Like Jazz (7 page)

“Cazz? I’m waiting. Where are you? Are you coming out?”

I froze, the skirt of the dress at my hips. I called out. “It’s not my style. I’m taking it off.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Get a grip and come out here.”

Fuck.
I shimmied the dress back in place. “Fine,” I growled, “but I’m not leaving the fitting-room area.” There was a hexagon-shaped section at the center of the fitting rooms with benches and 270-degree mirrors to allow for the kind of show-and-tell I was thinking of, where I wouldn’t have to leave the women-only sanctuary.

She coaxed me. “No one’s here but me.”

I undid the lock, opened the door, and stopped within the confines of the common area where Sarah stood to the side. At the sight of me, her eyes widened, her breath caught, and her lips parted slightly as she took me in from head to toe and back. After taking a moment to shake herself free from whatever thought was plaguing her at that moment, she held out her right palm and dipped her head, indicating that I should move into the center of the mirrored space. I did.

“Stop slouching and stand up straight.”

I took a deep breath and assumed a fake smile as I copped a whole lot of attitude, squared my shoulders, stuck out my chest, and twirled around the way I imagined a fashion model would. I gestured with my hands that she should behold the outfit from top to bottom. “Better?” I asked sarcastically.

A slow smile played across her face and I assumed she was approving of my ability to follow direction. “Well? What do you think?” she asked.

“What do I
think
?” I mocked her. “I think I look ridiculous. Am I done?”

“You think you look
ridiculous
? You can’t be serious.”

“Maybe not ridiculous. Just…” I shrugged, closed my eyes, and shook my head.

At that moment, two attractive thirty-something blondes entered the fitting-room area, each with armfuls of clothes to try on. I opened my eyes at the sound of their footsteps, and as they passed the show-and-tell section, they both stopped and surveyed me. “Wow,” one of them said. “Hot damn,” said the other. “That dress is incredible on you,” said the first. “Whatever it costs,” said the second, “buy it. You look hot.” “Truly,” said the first, nodding in agreement. “Truly,” she repeated. They both turned and headed down one of the short halls to their fitting rooms.

I studied the ceiling.

“You’re excused.”

I turned my eyes to Sarah, wondering if I’d correctly recognized the smug tone in her voice. She had a wicked, self-righteous grin on her face, as if she’d won round one of whatever duel we were squaring off to fight. I darted into my fitting room and, locking the door behind me, heard her voice through the wooden slats. “Wait for me right here. I’m going to want your opinion.” Greatly relieved to have my own jeans and polo shirt back on, I sat on one of the two benches in the common area.

A few minutes later, Sarah entered the mirrored hexagon room where I waited. God. Could she be any more beautiful? She wore a strapless, white stretch-taffeta dress with a high waist and a slim skirt with a flared hem at the ankle. Even with bare feet, she walked tall, keeping her back and neck straight, her bearing regal but unpretentious. I felt slightly light-headed and my mouth went dry. A sharp pang, like hunger, arose in my abdomen, though I’d eaten only a few hours earlier.

“Not bad,” she said, twirling around to assess herself from various angles. She flicked her eyes in my direction and gave me a tantalizing smile. “Cazz, stop staring and close your mouth.”

Helplessly, I obeyed.

“Well?”

“Not bad,” I agreed, barely managing to choke out the words and thinking it was the biggest understatement of my life to that point.

“This one’s a
maybe
,” she said, heading back to the fitting room. The next three dresses were equally stunning on Sarah. The first was a black strapless stretch satin with a layered ruffle bodice and long, slim skirt. Succeeding this was a white, charmeuse strapless with a looped bodice and a flared skirt. Last up was an agave-colored satin, floor-length V-neck with an asymmetrical skirt. The draped bodice hugged her curves so well she looked poured into it. Something about the greenish hue perfectly offset her auburn hair, and the thirty-degree angle at which the sleeves tilted away from her collarbone spawned visions of gently pushing those sleeves off her shoulders in search of underlying treasure. She was mesmerizing. I turned away and studied the exit.

A moment later, she was standing with her back in front of me.

“Unzip me.”

The quiet demand made my pulse race. I stood. My mouth was mere inches from her neck, and as she lifted her hair to give me better access to the zipper, I caught her delicate, jasmine fragrance, which enticed me to lean closer. My eyes wandered over her neck and shoulders, and I had the sudden urge to replace my eyes with my mouth. Sarah’s skin was flawless and exquisite, and, inexplicably, I wanted to taste it. Yet as soon as the carnal thought surfaced, I resolved to eradicate it. No matter how enticing she was, I was her friend, nothing more. Not wishing to make an unwanted advance or take advantage of the situation, I reined in my atypical licentiousness and silently complied.

I reached up with my left hand to hold the top of the fabric. Though I tried not to touch her, as I grabbed the zipper with my right hand, the fingertips of my left accidentally brushed the skin below her neck. As my fingers grazed her, she shivered. I did grant myself a margin of leeway, pretending to give careful consideration to the delicate fabric by taking my time to lower the zipper down her back, allowing myself a few moments to soak in her closeness. I held the left side of the dress so it wouldn’t fall off her shoulder. After I finished, her right hand reached up to hold the dress on and she placed her left hand gently over mine to take over. She turned her chin in my direction, whispered “Thanks,” and headed back toward her fitting room.

Being so close to Sarah and—for God’s sake—undressing her, had been equal parts delightful, overwhelming, and unnerving. I was glad to have some time to pull myself together.

Done with her fashion show, Sarah reentered the hexagon wearing her street clothes and hung the dresses on the return racks.

“I don’t suppose you have a favorite?” she asked.

I swallowed hard and shook my head.

“Could you be any less helpful?” she teased me.

“I told you I’m not much of a shopper.”

“You have eyes, don’t you?”

Eyes and hands and lusts and fantasies and other feelings I shouldn’t, yes.

“Let’s go. I want frozen yogurt,” she said as she seamlessly zigzagged through the displays toward the escalator.

Seated across from each other at a plastic circular table in the food court, spooning frozen yogurt into our mouths, Sarah eyed me inquisitively.

“What did you think of those two women who saw you in that black dress?”

“What about them?”

“What did you think about what they said? About how you looked?”

“They were being polite.”

“You think they were disingenuous?”

“I wouldn’t say disingenuous, exactly. Just…like I said, polite.”

“How do
you
think you looked, now that we’ve removed ‘ridiculous’ from the available adjectives?”

I shrugged. “Serviceable, I guess.”

“Not horrible?”

“No.”

“Pretty?” Sarah asked, as if fishing for something.

I shifted on the plastic bench and my foot involuntarily began tapping the ground in a nervous tic. “I wouldn’t get carried away.”

“But you agree you looked good,” she said, more of a statement than a question.

“I agree that people wouldn’t necessarily run screaming from the building if they happened to see me. Okay?”

She stared at me and bit her bottom lip, seeming to want to say more. She scooped a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth before continuing. “Okay. I’ll drop it, but only if you tell me which dress I should buy.”

“Why don’t you ask Dirk?” It came out with more bite than I’d intended.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m asking you,” she said flatly. After several seconds of silence, she added, “Please.”

I dodged. “I’m sure you’re a much better judge of this sort of thing.”

“I’d like your opinion.”

I gazed into my yogurt cup and stirred the contents with my spoon. “You can’t go wrong with any of them.” She didn’t respond. I continued stirring. Finally, I took a deep breath and looked at her. “The agave one.”

She arched her ever-expressive left eyebrow. “Why?”

My yogurt became interesting again, and I shifted my weight, crossing my legs under the table. “Because…” I shrugged and met her eyes. “It’s magnetic. Dangerous.” Her right eyebrow joined its counterpart. “If…I mean…that is, if you like that sort of thing,” I stammered. She tilted her head, waiting for me to continue. “If you want Dirk to be physically unable to keep his hands off you, that’s your dress. Hell, anyone. Geez, I could barely keep my hands to myself, and I’m not even a guy.”
Please, God, tell me I didn’t just say that.

“Oh, really?” she asked, as the corner of her mouth curled up slightly.

“Crap, I didn’t mean
I
couldn’t. I meant, you know, generally speaking. It’s…you looked…” I swallowed with difficulty. “Um, alluring, I guess.”

Sarah sat up even straighter than usual, her eyes searching mine as if she were trying to read my mind. Suddenly wondering once again if she could, and not wanting her to be able to, I jumped up abruptly, wishing to escape.

“You finished? I should get home.”

Sarah stood slowly and held out her hand to me. Bewildered, I stared at it, unable to comprehend what she wanted me to do. She reached forward, pulled my wrist toward her, gently withdrew the yogurt cup from my hand, gave me a teasing smile, and walked our cups over to the trash can. I grabbed the tote bag and followed her out.

Once Sarah parked in front of my house, I pulled her tennis clothes and shoes out of the tote bag and placed them on the backseat. I reached for the door handle, holding my things in my other hand, and turned toward her.

“Thanks for today,” I said as I opened the door. After I placed one foot in the street, I felt her hand on my upper left arm.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me Kip asked you to Homecoming?”

I spun my head around. “How could you possibly know that already?”

She killed the engine. “Dirk and Kip are best friends. Of course I’d know. So why not tell me?”

I closed the door and sat back before answering. “Because I’m not going. And I’m not a gossip. It wouldn’t be fair to Kip if I said anything.”

She furrowed her brow. “Why wouldn’t you go? Kip’s one of the most sought-after boys in school. He’s sweet, thoughtful, and he happens to be a friend. I want to know why you’re not going.”

“Are you always this nosy?”

She gave me an artificial smile. “Yes. So get over it and tell me.”

I focused on the glove compartment. “I don’t like being teased about how I look.”

“He teased you?
Kip
? That can’t be right. Kip’s like, the nicest guy I know. What did he say?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Are you going to tell him what I say? Or Dirk?”

“You think I’d do that?” Sarah sounded genuinely taken aback.

“I don’t know you well enough to know.”

“Ouch.” She stared out her window.

Several uncomfortably silent moments passed, all of which found me feeling like an ass. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. No, I don’t think you’d say anything to either of them. It just sounds stupid, even to me. I’m frustrated with myself, not you, and I don’t mean to take it out on you. Okay?”

She glanced at me, her eyes full of hurt, then grabbed the steering wheel and started the car.

“Fuck.” I reached for the keys and killed the engine again, taking the keys and shifting my body to face her. “Sarah, please.”

She looked at me again, her hurt starting to fade as she read my sincerity.

I powered through to get this over with.

“All Kip said was, basically, something…” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Something like not wanting the prettiest girl in school to sit home on Homecoming night. That’s all he said, okay? And I’m sure he meant me, and I’m sure if I were a normal person, if I were anyone else on the planet even, it would have seemed super sweet. But I’m such a fuck-up, and I’ve heard it all before so many times from guys that treat me like a piece of meat, that only want a conquest or a piece of ass or whatever, that I wouldn’t be able to tell a sincere compliment from one designed to get me into bed. I haven’t the slightest clue how to tell the difference, and my track record so far is abysmal.

“I don’t mean to hurt your friend’s feelings, so if you tell me he’s a great guy, I’ll trust you. But there’s no way I can go to Homecoming with him or anyone else if I have to hear one single word about how pretty I am or how beautiful or whatever, because all it does is put me on the defensive and make me recall past mistakes and wonder whether I’m making another one. All right? I’ve never told anyone that before and I don’t intend to tell anyone again. I’m just trying to convey to you that however unfair it is of me to keep potentially well-meaning people at arm’s length, and however irrational it might seem, I have my reasons. Now will you please,
please
just accept that I’m totally fucked up and do your friend Kip a favor by keeping him the
hell
away from me?”

I was so wound up that my voice was louder than I intended, straddling the fence between anger and pain. Sarah’s eyes held so much emotion I couldn’t make heads or tails of, and her silence wasn’t reassuring. Feeling too exposed, I inserted the key back into the ignition and opened the passenger door again.

“See you Monday,” I said.

I felt her reach out for me like she had earlier and thought maybe I heard my name, but I needed to be alone. Racket and tote bag in hand, I closed the door behind me, hopped up the porch steps to my front door, and quickly pushed my way into the refuge of home.