Phoenix Heart (8 page)

The driver slid behind the wheel. His voice crackled through
the speaker mounted below the Plexiglas partition. “Are you ready, Ms. Brenner?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Very good. If you need anything, please key the button on
the armrest. That activates the speaker. My name is John Tomlinson.” He keyed
off the speaker, smiled into the rearview mirror and pulled the massive car
gently out into the traffic.

I smiled and stretched, then leaned back against the seat
and kicked off my pink pumps and dug my toes into the carpet.

No work, no school, no lab.

I had a flash of Lance’s face and of Andrew Richards’ seen
through the burning tears caused by the smoke, but I pushed the vision away.

Nothing’s going to stop me
now.

We’d barely made it halfway down the block when a movement
ahead and to the right caught my eye. A tall, lean man in dark sunglasses,
sports coat and jeans, carefully looking to the left and right, walked out of
the doorway of the photocopy store on the corner, and began waving at the limo.

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

The man waved more frantically and I leaned over, keyed the
button on the armrest. “Mr. Tomlinson, stop, please.”

“Ms. Brenner?”

“Yes, please, pull over.”

I moved my hand over, keyed the button on the armrest and
the window slid down.

The man ran up to the window and leaned down.

“Oh, good, it is you, Melanie.”

I nodded.

He looked up the street toward the University, then back
towards my apartment. “Look, I hope it isn’t too much of an imposition, but I
remembered that you were heading out to the airport and I was wondering if you
could give me a lift.” He smiled. He was sweating a little and that lock of
hair had fallen forward and was sticking to his skin.

“Of… of course, Dr. Richards.” I looked toward the driver. “It’s
okay, isn’t it?”

The driver had twisted around in his seat. “Of course, Ms.
Brenner.”

I turned back to Dr. Richards. He was still looking down the
street, the same smile on his face. “Dr. Richards?”

He jumped a little then turned the smile on me.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“Great.” He grabbed the door handle and I slid across the
seat and buckled myself in on the far side. He dropped on the seat, slammed the
door behind him, and rolled the window back up. “Thank you,” he said. “I
appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked back out the darkened glass as the chauffeur
pulled into traffic, then turned back to me and flashed a smile. “You look like
you’ve recovered completely. No ill effects?”

“None. Have you heard anything about Lance?”

A small muscle along his jaw bunched, then relaxed. “He’s
going to be okay,” he said. “He’s got some broken ribs, a pierced lung, a
bruised liver, and a moderate concussion. By the way,” he said as he took off
his sunglasses, and I saw his eyes for the first time. “They said that whoever
bandaged him and got him out saved his life. He would have bled to death. I
told him I didn’t know who you were, just a student I’d seen around the halls.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Last thing I wanted was to get caught up
in something just before my trip.”

“They may still be looking for you,” he said. “And if you
saw anything…”

“I didn’t.”

He sighed. “Good.”

The limo moved into a left turn lane and stopped at a light.
A black and white police cruiser pulled up along the right side and stopped. The
officer behind the wheel glanced over at the black tinted windows. Dr. Richards’
head jerked away from the window, then he casually put his sunglasses on before
turning to me. “I’m glad I remembered that you were heading for the airport
this afternoon,” he said.

I could see my reflection in his sunglasses. “Oh?” I said.

“Yes. It turns out I have to get there in rather a hurry,
and, uh, my car’s in the shop.” The sweat on his forehead was drying, but he
still looked a little flushed.

“I see.”

“Started to call a cab and realized I came away without my
credit cards or enough cash. Or, my phone,” he said. “Would you mind if I used yours?”

“No, not at all.” I slipped my phone out of my purse and
handed it to him.

“Any problem with texting?”

“No. I have unlimited.”

While he typed, I had a chance to study him up close as I’d
never been able to in the lab. Impossibly good looking: skin, facial structure,
hair. I’d been at a Macy’s once when they’d had men from their print ads in the
store doing some sort of promotion. They looked as if someone in marketing had
sculpted them precisely to appeal to the female psyche. Well, maybe not psyche.
A bit more visceral than that. Yet, in Macy’s that day, I saw no woman approach
them to speak, to flirt, to even ask directions. It felt like if you were
foolish enough to try, the men might just stare through you, uncomprehending
and unseeing, so totally on another plane of existence that the light and sound
coming from you vibrated at frequencies impossible for them to register. It
never had occurred to me to wonder what they thought or felt.

At
the university, if I’d been passing the men’s room as Dr. Richards happened to
come out, I might have stopped for a moment, puzzled, thinking what’s wrong
with this picture?

For
the first time, I thought, maybe being good looking is not all it’s cracked up
to be.

I turned and looked out the window and watched a parade of
fast food restaurants and gas stations go by. As if superimposed on the
scenery, I could see Lance’s pale face, his closed eyes pooled with water,
black smoke pouring out the door and along the ceiling.

My eyes slid back to Dr. Richards and I studied that face,
wondering what those eyes behind the dark lenses would tell me if I could see
them. He rubbed a hand up and down his denim-clad thigh. Large and strong-looking,
I could almost feel it coming up my arm, stroking my neck, cupping my face as
he leaned forward to...

Whoa, girl. That is enough! Start
acting like you’ve got something between your ears besides a giant,
prepubescent gland.

I took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. I
folded my hands in a ladylike way in my lap.

“Damn it,” he whispered, and then I heard him punching in a phone
number.

I reached down and pulled a novel from my purse and opened
it at random and stared at the words.

“It’s Andrew. Read your texts sometime, will you?”

…

“I’m okay. A friend’s giving me a ride to the airport.”

His voice: He had a perfect voice to go with the perfect
body and face: deep, just a little gravelly, educated yet not pompous; the
voice you’d want to hear coming from the other pillow saying,
Call in sick.
We’re spending the day in bed.

“Because it’s the only way,” he said into the phone.

…

“Look, now’s not the time to argue. I only have my ID. Send
something through Uncle Marley, will you?”

I reached up and slowly turned a page, tilting my head ever
so slightly to look at it.

“I think…”

I kept my eyes on my book, pretending to be so utterly
absorbed that I couldn’t possibly hear a word of his conversation. Yet, the
silence lengthened, and then I had the uncanny feeling that his eyes were on
me. I looked up, and he smiled brilliantly. And it was strange: for the first
time since I’d seen him when I walked into the graduate admissions interview,
those flashing teeth had not the slightest effect on my heart rate.

He looked out the window, and I back to my book. “I think I
know a way,” he said.

I tried to read the words on the page, to concentrate on
them to shut out that voice, but the letters blurred and danced.

“I’ll get this straightened out.”

…

“Because I can’t do it if I’m... I can’t do it that way.
Listen, watch out for him.”

…

“I don’t want anyone else… involved.”

…

“I’ll be all right.”

…

“I will be all right!”

…

“I’d better get off now. I’ll call when I can.”

I continued to stare at the book, turning a page
periodically.

He handed the phone back to me. “Thanks.”

His fingertips brushed against mine.

“Not at all,” I said, and blushed as I heard the hitch in my
voice.

I turned to look out my window, now utterly bored with the
book and utterly fascinated with the scenery. The sun was lowering behind the
buildings of west LA, turning the smog from brown to orange. We were stuck in
the beginnings of the rush hour traffic, inching our way along the freeway,
still miles from the airport. I watched it all carefully until I was absolutely
certain my face was its normal color once again.

We rode on in silence as the driver tried to maneuver the limo
from lane to lane, trying to find a faster way through traffic that was
crawling at no more than twenty-five.

“So,” Dr. Richards said, “you should have a great time in
San Francisco. It’s a beautiful time of year to go.”

Speak Melanie! Speak!

“I’ve heard that,” I said cleverly.

“Have you spent much time there?”

“No, not really.”

Big smile followed by long silence. He cleared his throat
and shifted around. “I came up during the summer for the Black and White Ball. Spectacular.
Have you ever been?”

Oh, right, I fly up every
year.

“No,” I said.

“No, of course not,” he said. “I mean, not of course not
that you couldn’t go, just of course not that it’s so expensive. I forgot for a
minute you’re a student.”

I just smiled.

“So, what are your plans?” he asked.

“The tour company has everything set. Sightseeing,
restaurants, a play or two.”

He smiled. “Well, that sounds great. Too bad they didn’t let
you bring someone with you. It would have been that much more fun.”

“Actually, they did. I mean, the contest was for... It’s
just that with such short notice... Yeah, I guess it would have been more fun.”

“Oh,” he said.

Oh. Oh, I see. It should have
been obvious. Of course you couldn’t find anyone to come with you. I should
have known that just looking at you.

“Good,” he said. “See, from the airport I’m heading to San
Francisco myself, and as long as you’re not seeing anyone, perhaps you could
squeeze me in the itinerary. I need to clear up a few things about what
happened this morning, and then maybe I could take you to dinner to thank you
for this ride.”

I’m sorry, what? Andrew Richards
just asked me out? Andrew Richards?

“That… that’s not necessary,” I said. “It was no problem to
give you a ride.”

“Of course it’s not necessary. I’d enjoy it.”

I smiled. “Really, I do appreciate the offer, but the tour
company has practically every minute booked. Thanks, though.”

Shut-up Melanie. Keep your
mouth shut and just nod your head!

       (but what if he did
have something to do with the bomb)

“Now, there must be some evening free. Or, maybe a lunch?” He
was directing what must have been microwave radiation at me: the container was
staying cool, put the contents were melting down into a puddle.

“Dr. Richards, really...”

“Melanie, all my friends call me Andrew.”

“Andrew, then. I really don’t think I’ll be able...”

“You know, Melanie, in class and in the lab I got the
impression you didn’t much care for me. Is that what this is about?”

And I got the impression you
didn’t even know my name.

I could feel my skin warming up to a blush. “No! No, not at
all! What made you think that?”

“Every time I was around, I never heard you say more than
two words.”

“Well, I...”

“I’d hear you talking to Chuck and the other students, and
then I’d come in and you’d clam up. Was it something I said?”

“No! I mean, it was just, you know, a new situation and all.”

He shifted around toward me and casually put his arm up on
the back of the seat so that his hand rested a scant inch from my shoulder. “Well,
I’m glad to know it was nothing that I did.” He gave me a slow smile and I
could
feel
his fingers dangling next to my skin and any second a tendril
of smoke was going to rise from the pink angora overlying that shoulder.

“You know,” he said, “I started thinking about San Francisco
as a possible destination for this trip when I heard you were going.”

Why is he doing this? And why am
I feeling like it’s feeding time in the lion cage and I’m a nice juicy steak?

“San Francisco in October is really the best time of year. The
weather is perfect; the summer crowds are all gone.”

The limo changed lanes and hit a bump and his finger just
barely brushed against my shoulder.

Fire.

“You practically have the whole city to yourself, to do
anything at all that you want.” He smiled a slow, languid smile.

Beyond the balcony the Golden
Gate Bridge peeks through the fog. Andrew walks across to where she stands near
the railing, grabs her by the shoulders, and presses his lips on hers. Her
knees give out, as her heart thumps madly. One of his arms comes around her
back, the other under her knees, and he sweeps her off her feet. “I’ve waited
all my life for a woman like you,” he growls as he heads out of the cold San
Francisco night toward the bedroom.

I shivered and quickly shifted in my seat to try to hide it.
“I am looking forward to seeing the city,” I said. “The museums, the aquarium,
Muir Woods, Fort Point; in fact, just about every site worth seeing in a
fifty-mile radius has been included in the itinerary. I thoroughly enjoy such
things.”