Alexander's Gift

The Playboy- 5

Dean was plagued by self-loathing because of the infatuation with Mary that he had obsessed over for nearly three months after their first meeting. Simple pleasures had lost their zest, and he couldn't look women in the face anymore. He hated what he had become...except for one thing: it stopped him from being so introspective. It's better to be moon-eyed than morose.

In unusual desperation, Dean had been attending as many of Dick's gatherings as he could in hopes of meeting his obsession, but she was always conveniently absent at such events. Finally, when it seemed as if he had been enduring this great illness for an eternity, Dean saw her. It was at a big enough event for Dick's career that it would've been a grave mistake for Mary not to come.

She entered the courtyard hand in hand with Dick, and it occurred to Dean as he watched them crossing the clearing toward him that it was a rather fitting scene. Two great cherry trees loomed over the entrance and touched twenty or so feet off the ground. Blossoms littered the aging, worn out stones of the courtyard in a bright shower, and Dean thought they were each very much like Mary: a delicately posed book of beauty telling the tales of its conception, of the animals and insects that gave their lives to become part of the soil that lovingly raised it, tales of the rain and the sun. Mary's story was more than just water, and soil, and sunlight. Hers was of unimaginable miseries and soul-lifting joys. Dean just hoped that one day he would learn her story.

Finally, they stopped in front of him, and it seemed to Dean that he should be able to read all the emotions and thoughts that raced through his mind in those dark eyes of hers. But a sheet of ice had fallen over them, and she just looked at him politely. He wanted so very much to know what she was thinking, and clung desperately to the belief that many of the same feelings he had were swimming around under the surface of those icy waters.

It took Dean a moment to notice Dick's brows knitted together in concern, and, forcing himself to ignore Mary, asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just that I got a call from the office, and it's an emergency, so I've gotta go. Listen, Dean, could you drive Mary home?" Mary and Dean turned to Dick in shock. Mary seemed horrified behind those glacial eyes, but Dean was pleasantly surprised that Dick would have been the one to push them into such an opportunity. Dick, of course, was too preoccupied with his self-proclaimed emergency to notice.

"Why don't you take me back with you on the way to your work?" Mary urged Dick with flushed cheeks- the first sign of those eyes thawing.

"Honey, I just don't have time. My client is waiting outside the office, and I've got to straighten this out for him or else. . . Well, I don't want to think about it. So, Dean, you can take Mary back, can't you?"

"Of course I can. Don't worry, I'll take her home." Dean said quickly before Mary could argue, not listening to the voice in his head that said Dick had been a good pal to him, and therefore Mary was off-limits. Dick thanked him quickly, kissed Mary goodbye, and was gone. The only pang of guilt came when Dean saw there was not an ounce of suspicion within Dick. He trusted Dean completely. That was his own damn fault, Dean told himself, and shoved the guilt away to look back at Mary.

Her discomfort at the situation was gone, and she was staring ahead blankly. She was so different from the first night . . . It made Dean that much more fascinated. That's what he liked about her; she was unpredictable. There were different types of broads, like a Russian doll, where you take it apart and there's another one inside, and another one inside that. There are always more layers, and they're always different from the one before. That was the type of girl Mary was. Most other dames were not. They were the doll that had no others within, and what you saw was what you got.

At the moment, Mary was refusing to look at him, with her full glossy lips pressed into a thin line, so Dean openly and smugly eyed her outfit. He traveled the length of her leg in the silver dress that seemed like skin as it clung to the hollow of her navel and that finally billowed into sleeves draping around her arms like shimmering clouds.

He stopped when he reached her eyes and was suddenly absurdly ashamed of himself. For unlike the common whores and the rich women who would have been called whores if it weren't for their money, Mary did not relish his admiration. She did not bask in it like a plant soaks up sunlight. She seemed contemptuously above it all.

"What would you like to do, then?" Dean asked after clearing his throat.

"I would like to stay for a while. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some friends to visit with." She turned to look at him for the first time that evening, sending Dean's heart racing despite himself, and she smiled thinly before turning on her heel and strutting away.

While Dean waited for her, trying very much to look like he was not, he wondered if he was in love. He told himself he could not be, for he knew nothing about her. That greatly relieved him. For now.