Part Two

(Affectionately dedicated to my wonderful editors, Kathy and Kaye, who ever push me to perfection.)

Author’s note:

In Part One, we learned that Trixie is making quite a name for herself in California. In spite of harassment from her male chauvinist pig co-workers, she is proving to everyone what a capable detective she is. She has just been assigned a special case. Her partner for this assignment is Jack Palmer, who just happens to be a very handsome, charming man with auburn hair. How convenient! *VEG*

Part Two fast forwards two weeks, and we’ll see how Trixie and Jack’s case went. We’ll also be catching up with someone else…

Now, I present the second part of “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg.”

According to some of the feedback I’ve received from my editors, you might need a hanky for this one.

Sometimes, for a vessel to reach its full potential, it must first be broken.

Saturday, September 25

Trixie wiggled out of the formal gown that she’d worn to the fundraiser at the governor’s mansion. Having no desire to go shopping by herself, she’d worn the only formal dress that she owned. Why buy a new gown when I have this one? she’d reasoned. After all, she’d worn the silvery sheath only once before, to the celebration for the opening of Jim’s school.

Once the fancy gown slid to the floor, Trixie gave it a grumpy kick across the room. She sighed deeply as she stared at the offensive object, which had landed under her bed, surrounded by a horde of dust bunnies.

“That’s the best place for it,” she muttered to herself.

For the millionth time that night, she wondered why she had worn that particular gown. During the entire fundraiser, it had been a thorn in her side. All night long she had to chase away memories of what had happened the last time she’d worn it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have a good time at the fundraiser. She did. Jack was the perfect partner for a stakeout. Especially when you have to spend the stakeout dancing and cuddling, she thought with a grin. It was kind of fun being his pretend wife.

He’d spent the evening whispering in her ear, making her giggle with his comments. Trixie was sure that those who watched them totally believed that they were a happily married couple. Several people even commented on how perfect they looked together.

And unlike a certain other redhead, Jack had certainly appreciated how she looked in her dress. Trixie laughed as she remembered his reaction when she opened the door this evening as he picked her up for their “date.”

“You ready to—” Overcome by the sight in front of him, Jack left his sentence hanging. “Wow! You look… Wow!”

“Do I look okay?” she asked nervously, smoothing imaginary wrinkles.

Jack sighed and shook his head in disdain. “As your superior, I’m going to have to demand that you go back inside and change into something else immediately.”

Trixie gasped. “I don’t have anything else! What’s wrong with this?”

“Detective, how do expect me to watch our suspects when I can’t quit admiring your beauty?” he questioned in mock sternness. “You’re so utterly breathtaking that the only thing I’ll be able to think about all night is you.”

The ever-ready blush heated her cheeks as a smile parted her lips. “You don’t look bad yourself, OO7,” she murmured, taking in how the well-cut tuxedo emphasized his broad shoulders. “As much as I’d like to stay here and be your Bond girl, we should leave. It’s almost seven.”

Jack exhaled in disappointment. “Yeah, I guess we should.” Suddenly, his mouth formed a wicked grin. “I have a better idea,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Let’s forget the case and just stay here and make out.”

Trixie giggled as he nuzzled her neck. “And what would we tell Ralph?”

Jack looked up from his ministrations, and assumed an innocent expression. “That we had a flat tire? Or maybe the dog ate our tickets?”

She playfully swatted his shoulder. “Time to leave, Detective Palmer. The government is counting on us, and I don’t have a dog.”

After a final light kiss by her ear, Jack stood upright with a mournful sigh. “Like the safety and well-being of the entire nation is more important than kissing a beautiful lady,” he snorted sarcastically.

Trixie smiled at the memory. Yes, his reaction was much more favorable than… never mind.

After putting on her pajamas, she decided a cup of hot tea would hit the spot. As she made her way into her tiny kitchenette, the phone rang. After carefully checking the caller ID, she picked up the cordless phone. “Schoolgirl Shamuses, Inc. California branch.”

Her best friend’s giggle greeted her on the other line. “You goof! You shouldn’t answer the phone like that. I could’ve been the President of the United States requesting your help on a special assignment.”

Trixie rolled her eyes as she opened the microwave and placed a mug of water inside. “Oh yeah, Honey. The President calls me so often. I think I’m on his speed dial.” She put a tea bag in the cup, shut the door, and turned on the microwave.

Honey laughed. “Well, he could call, you know. After all, he is a friend of Daddy’s.”

“I should’ve known.” Trixie sat at her small table and waited for her tea. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?!” Honey repeated in exasperation. “You were supposed to call me the minute you got in from that special case you’ve been so secretive about! I’ve been dying to know how it went.”

Trixie chuckled. “I just got home half an hour ago.”

“So why didn’t you call me a half an hour ago?”

“I had to change first,” Trixie explained. “And it took me a good twenty minutes to get out of that stupid dress. Why designers think women like those tiny, anemic, little hidden zippers, I’ll never know. Puuh-leaze! Give me a honkin’ big metal object that I can pull and yank on with absolutely no fear of breaking. I just about had to go down the hall and have little old Mrs. Simmons help me. Then I decided to make a cup of tea…”

“What did your dress look like?” Honey interrupted excitedly. “I wish I could’ve seen it.”

Trixie grimaced. “Well… actually, you helped pick it out. I didn’t want to go shopping, so I wore the only one I had, which just happened to be that silver number you forced upon me.”

“You wore that?” Honey asked in surprise. Quickly, she gathered her legendary tact and continued, “I mean, I bet you looked great.”

“Are you shocked that I wore that particular dress?” Trixie inquired.

“Ummm… no… I mean, yes… uhhh, no,” Honey stammered. “I mean, why wouldn’t you wear that dress?”

Trixie groaned and banged her head on the dinette table. “Maybe because I should’ve known that wearing that stupid dress would dredge up painful memories that I’ve been trying so hard to forget,” she moaned. “Why, oh why, didn’t I break down and buy something new?”

“Because you’re Trixie Belden and you hate to shop?” Honey suggested. “Or maybe because Di and I weren’t there to force you at gunpoint to proceed to the nearest dress shop?”

Part of her was tempted to add, “Or maybe some itsy bitsy part of you wanted to wear that dress and suffer?” but Honey decided that she valued her life far too much to say that. Trixie frightened her, even if she was over 2,000 miles away.

“Oh Honey!” Trixie moaned. “I am soooo stupid!” Listening to the silence at the other end, she added forlornly, “This is the part where you’re supposed to disagree with me and tell me how smart I really am.”

“But what if I don’t disagree?” Honey asked innocently.

“Then you’re supposed to lie and tell me that I’m not stupid; it’s only logical that wearing that certain dress would make me think about a certain person, and it’s only a matter of time before I’m totally cured of my Jim addiction.”

Honey cleared her throat, and then spoke in a monotone. “You’re not stupid. It’s only logical that wearing that certain dress would… Wait. What was the rest of my line?”

Trixie giggled and got her tea out of the microwave. “You’re a stinky actress, do you know that?”

“Maybe Di can give me some tips,” Honey teased. “Seriously Trix, how are you doing? Is it getting any better?”

Trixie sighed as she added sugar and milk to her tea. “Sometimes it’s not bad. Occasionally I can go an entire hour without thinking about him.” She paused for a moment, and then asked, “How’s he doing?”

“Not good, Trix. He looks bad.”

Trixie gave an indignant sniff. “Is he sick? Maybe he’s allergic to Amanda.”

Honey chuckled. “It’s not funny. I’m being serious. He looks like he hasn’t slept for weeks.” She took a deep breath, and then added, “He asked me about you.”

“He did?” Trixie hated the hopeful tone in her voice. “When?”

“At lunch the other day. I think he was trying to get some information from me.”

“What kind of info?” Trixie questioned.

“Oh, let’s see. If I’d heard from you. How you liked California. Were you working on any interesting cases? That sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

“He also asked if your answering machine worked,” Honey added pointedly. “You still haven’t returned his calls, have you?”

“No,” Trixie told her angrily. “I don’t want to talk to him. Anything he had to say to me should’ve been said at the airport.”

Feeling torn between her best friend and her brother, Honey merely mumbled, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“So, aren’t you curious how the big assignment went?” Trixie inquired brightly, desperate to change the subject.

“Very!” Honey exclaimed. She had no desire to continue the previous conversation either. “Was it a success?”

“Of course,” Trixie replied with pride.

“I wish you could give me the details!” Honey pleaded. Her friend had only been able to provide a vague description of her special assignment.

“Maybe I can later, but not right now. I can tell you that everything went just as planned. We got what was needed, in spite of my blundering,” she concluded with a giggle.

“Oh, no. What did you do?” Honey asked excitedly.

“I was watching the suspects so closely that I wasn’t paying attention to anything else, and I knocked over the flower arrangement in the center of our table,” Trixie explained.

Honey gasped. “What did you do?”

“Jack took care of it!” Trixie laughed. “He told them that I suffered from optifocinalgia and because of my condition, I frequently knocked things over.”

“Optifoca-what? What’s that?”

“Just something he made up,” Trixie said, still chuckling from the memory. “He had a whole explanation of what it was and what it did and how they treated it.”

“Did they believe him?” Honey questioned in disbelief.

“They sure did. Heck, he almost convinced me that I had optifoci-whatchamacallit. Apparently, I’m scheduled for eye surgery next week.”

Honey laughed heartily. “After all those years of clumsiness, we finally know the cause! So, did he say anything to you about your… mishap?”

“No. I apologized later, but he said that sort of thing happens, and that it actually made us look less like spies. He told me… well, never mind.”

“He told you what?” Honey urged with a squeal.

“He told me that I was so beautiful and enchanting that the men didn’t suspect a thing. He said he couldn’t have done it without me there to distract them.” Trixie sighed dreamily.

“Was that a dreamy sigh I heard?” Honey asked.

“Possibly.”

“Did the dashing detective stay and visit after he took you home?”

Trixie shook her head, and then took a sip of her tea. “Only for a minute. He wanted to drive to Ralph’s and make sure everything came through on our end.”

“And he didn’t let you go with him?”

“He offered, but I wanted to come home and change,” Trixie said defensively. “That dress was getting sort of itchy. And also, I REALLY had to pee.”

“So, now that you’ve completed a mission with Detective Palmer, what do you think about him?” Honey pried. “Is this the beginning of something serious?”

“Maybe,” Trixie replied coyly. “He’s so sweet and handsome and fun. I really enjoy being with him.”

“But?” Honey prompted.

“How do you know there’s a ‘but’? Does there have to be a ‘but’?” she asked defensively.

“But?” Honey repeated, ignoring Trixie’s protests.

“But he’s not Jim,” Trixie admitted quietly. Realizing what she had just conceded, she quickly added, “And that’s a good thing! Jack’s practically perfect, and I think he’s falling in love with me. And he’s not nearly as stubborn and pigheaded and protective as someone who shall remain nameless from this moment on!”

“I have a feeling that said nameless someone is growing less stubborn and pigheaded by the minute,” Honey mused out loud. “Why don’t you call Jim? I’m sure if you’d just talked—”

“I told you that I didn’t want to talk to him!” Trixie snapped. “For that matter, I don’t want to talk about him. I just want to go on with my life and forget about him.”

“It’s not that easy,” Honey commented, exasperation evident in her voice. “You’ve been in love with him since you were thirteen.”

“Yes, I love him, but you’re forgetting one very important detail,” Trixie argued passionately. “Right now, I’m extremely mad at him. It’d be very easy for me to hate him, and to keep from doing that, I have to forget all about him!”

She took a deep cleansing breath, and then continued in a calmer tone. “Jim’s going to get married. He’s moved on with his life, and I’m moving on with mine.

“Jack’s a wonderful man, and I’m lucky that he wants to be with me. I’m sure after I get to know him better, I’ll grow to love him even more than I love, er… loved Jim.

“After this conversation, I never want you to bring up Jim’s name ever again,” Trixie continued, her voice shaking from emotion. “So if you have any final questions, you’d better ask them right this minute, because from now on, the subject is off-limits.”

Honey weighed her options carefully, then asked as tactfully as possible, “Are you trying to convince me— or yourself— that you can forget about Jim so easily and fall in love with Jack?”

Several minutes passed as Honey patiently waited for Trixie’s response. Finally, Trixie broke the silence. “It’s really late,” she said softly. “It’s even later where you are, so I know you must be tired. I’ll call you next week.”

“Okay,” Honey replied, her voice edged with worry. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“I promise that I’m not mad at you,” Trixie answered. “Good night, Honey.”

“Night, Trix.”

Trixie clicked on the end button to break the connection. She hung up the phone, and took her lukewarm tea into the bedroom. She curled up on her bed and took a sip from the mug. Deciding that tea should either be piping hot or freezing cold, she set it aside on her nightstand.

She lay down on her bed and rolled on her side in her favorite pouting position. A stinging sensation behind her ear brought her upright. She felt her earlobes and discovered that she’d forgotten to remove the earrings that matched her silver gown.

Trixie stood up and walked over to the large jewelry box that sat on her dresser. Though she didn’t own much jewelry, her mother insisted that every lady needed a jewelry box. It had been a present from her parents on her sixteenth birthday.

She opened the lid and found the small velvet case that came with the earrings. After placing them inside the case, she closed the lid. When she placed the velvet jeweler’s case in the bottom of the box, her fingers brushed against something buried under some tangled necklaces. With a gasp, she pulled out the silver identification bracelet that she’d placed there long ago.

She laid out the bracelet in her palm and ran a trembling finger over the delicately engraved name. The silver had tarnished from years of neglect, making “James Winthrop Frayne II” difficult to read. However, after admiring the bracelet so frequently, she remembered exactly how each letter should look.

Though she tried to repress the memory, it was too strong to be silenced. She remembered it as if it was yesterday…

“It’s for you, Trixie,” Jim had said, pulling a little package out of his pocket. “I got it in Valley Park yesterday.”

She opened the box and pulled out the dainty identification bracelet. “It has your name on it, Jim,” she said with a shy smile. “Put it on for me, will you?”

“You know what it means, don’t you?”

“Tell me,” Trixie answered, wanting to hear him say it.

“It means that you’re my special girl, Trixie,” Jim said. “As if you didn’t know that already…”

Tears threatened to fall as she forced the bittersweet memory back into the dark recesses of her mind. Repeating the promise she’d made on the plane to California to never shed another tear for Jim, she gulped them back. She took several deep breaths and tried to regain her composure. To help her cause, she recalled the last conversation she’d with Jim.

‘I just wanted you to know that you’ll always be my special girl,’ he had said as he held her hand.

‘No, Jim. I think I’ve been replaced.’

She turned away quickly, afraid it would be obvious that her heart was breaking. With each step she took, she prayed that Jim would follow her.

But he didn’t…

As far as Trixie was concerned, that had been his final opportunity. When he allowed her to walk away, he’d given up all rights to her heart.

Now, over a month later, she still couldn’t remove him from her thoughts. He was like a drug that she couldn’t get out of her system. And she was determined to rid her body of that dangerous toxin, if it was the last thing she ever did.

Think about Jack, she ordered herself. He cares for me.

A smile parted her lips as she thought about his dark auburn hair, his easy smile, his emerald green eyes… No! her mind screamed. Jack has hazel eyes, not green!

Wearily, Trixie turned off the lamp on her nightstand and climbed back into her bed. I’m going out with Jack tomorrow. I wonder what we’ll do. I’ll bet he has something romantic planned. He tries so hard to make everything perfect.

Restlessly, she rolled to her side and gazed out the window at the full moon. Is it my imagination, or is the moon not as bright here as it is in Sleepyside?

She snuggled under the covers and resumed thinking about her upcoming date. Maybe we’ll rent some horses and go riding. He enjoyed that the last time we did it. Then later on, maybe we can take a moonlight ride in his convertible.

She smiled, thinking about his twinkling green eyes. Hazel eyes! she scolded herself. Twinkling hazel eyes!

She groaned and buried her head underneath her pillow. Her final thought before falling asleep was, I wonder if ‘He Who Shall Remain Nameless’ is thinking about me. Who am I kidding? He’s probably snug in his bed, having sweet dreams about Amanda…

Meanwhile, in Sleepyside…

2:08 A.M.

Darkness filled Jim Frayne’s bedroom in Manor House. The bright, full moon shone through his window; however, the room remained dark.

He knew when he rose from his bed the next morning, after tossing and turning the entire night, the day would be dark. No matter how brightly the sun shone, no matter how many artificial light sources he used, the day would be just as dark as the previous night.

Jim’s sunshine had left, and his world was now dark and cold.

He sighed and rolled over, hoping to find a position so comfortable that he would fall asleep. He hadn’t slept more than three hours a night for weeks now, and his body grew weary from the lack of rest. His eyes, normally a deep emerald green, were bloodshot from exhaustion.

He sat up in bed and pounded his pillow. Perhaps, if he could fluff it just so, sleep would overtake him. He longed for slumber, not only for his body, but for his mind. Even the nightmares about Jonesy that he’d had as a young boy would be a welcome respite from his torturous thoughts.

Jim’s consolation had left, and he feared that his soul would never find rest again.

Every dream, every memory, every sensation, every thought, every breath led back to Trixie. Each beat of his heart cried out for her. When he went outside, the breeze whispered her name. When he was alone, the silence screamed to see her face again.

But Jim’s world had left, and he knew he couldn’t exist without her.

He thrashed about in his bed, flinging the comforter off his body. The plush pillow-top mattress he laid upon felt like a bed of nails. With an exasperated sigh, he rose to his feet and began his nightly ritual of pacing around the bedroom.

Jim’s body longed for rest. The countless hours he labored at the school would make a normal man sleep like the dead. However, instead of closing his eyes and falling into a deep slumber, each night he laid in his bed and obsessed over how he’d messed up his life. And each night he would get up and walk circles around his room, pondering what he should’ve done differently.

‘I just wanted you to know that you’ll always be my special girl,’ he had said as he held her hand.

‘No, Jim. I think I’ve been replaced.’

That particular memory played over and over again in Jim’s mind. Every night since that fateful conversation, he had thought of a million things he could’ve done instead of allowing Trixie to walk away. And sadly, each one of those million things sounded better than what he’d actually done— walked away like a coward.

I’m such a fool! he berated himself. Why did I just stand there like an idiot? Why didn’t I do something? Anything! Anything would’ve been better than nothing! Why didn’t I tell her that nobody could ever replace her? I could never love anyone the way I love her!

I could’ve declared my undying love… Held onto her hand and refused to let go… Broke through security and grabbed her… Jumped on the luggage truck and stowed away in a trunk... Laid in front of the wheel of the plane and refused to move until she got off… Anything would have been better than keeping my mouth shut and letting the woman I love more than life itself walk away angry.

Angry, Jim thought with a rueful grin, doesn’t tell the half of it. Angry isn’t even in the same ballpark. Trixie skipped angry and jumped directly to furious and livid.

2:31 A.M.

His legs grew weak from exhaustion, and he collapsed into an armchair in the corner. He peeked at the clock on the nightstand. 2:31.

Great, only four hours left to suffer. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. You’ve blown it now, Frayne. Any chance you ever had with her went out the window. Prepare to spend the rest of your life without her. Huh, you’d be better off living without oxygen!

‘I just wanted you to know that you’ll always be my special girl,’ he had said as he held her hand.

‘No, Jim. I think I’ve been replaced.’

As long as he lived, he’d never forget those words. It wasn’t merely what she said that haunted him. It was her face, her tone, her body language. Trixie’s pained expression would be forever seared into his memory. The pain quickly evolved into fury as she’d jerked her hand away.

However, the pain and the fury didn’t torture Jim nearly as much as the last expression Trixie wore as she walked away. After speaking those fateful words, all emotion fled and only apathy remained. And anything would have been better than indifference.

Jim sat upright and leaned his head against the cushioned back of the tall chair. He sighed deeply as he pondered the utter helplessness of this situation.

I tried calling her, he reminded himself. I rehearsed an eloquent speech, full of apologies, promises, and a whole lot of groveling. When her answering machine picked up, I left a nice message, asking her to call me if she wanted to talk to me. He snorted in annoyance at himself. That’s what I did wrong. I should’ve told her to call me back whether she wanted to talk to me or not.

Jim’s shoulders sagged in despair as he remembered how he’d waited all that night for the phone to ring. Finally, he’d fallen asleep, with the cordless phone in one hand and his cell phone in the other.

I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was too late for her to return my call… Maybe she called the school… Maybe she’ll call tomorrow… Maybe her answering machine is broken and she didn’t get the message…

Jim moaned as he repeated the awful truth to himself for the millionth time. Trixie doesn’t want to talk to me. She doesn’t love me, and apparently she doesn’t like me very much either. Maybe she even hates me. I’ve lost it all… I’m alone… Desperately alone…

Exhaustion won, and he fell asleep in the chair.

4:13 A.M.

Young Jim stood beside the freshly covered grave. He knew his mother’s lifeless form had been swallowed by the mounds of dirt above her casket. The only person on earth that he loved and who loved him in return was in the ground.

As if Heaven shared his grief, raindrops fell from the sky. He shivered as an icy blast blew across his tear-streaked face. He’d come to the graveyard to see her again. He knew he’d be in trouble once Jonesy discovered he wasn’t there. He’d surely get another beating.

He pulled his jacket closer to him. He grimaced slightly as the increased pressure made the fresh stripes on his back sting. Jonesy’s studded belt had sliced through the flesh of his back, and the material of his shirt caused the stripes to sting. Jim had tried to clean the wounds and apply some medication, hoping to sooth the burning, but he couldn’t reach them. And there was nobody to help him…

He closed his eyes as he remembered the beating his stepfather had given him two days ago. The belt’s stripes didn’t compare to the suffering Jonesy’s words had inflicted upon his soul…

“Where’s your Mama now, little prince? Looks like the crown prince’s loyal subjects are all gone! Who’s gonna protect you now?” Jonesy had sneered, his voice slurred from the shots of Jack Daniels he’d consumed. As if relishing the task before him, Jonesy slowly raised the studded belt to begin the beating.

With every whack, Jim had ground his teeth, determined not to let this monster see him cry. He’d filled his mind with the wise things his father had told him before his death. He’d thought about the songs his mother had sung to him at bedtime... Anything, but concentrate on the torture of the present.

Finally, exhausted from his labor, Jonesy had ceased his striking. “Get outta here, boy. You make me sick,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “You belong to me now, little prince. Yer all alone and ain’t no one gonna give a rip about you now. Little crown prince, yer last subject is lying cold and naked in the ground, and nobody ain’t never gonna love you again…”

Jim had walked proudly to his room, refusing to reveal how badly the beating had hurt him. As soon as Jonesy couldn’t see him, the tears had fallen and his proud walk had become a slow, excruciating limp. He’d hidden in his bedroom as the word “alone” echoed in his mind. That was the worst sort of pain of all.

In the graveyard, Jim shivered as the memory of his recent beating came to a close. As he studied the discarded flowers covering the grave, Jim felt a desperation unfamiliar to him. As horrible as it had been to lose his father, he’d known that his mother was still there at least.

‘Now she’s gone too,’ he murmured in anguished despair as he saw Jonesy’s truck pull into the parking lot. ‘I am alone… all alone… Nobody will ever love me again… I’m alone… alone…’

A glint of silver from Jonesy’s belt caught Jim’s eye. There was no time to run. He could only brace himself for the inevitable beating…

5:32 A.M.

Jim muffled a scream as he awoke from his nightmare. He wiped the cold sweat dripping off of his forehead with a trembling hand. Clutching the arms of the chair for assistance, he stood to his feet, staggered to his bed, and collapsed.

His three hours of sleep had been troubled, and hadn’t helped him at all. His eyelids felt like someone had attached cinderblocks to them. A quick peek at the alarm clock on his nightstand told him it was after five o’clock in the morning.

Great. Only an hour of suffering left, he thought wryly.

I wonder if you can die from a lack of sleep, he wondered, his mind refusing to shut down. I’d rather die from exhaustion than have that nightmare again. I survived it once; no need to live through it again. Of course, I’d rather be beaten by Jonesy every day, than live without…

Wide-awake now, he tried to concentrate on his schedule for the upcoming day. Meeting with the social worker at 9:00. Special luncheon for the honor roll students at 11:45. Teacher observations from 1:15 until 3:20. Teach the extra-curricular survival class in the gymnasium from 4:00 until 5:30. Meet Amanda, Honey, and Brian for dinner in New York at 7:00…

Jim groaned just thinking about dinner. Since he’d announced his engagement, Honey had become more vocal in her disapproval of Amanda. She often imitated Amanda’s grating laugh and her pretentious way of speaking.

Jim tried to defend his fiancée, but knowing Honey’s descriptions were accurate made it difficult. He usually ended up chuckling at her impersonation. Then, he’d scold them both, and reiterate how nice Amanda was and how much she loved him.

Brian obviously agrees with his girlfriend, Jim thought to himself. He doesn’t say much, but I can tell he doesn’t like her. Whenever the topic of Amanda comes up, he assumes that “look” he uses when he gives his patients a grim prognosis.

Jim sighed as he pondered his best friend’s actions. Lately, things hadn’t been good between them. Whenever he saw Brian, he felt a gulf spreading between them, and even their close friendship couldn’t span the distance.

Since Trixie’s departure, Mart had been even quieter than Brian, which was unheard of.

He’s not just quiet, he’s too quiet, Jim mused. In fact, I didn’t think it was possible for Mart to be this quiet for this long. He used to say hello when we met in the hall at school. Even if we didn’t have time to talk, he’d always give me a goofy look or something. Then we went to a polite nod. Now, he’s looking the other way if he sees me coming. During staff meetings, he sits in the back and leaves as soon as it’s over.

And Di looks like she’s going to bust out bawling whenever she sees me. I hate that “Poor, poor Jim” expression she gets when we talk. I’d rather she ignore me than pity me.

Of course, Jim chuckled, scratching his chin, I guess that’s better than what Dan’s been doing. He acts like he’s mad at me, but I don’t know why. He’s asked me to come look at his gun collection several times lately. And he has this crazy look in his eyes. Kinda reminds me of that guy Mel Gibson played in “Lethal Weapon”. Dan plus a fully loaded gun minus logic equals Scary Beyond All Reason. Hmmm… I wonder what his deal is…

However, the strangest reaction he’d gotten so far had been from someone who had once been one of his greatest admirers…

Jim sat in his office, studying a request form from Mart asking for a bus to take some students to an upcoming journalism competition. Needing additional information, Jim called Mart and Di’s house. Di answered the phone, and, after a brief pause, told him Mart couldn’t come to the phone. She relayed the request to Mart, and then told Jim they’d get the information to him right away.

A little while later, Jim was working in his office when a loud knock echoed through the hall. Before he could give permission to enter, the door burst open, and in walked Bobby Belden.

“Hey, Bobby,” he had greeted with a smile. “I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

Bobby stalked over to Jim’s desk and slammed a folder down. “Nobody else wanted to come. But I said I’d be happy to do it.” He stood to his full six-foot-four-inch height and began cracking his knuckles.

“Was Mart busy?” Jim asked, as he curiously watched Bobby.

“Nah, he just didn’t want to talk to you.” He stared at the older man who once had been his hero. “I was visiting at their house when you called. I was just getting ready to leave for the gym anyway, to lift weights and maybe do a little boxing, so I offered to drop it off.”

Jim nodded, and then looked down at the contents of the folder. “Mmmm hmmm…” he murmured.

“Do you wanna box, Jim?” The slight edge in Bobby’s voice made Jim put down the papers he’d been studying, and look up at the young man towering above him.

“Box?” Jim repeated in surprise. “Now? I thought you were going to the gym?”

“I am, but I’d like a little practice before I get there.” His eyes narrowed in challenge. “I think you’d make a good punching bag.”

Jim laughed nervously. “So I’ve heard before. I’ve enjoyed kidding around with you, Bobby, but I have work to do.”

“I’m not kidding.” Bobby leaned down threateningly on Jim’s desk until they were eye to eye. His fiery gaze told Jim that this wasn’t a friendly challenge. “Come on, Jim. You and me. Man to man.”

Jim smiled, not fully understanding the anger he saw in Bobby. “As much as I’d like to stick around and see what you’re problem is, I have a lot of work to do here, and then I have a dinner engagement.”

Bobby narrowed his gaze, and, for the first time since his entrance, he really studied Jim. His blue eyes grew wide as he suddenly realized the physical change in Jim. It was obvious that he hadn’t slept for weeks, and his haggard face looked thinner.

“Dude, you look like crap!” Bobby exclaimed incredulously.

Jim gasped in surprise at his honesty, then chuckled. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, I mean it,” Bobby told him, rising to his feet. “You look awful, man. You look like the Cryptkeeper, or something as equally as nasty. You’re all pale, and your eyes are all sunken in and bloodshot. You look scary, dude.”

“Anything else you’d care to mention?” Jim asked with a wry grin.

“Well, not to shatter your studly ego or anything, but it looks like you’ve been poppin’ the Trim Spa, man. I mean whoa! You’re lookin’ kind of scrawny,” Bobby continued, still staring unabashedly at Jim’s face. “And dude, you could really use a shave. That five o’clock shadow George Michael look went out in the 90’s.”

Jim self-consciously shuffled in his chair. “Thanks for that boost of confidence, Bobby. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Who’re you goin’ out with?” Bobby interrupted. “Princess Pierce-the-eardrum?”

“Princess Pierce the…” Jim’s voice trailed off as he figured out what Bobby meant. “Bobby, I’d appreciate that you not refer to Amanda that way.”

Bobby grinned wickedly. “How’d you know who I was talkin’ about?”

Jim strategically ignored that loaded question. “Don’t call Amanda names.”

“Why not? Everybody else calls her worse things than that.”

Jim leaned back in his chair, his mouth gaping in surprise. “They do?”

“If you’d get your head outta your butt, you might notice stuff like that,” Bobby snorted. “Mistress Squawkinhonker, the Braying-Broomhilda, the Walking Adenoid…”

“Amanda does have an annoying laugh,” Jim admitted, “but she’s my fiancée, and—”

“She shouldn’t be,” Bobby interjected. He walked silently to the door and opened it. “Jim, I came here wanting to beat the crap out of you. You took someone that I love very much away from me. But now, I feel too sorry for you to get any satisfaction out of beating you to a bloody pulp. You may try and act happy, but you’re not. You’re as miserable as she is.”

“Who is?” Jim cried, standing to his feet. “I’m as miserable as who is?”

“You’re a smart guy; figure it out yourself.” Bobby walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

6:30 A.M.

Sitting up in his bed, Jim rubbed his burning eyes and groaned. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out the answer to the question he had asked. And Bobby’s statement rang through his head every single day.

I am as miserable as Trixie.

How could I have been so blind? If only I hadn’t asked Amanda to marry me. If only I’d told Trixie how I felt. If only I’d stopped her from going to California. If only…

He jumped as the shrill beep of his alarm shattered the silence. He wearily hit the off button, thankful another night had come to an end.

Jim sighed in relief as he stood to his feet. “I survived another night. Now, if I can just make it through eternity…”

Credits:

As I stated earlier, this chapter is dedicated to my dear friends and editors, Kaye and Kathy, who insisted I break down and write this, although I didn’t want to. Thank you for being honest. I love you both!

OO7 and Bond girl are of course reference to the James Bond movies.

Optifocinalgia is an eye disease of my own creation. I had no time to do research and see if a real life one existed like the one I described.

Quotes were taken from The Happy Valley Mystery.

Quotes were also taken from the conclusion of “Why Do Fools Fall in Love?”.

A brief segment was also used from “Keeping Up With the Joneses.”

Thank you to my wonderful editors for all their suggestions! They helped me out immensely!

“Lethal Weapon” is a movie starring Mel Gibson, and I did not have permission to use it. But hey, it’s free advertising! J

I thought about having Brian or Mart confront Jim instead of Bobby, but I just didn’t think it would work. It had to be Bobby. Brian and Mart are older and wiser and know it’s best to sometimes hold your tongue. However, Bobby is young, zealous, and very impetuous. So it had to be him.

The Cryptkeeper is a gross looking thing on the show, “Tales from the Crypt.” No, I didn’t have permission to use him, but that’s all right.

Trim Spa supposedly helped Anna Nicole Smith lose tons of weight. *shrug* Whatever… (Can you pick up on my subtle skepticism?)

In the late 80’s and 90’s, George Michael was famous for that five o’clock shadow (and was later famous for other things…)