Disclaimer: Except for Beth, not mine
Fieldnotes #2: Pretending Life with Spike (1)
By Starzki
Spike stood in Lisbeth's room, absent-mindedly smoking a cigarette and examining the framed photos that decorated the walls of the room. It was 10 AM and Lisbeth had fallen asleep the previous night at her computer desk in the corner of the room while working on a paper. Books and articles were spread helter-skelter over the desk, on the printer, and around her executive-style chair. Spike regarded Lisbeth's sleeping figure patiently. She was seated in the imitation-leather chair that she had lugged in herself weeks before. Her head was pillowed on arms that hugged her keyboard.
As Spike shifted to the next picture, he accidentally kicked over one of the several dozen piles of books that filled her room. At the sound, Lisbeth gasped and started awake. She sleepily squinted at the room and groaned. A yellow post-it note was stuck to her temple, making her dazed semi-consciousness appear comic.
Rubbing her stiff neck and peeling off the offending post-it, she smiled over in Spike's direction. "Hiya, Stinky. No smoking in my room."
Spike took the butt from his mouth, frowned at it, then flicked it out of the open door. "I've been in here for 15 minutes. You're easy to sneak up on, Beth."
Lisbeth scooted her chair over to rearrange the books that Spike had just upset. "Oh, yeah?" she grunted. "Well, lucky for me, in my line of work, people aren't trying to get the drop on me." She considered her last statement sleepily, yawned, then added, "Not physically, anyway." She looked at the time and cracked her neck to help wake herself up. "Hey, I was just having a dream about you," she said, her voice low and smoky from sleep.
"Is that right?" asked Spike, his interest piqued. "A sex dream?"
Lisbeth snorted. "No, silly. We were on an elevator and the buttons kept changing, so the doors were always opening to the wrong floor. So you and I were going up and down on this elevator and you kept talking about spaghetti. You were saying that you liked your spaghetti al fresco. And I kept saying, 'You mean al dente.' And you said, 'No, I like to eat spaghetti outside. Which is weird. I think that spaghetti is more of an inside food, personally"
"Hmm," responded Spike, his attention shifting back to the pictures. "So, who's this guy in all the pictures?"
Lisbeth stood, stretched, groaned, and shuffled over to the photo Spike was asking about. She rubbed her gluey eyes, trying to dislodge the contacts sticking to her corneas. "Oh. That's Jay." The picture showed a blissful-looking Lisbeth literally hanging on a handsome, young, fit-looking man with jolly blue eyes and dark brown hair. Both were grinning like crazy and mugging for the camera.
"Your boyfriend?"
"Used to be." Lisbeth moved to sit on the bed while Spike continued to study the picture.
"Not any more?"
"Nope," Lisbeth yawned a little to nonchalantly.
"How long since you were together?"
"Well, let's see," Lisbeth said, trying to work her fatigued mind into calculations. "I'm 26. We broke up when I was 23. Three years."
"Why did you two break up?"
"Do you actually want to ask me something or do you want to keep talking about my old love life?" Lisbeth responded, her patience beginning to wear thin.
"I wanted to ask you to be my bait." Spike carefully stepped around the sorted piles of Lisbeth's academic life, opened up her closet, and began rifling through her clothes. "Do you have any short skirts?"
Lisbeth got up and pushed Spike away from her clothes. "No, I don't, as a matter of fact. Now, really, what do you need?"
"The next bounty has a soft spot for cute, young, innocent-looking girls. You fit the bill."
"Faye's younger and way prettier than me. Why don't you ask her?"
"He likes them innocent, fresh. That's not exactly Faye's look. She couldn't stop looking sexy if she tried."
Lisbeth's arms dropped, then rose as she put her hands on her hips. "And I can? You sure know how to ask for a favor," she said with a wicked smile, ironic hurt in her voice, trapping Spike between the fabled rock and a hard place.
Spike flushed and blustered, "You know what I mean." He stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to look like he didn't care whether or not Lisbeth helped him out. "He's into someone he thinks he has experience and power over."
"Spike, I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm not so sweet and nice as you think I am."
"But you could pull it off more easily than Faye."
"I seriously doubt that."
"Faye already turned me down. Come on, Beth."
Lisbeth laughed. "Ah. The truth comes out. Well, ok then. So your guy likes the smell of soap on his girls?"
"His name is Shy. He's an embezzler for the Syndicate. And yeah, he's into innocent. So, you got any mini skirts in there?" he asked, preparing to dive back into her closet again.
"Alright, Spiegel, out of my closet. I know what you perverts like. When are we going out fishing for this guy?"
"Right now. What you'll do is make a date for tonight and that's when I'll drop in. He's always surrounded by his bodyguards, but I've heard he relaxes when he's out with a girl."
Lisbeth sighed in resignation as she began picking out her clothes. "Get out and I'll change," she said, business-like.
- - - -
Mere minutes later, Lisbeth was mostly dressed and fixing herself up in the bathroom mirror. Spike sat on the closed toilet to offer support and advice as she got ready. She had donned a pleated plaid skirt that ended mid-thigh and a tight, ribbed, white tank top. Spike watched silently as she brushed her teeth.
Spike loved watching women doing their morning routines. Women, females in general, just knocked him out with the things they did. They were so different from men and their little rituals and idiosyncrasies fascinated him. He was always the first in the bathroom after one of the girls took a shower, smelling the heady fragrance of soap, wet hair, and skin. He could remember they way Julia would study her face in the mirror, pore by pore, before coming to bed every night. He would surreptitiously watch as Faye would continually rub lotion into her hands in an absent-minded fashion while watching television at night, lingering over the softness of her own hands. That fascination was there in the way that Ed's face would light up when he would walk into the room when she wasn't expecting him, the happy squeal she emitted, and the warm feeling it gave him to know he had been missed. It was there when Lisbeth would twirl her hair while she read, smoothing and petting it, diving her fingers in it up to her wrists if the book could be laid flat. He loved seeing and thinking about their differences in the way they walked, laughed, and basically lived their lives. It kept him on his heels, off-balance. They just knocked him out.
Faye walked by the bathroom and leaned in the open doorway. "I see you agreed to play the bait. Nice outfit, Beth. Very tempting. What shoes are you going to wear?"
Lisbeth spat out the toothpaste, rinsed, and began pulling her hair back into a high ponytail. That style always made her look younger. "My Gazelles," she replied, referring to the old, blue-green, indoor soccer shoes she wore everywhere.
Faye gave a low chuckle. "Those ugly things? I have some heels you can borrow so you can tart up that outfit a little more. Make him notice your legs."
"I'm in trouble if he notices my legs." Lisbeth stepped back and displayed her legs to Faye and Spike. They noticed both dark, blotchy scars and pale, shiny marks marring and crossing her skin from the hem of her skirt down to her mid shin. They were fading into her dark skin, but noticeable upon any close inspection. "Sixteen years of soccer tend to leave their impression. As my dad says, I'm in no danger of winning any beauty contests."
Spike looked up. "That's not a nice thing to say. Those aren't bad at all."
Lisbeth bobbed her head in agreement to the latter part of his statement and began applying concealer under her eyes. "No, he meant it as a compliment. I was raised to value my insides more than my outsides."
"Well, it's your outsides that are going to get this guy to notice you," said Faye as she took Lisbeth's cosmetics bag from her. "Let's see how good we can make you look." Faye then expertly navigated various powders, glosses, and glitters and applied them like an artist to Lisbeth's face. Minutes later, she was done and both women looked into the mirror to inspect the handiwork.
Spike glanced into the mirror, then back at Faye and Lisbeth, again amused by the way "strikingly beautiful" could apply so aptly to two such different women. His acute eyes never missed anything. Living with Faye, he'd grown accustomed to her cold beauty, but next to Lisbeth, it seemed new again. Faye looked like she had been carved from flawless marble by a master sculptor. Her smooth white skin was stretched taught over perfect bone structure accentuated by her slim coltish figure. She always looked surrounded by smooth, placid water that she glided through with ease. Only her unusual forest green eyes belied her spark and the manic intensity of which she was capable. Even during the times she tap danced on his last nerve, he was glad she was there, if only for aesthetic reasons.
In strict contrast, Lisbeth looked as though she radiated heat. The tank top she wore accentuated her olive complexion and bared more skin than was her usual wont. Her well-defined muscles were alive under the skin that glowed with health and fitness. Lisbeth's hourglass figure, with her small waist and curvy hips and chest, gave her a soft, inviting look. She looked substantial and palpable next to Faye's ephemeral, wispy presence. Faye's make-up job on Lisbeth was superb. Her already large dark eyes were made to look even wider and more innocent. The candy-scented lip-gloss gave her mouth an appropriate pout. And Faye had not covered the freckles that speckled the bridge of her nose. Combined with her lack of height, Lisbeth could have easily passed for 18; 16 if Shy didn't notice the shrewd courage in her eyes that young girls rarely achieved. Completely inappropriate thoughts invaded Spike's mind looking at his two gorgeous, but weird, roommates.
Faye was complimenting her own work, "Not bad, if he likes the schoolgirl thing."
Spike shook himself out of his reverie and said, "He does. Beth, you look like…"
"Jailbait," she finished for him. She made a face like she had just taken a huge bite out of a lemon as she scrutinized herself. "I feel silly."
"Well, according to what I've heard about what Shy likes, you look perfect," Spike answered.
"Good luck and all. Better you than me. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," called Faye as she walked down the hall, leaving the two in the bathroom.
"I think I need a drink," Lisbeth announced, still unconvinced she looked the part.
"Later. We need to get going. He'll be in the park until 2 pm. There's a concert there."
"Where are we, anyway? Mars?"
"Yep. Tierra Roja."
Lisbeth brightened immediately. "Really? My friend Jessmynda goes to school here! I'll call her up later." She beamed at Spike, her mood lightened considerably, adding a small skip to her step as she walked down the hall.
- - - -
Twenty minutes after sticking in their head shout goodbye to the feet poked out from under the Hammerhead, Lisbeth and Spike were walking through one of the city's residential areas as they made their way to the park. The day was beyond beautiful. The guys at the Weather Control Center had outdone themselves. A bright yellow sun warmed away the last traces of winter and a cool breeze whispered its way through the budding trees. The air was redolent with the smell of lilacs, lilies and daffodils that the urban dwellers planted every year to help fight knowledge of the fact that they lived on a carpet of concrete and steel.
Couples walking together, people holding hands, playing children and pets populated the sidewalks. The weather was bringing out the best in everyone. They all politely smiled and nodded as they passed each other. The three and four-story walk-ups that lined the streets pitched in to the ambiance with their quaint facades and cheery window boxes. Everything seemed perfect.
Lisbeth and Spike strolled down the walk. They were as relaxed and amused as they made their way to set up their next bounty head. Spike noticed, with satisfaction, the jealous looks he was getting from most of the men they passed. Other men gave Lisbeth looks of undisguised admiration. Spike stole a glance at her to see if she noticed. Staring at a point 5 feet or 5000 feet ahead of her, the looks rolled off of Lisbeth like water, failing to touch her. She was smiling faintly.
"Where are you?" asked Spike, curious as to what could make Lisbeth look so satisfied and happy.
"Hmm?" She turned and looked at him dreamily, not quite focusing on him. "Oh, just in my head."
"Must be nice in there."
"It's basically the same as out here. It's just such a lovely day. I was just pretending."
"Pretending what?"
"That I had a different life."
Spike smiled down at Lisbeth. He stood a head over her, even as he slouched. "You don't like the one you have?"
"Oh, no! I love my life. I just sometimes wonder what things would be like if things were different. Like that Frost poem. I took the road less traveled by, and it has made all the difference."
"You miss that guy? Jay?"
Lisbeth opened her mouth and looked like she was about to say no, then stopped herself. "That's not what I meant, really."
"Oh yeah?"
"It's like this," she threaded her arm through Spike's and hugged his elbow. "I'll pretend I'm not me and you'll pretend you're not you. We're just a couple. We don't have the same memories or the same pasts. We don't have anything else to do but walk down this street and be happy. And we are. In this second, we are."
Lisbeth shut her eyes and tilted her face to the sun, smelling the fragrant air, dreamy smile back on her lips. Spike looked at her untrustingly. She did look happy. He kept walking and thinking about a life out there that could never have been his where he could be that pretend man, made happy by simply walking down the sidewalk on a late spring morning. For a second, he felt lighter, but then the feeling was gone.
Lisbeth dropped his elbow and sighed. She gave Spike a slightly apologetic smile.
"We done?" he asked.
"Yeah. Now I'm pretending that I'm about to find out that pretend-you is having an affair with someone I work with. This pretend-someone looks exactly like Faye, by the way." She gave him a teasing elbow in the ribs. Before he could protest, she added, "And pretend-me wants out of this relationship because I'm being stifled artistically. Pretend-me was a writer."
"You do this pretending often?"
"All the time. Mostly, I just pretend that people actually take me seriously. The 'happy life' pretending usually collapses under my cynical nature in less than a minute. But it's nice while it lasts."
Spike nodded. They were a block from the park. Spike turned down another street as Lisbeth continued on. He would be watching from a nearby rooftop.
- - - -
The concert in the park had attracted a fair amount of spectators. Lisbeth eschewed the crowd and found an empty bench on which to perch, presenting herself as available bait. She crossed her legs, rested her arms along the back of the bench, and again turned her face up to the sun. She knew the hell it would play on her blasted freckles, but the feeling was too nice to pass up. With her eyes closed and entire body relaxed, after a few minutes, she felt herself start to doze.
When she realized that she might fall asleep, she forced her eyes to open and saw that she was no longer alone on the bench. She grinned at the heavyset man sitting next to her and folded her hands in her lap. It was Shy, looking exactly like he had in the photo Spike had shown her. Wow, she thought, that was way easier than I expected.
The man grinned back at her. He was not attractive, but had a confidence to him that Lisbeth supposed some women (especially some young girls) might find appealing. Shy fished into his pocket and brought out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Lisbeth.
Lisbeth smiled at the middle-aged, jowly man politely. "No thanks, I don't smoke," she said.
He put the pack back into his pocket. "You looked just like a picture. I wanted to get a better look."
Lisbeth had decided to play the whole thing like she would have if she was actually 18. She smiled cautiously and said, "Um, thanks."
"Do you go to school around here?"
Lisbeth gave him another uncomfortable smile. "Uh, not really…"
"How old are you?"
Lisbeth let out a hearty laugh at the audacious question. He certainly did think she was younger than she was. That was an impolite question to ask any women over 22 without getting to know her a little better first. "How old do you think I am?" she asked in return, allowing herself to look like she was relaxing, warming up to the man.
"Eighteen?"
Lisbeth laughed again and looked into Shy's muddy brown eyes. He reminded her of a Basset hound. "Well…Let's just say I'm old enough," she teased. She couldn't bring herself to lie. She knew it would sound false and tip him off immediately that things were not as they seemed.
"Old enough to what?" he teased back.
"To make my own decisions about what I'm old enough to do," she responded.
The man stuck out a huge paw of a hand, "I'm Shy. What's your name?"
Lisbeth tentatively offered her hand and laughed as he pumped it vigorously. "You don't seem that shy to me," she said, playing ignorant.
"Shy's my name. I bet a pretty little thing like you is named…" he groped his mind for a guess. "Amber. Or Tiffany."
It took every ounce of will power Lisbeth could muster to keep from rolling her eyes at the stripper names he threw at her. She forced herself to look down at her hands in her lap and keep the smile on her face. She took in a deep breath and said, "It's Beth."
"That's so simple! I never would have guessed. Well, Beth, what are you doing tonight?"
Lisbeth's eyebrows shot up in surprise despite the fact she had been readying herself for the question. "Uhh…" she stuttered, seemingly taken aback, cautious again. Good girls, nice girls, did not just go around accepting dates from random men they meet.
Shy backed off a bit, waving his hands innocently. "I just thought we could get an ice cream or something."
Lisbeth laughed again. "No one has ever asked me out for ice cream before," she admitted truthfully. It was almost a charming suggestion.
"Honey, I'm not like anyone you've ever met."
She smiled more warmly at him, making it appear as if she might trust him. "I bet. But I'm not sure…"
"Public place, we'll get a couple of scoops, get to know each other. Then we'll be on our ways. What do you say?"
Lisbeth took in a deep breath, held it, gave Shy a crumbling look, then assented. "Ok, why not?" The two made plans to meet late that afternoon at a nearby creamery. As Shy got up to join the crowd at the concert, Lisbeth noticed he was immediately flanked by two burly-looking men, his bodyguards. Jeez, she thought, Spike sure is good at this. Lisbeth didn't know if if was instinct or experience that had told Spike that an early take-down would not have been good.
Lisbeth remained perched on the bench for another half hour, giving the cold shoulder to a couple of other potential suitors. Then, she caught the bitter scent of tobacco emanating from behind her. Spike had sat on the bench behind hers, facing the other direction. He was smoking a cigarette and looking to all the rest of the park as though he didn't have a care or obligation in the world.
"Hey, Stinky," she said softly.
"How'd it go?" he asked her, hiding the words in an exhalation of smoke.
Lisbeth brought up her arm and rested her head on her shoulder and yawned, "5:30, Snoopy's Creamery on El Paso Ave."
"Good. Good work. Thanks," said Spike through more smoke.
Lisbeth stood, looked into the distance across the park. "I'll find a book store and hang out there until its time," she said as she walked away.
- - - -
At 5:25, exactly, Lisbeth showed up at the ice cream store, a bag full of Kootz books hanging off of one arm. She didn't see any sign of Shy or Spike. Taking a stool at the counter that looked out of the window, she gazed out at the street of the bustling town. Minutes later, she saw Shy. He was without his beefy escorts. She mustered up a smile when he brought his eyes to hers, tasting adrenaline in the back of her throat.
As he grasped the handle of the door to the shop to gain entry, Lisbeth saw Spike step up behind him. The thick glass prevented her from hearing the conversation and the angle was such that she couldn't tell if Spike had brought out his gun or not.
The brief conversation ended in an even briefer struggle. Shy spun around with surprising speed and grace and punched Spike in the face with a left hook. With his right hand, he pulled out the gun under his jacket and pointed it at Spike as he fell.
Lisbeth screamed and slapped her hand on the window, willing the trigger to not fire. It did and Spike jerked back and hit the ground with a heavy thud that Lisbeth felt through her feet. Shy spun around and faced Lisbeth, the gun still in his hand. She didn't know if he knew she set him up, if he would shoot her through the glass for her complicity. The crowd of people, both inside and out, began to yell and scatter, creating confusion. For whatever reason, perhaps it was the wide-eyed shock and horror in Lisbeth's face or lack of inclination to waste another bullet, Shy did not shoot her. He winked impishly and joined the rushing crowd and was gone.
Lisbeth's heart, after stalling for those seconds, began hammering, beating the walls of her chest in earnest. She turned to where Spike went down. He wasn't there. A small pool of blood marked the spot, but the injured bounty hunter was nowhere to be seen.
- - - -
A/N: Bum, bum, BUM. Cliffhangers aren't very nice, I know. But I'm writing as fast as I can before school starts up again. Also, any feedback might help inspire me to keep going with this (/evil soliciting). -S.