Dare Truth Or Promise (9 page)

The warmth of the crowd at the Duke increased as the temperature dropped outside. Not long after the Golden Grill closed for the night, someone came in and announced it was snowing. People milled out into the road and played in the white hurries, then hopped back inside for a drink. Sid was worried they’d run out of whisky.

Willa was as excited as anyone. She rushed through the last of the dishes in the kitchen, then headed out of the bar. “I’m going for a walk,” she said to her mother.

“Hang on Willa, love,” Jolene stopped her. “Where are you going? It’s late to be out walking alone.”

“Just a little way, to enjoy the snow—come on Mum, everyone’s outside.”

“Put on some warm clothes—really warm, I mean, and I suppose you’re going to Louie’s, are you?”

Willa was surprised into telling the truth. “Yes.”

“Okay,” agreed Jolene, and Willa noticed a little concerned frown around her eyes even though she was smiling. “I just like to know you’re safe, you know?”

Willa was so excited and thankful she hugged her mother. Jolene’s arms tightened about her, strong and wiry. “Be careful,” she whispered, without explanation. When she pulled away Willa saw her mother blink rather hard, and she was sorry she hadn’t been able to hug her since the Cathy mess.

“Off you go then,” croaked Jolene, “boots, hat, scarf and gloves, all right?”

“Got it.” She rushed up the stairs, chose a concoction of woollen garments, bundled most of her hair under a knitted hat and threw a heavy black coat over the rest. On her duchess sat an unopened blue envelope. It had arrived that afternoon. Willa looked at it for a minute, then poked out her tongue and threw it in the bin. She galloped down the stairs and Judas barked in excitement as they took off down the street. He zig-zagged about, sniffing and tossing the snow with his nose, his back legs skidding as he bounded back and forth.

“Wow! Big spin out, Judas,” Willa laughed as the dog slid across the road until he was facing back the way he had come. There were no cars about and the snow lay several centimetres thick already. It was still and the streets had that magical hushed quality of snow at night. The bush beyond the road hung silent and hunched, gleaming under its cover of white.

She met Louie coming down the hill, a dark rustling lump in the mauve light, something waving like antlers on her head. “Hail, who goes there?” cried Louie. “On guard!” She came at Willa with a long karaka spear which Judas barked and jumped up at. The antlers, Willa realised, bending over with laughter, were actually the peaks of a large felt jesters hat.

“You look ridiculous,” snorted Willa.

“Thank you. It’s what I do best. Come Judas, let us ignoreth the slings and arrows of outrageous bores and cavorteth together in the snow.”

Willa ran after her and tripped Louie up, then they bumped off each other in their swad of clothes, threw snowballs and pushed each other over. Louie tried capers and somersaults but Judas leapt on top of her and trampled her with his wet paws. Soon they were joined by some more people, including Mo and her brother Jay. Mo had brought some huge plastic bags and they made a scraping sound careering down the hill on them while Judas chased and cut them off, causing a pile-up at the bottom.

One by one the others went home, and when Mo and Jay disappeared’ Louie, Willa and Judas went up to Louies house. They’d taken to coming and going through the sliding doors into Louies bedroom, so the Angelos didn’t always know. They crept in quietly and tried to get warm in front of Louie’s heater, but Judas always managed to get in front of them.

“What we need is a spa,” said Louie after a while, looking at her snow-encrusted mittens.

“Mmm.” Willa’s black coat was dripping on the carpet. Warm water sounded wonderful. “Push
off,
Judas.”

Louie jumped up. “Well, why not? A spa! A spa! My bedroom for a spa! I’m going to turn it on.”

“But it’s outside—well, mostly.” In fact it had three walls and a roof, only the fourth wall being open to trees and the bush. “And your parents…”

“So what? We’re just having a spa. If they ask, we tell the truth—we met down the street in the snow.” Louie shrugged, her palms spread heavenwards like her father.

That’s exactly what happened. Just as they were really enjoying the hot frothing water, and watching Judas’s puzzlement at the snowflakes drifting down right beside them, in walked Susi in her dressing gown. Louie was in the process of fixing the clip that held Willa’s hair up on the top of her head.

“What’s going on? Oh—Willa,” she feigned surprise. Judas woofed, once. “I didn’t know you were here.” She pulled her hands above the range of Judas’s inquisitive nose and looked at her daughter. “Do you know what the time is, Louie?”

Louie’s dark eyes sent a private message to Willa as she let go her hair. “Yes Mum, we asked Mr. Wolf and he said it was late. But look, it’s snowing outside! Everyone’s playing on the street. I met Willa and we came back here for a spa. Isn’t it amazing out there?”

Susi looked at both of them rather hard. Willa was pleased the bubbles hid her naked body. All the same, she was beginning to feel flushed. She drew up her legs and hugged her knees. Judas lay down with a small whine.

“Won’t your mother be wondering where you are, Willa?” Susi enquired.

“No, I told her.”

“I thought you said you only met on the street?”

“We did,” said Willa. “But I thought—we might come back here.”

“I see.” Susi lifted an eyebrow and looked down at them grimly. “Well, I think it’s time you went home.”

“Mum!” objected Louie.

“It’s late,” Susi said.

“It’s Saturday night.”

“It’s Sunday morning actually, and we’ve got church in seven hours.”

“I’m not going,” said Louie.

“Well the rest of this family is. And your father and I can’t sleep with the noise of the spa motor.”

“But—”

“Lou,” Willa shook her head slightly.

Louie sighed in exasperation. “All right, you win. Do you think we could at least have some privacy to get dressed?”

Susi twisted her mouth. “Yes.” As she went back through the door she turned to them a final time. “You’re more than welcome to visit during the day, Willa, even with your dog,” she said with the now familiar Antarctic smile, “but we all need our sleep, including Lome.”

Willa smiled wanly in reply and the door closed. Louie exploded out of the pool.

“How dare she! What a bitch! You’d think I was twelve years old. God, Willa, I can’t stand it when she’s like that to you.”

Willa stayed in the pool and closed her eyes.

“I don’t know why. She’s never been like this before. She just—”

“She knows, Lou.”

Louie looked at Willa, her mouth still open. “What?”

“She knows. Something, anyway. She’s suspicious of me.”

“Do you think so?”

“Uhuh.”

Louie was quiet for a moment, patting Judas’s head and looking out at the falling snow. “She asked the other morning too, after you’d been here. She thought she heard voices in the middle of the night…”

“What did you say?”

“The truth, that you’d called in after the late shift at Burger Giant.”

Willa thought again how different Louie was from Cathy, who had panicked and lied to her parents about everything, until she was so consumed with the deceit that it took over. She looked up. Louie had turned to face Willa, her dark curls shimmying against the backdrop of feathery snow. She absently noted that Louie’s hair was almost blue-black, metallic like starlings’ wings.

“What should we do?” she asked.

Willa grinned. “Put some clothes on. I can’t think straight.”

Louie tossed her a towel. “That’s because you’re not.”
 


Both Louie and Willa had to fit the rehearsals for
Twelfth Night
around their jobs at Burger Giant. For Willa, it wasn’t hard—she was only needed for a couple of early rehearsals, then took Louie and some others for fencing sessions at lunchtime. But Louie had to be at most practices, and they took up her after-school hours, weekends, and, as the deadline approached, evenings as well. Then Willa got involved again, setting up and operating the lighting. They’d both had to ask Kevin to give them a couple of weeks’ leave.

That left some time at least for Louie to learn her lines. Willa knew them already—sitting up in the lighting box she’d learnt virtually the entire play by heart, and Louie teased her that she was hoping Mo would fall sick on opening night and Willa could play Orsino.

Willa denied it, but Louie knew she was a little jealous of Mo. Not only was she Louie’s closest “ordinary” friend, but she was playing the Duke Orsino who falls in love with Viola in the play, and that led to some extraordinary moments in rehearsal.

A week or so from opening night, Mrs. Ashton was having terrible trouble showing Mo how to fake a stage kiss by sweeping Viola in her arms away from the audience, bending her backwards and leaning over her face. Mo kept getting her footwork all muddled and in exasperation Mrs. Ashton, who was halfway up a ladder fixing a curtain motioned to Willa, who was often standing around ready to fill in for absent actors.

“For goodness’ sake, Willa, show her what I mean. Just take her weight with your right arm and swing her round.”

Louie paused to take a sip of her Coke as Willa leapt lightly onto the stage and walked over. She deftly slipped an arm around Louie and leaned her backwards dramatically. Centimetres from her face she murmured, “Kiss Mo and I’ll black the lights.”

Mrs. Ashton crowed from above. “See? It’s easy. Don’t even think about your feet!”

What Willa didn’t know was that Mo was a bit jealous of Willa, too. Most days Willa and Louie had taken to walking home together, and although Louie tried to encourage Mo to join them, she usually made an excuse. More than any of her friends it was Mo who had noticed the difference in Louie. She made little comments about not wanting to get in the way, or to bother her. She’d taken to ringing before visiting, just to check that it was all right. Louie knew she was mostly checking to see if Willa was there. In her own quiet, noncomplaining way, Louie thought, Mo was backing off. Now they were in the play together it was different though. Mo and Louie had been friends since the third form, and had acted together in plays for nearly five years, including pieces they wrote for fun and performed at school, like the Comedy Club. There was always a special closeness when they worked together. The day of the stage kiss, Willa stayed behind to rig up a couple of extra spotlights so Louie made a point of walking home only with Mo. She knew Mo was hurt and she wanted to explain what was happening, but she wasn’t sure if she could.

“Willa’s good at the lighting, eh?” said Mo, as they cut through the park. It was five o’clock and the birds were chirping and bustling about the trees all around them.

“Yep,” answered Louie, thinking, Its
not fair. I have to tell her.

“You like her a lot, don’t you?”

“Mo … I—” Louie went blank.

“I’m sorry, Louie, dumb question. I don’t mind, really. I don’t have to be your best friend. Just—a good friend, okay?”

Louie stopped and stared straight up at an enormous kowhai tree. It was just in blossom and tuis had been feeding on it as she and Willa walked past this morning. Now it was empty, the late sun firing its flowers like a chandelier of golden droplets.
Help me say this right,
she asked the tree silently.

“You’re still my best friend, Mo,” Louie said carefully. “Willa’s not a friend.” She stared at Mo for a long time and waited. Mo’s eyes narrowed, puzzled.

“What d’you mean?”

“She’s—more than a friend.”
There, it’s said. Think what you like.

Mo was still frowning at Louie. She tilted her head to one side, and gradually a small stunned smile appeared. She opened her mouth slowly. “You mean…” She stopped and let her mouth drop completely open in amazement. Louie began to smile back, a little at a time, terrified, hopeful. It was almost as hard as it had been facing up to Willa in the first place.

Mo was shaking her head and staring wordlessly at Louie. “I had no idea!” she finally said. “I mean, you and Willa.
You
and
Willa!
Louie—” She took a step forward, then stopped and put both hands on top of her head, comically. “I just never knew. How could I have never known?”

Louie shrugged back at her. “I never knew. Well, not properly. It just—happened. Mo, what do you think? Really?”

Mo still looked stunned. “Hell, Louie, don’t ask me. I mean, I think it’s … fine—I think.” She frowned and snorted and frowned again, then grinned at Louie and shrugged. “Didn’t you fancy me?”

Louie rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t.” She noticed Mo had gone quite pink after that question, so walked over and linked arms with her. “In fact, the only other person I fancied was—don’t tell a soul—Mrs. Ashton.”

Mo laughed out loud and they began walking again. “Oh, Louie, everyone’s got a crush on Mrs. Ashton, that’s nothing special.”

A little bit further on she stopped suddenly. “No wonder she was able to do that stage kiss so well. I thought she was a bit pleased with herself!”

“Exactly”

“Lou,” Mo smiled curiously, “what’s it like? No!” she quickly held up a hand, “don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

Louie walked on a bit without speaking, trying not to smile to herself so obviously. Eventually she looked up and Mo was staring at her intently.

“Well?”

“It’s dynamite, Mo. It’s dynamite.”
 


The thing about acting, for Louie, was that she wasn’t. She wasn’t conscious, that is, that she was acting. When everything came together, and she finally knew her lines and moves, she became the character, and it was as if she was saying those lines as she thought them, making those moves because she had to, feeling what she did in response to other characters as if she’d never heard their lines before. The distant murmur as the audience gathered on the night, the old-fashioned putty smell of greasepaint combined with sweat, deodorant and musty costumes in the dressingrooms, the oily thick feel of the make-up on her face, the nervous reciting of lines, the occasional explosion of panic as a hat or stage letter couldn’t be found … the edginess of those final minutes excited Louie tremendously, but it was what happened on stage that mattered most. When she walked out onto the now brilliant set and felt the hot lights and the dark quivering presence of the audience, Louie’s blood rose until she pulsed with power and brightness and held the eyes of the audience like a magnet. Other actors’ nervousness was there in their eyes, flicking desperately as they tried to remember each line and move ahead of time, but for Louie her heartbeat slowed, her breathing calmed and the performance flowed out of her better than ever it did in rehearsal. Mrs. Ashton had told her once she was a real actor—”you’re more yourself on stage than off.”