The Other Side of Anne (11 page)

The time machine was named Aries, and it fit snugly in Avery’s palm. He had stopped by Pegasus at Benjamin’s request, and Benjamin had handed him an envelope of three thousand dollars. “For Anne,” Benjamin explained. “For her upkeep especially since she has a place of her own now.”

Avery did not want to accept the money. But taken it he had. It was fair compen
sation. While he was not broke, caring for another person was expensive. Avery had refused all of his father’s money over the years, and Charles had left Avery no money—not that Avery would take it. In the big picture, three thousand dollars was cockroach-sized.

“Fine,” he said—then asked to see where the broken time machines were.

Aries featured a big, simple red button, and Benjamin affectionately stroked the machine. “This guy here didn’t pull the heavy-duty work,” Benjamin explained. “A computer program did, and the red button was for a user to push to return to the departure time—modern times, in other words.”

“Hmm.”

“We coded everything here.” Benjamin patted a computer monitor. “Latitude, longitude, altitude, date. It was a lot easier if you could be standing where you wanted to appear. For instance, if I wanted to be in this exact spot ten years ago, I’d do anything possible to actually be standing in this exact spot. If I could not, however, not a big deal. Computer’s accurate.”

“What if something’s blocking the spot you want to be?” Avery
wondered.

“Not a problem. The traveler is automatically diver
ted to the nearest open space.”

“How can a doll push a red b
utton?” Avery asked, remembering the story Benjamin told him about his parents sending a toy back in time.

Benjamin smirked. “You are skeptical. There are ways to rig a doll.”

Avery steeled his jaw. Enough of snide insults and secrets. “That was forty years ago. Surely the time machine was much bigger. It wouldn’t have fit in your palm.”

“The
computer
filled half a building. The button has always been a button, however. Do you want to see the research?”

Avery didn’t understand any of this
and wasn’t sure he wanted to. If he understood, he might accept. And become more curious. “No thanks,” he said.

**

Anne ordered a grande mocha frappuccino, nonfat milk, no whipped cream, please add chocolate drizzle. She paid for her treat and sat by the window. She had arrived about an hour early for her meeting with Avery. Why not? She had nothing better to do and could read here if she tuned out the music enough to concentrate. Having a Starbucks so close by might be dangerous for her wallet.

Wallet.

Talk about independence. Pegasus was probably bankrolling Anne’s apartment; she lacked the heart to ask.
Let the art show be a success. Please.
She could sell a few paintings and be well on the way to making a success of herself. If she failed, she would somehow figure out a way to be useful. She’d make money. She had her false papers and fake driver’s license, so nothing was stopping her.

Anne’s gaze strayed to Nate across the street. He sat on a park bench and read a newspaper.
Go away, Nate.
Anne shifted her attention to the barista who made her frappuccino. The woman looked like Avery, especially if you discounted the barista’s perfectly symmetrical nose and subtracted, say, ten or fifteen years. Maybe Avery was the barista’s many-times indirect ancestor.

An idea sparked inside Anne, and she
returned to the front counter. “Excuse me,” she said to the barista. “Do you know if this place is hiring?”

She grinned. “You interested?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No, no,” she said with another grin. “Rosemary, okay? I’m Rosemary Wells. I’m the shift supervisor, and you’re in luck. We’re hiring for
several positions. Let’s talk.”

**

Anne took an immediate liking to Rosemary, particularly when Rosemary did not get a
look
on her face when Anne admitted to a lack of job experience. “I was married,” Anne explained. “My husband did not wish me to work. We have divorced, and I am hoping to find employment. I work hard. Very hard. I will do the best job I can.” Anne meant every word. Starbucks employees likely had to scrub toilets, clean dishes and deal with uncouth customers. Anne thought she could do all that and more. She was Anne George, commoner, and she would adapt. She would find happiness. Eventually.

“When can you start?”

“Anytime.”

“Great
!” Rosemary said. “Can you work on your feet for a long period of time?”

“Yes.”
I hope so.
She should be fine; she had danced for hours at royal events, but these had been a while ago. And fun for what it was. Starbucks work...perhaps not fun.

Rosemary asked several more questions pertaining to Starbucks and concluded with: “Where do you see yourself in three years?”

Anne’s thoughts floundered, and she pictured her head parted from her neck. “I hope to be in the position you are. Shift supervisor. I hope to be helping make Starbucks as excellent as it can be.”

Rosemary laughed. “Okay, but seriously? You can tell me. I’m curious. I’m not a tight-ass boss.”

“Three years from now, I hope to still be alive.”

Rosemary
’s eyes widened, and she gave a little cough. “Are you, like, dying? You have a disease?”

“N
o.” Anne’s heart stung. She had been stupid to share that information. She had blown the interview. “Blew” was another American saying she liked. “I just....never mind.”

“Are you afraid
your ex-husband’s gonna hurt or kill you?”

This was something Anne had wondered about. She could easily imagine Pegasus, once the time machines were up again, bringing Henry to the present. Anne would prefer to kill herself, literally kill herself, than have Henry controlling her life again. “Perhaps,” Anne said. “A little afraid.”

“He live around here?”

“No. He lives in England.”
And in 1536.

“England, wow. Cool. So that explains your accent.
I think?”

“I grew up in Europe.”

“I can’t wait to hear about it. So you don’t think your ex would make a scene here? Scenes aren’t cool.”

“I am highly doubtful.”

“Ya have kids?”

Anne swallowed. “One. A girl. She lives in England also.”

“It wasn’t your choice,” Rosemary intuited.

“You are correct.”

“The job’s yours if you want it. You can start next week. Wednesday?”

“Really?”

“Yep, really.” Rosemary held out her hand. “Welcome aboard, Anne.” She slid over a job application. “Fill this out and give it to me when you’re done. It’s a formality.”

“Thank you, Rosemary.”
Giddiness filled Anne’s insides, and she wanted to hug the woman.
I think I have made a friend, all on my own. Anne George has a friend.

**

“I’m happy for you,” Avery said after Anne told him the news about her job.
Smile, boy. Smile, damn it.
Anne’s eyes shone, and her grin only grew wider. She had a job. A job! “You deserve it,” Avery added despite the consternation gnawing at him. He had been pining for Anne, but she obviously had not for him.

“How were your classes?”
Anne asked.

“Fine, fine.” Avery fiddled with the lid of h
is cup. He had ordered hot chocolate.

“Is your drink good?”

“It’s great,” Avery said. He rubbed one of his shoulders and tried to relax. “You’re welcome anytime. Welcome back, I mean. Anytime. At the house. To visit or move back in.”

“
You are very generous, Sir Franklin.”

Avery’s shoulder tensed back up.
Call me Avery!
He looked out the windows. A city bus passed, belching smoke. Cars passed black snow packed against the roads. Damn the electric chemistry between him and Anne.

“What are you doing tonight?” A
very asked.

“
I am not sure yet. What about you?”

“
Not sure either. Well, I do have a lot of projects to grade and work to catch up on.”

“In that case, I will keep you no longer. You should leave soon to avoid heavy traffic.”

Avery rubbed h
is forehead.
Shit. Dipshit.
He wanted to reach across the table and kiss Anne, long and hard. “Okay,” he ended up saying. “Okay. Good idea. See you later.”

**

For the art show, Anne was shoved into a dark corner way in the back. Avery’s friend, Greg Hernandez, said he wished he could give Anne a more-prominent space. He vowed to for the next showing, but in order to squeeze her in for this one, he needed to relegate her to the back.

The show had started two hours ago, and people, in trickles, stopped by to look at Anne’s paintings. She had ten in the show. One was the painting of Mary clawing out of her grave.  The other nine pictures
featured ghoulish elements as well.

“You’re a hit,” Avery said, a gleam of pride in his eyes.

Anne’s heart fluttered at his admiration of her, and she wished she shared his confidence. “I am not.”

“Why do you say that?”

“People come. They scan the paintings. They go ‘Oooh, cool’ and then leave.”

“Exactly. They think your work is cool. This is your first show, so how awesome is that?”

“I suppose.” Anne missed the days when she was a full-blown queen, when a scowl from her sent people quailing, and when a—
no.
She did not miss these days. These were awful, bloody days. Days controlled by her husband and her father.

Anne let herself look at Avery—a second or two longer than necessary. He’d gotten a haircut yesterday, and she missed his longer hair. It had made him appear approachable. More rumpled, more tousled. He looked more military-like now—but still sexy. Oh yes, still sexy.
Despite her efforts not to, Anne kept fantasizing about Avery Franklin. His mouth on her nipple. His mouth between her legs. His manhood hungry for her. Her body hungry for him. Even now, as her art debut promised to be a failure, she tingled for him.

“I invited my new boss,” Anne said. “I wonder if she will appear.”

“You nervous about your first day?” Avery asked.

“Yes. I am excited, also.”

“This is good wine. Try it. Maybe it’ll take your edge off.” Avery extended his glass, and Anne clasped her hand over his to drink.

“Very good, yes.” The
wine was manly and flavorful, like the touch of Avery, and Anne did not want to release his hand. She liked being with him again. The two of them together. Perhaps Anne had been an idiot to flee, to move out. Why had she scurried like a rat? If she was going to be happy one day, she would have to open her heart to someone. Living alone was unbearably lonely at times.

Anne drank two more glassfuls of wine to give her courage. She was determined for the night to be special, to mean something
, and it would not come from her paintings. She would need to find triumph from another direction. For a moment, Anne felt like her husband, like an animal guided by lust. By genitals. An animal in unbearable distress, an animal incapable of controlling its urges. She was so horny, so desirous to be with Avery that the sensation veered on painful.

Anne cleared her throat. “Avery,” she said.

“Yeah? Hey. Wait a minute.” A grin overtook Avery. “Where did Sir Franklin go?”

Anne drank in his pleasure. Oh, the power of simple words. “Will you take me home
to my apartment, Avery? Now?”

**

Anne unlocked her apartment door and hoped she was doing the right thing.
You will be fine,
she reassured herself. After she and Avery were inside, she reached up and kissed the side of Avery’s neck. Once. Twice. Enough for Anne to get more quivery and wet. But she kept her senses about her.

Avery drew back, concern filling his gaze. “Anne, are you sure?”

“Let us be as quick as possible.”

Avery’s eyes froze.
“Quick? But…”

Trembling excitement shook Anne. Before her stood a man who
had loved his wife. A man who sought love. True love. Not meaningless sex. She had rarely known such men, and it made her want even more to mount him and have her way with Avery.

She pinched
one of Avery’s nipples lightly, through his shirt.

“Shit,” Avery said with a groan. “That
hurt.”

“It was also pleasurable, was it not?”