Truly, Madly Viking

  "And this is what you did in life? You played games?"

  Steve laughed at his apparent confusion and named some seemingly high amount of money he was paid for this occupation.

  "You obviously loved this game. 'Twas in your eyes when you watched it on the tea-vee box. Why did you stop?"

  "I was drafted... well, actually I jumped the gun because I knew I was going to be drafted."

  "Drafted?"

  "Uh-huh. I got the word that Uncle Sam wanted me for military service, and there was no saying no in those days. The Vietnam War was at its height. I enlisted in the Navy SEALs." He shrugged. "The rest is history."

  Jorund didn't understand all that he had said. Uncle Sam, for instance. Nay-vee, for another. But the gist of it filtered through: Steve had fought in some gruesome war as a soldier of some sort, and although it had been many years ago, he still suffered the consequences.

  "Did your wife leave you whilst you were away at battle?"

  At first Steve's eyes flashed angrily at the intrusive question, but then his body relaxed, almost as if he was tired of holding it all in. "Nah! Shelley stuck around for twenty years. I haven't seen her for ten years. Hell, that was the last time we made love, too. The last time I was able to get it up. And a poor performance it was."

  Jorund decided to ignore Steve's remarks on his sexual prowess. "Well, you are fortunate then. Many a feckless wench have I encountered in my day. Faithless women who spread their legs for another the minute their men pick up spear and shield to go off a-Viking or a-fighting."

  "Huh?" Steve said. Then his thoughts reverted.... back to his Shell-he. "Man, I made Shell's life a living hell. Good thing we never had kids. I probably would have made them suffer, too."

  Although Steve claimed happiness in not having bred children, Jorund could see the lie in his lifeless eyes. Jorund could understand this. Had n't he disdained children all his life, too? Then hadn't he seen the mistruth of his lifelong protestations the moment his daughters were born?

  "I have heard much on The Young and the Restless this week about divorce... which we have in my land, too. Did you divorce your wife... or did she divorce you?"

  "Shelley's back in Iowa, teaching school. I figured she'd file for divorce once she met another man and wanted to get married again. I never received any notification, though, so I really don't know." He stared blankly at the screen for a long time before he spoke again. "I thought she'd find someone else fight off the bat. In fact, I hope she did. Shell is so beautiful. She deserves more than a broken-down ex-baseball player." His voice cracked on that last, making it as clear as a sunny day on a northern fjord that Steve's biggest problem wasn't his impotence, or aleheadedness, or black night-frights, but the empty hole left in his life by a woman.

  That was the way of it throughout time, Jorund decided. Women were the root of all men's problems.

  Maggie rarely went back to the hospital at night, but the girls were attending a birthday party at a friend's house, and she just couldn't stop worrying about Joe. The anguished look on his face when she'd last seen him stabbed at her heart.

  "Joe?" She stepped tentatively into his room, which was dark except for the light from the TV screen. "Are you awake?"

  He didn't answer, though she could make out his semirecumbent form on the bed arms folded behind his head.

  "I came back to apologize," she said, closing the door behind her, then stepping closer to the bed, where she could see that his eyes were open and staring right at her. "I shouldn't have pushed you with all those family inquiries. It was too much, too soon. And you have a right to some privacy. When you're ready—"

  Before she had a chance to finish her sentence, Joe reached out and grabbed her by the waist. "Oh, I am ready, wench. I am more than ready."

  In a blink, she was flat on her back on the bed, and he lay on top of her, his upper body braced on his extended arms.

  "M'lady, you are driving me mad," he said in a husky growl.

  "Mad?" she chocked out. With his maleness pressed against her femaleness, sanity seemed to be lacking in her as well.

  "Yea, all your probing interrogations are driving me mad. Then, too, there are your kiss-some lips, and sex-voice, and eyes so blue they draw a man in and catch him unawares, and legs just the right size to wrap around a man's waist, and breasts... holy Thor, your breasts would fit just perfectly in my hands.

  All these things are driving me mind-draining mad." He took a deep breath, one she felt against her diaphragm, then continued. "I was sane when I arrived in this godforsaken land. Why are you doing this to me?"

  "Why do you think I'm doing this to you?" she squeaked out.

  "Aaarrgh! Always you turn my questions back on me. Can you not give a straight answer just once?"

  "Well, yes," she whispered.

  "And you will answer straight and true?"

  She nodded.

  Maggie knew it was a mistake even before Joe uttered the delicious words, "Do you want me as much as I want you?"

  Oh, this was dangerous territory for a psychologist to enter with her patient.

  Maggie could lose her license. But even if no one found out, she would know there was an ethical line that had been crossed, if she answered honestly with herself.

  He put his fingertips to her lips. "Shhh. Don't speak. There are some things that need not be said aloud."

  He lowered his upper body so that he rested on his elbows. Furrowing his fingers through her hair on either side, he cupped her head. "Why did you cut your hair so short?" he asked, even as he inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her shampoo.

  "I lost a bet with my girls."

  His face jerked to the side at the mention of her daughters, as if he'd been slapped. It was she, then, who cupped his jaw and turned his face back. "Joe? What is it? Tell me why the mere mention of my daughters upsets you so,"

  "You overreach yourself my lady."

  "I want to help."

  "What you want does not signify in this situation. You can't help... not with this. Leave be, I tell you. Leave be."

  She realized that he wasn't ready to share his grief yet... whatever that grief was. "You've got to let me up, Joe. If anyone saw us, I could be in big trouble. You, too, for that matter. Remember the contract you signed with your X mark?"

  "Words! Nothing but words! You gainsay me at every turn, my lady. How long do you think I will allow you to hold me off?"

  "Let me up," was her only response.

  At first it appeared as if he would balk, but then he said, "I will release you if you but grant me one token."

  "And that would be?" she asked with a small laugh.

  "A kiss."

  "A kiss?"

  "Yea... a good kiss."

  "You said you don't like kisses."

  "I thought we already cleared up that misunderstanding. I have changed my mind... leastways, with you. Besides, I doubt you would agree if I'd suggested a good swiving."

  "Not if it's what I think it is." This conversation is totally out-of-bounds. I am totally out-of-bounds.

  He smiled... another of those smiles that parted his lips and exposed his white teeth, but did not reach his eyes. "It is. But you should know that I give good swives."

  "You also give good kisses."

  "I do?" he said, inordinately pleased. "And with so little practice. Imagine how good I will be when we have kissed a hundred times or so."

  "A hun-hundred?" she stammered. "You said one kiss."

  "For now," he murmured against her lips. "One good kiss for now to hold me over till next time."

  "Joe, there can't be a next—"

  Her words were cut off with the soft caress of his firm lips against hers. Back and forth, back and forth, he rubbed till she was pliant and willing. Only then did his kiss turn into a hungry, punishing, sweet torture, an exercise in eroticism. He shaped her lips with his, then pressed hard. When his tongue thrust into her mouth, she moaned, then moaned again when it began an in and-out rhythm t
hat caused her nipples to peak and hot liquid to pool between her legs.

  Maggie went delirious with need, something she had never done in all her thirty-two years. She would die if this kiss went on any longer. She would die if it stopped.

  His hands were everywhere fondling her breasts, skimming her hips, cupping her buttocks and rocking her against his erection.

  Erection! Maggie's eyes flew open, and it was as if she stood above the writhing bodies on the bed. When had her legs spread wide and wrapped themselves about his hips? When had he begun pounding against the apex of her thighs, mimicking the sex act? Good Lord! Maggie shoved hard against his chest, and because he was caught unawares, she was able to slip out from under him and stagger to the door, where she pressed her forehead against the cool glass and panted for breath.

  Behind her, she heard a string of unbroken words in a foreign tongue, which she assumed were swear words. They dwindled down eventually to silence.

  Finally, when she had calmed down, Maggie flicked on the light switch, and turned.

  Jorund sat on the edge of the bed, his arms braced on his widespread knees, breathing heavily. He stared at her with barely suppressed anger. "You will bend to my will one day," he said, and he was serious. "Your days are numbered."

  "This will never happen between us again," she disagreed in a shaky voice, rubbing her fingers across her kiss-swollen lips.

  He started to laugh then, and couldn't seem to stop.

  "What's so damn funny?" Maggie asked huffily.

  Joe wiped at his eyes with the backs of his hands. "I'll tell you what's so funny, my lady. You speak of endings, but methinks there is another direction for our relationship."

  "Relationship? Relationship? We have no relationship," she shrieked.

  He hit the side of his head with the heel of one hand. "Must you be so shrill? Your screeching hurts my ears. Reminds me of a seagull when it spots a tasty meal."

  She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists to calm down. "Get this though your thick skull: we have no relationship."

  "Ha! Think again, my lady," he declared with a droll expression on his face. "I have just realized an important fact about us."

  She was about to scream that there was no "us," but restrained herself. Instead she lifted one eyebrow in question.

  "I think you are my fate. I think you are the reason I was sent here."

  Maggie did scream then, silently.

  "Oh, my God!"

  The tour of the Rainbow facilities by the Medic-All contingent had just been successfully completed, and Maggie was about to breathe a deep sigh of relief when she heard Harry's exclamation. Turning, she followed the direction of his gaze, down the corridor to the open doorway of the exercise room. It was her turn to exclaim then, "Oh, my God!"

  Joe was leaning against the doorjamb, wearing black sweatpants, white high tops, and a gray T-shirt that spelled out, No Pain, No Gain. He was talking animatedly to a short, gray-haired gentleman in wing tips and a pin-striped business suit... a stranger, as far as Maggie could tell.

  With trepidation, she inquired of the Medic-All PR man, George Smith, "Who is that?"

  "Oh! So he decided to come, after all," George answered enthusiastically. He was already walking away.

  "Who?" she and Harry said at the same time, rushing to catch up. The other six members of the Medic-All group, along with two members of the Lawrence family,

  which owned the privately held Rainbow facility, followed quickly behind them.

  "Jerome Johnson. President and CEO of Medic-All," George informed them over his shoulder. "He was supposed to be tied up all day in meetings with the Dallas lawyers. Guess he decided to cut them short."

  So this was the elusive, high-powered Donald Trump of the HMO world. He resembled a mildmannered Mr. Milquetoast, but looks were deceiving. Money magazine described him as mysterious and obsessively protective of his private life. As far as Maggie knew, he'd never been photographed for the media.

  Hattie Lawrence, a spoiled Houston socialite, whispered in Maggie's ear, "Who is that character?" She was staring fixedly at Joe. "He'd better not be spoiling this deal for us. We've worked too hard to—Mercy! The man is a giant... and drop dead gorgeous. Please don't tell me he's a patient."

  Hattie was three times divorced, with as many face-lifts, tummy tucks, and boob jobs as a thirty five-year-old woman could sustain. Luckily, the greedy woman had only a small say in Rainbow's future. Her daddy, Jack Lawrence, also in attendance, held the purse strings. Today was not the first time she and Harry had met Jack Lawrence or Hattie, but most of the negotiations had been taking place between the Lawrence family and the Medic-All people, off premises.

  "That's Joe Rand, and yes, he's a patient."

  Hattie's face dropped with disappointment. They had almost reached the exercise wing, and Maggie could hear Joe expounding to the Medic-All honcho: "'Tis my opinion that all of your patients can benefit from a daily exercise program. You know what the Norse proverbs say: sound bodies go hand in hand with sound minds." Jorund took a deep breath and continued. "Spear throwing and hand-to-hand combat on the practice field work best, of course, but in their absence, your exercise machines provide a fair substitute. I tried to instruct the pay-shuns yesterday on swordplay, but Norse Hatch-her nigh had a fit over that. You'd think broom and mop handles were priceless objects. Dost think a practice field would be a possibility for the future?"

  Oh, good heavens! A patient lecturing on mental health and fitness! A patient who thinks he's a tenth-century Viking!

  And Jerome Johnson was all ears.

  "Even those who live in those wheeled chairs should be working muscles that are still alive," Joe was blathering on. "Otherwise they will all atrophy... that's a word I learned on Wheel of Fortune. Oh, you watch that show on the world box, too? Anyhow, just since I've been here— about two sennights—you can see a change in some of the pay-shuns. Hair-vee Lutz, for example, has the strangest compulsion to count things. Well, now he is counting the strokes of his oars on the rowing machine."

  Sure enough, through the open doorway to the exercise room, they could see Harvey counting away as sweat poured down his face and he continued to row.

  Appropriately, the logo on his T shirt today read, I Get Enough Exercise Just Pushing My Luck.

  "See Chuck over there? Today he thinks he is a puff fish, but look how energetically he is rowing. This is the first time in two years that Chuck has worked his muscles."

  Yep, Chuck was puffin away like a steam engine—or a puff fish, whatever that was—as he worked the rowing machine. The bright young man wore a T-shirt that pretty much said it all: Okay, Who Put a Stop Payment on My Reality Check? Someday soon Maggie hoped to find out what Chuck's real problem was, because it sure as heck wasn't being a split animal personality.

  "And my comrade, Steve Askey, is pressing five hundred benches," Joe was still blathering on, "or is it pressing the bench at five hundred... ? Oh, I didn't see you there, Dock-whore Muck-bride... and Dock-whore Sea-bold. Have you met my new friend, Jaw-rome Johnson? He's a Norseman, too... from New-arc. That's in the world of New Jar-see."

  Her jaw dropped another notch.

  "You will hardly credit the coincidence, but Jaw-rome is a former fighting man, too, like me and Steve, except he was a green bar-ray."

  For a prolonged moment, silence hovered in the air. But leave it to Joe to break the ice even further.

  "Tsk-tsk!" Joe chided Maggie and Harry. "Aren't you going to shake hands with Jaw-rome?"

  Maggie's mouth clicked shut, along with Harry's, Hattie's, and Jack's.

  "How do you do?" she and Harry said, shaking the hand extended by Jerome Johnson. Joe beamed as if he'd invented the ritual of hand- shaking. Then Hattie and her father stepped upas well, although they had apparently met Johnson on some other occasions.

  Joe appeared very pleased with himself. You'd never know he was a patient, and not a hospital administrator.

  "Did you know that Jaw-r
ome has his own longship, Mag-he... I mean, Dock-whore Muck bride?" She had warned Joe on numerous occasions that he should address her in a more professional manner. "He is going to take me on a voyage someday."

  Maggie groaned mentally. How long had Joe been talking with Jerome Johnson? Much too long, apparently.

  Jerome smiled softly and patted Joe on the shoulder. "Actually, I have a yacht, and it was a short cruise on the Gulf I mentioned. As a possibility, mind you, just a possibility."

  "Yacht, longship, knarr... they are all boats," Joe expounded. Then he returned the favor and patted Jerome on the shoulder in a good-buddy fashion.

  Maggie caught a warning glance from Harry and immediately stepped forward. "Joe, would you mind coming down to my office with me?"

  Joe immediately brightened and complied. Thank God! He probably thought there was more hanky-panky on the menu. Not that any of it had ever been initiated by her. "I hope to see you again soon, Jaw-rome. And remember what I told you about putting whale fat on aching muscles... arthur-itis, you named the malady, I believe. 'Tis what my father does all the time for his creaking bones, especially after a long time at sea a-Viking."

  Oh, no! Had he just accused Mr. Johnson of having a creaking body?

  But Mr. Johnson just laughed. "You betcha, young man. Make a note of that, George. I want a tubful of whale lard, ASAP. I'm willing to try anything for this damned arthritis."

  George was turning a strange color of pale green. "And here is a surprise for you." Joe was talking to Harry now. "Jaw-rome loves the idea of our field trip. So you must put aside all your res... reservations, I think you called it."

  Harry started to turn green, too.

  As Maggie and Joe walked down the hallway toward her office, she was steaming, and he was beaming.

  "Am I cured yet?" he had the nerve to ask.

  A week later...

  At last the momentous day had arrived. Maggie was taking Jorund and all his new comrades in madness on their promised field journey.

  Jorund had to admit to being a mite fearful. In order to get from the Rainbow Hospitium to Orca land, the first leg of their journey, he would have to ride in one of the horseless carts he had seen nigh flying down the road from his chamber window. Actually it was a huge, yellow, boxlike structure with windows and wheels, known as a bus.