LOST ART OF STEELE
Date: Wed, 02 Aug 2000
Lauryn Poynor <lpoynor@zebra.net>
Takes place during the fourth season after "Steele in the
Running."
This is in response to the current list challenge.
LOST ART OF STEELE (rated PG)
by Lauryn
Laura Holt was unusually cheerful as she rode the elevator up
to Steele's apartment. She had continued a modified workout schedule
even after her recent tri-athalon competition and found it helped
energize her for the full workday. But today wasn't a workday.
At least, not for her. A slow smile began to creep across her
face. After skillfully evading her attempts to prod him into a
regular exercise routine, Steele had finally agreed to a compromise
of sorts of playing tennis with her on weekends. She'd never seen
the man near a health club or even exercising on his own although
he wasn't out of condition. Still, a little discipline wouldn't
hurt him. Too much.
Laura knocked on the door to his apartment, rocking back on her
heels with a bit of impatience when several tries produced no
response. She let herself in with the agency key. She walked through,
not seeing him and called out "Mr. Steele"- then heard
the sound of the shower running. So much for that wakeup call.
How like him, she thought. She had been up for her morning jog
two hours ago. Hearing her voice he called out over the sound
of the water "Won't be a moment, Laura." "Would
you get my tennis racket out of the hall closet?" "Should
be up on the left, top shelf."
She went to the closet and looked up, seeing the handle of the
tennis racket visible in the far corner. Stretching , she pulled
it free along with several nearby items. Among them an overturned
box containing an assortment of charcoal pencils and pastels and
a small sketch pad. The pad lay partially open where it had fallen.
She picked it up
intending to put it back on the shelf. It opened to reveal something
which froze her in mid stride.
It was a charcoal drawing. Unmistakably her. Unmistakably nude.
Dazed, she gathered all the items
and wandered over to the sofa and sat down. Her pulse racing,
she turned the pages. Nearly all the subjects were of her. Some
were head shots, some were figure studies. Several of those were
nudes.
She studied them intently. They were very like her yet strangely
different. Although obviously not drawn from life, the proportions
and features were accurate, the lines sure, skilled, and lively.
Her self in pencil seemed incredibly sensual and beautiful, certainly
more so than she believed herself to be. Even to her untrained
eye Steele's
intuition was uncanny. It was as if he knew her, or some undiscovered
part of her, better than she did herself.
How long has he been seeing me like this? Imagining and waiting
for this other Laura? She tried to picture it in her mind. Him
sketching. Perhaps at odd hours at the office. Perhaps alone at
night, lounging in bed, conjuring her body. This last thought
caused a sudden flash of heat through her veins and she ran a
steadying hand through her hair.
She slowly turned the pages, noticing
that the backs of some of them were marked with dates. The date
of the first nude jumped out at her.
October 1, 1982. That day, long ago,
that he had walked into her life as Ben Pearson. Even then? Suddenly
her breath left her. She should be angry, she decided, but that
wasn't what she was feeling. She wasn't quite sure what it was.
A familiar voice intruded on her thoughts. Startled and guilty,
she quickly closed the sketchbook and looked up. "Well Laura,
ready for your tennis lesson, I trust?" "I'll try to
be gentle with y--" He broke off as he realized what she
held in her hands. He was dressed in his robe, his black hair
still damp from the shower. How could she be angry with someone
who looked so damned gorgeous, she thought distractedly.
"This fell out of your closet accidently." " I was just um..looking,", she finished lamely.
He seemed unfazed. "Oh, I've
been doing a bit of sketching lately. Old hobby of mine",
he said casually. After the
words left his mouth, the other shoe dropped. Those sketches.
Shock and embarrassment colored his face.
After an awkward silence, Laura continued,
"more than just lately it seems." "By the dates
on these you've been at this for some time. Since the day we met
actually."
He looked at her uncertainly as if trying to gauge her reaction.
" I know it must feel strange to you," he began, "and
I can understand that. If you're angry I understand that, too.
But I can't apologize. I had only the best intentions."
Curious, she looked him in the eye.
"Care to explain them?"
Not directly meeting her gaze he thought for a moment. "That
day I first walked into your office, when I first saw you, I couldn't
get you out of my mind. When I went back to the hotel that night
all of my nerves were on edge. I wanted to
follow through on my original intent to steal the jewels but you
had thrown a severe hitch in my plans. I didn't want to admit
it at the time but somehow I knew the jewels really weren't as
important to me as something else. I went through all of the possibilities
in my mind, trying to find a way not to involve you. I was tired
as hell but I couldn't sleep. I couldn't get your image out of
my mind. So I put it
on paper. It was way of exorcising those demons I suppose. A way
to get you out of my head." He took a breath, gathering his
thoughts. "After I became Remington Steele it grew to be
something else. A way to close the distance when you were away.
To keep you close." He stopped abruptly, his face withdrawn
from her, wondering if he had revealed too much.
"I see," Laura replied smiling. "So few forms of true intimacy left."
He remembered the words. "No need to quote me so accurately, Miss Holt." Smiling himself now, he pulled her to him.
She looked at him thoughtfully. "These drawings, they're really wonderful you know." " "A bit of a shock at first - but wonderful." "One of these days I'll discover all of your hidden talents."
"I'm an open book, Laura,"
he replied nibbling her ear. Not bloody likely, she thought. Well,
maybe a bit more open.
On a sudden decisive impulse she slipped out of his grasp. "Well,
I'm off," she said.
Confused, he saw her heading for the
bathroom, pulling off her sweater. "Isn't it a bit cramped
in there for tennis?"
"Not what I had in mind." She explained, "I know
you have your vivid imagination to rely on and I'm no expert,
but don't most artists work better from life?" "Sharpen
your pencils, Mr. Steele."