Steele Dreaming
by Tanya Reed
Disclaimer: Oh, I wish Remington Steele belonged to me, but, alas, it does not.
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The TV wasn't loud enough to drown out the slamming of the door or the sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs. Laura and Remington, who were sitting on the couch enjoying their day off, looked at each other. Seeing no answer in each other's eyes, they got up together and moved out into the entryway of their house. Grace was just coming in, her school bag slung over her shoulder.
"Hi," she said.
"Was that your sister that just came in here?" Laura asked, concerned.
Grace's face got serious, and she nodded. "She's having problems at school again. Listen, is Mindy here yet? She said she'd be here around the same time I got home from school."
Laura, still preoccupied be the first thing Grace had said, looked puzzled. "Mindy?"
"Mom, I'm supposed to baby-sit Lennie tonight, remember?"
"Yes," Laura agreed, vaguely remembering. "You'd better go up and get ready."
When Grace disappeared up the stairs, Laura looked at Remington. He nodded without speaking and followed his daughter. Laura went back into the living room and shut off the TV. There, she waited for her husband to come back downstairs.
Remington went up the stairs and past Grace's door. Pictures smiled at him from the walls, school pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures. He ignored them and moved on to Lettie's door. It was unmistakably hers. About a year before, each of the girls had made a sign for their bedroom doors on the computer-something to do while they were bored. Grace's had roses; Sam's had teddy bears; Lettie's had a mixed motif of a gun, a puppy, and a baseball glove. The background was hot pink.
Steele tapped the door and waited for an answer. When there was none, he tapped again.
"Go away."
"Scarlett, love, I want to talk to you."
"I don't feel like talking."
"Just for a minute."
He heard her sigh through the door. "All right, come in."
Remington entered the room, done in blue and white. His daughter was sitting on her bed, all curled up with her chin on her knees. She looked miserable, and she looked like she had been crying.
Closing the door behind him, Remington moved toward the bed. "May I sit down?"
Lettie nodded, so he sat down beside her. He paused, waiting to see if she would speak. When she didn't, he said, "Want to talk about it?"
"What?" she asked.
"Whatever's wrong."
"Who said anything's wrong?"
"You're upset," he replied softly, "And I'd like to help."
"Help? You can't help! Nobody can." She threw herself backwards on the bed, flinging her arms up over her head.
"Why don't you try me?"
"You wouldn't understand, Dad. Not somebody like you."
"Like me? What am I like?"
She looked away from him. "You know…"
"That Cathy girl's been picking on you again, hasn't she?"
"I can handle her," Lettie answered stubbornly, still not facing him.
"Maybe she's jealous of you."
"Jealous of me?" Lettie scoffed. "I doubt it. She's the prettiest, most popular girl in school. Not to mention the fact that she's smart, elegant, and everything else I'm not."
"Is that what this is about?"
"It doesn't matter. Just leave me alone."
"Lettie…Lettie, look at me."
She turned to face him, and there was pain in her eyes. "Dad, why can't I be more like Grace? She's perfect. I'm just…I'm just me."
"Come, sit up here," Remington said, leaning against her headboard and patting the pillow beside him. Lettie sat up and snuggled next to her father. Then, he continued.
"How about a story, eh?"
"A story?" Lettie sounded incredulous.
"Yes, it's about a man. His name was…well, he went by many names. Let's just call him 'Harry.'"
"Harry?"
"Listen to the story, Lettie. Listen to the story. Now this lad, he grew up in a hard way, shuffled around and pretty much unloved and unwanted. He broke away at an early age and became what most people would call a thief. He was very good at it and, thanks to a talented mentor, he managed to move up the ladder several notches. This Harry, he came in contact with many beautiful and sophisticated women. They were elegant, and intelligent, and most of all they were all after something.
"Harry, being an average and virile young man, was very much attracted to these women. He had an eye for the ladies, and he dated so many that he lost track. He liked all of these women, but somehow he could not seem to really fall in love. You see, no matter how beautiful, these women weren't real. They were all masks with people only out for themselves underneath. Honesty seemed like a figment of some dreamer's imagination.
"Then, one day, while trying to find a way to steal some extremely rare gems, our man Harry ran into this attractive young woman. She was beautiful, but Harry had seen many beautiful women. Still, there was something intriguing about this woman-intriguing enough for Harry to decide to give up his life of crime just to figure out what made the woman tick. She was different from the rest, he could feel it.
"And so, Harry stuck around, finding out that the young woman was unique. He had never met anyone like her. She loved baseball, and circuses, and excitement, and teddy bears. She was the strongest person he had ever met, and yet he had never met anyone who could be so loving and so tender. Most of all, Harry's new friend was honest. He had never met a woman without ulterior motives, and, despite himself, Harry fell in love.
"That woman taught Harry more than anyone had ever taught him in his life. As every day went by, all Harry wanted was to be as much like her as he could and to some day be worthy of her. Lettie, you are just like that woman, more like her than anyone else I have ever known."
Lettie looked skeptical.
"Oh, Lettie." Remington kissed her right temple. "Don't ever try to change. I love you because of who you are. I love you because you are different. Do you understand?"
He hugged her tightly.
"I guess so, Daddy. Do you really think I'm special?"
"More special than I'll ever be able to tell you," he admitted tenderly.
Lettie looked in his eyes at that moment, and she saw it shining there. Suddenly, she believed him way deep down inside of her. All at once, things didn't seem so bad. A ghost of a smile graced Lettie's face. Seeing his job was done, Remington tapped his daughter on the knee and got up.
"Dad, you're Harry, aren't you?"
"What do you think?" he replied, opening the door.
"But, Dad…"
"Yes?" he asked, turning back around.
"Who was the woman?"
A funny smile came to her father's face. "It was your mother."
"Oh."
Then, Remington turned and went out the door.
