Читать книгу Lead Me Not - James B. Johnson - Страница 9

CHAPTER FIVE

HER

That two-timing son-of-a-bitch was sneaking out on her!

When he’d dropped her off from the Saturday afternoon flying, she’d suggested they spend the night together. Rudd had begged off evasively. He had a couple things to do and then much needed sleep.

She bought his story because she was tired, too. She was almost in a dream state. What a day. A new member of the Mile High Club. The after-sex euphoria.

Not only that, but she’d really enjoyed flying, the aloneness, the altitude, the silence, the background hum of strong engines. The different perspective she saw from high was striking and led her to think. And afterwards they’d shared an extremely comfortable silence. She could tell he was feeling good about the day, too. The more she thought about it, the more she decided it was the best day in her life so far.

The way Rudd acted was special, too. He’d treated her very gently, very softly, and his goodbye kiss, usually perfunctory if at all in front of her house, was sweet and tender. They didn’t care if anybody was watching, which they probably weren’t. The neighbors of the Blaze family were used to unusual comings and goings, not only from the teenager, but more so from the parents. Long ago they’d stopped paying attention.

“Today was super,” Rudd said. “I don’t remember when....”

She remained quiet in his arms.

He shivered. “I want to tell you...well, this will be one of my fondest memories. I’ve already got it stored.”

Was he not ever going to declare his love for her? After all they went through, and the current tide of feelings, now would be the time. “We shared some stuff today, huh?”

“We did. And it fills an empty ache inside me.”

“Me, too.” He was so good with words. Aloha wished she could express herself so well. She vowed to study harder, to learn more, so she could be like him, on his level.

Finally, he shooed her out and went home.

At six-thirty she called him. No answer, not even Denise.

Once she’d told Rudd he’d be surprised at what she knew about him. One of the things she’d gleaned from Denise was Rudd’s favorite restaurants. What else do you do on a Saturday night when there’s not a Football Game at Doak Campbell Stadium? Too early for the movies, so—

She went through the restaurants in the yellow pages and marked the ones she remembered Denise saying or Rudd mentioning.

The Silver Slipper, the third one she tried. Perhaps the most expensive and exclusive restaurant in Tallahassee, except maybe The Governor’s Club.

Aloha called the reservations number.

“Silver Slipper, this is Mark.”

“I’m supposed to meet R. Six over there, but I forgot what time the reservation is.” She pitched her voice level and businesslike.

“Let me check the—ah, there it is. Eight, Miss..?”

“He told you the correct number of people in the party?”

“It says here two—”

“Thanks for your help. Us secretaries can’t trust the boss to do things by themselves, you know?” She hung up.

That goddamn Rudd had a date!

After all they’d been through today. Maybe the most wonderful day of her life. A cloud of depression settled upon her.

God damn it. Life wasn’t fair. She’d been so high on life today. Until now. No fair, damn it, no fair, damn it, no damn fair. She took several deep breaths.

Sometimes her alter ego, Bonnie, kicked in.

—Lissen to yourself, sweetie, observed Bonnie. You done everything yourself for yourself to the present. Nobody ever helped. Get your admittedly cute ass in gear. Do not go down without a fight.

—But it’s so discouraging, replied Aloha.

—Shit, you only been chasing him for a few months. And nothing really started until a couple of weeks ago. Bonnie was usually level-headed.

—Yeah, right. Easy for you to say. You’re the tough one. I just want to be held. I just want to be loved. I just want to be wanted. Aloha wrung her mental hands.

—By Rudd.

—Well, yeah.

—Long term, darlin’. Think years. Not months, not weeks, not days. Especially not hours.

—I’m glad there’s a smarter me inside me, said Aloha.

—You been alone too long, sweetheart, said Bonnie.

—I have, I have. And watch your grammar. You’re going to act like a fucking adult, talk like one.

—A point to note, sweetie: You make a conscious effort to speak clearly and with correct grammar, no?

—So?

—That’s a long term thing, too. It don’t bother you to screw up—you just keep plugging on, don’t you?

—Yes—I do! Aloha agreed.

—Same deal. You win some battles, you lose some. The war’s the thing. Learn something when you lose. Bonnie was making a lot of sense.

—I won today and I learned a lot.

—Goddamn right, Aloha Bonnie Blaze. You’re one hell of a special person and deserve the best in life. You almost got it, too, babe. Keep fightin’.

—By God, I will.

—Lissen. About tonight. I got a idea—said Bonnie conspiratorially.

Aloha smiled to herself. If you’re gonna lose a battle, do not go quietly. They shall all know you were there.

Peter and Mary Blaze had gone out for the evening. Not even a note. As usual. That made it easier and more difficult at the same time. Transportation would be tricky. Her education had always been most important to her. She’d rather study and read and forgo having a car if she’d spend her time working for the money to pay for the darn thing.

Not to mention that she was frightened of driving. Something she’d never admit. The always capable Aloha Blaze, afraid of driving? Spin another tale. Nobody would believe it. Not to mention number two: her vanity wouldn’t let her admit her shortcoming.

—Yeah, but you took to flying immediately.

Bonnie, that had everything I like: sex and inordinate height.

—Altitude, corrected Bonnie. Regardless, think about it. You done good. It was a machine and you pointed it in the right direction and made it go there.

—Well, maybe.

The easier part was the dress. She had a demure, but sexy, black satin dress with straps and a plunging neckline. She’d bought it at Gayfer’s one day on a whim, thinking it would make a good prom dress, even though it was probably too daring for high school. It would do tonight, she saw in the mirror. Quickly, she piled her champagne hair atop her hair, in a casual, rich-bitch, regal sort of look.

A touch of makeup, lipstick. No jewelry. Simplicity is best. Besides, she had no jewelry. Just a fancy watch she’d gotten for her birthday a couple of years ago. That works.

Paint the nails, quick, wave them dry.

Raid her stash. Since she’d been alone for so long, she’d learned to hoard cash. She had thirty-some dollars. Would it be enough? Maybe, but better be sure. She went and took some cash from her parent’s pot jar. They kept their marijuana in a cookie jar to insure freshness. Next to it was another cookie jar with the cigarette paper and about a dozen twenty dollar bills. Aloha took three and hoped Peter and Mary wouldn’t notice. She could lie out of it if she had to. She’d done so before.

She finally faced the fact: she was going to have to drive. Her parents had taken their VW bus. Which left Aloha the yellow and blue VW Beetle.

She removed her stiletto heels and tossed them into the back seat. That’s when she almost backed out. It was difficult to face her fears.

—What I’m gonna do? she asked Bonnie.

—Looks like you got a problem, sweetie.

—Call a cab! I can do that, Aloha realized.

—You’re flat out of time, Bonnie pointed out.

Aloha glanced at her fancy watch. “Damn.”

—Gut check time. You can do it.

Aloha agonized.

—What if I wreck?

—Nobody’ll notice the dents in this car. Look, dear, you drove an aircraft today. Just goddamn do it.

—I want to go there badly, Aloha admitted. “Fuck it,” she said. She climbed in careful to protect her dress.

She pulled the gear into neutral even before she started the car, knowing this was safer. Once she had the car started, she went to the far right, past the H layout of first through fourth gears.

The damn thing wouldn’t go into reverse. She stamped on the clutch and jammed the shifter to the right in every combination. No reverse. She put it in first and let up on the clutch and the car lurched forward, banging into the garbage cans in front of her which in turn saved the front of the garage wall. And the VW Bug chugged and stalled.

She got it going again and still no reverse.

“Goddamn it!” Aloha got out of the car and pushed it backwards. Once it got rolling good she jumped in a tried to steer it but the car rammed into the mailbox and the edge of the driveway.

“Shit.”

She managed to shift into first gear and jumped forward, stood on the brake while still in first and the car stalled immediately.

—This ain’t going very well, she observed drily.

—Why me, Lord? said Bonnie.

Aloha got out again and straightened the mailbox, climbed back into the front seat. “Oops.” She got back out and went and pulled down the garage door.

Finally back in the driver’s seat, she started the car smoothly this time, clutch in, shifted into first, chugged a little going into second, and wound the engine too high with too many RPM’s, a term she’d just learned today, missed the shift to third and hit fourth anyway. She looked up in time to swerve away from a yellow and white ’57 Chevy.

—Lights! screamed Bonnie.

“Oops. There.”

She approached her first stop sign timidly. She killed the car, restarted it and lurched into the intersection, narrowly missing a kid on a bike.

She knew Tallahassee’s street layout well, so she headed for North Monroe on all the back streets. “Just as a public service, you understand,” she alibied aloud.

—Thank God, said Bonnie, her seeming voice strangled.

The worst was the heavy Saturday night traffic on North Monroe. She drove a couple of stumbling blocks in the slow lane.

Thankfully, it was cool enough to keep her from perspiring.

Aloha Blaze swerved into the Silver Slipper parking lot with relief. She even had enough sense to circle, and then park in a space pointing out so she wouldn’t have to push the damn car out again.

And that’s when she realized. She remembered her parents depressing the shifter on the far right of the H to get into reverse. She tried that thing.

“I’ll be dipped in sh—”

—Aloha! Bonnie interrupted. Time to start being a lady.

“Here we are and I feel ragged as hell,” Aloha said.

—You’re running out of time.

“But,” Aloha went on. “Not one crash, and we are here.”

She checked her fancy watch. It was pushing eight. Well, whatever happened would. She was frazzled from the driving experience, but elation started within her that she’d actually driven and done so successfully—successfully by her definition.

Plan A: Fight for your man. Down and dirty. It fit her personality and mood right now. Beat them to the restaurant and occupy the reservation and when they showed up, act surprised and confounded and hurt. A nagging thought told her that wasn’t the first class approach. And what would she do if they were already seated? Well, Plan B, of course. Plan B was: To be developed if necessary.

—Just be cool, dear.

—Yeah, sure.

If nothing else, he would know that she cared enough to go through all this trouble for him. Wouldn’t he?

—Maybe, said Bonnie. Men are coarse and disappointing.

She hurried under the awning and into the front door. Before she headed for the reservations clerk, she turned to check her appearance in the door glass. Partially because of her vanity, but mostly worry that her driving travail had disheveled her.

Oh, shit.

Rudd and a woman were walking out of the parking lot coming this way.

Too late!

Quickly, she went to the ladies room and killed a few minutes. She reapplied her lipstick and breathed deeply to calm herself. There was no waiting line so they must be seating reservations pretty well on time.

—What to do? Plan A is no longer operational. Aloha.

—Okay, do Plan B. Bonnie.

—Which is?

—Beats me. Bonnie was dodging.

—Don’t chicken out now, look at all the trouble you’ve gone through to this point.

—Bluster it out. You’re pretty well composed now.

—Got it. Execute Plan B. Confrontation possible, but not part of Plan B. Aloha.

Besides, she realized, the elation at conquering her fear of driving was flowing through her like a tornado. This was a different kind of high.

Aloha Bonnie Blaze marched up to the reservations desk. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late. Reservations for Biggs, please.”

She raced her memory for his name...Mark.

Plastered black hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He checked his list. “I don’t have reservations for Biggs.”

“Eight o’clock.” She looked into the open-dining room she could see. Suppose she conned her way in and they put her in a different room? Or Rudd was in one of the many individual curtained rooms?

“Nothing, ma’am.” He looked at her expectantly.

She fixed him with her glamorous smile. “You are Mark?” At his nod, she went on. “I confirmed these reservations with you a couple of hours ago.”

He squenched his face. “I seem to remember—” He checked his reservations list. “Ah. That was a Mr. R. Six.”

She shook her head emphatically. “No, Raymond Biggs. You confirmed it.”

“I misunderstood, please forgive me.” He was glancing around in the dining room behind him.

“It happens,” she said, casual voice belying her racing heart. “It figgers. My first dinner with the new boss and—”

Mark waved a waiter over, and soon a table was set up at a far wall. She smiled her thanks to Mark. He melted visibly and that pumped her up.

Now what? She was seated, and turned slightly and could survey this dining room.

Bingo!

Rudd and a brunette, not a sexpot, but shapely and attractive, especially the way her hair framed her face. And worse, the woman was closer to Rudd’s age.

About forty feet away, Rudd facing offset away from her table.

Aloha ordered a ginger ale in a champagne glass while she studied the menu. She gulped at the prices.

When her drink arrived, she hadn’t yet decided what the rest of Plan B was. But the waiter did not know about Raymond Biggs, so she determined to simply order and eat alone and not pretend as if she were waiting for her date who was becoming increasingly late.

She felt on display, for many of the men had watched her entrance frankly. And some women with envy.

Rudd still hadn’t noticed her. Aloha could tell that he was very tired. At least he hadn’t lied about that. Plan B was dying with no action.

Damn.

Self-consciously, she ordered a chef’s salad.

—Let us engage the battle, Bonnie ventured.

—Done.

Aloha rose, straightened her dress and walked to their table.

The level of conversation in the restaurant dropped off significantly, but maybe that was her imagination. The tinkle of dishes, flatware, and ice in glasses rang louder than the noise warranted.

She breathed deeply, stepped around a table of eight, and into his line of vision.

“Rudd! I thought I saw you over here. How are you, sweetheart?” She stepped over to him, bent over so that he could see her breasts were unconstrained, and kissed him on the cheek.

The woman could see what Rudd was staring at, too. And it wasn’t her bare shoulders.

Half the room was watching.

“Aloha,” he stammered. “What are you doing here?”

She extemporized as she straightened up. “I had an absolute great day and was topping it off with a celebration—but it seems my date isn’t going to show up.” She pouted. “What are you doing here?” Would he take the bait and ask her to join them? And if he did, would she accept?

The woman was watching closely, eyes alert to some kind of subtext to which she wasn’t privy.

Avoiding the question, Rudd stood as he was supposed to. “Er, ah, Aloha, I want you to meet Amanda McMullen. Amanda, this is Aloha Blaze.”

Amanda stuck out her hand. “My pleasure. What a wonderful name you have.”

The compliment startled Aloha. “Thank you.”

“Won’t you join us?” Amanda was being polite, following protocol, but clearly curious.

Aloha sat quickly before Rudd could change the invitation. “Well, okay. Maybe until my dinner arrives.”

—Should I nail the bastard?

—Wait. See what happens. Roll with it.

“What were you going to celebrate?” asked Amanda innocently.

Aloha shrugged. “Something very special, but very personal. I don’t really want to say here.”

“Oh, certainly. Forgive the intrusion.” Amanda sounded as if she were from South Carolina or Georgia. She smiled at Aloha.

Dammit, I want to hate this woman. Aloha felt crushed. It wasn’t turning out as she hoped it would. Amanda was personable. Aloha could see how men could be attracted to her. Especially Rudd. Who needed someone. Someone Aloha hoped was herself. But might not be. And this someone was within shooting distance of his own age. Shit.

She turned to Rudd. “It’s surprising to see you here.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve had this scheduled.”

“Scheduled?” Amanda said. “That, sir, is a strange term for a date.”

“Poor choice of words,” Rudd said, his steel gray eyes cutting into Aloha. He drank his entire gin and tonic. “Pilot lingo,” he said lamely.

Aloha saw the waiter delivering her salad.

“My salad’s come,” she said. “Guess I should go back and eat.”

Amanda was obviously trying to follow the interplay between Aloha and Rudd. “Would it be better if I went to the ladies room for a few minutes?”

Aloha found it hard to hate Amanda. So Aloha nodded vigorously.

Rudd obviously hadn’t known what to say, but his eyes widened and changed from cloudy to clear. He laughed aloud. He stood. “That would be so very kind of you.” He pulled her chair out.

As they both watched Amanda wend her way across the room, Rudd said, “You got guts, young lady.” He sat and leaned toward her. His arm scrunched up the immaculate table cloth and he paused to straighten it. “I give you that. You know what you’re doing is legally considered stalking?” The twinkle in his eye belied his words.

“Yeah, right after your statutory rape charges.” Oh shit, she’d admitted something.

He stared into her eyes and covered her hand with his big one. “That is not something I haven’t suspected but am unable to do anything about.”

He knows! He knows something anyway. No, he’s just best-guessing. Under the table, Aloha slipped off her high heels.

She made her voice small. “You’re not angry at me?”

He rolled his shoulders. “I don’t think I could ever be angry with you.” He gestured at the restaurant in general. “You are resourceful, bright, and determined. You did not come in here with a challenge in your eyes—fire, yes; blood, no—you are wise beyond your years. Not only that, but you are one hundred percent knockout gorgeous.”

She couldn’t slow her heart.

“Who is Amanda?” she asked in a small voice.

Rudd leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I’m not sure it’s any of your business.”

“I’m sorreee.”

“What are you going to do now?” he asked. “It’s your party.”

“Rudd,” she whispered urgently, “don’t do this to me!”

“Do what?”

“This. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“At least you finally admitted that.”

“Here she comes!” whisper lower yet.

Rudd’s smile was strained. “You’ve gotten this far. See what happens.”

—Damn him! He is infuriating. This isn’t going anything like I thought it would.