Trouble Under Venus

by Autumn Piper

  Mitchell laughed, actually threw his head back and guffawed! Like he didn’t believe a word of my lie. That fleeting shadow… Had he followed us last night? Of course, it would be preposterous to accuse him. And no way would he admit to it.

  At last, he opened his mirth-crinkled eyes and looked down into mine. “No guy can perform well when he’s that drunk.”

  He had a point. So maybe that was how he knew. Or else he recognized a bad liar when he saw one. Maybe he hadn’t followed a complete stranger across the common area of her hotel in the dark of night and skulk in the bushes. Either way, I looked like an idiot for fabricating the story about my crazy night of sex with Lonnie.

  My face grew hotter by the second, and it had little to do with the noonday heat. “The spray tan gives better coverage but tends to fade if you don’t keep it moisturized.” I ducked under his arm, but without resorting to a pinch as I’d done with Lonnie. “Look, I’ve got some things to buy. Don’t forget, we have a class at four.” Without so much as a goodbye, I hurried down the street, hoping to ditch the embarrassment of my fib.

  Several flurried blocks later, it hit me.

  Althea hadn’t given my last name when she introduced me to Mitchell. Yet, he knew my last name. The maiden name I’d only resumed using in the last month.

  * * * *

  Dear Randi—this still feels weird, talking to myself, but hopefully it will grow on me.

  Day three and guess what? We have a surprise companion who joined us today. None other than the wisecracking nerd, Mitchell, with the body of a pro athlete, a tan like Hulk Hogan, and a wardrobe of Smokey the Bear meets Arvid. Speaking of class, thanks to him and that bonehead Lonnie, I missed nearly all of Professor Sudo’s specifics on how this time travel method works. The guys were sitting right behind me talking the entire time. As if they could possibly have anything to say a fraction as important as the Professor! Right in the middle of the lecture, Lonnie asks Mitchell—who told us on the way back from yoga that he’s going back in time to study ash fallout from Mt. St. Helens. Note to self: Look up on net later, what year St. Helens blew. Please God, do not let it be in ’80. That is MY year, dammit!—“So. You’re some kinda scientist?” As if this fact has not been established much earlier in the day. And Mitchell responds, smug as can be, “A volcanologist.” Right in the middle of Sudo’s explaining his diagram of the vortexes joining forces at a certain point and creating a wormhole into Earth’s recent past. Then up pipes Lonnie, who I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt did NOT write his own essay to get in this program, “So, you study guys like Spock?” I could have stuck my pencil through that guy’s eye socket! Mental midgets. I kept hoping Sudo would stop lecturing and send those guys to the corner or assign them sentences to write. Anything to shut them up.

  All I got out of the lecture was that our yoga practice is going to start focusing on opening the upper chakras to enable deeper meditation. Honestly, if mental strength is required for this time travel, Lonnie doesn’t stand a chance of going back in time to ultimately eliminate his own possibility of existence. After the booger of a hangover he had this morning, the moron went out drinking with Althea and Rhona again. Who knows, maybe Mitchell went too. I haven’t heard anything from next door in hours. Looks like I’m the odd man out. Sigh.

  I could kill for a soda and a candy bar right now. Everybody else is out defiling their bodies with alcohol. Why should I deny myself sugar when I happen to know the maids have vending machines right outside their laundry door?

  After grabbing a pocketful of coins from my purse and making sure to lock my door behind me, I headed back toward the laundry room. It was so quiet out, the few other guests must have settled in for the night. Either that, or they’d gone out on the town too. Hell. I hadn’t exactly been Ms. Invite Me Out. I probably deserved to be excluded.

  By the time I got to the sugar vendors, I felt low enough to purchase a Peanut Roll, Reese’s Cups, and a Snickers, besides the big bottle of Pepsi. Not that I intended to eat all the candy right then. I’d stash some away and save myself a potentially embarrassing trip next time I had a craving.

  A peanut butter cup half in my mouth, I rounded the corner of the building in time to see Mitchell execute a perfect dive into the water. So, he didn’t go out drinking with everyone else! When he rose to the surface and began his impeccable breast-stroke, the way his shoulders and back moved mesmerized me. Once again I was struck by the way his body seemed made for this sport. It wouldn’t hurt anybody for me to stand here in the shadow of the wall, watch him swim while I ate my candy bar. If he spotted me, I could claim I was on the way back to my room.

  He really was pretty quiet when he swam. I’d never perfected any swimming technique. I could save myself and maybe rescue another person, but my strokes were always choppy, uneven somehow. Mitchell’s form was a thing of beauty. So was his rear end in that tight little suit, which I got to see every time he dove over at the end of a lap. Thank God for Speedos, now that I’d seen a guy who looked good in one. The idea of him shaving for a race didn’t even bother me anymore; it kind of intrigued me.

  The next time I pulled my eyes away from him, my Snickers was half gone. Damn. When had I finished the Reese’s? And how could I still feel hungry? Maybe it wasn’t hunger so much as flutters in my stomach. My racing heart must be a sugar rush. Chugging Pepsi, I debated whether to move closer and stand behind that pine tree. I’d never live it down if Mitchell caught me spying on him again, but with its wide bottom, the tree was fail-proof cover. Yeah, my bottom would probably be about as wide by tomorrow, because I’d decided to eat the Nut Bar as well. After all, the calories were the same whether I consumed them now or later.

  While he swam toward the other side of the pool, I stole up behind the tree. Our rooms weren’t far behind me, so I should be able to slip unnoticed into mine when he got out of the pool to dry off.

  I’d just allowed myself to relax and fixate on his very low abdomen as he did a backstroke, when I had to pull my eyes away to open the wrapper of the damn Nut Roll. Off to my left, Althea and Rhona were going into their rooms. And Lonnie, sure enough, was not going to his room, but heading toward mine! If he kept up his course, I’d have no way to keep him from seeing me but to go around the other side of the tree and be found out by Mitchell. That wouldn’t do at all. But I didn’t want to babysit Lonnie again either. I’d have to hide. The hedge behind me would get me closer to my room, but I couldn’t get the door unlocked and make it inside before Lonnie reached me.

  Propelled by pure inspiration, I snuck into Mitchell’s patio and ducked behind the wall.

  Lonnie’s footfalls were loud, unsteady, and not far away. In true testament to the time he’d spent with Althea, he was mumbling the words to Jailhouse Rock.

  “Everybody, let’s rock,” he sang as he pushed my patio gate open with a bang. “Raaandiii.” He knocked on my door.

  On my knees, I was already in the perfect position to pray Lonnie would keep it quiet so Mitchell wouldn’t hear him. Beside me on the concrete, rectangles of light beamed out through the French doors. As Lonnie continued to knock next door, I allowed myself a glimpse inside. Mitchell might be a pocket-protector kind of guy, but he dumped his clothes on the floor like any other dude. One outfit, anyway. Running shoes and shorts, a sweaty-looking muscle shirt—hey, wait a minute! If he had running shoes, why’d he go around all day in the hiking boots? The guy had been out for a run, not down at the bar. Running, biking, swimming. Maybe he’d been telling the truth about the triathlon.

  On the table near the door was a stack of books. What did that one binding say? Erections? Oh. Eruptions—How Volcanoes Work. Below that was another entitled, The History of Volcanoes, and lower still, How Volcanoes Affect Our Planet.

  Next door, Lonnie called my name, whacked my door and then muttered, “Shit!” All I could think was, thank God, when he left. What did the guy see in me, anyway? Maybe he thought I was playing hard to get.

  So what was Mr. V
olcanologist doing with all those basic books about his supposed field of expertise?

  Was that the pool gate squeaking open? Oh Lord. Mitchell was on his way. I made a mad dash out his gate and thanked God once again because big moron Lonnie had left my gate open. With only seconds to spare, I landed on my knees behind the wall of my own patio this time, waited for him to pass and enter his room. Feeling extremely foolish for my hiding and chasing, all in the name of checking out a fine body, I caught my breath and willed my heart-rate back to normal. When it was safe, I stood, brushed off my knees and dug in my pocket for my keys. In the process, I managed to drop my bottle of soda and the still-wrapped Nut Roll.

  Mitchell’s screen door banged open.

  I froze, holding my breath. Not another late night banter with him! I couldn’t take it.

  “Hey.”

  I turned. He’d poked his head around the wall between our patios. “Oh. Hey. Just on my way back from, um, getting a snack.” The heart-rate was right back where it had been before. I bent to pick up the Pepsi and candy bar, and in the process, the Reese’s wrapper fell out of my pocket.

  “Looks like you were hungry.”

  The last thing I needed tonight was to exchange smart ass remarks. “Yeah, well, salad for two meals in one day. No surprise my stomach’s growling.” I snatched up the Reese’s wrapper and stuck it back in my pocket, where the Snickers one should have been. Only it wasn’t. Where had I lost it?

  “Tell me about it.” He vaulted over his wall, then mine, his towel still wrapped around his waist. Show off. “Oh, man. Is that a Salted Nut Roll? Where’d you find that?”

  “Um.” Here I’d been expecting judgment from him, thinking he only stuck healthy food in that god-like body of his. But he looked envious. “There’s a, um, machine out back for the employees.”

  “I gotta go get one.”

  “Well, this was the last one.”

  He looked so let down when he said, “Oh.”

  I knew then it was a mistake, but I felt guilty for spying in his room, and he was so close to me, dripping wet and almost naked. And hungry.

  “You can have it. I mean, you’ve probably worked up an appetite.” I had an appetite myself, though not for food anymore. Without waiting for his reply, I held out the bar for him to take. Somehow, I’d expected his hand to be cold from being in the pool. But it was very warm, nearly hot, when it closed around mine. I belatedly noticed my heart was still racing, as it had been since I’d started watching him swim. He stood there quiet and calm after that exertion, and I was the one breathing fast.

  “We’ll split it,” he said and freed the candy, then letting go of my hand, opened the wrapper. After he handed me half, it didn’t seem unusual to be standing out in the dark eating a candy bar with a relative stranger who was fibbing about his profession and obviously hiding more, who had somehow found out my last—

  “Hey!” I stopped, mid-chew, horrified to have trusted him. “Howth you know my latht name?”

  “Your latht name?” he repeated. “Oh.” He gulped and swallowed his candy. “From the press conference,” came out fast.

  I backed away. My last name at the time of the press conference had been Montclair, not Reed.

  It would be best not to let him know I was onto him and his serial-killer ways. As calmly as possible, I choked down my mouthful of candy and then said, “I really need to get to bed. Good night.” Once again, I locked my doors behind me.

  Dear Randi,

  Oh. My. God. I just narrowly avoided getting caught peeking into Mitchell’s room. He is sooo not a volcanologist. He may not even be a scientist, for all I know. He knows things he’s got no business knowing. I cannot believe I actually fantasized about him kissing me out there, as I calmly shared what could have been my last supper with him.

  It’s not true what they say about all the good looking guys being taken or gay. Some of them are highly suspicious characters, lying about who they are, lulling us into complicity with their hot buns and sexy green eyes.

  I will find out what this shyster is up to, I vow it. Let this diary be a record: If I turn up dead, investigate the dude in room 4.

  Randi.

  Chapter 3

  All decked out in my new pink yoga pants and a coordinating green-and-pink tank, I opened my door ready to stretch, meditate, and unravel the mystery one room over. Something was jammed between my doors. My confidence dissolved with a small “Eek!” Forcing myself to stay calm, I let the dark item fall. It hit the floor and moved, or rather, unfolded. My Snickers wrapper. Whoever had put here it knew it was mine, and they wanted me to know they knew. It was so early, I couldn’t imagine anyone else up besides those of us required to greet the dawn with a yoga mat on the hillside. Someone had watched me the night before, probably while I was watching Mitchell swim, or looking in his room. Someone in the time travel party. This was not good.

  As I dropped the wrapper in the garbage, I noticed something scribbled on the inside with black marker. With shaking hands, I smoothed it flat and read, “Private eyes are watchin’ you. They see your every move.” Below the writing was a picture of two crossed eyes, each forming the letter ‘O’, and a ‘B’ before, so it said “Boo!” A happy little warning, especially with the long lashes on the eyes. Was I being teased, or threatened?

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  * * * *

  By the time we’d traipsed back from our yoga practice, most of the other guests had already disappeared for the day.

  Breakfast at the Feng Shui Inn was a quiet affair. Usually I’d stop by the dining room and load a plate with fruit, maybe some oatmeal, then go on to my room and eat alone. Lonnie and the ladies always went directly to their rooms. I wasn’t sure whether they dined together later or not. Nor did I care. For myself, I enjoyed the quiet time with all my senses humming, my circulation improved from the yoga.

  Today it did not seem like I’d be calmly reflecting over breakfast. Indeed, my thoughts had raced since I’d left my room. Poor yogi had been frustrated. I was usually his best pupil, but could barely concentrate enough to keep up with him.

  It hadn’t helped having Mitchell right beside me the entire class, waiting to look me in the eye every time I glanced his way. I really had no idea what to do about him anymore. On the ride back to the Inn, one thing had come clear to me: our every exchange ended with me running from him. From teaching third graders about nature, I knew predators love to chase their prey. If I kept running, I was sure to be chased. Time for me to mix up this game and be the aggressor, maybe.

  This lovely morning was the perfect opportunity. We went into the dining room at the same time. The way I figured, if I sat down to eat at the table, he could hardly fill his plate and leave me sitting there alone. And if he sat down first, I’d join him as if I had no choice.

  “Join me for breakfast?” he asked, and nearly sent me running.

  So much for becoming the aggressor!

  Swallowing the sudden urge to retreat, I pasted on a smile, feeling like I had at my first job interview. “Sure.”

  Once seated across the table from him, I couldn’t help but gawk at the huge platter of food he’d taken. Calories out had to be calories in first. It must take a lot of food to fuel his exercise regimen and all that muscle mass. But I needed to keep my mind off those muscles for now, concentrate on discovering the truth behind the lies he’d been telling.

  “So,” I said, picking at a slice of watermelon, “you probably hear this all the time, but I really love volcanoes. Geology is my favorite science segment to teach. The kids really love them too.”

  “Yeah?” he answered. “Third grade, that’s what you teach, right?” Now that was made public in the press conference. But he hadn’t fooled me by changing the topic to me.

  I’d change it right back. “So which volcano is your favorite?”

  “Favorite? Oh, I think I like them all the same. You know, just another day at the office.”

  “I suppo
se,” I replied. “Still, I can’t help being partial to Mt. St. Helens because she took us all by surprise, erupting sideways like that. And then there’s Kilauea, constantly building, growing, creating. You’ve gotta love her constancy.”

  “Yeah.” Mitchell seemed intent on his food, but behind his glasses, his eyes were moving a lot.

  “I’d love to be able to see lava when it’s hot. Like at Kilauea, where it rolls out so peacefully all the time. When does it become lava, exactly? What’s the other name for it, you know, before the eruption?”

  He swallowed hard, then shoved most of a muffin into his mouth.

  The answer was magma and he didn’t know it. How long should I let him sweat it out? In class, I’d never let a student squirm this long. Unless the little shit came to school claiming to be an expert!

  He pushed his glasses up and looked anywhere but at me. Like the kid in class who does not want to be called on and avoids meeting my eye.

  “Magma,” I relented, snapping my fingers. “That’s it. It’s magma in the earth and lava outside.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I was gonna say. I mean, I wasn’t sure what you were asking. You’re, uh, pretty knowledgeable for an amateur.”

  I wanted to tell him he was pretty clueless for an expert. The smart remark sat on the tip of my tongue, wanting so badly to come out and sting him. But I’d bide my time. And once again he had tried to turn the conversation to me.

  “Tell me how you managed to get into the time travel program so late,” I said.

  “Oh, all in the name of science. You know, with St. Helens showing activity again.” He tipped back in his chair and rubbed his fingers through his hair. “It’s pretty important to gather this data.”

  “What exactly are you looking to find out?”

  “I don’t want to bore you. It’s just some ash samples from different parts of the country.”

  Feigning fascination, I put my elbows on the table and rested my chin on my hands. “Just some ash samples.” His eyes stared straight across at mine as I spoke. “Yet it was such a rush, they put you in this group rather than wait three months ’til Sudo goes commercial? Is the scientific community concerned that St. Helens is unstable?”