"Pheromone Pharmacopia"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2001, All rights reserved)

 

Chapter 13 - "Miscreant"

If they’d have had more time, the girls would have given Jacqui a few lessons in modesty. She clearly had seldom worn a skirt - and never one so short. If it had slid up just a tiny bit further when Anderson helped her into the car, the thong that had so embarrassed her would have been truly necessary if she were to preserve any secrets at all.

"Jacqui," Jaymi hissed over her shoulder as Anderson walked around to his side. "Keep your knees together when you swing your legs in and out. Geez, girl, you don’t need to be so blatant. You’ve already got him hooked and landed in the boat."

"What?" Jacqui said, then realized what had almost happened. She blushed brighter than her dress, looking carefully out the window to hide the fire she knew was showing all too well through her smooth makeup.

It wasn’t until Oz had started the car that she absorbed the second half of Jaymi’s statement. The girls in the back of the car could see when she did, though, as she gasped and looked suddenly at Anderson.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, catching the motion out of the corner of his eye.

"Nothing," Jacqui choked out in a strangled voice.

Her teammates covered for her with bright chatter from the rear seat and after a moment a sharper look returned to Jacqui’s stricken face - a look that said she was considering what she had been told most carefully. She didn’t say anything though, at least not until they had arrived at the restaurant. She managed to get out of the car without quite repeating her earlier display, then whispered to Sandy and Jaymi as they waited for Oz to negotiate with the valet.

"This is NOT going to work," Jacqui said urgently. "I don’t have the . . . training for this like you girls who grew up with frills. I’ll *never* learn all I need to know to pull of this, this, farce."

"Calm down, girl," Sandy said. "We’ll get you through this. We had to learn all this, too."

"Yeah, but you had a lifetime to do it," Jacqui said.

"A bit less than that," whispered Jaymi. "Now hush. And smile! A quiet mouth - with a smile on it - is 90% of what you need to know anyway."

Jacqui looked like she was ready to argue about that, a bit of the fire that had made her famous within the rough and ready pilot community surfacing in her eyes. The other girls almost lost it in helpless giggles though, when she showed a smile that could have graced any fashion magazine as she turned to her tall escort when he walked up.

The other group had gotten out of their own car as well and were standing at the entrance to the restaurant - or club, really, with entertainments other than food. The Palmas Lounge had been socially discovered a few years before and was now the ‘in’ place to go for a night out. Clothing in oil-rich Houston tended toward the highly-fashionable, tempered by good ol’ boy Texas insistence of flattering, feminine styles. Unfortunately for Anderson and Jennings, the prices reflected that clientele.

"Lordy, lordy, I’m glad *I’m* not payin’ for this," Carol gloated, earning her a frown but a rueful nod from Jennings.

They took it like men though, not stinting on the bill. The quality of the sumptuous meal almost justified the prices, and afterwards they moved into the nightclub area and ordered champagne.

"To the most amazing group of women I have ever met," Jennings said, raising his glass in a toast. The laughter that greeted his remark might not have been what he expected, but the ostentatious nods from the girls made it clear they were not disagreeing with him.

"Would you like to dance?" Anderson asked, and no one but Jacqui was surprised that she was the object of his invitation.

"Oh, I don’t dance," she said nervously.

"No time like the present to learn, girl," Sandy said with a laugh.

"Now get up and do us proud or I’ll pull your chair out from under you."

"But I . . I’ve never . ." she stammered.

Anderson didn’t need any further help. He bowed gallantly to her - while reaching for her hand and pulling her to her feet. "Then I’ll have the privilege of introducing you to this . . . pleasure."

When they were away from the others, Oz dropped his voice and said, "You really do look terrific tonight. I’m sorry I was so . . surprised."

"Sorry?"

"I should have realized you were this pretty, but I guess I never really looked at you before."

"Hell, Oz, we’ve been friends for, what is it? Years anyway."

"Have we?" he asked with a little smile that said a lot more than words. "Then how come I feel like I’ve never seen you before tonight?"

"I don’t know," she said - softly - and realized that she was truly enjoying herself.

 

Jennings looked at Marilyn and said, "Well, it looks like they’ll be occupied for a while. Would you care to dance?"

"Love to," Marilyn said with a happy little smile.

The executive had his own reasons for getting Marilyn alone, starting with an interrogation. "So, who are you really?"

"Moi?" Marilyn asked with wide eyes.

"Don’t give me that," Jennings replied. "I’ll admit, you do that ditzy blonde thing as well as anyone I’ve ever known. Better than a lot for whom it wasn’t an act. But I’ll make you a deal. I won’t assume that you’re stupid any more, and you don’t assume I am either. Okay?"

"Deal," she replied, still smiling but with an added sigh. "You don’t know how much of a relief it is to quit pretending."

"So, why do you?"

"Why did you believe it?"

"Huh?" he asked, not seeing the relevance.

"Why did you ever believe I was, ah, ditzy you said? Did I ever do anything wrong on your tests, screw up in some way that showed I wasn’t up to the challenge?"

Jennings frowned, thinking back. "Well, no, but . . . "

Marilyn didn’t help him out, just lifting an unrelenting brow.

He grinned and shrugged. "Okay, I get the point. If I underestimated you, then there’s a potential advantage for you."

"Not so much an advantage over you, since your standards are pretty objective," Marilyn said. "But, well, lets just say that being underestimated by some people has allowed me to . . . advance my career. And it did get me at least this night out at your expense."

"This is where I leap to the brilliant insight that Marilyn is not your real name, Ms. Richards."

"No, it’s not, but she made a career with that technique, and it works just as well today as it ever did."

"It does indeed," he replied.

They danced for a few moments, maneuvered by Jennings to a position where they could see Oz and Jacqui. "I never thought I’d see those two together," Jennings said.

"I never doubted it for a moment," Marilyn countered with a grin. "The way his eyes locked on Jaymi when we showed up made it clear he likes petite, dark-haired girls, and with Jacqui’s other qualifications it was inevitable. After all, how many astronauts have lovers who are also great pilots?"

"Lovers?" repeated Jennings. "Are they . . . "

"Not yet," Marilyn said lightly.

 

"Oz, tell me something," Jacqui murmured.

He nodded, and she continued with a grin, "Where has your Aussie accent gone all evening?"

"Oh, um, I guess I forgot," he admitted with his own grin. "I was distracted."

"Indeed," she said, smiling happily.

 

Sandy looked at the dancing couples and smiled at her remaining teammates. "We done good, ladies."

Carol snorted and said, "Yeah, like it was any sort of challenge at all."

"That’s the best kind," Vanna giggled.

"Best kind of what?" asked a solidly built man who had walked up as they were talking.

"Oh, um, sorry," Vanna said. "I didn’t realize we had gotten so loud."

"Not really," he denied. "But I do like to hear the sound of girlish laughter. Why don’t you dance with me? I’ll see if I can get you to laugh again."

"Yeah," Carol said with deliberate parody as she urged Vanna to go with him, "like it was any sort of challenge at all."

This time Vanna was the one to blush, but she stood and went with her unknown partner.

"Lordy, she does attract the rich ones," Jaymi said, smiling with pleasure for her friend.

"Earned his own money, though, I’ll bet," Sandy said. "He’s spent a lot of time in the sun, with that prairie squint."

"Yeah, but he didn’t get that tux in a dusty old general store," observed Jaymi.

Then she was tempted away herself, followed quickly by the others as their availability and willingness to dance became obvious to the men in the lounge.

 

"You really are smooth," Jennings said with a little chuckle and nod of his head to his blonde partner.

"Hmmm?" replied Marilyn.

"You never answered by question," he observed. "You deflected it so smoothly I never noticed. At least, not until I thought of it again."

"Question?" she asked blandly. Vacuously, or so she tried to imply.

"Now you’re just stalling," he said, refusing to be put off.

"I’m just a li’l ol’ country gal, all wide-eyed at all the fancy gadgets and gizmos you technical types have invented."

Then she squeaked, as Jennings hand drifted just low enough to pinch her shapely bottom.

"Lie to me like a sneaky li’l ol’ country gal, and I’ll treat you like one," he threatened, but his smile took away any offense.

Instead of an answering smile, vacuous or not, Marilyn’s pretty face frowned as she tried to decide how to answer his question. "This is hardly the place to discuss that," she said, stalling.

"You’d be surprised," Jennings said. "There are deals made in this room that affect more money than the GDP of most countries, so unless you’re talking government classified information . . . "

His comment was offhand, a way to set such a high standard for continued evasion that Marilyn would be forced to talk to him. However, the way she stiffened in his arms - no outside observer would have noticed anything - gave him an answer he didn’t expect.

Before she could respond, he continued, "Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow in my office though. And this time, it’s not a request."

 

Some time later, Sandy and Vanna returned to their table after a joint visit to the powder room. As had often happened that evening, there were fresh drinks waiting for them from some unknown benefactor.

A deep chime started from a towering clock, and unconsciously they both started counting the bongs.

"Witching hour," Vanna said.

"And it looks like our Jacqui has initiated the new day in a quite enjoyable way," Sandy said, pointing at their petite pilot who was locked in a toe-curling kiss with the man who had been her constant escort for the evening.

"Geez, that girl may not walk like a woman, but she sure can kiss like one," Vanna giggled.

"And hold her breath for a long time, too," snickered Sandy.

They were both horrified to see their friend suddenly recoil from Oz as though she had been slapped, then turn and run from the room with a rapid clatter from her heels.

"Uh, oh," Sandy said, rising to follow. Vanna hurried after her and they were just in time to see Jacqui disappear into the powder room they had recently vacated.

Inside, the dark-haired pilot was slumped on a couch, crying uncontrollably.

"Jacqui, what’s wrong?" Sandy asked softly, resting a gentle hand on a heaving shoulder.

"Go away," Jacqui replied, waving a hand without looking up.

"Can’t do that, girl," Sandy said, slipping into the space next to Jacqui on the couch. "Boss lady says no one goes anywhere alone."

The sense that somehow the girls were under orders - with the corollary that perhaps someone was watching to see how they behaved - penetrated Jacqui’s sobs and she sat up suddenly, looking around.

That gave Vanna a bit of room to sit next to her, and the despondent young woman found herself surrounded, but with friendship and patience, not judgment.

"Tell us what’s wrong, hon," Vanna ordered, gentle but implacable.

"He . . . he kissed me," Jacqui whispered, as though it were a secret too terrible to say out loud.

"He certainly did that," Sandy said carefully. "And you’re crying because . . .?"

"Because . . . because it wasn’t . . . me!" Jacqui said, burying her head to sob again.

"Um, sweetheart, we were watching," Vanna said softly. "It most certainly *was* you."

"No it wasn’t," the muffled voice said. "It was this . . . thing you’ve created, this sexy, beautiful . . . thing that I can never be. Not really."

"Why not?" asked Sandy.

Jacqui’s head came up again, this time with a disgusted tinge to her expression. "Don’t be stupid. I could never do this again."

"Why not?" asked Sandy again, her tone matching her previous question perfectly.

"Because I don’t know how!" wailed Jacqui. "You girls have had a lifetime to learn how to dress, and how to wear makeup, and how to, well, to move like a woman. Do you know how hard I worked NOT to look like that? How hard I tried to get everyone to treat me like ‘one of the boys’? While you girls were playing with dolls, I was building model airplanes."

"You have a girl’s hairstyle," Vanna pointed out.

"No," Jacqui contradicted her. "Until tonight, I had a ponytail, which is pretty much unisex nowadays. And I only grew that because I heard, well, I heard that people thought I was . . . sick - perverse or something; that I thought I was really a man in a woman’s body. Astronauts need to be all-American . . . symbols. I grew my hair to prove that I was happy to be a woman, but it was really so that I could be accepted as an astronaut, just like I’ve done everything else in my life."

"Are you? Happy to be a woman?" asked Sandy.

"Of course I am," Jacqui replied, but a moment of confusion showed in her eyes and her manicured fingers drifted along the sleek curves of her dress.

"And you like men? Like being kissed by a tall, strong man?" Sandy continued with a smile.

Now Jacqui’s eyes softened in a memory that was a statement so clear that words, or even her embarrassed nod, were superfluous.

"Good. With that figure, I don’t think you’d be very convincing as a boy," Sandy said lightly.

Before Jacqui could respond to that, Sandy continued. "Personally, I don’t think I’d jump to the conclusion that someone who felt like a man trapped in a woman’s body was automatically sick anyway. That doesn’t really matter, though. I can imagine that others feel that way. None of which is really relevant to your problem. Do you want to dress nicely, use makeup, and, well, the other things it takes to be a pretty woman in today’s society? Or not? You certainly know that you CAN be pretty, if you choose to be."

"What difference does it make?" Jacqui asked. "Whether I want to or not, it would take, well, a lifetime to learn how to do what you did to me tonight. I’ve missed my chance."

"Bullshit," Sandy replied, the obscenity jarringly discordant from her innocent face. "Vanna and I could teach you ourselves, and in, oh, what do you think, Vanna? A week?"

"If she pays attention," Vanna said easily. "Two if we have to beat it into her. After all, she’s got the supernova smile, and the tears. All the rest is just filling in between."

Jacqui’s mouth opened and closed, twice, before she could say anything. When she did speak, it was in an incredulous, little-girl whisper begging to be convinced that there really was a Santa Claus. "I don’t believe you."

"Is that a challenge, Jacqui girl?" Sandy said with a comic-opera threat in her voice.

Like a magic word, the thought of a challenge lifted Jacqui’s head and firmed her eyes. "You can’t do it. It would take years."

"Yep, definitely a challenge," Vanna said.

"Starting right now," Sandy declared, standing up. "And the first lesson is that you do NOT show yourself to your beau with your eyes all red and puffy."

"Oh my God," Jacqui said, her hands rising to touch her face, then she jerked as she absorbed the rest of Sandy’s statement. "Beau? He’s not my . . ."

"Nor your cheeks all streaked with mascara, though we can fix that before we leave here," Sandy continued, rolling over Jacqui’s unconvincing denial.

"Vanna, you go get the valet check to one of the cars. Say that Jacqui has an upset stomach and we’re taking her home. Jacqui and I will take care of emergency repairs."

 

"They’ve been in there a long time," observed a worried Oz. "I never should have forced myself on her like that."

Carol, who with Jaymi was standing beside him, slapped his shoulder lightly. "You really think that if you had ‘forced’ yourself on her that she would have run away? I think she’d have decked you, and stomped on the twitching parts."

Oz winced, but grinned ruefully. "You’re probably right, but . . "

"But nothing. Jacqui can take care of herself - at least physically," Carol declared, but with that last caveat a bit of worry sounded in her own voice.

 

Jennings and Marilyn had stopped dancing, too, standing together where they could also see the hall toward the powder room.

"Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea," Marilyn said softly.

"Nonsense," Jennings retorted, though he kept his voice low. "In the years I’ve known Jacqui, this is the first time I’ve ever seen her cry."

Before Marilyn could reply, he continued, "And no, that is NOT a sexist remark. I think it’s a good idea for men to cry now and then, too. She’s been holding a lot of things in. Too much, probably."

 

Both groups sighed with relief when Vanna appeared, her sense of purpose obvious in her motion. She gathered up Jacqui’s purse and then approached Anderson.

"I need the claim check for one of the cars. We need to take Jacqui home."

"I’ll take her," Oz volunteered quickly.

"Not right now," Vanna said adamantly.

Oz looked like he wanted to argue, then bowed his head. "At least, will you tell her I’m sorry?"

"I most certainly will NOT," snorted Vanna. "Geez, how do you pilot types ever manage to reproduce? You knocked that girl for a loop with a high-octane smackeroo, and you want me to tell her you regret it? Get a clue!"

"Really?" Oz asked, a little boy grin starting to show on his face.

Vanna just laughed and walked back down the hall, waving at Marilyn in reassurance.

The group that was staying got a further reassuring wave, albeit a long-distance one, from Jacqui herself when the three girls briefly appeared on their way to the exit. When they got outside however, ‘brief’ was no longer an option. There was a long line at the curb waiting for cars.

After the third concerned matron, seeing Jacqui’s red eyes, asked what was wrong, Jacqui looked at Sandy with a silent plea for escape. Sandy nodded and swayed her way over to the attendant.

"Um, . . Sam," she said, spying his nametag. "We’re really in a hurry, and we don’t mind getting our own car. Would you just give us our key and tell us where it is?"

"I’m sorry, I can’t do that," ‘Sam’ said.

"Why not?" Sandy asked, pouting with disappointment that would make angels weep.

"It might not be safe," he said. "The parking garage is not very well lit, and um, how about if I just have them bring your car up as soon as possible?"

"Oh, there’s three of us. I’m sure we’ll be okay," Sandy said confidently. She took a deep breath, then when she had the attendant thoroughly distracted, she leaned close to him to snag the keys to their vehicle.

"Thanks," she said cheerily as she moved back to her friends.

"But, miss, you really shouldn’t . . . "

"I know," she said, smiling. "But I do a LOT of things I really shouldn’t do."

That thought crossed the eyes on the now panting ‘Sam’, and they were out of sight around a pillar before he could think of anything else to say.

Not that he was wrong, as they found out a few moments later.

The three young women approached their car, checking with the alarm to make sure they had the right one, when a wheezy voice interrupted them.

"Mighty fine, yeah, mighty fine," the voice said. Then the owner of the voice stepped from the shadows into the not-much-lighter main pathway and continued. "Oh, babies y’all are soo hot! This’s m’ lucky day."

"You don’t want to do this," Sandy warned stepping ahead of the other two. Jacqui moved to stand beside her, but Vanna’s warning hand and frown held her back.

"Oh, yeah, Ah want . . Ah want y’all all right. All a’ y’all three. Ah’m gonna show them black boys that it ain’t the size o’ the meat, it’s th’ way ya pack it. Ah’m gonna show ‘em what a white man kin do with three lovelies like y’all."

"There aren’t any black men around here, mister, so you’ll have to save that for another time," Sandy said, motioning behind her back for the other two to move toward the car.

"Ah’ll tell ‘em. Ah’ll tell ‘em all ‘bout gettin’ some rich white-girl pussy. Besides, Ah’ll have me some soov’neers," he claimed, flicking out a long knife blade no less dangerous for the flecks of rust that marred the shine. If it really *was* rust, and not something . . . worse.

 

(continued in next part)

 

*********************************************
SMITE 2 - Pheromone Pharmacopia © 2001 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.