Beautiful, Inside and Out Read online

  Table of Contents

  Beautiful, Inside and Out

  Copyright

  Praise for Larry Hammersley

  Dedication

  Beautiful, Inside and Out

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press publication.

  Beautiful, Inside and Out

  by

  Larry Hammersley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Beautiful, Inside and Out

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Larry Hammersley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Vintage Rose Edition, 2012

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Larry Hammersley

  “I thoroughly enjoyed [END OF A STRING] about Slim and Natalie, college students who find love...I highly recommend...for a feel-good romance set in a simpler time.”

  ~Dandelion, Long and Short Reviews (4.5 Stars)

  “How love used to be before everything got so complicated....strips romance down to the bare essentials...holds a special place in my heart.”

  ~Val, You Gotta Read Reviews (Need to Read)

  “The heart-lifting yet often irrational experience of young love.”

  ~Kimber, Fallen Angel Reviews (3 Angels)

  “TAKING ADVANTAGE is a sweet romance that forces readers to examine what they remember of their tremulous high school years and the relationships they formed.”

  ~Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies (4 Blue Ribbons)

  “Takes you back to a simpler time in life where all the rules were so different...very sweet romances of a time I wish I had grown up in.”

  ~Val, You Gotta Read Reviews (Need to Read)

  “This was a short, fun read that I really enjoyed...definitely one you should add to your reading list!”

  ~Diana Coyle, Night Owl Romance Book (4 Hearts)

  “TAKING ADVANTAGE is a heartwarming story...a must read...well written, to the point...great flow.”

  ~Fran Lewis, WRDF (Fantastic; Stays on Shelf)

  “A comfortably familiar tale...filled to the brim with absolute charm...a real old-time love story.”

  ~Snapdragon, Long & Short Reviews (4 Books)

  “[LAB PARTNERS is] exciting and heartwarming ...intriguing and at times downright funny...a quick, feel-good read...one of his best. I look forward to...more of his work.”

  ~Val, You Gotta Read Reviews (Need to Read)

  Dedication

  To Francelia Belton,

  who has been a long time friend via email

  and has always supported my writing.

  Bess Simpson picked up two programs and settled in the third row from the back in Recital Hall. Few people were in attendance. Leaving the aisle seat to her left empty for her best friend, Milla, she took the second seat and glanced at her program. Soon the featured pianist would appear and play a couple of Beethoven’s sonatas: The Tempest and Appassionata.

  “Is this seat taken?” The deep bass voice to her right startled her, and she glanced up to see a tall man wearing a pleasant smile. Bess wasn’t into checking out the men on campus, but she’d seen this one before, the only one who caught her eye.

  “Only the aisle seat.” Bess returned his smile, noting he had a buddy behind him who had already taken a seat, and wondering why he chose to sit next to her when many of the seats in the Hall were empty.

  She pulled in a deep breath. This was the first time she’d seen him up close. She liked what she saw—and then despaired. Dressed in her jeans and a sweatshirt with the college logo, her black hair pulled back in a ponytail, she knew she wasn’t someone this fellow would give a second look. Her clothes were the least of her worries. She was fat, despite Milla refuting that. She listened as he and his buddy talked.

  “I ought to be home studying, Jake,” the good-looking fellow said.

  “Ahh, Art. You need to unlax, as Bugs Bunny says on occasions.”

  Well, I know his first name now, but what difference does that make? When she saw him on campus, he was always walking hand in hand with Angie Samuelson, the drum major for the marching band.

  “My scholarship is in jeopardy, with that D on my first math test,” Art said, turning to face Jake.

  “Get you a tutor, or go to a help session,” Jake offered.

  “I can’t afford a tutor, and the help sessions are clear as mud.” Bess could hear the desperation in Art’s voice. She wouldn’t mind tutoring him for free.

  “It’s a shame Bess Simpson doesn’t run the tutoring sessions. They say she’s a whiz at math.” Bess’ ears perked up at Jake’s mention of her name. Now she tuned in to their conversation carefully.

  “I’ve heard of her. Top student in aeronautical engineering. Sure wish I had a small portion of her brains,” Art said, his voice almost taking on a dreamy sound.

  “A buddy of mine who’s in one of her classes says she’s really fat,” Jake said, chuckling.

  “What does that have to do with anything? That’s a horrible thing to say, anyway.” Art’s chastising tone was music to her ears.

  “Well, she is. She’s got really big…”

  “Stop right there, Jake. You know I never liked my cousins making fun of Aunt Mae.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Such things as ‘you’re big enough to go bear hunting with a switch,’ or ‘You’re built like a lumberjack.’” Art swung back around, facing forward, and Bess could see the puffed, downturned lips displaying his disgust. Jake laughed.

  “Did you pick me up a program?” Milla said, taking the aisle seat.

  “Yeah.” Bess handed her the extra program.

  Milla slid her narrow frame down a bit and propped her knees against the back of the empty seat in front of her, while Bess remained upright, her posture straight, looking out of the corner of her eye at Art.

  Just then the acclaimed pianist, a slender, short Asian woman, came on stage and bowed as everyone clapped. She seated herself, positioning her long, shiny black dress, and began to play The Tempest. Bess admired her fantastic memory, not needing sheet music and seldom looking at the keys. With a sidelong glance at Art, she realized he seemed intent on the music, too.

  At the conclusion of The Tempest, the artist played a short piece not on the program: “Für Elise.” An intermission was called, and Milla went down three rows to talk to a girl friend. Bess remained seated and heard Jake speak to Art.

  “I’m cutting out. I’m not much on highbrow music anyway.” Jake got up without giving Art a chance to reply.

  Art looked briefly at Bess and chuckled as he commented to her, “He’s the one who talked me into coming tonight and now he takes off.”

  “Well, it’s good to take a break once in awhile.” Bess hoped the conversation would last at least until intermission was over.

  “Yeah, but when I get back to the dorm and face math, I’ll be all uptight again.”

  “What math are you taking?”

  “Differential equations. I didn’t do well i
n calculus, either.” Bess saw the grimace on his handsome face.

  “You must be either in science or engineering,” she said.

  “Metallurgical engineering. I have no trouble with my engineering classes unless there’s high-powered math involved. Say, my manners need tweaking. My name is Art Fuller.” He offered his massive hand, which Bess accepted. His gentle touch did something to her.

  “I’m Bess Simpson. Glad to meet you, Art.” She made sure her handshake wasn’t of the dead-fish variety.

  “Bess Simpson? Oh, I’m sorry about that remark Jake made.”

  “You don’t need to apologize for someone else. Besides, you got after him for it.” Bess almost giggled at Art’s embarrassed look. Did she see some redness to his tan face?

  “Your reputation is widespread on campus. Aeronautical engineering must be tough. I’ve glanced through an aerodynamics text. The math there makes my head swim.”

  “I have Doctor Duncan for my Tensor Analysis course. It’s really tough,” Bess said, thinking of her only course that was below an A average.

  “Doc Duncan? I hear he flunks half of his class and no one has ever gotten an A.”

  “Well, there’s some truth to that.” Bess wasn’t going to brag to Art that she had the highest average in class: B+.

  Intermission was over and Milla rejoined Bess. Art stopped talking, and the remainder of the recital began. At the conclusion, as everyone was preparing to leave, Bess went out on the proverbial limb, despite telling herself it wasn’t proper for her to do.

  “I could help you with your math if you’d like, Art.” Bess held her breath as she felt her cheeks grow hot and knew Milla’s ears must be picking up the comment.

  “That’s nice of you to offer, but I’m sure you’re probably very busy. I wouldn’t feel right taking you up on that.” Art smiled and lifted himself to his feet, letting the seat cushion flip to its vertical position with a plunking sound.

  “Well, it wouldn’t be a stress on my schedule. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Bess. I wish you the best, especially in that tough math course.” Art headed out the opposite direction. Bess watched him and sighed over the moments she’d actually gotten to meet him. She felt Milla tug her sleeve.

  “Is that the guy you’ve been swooning over?”

  “Hush, he might hear you. He’s so polite and handsome. And I’m so pudgy...” Bess pinched her stomach, nearly sobbing.

  “You hush, Bess. Don’t despair. It sounded like he enjoyed talking to you.”

  Bess could always count on Milla to put a positive spin on things. It’s what kept her going, but was there a solid foundation where Art was concerned? She tried not to think of the lovely, petite Angie and her drum major role in the marching band.

  ****

  Although Bess’ schedule always crunched her time, she set aside a slot on Tuesday afternoon during a two-hour gap between classes to visit the nursing home. She had chosen ninety-year-old Mabel as her special person. Mabel might be physically limited to a wheelchair, but she still had her mental faculties.

  “Hi, Mabel.” The woman sat staring out a window at the hanging bird feeder, watching hummingbirds sipping the red liquid. Mabel paddled her chair around deftly and gave Bess a wide smile.

  “Oh, Bess, I’m so glad to see you.” She raised her arms toward Bess, who accepted Mabel’s hug. Bess restrained her tears, knowing Mabel was all alone. With her husband long deceased and her children and grandchildren living out of state, no one visited her, except for rare appearances of church members from the congregation where she had attended.

  “Tell me more about that young man you like.” Bess felt comfortable discussing her innermost thoughts with Mabel, just as she did with Milla.

  “I actually got to meet him. His name is Art Fuller.”

  “Fuller? There’s a man by that name living here, just two rooms down. Nobody can get him to talk. I don’t think he ever has any visitors,” Mabel said, her hands and fingers busily animating her speech as usual, no matter the subject.

  “That’s too bad. How old is he?”

  “Ahh, he’s a young fellow, only eighty-three.” Bess had to smile about that. Before she could respond, Mabel broached the subject of Art.

  “I’ll tell you what Art will like.”

  “Oh, what’s that?” Bess prepared to give attention to Mabel’s answer. Wisdom always accompanied her advice, thanks to her many years of life.

  “Dress up in a nice skirt and blouse, or wear a dress, lots of flounce to the hemline. Boys like to see girls dressed like that.”

  “Sounds like good advice. I certainly would look horrible in a tight skirt.”

  “Now you stop fretting over your weight, Bess.” Mabel jabbed a chastising finger at her.

  “My good friend Milla gets on me about that, too.”

  They chatted awhile longer, and, upon departing, Bess as usual promised to return the following Tuesday afternoon.

  “Oh, I wish you could come more than once a week, Bess, but I know you’re busy with your studies. Now don’t you forget what I said about what to wear.”

  As Bess headed down the hall, she glanced into the room with the Henry Fuller nameplate.

  “Bess?” Art rose from his chair. Bess stopped uncertainly, then stepped into the room.

  “I wondered at the Fuller name, if it was connected with you.” Bess glanced at the thin, frail man sitting motionless in a wheelchair, staring at her.

  “This is my Uncle Henry. Henry, this is Bess Simpson.” Bess extended her hand, offering a handshake. Henry didn’t smile but studied her hand and looked at her again.

  “I’m afraid he won’t respond to anybody, doesn’t talk,” Art said.

  Bess kept her hand extended, and Henry slowly raised his age-spotted hand, placed it in her hand, and Bess initiated the up-and-down motion. His grip was firm, and she thought there was a faint smile across his moist lips. She lessened her grip and he released her hand.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Henry.” Bess radiated her best smile.

  They stayed a few more minutes and then said goodbye to Henry, who still didn’t answer. As they walked out, Art made an observation.

  “You’re the first person I’ve seen him respond to.” They turned the corner, passed the nurse’s station, and headed for the entrance door.

  “The handshake?” Bess asked.

  Art opened the door for her.

  “Why, yes. Anyone else tries that, he just stares out the window. Do you have a relative in here?”

  “No. I come every week to see Mabel, two doors down. I picked her out. Her family is away from here and seems to ignore her,” Bess said, wishing she didn’t have a class in a few minutes. She would gladly walk with Art all day long.

  “I hope you can come back and visit Uncle Henry again. Maybe you can get him to talk. If he does talk, we shouldn’t make a big deal out of it in front of him, though,” Art said, stopping at a branch in the sidewalk.

  “I always have a two-hour break on Tuesday afternoons. Mabel wouldn’t mind if I spent part of that time visiting with Henry.” Bess contained her excitement at seeing Art again under circumstances that would be personal.

  “Great. Will you permit me one more imposition?” Art’s expression carried a wide-eyed look, and he glanced down at the sidewalk briefly and drew a bigger breath than normal. Bess resisted a quick, “Anything you say, Art.”

  “What’s that?” Bess asked, doing the next worse thing, she supposed: a fast question.

  “While we visit my uncle, can you help me a little with math? I’m sure Uncle Henry won’t mind. Us being there is what he wants, whether we talk to him or not.” Art’s Adam’s apple dipped as he waited on her answer.

  “Sure, bring your math book, some scratch paper, and perhaps your slide rule. I don’t know how good I’ll be at tutoring, though.”

  “You’re too modest. Thank you. Gotta hurry to class,” Art said, and rushed awa
y, his slide rule swinging from his belt strap.

  Bess’ class was nearby, and as she walked up the steps to her building she tried to restrain her hopes that this could lead to something beyond just a tutoring session. She could always dream, but those dreams would be smashed by Angie.

  She couldn’t help but wish next Tuesday would hurry. Her powers of concentration had to kick into high gear for her studies. If she could lift her average to an A in Tensor Analysis, it would not only match the As in her other subjects but also show Art that somebody could score an A in Dr. Duncan’s class. It was all she had going for her, since she was sure Art wasn’t impressed with her looks. After all, how many guys would like a plus-size gal? Well, perhaps that wasn’t fair to those married to “pleasingly plump” girls, as Milla phrased it. Of course, Milla would also harp on her personality. “Character” she called it.

  Tuesday morning, as she sat in Duncan’s class of twenty students, the infamous blue test booklets were returned by the professor. Bess watched his tall figure—just less than six feet, she judged—as he paced the room. He never smiled. His narrow face, accented by a long narrow nose and slicked-back white hair, carried wrinkles across his forehead in a permanent scowl. His fingers were covered with white chalk dust. Occasionally, he would prophesy that Doctor Wang, an electronics genius, would soon perfect an electronic calculator the size of a shorthand notebook, and it would replace the slide rule, perhaps before 1965.

  Bess heard groans from the rest of the class, all men. Her professor’s expression changed when he handed Bess her booklet face down. His looks were as close to pleasant as she’d ever seen. She slowly turned her booklet over and saw a “94” with the professor’s tiny handwriting below it: “Highest in class, as always.” Well, thought Bess, an A! That brings my semester average close to an A.

  Bess almost ran to the nursing home that afternoon. An A on her math test fueled her, but the anticipation of seeing Art again outdid that.

  She visited with Mabel and told her of meeting Art in his uncle’s room last week. Before long, Mabel shooed Bess down the hall to Henry’s room, making sure Bess would have plenty of time for the tutoring session. Art was already there, his math book and scratch paper stacked on the end table. He was zipping his slide rule, staring intently at a metallurgy text. The TV was on, as it seemed to be in most of the rooms, but Henry wasn’t watching. Art was half watching Lash LaRue carrying his whip and walking slowly through the woods after the bad guy.