Really Unusual Bad Boys

by Davidson, MaryJanice

  “Don’t worry,” Anne said dryly.

  That made Lois laugh, for some reason. “Okay. Fair enough. Here’s the thing. I wanted to be a cop—a police officer? For years and years.”

  Anne nodded. She could relate to that. She’d been born on a farm. Without the kindly intervention of World War II, she might have died on the farm.

  “And I was, right? And I loved it. I never thought I’d love anything more.”

  “You were a police officer?”

  “Yeah, I was a lieutenant in the—”

  “In the offices, right?”

  “No.” Lois smiled. “I know what you must be thinking, but take my word for it…where we come from…” She indicated her mother with a nod. “Women can be cops, politicians, fly jets—”

  “Jets?”

  “—planes. They can do whatever the hell they want.”

  There was a long pause, and finally Anne said, “Ma’am, that is a lie. That is not true.”

  “Maybe in 1945, sunshine. But give it until the next century. I’m telling you, I carried a gun and I waved it at bad guys and got shot at and puked on and got paid for it.”

  Anne smiled; she couldn’t help it. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “Excuse me,” Gladys grumbled, fluffing up a pillow. “It certainly does not.”

  “Where I am…I know it’s wrong to be glad it’s wartime, but my country needs me. Needs women. Because the men, God bless them, are getting killed. And finally we have our chance. We could get out of the kitchen. We could help. We could fight.” She looked around the gorgeous room. “And now I’m here. I—my country needs me. I can’t stay.”

  Gladys opened her mouth, but Lois shook her head, and the older woman didn’t say anything. Lois continued, “Look, I totally know how you feel. I couldn’t see past my job, either, right? But then I got hurt. And they wouldn’t let me on the street anymore. I could still be a cop, but I had to do paperwork and answer the phone…like that.”

  Anne shuddered.

  “Right. And I put up with it. For a long time. And then I realized they would never, never let me do what I loved, ever again. And my parents were dead. I mean, my dad was dead. My mom was here. But I didn’t know it. And I’d never been one to make friends, you know? So one night I killed myself. I took about a million pills and killed myself. Except I didn’t die. I think.” She turned to her mother. “Are we dead, do you think?”

  Gladys shrugged.

  “You weren’t doing anything that would kill you when you came here, were you, Anne? I mean, you weren’t charging a nest of machine guns or anything?”

  “No. I was on my way to language lessons, at the base.”

  “Hmmm. Okay. Anyway. I woke up here. And Damon was waiting for me. And now I have a whole new life. A wonderful new life. All’s I’m saying is, give it a chance. I mean, there must be a reason you’re here. Even if you didn’t do anything to get here. Right? Anne? Right? Mom, back me up here.”

  “I thought I was dead, too,” Gladys said. “I was in a car accident…you know, a crash? And I woke up here. And my friends—the journeyers—found me. And I wandered around with them in the desert for a long time.”

  “Like Moses!” Lois said brightly, then ducked as her mother threw a pillow at her.

  “At first I was shocked and unhappy, like you, dear. Then I got used to it. And then I met up with my daughter. And now I’m—well, now I have many friends, and the king has told me I can stay as long as I wish, and my life is very different now, too.”

  Anne was listening, but she was more horrified than accepting. They wanted to be here? They never tried to go back? But that meant that she…that she…

  “But there’s nothing for me here,” she said. She heard her voice tremble, and despised herself for it, but continued anyway. “Back home, they need me. Here I’m…what?”

  Lois and Gladys looked at each other. “Well, there’s no war or anything. Which is a good thing. But, uh, Maltese really seems to like you.”

  “He doesn’t know me. And I didn’t leave the farm and join the Army so I could end up someone’s wife somewhere else.”

  Lois coughed. “Awkward,” she said to the air. Then, “Right, well…um…anyway, maybe you could give Maltese a chance? To grow on you?”

  “To grow on me? Like mold?”

  “Okay, poor choice of words. Look, all’s we’re saying is, you’re stuck here, right? Well, wherever you run to, you’re still here. On this planet, or whatever it is. So why not stay in a comfortable palace with servants and a prince who really seems to like you, and just…give it a chance. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Anne lied.

  Chapter 9

  “Okay,” Lois said, letting the curtain fall. She spotted Maltese lurking in the hallway, stomped over to him, put her hands on his broad chest, and pushed him back a few steps. “Uh-uh, Dr. Stud. You leave her alone.”

  “Is she all right? Does she still weep?”

  “No, and no. Look, she’s all tucked in and ready to go beddy-bye, so just, you know, give her some space.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Give her some space?”

  “Look, I don’t know if it’s the dialect problem or if it’s just that you’re a guy, but back off of her, all right? Don’t crowd? Get it? I mean, give the poor girl a break, she’s kind of freaked right now.”

  “But I wish to be near her,” Maltese said, sounding wounded.

  “I know, Maltese, believe me, I totally get it, okay? But she’s not like me, she didn’t—I mean, she’s got stuff she’d like to get back to. She’s really missing her life right now and she’s mixed up, and doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. Just give her a chance to get settled in.”

  “As you wish, Lois.”

  “Soooooo. Turn around. Walk away.”

  After a minute’s hesitation, he did.

  Lois massaged her temples. “I had to end up on a planet that’s never heard of Advil.”

  Maltese pulled himself up and swung a leg over the balcony, then landed lightly on the floor. He poked his head through the window, observed the lump asleep in the great bed, and sighed happily. Her scent was so pure, so delectable, almost like sweetmeats, and it was so strong it called to him. Why, his nose was telling him she was much closer than in the great bed, that’s how strongly he was drawn to—

  He heard a crash—inside his skull, oddly—and fell the rest of the way into the room.

  “You get out!” he heard when he regained consciousness a few seconds later. “It’s bad enough you’ve kidnapped me like the Lindbergh baby. But you’re not going to sneak in here and rape me.”

  “Rape you?” he groaned, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. “You mean wape? Prepare nuts and berries for you and anoint you with oils?”

  “No, I don’t mean wape. I mean—you know. When you have—uh—marital relations with someone who doesn’t want to have marital relations with you.”

  Maltese frowned. “You mean, force you?” he asked, appalled. “Never! Not in a thousand sunrounds!”

  “So why were you sneaking in my window? And where’s your ladder?”

  He did not know ladder, so he addressed the other question. “I wished to see you,” he replied simply.

  She flushed and brandished the other statue. He saw the room had at least six—perhaps not the wisest decorating move. “Well, don’t do that! It’s your fault I’m here. I don’t have to like it—and I don’t like it—but do not sneak into my room and spy on me, or you’ll get a lot worse than one of these upside the head.”

  “I only wished to see you were all right.”

  “All right?” Her blue eyes bulged. “I am utterly not all right! I have to get back to work, have you not heard me say this before? There’s a war, do you understand war? My country needs me and I’m…I’m stuck in something out of Arabian Nights. With people who can turn into leopards!” She was wild-eyed and brandishing the statue, which Maltese eyed with no small concern. “Isn’t there someone in char
ge I can talk to? Who can send me back?”

  “My father is—”

  “Never mind,” she snapped, and glared.

  “Perhaps…” he began, and hesitated. He did not want her to go. But he felt her pain, keenly. Perhaps…perhaps it was not meant to be? No matter how drawn he was to her? The thought actually hurt him, as if someone had bitten him in the stomach.

  “Perhaps what?”

  “Ah…” He rubbed his head again, but the swelling had already vanished. “When Lois came here, she wished for things. For one thing. Her footlocker. And it appeared. And often, when people appear, they can wish themselves back. As they can wish things from their world out of the air. So perhaps…”

  “You mean, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz?”

  “I do not know Dorothy.”

  “‘There’s no place like home’? Like that?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Well, it’s worth a try, right?” She set the statue down with a thump, clasped her arms around herself, shut her eyes, opened her mouth…then cracked one eye open and looked at him. “Hey. Don’t look so sad, uh, Maltese, is it?”

  “I do not want you to go,” he sighed.

  She hesitated, then said, “I don’t belong here. It’s nothing, um, I mean, it’s not personal…” He knew she was telling an untruth, that she held it very personal, but it did not seem courteous to correct her. “Well,” she finished awkwardly, “thanks for the advice.”

  “You are welcome.”

  “Okay. Here we go.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Well, good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.”

  She closed her eyes again. Then she swore, “Cross of Christ!” And opened them, and hurried across the room, and stood on her toes, and kissed his chin. He blinked down at her, surprised, but before he could grab her and do some kissing of his own, she scurried back across the room and shut her eyes again.

  “All right,” she said. “This time I’m really doing it.”

  “Good-bye.”

  “I wish I was back at the base in New York,” she said.

  Maltese looked at the floor, imagining a gold circle would appear and whisk her away, as one had brought her, but nothing happened.

  “I wish I was back at the base in New York!”

  Nothing.

  She opened her eyes again. “Maybe you have to do it,” she said. “Because you—what did you call it? You wished me here.” She gestured excitedly. “Sure, that’s it! You have to wish me away!”

  “But I do not wish for you to leave,” he pointed out reasonably.

  “Aw, shaddup! And wish me away already!”

  “I wish Loo was back at the base in Noo Yorrrk,” he said.

  Nothing.

  She stamped a small foot, and the hem of her robe flapped. “You have to mean it,” she said.

  “But I do not.”

  “Arrrrggghhh!” she screeched, and threw herself facedown on the bed. She kicked like a child for some time, then slumped against the bedcovers, exhausted.

  He bent over the bed, and gently turned her over. “Are you well?” he asked with some concern. Her face was very red, and her eyes were leaking.

  “No,” she sobbed.

  “Do you require anything?” This was, he felt, a foolish question—the one thing she wanted, he was unable to give her. Still, politeness had been drilled into him from his days as a tiny prince, and such habits were ingrained. “Shall I fetch Lois or Gladys?”

  “No. Those two are useless to me. They want to be here.”

  “It is not such a bad place.”

  “Not the point. I finally had a purpose, I finally got out of the God-be-damned kitchen, and now I’m here.”

  “Do not cry,” he said, patting her ineffectually.

  “I’m not crying,” she sobbed. “And stop touching my head.” She batted his hand away.

  “Perhaps…” He trailed off. Again, an idea he wished he had not had. Again, he was powerless to deny her.

  “What?”

  “Well. My brother the good prince has shown me many times where Lois appeared. Lois thinks there are ‘thin spots’ between our worlds. Perhaps we could journey there tomorrow and perhaps your wish would work.”

  She stopped in mid-sniff and gaped at him. Then, slowly, “You’d do that?”

  “I prefer not to. But I dislike seeing you weep.”

  She sat up excitedly, her head banging into his chin. “Really, you would? We could go there and try wishing again?”

  “Yes.”

  She flung her arms around him and squeezed him with all her strength, which was puny, but he appreciated the gesture. He carefully squeezed back.

  “I guess I misjudged you,” she said, releasing him. “I really appreciate what you’re trying to do.”

  “It is nothing.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she said, and grabbed the corner of his robe and wiped her face. Then she smiled up at him, and he saw that she had deep sweetmarks in the corners of her cheeks, what Lois called dimples. His heart nearly stopped, but he managed to smile back.

  Chapter 10

  “You’re going where to do what?” Lois asked.

  “The thin spot,” Anne explained. “Where you came. Maltese is going to take me there, and wish me back.”

  “Wish you back?” The princess gave Anne a look that would melt iron. “What happened to giving it a chance here?”

  “It was Maltese’s idea,” Anne said, feeling defensive and then feeling angry for feeling defensive.

  “That is true,” he agreed. “It was.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, good luck, I guess.” Lois popped another white squashy thing into her mouth. It was the strangest breakfast Anne had ever seen, though she’d been too excited to try and eat. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

  “And maybe you won’t,” Anne said cheerfully. She wasn’t going to let the prickly princess ruin her hopeful mood. Why, by twelve hundred she could be back on the base!

  She followed Maltese out into some sort of courtyard, smoothing the collar of her uniform. She’d given in and slept in one of those robes, but had insisted on wearing her own clothes today. Thankfully, they had dried. Still, the robe had been comfortable, and sinfully soft…like silk. And a gorgeous wine red. Though it was early morning, the odd-looking sun was already high in the sky…another warm day. She could understand why everyone wore the robes.

  Maltese stopped and was suddenly a mountain lion again, or whatever it was he could turn into…she had kept walking and nearly fell on him.

  “If you would climb on, Loo,” he said in her head—oh, she hated that—“we will get where we are going much faster.”

  She grabbed a handful of fur at his neck and carefully clambered onto his back. It wasn’t much like riding a horse. Maltese was all funny bumps and odd angles. She gripped him with her knees and clutched double handfuls of fur. “You must be ready to be rid of me,” she said through gritted teeth. How would she ever hold on while he moved? She could barely hold on and he was standing perfectly still.

  “No,” he said shortly, and moved off slowly, giving her time to adjust to his stride.

  It was definitely an odd thing, riding a giant cat in a strange world on a journey where she would wish herself home. She supposed if she were a different sort of girl, she would be thrilled by the goings-on. Instead, they just made her more acutely aware of how different this world was, how much she wanted to get back home.

  The funny thing was, “home” was the farm, and always had been. But she wouldn’t have gone back there for all the tea in China. She supposed home was now the base. Though what she would do when the war was over, she didn’t know.

  She wasn’t so foolish to believe, as some of the women did, that there would be a different place for them in the brave new world of post–World War II. “We have jobs now,” they’d say in the factories, the show floors, the barracks. “We put down our spatulas and picked up our handguns and you can’t go back, howev
er the war turns out, you can’t go back.”

  But you could. And they would. No, what would happen was simple: The men who had not been killed would come back. And they would want their jobs…every last one of them. So it would be back to the kitchen, back to the farm, back to the ironing board and the grocery lists.

  Well, she would worry about that later. For now, she had to focus on getting back. Somehow.

  “I’m not going to cry,” she said. “I’ve done more crying in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last twenty-four months, and I’m not going to cry.”

  “That may be so,” Maltese said, “but your eyes are leaking.”

  “Never mind! Rats and double rats! You’re not wishing hard enough, that’s all there is to it.”

  “I have wished many times for you to go back.”

  “Something’s not right. Because I’m still here, and we’ve been at this for hours.”

  Maltese shrugged from his cross-legged position on the ground. She paced angrily in front of him, occasionally kicking up a burst of sand and wishing it was going right into his face. She didn’t quite dare do that, though she could fantasize, oh yes.

  “Rats,” she said again, and slumped to the ground next to him.

  “It was worth trying,” he said mildly.

  “I haven’t given up yet,” she retorted, “and I’m not letting you give up, either. The cost of staying here is too high.”

  “The cost?”

  “Right. For example. I just now realized you’re naked. Again.”

  “Of course,” he said, looking mystified.

  “But that’s the sort of thing I should have noticed earlier, don’t you think? Where I’m from, you’d be in jail right this minute.”

  “Jail?”

  “A cage.”

  Maltese shook his head. “Barbaric.”

  “No, civilized. Anyway, if I don’t get back, who knows what other odd things are going to escape my notice? Hmm?”

  He reached out and patted the top of her head, like a dog. “You could try it, if you wished. No one will put you in a jail if you decide to be sensible.”