Stealing the Elf-King's Roses: The Author's Cut by Diane Duane Page B

was fine—the intimacy, the profound sense of trust. It was as if her traitor brain was intent on pretending that that last terrible night had never happened, the night all the talk about looks not being such an important thing had been laid bare for what it was, just talk; the night she let herself into Matt’s apartment to pick up some clothes she’d left there, and found Matt kissing a face with which Lee instantly knew she could never compete, embracing a body that made it plain why he had been so busy after hours for the past couple of weeks.
    Lee stood there stirring sugar into her coffee and brooding. The dialogue from that night kept replaying itself, as if there were some way it could be corrected.  Lee, let me explain. No, I understand perfectly   well. Why didn’t you ask me to give you back the key to your apartment? I didn’t want you to   think—I was trying to find a way to break it to you. Well, it looks like you found a way.  She had collected those of her things that she could quickly lay hands on and taken herself away before she found herself looking again at that lovely face, and cursing it.
    There were enough people in the DA’s Office who knew what Matt had been up to and had said nothing. Lee found that this hurt her, though she could understand their own conflicts about the situation. He was their boss: though the way he had been acting embarrassed them, they were still loyal to him. Some of them defended him, while still trying not to hurt her.  You know how guys are, Lee. Well, I do now. No,   seriously. It’s not their fault, they’re just wired up that way. A relationship gets old…or something   else is going on, work is tough, they’re under stress…and they see a pretty face, some new young   thing, and they…
    Lee sighed, took a drink of her coffee, and made a face. There were three sugars in it, maybe four. Lee started to throw it out, then thought that her blood sugar could probably use that much help right now. She dumped some more milk in the coffee to make it at least marginally palatable, and took it back to her desk.
    She actually found herself able to smile a little as she considered the situation. There, in a department theoretically devoted to making sure people took responsibility for their actions, just about everyone was earnestly exculpating Matt for not having had the guts to simply tell her it was all over, and that he was ditching Lee in favor of a “trophy babe.” None of them seemed to see the incongruity of it. Finally, Lee had let it be known that the subject was closed and that they all needed to get on with “business as usual”: if indeed there would ever be such a thing for her again. The way she felt at the moment, Lee had her doubts, but work had to be done, and she was carrying on with it. She wasn’t going to give Matt the satisfaction of thinking that his thoughtlessness had enough power to ruin her life.
    She sat and gazed “out” the commwall, running as usual on its default view of Saturn rising over Titan’s methane snow.  I guess what makes it seem so unfair is that there are some of us who just never   will be able to compete…not  that way  . We have many other accomplishments and talents,   successful careers, good friendships, brains and talent and humor… but no matter what we do, we   will never have  that , that classic beauty that everyone claims not to really care about…and   secretly does.
    Out in the front office, the comm alert shrilled. Lee looked that way in surprise, then glanced down at the desk: the clock under the surface said 0716.  Who the hell’s calling at  this  hour of the morning?  she thought, for if it had been Gel or Mass or anyone else directly associated with the office, the call would have routed straight through to her wall.
    Lee reached out and touched the spot on her desk that routed control of the switchboard to her. “Reh’Mechren and Enfield, good morning,” she said.
    The