my secret from everybody until you got to town. I don't want anybody else finding out."

"You should not feel shame for—"

She swung around and let him feel the full force of her glare. "It's not: about being ashamed!"

"It is."

"Like hell! It's about not wanting to spend the rest of my life as a zoo exhibit! Do you know what the bipeds would do to me?"

"No."

"You didn't see
Splash
, did you?" Of course he hadn't.
Dumb question.
Next! "You've seen what they do to the planet. You've seen the NEA. It's a nice cage for the fish, but it's still a cage. I like my freedom."

"If you were to come to my home, you would know nothing but freedom."

Now, why was that idea as exciting as it was terrifying? Just being able to swim around and do whatever, with
her own
personal tour guide none other than the High Prince.

"I like it here," she said shortly.
Which was the truth.
Right?

"You like hiding? You like being a commoner?"

"I come from a long line of commoners.
Strip."

"Ah, you see, Little Rika? I am yours to command. "

She smiled at him (she couldn't help it; he
was
kind of funny sometimes), kicked off her shoes, and started to take off her clothes. Above her, out of sight, she could hear the excited murmuring of NEA visitors looking at the outdoor exhibits.

Artur
had been about to spontaneously combust, so she figured he was due for a break. And Thomas wanted more time to number crunch. She could have stayed to help Thomas, in fact had been sorely tempted, but in the end she decided to try the harbor herself. (Not to mention, there was no telling what mischief
Artur
might make if left alone.) Maybe she could smell or taste something in the water that would help.
Artur's
senses were no doubt much better instruments than hers, but she had the scientific background he lacked.