of eyes, a sack of venom, and fangs be afraid of you?
—Maguire’s Maxims
I hurled myself into the living room and dived beneath a library table a split second before Rhonda strode into the room. She was laughing, a coquettish gurgle that set my teeth on edge. “It’ll just take me a minute to change, and then we can go,” she said to the person with her. She snapped on the lights.
“Don’t bother changing, you’re fine,” rumbled a male voice.
Ben Labeck’s voice!
I crammed myself farther beneath the table, a beautiful, old mahogany piece, its legs carved with twining fruits and vines, but I was hardly in the mood to appreciate its artistic merits. As a hiding place, the table stank. If anyone sat down on the sofa opposite the table, I was going to be the elephant in the room.
“I want to look really nice for you, hot stuff. Come on up to my room. We can talk while I change, okay? I’ll even let you zip me.”
Come in to my parlor, said the spider to the fly…
As if on cue, a spider the size of a baseball descended from the top of the table and dangled on a thread in front of my eyes. Emitting a piercing mental scream, I squeezed myself as far against the wall as a human backbone could scrunch.
Labeck cleared his throat. “We should get going.”
“Aww, is him all embarrassed?” Rhonda used a pouty little-girl voice that made me want to ralph up my lunch.
I could see the bottom halves of their bodies. Labeck was wearing jeans and hisugly lace-up leather shoes that repelled snow, rain, and mud, and in a pinch could deliver a swift, disabling kick. Rhonda was facing him, still wearing her suede Band-Aid of a skirt and the dominatrix boots.
“I just love your nose, Ben,” Rhonda cooed. “It’s all bashed in like the ones in those Greek statues.”
“It got in the way of a hockey puck.”
“Ooh, hockey! I love athletes. They have such stamina. Come on, sit down, don’t be in such a hurry.”
She practically wrestled him onto the sofa. I was in trouble here. All Rhonda had to do was look up and she’d spot me. Fortunately, she was too wrapped up in Labeck at the moment to notice anything. She was all over him, like dog slobber. She stuck her tongue in his ear. Oh, retch!
Finally they broke apart. “Why don’t we have drinks?” Rhonda asked. “What would you like?”
There was a panicky tone in Labeck’s voice. “The idea was we go out. I’m taking you to dinner, remember?”
The spider lunged at me. Stifling a gasp of horror, I shrank away from it. No, wait—it wasn’t actually attacking me; it was swinging itself onto one of the table legs. Then it pendulummed to the other leg. It was building a web! I was going to be trapped here, inside the lair of Shelob!
Rhonda spoke in a husky, midnight-at-the-cocktail-lounge voice. “I want you to know that I am not a lady, Ben. I don’t expect to be wooed. I know what I want and I go after it, no holds barred. Nothing is off limits, nothing .”
Don’t be subtle, Rhonda! Why don’t you just snap his jockstrap!
If I hadn’t been so terrified that I was about to be cocooned into spider food, I would have laughed. Poor Labeck. Two powerful forces were fighting each other here: his hormones were flashing on free, no-strings sex, while his brain was telling him that there was no free, no-strings anything with women.
Men are always complaining that women are too picky. That’s because women have standards. In the back of our minds, we’re always evaluating a man’s potential as a mate. Could he support a family? Could he support me through twenty-four hours ofexcruciating back labor? Would I want to have a kid who inherited those jug ears of his?
With guys, though, the standards are more like: Is she breathing? And even a no on that is not necessarily a deal breaker.
By craning my neck, taking care to stay out of spider-lunging range, I could see what was happening on the couch. Rhonda took Ben’s face in her hands and kissed him.
—Maguire’s Maxims
I hurled myself into the living room and dived beneath a library table a split second before Rhonda strode into the room. She was laughing, a coquettish gurgle that set my teeth on edge. “It’ll just take me a minute to change, and then we can go,” she said to the person with her. She snapped on the lights.
“Don’t bother changing, you’re fine,” rumbled a male voice.
Ben Labeck’s voice!
I crammed myself farther beneath the table, a beautiful, old mahogany piece, its legs carved with twining fruits and vines, but I was hardly in the mood to appreciate its artistic merits. As a hiding place, the table stank. If anyone sat down on the sofa opposite the table, I was going to be the elephant in the room.
“I want to look really nice for you, hot stuff. Come on up to my room. We can talk while I change, okay? I’ll even let you zip me.”
Come in to my parlor, said the spider to the fly…
As if on cue, a spider the size of a baseball descended from the top of the table and dangled on a thread in front of my eyes. Emitting a piercing mental scream, I squeezed myself as far against the wall as a human backbone could scrunch.
Labeck cleared his throat. “We should get going.”
“Aww, is him all embarrassed?” Rhonda used a pouty little-girl voice that made me want to ralph up my lunch.
I could see the bottom halves of their bodies. Labeck was wearing jeans and hisugly lace-up leather shoes that repelled snow, rain, and mud, and in a pinch could deliver a swift, disabling kick. Rhonda was facing him, still wearing her suede Band-Aid of a skirt and the dominatrix boots.
“I just love your nose, Ben,” Rhonda cooed. “It’s all bashed in like the ones in those Greek statues.”
“It got in the way of a hockey puck.”
“Ooh, hockey! I love athletes. They have such stamina. Come on, sit down, don’t be in such a hurry.”
She practically wrestled him onto the sofa. I was in trouble here. All Rhonda had to do was look up and she’d spot me. Fortunately, she was too wrapped up in Labeck at the moment to notice anything. She was all over him, like dog slobber. She stuck her tongue in his ear. Oh, retch!
Finally they broke apart. “Why don’t we have drinks?” Rhonda asked. “What would you like?”
There was a panicky tone in Labeck’s voice. “The idea was we go out. I’m taking you to dinner, remember?”
The spider lunged at me. Stifling a gasp of horror, I shrank away from it. No, wait—it wasn’t actually attacking me; it was swinging itself onto one of the table legs. Then it pendulummed to the other leg. It was building a web! I was going to be trapped here, inside the lair of Shelob!
Rhonda spoke in a husky, midnight-at-the-cocktail-lounge voice. “I want you to know that I am not a lady, Ben. I don’t expect to be wooed. I know what I want and I go after it, no holds barred. Nothing is off limits, nothing .”
Don’t be subtle, Rhonda! Why don’t you just snap his jockstrap!
If I hadn’t been so terrified that I was about to be cocooned into spider food, I would have laughed. Poor Labeck. Two powerful forces were fighting each other here: his hormones were flashing on free, no-strings sex, while his brain was telling him that there was no free, no-strings anything with women.
Men are always complaining that women are too picky. That’s because women have standards. In the back of our minds, we’re always evaluating a man’s potential as a mate. Could he support a family? Could he support me through twenty-four hours ofexcruciating back labor? Would I want to have a kid who inherited those jug ears of his?
With guys, though, the standards are more like: Is she breathing? And even a no on that is not necessarily a deal breaker.
By craning my neck, taking care to stay out of spider-lunging range, I could see what was happening on the couch. Rhonda took Ben’s face in her hands and kissed him.
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