Chapter Five – Storming the Castle

As they walked up the steps to the front door, the light flicked on and a voice—Susan told Spencer it was Betty—welcomed her home, asking for an input code. Spencer's eyebrows arched; It intrigued him.

"The security system doesn't recognize you. Check this out. Betty? Open settings, add visitor profile." She told Spencer, "Stand here for a few seconds, while Betty scans you, and say your name. She'll add your information to the system."

He stood still for a moment. "Dr. Spencer Reid". Grinning, he asked, "You have facial and vocal recognition?" Over the large door, he saw a fist-sized bronze wolf's head. Susan told him it housed the speaker and pointed to the top corner of the window to the left, where she told him the digital camera was located.

"Part of the biometrics system. Betty, please close settings and disengage the deadbolt?"

The voice said, "Profile added, settings closed". There was a beep, and a mechanical whirring, then she opened the door.

"Because you were with me and not in the system, I would have to ask her to unlock the door or add your profile." As they entered, she flicked on the orb chandelier hanging above the foyer and closed the door behind them. "If I didn't add your profile… say you were some creeper who followed me, I'd tell her, Code Alpha and the police would be here by the time you got to the door." She tossed her keys into a lacquered wooden bowl on top of the sofa table by the front door and set her purse on a shelf under it.

Spencer chuckled. "Oh, you have got to meet Penelope Garcia. I know she'd get a kick out of Betty."

"I'd like that. Dave finally agreed to introduce me to everyone at his wedding, but the week before, I was visiting my brother and his sons. The day before my flight, to come home, Phil had an emergency appendectomy, so I stayed a few more days, to help my nephews and his ex, Katie take care of him."

"It's too bad you couldn't be there." Spencer noticed a large, beige cable-knit sweater with suede patches on the elbows, hanging on a driftwood coat rack on the wall near the door, wondering who it belonged to. The smaller grey hoodie next to it, he figured was Susan's. He looked around the large foyer; the inside of the house was neat, clean, and he felt comfortable. "You said your brother's divorced?"

"Yes. He and his ex-wife Katie are still friends and share custody. Phil even bought a house across the street from her, to make it easier for the boys and so that they could stay in the same school district."

Susan went over to a pair of pocket doors and opened them as Spencer set his book bag on top of the table. She went inside, turning on the lights, and he followed.

He stopped beside a white grand piano, glancing at the corner of the room to his right. Two wingback chairs on a rug in front of a fireplace with a marble façade and mantel. But as he turned his head to the left and saw the row of bookshelves built into the back wall, his eyes widened. This wasn't just a room with bookcases, it was an actual library…a huge library.

In the far end of the room beyond where he stood, were two large, ornate wooden pillars, one on each side where the tower connected to the exterior wall. Inside the tower, a circular staircase wound around, up to the ceiling. The tall, narrow windows he saw from the outside, were built-in between the bookcases, and a large wrought-iron chandelier hung down the middle, lighting the tower. Two similar, larger chandeliers lit up the main part of the library. Spencer looked around in awe. He heard her say something and turned his head.

Susan went over to an immense wooden desk in the corner opposite the tower and Spencer's gaze followed her. Near the desk, two club chairs sat next to a window. Several narrow wooden pillars were situated throughout the room and a conference table near the middle. Three more pairs of upholstered chairs were positioned around the room and a blue brocade settee sat across from the piano.

Spencer stood beside a Mahogany roll-top desk, between the piano and the tower, still studying the room. The built-in bookcases went up, he estimated fourteen feet, to the coffered ceiling; swing-arm lamps hung over each bookshelf—he counted twelve—along the back wall. A railing, attached to the front, had two rolling ladders attached and a couple of step ladders sat near the six bookcases against the wall on the left side of the room. He put his hand on the desk, to steady himself.

Realizing he had stopped breathing for a moment, he sucked in a breath. "This is… wow." It was overwhelming. As he turned to face the wall behind the desk, his eyes refocused on the framed pictures there. In the largest one, a happy family of four, he presumed was Susan's. The father, tall and trim, wore a suit and tie. Spencer recalled seeing his picture in the hallway outside the bullpen at work, his hair greyer than in this one. Standing beside him, a striking, raven-haired woman in a red dress, probably Susan's mother, based on the similarities. Her brother sat on a low block, wearing a suit, but no tie, in front of his father. Susan wore a pink dress, sitting on a higher block beside her brother, done most likely to balance out the height difference. A happy family, based on their relaxed smiles and body language.

There were other framed family photos, including a wedding photo of Susan's parents and older photographs, Spencer naturally assumed they were her grandparents.

He silently puzzled at the apparently out-of-place 7-foot-tall bookshelf beside the desk. It wasn't built in, but rather standing nearly empty against the wall. A single book sat on a shelf near his eye level, leaning against a yellow-painted brick.

Susan told him, "Gramps—my dad's father—had his law books in it. I meant to ask Dave the last time he came over if he has Aaron's address, so I could send that book to him."

"Aaron… Hotch?" He picked up the book.

"Mm-hmm. He interned for my grandfather over the summers while attending Georgetown Law, when Gramps was still a judge. Not long after that, he was elected a Justice on the Supreme Court of Virginia, for a few years, until he died."

Spencer read the title. "Liberty Under Law, An Interpretation of the Principles of Our Constitutional Government, by William H. Taft." He opened it, reading the inscription as well. "To Aaron, in all my years practicing law, I've never encountered a more brilliant, hard-working intern, determined to make his mark on the world. All my best, as you embark on your career. Ever your friend, and proud mentor, Judge William P. Spencer. Hmm. Dave and Emily both have his contact information." He flipped through a few pages. "A first edition, from 1922. Impressive…like this library." Then he laid the book on the shelf and picked up the brick. Stenciled in block letters on the front was YELLOW BRICK ROAD FBINA 202. He set it back on the shelf and carefully leaned the book against it. "You said your father taught at the Academy?"

"Mm-hmm. Dad was the Unit Chief of BAU-5, Research, Strategy, and Instruction, and he taught classes." Susan smiled as she ran her fingers down the side of the brick. "This is from 2000. Bob Mueller was the director at the time and he bet my dad he couldn't get all three bricks, during that session. Dad didn't smoke, but he did get the yellow and blue. I remember he disliked losing the bet but refused to take up cigars to win. I don't know what the stakes were, probably a bottle of Scotch, or something silly. My brother Phil has the blue one."

"I've heard of The Yellow Brick Road, at the Academy." He remembered seeing trainees who finished the grueling 6.1-mile course awarded the yellow brick. The blue brick was for those who completed a 34-mile swim in the Academy pool during the ten-week session. He didn't know about the green brick, but since it involved smoking cigars, he would ask Rossi about it.

"Dad had a law degree, like his father and grandfather, but before he graduated, he attended one of Jason's lectures and applied to the FBI before passing the bar. Last Christmas, Phil brought the boys for a visit and he asked if I would be okay with him taking the law books." She shrugged. "I didn't need them, so he boxed them and had them shipped to his house. We found that book as we were going through them."

Susan gestured around the room. "All the books that were in here belonged to our parents and grandparents, and were passed down to Phil and me, so he took some, we let his boys pick some out and I kept the rest, though many I read now are either on flash drives I plug into my tablet or e-books I borrow from the library."

Spencer pursed his lips for a moment. "Hmph. E-books... I read a lot but prefer books I can hold in my hand."

"Oh, yeah, I get it. I love books; the furfural smell, the weight of them, as you can see here, by all these," Susan whistled, pointing at the shelves around the room, like a flight attendant indicating the exits on an airplane, "but there is an advantage to having a digital library, as well. There are millions of books online, including older books scanned to digital format. Think about how difficult it is to lug around a bag of books, or onto an airplane, for example. I take my tablet to California with me, when I go and read while I'm there and on the flights. I found that if I put the tablet in a zip-lock bag, I can read in the bathtub, the pool, even the hot tub. Try doing that with a real book."

"I'll give you that, although I've never read a book in a hot tub."

Susan walked back over to her desk, picked up a tablet, then sat down on the settee across from the piano, and turned it on.

Spencer sat down next to her, crossed his legs, watching her as she touched the screen a few times. She turned it around and showed him. His brows furrowed when she handed it to him, but then he smiled when he saw the cover on the screen. A Study in Scarlet. One eyebrow rose. Conan Doyle? Hmm. Sliding his finger across the screen, he flipped to the next page and then a moment later, to the next page. He read through several more pages and then handed it back to Susan as she talked.

"Now think of having hundreds of books at your fingertips, while you're on a trip. The flash drives are for books I read offline. It's simple; plug it in, open the app, scroll down the list, pick one and read. It even automatically saves my place. I have online accounts with the County Library system and The Library of Congress—though it's not as fun as physically going to a bookshop and combing through rows and rows of books—I can search for books in my PJs." She looked at him, with an impish smile and a gleam in her eyes. "Challenge me. Give me the name of an old book and I'll bet I can find it in digital format."

Spencer laid his arm on the back of the settee and he thought for a moment. Then he grinned. "Bellifortis."

Her eyebrows arched, and she smiled playfully. "Oh, going for obscure, eh? Bravo, Dr. Reid." She spoke in an exaggerated German accent as she typed. "Bellifortis, Konrad Kyeser, circa 1400." Seconds later, she touched the screen again and handed it to him, after turning it around. There it was, a digital copy of the book, written in Latin with color illustrations. "There's also 'Kyeser's 'Bellifortis': The First Technological Treatise of the Fifteenth Century and Culture', by L. White, 1969."

The corners of his mouth turned up, and he nodded. "Alright, I'm impressed. Last year, I did a symposium on Medieval Violence and Criminology and have a reprint of that book, but I'll admit, it was a rare find. A tablet would be easier than carrying a pile of books, especially on the jet. Hmm, maybe I'll see about getting one of those." He laughed, again laying his arm along the back of the settee behind her. "Garcia calls me a Luddite, but…it's not that I'm anti-technology, I use a computer and a cell phone, after all…I have difficulty with change, and I'm used to actual books. Actually, I'm surprised you're familiar with Bellifortis."

"The earliest known depiction of the chastity belt is in it. It came up in class and most of the students had no idea what it was. I looked it up, to show them."

"Hmm. Garcia would be surprised if I brought a tablet to work. No…they all would be…very surprised."

"Do you think she might be able to help me with a few issues I'm having with Betty?"

"I'm sure she would. She was one of those super-hackers recruited to the FBI around the same time I was, except my recruitment didn't involve the threat of prison if I refused." Realizing he probably shouldn't talk about that, he changed the subject. "Tell me more about your family. They sound interesting."

That made her smile, wistfully. "They were. My parents and grandparents taught us early our duty to the community was a responsibility that went with the privileges we had. You know, the idea of noblesse oblige. When I was in high school, my father explained how trusts work, since both grandfathers set up trust funds for their families. And he told me the same thing he told my brother, if we were sensible with our money, we would never want for anything, so we should choose careers that made us happy, even if it didn't pay well. Since I get paid monthly trust payments, in addition to my salary from GW, I volunteer at the center."

"It sounds like you keep busy." He wondered if she was dating anyone since she didn't mention it.

"I do. I enjoy trying new things, new languages, even new dances. It keeps the brain healthy…stimulated and active neurons get more oxygen and nutritive elements and in turn, multiplies the number of connections between synapses. And studies show keeping neurons active is the key to generating new ones, as well as helping them survive. Think of it as exercises for the brain. Some studies show staying mentally active keeps your brain in shape, which is as important as physical exercise." She chuckled. "Sorry, sometimes I tend to ramble about stuff, like science or music, if no one stops me. I didn't I lose you, did I?"

He shook his head, in awe. It sounded like something he would have said, and it made him smile. "No, but I have read quite a few of those studies, trying to find ways to help my mother."

She absently touched his arm again. "Mmm. The facility where your mother lives, do they have musical instruments or a piano? Perhaps dance or craft classes?"

"They have those, but she reads a lot…like me. She used to teach 15th-century literature." He smiled pensively.

"But she normally reads, right? She needs to challenge her brain; diverse stimulation is so important. Word puzzles, Sudoku, even video games help. I know of a group that volunteers at assisted living facilities in the area, who work with the elderly and Memory Care residents. Perhaps they can help? You said she lives at Brookdale? That's out in…Avondale, right?"

"Yes. And I appreciate the information, thank you." Looking across the foyer, he asked "So, you grew up down the street?"

"Well…yes…and no, my mother and I moved in with Grandma when I was 13. My grandfather died two months before my dad…um…but before that, if my parents went out, or traveled without my brother and me, I'd be here, or at my best friend Lizette's house, one street back." She leaned back and crossed her legs, and her shoulder accidentally brushed against his. She trembled again and her eyes closed for a moment. "Mmm, when my brother got married, he moved his wife Katie, into our house instead of an apartment near campus, after my mom and I moved in here. After they graduated, they had the boys and not long after, moved out to California. Mom had the house rented out after that. Grandma always had something going on here, her garden group, women's charity group meetings, book clubs, even her monthly card games."

"Card games? Like Bridge…?"

"Oh, no…poker. Those gals would get loud after a few glasses of wine. While I was working on my doctorate and teaching at the center, I craved the quiet, so after turning 18, I moved into an apartment nearby and kept it, even after I went to MIT. When my grandmother died four years ago, I stayed here with my mom and ended moving back in after she died a year later." Susan cleared her throat. "I should let the apartment go, but I still use it as a mailing address and my cousin stays there when her money runs out, usually after the first week." She shook her head and shrugged, clearly from exasperation.

Spencer thought about how extraordinary she was, not like most trust fund kids, whose escapades were splashed about in the tabloids. "I think you're an incredible woman and it seems your family has a lot to do with that."

She smiled proudly. "Phil and I were lucky to have great parents. Only a few close friends know about the family trusts. I don't mind telling you…even my goofy, nerdy quirks and the not-great-stuff, since I know so much about you."

Spencer wondered what else Rossi told her about him. "What could possibly be goofy, nerdy, or not so great about you?"

"More than you could imagine. So, I'm a nerd, I admit it. I like sci-fi movies, Doctor Who and superheroes. When I was little, I read my brother's comics. It's a great way for a kid to learn."

"Hmm, true, I've read quite a few, too. So, let me ask you…Star Trek or Star Wars?"

"Oh, no question. Both! All the Trek movies and a few of the tv shows and before you ask, no…I don't speak Klingon. Plus, all the Star Wars movies. Besides that, I'm very direct and speak my mind, probably more than I should. I don't like housework. By that I mean the nitty-gritty, cleaning the baseboards, dusting various nooks and crannies, mundane…stuff. That's not to say I don't do housework, I pick up after myself, do my laundry, clean my room, wash dishes, things like that."

"I wouldn't call those not-so-great qualities. So, who does take care of the mundane stuff?"

"My neighbors across the street. Frankie. Francesca and her husband Carlo worked for Grandma and now work for me, two days a week. She does the inside and he takes care of the outside and the pool…and various handy-man jobs."

He looked around. The house—though large—was neat with no visible clutter. "Not many people enjoy doing housework. Cleaning a house this size must be daunting."

"Oh, but they get a lot done, mostly it's…upkeep. Frankie's a cleaning tornado." She shook her head. "I don't care much for clutter. Of course, that's not a quirk. Lately, I've been reorganizing the library. Oh! And I can't play the violin." Susan laughed sweetly at his grin. "My mother wanted my brother and me to learn piano and violin. Phil hated both. I love playing the piano. The violin, though, I couldn't get the hang of it. Something about bowing too heavily; it always sounded like angry cats. My dad begged me to stop playing. Jace…um…Jason used to enjoy listening when I'd play the piano but would find a reason to leave whenever I'd bring out the violin."

"Jace? Jason... Gideon?" Spencer smiled, trying to imagine Gideon's reaction, knowing how much he enjoyed classical music. "I'd love to hear you play…" Even though it was 2:30 in the morning, he wasn't tired, but figured he had to leave for work in six hours. Coffee, he thought, and lots of it should get me through the day. If we have a case, perhaps I'll take a nap on the jet.

Susan sat down on the piano bench. "I have to warn you..." She spread her fingers out wide. "...my musical tastes are like…Spotify with ADD or my MP3 player on shuffle. I'll play Chopin, then a…Beatles song…or sometimes even random show tunes."

He sat, resting his elbow on the arm of the settee, with his chin in his hand. "I'm not familiar with Spotify or MP3 players; I have a collection of records in my apartment."

"Oh…okay,'' Susan explained, her hands gesturing animatedly "So, Spotify is... think of the songs on all your records, plus other songs the app finds, using algorithms, based on the music you do listen to, all in one collection…and it plays the songs randomly."

"Hmm. No one ever explained it to me that way."

She turned to face the keys, wiggling her fingers, to warm them up. "My MP3 player has… thousands of songs on it. And I have two classes left for my BA in Music, but it's been impossible to get into them since they're offered the same days and times as the classes I teach. I adore music from most genres, throughout the history of music, well, except a few. I don't like head-banger or screamer songs. Those aren't conducive to productive thoughts."

Spencer nodded in agreement. "Rather the opposite. I enjoy Classical music, mostly Beethoven and Mozart…and some jazz."

Susan smiled. "Ooh, alrighty, then. Classical and Jazz. Let's start there. This song was originally sung by Frank Sinatra, but this is a jazz version by Diana Krall, I heard several years ago that I adore." Without the aid of sheet music, Susan played a standard tune, titled Pick Yourself Up.

He was sure he had heard the song before, probably the Sinatra version. Next, she played the third movement of Beethoven's Sonata #14.

Even with an eidetic memory, he had to look at the sheet music when playing his keyboard, which he wanted to devote more time to, but between his work schedule, eating, reading, and sleep, there didn't seem to be time for it. Susan made it look easy, no doubt a sign she practiced often.

She finished and turned to him. "I don't play the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata. It's boring. As I said, I speak my mind. Some people like it. Me? Nope. Sorry, Ludwig, it's boring." She stretched the word out.

Spencer watched, amused, as Susan started playing the song with her head up and back straight, then after a couple of bars, her eyelids started fluttering, closing a moment later, as her head dropped down. She pretended to snore while still playing.

He grinned, thoroughly entertained by her.

Susan stopped abruptly, opening her eyes, as she lifted her head and turned to face him. "The perfect song to help insomniacs fall asleep…and that's why I prefer the third movement."

"Do you play… any Mozart?"

Smiling, she played Sonata number 16 in C Major. Her fingers flew over the keys, her head slightly bobbing, playing the Allegro movement, her posture straight, no doubt from piano and dance training. After a momentary pause, she played the Andante movement. Every so often she'd look over at him and smile, and other times, she closed her eyes. Another pause and she played the Rondo movement, eyes open, her shoulders moving in time with the music. Ending the song, her head dipped down for a second, then she looked back up and smiled at him.

"That was beautiful." No one had ever played just for him.

"Thank you. I play selections from other composers, as well, but mostly Chopin."

"With or without sheet music? Either you have an eidetic memory or you play those often?"

Her cheeks darkened. "I try to play every day, but my father called it a photographic memory. I have to use sheet music a time or two, though, to learn it. I'm not one of those gifted savants who can hear a song once and then play it back perfectly."

"And you sing. Natural talent?"

"Grandma said I inherited the gift from Grandpa. He loved to sing, and he whistled too… beautifully. But I did have some singing lessons, for breathing and…fine-tuning. And I love to sing, though nowhere near professional level. Shower level, great. Karaoke level, sure." She asked, "Do you play the piano?"

"Very little, in fact, I would embarrass myself attempting to play, after you… so I won't. Besides, I'd rather listen to you. You're a treat for the ears… as well as the eyes."

Susan blushed at the compliment, closed her eyes for a moment, and shuddered. "Thank you." After another moment, she got up and sat beside him on the settee.

"Given the average date is three hours, and we've been together fourteen, we could count this as the middle of a fifth date."

"Is that so, Doctor?" Susan smiled playfully, then spoke seriously. "Hmm. You and I have dated longer in the last day than I have in my entire…dating history… so to speak."

"You can't be serious. You're intelligent, funny, and interesting, not to mention beautiful. I meant to ask if you were seeing anyone. I'm not…by the way…well… except you."

"Thank you for the compliment, and, no, I'm not dating anyone either… besides you." Susan said quietly, "I've spent so much time and energy over the years on my education and the center. The guys I've met, I could tell within the first five minutes…" She trailed off for a moment. "… besides, most guys seem to be intimidated by intelligent women. My cousin said it was my glasses that turned guys off, but I don't wear 'em anymore… had laser surgery years ago... hmm…" She was quiet for a moment. "Oh, but that's not why I had it done. Before today… or yesterday, rather, I've been on three dates, with a total of two guys, but there was no zing, as my Grandma would say…"

Spencer smiled, thinking he definitely felt that with Susan. "Tell me about the two other guys you dated." He pictured her wearing glasses. Still beautiful. And now he was curious about the shaking and the others she had dated.

"There isn't much to tell, but okay. The first guy, Glenn, was in a Chem class at MIT with me, ten years ago. We were paired as lab partners and he used this cheesy Chemistry line on me. To be funny and break the ice, not as a pickup. And it made me laugh. He said there was a band he wanted to go see and asked me out. We met at a club near The Common…it was a nice evening, good music, but no chemistry." She laughed. "Hmm. Ironic."

"How do you mean?"

"We had Chemistry class together, but there was no chemistry between us."

"Ah. No zing." Spencer nodded, pressing his lips together.

"Exactly. After the show, I had to leave… had an early class the next day, so he walked me to my car and I drove back to my dorm." She shrugged. "C'était ça. In class the next week, he asked if we could go get a pizza, and while we ate, he said he liked me but didn't feel like we had clicked. I was relieved because I felt the same way and told him that. We remained on friendly terms the rest of the semester and then… I never saw him again."

"What was the Chemistry line?"

Susan grinned and tilted her head to one side. "He said, You must be Fluorine, Iodine, and Neon, 'cuz you are F-I-NE."

Spencer laughed. "That is funny. And the other guy?"

"Oh, yes. Rick. He turned out to be a jerk. After a class, I was walking out of the lecture hall and he asked me to go to a frat bash off-campus. I took a cab and met him there, and during the evening, he kept handing me drink after drink, no doubt trying to get me drunk. I'd excuse myself, tell him I had to mingle or use the bathroom, and then I'd dump out the alcohol and refill my cup with water. Coming back from the kitchen, I saw him kissing a girl, so I left." She shrugged. "A group of girls from my dorm were waiting for a taxi, so I offered to pay the fare if they let me ride with them."

"He sounds like a jerk. So, that shaking thing…?"

"Hmm. During your lecture in '06, I had a... uh… physical reaction. My grandmother said she felt it the very first time she met my grandfather. My mother called it the tingles when she first met my dad. They told me my great-grandmother did that, as well." She lowered her voice. "There's an old family story involving my Great-great-grandmother and an old woman, a clairividente… uh… clairvoyant, at least that's what Grandma said. My great-aunt in Mangualde told me the old woman was a Cigana… a Gypsy, and it was a spell, but that's a long story. To me, it feels like stepping on a low-voltage wire. Not in a painful way, though. It's nice." She touched his arm and shuddered again. "Mm-hmm. Very nice."

"I can honestly say no woman has ever said anything like that to me."

"It… happens when I'm around you… or thinking of you. I've been trying to figure out a way to tell you, without it sounding weird." Susan's cheeks darkened as she chuckled.

"I've been wanting to ask you about it. Oh… I need to apologize. When you were… changing, I tried to look away, but I couldn't… take my eyes off you. I did try, honestly."

"Don't worry about it, I've been photographed wearing less…"

He turned when Susan pointed behind him. He hadn't noticed the wall of prints before. The largest was a 3x5 framed poster, mostly in black & white; the only color was the pink of her pointe shoes. In it, she was nude; her toned backside faced the camera, and she was up on her toes, bent back, with her head and shoulders upside down, facing the camera. Her left arm and hand above her body obscured only part of the view of her breasts. Her other hand reached out toward the right side of the camera.

He got up to have a closer look at it. Her expression suggested she was gazing intimately at someone out of the camera's view. The frame had a small gold plate attached to it. He read it aloud, "Dancer, Enchanted" and sat back down next to her, smiling; his arm on the back of the settee, resting his fingertips lightly on her shoulder. "Tell me about that one?"

Susan closed her eyes for a moment and cleared her throat. "I was leaving a dance rehearsal in Betts Theater, to change before going to your lecture, when Mrs. Hildebrand, the Art professor, asked to talk to me, about posing for her class on drawing the human form. She introduced me to her friend, a French photographer named Andre du Massier. They had been watching us dance. At the time, I didn't know who he was, or that he was famous. Since I was sixteen, I told her I'd have to talk to my mother and get her permission. Well… she decided to wait until after I turned eighteen, but Andre said he wanted to capture… my innocence exquise in print. He gave me his card, and I told him I would give it to my mother. By that time, I had to go, said goodbye, ran to my car, and barely made it to the lecture hall at Georgetown before the door closed. Afterward, I wanted to talk to you but didn't have a clue what to say, that didn't make me sound like some weirdo stalker. Besides, other students were waiting to talk to you, so I went home to tell my mom and grandmother, about feeling it… you know… the zing. I... figured I'd see you again."

He considered it for a moment. If she had approached him, he wouldn't have pursued a relationship, since she was only 16, but back then he wasn't comfortable talking to most women, socially. "I wanted to talk to you, too." He smiled, his fingertips grazing the top of her arm.

"I only knew what they said they felt, but up until then, I'd never experienced it. My mom tiptoed around the subject, but Grandma was direct like me, born without a filter. She said, Dear, you had an orgasm. It only happens when you're with your soulmate…"

He was surprised and not sure what to say, so Spencer simply arched his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "Hmm."

Her cheeks turned dark pink at his reaction "Of course, I didn't tell them it happened several times during that lecture, only that I had felt it. You were standing there… staring at me… and I had this… like a… a video playing in my head of you kissing me, then boom, it felt like I was hit by lightning. I started shaking and heard the buzzing. So, that's it. Every time I shake… it's… happening."

Surprised by her candor, he laughed and she looked at him with such a sweet smile; he felt he had to kiss her. Spencer pulled her close and kissed her, relieved when she kissed him back, though timidly. She shuddered, and he enjoyed that, but before he could stop himself, he pulled her even closer and kissed her again, sliding one hand onto her back, the other on the side of her neck, under her ear.

Slowly, Susan's arms went around him, her lips warm and soft against his; she softly moaned and shuddered again.

He moved a lock of hair off her cheek and kissed her a third time, wanting her, wanting more. Backing off, he thought perhaps he was moving too far, too fast. Spencer cleared his throat. "Then what happened? I mean with the… uh…" pointing to the prints.

Breathless and wide-eyed, Susan wanted to kiss him again. It was wonderful. When he sat back, she took a deep breath, trying to remember where she left off. "I… uh… oh… I told my mother about the photographer and she called him later, said she would give her consent, with the understanding she would be with me the entire time. They talked and decided she and I would take the train to New York City two weeks later for a photoshoot and stay the weekend in a hotel. Est-ce que tu parles francais?"

In English, he replied, "A little. I understand and read it better than speak it. Emily, Garcia, and Tara all speak French… fluently."

"Well, Andre's from Paris; the story sounds better with French thrown in. He gave very clear instructions that I should wear only loose clothing for at least 24 hours before the photo session, nothing tight, no elastic, or underclothes, as it would leave marks on my skin. He said, Ce ñ'est pas bon."

Spencer silently translated to himself, That's not good..., wanting to hold her in his arms and kiss her again.

"Oui. He even suggested I sleep naked, for goodness sake. I mean, I do now… living alone, who needs pajamas… but back then I'd wear a t-shirt or a nightgown..."

Spencer figured she was simply stating facts, not trying to embarrass him, because he wasn't, or to entice him, which was a different story altogether. He smiled and closed his eyes for a long moment as mental pictures of her flooded his brain. Clearing his throat, he opened his eyes and focused his attention on her voice.

"... Andre made it clear these photographs would be tasteful art, nothing indecent. He asked me to bring a robe and my prettiest ballet ensemble to the photo shoot." She absently laid her hand on his leg. "Mom preferred to travel first class… so we stayed in a big suite, at a hotel near the studio and I had a room and bed to myself, which made it easier to sleep naked and I have to admit, I liked the way the sheets felt on my bare skin..." She smiled and blushed, holding her hand to her cheek for a moment. "Sorry, I'm never like this… all flustered… with anyone... except you."

Thoughts of her lying on his bed, wearing only that smile, with her hair spread out over his pillows filled his thoughts. He cleared his throat again and doubled his focus on her story, at least until she absently laid her hand on his thigh again.

"So… we arrived at Andre's gallery and were greeted by his assistant, Etienne, then his boyfriend, now his husband." She chuckled softly. "They're adorable together. Anyway, we went to the studio on the 3rd-floor and Andre held my hands, gave me a peck on both cheeks, but then he looked in my eyes, and he said…" Susan tilted her head and spoke with a French accent, Spencer assumed, as Andre. "Something is different, a beguiling smile? You've had no lover…ahh, but someone has started a fire within you, oui?" She continued, her eyes wide, without the accent, "I didn't think I looked different. I did tell him after meeting him that day, there was someone… il a fait danser mon ame."

Spencer's eyebrows rose as he translated to himself. He made my soul dance. "Who was that? Oh… wait… me?"

Susan smiled and nodded. "Oui… yes… you. Andre said he would use that in the photo. Etienne showed me to a room, where I did some warm-up exercises and changed into my robe. When I came out, I put on my pointe shoes and we had some tea. While he set up the first shot, Etienne brought out a box of props, for other poses Andre wanted to take later, with me in my ballet ensemble and I sat down on the riser. Etienne looked over and told him that would make a great picture, so, Andre had me slip the robe off, and took a picture which is… over there." She pointed to a print of her younger self, looking up and smiling sweetly, hugging her bent knees with her ankles crossed and one foot pointed down off the riser, the lavender robe laying on the floor around her. Even though she was nude, only her cleavage showed, her legs tastefully concealed the rest.

"Then I put my robe back on and stood up. Andre's a sweet man, very professional. Something about him made me feel at ease. My mother said the same thing, though knowing her, she probably had Dave check him out."

Spencer chuckled. "I wouldn't put it past him."

"Mom didn't have a problem with me posing nude, something her conservative country club friends didn't understand. She was happy and proud of the finished results, as I was then and still am. Once the shot was set up, she took my robe and stood out of the camera frame. As I went up on my toes, Andre gave instructions from behind the camera. You know, arch my back more, left hand towards my middle, and so on. He asked me to close my eyes and to hold my breath for a moment and as I let it out, to open my eyes and picture the man I told him about as if he… were standing next to him. Andre said, 'Show him with your face what you feel inside. Reach for him, Cherie'. And that's when he took the picture."

Spencer's eyes widened. "The look on your face was you imagining… me standing next to the camera?"

"Mm-hmm." Susan pressed her lips together as she nodded a tiny bit. "Not weird at all… right?"

"Actually… it's flattering." He leaned in, with his hands framing her face, and kissed her. Susan trembled again, and as he sat back, was delighted by her reaction. "Oh, please… go on."

"Um… after my mom helped put my robe back on, I sat down, took off my shoes, and then got dressed, and had to put my shoes back on. He took other shots, which he sent me." Susan pointed to several prints of her wearing a pink embroidered tutu, with the pancake skirt flaring straight out around her. "Those were for fun." One print of her with a cowboy hat on, holding a guitar, and another wearing a red clown nose; three juggle bags that seemed to be suspended in the air in front of her. "I put the clown nose on and started juggling. I got flustered trying to follow Andre's instructions—he doesn't juggle—so I stuck out my tongue, crossed my eyes, and threw all the bags up at once, which is what he wanted, you know… all the balls in the air at the same time, and he got the shot."

Spencer thought it made her look adorable. "And that one? That pose looks difficult." He pointed to a print of her taken from the side, up on the toes of one foot, in a standing split pose with her other leg straight up behind her. Her torso and arms were outstretched gracefully in front of her, with her face turned toward the camera. The gold plate on the frame was titled simply, 'Dancer'.

"That pose is called penché. It was. Thankfully, Andre got it with the initial burst of shots. Dancer was the first print released, but it was the fourth picture taken, with Dancer Enchanted was the second. At the gallery show, a reporter for The Times had his photographer take a picture of me standing in front of that print, in that pose. Andre still calls now and then, to ask how I'm doing. I'm sure he wanted to do more prints in the series. He's an extraordinary artist, to take a picture of me and make it look like… that."

"You deserve some of the credit… I mean… It's your body."

Susan shrugged. "It was fun, and it made me happy to take part in the experience."

/

A/N

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