Never try to beat a lobster at his own pinching-game.

“Callie…will you please sit down and stop staring at me like a specter rising out of a grave?” He brought a chair to me and rather forcefully pushed me into it. “Now start over and I’ll try to understand you.”

I held my head high—queen that I was—and my cheeks burned hot. I would not stoop to repeat that strange and revealing torrent. I had already said too much—shown my wounds too deep—and all I could hope for was that he had listened to none of it. He stood again and brought me a cup of tepid coffee.

“We have no cream or sugar,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I stared into the black, oily depths of the cup and thought of the irony—I’d never known a thing to be so alike my own soul.

“Why don’t you pause and reflect for a moment?”

“On what?” Bitter, coffee-stained tones.

“On this hurlement de rage.”

“I don’t speak French, remember?”

“The deuce you don’t. Please, Cal—quit acting like a hydrophobic raccoon; I’m half frightened at that vicious sparking of your eyes.”

“It was you who started it.”

“How?”

“By talking about your…your stupid yacht!”

“You don’t have to go, Callie. I thought you’d enjoy the chance to relax with some of the people we’ll have you friendly with someday.”

His humble, cautious tone somewhat tamed my umbrage. I stirred the lukewarm coffee with one finger and dropped my head. All the fire dwindled out of me and left only a smoldering coal. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Splitting.”

“Exploding, rather. But all is forgiven and forgotten.” How easily he said those words—yet I knew he meant them and it was no flippancy. “Callie—I won’t make you be a guest at my yachting party.” His gaze was steady and brown—corduroy breeches with a teddy-bear sheen.

What's this? Disappointment? Callie—what is up with you? You practically shrieked at him that you didn’t want to go.

“But as your boss I am assigning you to work the party. You’ll have all the privileges of a guest, but I expect you to earn your keep. There—does that please the rabid vixen?”

“Does it please her? Gee, Mr. Barnett! You are fabulous!” I actually tipped over my coffee, dashed over to him, and gave him a hug. The lapel of his woolen jacket was rough against my cheek, and his chest solid. My arms dropped limp as soon as I realized what I had done, but Mr. Barnett only laughed and his eyes danced like the ‘netted sunbeams’ in Tennyson’s poem.

“Callie Harper—make sure you don’t show the public this upsy-down side—they might take you for the charmer you are and then it would be all up with us.”

“What is that supposed to me?”

“Nothing and everything in particular.”

I bit my lip and my cheeks flamed again—this time with excitement. “Then while we’re playing at riddles, may I ask a question?”

“Prying, gentle, direct, or merry-go-round?”

“All of the above?”

“Then shoot.”

“Are you any different than everyone else?”

Mr. Barnett sat down on his desk with a hand on each knee. “Jove, She’s turning philosophic on me.” His quick gaze traveled to my face and lingered there. “I could answer that each of us is created differently. But that would not satisfy you.”

“It would not.”

“Methinks you are driving at something a bit more insinuating.”

“Perhaps.”

“You are wondering whether I am like the common rabble…whether I behave like them in every respect. The fact that you ask the question belies a reluctance to believe it…why then, Miss Harper, do you wish it to be untrue?”

I wrapped myself in a hug and turned from him. “And I thought I was the one doing the digging.”

“Never try to beat a lobster at his own pinching-game.”

-Fly Away Home

Insults and Banter

Perhaps I possess a cruel and unusual nature that delights in giving insults. Or maybe I just appreciate a sharp, knife-edged thrust of wit now and then as many people do. I don't like giving the insults, but I have loads of fun reading and writing them.
Shakespeare had quite a few good ones:

"I would challenge you to a battle of wits but I saw you were unarmed."

"More of your conversation would infect my brain."

Hey! I even found a nifty, online Shakespearean insult kit! (do keep in mind not to use some of these in modern conversation...you'd have your tongue washed out. :P) These could be really helpful in a medieval-era novel.

Another man who was almost on par with Shakespeare in this category was Winston Churchill...you should hear some of his tiffs with Lady Astor! Phew! Among the lengthy list I found were some of these gems:

"A modest man who had much to be modest about..."

"He occasionally stumbled over the truth, but hastily picked himself up and hurried on as if nothing had happened."

"...a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma..."

I will be the first to admit that even if these men where a bit cruel at times, they were undoubtedly witty. I also love witty banter...a friendly sparring now and then that pokes at the opponent with no real malice, but certainly elicits a laugh or two. The one thing I love to come across in a book is a bit of wit or some first-rate insults. Not the common run of insults, mind you, because what fun are those? But I try to write in a sparring-match or two in much of my writing, and am having especial fun with it in Fly Away Home because Calida Harper and Wade Barnett are both clever, sharp-witted, and capable. And sometimes they cross swords with other characters as well. Here are some of my favorite moments:

(between Callie and her former co-worker, Jules)

“I want you to rescue my career.” {he said}

“Your career.”

“Mine…yes.”

“Oh…I hadn’t noticed it had grown big enough to get into trouble. My, how time flies.”

*     *    * 

I raised my glass of tonic-water and smiled at Mr. Barnett. “To independence, to Ladybird Snippets, and to the fashion sense of a journalist,” I teased.

Mr. Barnett raised his glass in reply. “And to Miss Harper, who views the world from all angles and never tells a man where she’ll lash out next.”

*     *     *

“I agree to go dancing under one condition….”

“What are the conditions, Mr. Barnett?”

“You simply cannot wear black.”

“Provoking toad.”

“Nefarious chit.”

*     *     *

So he was going to make me speak? So be it. “You were taunting and clever and made me look a fool.”

“It was not my intention to make you look a fool, Miss Harper.”

“Well you certainly did a heck of a job not intending.”

“You can never make a person out to be something they aren’t,” he answered with that cool causality that was so maddening. 

*     *     *

The bella signora sipped her champagne and sighed. “I would think having Mr. Barnett for a partner a fortunate situation.”

“Oh, now, Miss Nalia,” Mr. Barnett protested, but his new humility irked me.

“As a partner in business, I confess I find him exacting,” I laid my napkin in my lap and smiled with uncanny sweetness. “But I’ve had it from his own lips that as a dance-partner he is unrivalled. I look forward to seeing if he represents himself aright, for he seemed so determined on that point...It would be a great pleasure to prove him wrong.”