Not Quite an Angel (7 page)

For all her remarkable insights into the rest of humanity, Delilah was totally blind about herself and those she cared about. It was a character trait Sameh found both endearing and disturbing in her employer.

She saw Tyrone give Violet a stealthy wink when Delilah told him to buy the new car, and she felt sickened by their duplicity. She herself wouldn't trust Violet or Tyrone as far as she could teleport them in a windstorm.

I
T WAS EIGHT O'CLOCK
in the evening. Adam and Sameh were strolling down Sunset Strip when Sameh paused before an eight-foot-tall poster of Marilyn Monroe, advertising a retrospective of her movies playing inside the theater.

“Who is this woman?”

“C'mon, Sameh. You're putting me on, right?” Adam gave her a quizzical look. “Everybody in the world recognizes Marilyn, the goddess of sex.”

Sameh studied the poster. “Well, I don't recognize her. I didn't have time to review some parts of your pop culture in depth.” She tilted her head up to look into Monroe's face. “She has sadness in her eyes. Do you know her, or do security for her?”

Adam had a sinking feeling in his gut. He'd actually started to think they'd get through an entire evening without her going bonkers on him again, but that was obviously too much to hope for. He sighed and did his best to retain some semblance of sanity in the conversation. “Marilyn Monroe is dead, Sameh. She's been dead for years now. Lately she's become a sort of cult figure and she seems to be even more popular now than when she was alive.”

Sameh nodded, and her mass of bright curls glimmered in the rainbow of neon lights lining the Strip. “That happens with us, too, that people become more popular after they die than when they're alive. Not for sexual reasons, though.
We have total equality. Women are no longer viewed as sex objects.”

Here it was again, this division she made between his world and this…this other place she considered hers. Damn, he'd been hoping none of this stuff would come up tonight, and it hadn't, until now.

They'd just finished an enjoyable dinner at Luigi's, one of his favorite restaurants. A small, unpretentious Italian place in Westwood, it served the best linguine around. Sameh had asked questions about his work, and maybe he'd gone on a bit too long about Blue Knights, now that he thought about it. But he'd tried to be amusing and she'd laughed a lot. She'd hardly spilled a thing.

He discovered he loved making her laugh. She had a contagious giggle that made everyone in their vicinity smile.

He'd ordered a bottle of good wine and feasted his eyes on her as they talked and ate. She'd gotten sauce on her full bottom lip, and all he could think of was how it would feel to lick it off. Two tiny drops of wine had dripped from the edge of her glass, landing just where her breasts swelled at the neck of her dress…two tiny intriguing red dots on a sea of golden skin. He'd thought about that skin extending all the way down, over full and luscious breasts, flat stomach…

He'd forced himself to look only at her face, her eyes. He'd forced himself to concentrate on whatever the hell they were saying. Damn but she was desirable.

She'd seemed to bring the California sunshine with her into the dim restaurant. He'd caught the hungry stares she attracted from other men, and sent back silent, lethal warnings of his own, one murderous glare usually enough to make them flush and look away.

He was amazed that she aroused such powerful jealousy in him. He couldn't remember feeling so jealous over a woman in a long time—it was all too often the other way
around. Even in a city noted for beautiful women, Sameh drew attention, especially wearing this simple blue thing she had on tonight. It bared her long, shapely legs and veed in the front to reveal that tantalizing glimpse of creamy cleavage. It drew tight around her rear when she walked. It was definitely Adam's kind of dress, and the woman wearing it tantalized and intrigued him—when she wasn't driving him batty, like now.

“How old were you when this Marilyn Monroe died, Adam?”

She wasn't going to let up on it. “Six. No, seven.” He tucked her hand in his as they strolled, watching the tourists and the regulars. Without consciously thinking about it, he kept a careful eye out for the crazies who frequented this famous boulevard, making sure his body was between them and Sameh as they ambled past, muttering to themselves.

Sameh looked at each of them with intensity, frowning to herself, but she didn't comment. A family went past—mother, father, two young children—and Sameh waved her hand at them. The kids grinned and waved back, and she said, “Delilah and the others were talking about their childhoods today at lunch. What was yours like, Adam?”

“Oh, the usual. Ordinary. Boarding schools, summer camp. Being a little kid is pretty boring.” His voice was rock steady, and the protective walls he'd erected years before were firmly in place.

She stumbled on the curb just then, and her misstep provided a welcome distraction, giving him an excuse to put his arm around her. He left it there as they walked, and she didn't seem to object. He could feel the sweet swell of warm hip against his palm, undulating gracefully as they moved. He could smell her perfume, something light and flowery.

“Do you want to go somewhere for a drink, or maybe dancing?”

She shook her head. “My feet hurt.”

“Let's head back to the car, then,” he suggested. “We can cruise through Hollywood if you like.”

She looked up at him and gave him the smile that made a weird place in his chest feel sore. “I'd like that very much.”

Once they were in the convertible, he drove slowly up Sunset toward Hollywood, along the famous boulevards. Dusk was falling, and the smog gave the city a muted, shadowy hue, like an old sepia-toned photograph. All the signs and marquees were coming alive in the twilight, flashing color over Sameh's skin as they drove. His small sports car was almost lost in a sea of Porsches, Cadillacs and Lincolns, with the occasional pickup mixed in for comic relief.

“These shoes really hurt my feet,” she remarked, reaching down to remove the blue satin heels that were a perfect match for the dress. “Delilah insisted I wear them. I had to practice for a long time this afternoon before I could walk in them at all, but I'm still not very good at it. They hurt my toes and make my legs ache.” She picked up one of the shoes and studied it as if she'd never laid eyes on a high heel before. “I guess even shoes can be sex objects, right? They certainly aren't designed for comfort, the way our sandals are.” She sighed and flexed her toes, their nails painted pink. Adam kept glancing over at her legs encased enticingly in sheer stockings.

There was a noticeable run in her panty hose, right from her left toe up to where her leg disappeared beneath the short blue skirt, but she didn't seem aware of it or concerned. Damn, even the holes in this woman's stockings made him horny.

He could sense her eyes on him, and at a red light he turned to smile at her. She didn't smile back. She looked
serious. “There's something you should know about me, Adam.”

A million somethings. Like where she was really from, for instance, and how he could best entice her into bed with him without running the risk of permanent disability. “Let me guess. You don't like wearing high heels?”

“Besides that.” Her tone was solemn.

He had a bad feeling they were heading back to la la land here. “Okay,” he said with a sigh, “I guess you'd better lay it on me.”

“Is that the same as telling you?” She was frowning.

He couldn't help laughing. “Right.”

She laid a hand on his arm, and he could feel the warmth through his light sport coat. His peripheral vision was excellent, and he knew her blue eyes were riveted on his face.

“I know when you're not being truthful with me, Adam. It's a little like these flashing lights.” She pointed up at one they were passing that said Filthy McNasty's, Bar Open, Dancing. On, off, on, off. “If what you're saying is the truth, your light stays constant. But when you say something that's not true, the light blinks like that one and I know you're trying to deceive me.” She withdrew her hand and looked away from him. “I've known every time, and you've done it rather a lot.”

He thought that over for a minute, feeling uneasy. In the first place, what light was she talking about, for God's sake? In the second place, if she was on the level, it sure as hell didn't make him feel comfortable. “Give me an example,” he made the mistake of saying.

“A few minutes ago, when we were discussing childhoods? You said yours had been ordinary and boring. And I knew right away you weren't being truthful at all with me.” She shrugged. “It's your privilege not to reveal what you'd rather keep hidden, but I just thought you ought to
know that I know right away when you do—lie to me, that is. And you should be aware of it. Otherwise it feels as if I'm taking unfair advantage of you.”

She was right about what he'd said, no denying it. He hadn't been anywhere near truthful about his childhood. He never was, most of the time not even to himself, and he sure as hell had no intention of spilling his guts to her about it. So maybe she did have some sort of cockeyed ability to detect bullshit, which didn't make him feel exactly comfortable.

Adam thought of the countless times over the years when he'd made up successful but blatant lies to extricate himself from delicate situations with women, and he all but groaned aloud. If this neon-light thing Sameh was talking about ever became known to other females, he and just about every other man he knew was dead in the water.

“So you always know when somebody's lying?” He made a sharp right and took the route that led up to Griffith Park.

“Almost always. Sometimes a person isn't aware himself that what he's saying is false, so then of course I don't know, either.”

He thought about that for several miles. “Was this something you were born with, this light thing?”

She shook her head. “Not entirely. I had a latent ability, at least that's what the testing showed. If we have latent ability, we develop it, in awareness training.”

And here they were, right back to square one and loony-land. There wasn't much point in trying to keep her on the straight and narrow path of logical and reasonable conversation, Adam could see that. And after Saturday night, he wasn't about to try anything heavy in the romance line unless he was damned good and sure she was willing. He felt a sharp pang of regret over that.

So, if they weren't going to make out, and she wasn't going to discuss anything more normal, he had to make an effort to meet her on her own ground and be absolutely honest about it. His ingenuity would certainly be tested.

He pulled into a parking space near the observatory and shut off the engine. Millions of lights were blinking on in the city that stretched out beneath them. She undid the seat belt and shifted forward, her face reflecting her delight at the fairyland coming alive far below.

“What's it like, where you come from, Sameh?” He was surprised to find that he was really curious to hear what she'd say. Apart from anything else, she was the most inventive woman he'd ever met. “Are there cities like L.A.? Are there restaurants like Luigi's? Are there guys like Bernie and me?” She turned and looked at him—a long, speculative look. He met her gaze honestly. “You told me last night that if I wanted to know anything about you, I just ought to ask,” he reminded her. “So I'm asking.”

The drive in the convertible had tousled her hair even more than usual. It curled around her face and throat, soft and shining. He wanted to touch it, but he resisted.

“First of all, we have strict population control, so there aren't nearly as many people on Terra in my time as there are now, which makes everything much simpler,” she began. “Our cities aren't like this, either.” She gestured at the scene below. “They're smaller, more manageable. It took us hundreds of years, but we've managed to cleanse the earth of the pollution and repair the damage our ancestors—your civilization—did to it. We recycle and use all waste products, and of course we no longer use animals as a source of food or clothing.”

“No prime rib, no burgers, no salami? No leather?”

“Animals are living things just as we are, Adam.”

He remembered that Sameh had stuck to vegetables each
time he'd eaten with her. She hadn't made an issue of being vegetarian, but obviously she felt strongly about it. Well, it was just one more oddity, rather insignificant when you considered the total sum of oddities that made up Sameh Smith.

“Sounds like a real Garden of Eden,” he said carefully, doing his best not to sound sarcastic. “No wars, no riots, no racial tension? Must be a relaxing way to live, although it doesn't sound as if there's much to get your juices going. What do you do for excitement?”

She laughed. “We're still human. We still have plenty of tension between those who think differently. No wars, though. War was strictly outlawed by the Central Committee after the nuclear accident that almost ended all life on Terra. That happened just after the millennium. It signaled the real beginning of peace on earth, what we call the Four Hundred Years. But we still have our problems. For instance, there's always a heated debate going on between the techies and the Adepts.”

That tickled him. “Mind versus machine, huh? Sounds just like our office. Bernie and his computers, me and my hunches.”

She laughed again, soft and low in her throat. “Exactly. Computers versus awareness.”

“Tell me about the people, Sameh. Are there still rich and poor, black and white, good and bad?”

She frowned, thinking it over. “It's not as clear-cut as that anymore. We still have evolving societies and a few ethnic groups, but we have a lot more compassion for one another. Most of the problems in your society are fear based, caused by ignorance and lack of understanding. That's why awareness training is so important in our time. It allows us to communicate mind to mind, and when that occurs, there won't be as many misunderstandings.”

Adam thought about the lie detector that she said blinked
when he was being less than honest. A thing like that would sure make high-level conferences between politicians interesting and a lot more productive, as well.