Page 39 of Frankly, My Dear

With relish, he lifted his shoulders in a hopeless gesture. “Some men get aroused by warthogs, I guess.”

“Yeah, right. You just can’t admit that I’m beautiful, can you?”

He slanted her a disbelieving look. “Selene, you are not beautiful. I don’t mean to be cruel in telling you so, but surely you are opening yourself for hurt if you expect to snare a man with your unremarkable appearance.” His eyes shifted lower, to her full breasts outlined by the close fit of her gown. Although…

“What makes you think I’m out to snare a man?”

“All women are.”

“Not this one.”

“Hah!”

The arrogance of the man! Gritting her teeth and counting to ten for self-control, Selene thought about bopping him one over the head. She wasn’t sure if James was serious or not in his assessments of women, and her in particular, but she couldn’t let him continue to put her down.

“Listen carefully, James. Maybe you’ll learn something. I’ve been living on my own since I was sixteen. I earn more than most men I know. I own a $500,000 apartment in New York, and I have $200,000 in the bank. Why would I need a man?”

His mouth dropped open at her angry retort.

“Why do you tell so many falsehoods, chérie? First, your tales of the future. Now, your claims of a great fortune. Truly, lying ill becomes you.”

“It’s the truth, and I can prove it.”

He lifted one brow scoffingly.

“I found a magazine yesterday at the bottom of my makeup case. A 1996 magazine with me on the cover.”

To humor her, James sent Rufus, one of his new slaves, back to the flatboat to get her “magic” case. Selene had to admit that he treated his slaves very well. From the time of the auction back in New Orleans, she’d witnessed James’s personal attention to the men who would be working for him. He made sure they were well fed and clothed. He spoke to them with consideration, asking about their needs and talents. He even told them that if they worked hard for him for a period of five years, without trouble, he would change their bonds of slavery to a limited indenture.

Her introspection was broken suddenly when James asked, “Why are you so preoccupied with your appearance? Do you really think beauty is so important?”

“Me?” Selene jerked her head back as if he had slapped her. “That’s not true. At least, I hope I’m not that superficial. Don’t get me wrong, beauty is very important in my society, but I think that’s wrong. And I want to do something to correct it.”

“Really? How? By wearing false eyelashes and face paint? By darkening your skin and sticking colored glass in your eyes?”

She closed her eyes wearily against his criticism, which was not entirely unwarranted. Then she looked at him directly. “You’re right. I do place too much value on beauty, but I’m working on it. You have to understand that, from the time I was a child, my mother indoctrinated me with the idea that a woman’s only asset is her appearance. And everyone I work with has pretty much the same attitude. I want to change, though. And the shoot in New Orleans was to be my last modeling assignment. I am…was going back to school—”

“School! School! At your age?” He regarded her skeptically.

“I’m not that old.” Selene thought she might bop him one, after all.

Rufus returned before Selene had a chance to follow through on her violent inclinations. She rooted around in her box and pulled out a copy of We magazine. “See,” she said, pointing with a flourish to the front cover, which proclaimed, “The Most Beautiful Face in the World.”

A woman with dark brown, luxuriant hair and pouty red lips was staring out dreamily from the front page. A gorgeous woman, surely even James would admit that. And the date on the cover read January 5, 1996.

He looked at her, back to the cover, then back to her again. “You must have forged the date.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps you work for Victor. Perhaps he wants you to spy for him…worm your way into my affections—”

“Is that possible?” she scoffed. “That I, a homely twit like me, could break through that chunk of ice you call a heart?”

“Your sarcasm is uncomely, Selene,” he remarked, slanting her a deprecating look. “And no, a homely twit like you could not melt my icy heart,” he returned with equal cynicism.

Before she could answer, he began flipping idly through the pages of the magazine. He rubbed the glossy paper between two fingers, fascinated with the texture. The colored photos and the quality of the printing repeatedly drew soft exclamations from him of “Unbelievable!”

Then he halted at some page that caught his interest. “Bon Dieu! I can’t believe what I’m reading.” He read several more lines before looking up at her through sinfully long lashes and grinned. “Do you know this Dr. Ruth person?”