Barbie & The Beast

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  “Not this minute they don’t,” Angie concluded.

  Barbie stole one more glance through the bushes, heart kabooming annoyingly. The woman now had both hands on Darin’s shoulders. What was next? A kiss? A deep, drowning kiss? A French one?

  Barbie’s hands flew to her mouth. Her fingers moved over her lips, lips Darin had kissed. Darin Russell had gotten past the door, past Rule One, and had somehow waltzed into her bedroom on the promise of having potential. Right now, however, it seemed that Darin was a fraud. Not even remotely a gentleman. Darin was a lousy, lying two-timer. Just like Bill.

  If her mother had been there that very minute, she’d be wagging her finger at her daughter for the frivolous rule-skippage that had led to this premature attachment. She’d be wagging her tongue, too, spewing remarks like I told you so and You never listen to me.

  Barbie closed her eyes and swallowed a groan. She hated it when her mother was right.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Look on the bright side,” Angie said as they sped through the streets in her red Fiat. “You don’t know him well enough to be really pissed.”

  Barbie glowered at her friend, hunched over in her seat, arms crossed.

  “Ooooh, you’re scaring me,” Angie declared. “I’m trying to help.”

  “Then turn around and run him over. And his little dog, too.”

  “That’s from the Wizard of Oz, right? The little-dog thing?”

  Barbie slunk farther down in her seat.

  “Forget him, Barb.”

  “I liked him, Ang.”

  “You just met him.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “Go ahead, insult me some more and I’ll dump your sorry ass out right here, minus the anxiety supplies.”

  Admittedly, Angie was right on this one. Why was she brooding, anyway? Why did it feel as though her heart had toppled off the Empire State Building? She didn’t know the guy. It turned out to be a good thing she hadn’t gotten to know the guy any better.

  “I can’t believe my intuition was so wrong,” she said. “I lusted for him, Ang.”

  “Lust does not equal a relationship in any sense,” Angie pointed out.

  Again, Angie was right. Barbie had been gullible, that’s all. Those screaming body parts looking forward to scratch-and-sniff had been hoodwinked. Duped.

  “We didn’t do anything,” she mumbled regretfully.

  “In my mind, this turns out to be a very good thing,” Angie said. “Plus, you got dinner.”

  Barbie’s teeth clenched tighter.

  “You did get dinner?” Angie said hopefully. “I called you at dinner.”

  Barbie screwed up her face. Here came the questions, slow at first, as was Angie’s way, then, bam! Barbie felt like opening the door and leaping out.

  “I might have had a little too much wine before the actual food arrived,” she confessed.

  Angie shook her head. The Fiat wove back and forth across the white painted lines.

  “What?” Barbie said.

  “Girl, we are desperate. This is a very sad state of affairs, not even getting a meal out of a date.”

  “He used the E—”

  “E as in exit. E as in eliminated. So get hold of yourself.”

  Man, this was going to be bad, Barbie knew. Angie was in good form. And Angie had seen the b-l-o-n-d-e.

  “Can we eat in your car?” Barbie asked in a very small voice.

  “No way. We’re almost there.”

  “You really wouldn’t reconsider running him over?”

  “And scratch up my paint?”

  “It was a—”

  “Blonde,” Angie finished for her. A minute later she added, “Goes to show that sometimes fate has a way of screwing us royally.”

  “Yeah.”

  “On the other hand,” Angie suggested brightly, “I know just the thing to fix us up.”

  “In this bag I’m holding?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What else could there be?”

  Grinning like the Cheshire cat, white teeth gleaming beneath the streetlights they passed, Angie said, “Three little words, I’m thinking, ought to do it.”

  “Injure Darin later?”

  “Not those three.”

  “Which three, Ang?”

  “Do you want to hear those three words, Barb? The ones that very possibly will change your future?”

  “I’m all ears, Ang.”

  Angie nodded, shifted the Fiat into a lower gear, and whispered, as if the words themselves were magic, “The Dating Game.”

  Darin stayed as close to the building as he could, melding with the shadows. This was one strange night, for sure. Three women to contend with. You had to love that.

  He was supposed to be finding Barbie’s friend, but he was trapped. The moonlight had grown too strong. There had been too may close calls.

  Then again, he mused almost gleefully, Barbie had looked so cute running toward that car, extra-large T-shirt flapping behind her like a sail, tight little booty encased in those baggy sweats. He’d barely gotten a glimpse, and now look at him, grounded from following her. Lassoed by the curse.

  He accepted the item the woman next to him handed him with a shaky hand.

  “Phone,” Jessica said. “I found it on the path. Is it yours?”

  Careful not to tip his head into the light beyond the overhang, Darin looked down. “It’s Barbie’s, I think.”

  “Barbie? The girl you took out to dinner to night?” Jessica’s voice held an incredulous ring.

  “One and the same.”

  “What was she doing out here?”

  “Damned if I know, Jess. She’s not your average girl, that’s for sure.”

  “Does she know?” Jess asked.

  “Hell, no.”

  Concern crept into Jess’s voice. She had been his self-proclaimed protector and confidante, his liaison to the world during his full-moon phases. Dear, dear Jessica, six years younger than he and wise enough, kind hearted enough to take upon herself some of his burden. Truly, she was a one-in-a-million woman. Like Barbie.

  “What good would any average woman do me?” he asked Jess. “I’m not really an average guy, am I?”

  Jess grinned. “Not even. Got to give you that. So why did she come out here, if not by invitation?”

  “No doubt Barbie followed me to give me a piece of her mind. How rich is that? She doesn’t think I treated her properly after dinner.” He grinned, though the situation wasn’t all that funny. In fact, he felt sort of sick over what had happened.

  “Didn’t you treat her properly?” Jess asked.

  “It was a pretty strange date,” Darin admitted, gesturing to the sky. “Fairly brief.”

  Jess nodded. After a moment she added, “You must like this girl.”

  “I’m that transparent?”

  “Daring a date on a night like this? I know you pretty well, don’t I? Do you like her as much as you like me, I’m wondering?”

  “The thing is,” Darin began, wanting to confide, “I do like her. A lot.”

  Jess’s cool, calm hand touched his face. “How do you know?”

  “Trust me, I know. Would you come out here if you didn’t have to?”

  “I don’t have to.”

  “You know what I mean. You know what I am, Jess. Barbie doesn’t know much about me, and doesn’t seem afraid.”

  “Not so far, anyway.” Jess sighed. “I guess it’s not up to me to point out the obvious, though, is it? I suppose I have to share you sometime. So, you’ll see her again, find out if your feelings are reciprocated?”

  “Sure.”

  “You didn’t scare her off to night?”

  “Walking her to her friend’s car was as far as I got.”

  “Maybe luck was on your side.” Jessica placed both of her hands on Darin’s shoulders, then looked him directly in the eyes without the aid of her flashlight. “I’m a little jealous, I think, but that’ll pass. Just no
w, you have a good excuse for calling this gal of yours back to night, I’m thinking.”

  Darin cocked his head, felt his insides twist. He could barely control himself, though he didn’t have to worry. Jess had seen it all. She had brought him food and clothes and made sure he was well situated on his three-day, self-imposed hibernations for as long as he could remember. She had volunteered for this job.

  Jess would ride on her big brother’s fuzzy shoulders and laugh joyfully as he ran. Jessica Russell never turned down a really good scare. A relationship like theirs was rare between brother and sister.

  “I’m hoping Barbie is a little like you,” Darin said, shoulders twitching, chest beginning its shape-shifter dance of flesh and bone.

  “Then call her. See if she made it home all right,” Jess suggested.

  Darin hesitated, his fingers closed over the tiny metallic phone. When the moon wasn’t touching him, his long coat felt baggy, cool, and rough on his bare skin. He preferred silk and softness. His skin was always tender. But it was either the roomy coat or a mess of shredded clothes. Were-wolves went through piles of clothes if they weren’t careful. The protocol was to remove the clothes first, then step into moonlight. Hadn’t taken him long to learn this lesson.

  Also, it was a good thing he had an inheritance from his grandparents for the small luxuries, and that the Miami PD paid extremely well for his unique ser vices.

  “You can tell her you found her phone,” Jess said helpfully. “It’s a really good excuse for calling. A very gentlemanly thing to do. A woman can’t be without her phone for long without lapsing into panic. Not to mention the fact that you probably wouldn’t want her returning again tonight to look for it, would you? Little Red Riding Hood alone in the woods with a wolf on the loose?”

  Darin grinned, heard the scrape of his claws on the little phone, and flipped it open. His chest bulged with a faint ripping sound. His legs and tongue had thickened.

  Seeing his large hands and sharp, unwieldy claws, and the diminutive size of this girl’s cell phone, Jessica pried the phone loose from Darin’s grasp. “Well,” she said with resignation and a slight lilt in her voice. “Call out those numbers, bro. Let’s shake this gal up.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  When the phone rang, Barbie sprang off the couch where she was sprawled. Crumbs flew.

  She glanced first to the door through which Angie had seconds before exited. Having draped a cozy afghan over Barbie and placed an opened bag of cookies in her arms and a glass of milk on the coffee table, her friend had finally confessed fatigue and a dire need of beauty sleep. She also might have mentioned something in parting about too much negative energy causing premature menopause.

  Amazingly enough, considering that prediction, the sound of the phone ringing sent Barbie into a bona fide hot flash, immediately doused by chills. Waves of chills, oceans of chills, all merged at the nape of her neck, where tiny curly hairs less than a quarter inch long stood on end, no professional straightening required. Had Angie had an accident?

  She picked up the receiver. “Angie? Speak to me.”

  Faint static on the line. “Barbie?”

  Feeling a second round of heat coming on, Barbie sank right down onto the arm of the couch, foregoing the cushions.

  “Barbie? Are you there?”

  Pressing the receiver against her chest and raising her gaze to the ceiling of her apartment as if in prayer, Barbie managed to get her temper in order and the phone back to her ear. “Yes, Darin, I’m here.”

  “I only have a minute. I couldn’t find the card with your number until just now. I thought I’d call to make sure you got home.”

  “Well,” Barbie replied as kindly as she could, “thanks for spending some of your valuable time on me. Yes, I got home—and with Angie, I might add.”

  There was a pause. “I didn’t see Angie.”

  No shit, Sherlock.

  “I’m relieved you found her,” Darin said when Barbie didn’t reply. “Are you both all right?”

  The scoundrel. He hadn’t looked for Angie very hard, had he? Certainly he had found someone, but by no stretch of the imagination could Angie be mistaken for a small, slim blonde.

  “When I returned to the parking lot, the car was gone,” Darin continued. “She came back to the car?”

  “We’re fine, Darin,” Barbie snapped. No thanks to you.

  “I was worried.”

  Totally grumpy, Barbie pressed one hand to the top of her head to quell the waving of her antennae, thinking she would strangle them as soon as she had both hands free. It had become quite obvious that those figurative, man-finding twirlers couldn’t tell a worthy mate from a hole in the ground.

  “You sound upset,” Darin said. “What’s up?”

  “Too much static on the line, Darin. Can’t hear you.” Barbie made faux static sounds into her phone that sounded more like someone getting ready to spit than any technological interference.

  “Barbie? Are you there?”

  She gave up faking static. “What more do you have to say to me?” That you’re a lousy two-timing schmuck?

  “I found your cell phone.”

  Barbie rolled her eyes.

  “I can’t bring it to you right now.”

  Why not, big guy? Blondie hanging on, kissing your eyelids, maybe?

  “I can get it to you in the morning. First thing.”

  “UPS it,” Barbie said. “I know how busy you are.”

  Silence followed her statement. For several erratic heartbeats, Barbie’s antennae beat her about the head. Again, Barbie noted, they didn’t know squat. That was a fact.

  “I’d prefer to bring it to you,” Darin said. “It’s Sunday. Maybe we could have breakfast? Make up for missing dinner?”

  “You want to have breakfast?” Barbie again swatted at the top of her head. Down, boys. Ain’t gonna happen!

  This was freaking unbelievable. The jerk wanted to have breakfast. With all this in-ing and out-ing, how did he have any energy left? He had seen her, ditched her, taken up with the blonde, and now obviously planned on ditching Blondie also. The routine of a gigolo was mind-boggling.

  “I’m not blonde,” Barbie snapped, lapsing in concentration and composure. “I’ll never be a blonde. I don’t want to be a blonde. I’m not stupid, either. I don’t date gigolos. I don’t even know any gigolos, other than you, and you are one too many. So you can. . .” She took an oversized gulp of air. “I’m going on the Dating Game!”

  She crashed the phone receiver down in its cradle; the sound split the quiet as though lightning had invaded her apartment. Barbie’s heart boomed in the aftermath. She glared at the phone as if it too were an alien nuisance, sincerely hoping the crashing noise had ruptured Darin’s ear drums.

  She felt like crap. She really did. She had agreed with Angie to audition for the country-club version of the retro dating show. In a month she might be out there on a stage with three male contestants, asking questions, having to pick one without seeing their bods or knowing their hearts. Look how well the last semiblind date had turned out!

  But there was something worse, if you can believe it. The graveyard creep had her cell phone. What if her mother called and Darin answered? How would Barbie explain that? A guy in her bed? A guy hanging around and comfortable enough to answer a girl’s incomings? Mothers didn’t appreciate that kind of thing, no matter how old their daughters were.

  If Darin UPS’d the phone, it would take a couple days for her to get it back. That was unacceptable. Fact: either she had to go to that darned breakfast, or he would have to bring the phone to her apartment. She didn’t want him anywhere near her apartment. She didn’t want him anywhere near her. This was blackmail. If she hadn’t been raised better, she might have had a nervous breakdown right there on her area rug. Darn it all, she was going to call Darin back and tell him what he could do with her phone—and the blonde.

  She punched in her cell number. “Darin?” Had he picked up? She was sure he
had. Some really heavy breathing came on the line.

  “Pervert!” she shouted into the phone, then added, “Beast!”

  “Hello?” a female voice said, and Barbie’s heart stopped. “Is this Barbie?” The voice sounded very much like a blonde.

  “So, you know my name.” Barbie stood rigidly in the center of her living room, both hands on the phone, legs unsteady.

  “Yes,” the woman said into Barbie’s phone. Spreading blonde cooties. “Look, Barbie, Darin’s sorry he can’t talk right now. He would like to meet you tomorrow for breakfast.”

  Too stunned to speak, Barbie’s mouth went slack.

  “Barbie? Can I tell Darin you’ll meet him?”

  “No,” she snapped. The nerve of this guy, having his beach-babe gal pal arrange a date for him! Blondes. There was just no understanding the phenomenon.

  “No?” the bimbo repeated.

  “You can tell Darin to go to hell,” Barbie replied. “After he arranges a drop-off place for my phone. Either that, or maybe you, being a card-carrying member of the female gender, can arrange to get it to me.”

  Silence on the line. Maybe the blonde didn’t get it. Maybe she didn’t know hostility when she heard it.

  “I’m sure Darin would prefer to get the phone to you himself,” the bimbo said. “In person.”

  “So, if I were to meet him tomorrow, where would you be?”

  “At work. However, I would like to meet you sometime. Darin has told me about you.”

  “Oh?” He has, has he?

  “He mentioned the café near your apartment for breakfast. Ten o’clock, he said, because you need your sleep.”

  “I won’t meet him. I’m going to audition for the Dating Game tomorrow. Please ask him to leave the phone somewhere else for me.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell him. I’ve got to go now. Nice talking to you, Barbie. Don’t worry, though, Darin will return your phone.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Barbie said. “Give him a big kiss for me, will you?”

  After hanging up, Barbie stared at the phone for some time, wanting to yank her hair out by the roots.

  Jess dropped the little cell phone into Darin’s big hands and gently patted his hairy arm. “You sure she’s the one?” she asked.