Here are some samples of my writing. These excerpts are taken from an unfinished and unpublished novel. Comments and critiques are welcome. All samples copyright © Kenneth J. M. MacLean. All Rights Reserved.

Sample #1:

When Marcus was fourteen, his father began to show him the intricacies of the stock market.

It did not seem odd to Marcus that his father would do so. Marcus’ mind was wide ranging, and although he was one of the best baseball players in Midland East Junior High, his interests went well beyond those of a normal teenage boy. Marcus did not feel unusual in his own skin, but his parents and teachers could see that the fourteen year old had a remarkably mature understanding for one so young. And his physical development ran alongside his mental development. He was already two inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and large hands and feet. His face had already begun to lose the boyish quality and become the face of a man. Tam and Louise often remarked that their son had, like the weather in the northern Minnesota town of their birth, skipped spring and gone right into summer.

Tam Riley was a securities analyst for the main branch in Midland of RealBank, a Chicago based regional bank. Tam’s job was to advise the bank on its own investments, and his specialty was computer analysis. He would analyze financial data, spot trends, and develop forecasts, making recommendations to buy or sell a particular investment or security. More often than not he was correct and even though he made only a modest salary, he stayed in his position because he wanted the experience. It was Tam’s intention to leave the bank within the next five years and start his own company.

Marcus loved computers and mathematics, and was a quick learner. After a several months of instruction, he  gained an intuitive feel for market trends. It got so that he could choose the stocks that would rise, and his father saw that Marcus’ predictions often coincided with those of his software program. As a game, and to keep his son interested, Tam had Marcus write down his predictions and after  six months, performed a comparative analysis. To his astonishment, Marcus was right more than the computer. Tam found that Marcus’ predictions were most accurate on a day–to–day basis. He had the peculiar ability to predict upticks and downticks in a stock’s value.

“How do  you make your determination, son?” Tam asked one day.

“I’m not sure, Dad,” Marcus replied. “I need to see the monthly, weekly and daily moving averages, and I can just see patterns. There’s a sort of web of light in my head, like a spider’s web or something.  Each little strand represents one stock, and the whole thing seems to be alive, almost. From the web I can usually tell whether the stock will go up or down the next day.” Tam’s eyebrows rose a little, but he was not worried. His son was clearly extraordinary, but displayed no unnatural eccentricities of character.

Tam noticed that Marcus’ accuracy decreased the further out timewise, but that was only natural. The market, he had read, was a dynamical system that exhibited the properties of chaos; and, like the weather, it became harder and harder to predict on a weekly or monthly basis.

Tam realized that Marcus’ predictions crossed markets. He was just as accurate with tech stocks as blue chips, for example.

“You know son, you might do well as a day trader,” Tam remarked one day. That suggestion caught fire within Marcus’ mind, and after school and homework he pretended to trade the market, keeping a record of his transactions. At the end of  three quarters, or 9 months, starting with $1,000, he showed a paper profit of $2,826.

Tam was amazed. Father and son sat down together in front of the computer one night in Tam’s study, just after Marcus’ 15th birthday, studying Marcus’ files. “Look son,” he said, “you lost almost everything when the market dipped 500 points last July.”

Tam remembered that the sudden downturn had been caused by a series of technology failures in the computer industry, which had sent shockwaves throughout the investment community. “You should only trade your system when the market is quiet,” Tam advised his son.

Marcus smiled. He was as tall as his father now, and even more broad shouldered. As he held his father at gaze, however, a sudden feeling of dread overcame him. The web of light in his head, which heretofore had represented the ups and downs of market movement, suddenly transformed itself into the world lines of his parents. Marcus saw clearly that somewhere in the near future, both of these lines terminated abruptly.

“What’s the matter son?” Tam asked, hearing Marcus’ sudden intake of breath, and observing that his face had gone pale.

“Uh, nothing dad.”

The eyes of father and son met and held for just an instant. But in that instant was an eternity of comprehension. Tam felt the strands of his life assemble, and in that timeless moment, part of himself passed over into the consciousness of his son. Marcus knew that on a subconscious level his father had also felt the premonition of his own death.

Tam let out a sigh, and a smile came over his face, a peaceful, serene smile, as when a dying soldier communicates important information that may change the course of the battle in his favor. Marcus sensed a terrible sadness within himself, coupled with an overwhelming feeling of love for his father. His eyes watered and he threw himself into his father’s arms, saying, “Don’t go, dad!”

Tam laughed. “Of course not!” he said cheerfully. “I’m not going anywhere!”

But deep within him Marcus knew that was not true.

Sample #2:

One summer day, three weeks after she arrived in Midland, Darcy saw a very tall figure walking down the street across from her apartment building. He moved easily and gracefully, and she stopped her car by the curb to take a look. To her surprise, it was a boy. Or was it? She got out of the car, leaving the engine idling, and walked up to him, stopping on the sidewalk about 20 feet along the path of his direction. His head was down and he was lost in thought. She stood there, amused, wondering whether he’d run her down. He was only two feet away when he became aware of her presence and, effortlessly, completely stopped his movement, and looked into her eyes. It was a remarkable demonstration of physical control, and reminded her of a baseball player who, uncoiling his body and propelling it suddenly and powerfully forward with bat in hand, was yet able to check his swing on a 90 mile fastball. Not as fluid as the golden eyed guys, she thought, but still pretty impressive.

Marcus Riley gazed calmly down at the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. About a foot shorter than his 6 1/2 feet, she had large brown eyes, full lips, and a head of blond hair attractively arranged in windblown curls. Marcus noticed a pair of small, exquisite sapphire earrings. She wore a silk blouse with short sleeves, designer shorts, and a pair of expensive shoes with low heels. To him she looked like a fashion model and she stood there, completely comfortable as if she owned the sidewalk, gazing up into his blue eyes with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“Uh, hi,” Marcus said.

“You want to go for a ride?”

“A ride?’ he said uncomprehendingly. His brain, which had been contemplating the vagaries of market movement, was completely unprepared for her, or her request.

“That’s my car over there,” Darcy said.

Marcus noticed her silver BMW idling at the curb. “Well, I was just about to go home and get something to eat…”

“Good!” she said, walking towards the car. “You can take me out to lunch.”

“I don’t have any money on me,” he said.

In the middle of the street she turned quickly around to face him. “OK, then I’ll take you out to lunch,” she said, exasperated, as if she couldn’t understand why Marcus didn’t know how to follow simple instructions.

He smiled, and she noticed how his face lit up. There was something intriguing and deep in that smile, and she decided that she liked him.

Marcus followed her to the car and before he could buckle his seatbelt she floored the BMW, screeching the tires and driving him back into his seat. She ran the stop sign and just missed a truck, which honked its horn angrily. Darcy smiled behind the wheel as she glanced over at Marcus, still trying to secure himself from this raging madwoman. Weaving in and out of traffic twenty miles an hour over the speed limit, she watched her passenger out of the corner of her eye, trying to get a read on him. He seemed calm and composed, so she slammed on the brakes, yanked the car over quickly in a right turn that sent his body leaning into hers, and accelerated quickly down the busy downtown street. Marcus righted himself, and although he felt like a man in the middle of a violent storm, maintained his composure. Darcy saw what looked like a nice restaurant so she quickly pulled the BMW left into the driveway, this time rocking Marcus against the door, pounded the brake pedal (sending Marcus forward this time) and came to a stop perfectly situated between two cars in the restaurant parking lot.

“What’s the good of having a fast car if you can’t take advantage of it?” she said cheerfully, smiling across the seat into Marcus’ face.

“Not much, apparently,” Marcus replied. She had a beautiful smile, he thought. But she was obviously older than him, and looked like one of those sophisticated big–city magazine models. She had apparently picked him up off the street on a whim, and he couldn’t figure out what she was doing in a small college town like Midland. Or with him.

During the next three months, Marcus discovered that Darcy lived down the street in the Midland Heights apartment complex. She’d occasionally knock on his door and invite him out. A couple times they went to the movies and dinner, once they went to the Midland Museum of Natural History downtown, where she found unattended corners and kissed him several times (Marcus liked that). Once they went to the lake south of town and she caused a sensation in her thong bikini (Marcus liked that too), and the last time she came to one of his martial arts competitions. A couple of the kids from school were there, and the word spread that Marcus had a hot girlfriend. She was four years older than he, and as far as Marcus could tell, didn’t have a job or do anything. Maybe she was rich or something. But Marcus liked her, and liked to be seen with her.

One day at school, Ike Lambert, the closest thing he had to a friend, slapped a disk down on his desk.

“Look at that tonight and tell me what you think tomorrow.”

That night after he’d done his homework and planned the next day’s trading, he sat down with the disk. It was a porn movie called “Jason’s Revenge.” Five minutes into the film he saw a young Darcy appear on the screen, and ten minutes later in a sex scene. Marcus thought she couldn’t have been much more than 16. The movie sucked but Marcus watched it anyway, because every time Darcy appeared, his eyes became riveted to the screen.

The next day a lot of the girls were angry with him, having apparently heard about Darcy from Ike. Marcus was very tall and good looking but he had never shown the slightest interest in any of them. That was from necessity, not desire, he knew, but what could he do? “What’s the matter, we’re not good enough for you?” they said to him, knowing that Darcy was out of their league.

The guys were all over him, curious as hell, and they all wanted to come over and meet her. It looked like his cover was going to be blown. After his parents died last year he had held off the social workers and the school authorities by getting the landlord to pose as his uncle. At lunch, instead of going home and trading the market, he had to stick around the school. They were standing around one of the tables against the side wall, and Ike said “Look, all we want you to do is introduce us to her.”

There was shouted agreement.

“Have you fucked her yet?” asked Gary Crosby, a powerfully built linebacker on the football team.

“No.” Marcus replied. “She’s not that kind of girl.”

That generated hoots and hollers. “Oh yeah, she’s not that kind of chick,” said DeShawn Brown sarcastically. “She’s only a porn star.”

“Yeah, with some guy screwing her brains out,” agreed Johnny Chang, who took karate with him at the Midland Academy of Martial Arts.

Marcus snorted. “A porn star? I doubt it. That flick looked like it was made in somebody’s basement.”

“Yeah, then what’s it doing  on the shelf at Adult Video’s?” Ike asked.

“That place?” Marcus replied scornfully. “You could probably make a video and get it stocked there.”

Everybody laughed. Ike was only about 5’4’’ and always horny.

“So when do we meet her?” Gary demanded.

“You don’t,” Marcus said.

“Stop holding out on us Marcus,” Gary said. “If you aren’t going to introduce us, just tell us where she lives. We’ll make our own arrangements.”  Gary rolled his pelvis back and forth.

“Look,” Marcus said. “Just leave it alone, OK?”

“No!!” Gary said, reaching up and flicking his finger against Marcus’ skull. “Dickhead! What’s she to you anyway?”

“A friend.”

More hoots.

“I think he’s gay,” said Charlie Hicks, a musician in a local band that sometimes played at school events and private parties.

“Fuck you Charlie,” Marcus said.

“And fuck you Riley,” Gary said. “Ever since your mom and dad died there’s something fishy going on at your house. It’s just you and your uncle over there, and he’s never around…” Suddenly, comprehension dawned on Crosby’s face, and he sneered. “You don’t even have an uncle. You live there all by yourself.”

“I do not!!” Marcus flared.

“The hell you don’t!”

“There’s one way to find out,” Charlie said. “We’ll go to the principal and see what he says.” He looked at Marcus  challengingly.

Now Marcus was really scared. How had they found out? If they knew what he and his landlord had pulled off, they’d both be screwed.

He’d rented the house from Douglas Pelco after Pelco had seen the “For Sale” sign out front for six months. After his parents died he couldn’t stand living in the old house. There were just too many memories. So he took his settlement, which was only $10,000 after probate, and found another place in a neighborhood two miles away, but still fairly close to the high school.

The place was run down, one of those seedy old houses in a decent neighborhood that had been neglected. As he entered the Pelco Properties building, Marcus figured that the house was a rental property and Mr. Pelco was the negligent landlord. He approached Pelco in his small, messy downtown office with his proposal, to rent the place for a year and fix it up. When he was 18, he would buy it.

Pelco looked him up and down and said, “Get outta here, kid.” He was a stocky, swarthy man with thick lips, sunken eyes, and a stubble of beard. His hands, lying on the desk, were thick and hairy.

Marcus handed him a check for $2,000. “Here’s first and last month’s rent, plus the security deposit.”

Pelco’s eyes widened and he looked at the check.

“How do I know it’s good?”

Marcus raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Don’t be stupid.’

Pelco flushed. He copied down the account number and called the bank, verifying the funds.

“Why do  you want that house?” Pelco said disparagingly. He hated the damn place, and so had everyone he’d shown it to, promoting it as a startup home. He had been forced to rent it out for the past three years, to students. He didn’t want to waste his money getting it in sellable shape, for even if he did, it would sell at a loss.

Douglas Pelco didn’t for a minute believe that the kid wanted to purchase the property, or that he could. But he wasn’t about to turn down $2,000.

“Suit yourself,” Pelco said. “You can move in on the first of next month.”

“I want the place cleaned first,” Marcus said. “And the windows washed.”

“Making demands, are we?”

“All right,” Marcus said, picking up his check from the disorganized desktop. “I’ll see you later.”

‘Goddamn kid,’ Pelco swore to himself, but as Marcus reached the door he said, “OK.” Then he smiled. “You’re right. It’s a bit dusty in there.”

Pelco assured Marcus that all of the appliances were in working order, as well as the furnace. Marcus knew he should insist on an inspection, but he didn’t know any contractors. His father, a market analyst –– a former market analyst, he mentally corrected himself –– had taught him  about real estate. Dad had taught him about a lot of things, almost as if he had a premonition of his own death.

“There’s one more thing,” Marcus said, handing over the check. “If this is going to work, you have to be my temporary uncle for the coming year.”

“You’re out of your mind, Marcus Riley,” Pelco replied. “Go get your own relative.”

“I don’t have any,” Marcus said. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, he thought. He could have gone to live with his cousin’s family in Los Angeles. But they hadn’t spoken in years and barely knew each other. And besides, he didn’t like crowded and hectic southern California. Midland was just fine with him,  for now at least.

“Too bad,” Pelco replied. “I could lose my real estate license, and I’m not going to do it for $2,000.” He handed Marcus’ check back to him.

Are we playing ping pong with this thing? Marcus wondered. But Pelco had him over a barrel.

“Look,” Marcus said reasonably, and explained his situation. “I need an adult to keep the social workers and the school administrators off my back until I become of legal age. My parent’s house was sold in probate and I received $10,000 from the settlement. I also have some money in my market trading account that will cover the rest of the rent.”

Market trading account? Maybe this guy was some kind of whiz–kid. Didn’t look like it though. But he had the kid’s account number and he knew how to verify the amount. If it turned out OK, he’d go along. There was quite a difference between $2,000 and $12,000, he thought, and things were really tight these days in real estate. At least for him.

His experience with renters had not, so far, been completely satisfying, but this kid was clean and didn’t have any tattoos or lip rings. He looked trustworthy, if there was such a thing.

“OK kid, I’ll call you tonight.”

Marcus handed back the check to Pelco. It must have burn marks on it by now, he thought. “Earnest money.”

Pelco smiled. “All right Marcus. I wish I had more renters like you.”

Marcus  realized that at least a dozen faces were staring at him, waiting for a response. Oh yeah, he was in the school cafeteria, and they wanted to know where Darcy lived.

“I’m not telling you,” Marcus said.

Crosby exploded. “The hell you aren’t,” he said, gripping Marcus’ shirt and shoving him against a wall. Crosby had a grip of iron, but Marcus felt his nerves calm, and a feeling of power surged through him. He looked down at Crosby’s angry face and said calmly, “Please take your hand off me.”

Crosby was about to respond hostilely when, all of a sudden, he felt his fist untighten and, almost involuntarily, found himself taking a step backward. The anger had all gone out of him and he looked up at the taller boy.

“How did you do that?” he said, confusion written all over his face.

“Do what?” Marcus said.

“Make my hand let go.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Marcus replied.

Gary looked at his hand as if it were remotely controlled.

The others had seen the same thing. It was as if some force had taken control of Gary’s hand and then his body, and they regarded Marcus with a mixture of awe and fear.

“Dude, did they teach you that in karate?” Ike asked. “I want some of that.”

Johnny Chang laughed nervously. “Mental discipline is part of karate. But the ability to project intention is something else entirely.”

Charlie said, “C’mon guys, let’s get outta here.”

Everybody left Marcus except Johnny. “Can you teach me what you just did?”

“I don’t know what I just did.” Then he understood that he had experienced an instant of total clarity and that he had been able to marshal his thoughts around one idea, with absolutely no counter intention. Marcus grinned. “I take that back. I do know what I did, but I don’t know how I did it.”

Johnny gave him a strange look. “All right. I’ll see you in class on Friday.”

Marcus was hungry, but lunch period was over. At least he hadn’t told them where Darcy lived. He walked out of the cafeteria and down the hall to a really boring biology class.

Sample #3:

“So, did you fuck me before or after you found out about my past?”

“I didn’t fuck you, you jumped me.”

She got up, angry, and faced him. “Don’t get  cute with me! Did you know I was a slut before you took advantage of me?”

“You’re not a slut.”

A look of self–contempt crossed her features. “You didn’t answer my question!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“The hell you didn’t! I know it’s all over school now. That jackass friend of yours said he told you to bed me before I changed my mind about you!”

“Yeah, Ricky said that,” Marcus replied. “Since when do I listen to anything he says?”

She gazed at the floor, and said softly, “You don’t really like me, do you? I’m just someone to have sex with.” She thought of her father, and the parade of women he’d brought into the house. She thought of her old man with his hands on her, and almost retched.

“I think you’re an angel,” Marcus said.

She looked up, angry. “Boys –– and men –– you’re all alike. You use us and then when you’re tired of us, you throw us away.”

Marcus gazed into her beautiful brown eyes. He hadn’t heard a word she said.

Darcy turned and paced the floor. And she thought this one might be different! He had said something to her…what was it? “What did you say?”

“I think you’re an angel,” Marcus repeated.

“An angel?” Darcy repeated, her eyes a little wide. It was the exact opposite of who she really was. She looked for sarcasm, but Marcus continued to hold her at gaze, a soft gaze that spoke far more than the words he had spoken to her.

Marcus said nothing, but a smile began to form around the corners of his mouth. Her anger evaporated. She understood suddenly that here was a guy that might be  true. True to her. He was just a kid, only seventeen, but mature beyond his years. More mature than any man she’d ever met. Tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Marcus got off the bed and stood before her, very close, but not touching her. It was her move, he thought. He was making himself available. If she didn’t like him anymore, she could turn away, and be out of his life forever.

She had to raise her head as far as it would go. She was tired, tired of her past, it was a chain around her that she had to let go. She leaned against him, felt his strong, lean body against hers, and his arms around her. His hand caressed her hair, the other ran gently up and down her back, soothing her. She felt him kiss the top of her head, and she burst into tears, crying herself out against him.

Marcus said nothing, for he didn’t know what to do. He just held her, and hoped she’d feel better eventually.

After about five minutes she disengaged and smiled. She wiped her cheeks with her hand and said, “Thank you. I feel a lot better.”

Sample #4:

Darcy walked into his study without bothering to knock, as was her wont. Marcus sat at his computer, reading today’s stock quotes and entering the data into his market tables. From the three month moving averages, it looked like a slight uptick for Google, Pfizer, and Dell tomorrow. That’s where he’d put his money. The market had been quiet for months, and that’s when his investment program worked the best.

“I thought I should move in,” she said, interrupting his concentration. He hadn’t even heard her enter.

He felt the chair rock. She had kicked it with her foot. “Did you hear me?”

He turned around in his chair. She looked down at him with a mixture of amusement and irritation.

He stood and faced her. “Yes, I heard you.”

“Well?” she said, placing her hands on her hips. She’s impulsive and beautiful, he thought.

Darcy craned her neck to meet his gaze. “I could help you pay the rent every month,” she said quickly. “I’ve still got some money left, and I’m looking for a job...and I absolutely hate my apartment.”

She knew Marcus didn’t need the money. He was only seventeen, but so damnably self sufficient! It intrigued her, and annoyed her.

Marcus looked at the woman in front of him and felt a surge of electricity go through every cell in his body. She wasn’t like any other girl in school, probably because she was older. He didn’t have any patience with them, even though he got along OK with them. But he couldn’t get too close, or they might start asking questions. He needed one more year until he was legally an adult, and could buy this house, get the nervous landlord off his back, finish high school, and take control of his life. For that reason, he had deliberately not made too many friends at the school, male or female, holding everyone at arms length. Thank God dad had left him the password to his personal trading account at Merrill Lynch before he died.

 And it was good she’d offered to help him with the expenses, he thought. He didn’t like the idea of anyone mooching off him, least of all a girl.

Marcus made his decision. “I’ve got two spare bedrooms,” he said, “take your pick.”

She stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck. He’s gorgeous, she thought. I could do a lot worse than this manchild. “I thought I’d move into your room,” she said. “Unless you’re gay, that is.”

If she thought to get a rise out of him, she was disappointed. “No,” Marcus said, laughing into her brown eyes. “I’m definitely not gay.” The thought of her in his bed made him shiver with anticipation.

She stepped away and smiled at him, an alluring feminine smile that challenged him, and invited him at the same time. She seemed to be saying, ‘Let’s see if you can handle me.’  Then she walked quickly out of the room. Marcus heard the front door close and a car engine start.

Now how did that happen? He asked himself. He had just gotten himself a roommate.

 

Two hours later Marcus was still at the computer, researching a new stock. He heard a car door slam and then the thud of something hitting the hardwood floor in the foyer. After several minutes, Marcus heard the sound of hard, quick footsteps and his door opened violently. It crashed against the plaster wall, the handle making a little dent in the plaster. A flake of it fell onto the throw rug. Marcus noticed things like that.

“How about a little help?” she said, angrily. “I’m your roommate now!”

“OK.” Marcus brushed by her, not meeting her eyes. The last thing he wanted was an argument. He went out to the car and grabbed two heavy boxes from the big trunk, lifting them easily and placing them next to one which had cracked open, spilling its contents onto the floor. Marcus said nothing and Darcy watched from the porch as he lifted the last of the boxes from the trunk, walking them into the house and setting them gently upon the floor. He was very tall, yet moved with the grace of a ballet dancer, and she noticed with approval how wide his shoulders were. At 17, he was already a man, at least physically, she thought.

Darcy did not offer to help, and he said nothing. She was tired after having to haul her stuff up a flight of stairs into the car from her basement apartment. It was apparent to her that he understood and that no words were necessary. She liked the fact that he got her, and didn’t make a fuss. After three more trips he had unloaded the car. Marcus turned and walked back into his study.

He heard the sound of grating cardboard on the finished hardwood floor, and jumped out of his chair, running into the hallway. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re ruining my floor!” he cried, pointing to the scratches in the finish.

In response, she kicked a box with her foot, making another six inch scratch.

“We’re not getting off to a very good start,” he said.

“I’ll say. What kind of a guy won‘t help his girl unpack her heavy stuff?”

“You didn’t have to wreck my floor,” he said, irritated. He’d sanded and refinished it himself, learning this skill from his father, who’d done the same on his own floors. This was not at all the kind of roommate he had envisioned, but he was pleased that she had referred to herself as his girl. It made him feel needed, and important.

She kicked one of the offending boxes. “Take this one into the kitchen,” she commanded, pointing to a box that had “Fragile, dishes” written on it in black magic marker.

“I already have dishes,” he said.

“Oh, you mean those plastic things you probably got at a garage sale?” she said contemptuously. “These are real china, and I’ll remind you to take good care of them.”

He just looked at her, his eyes saying, ‘That’s why you just kicked the crap out of them.’

“They’re packed very well,” she said, as if that explained everything perfectly.

He shook his head and smiled wearily, like a father to a rambunctious child, towering over her.

Ooooohh, Marcus Riley, she thought to herself, a flush of red infusing her cheeks, don’t ever do that again or I’ll slap you silly!

Marcus saw her reaction and laughed, infuriating her even more. She had spirit and spunk, he thought, and something in his heart melted just a little.

Darcy calmed herself and looked up at him, gazing down at her, completely sure of himself.

“How did you get to be so self confident?” she asked him, angry but curious.

Marcus shrugged. “I’ve always been that way,” he said. “And my parents didn’t beat it out of me.”

Darcy hung her head for a moment. Yeah, not like mine.

Marcus stepped forward, put his finger under her chin and gently raised her head. “Cheer up!” he said.

She smiled. Maybe it’s going to be all right, she thought. Maybe she finally found a good guy. A voice in the back of her mind said, ‘Is there such a thing?’ She turned abruptly and left the room.

Marcus saw a tear running down her cheek. Did I say something? he wondered. He lifted the boxes and placed them in the appropriate rooms, each one having its destination written on the top. Then he went back to the computer and planned the next day’s trading cycle.

 

Two hours later he walked out of his study and into his bedroom. It had been transformed. Darcy had taken the spare bureau, which had been his mother’s,  for her own. On it he saw perfume, lipstick, a large jewelry case, and a vase of flowers. A mirror hung over the dresser, and Marcus unhooked it, expecting to see a bent nail hanging precariously from cracked plaster. Instead, she had carefully drilled two holes and installed anchors in each one. The mirror’s wire was securely fastened to two screws protruding from the anchors. ‘Not bad,’ he thought. He had been so immersed in his research that he had been only dimly aware of her movements about the house.

He replaced the mirror and saw three wall hangings, each one firmly secured. A nature scene, a photograph of da Vinci’s pieta, and one of those Dutch masterpiece paintings hung above the bed. Marcus went over and examined the painting, kneeling on the bed and admiring the incredible detail of every stroke. Just then he noticed that the old grey bedspread had been replaced by one in pastels. The flowers from the bureau filled the air with a pleasant fragrance.

Well, he thought, it sure didn’t take her long to make her mark. He thought about the nick in the plaster in his study, and chuckled to himself. His new roommate was beginning to grow on him a little.

Marcus looked around the bedroom and decided it was an improvement. A big improvement. She had not over decorated, but had given the space a feminine touch.  He smiled and walked around the house, intending to complement her, but he could not find her. He looked out the big picture window in the living room to the driveway, but the silver BMW was not there.

Marcus walked into the kitchen and read the time from the clock above the table. 7:15, and he hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. He always skipped lunch at school, using the hour to do his market trading, and avoiding contact with the other kids.

Where was she? Oh well, he’d order a pizza.

Just as he was about to pick up the phone, he heard car wheels screeching in the driveway. Darcy appeared in the kitchen with a big paper bag that smelled really good. She slapped the bag on the kitchen table, got two plates from the cupboard and some silverware, and sat down.

“I found this great little Syrian restaurant at the mall,” she said, opening one of the plastic containers and spooning makmoor onto her plate.

“What’d you get me?” he asked, amazed that out of all the places in town, she’d found the Taste of Damascus. It was his favorite carryout place.

“I got you kibbe, babbaganouj, and tebooleh,” she said, pointing to his unopened container. “And some rice pudding for desert.”

Marcus sat across from her, watching her. She ate gracefully, out of habit, and unaware that he was staring at her, his plate untouched. She had gotten him the only four things he had ever eaten from the Damascus, as if they’d lived together for years. Once Marcus decided he liked something, he could rarely bring himself to change.

“How did you know what I liked?” he asked.

She looked up quickly and said, “I didn’t.” Then she resumed eating.

 

After dinner, Darcy put the dishes in the dishwasher and cleaned the table and the sink. Point for her, Marcus thought. He liked things neat. He went to the bathroom and when he came out, she had left again. Well, she was unpredictable, he thought, and he didn’t own her. He just would have liked to know where she went.

He did his homework and then sat on the couch, turning on the History Channel. Tonight was the conclusion to the series on the rise and fall of the Roman empire, and he didn’t want to miss it. However, every 15 minutes he found himself looking out the window, expecting to see Darcy’s car, and he grew more and more worried.

He slapped himself mentally. She’s 21 years old, he thought, and can take care of herself. Maybe she’d decided to sleep at her furnished apartment tonight one last time.  He was disappointed, and realized that he’d felt a sense of excitement and anticipation all day. He’d assigned that to the normal feeling of eagerness he always had about the next day’s trading. Would his predictive model make him money, or would he lose? Would he be able to make even finer adjustments to his predictive algorithms? But that wasn’t it. He understood that Darcy was the main source of his feelings. The thought of her next to him made him suddenly anxious. He’d never made love to a girl before, and she probably had a lot of experience. How would he stack up next to her other lovers?

Marcus didn’t like the queasy feeling in his stomach. He’d never been at a loss in any situation, even that time in grade school he’d been attacked on the way home by three older kids. He’d gotten his licks in and wound up with a broken nose, but, strangely, he hadn’t been afraid. When he felt the first punch, his nerves calmed and he stepped outside of himself. He saw his own body and his attackers as if watching in a movie theater, and although he was at that time unskilled, had been able to inflict enough damage that he had, from that point on, been left alone. And that’s just the way he liked it. That incident, seven years ago, had been the impetus for his study of Tai Chi and martial arts.

At 11 the show was over and Marcus shoved the recordable disk back into its sleeve. He had hardly been able to pay attention to the last half hour of the program, thinking about Darcy. He went to bed; disappointed, worried, and angry that his new roommate hadn’t bothered to include him in her plans.

Sometime later that night, he heard the bedroom door open softly. A light sleeper, Marcus was instantly awake. In the dark he heard the fall of her clothing to the floor, and then the sheet was pulled back. He was lying on his side, and in the dark, could not see her. “Hi,” she said cheerfully.

“Are you all right?” he asked, worry showing in his voice.

Darcy was thrilled. “Did you miss me?”

“Damn right I missed you!” Marcus said. “You didn’t tell me where you were going or…”

Her fingers touched his lips and he quieted. Mission accomplished, she thought. Then she kissed him.

“You’re not wearing any clothes,” she said.

“I always sleep naked,” Marcus replied, a little jealous, and miffed that he didn’t know where she’d been or what she’d done.  Had she been with another guy? These were emotions foreign to him, but he could not deny that he felt them. “You’re not wearing any either,” he said.

“That’s right,” she replied, pressing herself against him.

Marcus’ anger evaporated as her arms closed around him…

 

That night was the best of his life, by far. She showed him how to make love, how to touch her and where, and all the pleasure points on her body. What amazed him most of all was how she responded to him. At the end of that amazing night, he understood that a woman’s body was a very sensitive instrument, and if played properly, he could evoke in his lover the most passionate responses.

They talked and explored each other all night, and at 3 in the morning, ran down the stairs naked to raid the refrigerator. Then they ran back up the stairs to the bedroom and threw themselves into each other’s arms again.

“You know that old saying, ‘it’s better to give than receive?’” Marcus asked her as the first rays of the morning sun softly illuminated the room.

She propped herself on an elbow and smiled down at him. She understood completely; the look in his eyes said it all.  “With a little more practice, you’re going to be really good,” she said, looking forward to the nights to come. She was really surprised, and yet, not so surprised, at his proficiency. He wasn’t even eighteen yet; but he had soft hands and that was always a good sign. And the martial arts training had given him a certain grace and confidence that had quickly overcome his teenage awkwardness. Oh, it felt so good to be cared for, she thought. All those years she had been the provider, had to cater to the tastes of her clients. Now she had someone to look out for her needs.