Fearless: No. 2 - Sam (Fearless)

by Francine Pascal

  "Clearly not very hard. You are a trained assassin, need I remind you, and he is a pathetic, imbecilic teenager. Do you honestly need backup?" He beckoned to his two omnipresent bodyguards, who stood at attention several yards away.

  "No," Ella said firmly.

  He glared irritably at Ella. Was she not adequately frightened of him anymore?

  He methodically took a gun out of his drawer, walked over to her, and pressed the barrel to her fore-head. "Ella, you know I would as easily kill you as ask you this a third time?"

  She didn't meet his gaze. "Yes, sir."

  "I've taken some pains placing you with that doormat George Niven, so I'm forced to be patient with you. But know this, Ella. My patience is wearing."

  No, she wasn't frightened enough. He fired the gun so that the bullet nearly grazed her nose and ruptured a windowpane with a blast of noise. Ella jumped back in shock. Her eyes were momentarily filled with fear.

  There. That was better.

  "Trust me, Ella, if something happens to that girl, I will kill you and everyone you have ever cared about. I need Gaia, and I need her alive."

  He walked to the wall of windows, watching the dying sun set flame to New Jersey's sky in a lurid show of color.

  Perhaps it was time to move forward. Perhaps it was time to bring Gaia in.

  CLINGING

  HOW LONG HAD HE BEEN SITTING here? Tom wondered, looking up at the ceiling of the diner absently. Cracks riddled the surface of the plaster, buried under multiple coats of high-gloss light orange paint. The color was the same as the bun sandwiching the burger that sat on his plate, which he hadn't found the appetite to eat.

  He truly hadn't expected to see Gaia. He hadn't prepared himself for it. Now his fragile hold on life's priorities were shattered once more.

  His baby. His child. His and Katia's. His throat ached at the memory of her face. He'd known she'd be grown-up now, much like a woman, but he didn't know. He hadn't been ready for it.

  He'd always imagined she would grow up to be a beautiful woman, being Katia's daughter, but he was surprised by precisely how. She wasn't petite like her mother. She was tall and lanky, like him. Her hair had stayed that glorious pale yellow. He would have guessed it would fade and darken, as most child hair did, but hers hadn't. It had remained straight and soft looking. Her eyes were still deep, challenging blue. Some blue eyes looked pale and watery -- more an absence of color than a color itself. But Gaia's were rich with pigment, a dense, tumultuous, changeable blue.

  He'd desperately wanted to go to her. To hold her for just a few minutes. To tell her he loved her and thought of her every hour of every day. He needed her to know that she would never be alone; she would never be unloved as long as he was alive.

  And if he had, what would she have said to him? Would she have glared at him in anger? In hurt? Could she ever forgive him for abandoning her?

  Tom pulled his eyes back down from the ceiling, pinning them to the chipped Formica table on which his hands rested. What was the use of imagining it? He couldn't hold Gaia. He couldn't talk to her. To contact her would be selfish and put her in greater danger than she could ever know. His presence here at all was a terrible, senseless risk.

  Five years ago he'd clung to Katia, and in doing so he'd as sure as killed her himself. He couldn't do that to Gaia. He'd already hurt her enough.

  FROM THE WAIST DOWN

  His desire rose to an unquenchable thirst as he burrowed his lips in her soft, buttery hair --

  CONDOM SHOPPING

  "GAIA, IS THAT YOU?" ED FARGO stared at the pretty brunette in the wide-brimmed straw hat, sunglasses, and flowery dress standing in the doorway of his family's apartment.

  "Yes. Duh," she replied somewhat impatiently.

  Ed studied her for another moment in confusion. "Why are you wearing a wig?"

  "What wig?" Gaia asked.

  "Have you been a brunette all this time and I just didn't notice?" Ed asked, feigning innocent surprise.

  Gaia rolled her eyes. "I'm not wearing a wig, smarty-pants. I colored my hair with washable dye," she explained reasonably.

  "Oh. Aha. Okay, then."

  Ed shut the door behind him and locked it, and he wheeled along next to her down the hallway to the elevator. Gaia, typically, didn't offer any more information.

  "Would you mind if I asked why?" Ed asked as the elevator arrived and Gaia pushed him in.

  Gaia tapped her foot on the linoleum floor. "What happened to your promise not to ask questions?"

  "I meant I wouldn't ask questions about big stuff," Ed said defensively. "Parents, past, unusual abilities. Not hair color. But fine. Don't tell me if you don't want."

  Gaia sighed huffily. "Fine, I will tell you. But don't chicken out on me, okay?"

  Ed put his head in his hand. "I have a feeling I'm not going to like the explanation very much."

  "Okay?" Gaia pressed.

  "Okay," Ed replied weakly.

  The elevator arrived at the lobby, and the doors opened.

  "Remember I told you CJ was out to get me?" Gaia asked, following him out of the elevator. "Well, he's still out to get me, and I'm sick of hiding out in my room. I wanted to go on this errand with you, but I don't want him to open fire again, particularly not at you. So that's why I look like this."

  Ed swallowed. He let his wheelchair roll to a stop. "CJ is likely to open fire in the middle of the day?"

  "Not if he doesn't recognize me," Gaia said breezily.

  "But if he does?" Ed demanded.

  "Yeah. Probably." Gaia took hold of the back of his chair and rolled him to the entrance of the building.

  "Gaia! What do you think you're doing?"

  "You said you wouldn't chicken out," Gaia reminded him, rolling contentedly along.

  "I didn't realize my life would be in danger," Ed complained.

  "It won't be," Gaia assured him without sounding at all convincing.

  "Gaia! Stop pushing me! I'm being hijacked here!"

  Gaia stopped. She took a breath. "Sorry," she said, like she meant it. She turned him around. "You're right. I'll take you back."

  "No. I'm not saying ... I'm just --" Ed sputtered. Why was Gaia so frustrating all the time? How did she always manage to stay in control of every situation? "Gaia, stop! Just stop."

  Gaia stopped. She let go of the chair.

  "Thank you," Ed said. He looked around the dull gray lobby with its drab fifties decor and hoped that no one he or his parents knew was within hearing distance of this conversation. "Now, don't roll me anymore."

  "I'm sorry," Gaia said."I really am. I won't do it again."

  He glared at her in silence.

  "Do you want to come or not come? It's totally up to you," Gaia said solicitously. "I promise I won't touch your chair."

  She actually looked sweet as she waited for his response. Man, she made a fine brunette. Errrg. He knocked his knuckles against the armrest. Of course he would go with her, even if he was going to get shot at. That was the really pitiful thing.

  "All right, Gaia," he said after he'd made her wait long enough. He wheeled into the bright sunshine of First Avenue, and she followed. "But slow down, okay? You're making me nervous."

  "I'll try. It's just that I've had a rough couple of days, what with not getting killed and all."

  "Right," Ed said, wondering how he'd ended up with such a friend.

  They walked across the avenue and took East Sixth Street past all the Indian restaurants toward Second Avenue. Ed could smell the curry.

  "So where are we going?" Ed asked.

  "To buy condoms," Gaia replied.

  (Cough.) "To buy" -- Ed paused to clear his throat so his voice wouldn't come out squeaky -- "condoms?"

  "You gotta be safe," Gaia pointed out.

  Ed scratched his head behind his ear. "Yes. Yes, you do," he said slowly. "Can I ask who they're for?"

  "Me," Gaia said.

  "Um . . . Gaia?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I don't
know if you ever got to the unit in health class where they covered this stuff, but . . . uh, condoms are usually intended to be worn by the --"

  Gaia punched him on the shoulder playfully but still too hard. "I don't mean I'm going to wear one, dummy."

  He waited for her to offer some corrected version of her plan, but of course she didn't.

  "So you're buying them for a guy?" he tried out.

  "Yes," she said.

  "And that guy would be . . .?"

  Gaia looked at him over her dark glasses. "Remember how I told you I wanted to have sex?"

  "Yeah?" That was a hard conversation to forget.

  "Well, obviously I'm going to need some condoms," Gaia explained as if she were speaking to a person with a very low IQ.

  "Obviously," Ed said. His heart was racing, and he was feeling a bit queasy. He was miserably uncomfortable both with the remote hope that Gaia intended to have sex with him and the idea that she was planning to have sex with somebody else.

  "Can you tell me who the lucky guy is?" His choice of words made him think of the conversation he'd had with Heather the day before. Had Gaia really written something about him in her notebook? As hard as Ed was trying to sound light and carefree, he felt his life's happiness was hanging on her answer.

  "Nope," Gaia said.

  Ed felt oddly relieved. "Okay. Let me ask you this. Have you told this person you're planning to have sex with him?" He hated himself for fishing, but he couldn't help it.

  Gaia suddenly looked ill at ease. "No, not exactly."

  "So you're just going to pounce on him in the dead of night?"

  Gaia looked offended. "No. I'm not," she replied stiffly.

  "Then what?"

  "When I'm ready, I'm going to just go to where he lives and . . . ask him," Gaia explained a little defensively.

  "Just ask him."

  "Right."

  "I see."

  "Does that sound so bad?" she asked. Were her eyes searching, or was he imagining it?

  She stopped in front of a discount pharmacy on Third Avenue and gallantly held open the door while he passed.

  "Kind of unorthodox, I guess, but not ... bad, exactly."

  Gaia was already studying the selection hanging on the wall behind the counter. "So what do you think, Ed?" she asked him, squinting at the labels. "Lubricated? Ribbed? Ultrasensitive?"

  Ed tried to breathe evenly. For a girl who'd been concerned about awkwardness a couple of days ago, she was really taking this in the teeth. "Jeez, I don't know," he said feebly. He scanned the back wall, which was jam packed with every brand of embarrassing merchandise -- birth control, tampons, pregnancy tests, laxatives, hemorrhoid medicine. What sick mind decided that all that stuff went behind the counter where you had to ask for it by name? "You pick."

  She pointed out the package she wanted to the cashier man, who wore a sweater vest and a name tag that said, "Hi, my name is Omar." Omar, looking curious and somewhat amused, spent an extra-long time locating Gaia's choice. At last he slapped the bright red box on the counter, and Gaia paid up. Ed realized Omar was giving him approving, go-get-'em looks.

  "Have fun," Omar said as they left the store.

  Ed was certain his face was probably the shade of a ripe strawberry. He suddenly wished he weren't wearing a bright orange tie-dyed T-shirt.

  "Do you think the guy is going to say no?" Gaia asked as they started back in the direction of his building.

  "I'm not saying that."

  "But you're thinking that," Gaia accused.

  "No, it's just . . . I mean, look, Gaia, it's not your everyday thing to do to a guy."

  Gaia nodded thoughtfully. "I realize that. I do. But I'm a little desperate here. I figure I can stay alive till tomorrow, but maybe not after that. If there's any chance of losing my virginity before then, I've just got to do it. Tonight."

  "Tonight?" Ed couldn't hide his shock.

  "Yeah."

  "Tonight," Ed repeated numbly.

  "Yes, Ed. Tonight. Saturday night."

  Ed's brain felt like it was shutting down.

  "So I'm just going to go right to his room and ask. Nicely, of course. I won't insist or anything. And if he seems really reluctant or . . ."

  "Freaked out," Ed supplied.

  "Or freaked out," Gaia allowed, "I'll just tell him the truth."

  Gaia paused to let him say something, but when he didn't, she surged ahead. When she was with Ed and her mouth got going, there was no stopping her.

  "The truth is good. The truth is your friend. Seriously. I'll just say to him, Look, I'm probably going to get shot in the head tomorrow, and I really want to have sex before I go, so would you mind?"

  Gaia looked at Ed again for some response. He couldn't even work his mouth anymore.

  "And even if he thinks I'm completely repulsive and would rather have sex with his aunt, well, he probably still won't want to refuse a girl's dying request, will he? What do you say?" She turned to Ed with a genuinely hopeful look on her face.

  Ed struggled for words. "I -- I say. I say . . . have fun."

  THE WRONG GIRL

  "PLEASE TABULATE YOUR RESULTS according to the format Dr. Witchell presented in the lecture on Thursday."

  The very droopy-looking kiss-ass teaching assistant droned on as Sam pictured the way Heather would look when she appeared in his room that night.

  It was unfortunate that his lab section of biochemistry had to meet on Saturday. It was especially unfortunate on this Saturday, when his mind was impossible to contain.

  Would she wear that short black skirt that made him drool? Maybe one of those miniature T-shirts she had that showed off her belly button? And what about under it? It probably wasn't a good idea for him to go there right now, but he couldn't help it. He pulled his chair up so his waist pressed against the table and further obscured his lap with his notebook. It was highly embarrassing to get excited in class -- something he hadn't done since seventh grade.

  He'd made his way into Heather's sexy satin bras before. That was a pleasure he was looking forward to. But it was the new frontier that piqued his interest. Would she wear satin panties to match, like the women in those lingerie ads?

  Suddenly he wasn't picturing her clothes anymore; he was picturing himself taking off her clothes. He couldn't help that, either. And as the fantasy evolved he wasn't under the harsh fluorescent lights of a science lab anymore but in his (now almost clean) dorm room in low romantic light (he made a mental note to buy a candle). His body pressed against her soft skin, his hands exploring her luxurious curves. Her soft, dark hair tickled his chest. His lips trailed up her neck and under her chin.

  He sighed (almost inaudibly) and kissed the lids of those mysterious eyes, the bridge of her thin, straight nose, the plains of her bewitching face. His desire rose to an unquenchable thirst as he burrowed his lips in her soft, buttery hair --

  Sam looked up in alarm. The blissful fantasy screeched to a stop with jarring suddenness. It felt like somebody had ripped the needle off an old vinyl record spinning a Mozart symphony.

  He wasn't kissing Heather. Where had this fantasy gone so far awry? Heather didn't have hair or eyes or legs like those. Somehow Gaia had arrived in his reverie uninvited. He should have been jolted, surprised, even repulsed by her sudden presence in his bed, but was he? No. The look and feel of her had sent his desire into some completely new stratosphere.

  This was not good. This was very bad. What was he going to do?

  "Sam . . .? Sam, uh . . . Moon, is it?"

  Sam blinked several times. It took him a moment to bring the TA's face into focus. When he looked around the lab, he realized that except for the TA, he was all by himself. The class was gone, over. The TA was gazing at him as if he were a particularly puzzling specimen in a petri dish.

  "I've kind of got to close up here, if you . . . uh . . . don't mind," the TA pointed out.

  "Sure. Sorry," Sam said feebly, trying to coordinate his limbs to lift him out of his cha
ir and walk him out of the classroom. "See you," he said over his shoulder.

  Still in a fog, he walked down the corridor of the science building and out into the windy courtyard, where the bright, hopeful afternoon sun was threatened by blotchy gray clouds gathering on the horizon.

  HEATHER

  Little-Known Facts about me:

  The summer before my sophomore year, I fell in love. It was the most idyllic summer you could possibly imagine. My family had rented a house in East Hampton that year. My mom and sisters and I stayed for the whole season, and my dad came out on weekends. Those were the days when my dad's business was doing really well.

  Ed Fargo was spending the summer at his aunt and uncle's place just a few blocks away. Ed's folks are teachers, but his aunt is this big-time lawyer with a beautiful house right on the beach.

  I was working at the farmers' market in Amagansett, and Ed was working at a surf shop on the Montauk Highway. Ed is a year older. You've met Ed, so you know he's seriously good-looking, funny, charming, self-deprecating, super-sharp, and generally a great guy. He was also an amazing surfer. This all took place before his accident, as I'm sure you've already guessed.

  Anyway, our love story would take too long to describe here, but it was the most magical time of my life. Someday I'll turn that story into a romance novel, maybe somebody will even make a movie of it, and I'll earn millions of dollars.

  The climax of that summer, so to speak, was a night in August, when Ed and I made love on the beach. The moon was full, and the surf was so gentle, we lay together in it. It was the first time for both of us. It was too perfect ever to be described in words, so I won't try.

  One month later Ed was paralyzed from the waist down. He spent the next several months in the hospital and in physical therapy. He lost a year of school. Now he's sentenced to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

  Technically, I didn't break up with him. But I would have. Ed let me off the hook by doing it for -- me that's the kind of guy he is. I was under a lot of pressure from my parents and everything. They didn't want me spending my youth taking care of a guy in a wheelchair -- a guy they felt no longer had "possibilities."