Want (17 page)

He pulls back first. “I always heard ‘fifteen will get you twenty.’ And let’s be honest, I’m too pretty to go to prison.”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Still.”

“It’s because I’m a freak, right? I should’ve known.” Should’ve listened to Mama.

“A freak? If by freak you mean freakishly smooth skin, gorgeous long legs, crystal blue eyes, and the most magnificent red hair I’ve ever seen, then yes, please
be
freaky. But we can’t…”

I arch into him and he groans.

“You’re making this really difficult. I hate being the good guy.”

“You’re the good guy? I thought you had girlfriends in every state.”

“Yeah, well, there
is
that.”

He kisses me again, but I can tell his heart’s not in it. I sit up and wrap my arms around my middle.

“I think you should put your jacket back on, kiddo.”

Kiddo? He’s half drunk, I’m half naked, and I still can’t seduce him. Clearly, there’s something very wrong with me. I turn my back and quickly tug on my gritty jacket. I zip it all the way up to my chin and bury my face in my hands.

“Hey.” He touches my arm. “Tell me one thing, please?”

“What?” This whole night has been a disaster. I don’t know what I was thinking in coming here.

“Does it match?”

“Does wh—ugh. Guess you’ll never know.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, kitten. You’ll thank me later. You know, while I’m taking a cold shower.”

“Don’t patronize me on top of everything else.”

“Patronize?” He narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “You have no idea, do you?”

I ignore his question. “What time is it?”

He pulls out his phone to look. “It’s only ten o’clock. Is that past your curfew?”

“I’m not
twelve
.”

“Clearly.”

We find Isaac near the bonfire. He’s deep in conversation with the two cousins who rode down with us. When he sees us approach, he glances from me to Dave and back. I swear his jaw clenches just a little, so maybe some good will come out of this after all.

“I’m leaving. You two done?”

Dave narrows his eyes at Isaac. They stare at each other, communicating with a look. Isaac breaks eye contact first.

Unlike the trip down,
there’s no small talk or college stories
, just an uncomfortable silence broken only by the sound of tires on pavement. Isaac has a right to be upset, and the party was a bad idea. Instead of raising his spirits, he seems more depressed than ever. It’s selfish, but I still wish he’d say something to me. Anything.

Isaac drops off his two cousins first then pulls into the alley behind the studio. He doesn’t say goodbye when I open the door. I pause with one foot on the ground and the other still in the car—I can’t let the evening end like this. I lean forward and put my hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Isaac.” I place a small kiss near his ear and step out into the alley, where Dave waits for me with his hands in his pockets.

“Hope you had fun, kitten. You needed a good time. I head back tomorrow morning, so give me a call when you come up for the audition. I’ll show you around.” He leans in to kiss me, but I turn my cheek at the last second. I don’t understand him and his mixed signals.

“Heartbreaker.” With a wink, he slides back into the car. Isaac speeds off, none too quietly.

Both cars are in the garage, but R.J.’s truck is gone. The neighborhood holds its breath right along with me when I tiptoe through the backyard and unlock the door. The clock in the kitchen says 10:45 p.m. I find Daddy in the living room watching a fishing show.

“Have a nice time, honey?”

“Yep. Great. Where’s Mama?”

“Went to bed at ten. You’re lucky. She’d smell that beer on your breath and have a fit.” He scowls. “Do I need to worry about you?”

Like you ever have before?

“No, Daddy. I just had a sip. Some older girls brought it, and I just tried it so they’d leave me alone. That’s all.”

I’m way too good at this lying thing.

“You smell like wood smoke, too. You’re not very good at lying, you know that?”

Or maybe not.

“Get upstairs and go to bed. And make sure your mother doesn’t find out about this.”

I turn on my heel and fly up the stairs. I never thought about the smell.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

I shower and throw my clothes in the washing machine before I crawl into bed. As I drift off, I think about Dave’s teeth on my shoulder and try to
figure out where I went wrong.

***

“Does he always sweat like that?”

It’s Christmas Eve and I sit in church with Daddy, Mama, R.J., and Dave, who ditched Isaac’s family to come sit with me. Turns out he didn’t go back to Boston, opting to spend Christmas in Mobile. I’d like to think I had something to do with that decision, but I’d be kidding myself.

“Always, even in the dead of winter.” We watch Rev. Landry make a swipe at his forehead.

Mama scowls at me and presses her finger to her lips. When Dave slid into the pew next to me and pecked me on the cheek, her eyes widened to the size of watermelons.

“Mama, this is David Gaston, Isaac’s friend from Boston. He graduated from the NEC, too. Dave, this is my mama, daddy, and my brother, R.J.”

My anxiety ratchets up a million turns when he winks at Mama as he shakes her hand. Thank goodness his words are totally polite.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am, sir, R.J.”

We’re done with most of the service and get in line for communion. It’s bitter cold outside, but the sanctuary is toasty with all the candles and warm bodies. And one of those warm bodies stands a little too close behind me.

Dave leans over my shoulder. “It’s too bad they don’t have mistletoe in this place.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a pagan thing.”

“Oh, I love it when you talk dirty.” He chuckles and backs off as we approach the altar.

“
Have you no shame?”
I stand with my hands folded in front of me, in what I hope is a pose of piety and reverence. I see Mr. Cline out of the corner of my eye as I approach the altar.

“This is the body and blood, shed for you.”

“Amen.”

Back in the pew, Dave asks, “So do you really buy into all this stuff?”

“Don’t you?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “I’m just here for the free bread and wine.
And the virgins.
Definitely
the virgins.”

I whack him in the shoulder and giggle before I can stop myself. At first it’s a nervous giggle.
Is he referring to me? It’s pretty obvious I fit into that category.
And the more I try to stop laughing, the harder it is. The whole situation is ridiculous and embarrassing. Pretty soon, my shoulders heave, shaking the whole pew. I can’t breathe. Mama shoots me the evil eye, but I can’t stop. R.J. crosses his eyes at me, Daddy smirks, and pretty soon they’re giggling, too.

I bite the inside of my cheeks, but that just gives me an idea. I suck them in and turn to Dave. I unleash fishy-face on him. He snorts. R.J. laughs out loud but turns it into a cough, and Mama looks like she wants to slap the daylights out of us all right then and there.

Can’t blame her this time.

People turn and glance at us, but that just makes it worse. I laugh so hard that tears threaten. And try as I might, it makes me laugh harder. I’m practically hysterical by the time the service winds down.

The ushers extinguish the lights, and Isaac begins “Silent Night.” I pick up my candle and tip it to Dave’s, which is already lit. The solemnity of this tradition brings me back down to earth.

I love this part of Christmas Eve service, watching the soft glow throw shadows on the faces of my family.
And now Dave.
At the front of the sanctuary, Isaac switches on his small lamp to illuminate his sheet music. A lump rises in my throat, and I stumble over the words. I just want things to be right between us again.

I must be pretty obvious because Dave says, “He misses you, you know. More than once I’ve caught him staring at your picture on his phone. Like he’s going to dial your number but chickens out.”

I can’t believe how quickly I’ve switched from laughter to tears. I’m struck by how beautiful everything is, as if it’s suspended in this moment by an unseen force.
The Holy Spirit?
I don’t know. The faces in the stained glass peer down at me with their flat, fixed gazes. The one
where Jesus holds a lamb in his arms makes me gasp. I think of the man outside Felix’s this summer:
“The Lord is watching you. He sees what you are, what you gonna do.”

“…round yon
virgin
, mother and child.”

Not even Dave’s spot-on Elvis impersonation can make me smile now.

Chapter Eleven

R.J. and I sit in the kitchen alone and slurp the remaining milk from our cereal bowls when the inevitable happens.

“So,
you sleeping
with him?”

“What? No! With who?” I nearly shoot milk out my nose.

“Blondie. The short dude from church.” He focuses on his Fruity Pebbles.

I stand and toss my bowl and spoon in the sink a little harder than necessary.

“
Please
, R.J. That’s so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. He’s a guy. He likes you. It happens.”
Yeah, but apparently not to me.
I’m the exception.

“You sound so matter-of-fact. Are we speaking from experience here, college boy? You get one year under your belt and already you’re an expert?” I smirk,
then
I realize I
really
don’t want to know the answer to my question.

“That’s just it. He’s got to be in college—or out of it. How old is he?”

“He’s a friend of Isaac’s. They went to the Conservatory together. So yeah, they’re both out of college.”

“Ugh, which makes it even worse, Juli. I don’t trust Isaac. He gives me the creeps. I’ve heard even more stories from the guys on court…and I know you don’t need your big brother getting
all parental
, but really. Be careful, okay?”

“What things?”

“Just…rumors. It doesn’t matter. Don’t change the subject.”

“And what would that be?
My asshole brother accusing me of sleeping around?
Like anyone would want this.” I sweep my arms down my body.

“Don’t be like that, Juli. I just worry about you. Why don’t you hang out with people your own age?”

I melt holes in his head with my eyes. “You know why.”

And he does, so he doesn’t push the subject. I stomp up to my room and avoid him the rest of the day.

***

It’s New Year’s tradition for the Mystics of Dardenne to hold a semi-formal party downtown in the float barn—a warehouse where the Mardi
Gras
floats are built and stored. It’s strange to wear heels inside a dirty, oversized shed, but the location is supposed to reflect Mobile’s history of cotton exports. So I’m told.

Everyone I know is here: half my church; some kids I go to school with and their parents; Mama, Daddy, R.J.; Heather and Geoffrey Swann and their parents; Mrs. Laroche and Mr. Cline;
and about eighty percent of our neighbors. Our state representative is schmoozing in a corner with the mayor, and a number of symphony members huddle near the open bar, most with a drink in each hand.

No sign of Isaac.

No one
under
sixteen is allowed, so this is only my second New Year’s party. I’d rather be in my studio with Sergei and Chopin, but I’m required to put in an appearance. The wooden crate I sit on creaks under my weight. If the decoration committee was going for “rustic”, they’ve done well. I wonder if they charged the cockroaches a cover.

Seated on my left and right are Mr. Cline and R.J, who argue about the offensive line at the University of Alabama. I people-watch and sip a Nojito. Mama and Daddy play the happy couple tonight. They lean into each other and laugh at something that probably isn’t even funny. They get like this. Daddy needs to drum up business, and Mama needs to show everyone that everything is fine.

Geoffrey Swann slinks up to our table and claps R.J. on the shoulder.

“Richard Junior, how’s life treating you, my friend?” His inky black hair is slicked back, which, combined with his pinstripe suit, puts out a mobster-wannabe vibe. Maybe it’s all part of his gambling persona.

R.J. doesn’t seem happy to see Geoffrey. “Same as when I saw you this afternoon, man.”

“Ah yes, but there was a distinct lack of libations this afternoon. Such isn’t the case this fine evening. Juli,” he says, barely turning to me, “you look healthy as always.”