Читать книгу Justice - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 14

Over the weekend I had second thoughts. By Monday, I was determined to talk to him. I spotted him before first period. He was with his friends, Cheryl Diggs on his lap, his hands traveling her body like ants on a sandhill. She was equally demonstrative. From a distance, it looked like he saw me. He paused, then brought Cheryl’s face to his and devoured her mouth.

Something snapped inside as I walked away, a long-buried aching that surfaced as a ravenous need for love and affection.

I became moonstruck and boy, did Chris know it! For the next three months, he drew me into a horrid game of “I told you so.” And the more he tortured me, the more I lapped it up. I knew I had reached rock bottom when I found myself flirting with Steve Anderson just to get close to Chris. Next thing I knew I was going to the parties.

The parties.

There was always some house available, somebody with out-of-town parents. The drugs were plentiful, the booze flowed like tapwater, and sex was open and often. Chris sprawled out on the floor, one hand up Cheryl’s blouse, the other down her pants. Her hands on his crotch, teasing him to a massive erection.

I looked away.

But I always came back for more. The only thing I can say in my defense is that I never let Steve touch me in public. In private, though I guarded my virginity like a chastity belt, I had no choice but to give him something if I was to keep him. And I needed to keep him because he was my link to Chris. I hated doing things with him. I wondered if he told his friends about me. I wondered if he told Chris. How I despised myself.

But I kept going back because I needed to see Chris. In fact, what I saw was an alcoholic in the making—my former student packing away shots without breaking a sweat. Drinking made Chris gregarious—a foreign entity to my eyes. He’d smile, he’d joke, he’d become a good ole boy with lots of fans. Lots of drinking also made him amorous. After an hour of raging, he’d disappear with Cheryl into a back room.

Always making sure I saw him go with her.

My grades started slipping. I became despondent. Lying like a lump in bed, listening to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, thinking suicidal thoughts. Out of desperation, with no one to turn to, I turned to prayer—to my obligation of confession. Dense as I was, it finally hit me. It wasn’t that I had posed nude for Chris. Had he loved me as he should have, I would have died for him. It was debasing myself for a boy who regarded me as dirt.

I unburdened my soul, asking Jesus for forgiveness and acceptance. For me, confession had always been a painful process even when I did it on a regular basis. But a yearlong neglect of my spiritual duties made me feel even more shameful and guilty. But I forged ahead, seeking penance from God. After it was over, I felt better. But guilt continued to gnaw at my bones. Because my heart still ached for Chris.

But righteous actions first. Maybe the thoughts would come later.

I went cold turkey. I broke up with Bull Anderson. No more parties, no more torture. Then I started avoiding Chris. The hardest period was orchestra. He always had a crowd around him and was very good at catching my eye.

Then one day something drew my eye away from him. Perhaps it was Jesus guiding my soul. Or maybe it was the scent of another wounded animal just like me.

His name was Daniel Reiss. Besides being in orchestra with me, he was in my math class. He was a computer junkie, an almost nerd with glasses that often fell down his nose. He was skinny but at least he was tall. He was staring at Chris, a piece of his flute in each of his hands. His eyes weren’t resentful. They were simply perplexed, saying: Why would God who made a Chris also make someone like me?

Violin in hand, I walked over to Daniel. “It won’t work unless you put it together.”

Slowly he turned, amazed that I was talking to him.

“You’ve got to put the pieces together.” I smiled briefly. “Then you’ve got to blow.”

I walked away.

He followed.

Daniel was wonderful in his simplicity. He was sweet, and gentle, and didn’t expect a thing sexually. So anything I gave him was met with unbridled excitement. He gave me back my sense of self, and because of that, I wanted our senior prom together to be extra-special.

With my tutoring money, I could have afforded almost any dress I wanted. But store-bought wasn’t good enough. I wanted something unique—handmade.

Which meant made by me. Every day after school, I rummaged through fashion magazines. Once I settled on the design, I started my hunt in the fabric stores. I found a bolt of teal-blue taffeta woven with gold thread that cost a fraction of its original price.

I cut, I snipped, I sewed. I adjusted and pinned until my eyes gave out. But when I was done, I had my one of a kind—a backless and strapless bodice attached to a form-fitting miniskirt that gave my body a sexy embrace.

But something was missing.

It needed trim. It needed a bow. But not just any bow. A monster-sized bow that I tacked on just below the waistline. It swayed when I moved. It gave me kinetics. With the rest of the fabric, I made a matching stole. I accented the entire outfit with a black lace bag, matching lace gloves cut off at the fingers, and black garters and stockings. I kept my jewelry simple—a cross around my neck and Chris’s pearl earrings—a nice, ironic touch.

On prom night, I felt as desirable as a courtesan. Yet inside, I was pure … well, maybe not totally pure. But at least I came away from high school still a virgin.

Daniel was speechless. His hands shook as he pinned a corsage onto my bodice. I took his arm as we walked to his car. He had wanted to rent a limo, but I told him not to waste the money. His six-year-old Volvo would do just fine. I felt cocky as I made my entrance into the gym.

I could feel the eyes on me—male and female. The girls looking at my dress, the boys eyeing what was inside. I could hear a buzz as Daniel and I walked over to the picture line. I kept my expression genteel but inside I was flying.

All these years of keeping a low profile. But not tonight. Tonight was my turn.

Casually, I glanced around the room.

I saw him before he saw me. He was absolutely gorgeous—completely at ease in formal wear. I figured he must have attended a lot of weddings in his day. He was talking to his friends, Cheryl at his side. But there was a distance between them. No body contact.

Then she took his arm. He stiffened. She looked upset.

I felt bad.

He turned and looked in my direction.

I caught his eye.

Abruptly, his face turned into something inanimate—cold and emotionless with the eyes of a dead fish. I looked away and moved closer to Daniel. When I glanced up again, he was gone.

I pretended the interchange never happened. I danced, I laughed, I flirted, I drank punch and ate cucumber sandwiches. Midway through the affair, I saw him again, moving through the crowd, heading for the side door.

Without a nod to rational thought, I excused myself from Daniel and gave chase. I found him alone under a tree, knees up against his chest—same position I’d modeled for his sketches. I sat next to him, hugging myself because I was cold.

“Stuffy in there,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

“Like my earrings?”

He didn’t move.

“Look, Chris …” I tried again. “I’m sorry it ended so badly. I’m sorry that things got so messed up. You were a very important person in my life. I feel very deeply about you and—”

“Are you wearing garters or panty hose?” he asked me.

I waited a beat. “What?”

He looked at me for the first time. His voice was calm. “I asked if you were wearing garters or panty hose.”

I stared at him.

He shrugged. “If I’m gonna fantasize about fucking you, I want to be accurate.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Without a word, I got up and went back to the gym. Daniel found me, asked me where I’d been. I didn’t answer. I’d been subdued.

Another hour going through the motions.

Someone put Tom Petty on the PA.

Oh my my. Oh hell yes.

Honey, put on that party dress.

My head began to throb.

Last dance with Mary Jane,

One more time to kill the pain …

I asked Daniel to take me to the restaurant now. I knew it was early, but I had to get out of there.

He told me, anything I wanted.

We were at his Volvo, almost inside, when we heard Chris call Daniel’s name. We turned around.

“Hey, Reiss,” he said loudly. “Can I have just five minutes with your girl before you whisk her away?”

I felt anger overflow. “Why are you asking him for permission to talk to me?”

He turned to me, his face bathed in sweat. Jumpy eyes. An emotion in him I’d never seen before. He was nervous.

“Just five minutes, Terry. After that, I’ll leave you alone, I swear.”

I rolled my eyes, looked at Daniel. He gave a sheepish smile. “Maybe I’ll go grab another cup of punch.”

“Thanks,” Chris told him.

We both watched him walk away. When he was out of sight, Chris wiped his face with a handkerchief, then stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet.

“I’m sorry.”

I shrugged.

“Terry, I’ve been a real jerk. Not only tonight but these past months. I was angry at my situation and I took it out on you. But I’m not making excuses. I acted like a total and complete asshole.”

I shrugged again. “Who noticed?”

He was breathing audibly. Then he rubbed his neck and laughed. “That was real rich, Terry.”

“You want absolution, Chris, go to confession.”

“You know, Terry, we really deserve each other. I may be a motherfucker. But deep down inside, you’re a real bitch.”

Then he pounced on me. He shoved me against the Volvo and attacked my mouth with feral hunger. I could have protested. And I knew he would have stopped. But I didn’t.

Because I wanted it.

I clutched his neck and drank in his juices. His tongue wrestling with mine, moving down my neck until his mouth was between my breasts. He slipped his hands inside my dress, liberating my flesh, drawing my nipple to his mouth. He licked and moaned and so did I.

He hiked up my dress, picked me up, and sat me on the hood of the car. His mouth ravaging mine, he opened my legs and pressed himself on top of me. My back felt the chill of the Volvo’s cold steel, but my insides were scalding hot. I coiled my legs around his hips and drew him closer. He rocked against me, bringing a sweet ache to my loins. Our warm breath mixing as his lips danced with mine.

“Be with me, angel,” he whispered. “I’ll ditch her, you ditch him—”

“Chris—”

“We’ll make love until the sun comes up.”

He dipped his hand under my panties. I was sopping wet. “I’ll take you away, baby doll. I’ll take us both away forever! Out of reach of your parents, out of reach of my uncle, out of reach of everything except each other’s arms.”

“Chris—”

“Now or never, Terry.”

“Oh, God—”

“Say yes!”

“Yes!” I shoved him away and tried to catch my breath. I sat up and closed my legs. “Yes. Okay?”

He stared at me, flush-faced and panting. “You mean it?”

“I mean it.” I was breathing hard. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“What about Lor—”

“Screw her. Screw everyone except us! I can’t live without you, Terry. I don’t want to live without you. God, I love you so much I’m in pain. Baby, tell me you love me.”

“I love you.” I took a deep breath. “I love you, love you, love you. Help me down.”

He put his arms around my waist and swung me from the car. I attempted to tidy my appearance. I tugged on my skirt, smoothed out my hair, and redid my lipstick. He came toward me, but I whacked him back. “Daniel’ll be back any minute.”

Chris rubbed his neck. “What are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know. God, he’s been so good to me.” I looked at him beseechingly. “Can you just give me tonight with him? It’s so cruel …”

My voice faded.

Chris took a deep breath and blew it out. “What the hell! Give the guy a break. Have dinner with him. We’ve got a lifetime together.”

My heart took toward the sky. “You really mean that?”

His smile was dazzling. “Yes, I really mean that!”

He’d imitated my tone of voice. My laughter was mixed with tears. I erased lipstick from the corner of his mouth, then touched his cheek. I was hopelessly in love.

I said, “Besides, I’m sure Cheryl could use a break, too.”

“Yeah, she could use something.” He rotated his shoulders. “She’ll never die young because she’s getting old too fast.”

“At least you got your answer,” I said.

“Pardon?”

“You know if I’m wearing garters or panty hose.”

He laughed. “A lot of good it’ll do me.” He waited a beat. “That’s not what I wanted from you. I mean I wanted that too, but …” He shook his head. “I can’t believe all the time I wasted. Playing stupid mind games. I’m much better at revenge than I am at love.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“That’s good of you to say.” He looked at me. “Did you know, after you blew me off, I used to break into your locker?”

I stared at him. “Why?”

“Just to smell your jacket or your lunch or your books. I saved every page of notes you’d ever given me. Every pen or pencil, every …” He laughed. “Every eraser shaving you ever left at my place. You left a sweater in my closet. I used to sleep with it, that’s how obsessed I was with you. I still am obsessed with you. I’ve never, ever stopped looking at you, Teresa Anne McLaughlin. Even when you stopped looking at me.”

“I’m glad you’re obsessed with me. Because I’m obsessed with you.” I paused. “How’d you break my padlock?”

“Ain’t a lock around that I can’t pick,” Chris said. “Courtesy of my dad, mind you, not my uncle Joey. That’s why I got into so much trouble with B and Es back in New York. I was too good for my own good.” He kissed me again. “I ache for you, angel. You really want to be with Reiss tonight?”

“No, I don’t. But I owe him something, Chris.”

He shot me a chilly look. I ignored it and glanced up at the inky sky. “Should I call you when I get home?”

“Let me call you,” he said.

I paused. “Will you? This isn’t a game with you?”

“Good God, no, Terry! This isn’t a game! This is the most honest I’ve ever been in my entire life!”

“What about your uncle?”

“Good old Joey.” He raised his brow. “I don’t know. But I’ll think of something.” He kissed me on the forehead. “I’ll call you around one.”

“Swear?”

He crossed himself. “Swear.”

I got home at twelve-forty-five and waited.

At four-thirty in the morning, my resolve weakened. I picked up the phone and called him. The line connected after the third ring. He mumbled a sleepy hello. I couldn’t find my voice.

He muttered an obscenity under his breath, but into the phone he calmly stated, “Terry, don’t hang up. Let me explain—”

I slammed down the receiver, then took it off the hook. At sunrise, I went to sleep.