Barbie & The Beast (7 page)

Barbie’s face was plastered to her pillow in a major sugar hangover. Too tired to move, other than to glance briefly at the
dial on the clock radio, she muttered, “It’s midnight. I’m not going to answer this phone, so you can stop calling.”

Riiinnngggg.

She covered her ears with the pillow.

Riiinnnggggg.

“Hey! Wake up the neighbors, why don’t you?”
Riiinnngggg!

Barbie picked up the receiver, dropped it, then managed to retrieve it again and place it to her ear.

“Your new message is quite funny,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

Bolting upright, Barbie fumbled with the pink princess phone again, then put one hand over her heart to make sure it didn’t
leap out of her chest.

“ ‘Hello. Barbie doesn’t know you and has thought better of this, so please stop calling.’ That’s not a proper message,” her
mystery man chided in his sexy bedroom voice.

Barbie cleared her throat. “Then what is it?”

“A challenge.”

“It wasn’t meant to be a challenge.” Or maybe it was, Barbie admitted silently. Could it have been, without her knowing?

“Why did you leave your number, if I wasn’t to call?” the stranger asked.

“Moment of weakness. Women have them. I’m a woman.”

“I know.”

Gulp.
Of course he did. He’d done all that feeling around in the graveyard.

“It’s midnight,” Barbie said.

“Not my fault. You had the phone off the hook for a while.”

“It took me an hour to make that message.”

“Then you picked up anyway?”

“Yep,” Barbie admitted with a shrug. “And if you tried for an hour, you sure must like challenges.”

“What I am is per sis tent.”

Uttering a silent cheer over the fact that he had tried for an hour to reach her, Barbie then slid into inner chastisement.
Remember the stalker theory!

Her mystery guy continued. “Am I the only one here who wanted to see the other again?”

Barbie considered. In point of fact, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything else since Angie left. She had eaten
ten cookies. Ten! A zillion calories. A month in the gym. All because of this arrogant stranger with his iffy persona.

“Okay,” Barbie said tentatively—right before wondering if it was anatomically possible for a person to kick herself in the
ass.

“Okay what?” the sexy voice queried.

“For the sake of my figure, we can see each other again.”

“I don’t know if I follow the first part, but I like the second. When?”

“Next weekend. Friday. In public. In a busy place. Lots of
lights. Lots of people.
Alive
people. No graveyards, no lightless places, no carting. Very little touching.”

This, to Barbie, sounded not only reasonable, but like a normal date.

“Lots of rules going on there,” said the voice.

“I stand by them implicitly, just so you know.”

There was a hesitation on the line, then, “All right.”

Barbie fell back onto her pillows, grasping the receiver. “All right? You agree?”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, Barbara.”

“Barbie.”

“Not a nickname?”

“My mother liked the doll. A lot.”

There was chuckling on the other end of the line. Barbie hadn’t forgotten how nice this guy’s laughter was, nor how much she
liked the sound. It seemed to flit across her skin through the phone lines, light, earnest, and rumbling. Not at all wicked.
Not too cynical. Hearing it, she blew out a sigh, settled into her pillows with the phone cradled to her ear, and said, “You
didn’t tell me your name, as I recall.”

“Maybe I should say Ken,” the voice suggested.

“You do and I’ll hang up.”

“What if it really is Ken—as in Kenneth?”

“It would be way too cute. I couldn’t stand that much cute. I’ve grown up with Mattel jokes, you know.”

“Lots of jokes?” he asked.

“Too numerous to mention. Anyway, Ken, it’s rumored, has been recently replaced by Blaine—an update, it seems, for the youth
of today. Of course, I suggest we don’t take this information too seriously, as Ken and Barbie are true soul mates. Blaine
is merely a feeble attempt at modernization.”

Realizing what she was saying, Barbie covered her mouth with her free hand and clunked herself on the head with the phone.
Motormouth.

Her caller just chuckled. “Seems we’re safe, then,” he said. “My name is Darin.”

Barbie perked up. “As in the singer, Bobby?”

“Named after the singer, yes. But my
first
name is Darin. Last name is Russell.”

Points there, Barbie thought to herself. Darin Russell knew who Bobby Darin was, and he knew about Ken. Plus, he hadn’t made
any more Mattel jokes. How bad could he be? She pulled the covers up beneath her chin.

“Friday? Is that what you said?” he asked.

“I. . .” Barbie’s mind was a great big blank as she struggled to justify what she was doing, and as she fought off the image
of how her mother would disapprove of the words
graveyard guy
. The date would be in public, though, so it was probably all right. If Darin Russell tried anything strange or forward, other
folks would help out when she yelled.

She wondered though, as she listened to his soft breathing, whether the toy company had ever made a Rebel Barbie, because
that’s what she was feeling like right at that moment, by taking him up on his offer.

“Shall I pick you up?” he asked.

“No. We can meet,” she hurried to say.

“May I suggest somewhere?”

“Sure.”
Maybe. If it’s not too pervy.

“A restaurant on Third. A Gypsy place. Have you been there?”

“A Gypsy place?” Barbie repeated. “No, can’t say I have.” But inside, her heart was racing. Would people who frequented a
Gypsy place come to her rescue if necessary, or be too busy dancing on the tables naked?

“Good,” Darin Russell said. “It’ll be an adventure.”

“Another one?” she muttered.

Quietly she kicked herself, because he had succeeded in manipulating her into a date on foreign turf, when she’d
been prepared to refuse any date at all. What had happened to that? What had happened to fortitude? Adherence to a plan? She’d
rehearsed her refusal over and over, in case he did call, hence the hour with the phone off the hook. Her waffling now was
surely due to the evening’s unusual glucose consumption. And now she had to be nervous until this date actually took place.
Would the mini-mart have enough cookies to tide her over for a week?

“Wait. How about tomorrow?” she said. “Instead of Friday.”

“That would actually be today, I think,” Darin Russell said after a pause. “Since it’s now after twelve.”

“Yep. Luckily there’s no school on Sunday, so I won’t have to worry about getting up early the morning after.” Gee, that might
be misconstrued, Barbie realized right after she said it. Yet if she tried to clarify the matter, it might only make things
worse.

“To night,” Darin Russell repeated, as if thinking about it.

“You game?” Barbie sensed hesitation on her male pursuer’s part. She didn’t know if she should push farther and see if he
cracked.

“Would lunch be better?” he suggested. “Full daylight? Plenty of crowds?”

“Possibly, but I do need a little time to prepare,” Barbie said. “Also, I have things to do.” Barbie, you little dickens,
she thought. That’s what is known as taking the big bad bull by the horns and not letting him make the rules. And on the plus
side, she was avoiding a ton of interim weight gain. Win-win.

“All right,” Darin conceded, though slowly, almost tentatively. “Tomorrow. I mean, to night. Nine o’clock all right?”

Nine was her usual pj’s-and-a-book time. But then, what was more important, anyway? A book, or a guy beside her in his own
pj’s? Better yet, a guy beside her in no pj’s at all!

Oh, right, she quickly amended. Like she’d know. Like she’d ever come remotely close to having a guy in bed. Like that was
even a possibility now, with this wildman stranger. No good girl should invite a wildman into her immediate vicinity—especially
her apartment!

“Gypsies don’t get moving until nine,” Darin explained. “Food’s not even in the ovens until eight forty-five. It’s a dark
place. Cool. Lots of ambience.”

“Do I wear bangles?” Barbie asked.

“The more bangles the better, I’m thinking,” he agreed.

“Aren’t Gypsies the ones who hang all that garlic everywhere?”

“You don’t like garlic?”

“Sure. But then there won’t be any vampires in the place,” she joked.

Another few seconds of silence passed before Darin Russell replied. “Nine it is, then. Oh, and a skirt and heels would work,
along with the bangles—just in case you had jeans in mind.”

Jeans? Did he think she wouldn’t know how to dress for a first date? Smiling, Barbie eyed the jeans dangling over her chair.
“Swanky Gypsy place, is it?”

“Very old-world,” he replied. “No sneakers allowed. Dinner jackets are the norm. You all right with that, Barbie?”

“Perfectly all right.” But she wondered if a swanky place might allow baseball caps along with the bangles, since she couldn’t
get Angie to do her hair without an explanation about any of this.

“Do you want to know anything else?” Darin asked.

Your chest measurement, maybe? Your medical records?

Instead of those things, Barbie asked, “Do you like movies?”

A laugh came over the line. He was clearly astonished
she’d asked that particular question, and not something more serious. Then he said, “I do like movies. Especially old black-and-white
stuff.”

“Another question?” Barbie inquired.

“Shoot.”

“Why
me
, Darin?”

His voice seemed to get a bit more serious, though she supposed she could have been imagining it. “Nice voice. Nice body.
Sense of humor. Loyal. Good friend. Adventurous attitude. Skinny knees,” he said.

“Hey!” she protested.

“I just wonder if you’re beautiful.”

“Sorry,” she snapped. “Plain as pie. I rely purely on charm. And I thought you could see in the dark.”

“Well, no worries about the looks,” Darin Russell assured her, laughing. “I have enough for the both of us.”

“You’re humble, too,” she noted.

“To a fault.”

“I knew you couldn’t really see out there.”

“Oh, but I could.”

“Then tell me something, Bat Boy.”

“You’re a brunette.”

Barbie paused, taken aback, then said, “You saw me by the car. I knew you were watching.”

“Yes, but I knew about your hair color before that, and that your lipstick was red.”

Now, why would he notice a lipstick shade? Barbie wondered. Why would he even mention it? Was it something to do with coloring?
She recalled Angie’s bit of grooming trivia: no red lipstick for blondes. Some sort of skin-tone incompatibility. But since
she was a brunette, it should be fine on her. And what sort of man noticed that sort of thing? Unless Darin Russell was .
. . gay?

Lord almighty. Not gay. Nope. There was nothing gay about this man. This hunk of flesh had been all hetero man, front and
back. She was most sure about the front.

“Your mouth smelled like cinnamon,” he elaborated. “The scent was right up there with feeling up your knees.”

“Which are not skinny. I believe I mentioned that,” she remarked.

“So you did.”

“Anything else you want to tell me?” Barbie asked. Noting another teensy hesitation, she held her breath. Would his next words
be a compliment or a critique?

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Except that I would like to say I think you might be a great person to know, and to share a
life with.”

Share a life with? He’d said that as though he really meant it! Like they had skipped all the middle stuff, all those fairly
important details, and gotten to the entrée before the salad course. For a minute Barbie was speechless. Her tongue wouldn’t
work. Her breath was suspended.

“See you soon, then?” Darin said.

That mesmerizing voice seemed to glide through the phone wires, through the receiver and into her ear, and down, down, down,
to
. . .that spot
. The spot her mother had warned her about, the spot Mattel’s Barbie didn’t come with. It was a spot Barbie now had no doubt
she herself possessed, one that was throbbing insistently at the moment, begging to be noticed. Begging for attention. Heck,
she was panting. Her knees were vibrating. Forget not telling her, she might need to stash Angie at a side table as a chaperone
for this date. If a phone call from this guy could hit that spot, think what being near the guy might do!

Maybe Angie could lounge out of sight with binoculars and a direct line to the Miami PD. She wouldn’t be a chaperone, really—more
like backup. And crap, she hadn’t told
Angie anything yet. How was she going to break this to her friend? With all her fibbing, she was turning into her ex, Liar
Bill. Maybe falsehoods were contagious.

“I’ll be there,” she heard herself say. “I’ll take a cab, since I haven’t gotten around to buying a car.”

“Good night, then,” Darin whispered, and before Barbie could protest or add anything or change her mind, he disconnected.

Her pink princess phone slipped from her hands, crashing onto its plastic cradle. Barbie stared at it for a long minute before
mumbling, “Well, that’s that.”

Of course, it was, in actuality, a long way from
that
. She had a made date with Graveyard Guy, as in a guy who patrolled graveyards for a living. She was going to a dark Gypsy
place on a date. And to top it all off, she’d just experienced phone sex without meaning to. Every one of her body parts was
humming Darin Russell’s tune. She closed her eyes, pressed her thighs together, and whispered, “Barbie Bradley, you have really
gone and done it this time.”

Still twitching, she lay back on the bed and covered her head with her pillow. Several seconds went by, but her heart rate
refused to slow. She flipped over to her other hip, curled into a ball, stuck a leg out of the covers, and wiggled her bare
toes. Her heart continued to boom.