Cube Route (17 page)

    “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded, outraged. But there was a vacuity in his tone: he was bluffing. “You can't do that.”

    “There will be other details, of course, but that will be the essence. You will not get rich off me.”

    A cunning look replaced his incredulity. Then it was suppressed. He fidgeted and looked away again, apparently unaware of the manner she was reading him. When he spoke, his voice was hollow. “Of course, dear. Whatever you say. All I want is your happiness.”

    “Excellent. I will have my lawyer draw it up soon. It will be absolutely tight.”

    “Not if I don't sign it,” he muttered.

    “What was that, Yorick?”

    “Nothing, dear. Now let's get to the bedroom.”

    One support had been compromised. On to the second. “When we marry,” she continued inexorably, “I will not be taking your surname. I will keep my own, so it will be quite clear that we are not social equals.”

    Anger clouded his countenance. “That's outrageous!”

    She delivered the level gaze. “You do still wish to marry me?”

    “Of course! But not this way.”

    She leaned forward so that the upper surfaces of her breasts were exposed and smiled, devastating him with her beauty. “What way did you have in mind, dear?”

    “That's it!” he rasped. He lunged across the couch, catching her by a long tress. “We'll have none of this crap! If you don't like the bedroom, we'll do it right here on the couch.”

    “Release my hair,” Cube said firmly.

    “The hell!” He yanked on it cruelly. “What's got into you, Sil? How come these sudden airs? You know you're nothing but a damned slut, nothing at all without me.”

    That did it. She had been foolishly half reluctant to destroy him, because of his handsomeness. Now she understood right through to the core that handsome truly was as handsome did, and he was fecal matter. Her gumption was converting to something like rage. “Release my hair,” she repeated, her hand finding the plastic piece at her waistband.

    “The hell!” he repeated, yanking so hard that she had to bend forward over the couch, showing twice as much breast as before. He reached over her back, caught her bottom, and heaved her up and over so that her head plowed into his thighs. His hands remained busy, catching her legs, hauling her the rest of the way onto the couch. She was unable to resist effectively at the moment, but the plastic was in her hand and her rage was burgeoning.

    He turned her over, roughly, and ripped open her blouse. “You're just a piece of meat! Now spread your legs.”

    Cube tried to sit up, to get her feet on the floor. But he was holding her down as he continued to rip at her clothing, and she remained weak from her pill-induced illness. She could not get him off her, and could not get off the couch. The situation was out of control.

    It was time to defend herself more effectively. Words had lost their power. She needed to temper her rage with effective action. She bent her right arm at the elbow and punched upward at his head. The L point of the weapon rammed into his left ear.

    “Ooow!” he cried, lurching back. “What the hell?”

    That was more like it. “Get away from me,” Cube said.

    “You bitch! You hit me! Well, now you're really going to get it!” He lifted his fist.

    Cube's right hand was now beside her left jaw in the follow-through of her punch. She straightened her elbow, wielding the plastic like a hammer. It collided with Yorick's right eye. The force was not great, but the plastic was hard; that eye would be black tomorrow.

    “Ooow!” he repeated. But still he did not desist. “I'll kill you!”

    Her third strike had better aim and greater force. She flattened his nose. Blood welled out, dripping on her.

    Now at last Yorick fell back, releasing her. Cube sat up. Then she shoved him away from the couch. He sat on the floor, holding his face, groaning.

    Time for the finale. The script for this was adapted from a dirty magazine that had shocked Silhouette when she read it. “Oh, this is fun,” she said.

    “Fun? What did you hit me with?”

    He hadn't seen the plastic. Good. “Only my hand, dear. But I can get a knife if you prefer.”

    “A knife!”

    “When we are married,” she said sweetly, “this will be a regular thing. Violence turns me on. Now let's go to the bedroom.”

    “The bedroom!” he cried. “I'm bleeding to death!”

    “This was an avenue you chose,” she reminded him. “Sex with violence. I find I have developed a taste for it. Of course this level won't satisfy me long; it will have to escalate. I will order manacles for you, so that next time we can do it right. I have some delicious ideas.”

    “You're crazy! I'm getting out of here!” He scrambled to his feet.

    “But dear--I thought you liked this! I thought you were a soul-mate. Now come to the bedroom, where I can make you really hurt.”

    “No way!” He stumbled toward the door.

    “But we're engaged! It's all set.”

    “Not anymore it isn't! I'm gone!” And he was.

    Cube smiled grimly. That had not played out quite the way she had hoped, but it was probably enough. Bullies didn't like to get bullied themselves. She had given him three excellent reasons to break up with her, and he would probably be too embarrassed to tell anyone else why.

    But the job was not yet finished. Cube quelled her violent passion, for the next stage was of another nature. She went to her room, stripped away her ruined dress, stepped into the Mundane shower, and then changed to a new and more conservative outfit. No flexing surfaces of breast or thigh would show. She fixed her lovely hair, formulating her plan for the finale. Because she needed to secure Silhouette's situation, making sure the vultures would never return. Silhouette was not a strong-willed woman; she would need ongoing support. Cube would try to arrange for it.

    She went to the aunt's room, tapped on the door, and opened it without waiting. The aunt looked up from her chair. “There is a small mess in the living room,” Cube said. “See that it is properly cleaned up. I am going out.” She departed, leaving the woman speechless. She would be worse than speechless when she saw the blood and understood that this time Silhouette had beaten up Yorick, rather than the other way around.

    She went to the gardener's modest quarters behind the four-car garage. Silhouette's memory clarified him as a good man, a friend of her father's and still a loyal employee. Now she needed friendship and loyalty.

    She knocked on his door and waited. After a moment the old man opened it. “Miss Silhouette!” he exclaimed. “So good to see you.”

    She stepped in to him and kissed him, startling him. “Filip, I need you.”

    “Miss Silhouette, I am always at your service. You know that.” The startle was fading.

    “This is not routine. Please, may I come in?”

    “Oh, Miss Silhouette, this is not--”

    “Sil.”

    He paused. “I think I do not understand.”

    “My aunt called me Sil, with contempt. Henceforth she will address me as Silhouette. You have always treated me with respect, even when I was a spoiled child. You may call me Sil.”

    “This is not proper.”

    “Because I need a friend I can trust.”

    Now understanding came. “Come in, Sil.”

    She entered the cramped chamber that was his kitchen, den, and bedroom. She sat on the bed, pretending not to notice that it had not been made. Filip sat in the one available chair. He was a portly man her father's age, in faded jeans and a worn plaid shirt, with nicely graying hair. He was an immigrant from central Europe and still spoke with an accent. He waited politely for her to state her business with him.

    “I thought you had more space.”

    “Your aunt needed more storage space.”

    “My father would not have taken yours.”

    “Your father is not here.”

    Just so. “How is your son?”

    “Phil's doing well in trade school. I see him every week.”

    “We were playmates as children. He was two years older than I, but he never talked down to me.”

    “He liked you, Sil.”

    “And I liked him. But I went to the fancy boarding school, and then to the fancier private college, and we grew apart. I regret that.”

    “So does he.”

    “But when we were young, and I had homework I couldn't handle, I would bring it to him. He wasn't in my school, and never had assignments like that, but he would tackle it and figure it out and explain it to me. Then I understood it, and could keep up with my class.”

    Filip nodded. “He got a good education that way.”

    “The upper-class education not available to the children of immigrants.”

    “We are not complaining. Your father was always generous to us.”

    “When Father died, your situation deteriorated. So did mine.”

    “It pained me to see it, Sil. But it was not my place to comment. I'm only the gardener.”

    “My father's friend. And mine.”

    “And yours,” he agreed.

    Cube pondered briefly, not finding this as straightforward as she had hoped. This was not a man to put in his place, but a friend to enlist, and he might not appreciate what she meant to ask of him.

    “Your son was smarter than I, and decent, like you.”

    “And homely, like me.”

    “Does he have a current relationship?”

    “A girlfriend? No, he has never been interested.”

    Cube felt alarm. “He is not interested in women?”

    Filip smiled. “It is not that, Sil. His heart is already taken.”

    Damn! “Who?”

    “I think you know. But of course he knows it is futile.”

    Ah. “Not necessarily.”

    “I do not follow.”

    “Would he be amenable to a relationship with me other than as an employee?”

    The man frowned. “Please, Sil, do not toy with my son. He has a life to make.”

    Cube wrestled with phrasing. “I think I am asking your permission to date your son.”

    “But you are engaged to marry Yorick!”

    “Not anymore, I think.”

    “What happened?”

    “I broke his nose.”

    He looked amazed. “How--?”

    “With this.” She brought out the plastic L.

    He whistled. “That would do it! But why?”

    “He would have broken more than my nose, in time, and my heart. The man's a cad.”

    “No argument! But I never thought you would take such action.”

    “Things have changed. I also put Aunt Susan in her place, and will fire Accountant James.”

    Filip shook his head with amazement. “I am not saying they do not deserve it, Sil. But I have a problem, no offense intended, in understanding how you could have done it.”

    “This is why I need a friend. I have a secret, and I need help.”

    “Anything, Sil.”

    “I hope this will not change your mind. You must keep the secret even if you do not approve.”

    “I will.”

    Cube told him of the exchange, and what she hoped to accomplish.

    “That explains an enormous amount,” Filip said. “I do not think Silhouette ever could have done the things you did. She was never emotionally strong.”

    “Yes. She lacks gumption, which happens to be a quality I have too much of. It was a struggle for her to get up the nerve to overdose on pills, and she didn't take quite enough.”

    “But you say you will exchange back at midnight. Then she will have the same problem.”

    “Yes. So she will need support. Someone who can be by her side without question, and who will not allow her to be bullied by others. Who will always love and respect her. As I remember--as Silhouette remembers--Phil is a strong man, and not given to timidity when his values are threatened.”

    “That is true. Except in the case of the woman. He would never have the nerve to approach Silhouette. She is not merely beautiful, she is rich. And his father's employer.”

    “That is why you must make him do it. Have him dress well, and come to the mansion. I will tell her to welcome him. I cannot speak for her follow-through, as she has had deplorable taste in men, but I know she always liked and respected him, and will be glad to have his strong support. Maybe it won't be a romance, but it can look like one, so that others will not question his presence. And if she does the sensible thing, and marries him, you will be her father-in-law, and she will listen to you. I know you will guide her well.”

    “This is almost more than I can imagine. It is so great a chance, so fast. But I will try. She is a nice girl, if she could just achieve stability.”

    “She can achieve it if she has by her side a man who will bristle if anyone, especially her aunt, tries to belittle or take advantage of her. If she knows he will always be there.”

    Filip nodded. “I think you are correct.”

    “I have a twenty-four-hour time limit,” Cube said. “That's why I have to be brutally fast. I hope that this will not only save Silhouette from suicide, it will also straighten out the thread I follow and enable me to continue my Quest.”

    “You have been most forthright in that effort.”

    “It's gumption,” she agreed. “Sometimes I annoy people. But I think what I am doing here is right. I hope it is.”

    “You are beautiful.”

    “Oh, no, I am worse than plain. It was been wonderful visiting this beautiful body.” She stood, ready to return to the house.

    Filip stood too, and approached her. “You are beautiful,” he repeated, and kissed her. This time she understood what he meant, and appreciated it.

    Cube returned to the mansion. She checked the living room and saw that the messed-up couch had been straightened, and the bloodstains were gone. Aunt Susan must have wondered about that! But perhaps she would also get the message: things had changed.

    She spent the rest of the day absorbing Mundania. It was true that there was very little magic, but there were some interesting things, like a Mall stocked with all manner of wonders, any of which she could have by flashing her magic Credit Card. There were monstrous metal birds called airplanes that would take a person far beyond the boundaries of Xanth. And there was a box whose front flashed pictures ranging from things to buy, to couples endlessly summoning the stork. Overall, Mundania was fascinating to visit, but she wouldn't want to live here.