hands pausing on her shoulders. “He told you that if he was walking down the
street in eighteen-whatever and saw you, he’d just walk on by?”
She sniffed. “Yes.
And I could see what he was thinking, too, because that was before you fixed
what that Venus Machine did to me, when it gave me telepathy about men and sex?
And he thought I was a milkmaid . I
mean, with the yoke and pails and a big white stupid hat like some girl in a
beer ad!”
Clay turned
her on the sofa to face him. “You do know that machine was a fake, right? It
didn’t work.”
“I only wish.”
He looked
exasperated. “Jewel, you can’t afford to be credulous. We’re supposed to be
catching frauds, not buying into the con.”
“I suppose you
think you can teach me all about that,” she said, stung. “Mr.
Yeah-but-I’ve-never-been-indicted.”
“Well, yes.
That’s more or less what Ed said when he hired me.” Clay seemed miffed.
Was he cheesed
off because she was obsessing about Randy?
“I could see
what you were thinking, too.” She lifted her eyes to his. Suddenly he looked
very not-frivolous and unsmug. “You would look at me, and I’d see a white
picket fence and a golden retriever.
A moment of
panic flickered in his eyes. He pulled away. “Tell me again what you thought
you were doing.”
“Reading men’s
minds. Randy put it into my head,” she said with venom, “and then that stupid
Venus Machine zapped me, and then whenever I made eye contact with a man, euw. Randy was like a sheet of glass, I
always understood what he was thinking. But then, I almost always do. You, I
don’t know. I never figured out the dog and fence thing. Probably you thought I
was a bitch, or else I was trying to keep you inside the law, or something. But
random guys on the street, euw. Thank God you were able to fix the machine and
reverse the effect.”
Clay made a
sound in his throat.
She frowned. “You
had this whole explanation about chakras and vibrational frequencies. Don’t
tell me you’ve forgotten.”
In a troubled
voice, he said, “You thought it would work, so it
worked.”
“Is that like
real magic?”
He shook his
head, watching her face. She’d never seen Clay look so serious for so long.
When he wasn’t trying to put one over, he seemed like someone who’d been
fighting a losing battle all his life. A sweet boy, too young for war.
While she
watched, his eyes darted to hers and crinkled up in a mischievous expression.
Kid to con artist in four seconds.
He held up a
cellophane-covered square.
“Wanna look at
feelthy pictures?”
So she let him
play the Hot Pink movie Onika had given them. She was too tired to argue. Sheer
surprise at having an intimate moment with Clay Dawes when she wasn’t the one
on the defensive had thrown her off balance.
She was so off
balance, in fact, that she let him get fresh on the sofa.
Onika’s porn for
women came across cute and sweet and sexy, sort of like Wilma, the blonde
mascot of Artistic Publishing. The story was about a lady librarian in hornrims
and frumpy clothes who hooks up with a geeky male professor-type in hornrims
and a tweed jacket, while researching Tantric sex in the limited-access
shelves. Once they were naked, of course, they proved to be physically perfect.
But at least the professor didn’t have a foot-long schweinstücke. And the
camera spent more time on their faces and slow caresses than on jackhammer
genital action. He even wore a condom.
At some point
in the middle of a silly yet tender scene where the professor tried to put his
ankle behind his own head, Clay slid his hands up under Jewel’s red knit top.
She let him.
I shouldn’t sleep with my partner. More
than a mantra, it’s a good idea.
Jewel was sick
of being responsible. She hadn’t had sex in forty-eight hours, her incubus was
doing somebody else, possibly this very porn star, damn her scrawny ass and
perky tits, and Clay, as usual, was just Clay. A normal guy. He almost fell off
the
street in eighteen-whatever and saw you, he’d just walk on by?”
She sniffed. “Yes.
And I could see what he was thinking, too, because that was before you fixed
what that Venus Machine did to me, when it gave me telepathy about men and sex?
And he thought I was a milkmaid . I
mean, with the yoke and pails and a big white stupid hat like some girl in a
beer ad!”
Clay turned
her on the sofa to face him. “You do know that machine was a fake, right? It
didn’t work.”
“I only wish.”
He looked
exasperated. “Jewel, you can’t afford to be credulous. We’re supposed to be
catching frauds, not buying into the con.”
“I suppose you
think you can teach me all about that,” she said, stung. “Mr.
Yeah-but-I’ve-never-been-indicted.”
“Well, yes.
That’s more or less what Ed said when he hired me.” Clay seemed miffed.
Was he cheesed
off because she was obsessing about Randy?
“I could see
what you were thinking, too.” She lifted her eyes to his. Suddenly he looked
very not-frivolous and unsmug. “You would look at me, and I’d see a white
picket fence and a golden retriever.
A moment of
panic flickered in his eyes. He pulled away. “Tell me again what you thought
you were doing.”
“Reading men’s
minds. Randy put it into my head,” she said with venom, “and then that stupid
Venus Machine zapped me, and then whenever I made eye contact with a man, euw. Randy was like a sheet of glass, I
always understood what he was thinking. But then, I almost always do. You, I
don’t know. I never figured out the dog and fence thing. Probably you thought I
was a bitch, or else I was trying to keep you inside the law, or something. But
random guys on the street, euw. Thank God you were able to fix the machine and
reverse the effect.”
Clay made a
sound in his throat.
She frowned. “You
had this whole explanation about chakras and vibrational frequencies. Don’t
tell me you’ve forgotten.”
In a troubled
voice, he said, “You thought it would work, so it
worked.”
“Is that like
real magic?”
He shook his
head, watching her face. She’d never seen Clay look so serious for so long.
When he wasn’t trying to put one over, he seemed like someone who’d been
fighting a losing battle all his life. A sweet boy, too young for war.
While she
watched, his eyes darted to hers and crinkled up in a mischievous expression.
Kid to con artist in four seconds.
He held up a
cellophane-covered square.
“Wanna look at
feelthy pictures?”
So she let him
play the Hot Pink movie Onika had given them. She was too tired to argue. Sheer
surprise at having an intimate moment with Clay Dawes when she wasn’t the one
on the defensive had thrown her off balance.
She was so off
balance, in fact, that she let him get fresh on the sofa.
Onika’s porn for
women came across cute and sweet and sexy, sort of like Wilma, the blonde
mascot of Artistic Publishing. The story was about a lady librarian in hornrims
and frumpy clothes who hooks up with a geeky male professor-type in hornrims
and a tweed jacket, while researching Tantric sex in the limited-access
shelves. Once they were naked, of course, they proved to be physically perfect.
But at least the professor didn’t have a foot-long schweinstücke. And the
camera spent more time on their faces and slow caresses than on jackhammer
genital action. He even wore a condom.
At some point
in the middle of a silly yet tender scene where the professor tried to put his
ankle behind his own head, Clay slid his hands up under Jewel’s red knit top.
She let him.
I shouldn’t sleep with my partner. More
than a mantra, it’s a good idea.
Jewel was sick
of being responsible. She hadn’t had sex in forty-eight hours, her incubus was
doing somebody else, possibly this very porn star, damn her scrawny ass and
perky tits, and Clay, as usual, was just Clay. A normal guy. He almost fell off
the
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