Strange Bedpersons. Jennifer Crusie

think I’m cut out to be a wife. I mean, I get lonely sometimes, and I start thinking about how nice it would be to be a homey sort of person and bake cherry pie for somebody, but then one thing leads to another and I’m having fantasies about somebody ripping off my apron and licking cherry juice off my body, and I lose my grip.” She focused back on Gina. “Besides, I can’t bake pie. So I don’t think about getting married much.”

      Gina scowled at her. “How could you get lonely? You think it’s your job to save everybody in the world. You gotta know more grateful people than—”

      “Well, sometimes it would be nice not to save everybody,” Tess said. “Sometimes I think it would really be nice to be taken care of and live in a house, instead of an apartment, and to have great sex every night.” Tess stopped. “I’ve got to get off this sex thing. It’s clouding my mind. The career, Tess, concentrate on the career.” She shook her head. “Now I’m starting to sound like Nick.”

      “Speaking of Nick, why’d you shut the door on him? That’s prime home-building material there.”

      Tess laughed. “You obviously don’t know Nick. The only reason he’d build a home is for the equity. In fact, that’s the reason he did build a house.” She leaned her head back against the chair, remembering. “The skeleton of the place was up about the time I left him. We walked through it once, and I was trying to figure out what it would look like, and he was trying to figure out how much it would appreciate in value the first year.” Tess grinned. “It was not a Kodak moment for us.”

      “Did you have Kodak moments?”

      “Yeah,” Tess said, her grin fading. “We did. Quite a few actually.” She stood up suddenly and went into her bedroom.

      “Tess?” Gina called.

      “Here,” Tess said when she came back. She sat beside Gina on the edge of the couch and showed her a snapshot. It was Nick, a smudge of dirt on his chin and his hair in his eyes, in an old sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, sitting on the ground with his arms wrapped around Tess from behind, his chin buried in her shoulder. Tess was even more of a mess: her red hair stood straight up and her face was dirty, and she had no makeup on at all. Her smile took up her whole face, and she looked about ten.

      “What were you doing?” Gina asked, mystified.

      “This is the first day we met.” Tess smiled at the picture. “At a picnic. Playing touch football. He was wearing these really ratty jeans and a sweatshirt that was older than my sweatshirt, and I thought he was poor and cheerful, like the prince in my fairy tale.” She laughed. “Boy, was I wrong.”

      Gina took the picture and looked at Nick more closely. “Even messed up, he’s gorgeous, Tess.”

      “I know,” Tess said. “But looks aren’t everything. It was those damn crinkles he gets around his eyes when he smiles that threw me off, but he was definitely the wrong prince.” She shook her head and sighed. “It wasn’t long before I caught on, though. I mean, we were obviously not the perfect couple. We went to this opera thing the night we broke up, and the press took our picture.” She grinned at Gina. “Actually the press took Nick’s picture and got me because I was standing beside him. It finally made the society page a couple of days ago.” Her grin widened as she remembered the picture. “Nick looked like a Kennedy cousin. I looked like a rutabaga with hair. All over Riverbend, people looked at that picture and said, ‘What does he see in her?”’ Tess shook her head again. “We definitely do not belong together.”

      Gina handed the photo back. “I still don’t get the prince bit.”

      Tess moved back to her own chair, looking sadly at the print. “Remember I told you I lived in a commune when I was little?” she said, her fingertip stroking the edge of the photo. “Well, my mother wouldn’t let me read Cinderella and the other fairy tales. She said they were patriarchal and sexist, and I was really disappointed, so a friend of hers at the commune, this guy named Lanny, made up this story for me that he called CinderTess.” She laughed at the sound of it.

      “Cute,” Gina said. “But I still don’t get the prince.”

      “Well, CinderTess got to the ball on her own without any fairy godmother by rescuing people and animals who turned out to be able to help her,” Tess explained. “But she felt responsible for them and their problems, so when she got to the ball, and she was the best dancer there—”

      “Not the prettiest?” Gina asked, grinning.

      “Looks are superficial. Real women get by on hard work and skill,” Tess said primly, and grinned back. “Where was I?”

      “She was the best dancer…” Gina prompted.

      “So while she had all the attention because she was the best, she sort of made speeches about the problems. There was one about the environment and one about the poor, I think. I never really paid attention to those parts and only listened to the good ones—about the prince.” She smiled again, remembering. “I didn’t care about the politically correct part. I just wanted a fairy tale with a prince.”

      Gina laughed. “Who doesn’t? So where’s the prince?”

      “There were two of them who got upset about the speeches. But the third prince said she was right and helped her and—this is the part I always liked—he had these crinkles…” she screwed up her face to make laugh lines at the corners of her eyes “…right here, and he promised her he’d help her make things better and that she’d laugh every day if she married him, so CinderTess knew he was the one.” She looked back down at the picture. “I’m sure Lanny meant well, but those crinkles have played merry hell with my life ever since I met Nick.”

      Someone knocked on the door.

      “Must be the landlord,” Gina said. “Try not to hurt him too bad.”

      Tess tossed the snapshot on the end table and stood up, tipping her exasperated cat out of her lap again, but when she opened the door, it was Nick.

      “I know you’re upset, so I won’t bother you for long.” He smiled at her, his dark eyes brimming with the confident charm she found alternately obnoxious and irresistible, depending on the reason he was using it on her. There were crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and a lock of his hair fell over one eye and made him look rakish and endearing.

      Tess was sure he knew he looked rakish and endearing.

      Still, he also knew she was troubled, and that was touching.

      His smile broadened as she hesitated. “I brought you something to cheer you up,” he said, handing her a carton of Chinese food.

      “What is it?” Tess said, taking it from him, knowing she shouldn’t but weakening.

      “Pot stickers,” Nick said. “Double order.”

      “Oh.” Tess blinked at him. “You remembered.”

      “I remember everything,” Nick said, and Tess’s uncertain expression turned to contempt.

      “That sounds like a line,” she said. “Did you really come back to apologize, or is this something that you and that weasel you work for have cooked up to close some deal?”

      “Park? Funny you should mention Park—” Nick said, and Tess slammed the door in his face again and went back to her chair, dropping the pot stickers on the table as she sat.

      “He’s hopeless,” Tess began, and then she jumped when Nick opened the door and closed it behind him, throwing the dead bolts.

      “Lock your door, dummy,” he said. “This is a terrible neighborhood. Anybody could walk in here.”

      “Anybody just did.” Tess put her hands on her hips, faking indignation. “Go away.”

      Nick headed for the kitchen, stopping only to pat Gina on the head. “Hi, kid. Good to see you again. You look great.”

      Gina beamed