Torch Red: Color Me Torn with Bonus Content (20 page)

Then it’s not long, because he had reservations, before we are seated at a candlelit table. I notice a few heads turn to take in my dress as we walk by. We’re not far from the dance floor, and a grand piano played by a middle-aged man wearing a tuxedo with tails. Little white lights go around the perimeter of the wooden floor, but no one is dancing yet.

All in all, this place is very, very elegant. And suddenly I’m wondering if the cowboy boots were a bad move, but I quickly forget about this once we start to order. Justin seems to have it all figured out, and since I’m already over my head (I mean my parents never eat at places this ritzy—at least not when I’m with them) I just sit
back and let him order for me too. Fortunately I know enough to follow his lead when it comes to using the right silverware. By the time our entrée is served, I think I’m doing okay.

“Have you eaten here before?” I ask, trying not to reveal how impressed I am by all this grandeur.

He nods. “Yeah, my dad likes the food here.”

“I can understand that. It’s really delicious.”

“We usually just come for birthdays or special occasions.”

“Well, this feels like a pretty special occasion to me,” I say as I study him in the candlelight. Justin looks surprisingly sophisticated in a dark jacket and striped tie. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him this dressed up. Oh, maybe at a dance before, but he would’ve been with Katy then, and I probably would’ve been watching from a distance and wishing that he was with me. Well, tonight he is. He really is!

“You look so pretty, Zoë,” he tells me.

I’m glad I checked my sweatshirt with the coat lady now.

As we’re waiting for our desserts to arrive, I notice that several couples are beginning to dance.

“Want to try out their dance floor?” asks Justin.

“Sure.”

And so we join the other couples, all old enough to be our parents, but we hold our own with them (due to all our
Oklahoma!
rehearsals). And when it’s all said and done, the older couples smile at us and I can tell they’re impressed that we actually know our way around the dance floor.

“That was fun,” I tell Justin as we return to our table in time to see our waiter lighting our dessert on fire.

I suppress a shriek of delight (I mean I am trying to appear somewhat sophisticated) as I watch the flames fly high. The waiter seems
pleased by my shocked reaction and offers me the first piece of something that had the word flambé in it, although I don’t recall the whole name. But I’m not disappointed because it really is delicious.

We dance again and then return to our table for coffee.

“I wish this evening could go on forever,” I say in a dreamy voice.

“No need for it to end yet,” he says.

Then he pays the bill (even leaving a generous tip) and we dance a couple more times before we go get my sweatshirt and his backpack. Then we go back out to the spacious hotel lobby. We walk around for a bit, just holding hands and admiring the fountain and a small art exhibit along one wall. Then I notice the women’s restroom and excuse myself.

I think it’s the most beautiful restroom I’ve ever seen. Everything is marble and gold (at least it looks like gold) and there are bottles of lotion, perfume, and all sorts of things lined up on the big counter. And instead of paper towels or obnoxious dryers, they have real cloth hand towels rolled up neatly in a big basket. I had to watch to see another woman dry her hands and then she just threw the barely used towel into a hamper beneath the counter. Fascinating. Okay, I’m sure I’m spending way too much time in here.

I go back into the hotel lobby but don’t see Justin. And so I just wander around, figuring he must’ve found something equally interesting in the men’s room. Finally, I hear him calling my name and I spot him on the other side of the fountain.

I go over to join him. “This place is awesome. You should’ve seen the women’s bathroom.” Then I laugh. “Well, maybe not.”

“Come on,” he tells me. “I have a surprise.” Then he leads me to the elevator where we ride up to the seventeenth floor.

“Where are we going?” I ask, feeling a little nervous.

“You’ll see.”

We walk down a wide hallway that’s lined with pieces of ornate antique furniture that are either topped with beautiful lamps or flower arrangements. Then Justin stops in front of room 1733 and slips in a key card and opens the door.

“Presto!” he says as he swings the door open. He flips on a light switch to reveal a room that’s every bit as elegant as the rest of this place.

“But why?” I ask as I slowly walk into the room, realization sinking in as the big bed comes into view.

He grins as he closes the door then pulls me toward him. “So we can be alone.” He leans in to kiss me.

I kiss him back, but I’m thinking,
Hey, wait a minute.
“You should’ve told me you were planning this,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.

“Hey, just relax, Zoë,” he says as he sets his backpack on the table by the window. Then he pulls open the drapes to reveal the city lights stretched out below us.

I look out, feeling a mixture of excitement and terror. “That’s pretty,” I say in a voice that doesn’t even sound like me. Then a loud bang makes me just about jump out of my cowboy boots. “What’s that?” I shriek as I turn around to see who shot the gun. But all I see is Justin holding what must be a bottle of champagne, and it’s overflowing onto the rug. I run to the bathroom and grab a towel and attempt to sop it up.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says as he fills two glasses. “They’ll take care of it later.”

I set the towel on the table and just stand there feeling perplexed. What should I say? How should I act? I know what he’s expecting from me. I’m just not sure I can (or want) to deliver.

“Here.” He hands me a full glass of champagne and holding his
glass up says, “To our first three weeks.”

Feeling like a puppet, I hold up my glass, hear it clink against his, then, following his lead, I take a sip. I’ve never tasted champagne before and for some reason I thought it would be better than this. But I don’t let on that I think it tastes like fizzy vinegar. Instead I brace myself and take another sip. Then I say, “Justin, I didn’t know that you wanted—”

“Don’t talk yet,” he says in a hushed voice. He pulls out a chair for me, next to the window. Then he goes over and turns on some music, fiddling with the stations until he finds one that plays lighter tunes. Now he comes back and sits opposite me. Leaning back and putting his feet on the low table between us, he says. “Let’s just enjoy the view.” He takes another sip. “And the evening.”

So we sit there and I listen to all the chatter in my head. It’s like there’s this big argument going on in there. One side is saying that Justin is my boyfriend, he’s treated me to a special date, and this is my big chance to lose my status as one of the few remaining virgins at Hamilton High. The other side is reminding me of all the crud that I’ve witnessed lately, and how Justin may have been responsible for Katy’s pregnancy and subsequent abortion. And back and forth I go, barely hearing Justin’s next question.

“Zoë?” he says again.

“What?” I look at him blankly.

He’s holding the bottle of champagne out. “Ready for more?” he asks hopefully.

Well, I’ve only had a couple of sips, but I nod and hold out my glass anyway. And he fills it nearly to the top again.

I take another cautious sip and this time it doesn’t taste quite as bad as before. Still, I think it must be an acquired taste. Finally, I know I have to say something.

“You’ve kind of caught me by surprise,” I say, taking another sip of my champagne to make him feel better.

“What do you mean?” he says as he fills his glass again. “We talked about this last week.”

“We talked about doing something special,” I remind him. Of course, at the time, I had a pretty good idea of what that “something special” might be. But tonight I guess I just want to play dumb.

“Yeah,” he says. “And that’s what this was supposed to be.” He gets a disappointed look on his face now. “Don’t you think this has been pretty special?”

Okay, now I feel really guilty. “Of course,” I assure him, “it’s been totally awesome. Dinner was amazing. Dancing was incredible. But I’m just not sure about”—I glance around until my eyes stop at the king-sized bed—
“this.”

“So you were just leading me on?”

Now I feel torn. Was I really leading him on? Did I know that this evening was destined to end up in a hotel room? I’m not even sure. I stand up and begin to pace across the room, trying to keep my eyes off that bed. “I don’t know, Justin,” I finally say. “I guess I should’ve known this was part of the deal.”

He sets his glass down now and, standing up, he faces me. “I thought we had something special, Zoë.”

“We do.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’m not sure.”

Then he reaches for me and pulls me toward him. “Just relax,” he tells me. And then we begin to slow dance. And I’m not sure if it’s the champagne or feeling his body close to mine, but I do begin to relax.

Then as we’re dancing I feel his hands searching over my dress and I realize that he’s looking for the zipper, which I am relieved to
remember is tucked discretely on the side. But then I feel his hands moving over the folds of my full skirt, trying to lift it up. And that’s when I step back.

“Don’t,” I tell him.

He looks shocked. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t start trying to undress me,” I say in what I know must sound like a very uptight voice. I sit down in the chair again, folding my arms across my chest. “I’m not ready for that.”

He flops down in the chair across from me and exhales loudly.
“So when are you going to be ready, Zoë?”
But there’s something about the way he says those words, and something about the hard look in his eyes that makes me feel even more uncomfortable.

“Look, Justin. I’ve had a good time with you this evening, but there are some things that are bothering me.”

“Like what?”

“Well . . .” Of course, I’m not sure how to best say this and finally I just blurt it out. “Andrea told me that Katy really was pregnant, and that she had an abortion, and that it was your baby. She also says that you’re the one who cheated on her.”

Justin stands up now. His fists are clenched and for a moment I think he is going to hit me. “And you believe her?”

I step back. “Why would she lie to me?”

“How would I know?” Then he cusses. “But you’re taking her word over mine?”

“I don’t know. . . .”

“Then why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s bugging me. And if we’re in a serious relationship, I have a right to know the truth. Think about what’s going on at school right now. Someone like Shawna goes around sharing her STD and—”

“I’ve never
been
with Shawna!”

“I’m not saying you have, Justin.” Now I’m feeling really angry. Like what right does he have to put me in this position anyway? “I’m just saying that
if
I’m going to have sex with you, and that’s a
big
if right now, then I have a right to know who you’ve been involved with and what happened.”

“Says you.” Now he goes over to his backpack and pulls out another bottle. Only this one isn’t champagne. It looks like something a lot stronger. And he pours himself a tumbler full of the brownish liquid and takes a big swig.

I watch him slug down that drink and pour himself another and suddenly I’m feeling extremely nervous. I know I don’t want to stay here with him, but if he keeps drinking like a fish, I don’t want him driving me home either.

“I’m sorry, Justin,” I say in what I think sounds like a calm tone. “But I think I better leave.” I begin to walk toward the door, but before I get there he grabs me by the arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home.” I study him evenly.

“Not yet you aren’t.” Then he pulls me toward him and begins kissing me. Besides the fact that his kiss is wet and sloppy, his breath smells like something my dad might use to clean his tires. I push him away and tell him to let me go. But his grip only tightens and now I am seriously scared. I mean I’ve heard of date rape before—even Shawna warned me about it. If anyone has ever put herself into a bad position, it is me, and it is tonight. I consider screaming for help, but really that seems so juvenile, and what if no one could hear me and I only made him angrier? Besides, I’m not stupid, and I’m not drunk. I should be able to get myself out of this.

He is pulling me toward the bed now. “I paid lots of money for
this date and I’m not finished yet.” And it becomes painfully clear, as he pushes me onto the bed, this guy’s not only in great shape, but he probably outweighs me by at least eighty pounds. I can feel my heart racing and I know I better think fast, before it’s too late. I consider kicking him with my cowboy boots, but am afraid if it turns to violence, I’ll be on the losing end.

“Hey, slow it down,” I tell him, trying to sound calm as I think through a quickly contrived plan. I run my fingers through his hair now, just for effect. Then I reach up and pulling his face toward me, I kiss him again. Long and hard, like I really mean it. Then I gently push him away. “Let’s do this thing right, Justin,” I whisper, hoping to sound sexy and interested.

“Okay, babe,” he says eagerly. “I thought you’d see it my way.”

“I do,” I tell him. “It just takes me a while to get into it, you know. You just need to slow things down a little, okay?”

“Sure, babe, we can take it slow if you want.” But his hand is already pushing my skirt up now, attempting to feel beneath my dress.

“Hang on, Justin,” I tell him as I move his hand from my leg. “I mean if we’re going to do this, let’s make it enjoyable. I want to remember this night for a long time.”

He backs off a little now. “Okay,” he says, pushing some hair out of his face. “What do you want?”

“Well, first of all, I’d like to get into something more comfortable. This dress is kind of tight.”

He smiles. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“I thought I saw some terry robes by the bathroom,” I tell him. “Do you mind if I change into one of them?”