Charming the Snake

by MaryJanice Davidson, Camille Anthony, Melissa Schroeder

  “So you do it for thanks?”

  “No.” She clicked a button on her keychain and her car, a navy-colored, boxy electric model, beeped at her. Then she turned to him and practically snarled, “I do it for some Goddamned respect. I’m good enough to come down and help at eleven o’clock at night, but I can’t live down there? You people put the fences up, not me. You people don’t mind taking up all my time, but I’m not good enough to live with you. So don’t show up at eleven at night, break my door, expect me to drop everything and come with you, then make snide remarks about my lifestyle, okay, Cherry?”

  At last, something he maybe had the moral high ground on! “Don’t call me Cherry.”

  “Well, you haven’t told me your name, fuckduck, so what choice do I have?”

  “Fuckduck?” he cried, delighted.

  She had started to swing herself into the front seat, then stopped and put a hand over her eyes. “I can’t believe I called you that. I’m so sorry.”

  “No, no, it was great! Jeez, the whole thing was great. I didn’t know that you tried to live -- I mean, I didn’t know any of that stuff. I guess you’re right, some of us stick to ourselves maybe a little too much; but between staying off the government’s radar and trying not to scare ordinary folks, and make a living, it’s -- it can be hard sometimes.”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “I can’t imagine. Even though I’ve seen it, it’s still beyond my comprehension. Because at the end of the day, I get to go home to B-Block, don’t I?’

  “Well, yeah.” The way it came out, it was almost an apology. Well, he was sorry for her.

  One thing for sure, he was looking at Dr. Loder in a whole new light.

  He stuck his hand out, and they shook across her car roof. “Jasper Savage. But my friends call me Jaz.”

  “I’m Gladys --”

  “Yeah, I know.” He let go of her hand, which was cool and small, incongruous with the rest of her lanky frame. “We’re just too trendy, aren’t we? I had, like, four Gladyses in my class --”

  “And there were two in mine, and you’re probably the thirtieth Jasper I’ve met in the last year.”

  “Well, someone’s got to set the style trends for you people.”

  “Now you’re just being nasty,” she said, and ducked inside her car.

  Chapter Five

  Jaz looked at his watch, did something to it, then said, “Okay, we’ve got to make one more stop, and then we’ll go back to my place.”

  “What’s the stop? How many people are hurt?”

  “It’s just this quick thing,” he said. “Pull up there... sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

  He darted into the Super-Wal-Value, and even through the scores of people, she easily kept sight of the arresting dark head and those broad shoulders moving through the crowd. Several people turned to look, but nobody stopped him.

  They must assume it’s hair color, something he has professionally done, she thought. And colored contacts. She remembered the first time she’d met Jamie and realized the blue hair was natural.

  The first, irrational thought had been, Mute! Get away from it! What if it’s dangerous? She’d managed to stay and finish the exam, and was shocked to find Jamie was smart. Smart and funny and fearless -- not at all what she had been expecting.

  Gladys had been taught since she was old enough to watch a screen that mutants were few and far between; they were cataclysmically retarded (read: too dumb to hurt us, or uprise, so don’t worry, nobody worry); they weren’t dangerous; and even if they were (which they weren’t), the government kept tabs on them.

  When she was in medical school, she figured out each lie, one by one. And she’d come to decide that mutes were like rattlesnakes. She’d spent enough time in the woods to know: Yes, just like a timber rattler... lethal, but far more scared of us than we are of them. Let them stay to themselves, and they will. Mess with them, and you’ll get bitten.

  She stared at the doorways to the store. What could he be doing in there? What was more important than getting to the sick, the hurt? Perhaps he thought he needed medical supplies to augment her bag? Noooo... he didn’t seem dumb, and that would truly be a boneheaded move.

  What was he doing?

  After a few more minutes of fretting and glaring at her watch, there he was again, shouldering his way through the crowd, the bright blue “I just saved eight percent, thanks to GC #1298!” bag clutched in one of his hands.

  “Great!” he said, practically jumping into the car. “Now we can go.”

  She instantly pulled away from the curb. “It’s about time, I must say! What was so important that we had to stop? People’s lives could be at risk, you know.”

  “Hey, I can’t show up without these babies, baby. Take a left at the light, and take a right at the one after.”

  “What is it?”

  The bag rustled as he showed her what he had bought. She stared at them and nearly ran the red light.

  “Maybe I should drive, Dr. Distracted.”

  “But those are... they can’t be.”

  “Sure they are.” He squeezed one, and the plastic crinkled.

  “We stopped so you could get those?”

  “Sure. Like I said, we need them. Can’t show up without them.”

  “Is it possible you’re going to use them for an intent for which they are not designed?”

  “What?”

  “I meant --”

  “What’s so hard to understand, Dr. Dim?” He inhaled the aroma of cheap plastic. “They’re water wings.”

  Chapter Six

  He burst into his apartment with the two bags and Dr. Loder. The place was full of people, but there were probably only a dozen or so inside... his apartment was ludicrously small. A typical bachelor pad... messy, tiny, smelly, and in desperate need of a woman’s touch.

  A woman’s touch? That was the first time in twenty-four years he’d had that thought. What was the matter with him? A woman’s touch. Jeez!

  A woman’s touch?

  “So?” his friend Jody asked. She was a small brunette -- fake brunette, of course -- wearing (barely) a strategically ripped tube top and a skirt made out of lastic. “How’d you do?”

  “I won, babies! Check this: I got water wings, a quarter from 2005, a classified ad from someone who doesn’t want a picture, a can of vegetables starting with the letter C, a Crayola crayon in Burnt Umber, and...” He grabbed Gladys’s elbow and pulled her forward. “... Dr. Loder!”

  “Holy shit, he did it,” Tim muttered around his beer. “He got her. Them.”

  Jody checked her watch. “I think... I think that’s a new record.”

  “It’s Miller Time!” someone else shouted, and a cheer went up.

  “Wait,” Dr. Loder said.

  “What can I say?” he said modestly, accepting backslaps and, in Jody’s case, a wriggling hug. “You want the best, you got the best. And I think we can all agree that right now, at this moment, I am the best!”

  “Just a minute,” Dr. Loder said.

  “I can’t believe you got all that shit in under two hours,” Jody said. She stuck out her hand, and Dr. Loder shook it automatically. “Hi, Doc. You probably don’t remember me, but -- ”

  “I remember you, Miss Lange. It looks like your flu cleared up nicely.”

  “Yeah, yeah, it did. The meds helped, though. Thanks for coming out so late. Uh... are you all right?”

  “Fine,” Dr. Loder grated, sounding like she was twenty years older, and a different sex, to boot. “Mr. Savage, may I see you outside?”

  “Whoa,” he said, “honey, Mr. Savage is my father. You -- hey!”

  She had a surprisingly strong grip, and in about two seconds she had hauled him into the hallway and slammed his front door shut on the amazed faces of his pals.

  She growled, “What the hell is this?”

  “Hey, I was just about to ask you the same thing!”

  “Explain yourself. Right. Now!”

  “Well, it’s
an apartment building in C-Block... I’m surprised you don’t recognize it.” He was joking to cover the sudden case of nerves -- she looked really torqued off.

  “You dragged me out of my home for this -- this --”

  “Scavenger hunt,” he supplied helpfully.

  “You told me there were people who needed me! That there was -- was an accident or -- or --”

  “No, no, no.” He wagged a finger in her face, then jerked it back when it looked like she might bite it off. “You said those things. I just didn’t argue with you.”

  “I was an item on a scavenger hunt?” She sounded like she didn’t know whether to be mystified, amused, or pissed. “Me and -- and water wings?”

  “Hey, we won! We’re the Scavenge Champs of C-Block. Rejoice!”

  “I have to get home,” she muttered, and turned to go.

  He leapt forward and caught her elbow again. “Wait, wait. Come on, don’t be mad. Okay, I was a jerk; I tricked you. But look at what high regard you’re held in -- you were the last thing on the list, and you know they do those things in order of difficulty.”

  “I was harder to get,” she said, totally emotionlessly, “than a crayon?”

  “Way, way harder. They don’t make Burnt Umber anymore, you know. It went the way of Redskin Red.”

  “Did it.”

  “I don’t think you’re appreciating the difficulty I had.”

  “Possibly because I don’t care.”

  He doggedly continued. He didn’t want her to leave mad. Hell, he didn’t want her to leave at all.

  Didn’t want her to leave at all?

  What was the matter with him tonight?

  “First I had to figure out where you lived. Okay, Jamie told me that -- she got her rich new boyfriend to track you down --”

  “You know Jamie? Jamie Day?”

  “Yeah, we grew up together. Girl’s got a big problem -- she’d steal the Empire State Building if she could get away with it -- but she’s basically okay. Anyway, Jamie told me where to find you. I didn’t know what kind of security you’d have and, frankly, I love love love the dramatic entrance, so I used my power to get in.” Instantly he saw a way to make it up to her. “You know, my power? That thing you were wondering about?”

  “I don’t care anymore,” she said, which was a total lie.

  “I can make forcefields of any kind or shape or density. So I just sort of made a field around me and walked up the side of your building, and then I used another one to break your door. I figured if it was all dramatic and quick, you wouldn’t have time to argue.”

  “I see,” she said neutrally.

  He eyed the old-fashioned fire extinguisher hanging a foot to her left; he was pretty sure he could get a forcefield up in time, but you never knew...

  “Look, come in and have a beer, okay?”

  “Just because you confided your power to me does not make me less angry with you.”

  “So that means...” He thought for a second. “You are still angry. A better reason to come in for a beer! If you leave now, all the things they say about you will be true.”

  “What things?” she asked indignantly.

  “Stuck-up, too good for mutes, only cares about you if you’re sick... you know. Things.”

  “I don’t care what anybody thinks.” She folded her arms across her chest and looked, for a moment, as if she did care. A lot. “You tricked me, and you used me, and now you want me to have a drink?”

  “Come on,” he coaxed. “I’ll owe you one.”

  Suddenly, she smiled. “That’s right,” she said. “You will.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this! Actually, I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  “Shut up,” she mumbled with her mouth full.

  He propped himself up on his elbows to watch. “Seriously, this is not how I pictured the evening ending. Nope. I figured -- ah! -- you’d have a beer to prove you didn’t care -- when we all know -- oooh! -- you do care, and then you’d insist on a ride home and -- and -- and s-sulk all the way, and that would be that. Ouch! Watch the teeth.”

  “Sorry.” She sat back on her heels and watched him. He didn't mind because she was, if possible, nakeder than he was. Nude in the semi-gloom of his room, she was a discovery of near classic proportions. Her small hands were resting on her thighs, which were long and muscular, like a champion thoroughbred’s. Her head was tipped back so she could study him, gasping on the bed. Her dark hair had been unpinned during one part of the evening’s festivities and flowed over her shoulders in a dark cloud. Her dark eyes were intent on his.

  And she had the devil’s mouth. Because he was not normally this easy. Well, mostly not this easy. Okay, he was easy, but he drew the line with norms. In fact, she would be his first --

  “In my clinical opinion, you’re ready.”

  “In my clinical opinion, you studied more than anatomy at medical school.”

  “I put myself through by servicing all the other doctors,” she deadpanned.

  “Get out of town!”

  “Soon,” she promised. She slipped gracefully to her feet, straddled him, spread her knees on either side of his hips, and then she was impaling herself on him, sliding down with delicious friction.

  “Oh, my Gaaaaawwwddd” was the most he could contribute to the conversation. She was all hot silk and, when she swung forward, he could smell her hair, a clean, dark smell, like jungle orchids. “Holy Mother!”

  “Yes.”

  “Jesus H. Christ!”

  “Yes.” Her hips had quickened. He was rising to meet her, and suddenly had That Feeling. It was mortifying, but, like the IRS of old, it would have its way.

  “I’m really sorry,” he groaned, “but I’m going to come now.”

  He could see her teeth in the dark as she smiled at him. For some reason, that gave him a chill. He didn’t like that smile. At all.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I’ve just about got what I needed.”

  “No way are you even close to coming,” he began, and then she leaned back and tickled his balls, and that was it; he was done.

  Chapter Eight

  “Well,” she said brightly, beginning to put her clothes back in order. “That was...”

  “Embarrassingly brief. Ludicrously quick. Speedy. Fast. Rapid.”

  “Now stop that,” she reproved him, slipping into her underpants.

  “Prompt?”

  She laughed; man, what a great laugh. Low and deep, like a secret.

  “It was wonderful,” she was saying, and that was pretty nice of her. “I haven’t done it in years.”

  “Never with a mute, either, I bet,” he said smugly, and stretched. He caught a whiff of the pillowcase and jerked his head back. Errgghh. Time to create a forcefield that does laundry.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said shortly, stepping into her pants and zipping them.

  “What? Seriously? Oh, come on. You’ve never gotten down and dirty with one of us. You? No way. You fix us; you don’t fuck us. And I say that in the nicest way possible,” he added when her eyes went narrow and squinty.

  “It’s really none of your business, first; and second, your bigotry is beyond belief. Get it through your head: it makes no difference to me if you have blue hair or can create forcefields or have blond hair and can type a hundred words a minute. You’ve got eyes the color of a stop sign -- ooooooh, I’m impressed; I’d better never even think of having sex with one such as you. So godlike, so annoying.”

  “Anything sounds bad when you say it like that,” he snapped, feeling the heat climb to his cheeks. Was he a snob? Well, yeah. About some things. Some lines you just don’t cross, and that’s how things were.

  “When you live alone, and you meet someone nice, you take what you can get. That’s all.”

  “The secret of life,” he said mockingly.

  “If you like.” She pulled her shirt over her head.

  “So, you’re a
slut!” he said, with an exaggerated ah-ha in his voice so she’d know he was teasing.

  She did (whew!); when the shirt was down where it belonged, she smiled at him again. A much nicer smile this time. “I guess so. This will be the second time in twenty-two months I’ve had sex.”

  “Oh, my God!” He nearly rolled off the bed. An old line from a twentieth-century movie came to him. “How do you live?”

  “Men,” she snorted, and began searching through the laundry heaps for her bag.

  “Maybe I could go twenty-two days. Maybe.”

  “You couldn’t go twenty-two hours and you know it.”

  “Well, okay, you got me. Listen, let me find my pants, and I’ll drive you home.”

  “Don’t forget your underpants this time.”

  “Never wear ’em,” he said cheerfully.

  “Yes. I noticed.” She sniffed disapprovingly, dug her bag out of a pile by the door, and said, “I can drive myself home. You’ll recall, I drove us here.”

  “Aw, come on. I’ll go with. It’s the least I can do after dragging you out of your place in the dead of night on false pretenses.”

  “I notice you haven’t offered to let me stay the night.”

  That caught him; stopped him cold. “Uh... I guess I figured you didn’t want to... the place is kind of a mess... and I thought... I mean, I thought you would think... and you got dressed in a hurry, so I figured...”

  “Never mind,” she said quietly. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  Shit, he thought as the door closed quietly behind her. What was the matter with him? The lady comes with him without questions, is actually a pretty good sport about the whole thing, fucks him, is totally fine about not getting her fair share of the good stuff, and he still doesn’t want her to linger.

  He gasped and thought, I am a snob!

  It was a sobering thought. When he pictured a snob, he thought of an A-Block jerk like that Mitchell Hunter guy, rich and oblivious. Not a regular joe like himself, a guy just trying to get through life.