"Pheromone Pharmacopia"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2001, All rights reserved)

Chapter 5 - "Mister Right?"

     
     Jaymi glanced at the earnestly busy technicians and decided there 
was time to share a quiet moment with her best friend.

*******************

"I met a boy," Jaymi said.

      My parents never yelled at me or tried to deny what I had realized 
about my . . . interests, but the sense of disappointment was so heavy 
that I could never be comfortable with them.  I think it was more 
frustration because they couldn't understand than any active disapproval,
but aside from any judgment on my lifestyle in the theoretical case, they 
were clearly disappointed that I would not be the son they had wanted and 
expected.

     It probably didn't help that I was always fairly solitary.  That may 
surprise you since it's clear that I had probably had more intimate 
experience than the rest of the team put together.  But my relationships 
were always focused on one person at a time.  It's just that I was never 
particularly concerned about the plumbing of the individual I was in love 
with, and I found physical pleasure to be a wonderful thing to share.  In 
between lovers though, I spent a lot of time alone.  

     So when I say I went home over furlough, what I meant was that I went
back to where I grew up, more or less, not that I visited any relatives.  
I spent the time in a little fishing village on the coast in Maine that 
was far enough from my real home I didn't figure I'd meet anyone I knew 
from my old life.  

     I love the coast.  In Maine it's rough and sort of . . . primal 
somehow, with the waves crashing on the unyielding rocks.  The sea 
couldn't care less about my sexual desires.  It exists as it is and always 
has been, take it or leave it.  And in return, it accepts everyone as they 
are.  Implacable yet patient.  I used to spend hours just walking along 
the shore, sitting on the rocks where I could see for miles, or hiding in 
a little cove where there was only the sea and me.

     I was in one of those little coves one day, actually a sort of double
cove with a huge boulder dividing a single little inlet into two separate
spaces.  The sea was nearly calm, more caressing the beach than crashing 
it, and aside from the gulls it was fairly quiet.  

     Then I heard a clatter of falling rocks, an "Oh, shit!", and a 
muffled thump.  It came from the other part of the little inlet, blocked
by the boulder from where I sat.  I didn't hear anything else after the 
rocks stopped clattering but, well, what would you think if you heard a
curse then a thump?  Anyway, I climbed my side of the big rock to look 
into the other half of the cove.  

     There was a body lying at the foot of the mini-cliff on that side, a 
man dressed much as I was in a bulky sweater and jeans.  The rock wall 
where he had fallen wasn't really all that high, maybe ten or twelve feet, 
but it was pretty steep which was why I had chosen to climb down where I 
had been sitting.  Whoever had slipped must have figured he could manage
the steeper portion.  

     I clambered over the boulder and down to where the guy was sprawled, 
checking even as I walked up for really awkward limb positions or other 
bad news.  About the time I got fairly close - maybe he heard my feet 
on the gravelly beach or something - he stirred and moaned.  

     I knelt over him and said, "Take it easy.  How bad are you hurt?"

     His eyes flickered open, deep rich brown eyes that matched his hair
and beard almost perfectly, and he said, "Oh, good.  You're not blonde."

     "Excuse me?"

     "You're not blonde," he repeated.  Then he smiled, making little 
lights dance in his dark eyes, and said, "I was always afraid that the
angels would all be blonde.  Assuming I made it to heaven - not likely,
I'll grant you - I didn't want to have to become another boring blonde.
So a dark-haired angel is very satisfactory, thank you very much."

     I knew I should have said something about that silly flattery, but
before I could think of any good words I just had to laugh.  Maybe it was 
the relief or something, but I laughed so hard I lost my own balance and 
ended up sitting gracelessly on the gravel.

     He propped himself on one elbow so that he could look at me right
side up, wincing a bit as he moved.  But after a few tentative range-of-
motion experiments, he sat up beside me.  Sticking out his hand he said, 
"Jason Taylor."

     "Jaymi Fox," I replied, shaking his hand.  

     "Hmm, an angel who's truly a fox?  Maybe I hit my head harder than I 
thought.  You won't vanish when my headache goes away, will you?"  

     "Hardly," I chuckled.  "Unless you're trying to say that I'm the 
source of your headache."  

     "Uh, no," he said simply.  I was pleased that he didn't try to make 
some sort of artificial apology for what had really been an unfair twist 
to his words on my part.  

     "Truly, are you okay?" I asked, concerned again now that I had 
absorbed the idea that I, of all people, should be an angel.  

     "Nope," he replied.  "I have a very serious injury."  

     "What's wrong?"

     "My pride is desperately bruised," he declared.  "Only the pleasant 
companionship of an angel - dark-haired by preference - can possibly 
assuage my distress."  

     "If I find an angel - dark-haired or otherwise - I'll be sure and 
send her your way," I promised.  

     He surprised and impressed me again by not protesting that I had
misunderstood what he had been saying.  Instead, he nodded and said, "You
do that.  In the meantime, how about trying some local remedies with me? 
Something appropriately therapeutic can no doubt be found in town."

     I ran my hands through my wind-blown hair and tugged at my damp 
sweater.  "Oh, God, I couldn't go into town, at least not more than to 
sneak into my room.  I look like something three days dead that washed
up on the beach . . ." 

     Whatever else I might have planned to say was smothered within his
beard.  He kissed me thoroughly, passionately, and deliberately.  I'm not
sure how long it was, because I sort of lost track of things like 
breathing that I could have used to measure.  All I can tell you is that 
it wasn't long enough.  

     When he let me up for air, he said, "My foxy lady, I'll let you 
misunderstand or misinterpret anything of what I say that you want.  But
when it comes to actual lying, why, I just feel that honor compels me to
break you of that habit."  

     "Lying?" I said, still dazed from his kiss.  Honest, that's what it 
was.  

     "You are the most beautiful woman I have seen since my eyes opened as 
a pup," he claimed.  

     "Ooh, that's way over the top," I replied, but I could hear my own 
voice go sultry and low and I knew in my heart I loved it.  So sue me.

     He was leaning to kiss me again, and I hope to tell you I was ready
to meet him more than half way, when we heard a horn followed by some
catcalls that put the gulls to shame.  A fishing boat cruising the coast 
had passed our little cove and the crew was offering all sorts of 
suggestions.  Thankfully, their voices were distorted enough that all I 
could make out was the tone.  That was bad enough.  

     I stood up more by reflex than conscious plan.  Jason scrambled to 
his feet as well, moving with controlled power that proved without a 
doubt he hadn't really been injured.  When he stood up, I could see that
he was much taller than I had thought.  It made him look suddenly thin 
instead of, oh, merely trim.  It looked good on him, though.  All of the
sudden I had this image of a ship's mast; tall and flexible, yet strong
enough to stand up to a storm.  

     "So much for the idea of a private bit of beach," he grumped.

     "I really have to go," I claimed, brushing gravel from my fanny.

     "Good, then we can go find that, ah, therapeutic elixir," Jason 
said, brushing at himself.  He turned to look at the rocks he had 
fallen from and grimaced.  "Maybe we shouldn't have let that boat 
get away."

     "It's not as steep on the other side," I said, pointing at the 
boulder I had climbed to reach him.  

     "Lead on, Angel."  

     That got him another smile, as I'm sure he knew it would.  But I was
already half way up the rock when I realized that he had tricked me into 
agreeing to go get a drink with him.  Or at least into not telling him 
no again.  He kept surprising me though, by not taking advantage of the
climb to, well, take advantage or anything.  There were times when a 
hand steadying my fanny as I climbed wouldn't automatically have been 
inappropriate, but while I could tell he was ready to catch me if I 
slipped, he never touched me until we were up on the trail above the 
cliffs.  
    
     What really stuck in my mind was that I was disappointed.  

     When we got to the top, he said, "Well, I think the first round is
on me."  

     Then he introduced a problem by turning north.

     "My hotel is this way," I said, pointing south.  

     "Okay," he said easily, turning my way.

     "Look, Jason, I really do need to get cleaned up," I said.  "If you 
want, maybe we could meet later."  

     "Deal," he said quickly.  Deliciously so.  "I'll pick you up about,
oh, 7:00 and we'll get a bite to eat with our 'medicinal' liquids."

     I nodded, and after he found out where I was staying is when he 
touched me again.  Only this time it was just to shake my hand.  I had to 
keep my eyes down so that he couldn't see how disappointed I was, and it 
wasn't until later that I realized that meant I couldn't see if he was 
disappointed as well. 

     As soon as he was out of sight, I practically ran back to my room to
get ready.  That part of Maine is sort of funny about styles.  If you're 
working - and their work ethic is so strong that if you're not, why not? - 
then jeans and a sweater are almost an issued uniform.  But if you have 
an excuse *not* to be working, then women are expected to be feminine.  
Very feminine.  I had lost several propriety points with the locals for 
having only collar length hair and wasn't about to lose any more by 
looking like a street urchin on a dinner date.  

     Of course, like everything in my life seemed lately, there were 
complications.  I hadn't really planned on much in the way of social
occasions on the trip.  I only had a couple of nice outfits, and one 
of those was just a skirt that I could wear with a sweater.  That didn't
seem . . . sufficient for a real night 'on the town,' even such as that
little village had to offer.  So that left me with my one real dress.  
At least it wasn't as short as the ones Carol wears.  Like that limit 
meant anything as far as propriety was concerned.  Nor was it as . . . 
well, let's just say that it was flattering but not quite indecent even 
by the standards of New England.  Dark red, like most of my nice clothes - 
at least the Army-issue ones - the only thing that was guaranteed to raise 
a few eyebrows was that it was a quite snug-fitting knit that would show 
off my equally Army-issue curves.

     Seven o'clock came way too soon, but I did have the advantage of a 
woman's right to keep her date waiting.  I didn't abuse it though.  About
five minutes after he called the room, I was stepping off the elevator.  
I knew you would all understand, but I was glad right then that none of 
the rest of the team were there.  I'm not really in your class - don't 
shake your head - and Carol has this sort of 'presence' that just grabs 
attention and won't let it go.  When I'm with you all, I feel like I fit 
in well enough but that's really the problem, in a way.  I don't 'stand
out.'  Quit smirking and adjusting your straps so smugly.  You know what 
I mean.  

     Well, stepping off that elevator, I definitely got noticed.  It was
like someone had set off a hush-a-bomb in the room, with silence rolling 
out from where I stood.  That little hotel had a sort of combination lobby 
and lounge that was really the only gathering point in town so there was a 
good sized crowd.  It didn't take long for them all to get very quiet, 
though.  

     Then Jason stepped forward. "Damn, there goes my fantasy."

     "What?"  Really elegant, that's me.  At least I didn't say, 'huh?'

     "Nope, fantasy number one is right down the tubes," he repeated.  "I 
just can't see you, in that outfit, as an angel.  WAY too dangerous for
an angel.  You're going to be causing accidents all night."  

     "I, uh, it's all I had to . . ."

     "Don't you dare apologize," he ordered.  "I think being with an 
imp is going to be a LOT more fun."

     "Oh," I said, feeling a blush mount my cheeks.  Then I decided I'd 
give as good as I got.  If I could.  Anyway, I arched a brow, put a little 
promise in my smile, and said, "You never know."

     That man could do the most amazing things to my emotions.  One 
moment we're getting, um, close, and the next he's back to formal.  
Instead of following up on that opening, he just smiled and offered me
his arm like we were about to meet the king or something and escorted 
me to his car, um, to his truck.  SUV's were popular up there before
they were even called SUV's.  He had a fairly new Ford Expedition that
looked well cared for.  There was only one problem.  It was about two 
feet higher than I could comfortably climb into while wearing that 
dress.  

     Jason to the rescue.  I think he was waiting for just that moment 
because he gathered me up in his arms - did I mention he was really 
tall? - and lifted me toward the seat.  That got his arms around me and 
mine went around his neck almost by reflex.  After that, it as sort of 
like, 'Bam!' and things happened, um, automatically. 

     Some time later I realized we were getting some, um, encouragement 
from the bystanders.  I didn't really care, but Jason pulled his head back
and smiled.  "Later," he whispered and I purred a contented little hum to
accept his offer.  

     Then, when he was walking around to his own side of the car, I 
realized I *couldn't* really accept his offer.  I mean, I could, ah, 
do some things later, just not the things he was expecting.  At least,
not all of them.  Which meant I couldn't really do ANY of them.  I could
kiss him all night long (and would LOVE to) but . . . but when he said, 
'Later', I didn't think he had more kissing in mind.  At least, not only
more kissing.  And I didn't want to, um, get started under false pretenses
as it were.  Okay, so I had already let things get started, but I couldn't
let them, uh, proceed to their logical conclusion based on a lie.  

     This was the first time I had ever faced that problem.  Isn't that a 
hoot?  All of my previous experiences had been with people who knew James 
Fox, not Jaymi.  If I ended up sharing something with someone special, it 
was always based on the truth about who, or what, I was.  This was the 
first time I had ever hidden that.  Even though I really felt like Jaymi, 
not James, my plumbing told a different story.  

     Jason hopped up into the car on his side, but before he even got the 
door closed he picked up on my distress.  "What's wrong?"  

     Oh, God, another problem.  What should I tell him?  I had promised 
myself the very first day I dressed as Jaymi that I would NEVER use the 
trite excuse of 'my time of the month' to put a guy off.  Compounding one
lie with another just didn't seem right.  That applied to all the other 
convenient lies.  I didn't have an STD.  I wasn't a virgin saving myself
for marriage.  I just wasn't . . . a real girl.

     "Jaymi?" he asked, still looking for an answer to his question.

     "Oh, um, nothing," I said, ending up in a lie anyway.  It didn't 
really count since he could tell I wasn't telling the truth.  But he 
scored another point when he let me have my lie and just nodded.  

     "Italian okay?" he asked as we started.

     "In this town?" I asked, surprised.  

     "Sure.  Despite what you tourists from the South think, we're 
gettin' real civilized up here in the frozen North."  

     "I'll have you know I grew up not fifty miles from here."  

     "Then why didn't you think we had Italian restaurants?" he 
challenged with a smile.  

     Geez, he just kept scoring points.  He didn't ask where I had grown 
up.  His smile said it would be okay to tell him, that he was interested, 
but he wouldn't pry.  That was just . . . wonderful.  Of course, it made 
me feel even worse.

     "Ah, well, it's been a while since I've been back," I excused myself.

     "Good, then you can be pleasantly surprised," he said.  

     I was, and not only by the cuisine.  I shouldn't have been.  I mean,
by that time I knew that Jason was really special.  But he kept surprising 
me not only by the way he could ask - and not ask - the right things.  It 
turned out he was, well, interesting, too.  He liked the same authors I 
liked (the ones that are available in the bookstores, anyway).  He found
the Oscars unbearably pretentious - score BIG points for that - so he 
didn't go to many movies, pardon me, *films*.  We just talked and talked, 
and everything we talked about was fascinating fun.

     It was what we didn't talk about that kept bothering me.  

     Like all good things (and even the unpleasant ones), the meal finally 
came to an end.  "Goodness, what time is it?" I asked suddenly, realizing
that regardless of the number on the dial it was already late.  

     He didn't answer, at least not with words.  The look in his eyes - 
dear God, for the first time since I had met him there was sadness in 
there and I don't think I ever wanted him more - the look in his eyes 
showed a need that wasn't only physical, wasn't even mostly physical.  I 
remembered that when we had met, he was trying to find a place of privacy, 
too.        

     I could feel my own eyes burning as they filled with tears I didn't 
dare shed.  Not that it helped.  He noticed anyway.  This time he asked
the question in a way that said he wouldn't accept silence or evasion.  
"What's wrong, Jaymi?"  

     "Not here," I said.  He nodded and accepted that, but it was not a 
pardon, only a reprieve.  

     "I need to, um . . ." I said, or started to say.

     He smiled and kept me from having to mention the unmentionable, 
after all this was New England, and pointed at the right part of the
restaurant.  "You go ahead.  I'll get the check."

     "Oh, no, I'll pay my share," I said.

     "Over my dead body," he replied.  "Angel or imp, no pretty girl pays
the check when she's already given me the favor of her company for, ah,
for even as short a while as this."

     What could I say to that?  Did I tell him, right then and there that 
he hadn't been granted 'the favor' of a girl's company at all?  That's 
another thing that had never happened before, the financial thing.  When 
people knew I was James, they might offer to split the check, but they 
never just assumed it was their responsibility.  Yet, this was a 
significant expense, more than a simple drink, and obtained under very 
false pretenses.  

     In the end, I just ran away like a coward.  Well, walked really, but
he paid the check while I took the obligatory trip to the ladies room.  
That was so much of a habit that I didn't even think about how it was 
another element of the problem, at least not until I was putting my 
lipstick away and walking *out* of the room to meet him on the other
side of the door that said, 'Ladies'.  

     "Where would you like to go?" he asked gently.  Yet it was a demand 
as well and I nodded in recognition of that.  

     "Tongues would wag is we went back to my room," I said.  

     "Don't tease me," Jason chuckled, then frowned.  "Sorry."  

     I tried to smile, but I could tell it didn't come out very well.  

     This time when he lifted me back into his truck, that's all he did. 
I could feel the tears fill my eyes again but I managed not to lose 
control until he had the car started and we drove off.  He didn't ask 
any more questions, but it was clear he had a plan.  

     It would have been funny if it weren't so serious.  We drove to 
a scenic spot overlooking the ocean.  Lover's lane, in other words.  We
weren't even the only car there, though I'd have been surprised if anyone
else was over twenty.  

     "Okay, Jaymi," Jason said.  "We're private enough to talk, but not
so private that, well, that there's anything to worry about.  You can flat
out tell me to mind my own business and I'll take you home.  But you 
haven't done that.  I'm betting that means you have something you'd like
to talk about, but don't feel you can.  All I can offer is my promise that
no matter what you tell me, I'll still respect you in the morning."  

     He said the last with a smile, one that touched his lips but not his
eyes.  We both knew it was for effect, saying more about our fears than 
reaching for our sense of humor.  My own answering smile was a lot like 
that, too.  

     All of the sudden it was just too much for me; the lies, the desires 
that I had lied even to myself about for so long, the obscene rules in a 
society that says love is bad in so many ways, and good only in so few.  I 
decided, between one heartbeat and the next, that I was not going to lie 
to Jason any longer.  I trusted him enough not to attack me for the lies I
had told so far even as I thought that to myself I knew it was still a 
risk.  I had lied to him, humiliated him publicly if my real nature got 
out, but my heart trusted him.  Was that overpowering a more accurate 
message from my mind?  Still, I didn't really think he'd get violent, and 
even if he tried something, the unarmed combat skills I had learned from 
El Supremo should keep me out of real trouble - at least of the physical 
sort.  And I figured I could walk back to my hotel even in my not-made-for-
walking shoes if he kicked me out for . . . for being who I really was.  

     Even before I said a word he could tell that I had made a decision.  
He smiled in a way that showed he expected to surprise me again.  That  
was, well, that was another point he scored; that he knew he had been 
scoring points.  Does that make any sense?  It showed real sensitivity, 
coupled with the serenity not to need to prove it.  

     Taking a deep breath, I said, "I'm not . . . who you think I am."

     "You mean you really are an angel after all?" Jason asked lightly.  

     "No, not an angel," I said.  "I . . ."  

     I ran down.  My mind was made up.  I was going to tell him.  I just 
couldn't decide how to do it.  I mean, could you just blurt out, 'I'm not 
really a girl!'?   I'd rather just slap him and get out of the car.  He 
deserved better than that.  I just didn't know how to give it to him.  

     "Let me tell me," he said, confusing me for a minute while I 
figured out his sentence.  

     "I know after your kisses that you find me attractive.  You know I
find you attractive.  Pardon me if this is, um, insulting or something, 
it's not meant to be, but anyone who kisses as passionately as you is 
not a shy virgin waiting for some impossibly perfect Prince Charming, 
nor committed to someone whom you think of that way.  Yet, I also don't 
believe you're, ah, casual enough with your love that you've caught 
something unsafe.  You're too torn up about this for the standard excuse 
to be a problem right now or you'd just use it, and something like 
terminal cancer is too cliché to be true.  What does that leave?"  

     He answered his own question, at least in part.  "Whatever it is, 
you're worried more about what I will think of you after you tell me 
than you need to be.  I truly mean that.  You arouse my passions - 
claiming anything else would be silly.  But your soul is too gentle 
for hatred and I won't be the one to put any there.  Trust me."  

     I felt more than saw him put his arms around me, but I turned
to his embrace like a lost child.  "You just don't know," I whispered.

     "Then tell me," he said with exquisite gentleness.  

     "All my life I've been different," I said slowly, approaching the 
problem obliquely.  "In some ways, I've told myself I was, ah, 'more' than 
other people, that I was like others only with something extra.  But 
that's self-justifying and I've come to believe that I don't need to 
measure myself against others anyway."

     "Good," he whispered, not so much interrupting as affirming.  

     "No, it's not.  Not right now," I said.  "You see, you've assumed 
that you know what I'm like, because you've assumed you could place me 
in the spectrum of people you've already met.  But I've misled you.  
I'm not, um, I'm not really what I look like."

     "Don't 'assume' what I've assumed," he said softly, then he tried 
once again to lighten the mood.  "I never really figured you for an angel.
Honest."  

     "That's not it and you know it," I said, smiling through my tears at 
his determination to milk that joke in the face of my . . . concern.  It 
worked, though.  Not enough to make me anything like happy, but enough 
that I could continue.  

     "When I was growing up, I found myself attracted to lots of people,"
I said, then paused for a beat, tensing for his reaction.  "Boys and girls, 
both."  

     "Ah," he said, but his arms never even twitched.  He just kept 
holding me, comforting me.  The points for that sent him *way* past the 
finish line and I knew at that moment that he had won my heart.  I loved 
him.  With the rational part of my mind, I recognized that he was still 
thinking of me as a woman and that he thought I had just confessed to some
delightfully naughty girl-girl desires.  But the rational part of my mind
was buried beneath the emotional.  He had neither been shocked nor 
noticeably aroused by the thought of me in a same-sex relationship.  
He had just accepted it, and for that I loved him.  I knew, though, that 
I had not won *his* heart, not honestly.  And it was time to be honest.  
Now for the bomb that would close his heart to me in the very moment that 
mine became his.  

     "Boys like me," I whispered.  

     In a funny sort of way, I loved him even more for the fact his arms 
did indeed twitch then, and his body stiffened.  I don't know exactly why.  
Maybe it was because he recovered so quickly.  He never pushed me away or 
anything, just stiffened for a moment, then squeezed me again.  It made 
him more, I don't know, real or something.  Not that impossibly perfect 
Prince Charming he had said I didn't need.  

     "Is that all?" he asked.  His voice showed a lot of strain that made 
it clear the question was from his mind, not from his heart, but he was 
so wonderful even to manage that.  I tried to sit up, to give him an 
excuse to let go of me without making it his fault.  

     He wouldn't let me.  It wasn't that he was rough or anything, but the
gentle pressure of his arms didn't relax at all, pulling his own lean body 
just a bit toward mine when I tried to pull away.  "Tell me about it," he 
asked, and I knew he wasn't after prurient details.  He wanted to know how
I had come to look the way I did.    

     "I can't, really," I said, telling the truth for once.  "There are 
good reasons for that, honest.  But I, um, despite the way I look on the 
outside, I am still a, uh . . . "

     "Allow me to disagree," he said softly, caressing my hair.  "I've 
seen into your soul when we talked, and into your heart when we kissed.  
I don't doubt what you say about your . . . background, but to me you are 
still a beautiful, gentle woman.  That's enough for me.  At least, for 
now."

     Did I say that I loved him?  Well, I didn't even have a clue.

***************

     Jaymi's tale was interrupted by a tap on the glass of the centrifuge
that almost sent Sandy into orbit without a rocket.  A technician was 
motioning them to put their headsets back on, but that didn't stop Sandy's 
anguished wail.  

     "Not now!" she cried.  "Tell me, quick, what happened?"

     Jaymi smiled and said, "He took me back to my hotel."  

     Sandy's exasperated grimace was almost operatic.  "And . . . ?!"

     Jaymi blandly ignored the question as she busied herself pulling her 
headset into position.  

     For a moment it looked almost like Sandy was going to slap her 
shorter-haired sister.  But she must have decided on homicide by deadly 
glance because all she did was arrange her own headphones and mike while 
glaring daggers at her best friend.  Once she had her equipment in place, 
Sandy snapped, "Beech to Test.  Are you ready yet?"

     Jennings' voice was carefully formal as he replied, accepting the 
rebuke in Sandy's tone but countering with an implicit demand for 
professionalism.  "Test to Beech, sorry for the delay.  We're ready to 
begin the exercise."  

     "Fine," Sandy snapped, but as she pulled her head back against her
headrest, she relaxed and smiled at Jaymi, blowing her a kiss.  Mouthing 
an, "I'll get you later" threat, she reached for her first control task.