========================================================================= Date: Wed, 6 Mar 1996 11:32:46 -0500 Reply-To: JJSWBT@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Wendy Tillis Subject: Hidden Potential 8/22 Hidden Potential by: Wendy Tillis March, 1996 Standard disclaimers apply Chapter 8 Richie fumbled for his keys. They were standing in the hallway to his apartment . Margaret looked up and down the hall. The apartment building, located on the edge of the warehouse district, had seen better days. It was three stories of small flats - peeling exterior paint, thread bare carpets, burned out light bulbs. Most of the renters were poor families or single men down on their luck but not quite ready for life on the streets. Richie's apartment was on the second floor and faced the street. " We'll just stop in and get that extra helmet and then we'll hit the road." He continued to go through pockets for his keys. "Are we sure I want to do this?" Margaret had always been of the opinion that motorcycles were a prosthesis-makers dream. She had no urge to go through life with less appendages that she had arrived with. " You're not still scared, are you? I'm a really good driver - really. I used to race a bit. In Europe." " Ooh, Europe!" Richie glanced her way - he had trouble sometimes deciding if she was making fun of him. She looked serious. They had been going out for about three weeks and she was still pretty much a mystery to him. But he loved it . . . loved her. Richie finally located his keys and unlocked the door. They both stepped in. This was the first time Margaret had been here. Richie knew it was awful when compared to her house and he had been half ashamed to have her see it. For the past three weeks he had been making excuses why they couldn't stop at his place. Today she had insisted. Margaret wandered around the living room while Richie went in the bedroom to find his spare motorcycle helmet. She shook her head. 'What a dump" she laughed to herself. So typically young-American male grunge. The furniture was sparse - an old couch, a beat-up recliner, a TV on a crate, a lamp on cinder blocks. An antique Spanish rapier on the wall. Margaret went over to the sword and took it down from its resting place. It was beautiful . Spanish it was. Perhaps 400 or 500 years old. Worth a great deal. The etching on the hilt and blade were magnificent. She tested its weight in her hand, then slashed the air twice . Getting the feel for it, she struck an en garde position just as Richie came back into the room. ""Whoa ! Don't touch that!! " He spoke more sharply that he had meant and she looked at him questioningly. " It's very sharp. I didn't want you to cut yourself." He hurried over and took the blade out of her hand. Checking it for fingerprints, he carefully replaced it on the wall. " That's a beautiful weapon. Where did you get it?" "Mac gave it to me for . . my birthday a few years back. He used to be an antique dealer, you know. I think he has closets full of old stuff somewhere." "Hmmm. . . Wouldn't surprise me in the least." She went over to look at the sword again. "Do you fence?" " A little. I mean, Mac knows how and he taught me some moves." Richie thought it best to down play the whole issue. " I'm just surprised you leave it hanging there on the wall. I'd think it would be safer if you carried it with you all the time." Richie was startled. "What do you mean - carry it with me always" Did she know something, he wondered. " I mean that it's likely to get stolen if you leave it here. I didn't actually mean you should carry it with you. Richie - sometimes you are so funny." Richie gave a nervous laugh and handed her the spare helmet. " Time to go. " " If you say so. " " I do. And I thought this evening we could check out this club over on the west- side. I want to see this band - The Poached Salmon. I think they could be good. They just need the right manager." They walked out the door and Richie turned to lock it. " Manager , huh? Dojo manager, road racer, and now band manager. You never cease to surprise me. A man of many talents." She chuckled at that. Richie reached out an arm, caught her and pulled her close. He kissed her hard. " I could really surprise you if you let me. How about we skip the motorcycle lesson, go back inside and I show you a few more of my talents. Hmm?" He kissed her again, turning them both back toward the apartment door. She shifted her weight and pulled gently away from him. They had slept together twice in the last week. Richie had seemed to expect it and she didn't really object. He had turned out to be about what she had imagined - energetic if not terribly imaginative. If she had been planning on them staying together, she would have considered teaching him a trick or two. As it was, she let him think he was the best she had ever known. Men liked that. Especially young men. "Not now, Richie. I've gotten all psyched up for this ride, lets do it ." " I was kind of psyched up about a ride too." He leered amicably at her. " Richie! No, seriously. I want to learn how to ride your bike. Time enough for other activities later." Richie turned away , disappointed and frustrated. "I'm sorry Richie. I just have trouble being spontaneous about these things. Forgive me?" She turned those huge green eyes on him and his anger disappeared. He could wait a few hours. He would see to it that they ended up back at her house after the ride. He wished she didn't have that great brute of a dog. Angus didn't seem to like him. She said it was because Angus was used to sleeping on half her bed. Well, the dog could just get over it because Richie planned on being there a *long* time. " OK, one motorcycle riding lesson coming up."