Beautiful, Inside and Out Page 2

  “Hi, Art. Hi, Henry.” Art looked up and gave his heart-warming smile. Henry stopped staring out the window and looked too, with obvious recognition.

  “Bess. Let me turn this TV off. Lash always walks and catches the chief bad guy, who always runs.”

  “Henry, are you okay with Art and me working on school work while we’re here?” Henry looked at her but made no response.

  “I know Uncle Henry will be okay with us studying.”

  They spent the next forty minutes absorbed in working from Rainville’s text on differential equations. It was up-to-date, second edition, 1958. Bess felt she brought Art a long way in understanding the math, as he was able to conquer most of the problems in the section with which he’d been having trouble. All the while she was aware of Henry watching and listening to her. At the conclusion of their study time, Henry switched his attention briefly to Art.

  “Bess is nice,” he said.

  Bess stifled her surprise with a smile and answered before Art recovered from his shock.

  “Why, thank you, Henry.”

  “I agree, Uncle.” Art grinned at her.

  “You two are ganging up on me just to see me turn red.” Bess actually felt the heat of embarrassment on her cheeks.

  Art and Henry both cackled. After that, Henry started talking more before they left. He said goodbye to them both and asked Bess directly to come again.

  However, when Bess arrived the next week, Henry talked so much that Bess and Art got nowhere on the math tutoring. Art managed to mention some of the things his uncle had talked with him about even before Bess got there. She decided she would continue to drop in for a visit after seeing Mabel, but she ventured a suggestion to Art as they left the nursing home.

  “How about coming out to the house Milla and I are renting? It’s comfortable and quiet, and we could get a lot of studying done.” Bess held her breath.

  “I wouldn’t want to impose and disturb your friend.”

  “Milla won’t be bothered. She goes to the library frequently anyway. If she’s there, we have three rooms plus the kitchen,” Bess answered. “We could sit at the kitchen table, but the living room would be more comfortable, with the coffee table for working on the math problems.”

  “Do you suppose people will talk if we’re alone in the house together?” Bess could tell Art was genuinely worried.

  “No. People mind their own business in our neighborhood.”

  Art agreed, and they settled on a convenient evening for both of them.

  ****

  Bess looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t like what she saw. Milla crossed the room and peered over her shoulder.

  “Are you moping about your weight again?” Bess could never hide anything from Milla, but she was comfortable with that.

  “Look at me. If it weren’t for my full-figure bra with the new Lycra fabric, I’d look like I was carrying two big bowls of Jell-O down the sidewalk on campus, jiggling all along. I’m flabby all over.” Bess patted her face and then her stomach.

  “You’re pleasingly plump.” Milla made her usual remark as she framed Bess’ shoulders from behind.

  “You know what my Uncle Richard said when somebody described him as heavyset?”

  “No.”

  “Call it what it is. Call it fat!”

  “You’re not fat. Hey, you look really nice in your full skirt, and I love this blouse.” Milla fingered the white eyelet sleeve.

  “Well, Mabel says to wear skirts and blouses, or dresses, that boys always like that. Does my hair look all right? Is my blouse gaping open between the buttons?”

  “You look fine. Any girl would kill for your beautiful black hair. It’s perfect, hanging to your shoulders like that. You know Art really likes you.”

  Bess could feel her face heating up just at the mention of his name.

  “Only because I take the time to help him with ‘Diffie Q.’ He’s all tied up with Angie. She probably doesn’t weigh much more than an eighty-pound sack of fertilizer like Grandpa empties into his corn planter on his farm.”

  “Art is due any minute for your help session, and I’m heading out the back door for the library. Gotta get ready for my psych exam.” Bess watched the departure of her tall, slender friend in her jeans and sweater and fought a trace of jealousy at Milla’s physique.

  Bess ran a comb through her silky hair one more time, and drew a deep breath when she spotted Art riding his bicycle up the sidewalk to the house. He parked his Raleigh three-speed, removed his books from the baskets hung on the back fender, and took long, powerful strides to her front door. Before he could push the doorbell, she opened the door. Does he suspect I was anxious for him to arrive? She hoped not.

  “Hi Art. Come in and we’ll settle on the couch for the help session.” Bess couldn’t contain her swallowing, but she did manage to quench her sigh as she tried an inconspicuous scan of him.

  His broad shoulders, bulging biceps, narrow waist, square jaw, sensitive brown eyes, and big but attractive nose never failed to do a number on her, especially at close range.

  “I sound like a stuck record, but I really appreciate you helping me with Diffie Q. Next year I’ll have a couple of metallurgical courses dealing with aerodynamics, and they’re laced with a lot of high-powered math, too,” Art said. Bess loved his deep bass voice.

  “Glad to help. Since I’m in aeronautical engineering I could help you with those courses, too. But let’s see what you have this evening.” Bess sat down; sorry the couch sank so low under her weight, even though she knew Art’s solid muscular body would even things out.

  “Story problems. I just can’t set the equations up for them.” Art sat close beside her. She inhaled and almost forgot to exhale, and thanked the Lord she had an ability to be a math whiz, including in that prayer her gratefulness that this gift, at least temporarily, paired her up with Art.

  As she explained the descriptive language and how to convert it into equations and then solve those equations, she made eye contact with Art and couldn’t prevent a gentle smile for him. At those times she quickly turned her gaze back to the math book. Once or twice he returned the smile, but most of the time he concentrated on the book and her notes. At the conclusion of the session, which was too short in Bess’ estimation, Art made another endearing remark.

  “You explain it so much more clearly than Dr. Clemmons.” He accompanied that with his breathtaking smile.

  “You’re too kind, Art.” Bess so wished he would make a nice comment about her hair or the way she dressed. It was useless to wish for a comment about her figure, though. Milla always told her to wish for a compliment on her character. Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud horn sounding from the street. Art jumped up.

  “That’s Angie. Gotta go. See you next week, Bess.” He grabbed his books and hurried out before she could gain her feet, and the screen door banged behind him.

  Bess watched his marvelous frame dance down the steps and wheel his bike to the truck. There sat Angie, her small body in sharp contrast to her big pickup. What was it? A 1955 Dodge? Her smile widened as Art placed his bike in the bed of her truck. He stepped on the running board, jerked open the passenger door, and slid in. Bess squinted her eyes, thinking his leaning toward Angie probably included a hello kiss.

  She recognized that Angie, the drum major for the marching band, nimble on her feet, limber, swinging that tiny body of hers all around, no doubt had the attention of all the fellows, and the envy of all the girls. Only one fellow was important to her, though, and of course that was Art. Well, Bess thought, Angie’s hair doesn’t match up to mine. She nailed Angie to the wall on that score. There I go again, dwelling on the physical.

  ****

  “Oh, Milla, I can’t compete with Angie. She has a perfect, petite figure.” Bess laid her thermodynamics book down and sighed.

  “You have ten times the character she has and fifty times the brains. I’m surprised Steven Weinberg or maybe that young physicist, Stephen
Hawking, hasn’t asked you to work on the Unified Field Theory with your math knowledge.”

  “You’re exaggerating on every front, Milla. I did score an A on that last tensor analysis exam, and it pushed my average to almost an A. But speaking of Angie’s smarts, she has Art. Maybe I should go on a diet,” Bess said.

  “You’re a big-framed girl. You don’t want people to say you look bad, do you? No one ever says you’ve lost weight. It’s always ‘you look bad.’ Your weight is fine. You’re a good swimmer, too, and that’s good exercise to keep your muscles in shape.”

  “Fat floats very well.” Bess thought about how far she could project herself above water while treading. She enjoyed swimming and was thankful it kept her weight from getting totally out of control.

  “Say, are you looking forward to lecturing to the metallurgical engineering students tomorrow night?”

  “I’m really nervous. Doctor Ahlman seems to think I know enough about strength of materials in relation to flight theory.”

  “You’re at the top of your aeronautical engineering class, so of course you know enough. Besides, you know who will be there, of course.” That smile again consoled Bess.

  “Art,” Bess uttered. His name said it all.

  The night of the lecture, Milla, supportive as always, complimented her on how she looked, dispelling self-consciousness about her weight. Bess looked in the full-length mirror while Milla, behind her, fussed, wanting Bess to look perfect. She touched Bess’ shoulder-length hair gently, smoothed her blouse sleeves, fanned her full skirt. To Bess, nothing had seemed out of place to begin with, but she appreciated Milla’s motherly concern.

  “No wind tonight, so your hair will stay put as you walk to the metallurgical engineering building. And it’s warm for early October, so you don’t need a coat.”

  ****

  Bess kept an eye on the elevated back door of the lecture hall as she stood at the front of the room conversing with her advisor, the head professor in the aeronautical engineering department. She could easily divide her attention, able to chew gum and walk at the same time, but she never chewed gum. “I have every confidence in your ability to handle this lecture,” Professor Ahlman was saying. Attendees flowed in, carrying their notebooks, sidestepping from the aisle to take seats at points along the rows. She hadn’t seen Art yet and supposed he was detained by Angie.

  Her professor, a short, small man with dark hair and piercing eyes, glanced at his watch, then at the students, their influx now at a trickle, just as Art entered and hopped down the center aisle to a seat on the second row. Bess caught her usual sharp intake of breath unsuccessfully as he smiled faintly. He sat down, opened his notebook, and held his pen ready. A couple more students, including Veronique, Bess’ cousin and the only woman in the audience, entered at the last moment. With a brief smile at Bess, Professor Ahlman stepped forward.

  “Many of you probably already know Miss Bess Simpson. She will be lecturing tonight on the importance of metals and their properties as it applies to wing sections. You might think of this as the common ground between metallurgy and aeronautics. If you have questions, you will address her as Miss Simpson. She is volunteering her time from her busy schedule. That means she doesn’t have to be here, so you should thank her for that. Your respective professors will be testing you on this material. Miss Simpson,” he said, waving his hand in presentation mode.

  As the professor walked out, Bess launched into her lecture. She tapped the green slate board with her chalk, knowing her audience need not be talked down to. Two of them she was well acquainted with: Art and Veronique. Both were very sharp, Art in more ways than smarts, of course. Bess shared classes with a half dozen others present. It was exhilarating to her as she noted the hundred-plus students showed unwavering attention, taking notes, appearing to stay with her as she shoved the lower board up and pulled down the upper board, filling it with text and equations as well. Eye contact of speaker with audience was supposed to be divided equally among the listeners, but she had to fight the inclination of giving Art most of her attention.

  Very few questions were asked as she wrapped it up after an hour. Many passed by her, thanking her and addressing her as Miss Simpson. They didn’t give her time to tell them to drop that formality now that the lecture was over. Veronique complimented her as she passed by. Art was still seated, conversing with a friend beside him about something in his notes. He finished, rose from his seat, sidestepped to the aisle, and danced down the steps toward her. Bess took a deep breath.

  “Miss Simpson, thanks so much for a great lecture,” Art said, coming to a standstill in front of her. Everyone else had left.

  “For goodness’ sakes, Art. It’s Bess,” she said, laughing.

  “Art. Let’s go,” Angie called from the back of the room. She stood with her hands on her waist, her hip cocked, her face in a scowl aimed at Bess.

  “I’m talking to Bess. Be there in five minutes. Oh, and let’s just have a malt tonight. Skip the movie. I’ve got to study, big time.” Angie stomped out.

  “Are we on for another math session day after tomorrow?”

  “Sure are.” Bess couldn’t help her rapid-fire answer to that question. They exchanged a few more words on one of the technical points in Bess’ lecture before Art met Angie at the side entrance down front, Angie once again giving Bess the ugliest frown she’d ever received. While Bess collected her notes and book, then erased both boards, she could hear the loud discussion between Art and Angie in the hallway and heard her name mentioned a few times. When it grew quiet, Bess moved in that direction and headed for the ladies’ room. She saw Art duck into the men’s room farther down the hall, but Angie wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Then, as Bess washed her hands and prepared to leave, she had a spooky feeling she wasn’t alone, as she had first thought. A blurred movement out of the corner of her eye wasn’t enough warning and, caught off guard, she was pushed against the sink. It was Angie, gritting her teeth, surprising Bess with her strength.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at Art. Stay away from him! He’s mine.” Angie accented her demands by poking Bess’ shoulder.

  “Oh, since when did we return to the slave times, owning somebody?” Bess gently pried Angie’s sharp forefinger out of her shoulder.

  “Very funny. You know what I mean.” Angie’s lips took an ugly downturn.

  “You must think I’m a threat.” Bess called on her own smirk, something she didn’t practice often.

  “Get serious. Art isn’t interested in fat women. Just remember what I said. Take it to heart.” Angie tilted her chin up, grunted, turned, and strutted out.

  Bess watched her swing her small behind as she barged through the restroom door. The incident unsettled Bess. She didn’t like conflict, and being hated by someone disturbed her even though she couldn’t claim fault. Angie’s statement about Art not liking fat women stung her. She would not comply with Angie’s demands, nor would she mention the incident to Art or anyone else.

  ****

  Bess was concentrating on her aerodynamics project, which she would have to finalize during her work at the separate aeronautics campus at the airport, when the phone rang.

  “Bess, its Art. I’m afraid I won’t be coming for any more math tutoring.”

  “Why not?” Bess knew her voice wasn’t steady and conveyed her shock.

  “Well, you’ll certainly want the truth. Angie insists I go to the regular tutoring sessions offered. I don’t need a stressful relationship with her,” Art said. Bess could hear hesitation between his words.

  “So, you do what Angie tells you despite those tutoring sessions not being clear?”

  “I can hear you’re disappointed in me. It’s no reflection on you. Your tutoring was excellent. Listen, I gotta go. Maybe our paths will cross on campus.” He hung up without giving her a chance to respond.

  Bess stared at the phone, dumbfounded, her hopes dashed. What did Angie have that she didn’t? She knew the answer: Looks, a slender an
d lithe body, and, despite her small stature, a commanding presence. She’d had a sample of Angie’s fiery spirit in the bathroom. Bess had felt things were going pretty well with Art—no romance, but friendliness beyond casual. Now suddenly things were going sour. Yet she must not continue to react like a lover being jilted; she had no right to sound that way.

  ****

  Bess decided to opt for the comfort of the shuttle bus for the seven-mile ride to the aeronautics campus rather than a frigid November ride on her bicycle. She sat halfway back in the bus and concentrated on her notes, barely aware the bus made one stop to pick someone up before proceeding across a well-kept country road. The new passenger approached the empty aisle seat next to her.

  “May I sit here?” Bess’ heart skipped its usual half dozen beats as she stared up at the source of the bass voice: Art.

  “Sure. What brings you to the aeronautics campus?” Bess asked as Art slid in close to her. He positioned his books on his lap.

  “I’m in a class that uses the electron microscope for examining the microcrystalline structure of alloys.”

  “I’ve used the electron microscope a bit, for examining the latest alloys used to build wing sections,” Bess added, noting that Art was looking at her notes, a puzzled look on his face.

  “I see, as usual, you have high-powered math in your notes.”

  “Yes, I’m working on the boundary-layer concept and how to manipulate it along wing surfaces to gain maximum lift. Say, speaking of math, how are your tutoring sessions going?” Bess mentally patted herself on the back for that subtle move to another subject.

  “Horrible. Finnegan is running the sessions and assumes we know more than we actually do. We’re all lost, and he doesn’t care. I wish you were still helping me.” Art looked down, a twitch in his jaw.