by Marilyn Kaye
Mentally kicking herself for having doubts, she waved to him, and he waved back.
"How was your day?" he asked.
"Fine," she replied automatically. "How was yours?"
"Fine," he said. There was a silence.
"It's not easy, is it?" he said. "You'd think that with all these years to catch up on, we wouldn't have any problem coming up with subjects for conversation."
She smiled awkwardly. She wasn't exactly ready to pour out all her feelings and experiences--not yet. She needed something not too personal to get this relationship off the ground.
She glanced at the display in the store window. "What kind of music do you like?"
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"A little bit of almost everything," he replied. "Classical, jazz, rock. I'm not too crazy about folk music."
Jenna lit up. "I hate folk music! Do you like techno?"
"I can't say I know much about it," he admitted. "Want to introduce me?"
They went into the music store, and Jenna showed him CDs of the groups she particularly liked. There were headphones hanging on the walls so that you could listen to samples, and she showed him how to use them.
He was cool. He didn't pull that fake adult thing of pretending to love all the music she played for him, just to prove that he was down with the younger generation. He liked some groups, he didn't like others, and he expressed his opinions openly.
"I think I could get into this," he told her. "I'm going to write down some names so I can download them to my iPod."
She was impressed. "You have an iPod?"
"Absolutely. When you move around as much as I've been moving these past few years, it's the only way to keep your music with you. Don't you
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have one?"
She shook her head.
"I thought all kids had iPods."
She picked up a CD at random and pretended to study the track listing. "They're pretty expensive," she said finally.
He was silent, and she looked up.
"It's been hard on you and your mother, hasn't it?" he asked. "Financially, I mean."
Jenna shrugged. "We manage."
"Do you?"
She looked away, and he got the message.
"I could say I'm sorry," he said. "I am sorry. But there wasn't much I could have done about that. I haven't been doing too well myself. Still, that's no excuse."
Jenna thought it was, and she wanted to make him feel better. "If you didn't have any money, you couldn't have sent us any."
He smiled. "You're a pragmatist. Just like your mother."
"What's a pragmatist?"
"Someone who's down-to-earth, sensible."
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Jenna would never have used those words to describe her mother. But maybe Barbara Kelley had been different back when Stuart had known her.
"But I can afford to buy my daughter an iPod," he said suddenly. "Do they sell them here?"
"You don't have to do that," she said.
"I want to," he insisted.
But she had meant what she'd said. The thought of him suddenly showering her with gifts . . . It bothered her.
And to her utter amazement and delight, he understood. "You think I'm trying to buy your affection, don't you?"
She nodded.
He smiled sadly. "You're probably right. Well, you'll let me buy you a Coke, won't you?"
She could agree to that. They went into a cafe, and she allowed him to buy her not only a Coke but also a plate of fries to share with him. She was a little worried that he was going to start pressing her for information about herself, that he'd expect her to tell him her life story. But once again, he was cool.
He told her about his life, the adventures he'd had.
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He'd been living pretty much hand to mouth for the past 13 years, but he'd been doing it in interesting ways. He'd been a porter on a train that went across the country, from New York to San Francisco. He'd washed dishes on a cruise ship. He'd been a waiter in a fancy Hollywood restaurant, and he'd seen lots of famous people in person. He'd worked on a pipeline in Alaska.
He was amazing. Other kids she knew, their fathers were lawyers, teachers, salesmen. They worked in offices, factories, ugly high rises. Tracey's father had some kind of big-and-boring business. None of them were like Stuart Kelley.
And he was better looking than any father she'd ever seen. Tracey's father was practically bald. Emily's dad had a stomach that hung over his belt. Stuart Kelley could be a movie star! Jenna hadn't missed the looks he got from women they'd passed in the mall.
Like the cashier at the cafe. She took the bill that Stuart gave her without looking at it. She couldn't take her eyes off his face.
"I hope you enjoyed your meal, sir," she gushed.
Stuart kept a perfectly straight face as he said, "It
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was an absolutely delicious Coca-Cola."
He was funny, Jenna thought in delight. The cashier didn't get it. She just simpered as she handed him some coins.
"Excuse me," Stuart said, looking at the change in his hand. "I think you've made a mistake. I gave you a twenty-dollar bill."
"Oh no, sir, it was a ten," the cashier said.
Stuart looked at her doubtfully. "Are you sure? I'm positive it was a twenty."
Jenna couldn't resist. She focused on the cashier and read her mind.
This is the easiest ten bucks I've ever made.
"It was a twenty," Jenna announced.
The cashier pressed her lips together tightly. A man in a white shirt with a tag that read Manager came over.
"Is there a problem?" he asked.
"No problem," the cashier said and took a ten-dollar bill from the drawer. "Here's your change, sir."
"Thank you," Stuart said politely.
"Did you see me give her the money?" he asked Jenna as they went back out into the mall.
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"No. But I read her mind and I could see that she was trying to cheat you."
He laughed. "That's quite a talent you have, Jenna. I guess I won't have to worry about anyone trying to cheat you. Or me, while I've got you around! I think we'd better stick together. What do you think?"
"Sounds okay to me," Jenna said lightly, but she knew her smile was extending from ear to ear.
From there, they did some window-shopping, exchanging comments on fashion, books, art. Stuart had to pick up a few things at the drugstore, and they discovered they both used the same brand of toothpaste.
At one point they paused in front of a tattoo parlor, and Jenna admired the designs displayed in the window.
"Do you like tattoos?" Stuart asked.
She nodded. "I'd like to get one." She watched him carefully to gauge his reaction. Most parents she knew would go ballistic if their kids mentioned getting a tattoo.
Not Stuart. "You might want to wait a while," he said mildly. "Keep in mind that it's pretty much a
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permanent decision. I know they have treatments to remove them, but that's a big deal and very expensive. I thought about getting one once, a long time ago."
"What kind?" she asked.
"Nothing very original. A name in a heart." He smiled. "Barbara''.''
"I suppose you must be glad you didn't," Jenna remarked, "considering how things worked out."
"Mmm." He smiled wistfully. "Well, you never know. I still might end up with one sometime."
Just any tattoo? Jenna wondered. Or Barbara, in a heart? But she didn't dare ask him. It was too much to hope for.
"Look," he said, "they sell temporary ones. Let's check them out."
They went inside and looked at the various types of press-on tattoos available. Jenna admired a sheet composed of letters and various borders.
"This is cool--you can design your own," she said. "And it says they last at least a week. You could try something, and after a week, if you still like it, you could get a real one tattooed over it."
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She grinned. Personally, she didn't think there were any gifts that would be wasted on him.
After paying for the temporary tattoos, Stuart was out of cash, so when they came to a bank, he stopped to get money out of an ATM. There was a woman in front of them, and she was taking an unusually long time. She kept putting in her card, punching numbers, and then taking out the card. Jenna heard her utter a mild curse under her breath.
She turned to them. "I'm sorry I'm taking so long. I can't remember my PIN."
Jenna listened with interest. Here it was--an opportunity to try that subconscious mind reading Mrs. Devon had asked her about. Like an invisible power drill, she bore into the woman's mind.
"Three eight seven two," she said.
The woman stared at her, and her mouth fell open. Then her expression changed to horror.
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She jammed the card back into her wallet and took off in a hurry.
"That wasn't very nice of her," Stuart commented.
Jenna laughed. "She must have thought we were thieves."
Stuart started laughing, too. "I guess we make a good team, huh?"
Jenna's heart was so full that she felt like it was going to explode.
It was time for her to get back to the Devons' house. Stuart had a rental car, a cute little yellow compact, and he drove her. Parking in front, he walked her to the door.
"I'm not going to come in," he told her. "It's too close to dinnertime and it'll look like I'm scrounging for a free meal."
Jenna wanted him to stay, but she understood. He was proud, just like her.
"Well, I'll see you," she said. "You're staying in town for a while, aren't you?"
"Absolutely," he assured her. He put his hands on her shoulders, leaned forward, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Then he pulled back and looked a little
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embarrassed.
"I hope I wasn't being too pushy there."
Jenna shook her head happily. "No, it's okay I
mean, I guess that's what fathers do, right?" He smiled. "Right."
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Chapter 11
AMANDA-KEN LAY ON KEN'S bed, staring at the ceiling, and listened. We spent a lot of time at the beach. The sun on her blond hair -- it was like gold sprinkled on gold. Her tan was golden, too. She was like that girl dipped in gold. Did you ever see Goldfinger?
No, but I've heard of it. It's an old James Bond movie, right?
She thought Rick was laughing. I keep forgetting you're living in another century! I was fourteen when I saw Gold finger. That's how old you are, right? You should see it; it's great.
I'll borrow it from the DVD store. .
Man, I wish we'd had DVDs in my time. That must be so neat, to watch movies whenever you want.
Yeah, it's . . . neat.
Nancy and I used to go to the movies practically every
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Saturday night. She liked romantic films, and I liked action ones. Every Saturday, we'd argue about what to see. Not argue, really -- more like debate.
Who won?
We took turns choosing. But she could have won all the time. I'd always give in to her.
By now, Amanda had figured out how to keep some thoughts to herself. So she could think about how wonderful it would be to have a boyfriend like Rick, who would cherish you and give you anything you wanted. And she didn't have to worry that he might hear that, because Rick still thought he was talking to another guy.
She communicated her next question.
What else did you guys do together?
You know the Public Gardens, near City Hall?
Sure.
That was one of her favorite places, especially when the roses were in bloom. She loved roses. When I sold my motorcycle, I used the money to give her one red rose every day till the money ran out.
Red roses and motorcycles. Wow! What a guy.
What?
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She realized she hadn't kept that thought to herself.
Um, I was just wondering, why did you sell your motorcycle?
My brother joined the army and gave me his to use. There was a pause. I don't want to talk about that, okay?
She wondered if his brother had been killed. Had there been a war going on when Rick was a teenager? She still wasn't sure when that had been.
There was a knock on Ken's bedroom door.
"Come in," Amanda called.
Ken's mother stuck her head in. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Sure. Why?"
"It's Saturday afternoon, the sun's out, and you've been lying in bed all day!" She frowned. "I'm going to call a doctor. You haven't been eating much lately either. I think you need a checkup."
Amanda-Ken jumped off the bed. "I'm fine. I was just thinking about stuff. I'm going out now."
To Rick, she said, Later.
What she wanted to do now would require the computer, but she needed to get out of the house before she raised more suspicions in Ken's mother's
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mind. A teacher had told her class once that there were free online services at the public library. She'd never set foot in the public library before, but she knew where it was.
She was surprised when the librarian at the desk greeted her--greeted Ken, actually.
"Good to see you, Ken," she said with a smile.
Amanda noticed the nameplate on the desk. "Hello, Ms. Fletcher."
The woman looked startled. Then she saw that Ken was staring at the plate, and she turned it around. She laughed softly. "Very funny, Ken. Okay, I just came on and I haven't gotten around to changing the name." She put the plate in a drawer and took out another one that read Ms. Greenwood.
Amanda smiled back at the librarian and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. That was a close call.
Locating the computers, she sat down at one and turned it on. The screen lit up, and then a message appeared.
Enter Code.
She got up and went back to the librarian's desk. "The computer says I need a code to log on."
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"That's right," she said with a puzzled expression. "Ken, you've used these computers before.You know what to do."
Amanda swallowed. "I, uh, forgot it."
The lines of puzzlement on the librarian's forehead deepened. But at least she answered him. "It's five zeros, Ken. Pretty easy to remember."
"Yeah, right. Of course. I'm a little out of it today."
Now the librarian looked concerned. With Amanda's luck, the woman would turn out to be a friend of Ken's mother and call her to report that Ken was behaving strangely.
Back at the computer, Amanda logged in, and in the search box she typed Gold finger. What came up was a description of the movie, some pictures of the actors, and a date: 1964. How old had Rick said he'd been when he saw it? Fourteen?
She didn't want to go back to Ms. Greenwood or Fletcher or whatever her name was and make a fool of herself again. So she got up and wandered around the library.
It was kind of interesting--she didn't know
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libraries had CDs and DVDs and video games. But she didn't take time to look at any of them. She was on a mission.
Finally, she found what she was searching for in a little room off the main area, a room that looked like it hadn't been dusted in years. On a row of shelves she found all the yearbooks of all the schools in town, going back to the dark ages or whatever. If Rick had been 14 in 1964, that meant he probably was supposed to have graduated from high school in 1967 or 1968.
There were three high schools in town. She didn't know his last name. And Rick, or Richard, turned out to be a pretty common name. Checking indexes, she found seven possible Ricks.
She started checking pictures, although sh
e had no idea what she was looking for. In their conversations, there had been no reference to his hair color or any other identifiable characteristic.
It was extremely frustrating. Several of the Ricks looked cute, others not so much. Some of them had really long hair, which must have been the fashion at the time.
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There were photos of student activities, teams, and clubs, but she didn't know what Rick had been into in high school. Except Nancy, of course. Which was why she got very excited when she accidentally hit on a picture of a boy and a girl in formal clothes with a caption that read Rick Lasky and Nancy Chiswick.
There was always the possibility that there had been another couple named Rick and Nancy. Even so, this felt right. She remembered Rick talking about Nancy's golden hair. This photo was in black and white, but she could see that the girl's long, straight hair was very blond.
She was more interested in the boy. He had straight hair, too, but it looked like a deep brown in the picture. It was almost as long as Nancy's--you never saw hair that long on boys nowadays, except maybe on some hippie-type rock stars. He was thin, but he didn't look unhealthy. How did he die? she wondered.
He was wearing a tuxedo, but not an ordinary one. It looked like there was glittery stuff on the collar and cuffs. And underneath the coat, he wasn't
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wearing the white shirt and black tie you'd expect to see--he had on a T-shirt. Maybe it was some kind of fashion statement. Or maybe it reflected Rick's sense of humor. He had a great smile, and even though she couldn't actually make out a twinkle in his eyes, she felt very sure it was there.
Normally, Amanda wouldn't find this whole look attractive--she preferred guys who were more manly and athletic in appearance, like Ken. But there was something very appealing about Rick Lasky, something that stirred her.
She looked at Nancy again. Amanda had to admit that she was pretty. Not as pretty as Amanda, of course, but she had a nice face. The gown was awful--all fluffy and puffy--but she could see that Nancy had a good figure. She wore a corsage of roses, which Amanda assumed were red. Naturally, Rick would have given her her favorite flowers to wear.
It must be a prom picture, she thought. Was this the prom where Nancy broke up with him?
Now she had a last name, if this really was her Rick in the picture. How funny that she was now thinking of him as "her" Rick. She went to the back
