Under a Bear Moon (13 page)

Ellen hopped up on the table facing her friend. Dang-ling her feet over the edge, she swung them back and forth like a restless five-year-old. “You might as well tell me now. You know I won't give up until you do.”

“Fine,” Lynda snapped, throwing the coverstick back in the make-up box. “After last night's performance, I ran into Greg at the Medici.”

“Greg? As in Never-goes-out-after-dark Ursek?”

“Right. Not only was it after nine o'clock, but he was with this really beautiful girl.”

Growing comprehension filled Ellen's gray eyes. “Oh.”

Lynda grabbed the lightest shade of foundation and started slapping it on. “I practically begged him to come with me to the cast party, but he said his parents wouldn't let him go out at night. Richard's right, Greg's been jerking me around.”

Ellen leaned forward and put her hand on Lynda's shoulder. “I don't know what happened last night, but I do know that you can't trust anything Richard says. Did you ask Greg who the girl was?”

“What was I supposed to say, ‘Hey, Greg, who's the bimbo?’ I don't think so.”

“Well I wouldn't ask like that.” Ellen paused. “Didn't Greg say something about having visitors this weekend?”

Lynda frowned into the mirror while she blended in the streaks. “Yeah. Something about his aunt and bratty cousin.”

“Well, there you go,” Ellen said triumphantly.

Lynda turned to her. “What?”

“I bet you saw him out with his bratty cousin.”

“That's ridiculous. She's gorgeous. No way is she any-body's bratty cousin.”

“Wrong,” Ellen said. “Looks don't count when you're related. I bet even Madonna is somebody's bratty cousin.”

“Well, maybe.”

“Not maybe, definitely.”

Lynda felt a curious lightness. “Do you really think so?”

“I'm sure so. Why don't you give Greg a call and ask him?”

“I can't do that,” Lynda said. “I lost my temper and really made a scene. He's probably not speaking to me.”

“I'll call him, if you want,” Ellen offered.

“No!” Lynda considered a second before continuing, “I'll wait and ask him Monday. By then he'll have time to cool off, if he's mad at me, and I'll have time to figure out how to handle it if it turns out she's not his cousin.”

Lynda's lips eased into a tentative smile. “Thanks for butting in, Ellen. I think.”

“What are friends for?” Ellen slid off the table and headed for the door. “Break a leg, Lynda.”

“Thanks.”

Lynda turned back to the mirror and finished putting on her make-up. Keisha joined her a few minutes later. They were dressed and ready to go by the time the stage manager called the three minute warning.

AFTER THE curtain fell, the girls ran into the dressing room. Lynda took a seat at the make-up table, while Keisha started undressing. A few minutes later, Ellen joined them. “Are you coming to dinner with us?” Lynda asked.

“Can't. I've got to go home, pick up my costume, and get back to the school auditorium in,” she checked her watch, “less than half an hour. Ms. Cavelini wants us all there early for the dress rehearsal.”

“At least, you were able to work crew with us this afternoon.” Lynda started removing sweat-streaked make-up. “I was afraid you wouldn't get a chance to help with ‘Charlie Brown.'”

“Me, too,” Ellen said, nodding. “Are your parents coming tonight?”

“No. They saw the show yesterday.”

Lynda picked up the bouquet of white carnations perched beside the mirror and buried her face in the cool petals. Their fragrance reminded her of her father's expression when he'd presented it after the show.

Ignoring her sweat soaked costume, he'd wrapped his arms around her in an enormous hug. Her mother had smiled and kissed the air next to her left cheek. They'd wanted to take her to Hemingway's to celebrate, but Lynda had talked them into letting her go out with the cast instead. If she'd only gone with her parents she wouldn't have seen Greg in the Medici.

Lynda forced her mind back to the present. “How late does the rehearsal go?”

“Until ten or so.”

“Why don't you join us at Richard's party afterwards? Matt's going to be there.”

“No thanks. I visited Richard's house once last year, and that was plenty for me.” Ellen took a deep breath. “I know Richard's been acting nicer, but he gets weird at home. Whatever you do, don't—”

A knock sounded on the dressing room door, and Richard Hammer stuck his head in. “You girls decent? We're out of cold cream in the other room.”

Lynda glanced over at Keisha, who nodded. “Come and get it.”

He stepped into the dressing room and reached past Lynda to grab a jar of cold cream. His hand brushed her arm. “Thanks, Lynda. Ellen.” He smiled, turned, and left.

After the door closed, Ellen turned and whispered, “Whatever you do, don't let him get you alone.”

“Why? Does this have anything to do with why you broke up with him last year?”

“Just don't let him get you alone,” Ellen repeated. She checked her watch. “Got to go. See you Monday, Lynda. Be careful at the party, okay?”

“Okay,” Lynda said. “Have fun at your recital. Break a leg.”

“Thanks, Lynda. You, too.” The two friends smiled at each other. Then Ellen checked her watch again and ran out of the theater.

THEY WERE on the last verse of the last song. Lucy and Charlie Brown stood in the center of a circular stage, while the others sang from surrounding ramps.

The lights began a slow dim. Lucy turned to her long-suffering friend. “You're a good man, Charlie Brown.”

And the audience exploded.

“ALL RIGHT!” Perry was the first one backstage, as usual. The rest of the cast crowded after him, all talking at once.

“Awesome show!”

“Give me five, my man.”

“Matt, you were great!”

“All in favor of electing Lynda queen, say ‘Aye.'” A chorus of voices carried the motion.

“What about Keisha?” Lynda laughed after the four male characters picked her up and carried her around on their shoulders singing, “For she's a jolly good queenie.”

“Can only have one queen,” Perry answered, after they set her down. “Have to elect Keisha Goddess.”

After a chorus of, “For she's a jolly good Goddess,” and a congratulatory kiss from the new divinity, he set her down as well.

“Anyone need a ride to the party?” Perry asked.

Lynda nodded. “I do. Mom's Audi is in the shop again.”

“Me, too,” said Matt.

Richard tore off his yellow T-shirt and tossed it to Perry. “Put that with the other costumes, would you? I've got to go home and set up.” Throwing a jacket over his bare chest, Richard waved and ran out the side entrance. Everyone else scattered to the dressing rooms.

RICHARD'S HOUSE blazed with light when the carload of cast members pulled up in front. 4915 Greenwood was one of the smaller houses on the block, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in style. After languishing for decades, Kenwood's mansions had been swept up in a wave of gentrification. In the early eighties, Richard's parents had anticipated the trend, bought, and painstakingly restored the brick and limestone Victorian.

The cast members ran from Perry's ancient Oldsmobile through the light rain to an open wrought iron gate and found themselves in a world completely removed from the street a few yards away. Artfully lit flower beds showed faded tulips and daffodils to their best advantage. Garnet hued numbers glittered over the doorway. The brass knocker and knob glowed in the porch light. Even the traffic noise seemed muted. Except for the iron bars on the windows and doors, they could have been standing in an exclusive North Shore suburb.

“So this is how the other half lives,” Perry whispered while they walked up to the door.

Lynda snorted. Perry's mother was a well-known children's dentist, his father a respected architect. She'd been to their lake shore condo and knew it was easily as elegant as the Victorian jewel in front of them.

Richard opened the door before they had a chance to knock. He'd changed into tan slacks and a forest green polo shirt. His eyes reflected the dark fabric and appeared even more vibrant than usual, like emerald magnets. “Come in out of the rain. My parents decided to turn in early, but their room's soundproofed. We can party all we want.”

The cast members followed him through the entryway into what was probably a family room. Someone had pushed the couch against the wall and rolled up the carpet. The wooden floor gleamed under the subdued track lighting. A multimedia center dominated one end of the room. A table next to it held a keg of beer, a bowl of punch, some glasses, and chips.

Richard had cranked the CD system to three-quarters volume and the whole house rocked with alternative music. Some of it was good to dance to, and Lynda enjoyed herself until her ears began to ring.

Wishing she'd brought ear plugs, she looked around the room. David and Matt were dancing with a couple of girls from the stage crew. Perry and Keisha lay kissing on the couch. Richard and most of the crew had vanished. Lynda preferred mellower groups like Jewel to the jarring dissonance of White Zombie, particularly when played loud enough to hurt her fillings. She decided to join the missing crew in another, hopefully quieter, part of the house. Stopping at the drink table, Lynda passed up the beer and grabbed a glass of punch. She took a sip before stepping into the hallway.

The punch tasted sweet, almost sickeningly so. Lynda's stomach churned and burned around the strange liquid. Trying to pinpoint its ingredients, Lynda took a second, smaller sip. She couldn't tell what was in it, Hawaiian Punch, certainly, but something thicker and stickier as well.

The second sip went down a littler easier. Her stomach calmed, and the burning turned into a warm glow. The punch reminded her of snow-cone syrup, she decided. Lynda toyed with the idea of going back to the living room and getting something else to drink, but the volume increased behind her. Torn between burst eardrums, or drinking the thin syrup, she opted for the syrup. After all, if she ran across the kitchen, she could always pour it out and refill the glass with water.

Lynda found the kitchen behind the second door on the right. Glancing into the room, she wondered how anyone could cook in such sterile perfection. The floor gleamed, the counter shone. The pristine sink looked as if it had never held a dirty pot.

Richard stood near the sink, pouring potato chips into an empty bowl. He smiled lazily and held out the bowl. “Hey, Lucy. Come in and have a chip.”

The door swung shut behind her, muffling the party's din. “No thanks. I just need a drink of water. The punch is too sweet.” Lynda walked to the sink and filled the glass from the tap.

“I was hoping you'd like it,” he said, setting the bowl down. “I made it especially for you.”

She leaned against the sink. “Really, what's in it?”

“Hawaiian Punch, Triple Sec, Grenadine syrup, some Bacardi 151 rum, why?”

Lynda tried to hide her lack of enthusiasm. “I didn't realize it was alcoholic.”

“It's not. The liquor's just in it for flavor.” Richard slid closer to Lynda and draped his arm across her shoulder.

Lynda sighed and relaxed into the warm pressure. Two shows in one day had left her exhausted. Her eyes drifted shut.

“Do you realize this is the first time we've been alone since rehearsals started?” Richard murmured.

Lynda's head had grown so heavy, she was tempted to rest it against his shoulder, but a tiny tremor in the pit of her stomach stopped her. There was something about being alone with Richard, something Ellen had said. Lynda sighed and pushed off from the counter. “I'd better get back to the party,” she said, heading for the door.

“Wait, I'll go with you.” Richard hurried ahead of Lynda, but instead of opening the door he threw the latch and turned, blocking the doorway. “Do you realize we've been working together for weeks, and this is the first chance I've had to tell you how beautiful you are.”

Lynda tried without success to step around him. “What?”

Richard leaned toward her and wrapped an arm around her. His lips parted, his gaze became unfocused. She could see her reflection in his eyes surrounded by a ring of green fire.

“You look so sexy when you lean across the piano toward me. Every time we practiced the Moonlight Sonata, it was all I could do to keep in character. You'd sing, ‘Just imagine.’ You know what I imagined?” Richard tightened his grip. “I imagined you lying there naked.”

“Richard!” Lynda tried to pull away, but the arm held her.

Richard stroked her cheek with his other hand. “You have a beautiful body. It's a pity to hide it.”

His hand drifted down her neck to her blouse and un-fastened the first button.

“Stop it!”

She tried again to pull away, but Richard turned and wedged her against the door. Lynda tended to forget that many of the boys she'd outstripped in junior high had grown over the last few years. Richard was now a good head taller than she was and much stronger.

“Let me go!” she insisted and shoved with both hands. Using all her strength, she couldn't make him budge.

“Go ahead and yell. With the racket in the living room, no one can hear you.” Richard smiled and finished unbuttoning her blouse. He traced around the edge of her bra with one finger, pressed her back against the door, and kissed her.

Hot and thick, his tongue pried into her mouth. It tasted like beer, chips, and salsa. She felt Richard's leg push between hers, felt his hands roam over her body and slip under her bra.

Who the hell did he thing he was? Lynda bit the invading tongue. Hard. Richard jerked back. She kicked. Her knee hit him between the legs and he doubled over.

Lynda fled to the middle of the room, scrubbing the back of her hand across her mouth and spitting out the taste of his kiss.

Richard crouched, hands tucked between his legs, and breathed in ragged gulps. He tilted his face toward Lynda, his eyes bulged, and his mouth twisted. “I'll get you, bitch.”

Rage pulsed in Lynda's temples. “Go ahead and try,” she spat through clenched teeth.