Atellix: Hey, it's great to hear from another fan of the Rat-Pack! The original "Ocean's Eleven" is actually the first time I ever heard the song, and I really liked it. That part where Martin's sitting at the piano and belting it out always cracks me up for some weird reason. I haven't seen the remake of the movie yet, although I hear it's pretty good, but you can't beat the oldies. Fun stuff. Anyway, glad you recognized the title and liked the whole song bit. And thanks for the humongous trivia-packed review. (I'm not too good when it comes to reviewing, either. Very inconsiderate of me, but ah well.)

beady: Aaugh! Anything but a platypus! You be nice. I've got a pickled herring (that's right, the platypus' natural enemy) around here someplace and I'm not afraid to use it.

For being such good, patient readers, here's a big, fat argument.

*****************************





~AIN'T THAT A KICK IN THE HEAD?~





Part 15:



"Welllll...how's...the movie?" she tried.

"I wouldn't know. I've been a little distracted."

Helga shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "I must have been caught up in the heat of the moment."

"What moment? No excuses--you lied for some reason and you pulled me into it--I want to know why. Explain what just happened here."

"Could I get back to you on that?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're being stubborn and childish, Arnoldo."

"I'm being stubborn and childish? Do you even listen to yourself when you talk, or do the words just fall out of your mouth by themselves?!"

"It's no big deal. Really."

"Humor me."



So much for tiptoing around the subject. Maybe if she was straightforward, it wouldn't be so bad. Like ripping off a band-aid in one yank instead of slowly peeling it away.

Although, there's a problem with ripping off a band-aid. It usually stings pretty badly for a while.



"Fine!" She took a deep breath and launched into an explanation that quickly became a ramble. "Alec and I met in college, like I said. We had a lot of the same interests and had the same sense of humor, and got along fairly well. I'd give him acting tips, and sometimes he'd help me with French, and we'd tease each other about stuff all the time. Soon we got to be pretty good friends and..I started to like him. As a matter of fact, I began to think I was in love with him. But I was always too scared to say anything. My whole life has been like that--I'm Helga Pataki, and Patakis don't share their feelings. Noooo--they're supposed to bottle them up, and jeer and scowl and pretend everything is hunky-dory-fine. 'I don't need anyone because I'm happy this way.' That's my motto. That's how it is; the world accepts me as long as I'm an iceberg. That's what was always expected of me. And I HATE it. I've hated every second of it, Arnold, and I'm so SICK of pretending---and that's why I made the mistake of finally telling him exactly how I felt. That's it in a nutshell. Satisfied?"

"Not really. You still haven't explained what you did five minutes ago." The exasperated, accusative expression hadn't left his face. "Look, I'm sorry if you had a lousy childhood. I know your family wasn't always the greatest in the world..."

"Hmph...there's an understatement."

"...but a lot of people have lousy childhoods and difficult families, and they don't let those things direct their entire outlook on life. So you took a chance on someone and it didn't work out so well. That happens every day. It's not the end of the world."

She clenched her hands involuntarily. "He laughed at me! Don't you get it? They all laughed at me, because they found out I wasn't the cold-hearted, rational, invulnerable person they thought I was, the person they'd learned to respect. The person I'd learned to respect. Destroyed, just like that. What's more, they won't let me forget it--him especially. Some snide joker always has to pop in with his two cents' worth. I let myself slip on a bunch of weak, stupid, worthless emotions--and I still haven't gotten over that."

"Love isn't a weakness," said Arnold stiffly. "Especially compared to something as petty and superficial as a reputation. You don't earn respect by acting aloof and inhuman; people secretly feel sorry for you, and sometimes they'll even shun you. Why would you act that way? Haven't you learned that kind of behavior will eventually leave you with nothing but loneliness? It hurts to be rejected and humiliated--believe me, I know. I know all about it. But those things only hurt you a lot worse if you refuse to move on with your life."

"What are you--a psychiatrist?! Don't lecture me on the benefits of 'letting go' and 'forgive and forget'. That's all you had to say ten years ago, and I'd rather not hear it again, thank you very much."

"Apparently you haven't changed, either. What are you hiding? It doesn't make sense."

"Haven't you ever wanted desperately to take something back? When you would do whatever you possibly could if it meant saving face? Hasn't there been a time when you would give anything --ANYTHING-- to hold on to what little respect and pride you had left, no matter how silly your reasoning was?"

"You can't possibly have much room for reasoning when your every single action is fueled by whatever raw emotion you're feeling at the time! You're smart, Helga, but you never think things through before jumping into them. You'd rather get what you want now than stop to consider how you--how everybody--might be affected in the long run."

"I hate being laughed at," she said firmly. "More than anything else, I hate being laughed at, no matter who does the laughing or why. Nothing I do has ever been good enough for anybody." Her voice softened slightly as a somewhat pained look crept into her eyes. "You don't understand."

"You're right, I don't. I wish I did, but no one's going to know how you feel unless you tell them. Why did you lie?" he asked again.

A heavy sigh escaped. "I guess I wanted to make him jealous or something. I don't feel the same way about him anymore --as a matter of fact, I can barely stand him sometimes-- but he won't stop taunting me. It really irks me when I get one-upped, you know that. I--I just hoped it would finally seep into his thick skull that I'm through with him! Over. Done. Finito. Kaput! The fat lady has sung!! Good Night, Gracie!!!"

"So..." began Arnold carefully," this had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me?"

"No. And for the last time, I'm really sorry I dragged you into it." She paused. If it hadn't been dark outside, the faint blush on her face might have been noticeable. As it was, they were equally grateful for the shadowy moonlight. "And--I'm sorry I...er...for, um....giving you a kiss," she said, averting her eyes.



There she was. The quintessential Helga. Rant and rave and make you feel like a fool, then get away with a heartfelt apology. And he, the ever-forgiving pacifist, would sigh and feel sorry for her, as he always had. Perhaps he should drop the subject there and let things be simpatico again.......

.......No. Things were going to be different this time. If she would only talk--really talk about whatever was bothering her, wouldn't it be better for both of them? There were questions that had gone unanswered for too long. Arnold never allowed himself to be truly irritated or angry at anything. Guilt always followed. After all, he was supposed to be the rational, understanding one. The diplomat.

Yet, he wanted to be angry now--anger that wasn't followed by remorse. It wasn't healthy to smother emotions, whether repressing them for the sake of peace or concealing them beneath a layer of hubris and false bravado. Was it so unthinkable that he, like any normal person, should ever be irate?

It was high time to drag a couple of issues to the surface, despite whatever walls she was determined to raise around herself.



"You're lying again," he said.