by Clay Cormany
Back in the driveway, Stick held his car keys out to Jace.
"Drive safely, son," said Stick, mimicking the voice of an older man. "And remember, this car turns into a pumpkin at midnight."
Jace took the keys. "I owe you big time, Stick."
"You can give me your firstborn child. Now get your butt over to Stephanie’s."
Jace grabbed the loafers off the driveway and jumped behind the steering wheel. The rumble of the engine as he turned the ignition couldn’t have sounded sweeter, but his relief vanished when he glanced at his watch — six-fifteen. He thought about going back into Stick’s house and calling Sylvia so she could tell Stephanie he was running behind, but that would make him even later than he already was. The best thing to do was get on the road.
Ten minutes later, Jace pulled into the driveway of the Thornapple residence. The two-story house in front of him was white with green shutters. A large oak tree overhung the porch, which had two flowerpots dangling from hooks. The attached garage featured a weather vane with a galloping horse, and a raised door revealed a new model sedan and a canoe perched upon a rack. To the right of the sedan lay a scattering of sports equipment — bats, balls, mitts, tennis rackets, bicycles — even a sled. Just outside the garage was an older model vehicle. Jace parked beside it being sure to leave enough room so he could open the door for Stephanie.
He looked at his face in the rearview mirror and then at his shirt. It still felt a little damp, but at least there weren’t any obvious spots. Realizing he had no more time for self-inspection, Jace took a deep breath and got out of the car. He bounded up onto the front porch and pressed the doorbell. The door flew back almost immediately, but it was Sylvia—not Stephanie—who stood in front of him. She wore her Valkyries team shirt and cut-off jeans. He smiled at her but got a frown in return.
"Where’ve you been?" she asked, as she pushed the screen door open. Jace stepped inside and took a few steps. In front of him, a carpeted hallway led to a staircase.
"My car wouldn’t start," he said. "If Stick hadn’t lent me his, I’d still be sitting in my driveway going nowhere."
Sylvia's frown faded. "At least you’re here now."
Jace took several more steps and noticed that rooms adjoined the hallway on the left and right. In one of them, a middle-aged man with gray at the temples of his dark brown hair sat in an armchair while reading a magazine.
Jace held his breath for a second and then asked, "Does Stephanie still want to go out with me?"
"Oh, yes," said Sylvia, "but she got a little worried about you." She paused before adding, "I was too."
"Where's Stephanie?"
"Upstairs. I’ll go get her." Sylvia started toward the staircase.
"You mean she’s not ready even though I’m late?" Despair gnawed at him anew.
"She just decided to change her shoes," Sylvia said over her shoulder. "Don't worry."
The mention of shoes prompted Jace to look at his own feet where he saw to his horror that he still had on his cross-country shoes. He ran to the door, almost colliding with the man, who had risen from his chair and come toward him.
"Whoa there, fella," said the man. "Leaving so soon?"
"I’m sorry, sir," said Jace. "I’ve got to get some shoes out of my car. I’ll be right back."
The man looked down at Jace’s feet and raised an eyebrow. "I hope those shoes are better than the ones you have on now."
Jace could feel his face reddening and when he spoke, his voice sounded like he was being choked. "Yes, sir, they are."
"Well then, don’t let me stop you," said the man, opening the door for him.
Jace ran to the car, tore off the cross-country shoes, and threw them into the backseat. Then he put on the loafers and headed back to the house. The man he’d almost run into watched him from behind the screen door, and Jace could feel the man’s eyes on him like prickles on his flesh. When he reached the porch, the man motioned for him to come in. Jace entered and braced himself for a lecture on why it wasn’t polite to run when leaving someone’s home. But instead of giving him a lecture, the man extended his hand.
"Hello, I’m Albert Thornapple, Stephanie’s dad," he said. "You must be Jace."
"Yes," said Jace, grasping the offered hand and smiling in relief. "I’m pleased to meet you."
There was no trace of a beer belly beneath Mr. Thornapple’s red-and-white sports shirt, and the strength of his handshake suggested that he made physical fitness a high priority.
After their greeting, Jace and Mr. Thornapple smiled and waited for the other to say something. Stephanie's father finally broke the awkward silence.
"Sylvia and Tina tell me you're helping to coach their softball team."
"That's right."
"How's the team doing?"
"They’ve come a long way," Jace said. "But there’s still a lot of room for improvement." A thought struck Jace. "Hey, Mr. Thornapple, you should come to some of our games. It’ll help the girls if they have people rooting for them."
"I realize that," the man said. "I played baseball and basketball in high school, and fan support made a big difference." He tapped his fingers on his face as if trying to work out a problem in his head. "I’ll be busy in my office over the next few weeks, but I’ll see if I can make it to a game or two."
Jace was about to suggest that he check the schedule of games that Sylvia had, but at that moment Stephanie made her appearance. She came down the staircase, her steps making a slight pitter pat, and glided over to where he stood.
"Hi, Jace," she said. "All set to go?"
For a few seconds, Jace just stared at her without answering. It amazed him how the sight of Stephanie could make him lose his train of thought, almost make him lose the power of coherent speech. The girl had gone to some trouble to make herself especially attractive tonight. She wore a turquoise-colored tank top and light blue skirt that together accented the curves of her body. Her hair swirled into a ponytail that draped over her shoulder and her lips glistened with the moistness of raindrops from a summer shower. The splendidly shaped legs ended with painted toenails that poked out of brown sandals.
"Uh, yes, I'm ready," Jace finally responded. "We should go now, since I got here kind of late."
"What time will you be home?" Mr. Thornapple asked.
Stephanie looked at Jace, who suddenly realized that Mr. Thornapple expected him to answer.
"Oh, um, the ballet starts at eight, so I should have Stephanie home by eleven or maybe eleven-thirty," Jace blurted out. Then he held his breath and waited for Mr. Thornapple to say he wanted her back sooner, but no objection came.
"I’ll leave the front porch light on for you," Mr. Thornapple said, speaking to Stephanie. "If your mother and I aren’t still up, switch it off before you go to bed."
She nodded, and Mr. Thornapple returned to his armchair and settled in again with his magazine. "Have a good time, kids," he shouted as Jace and Stephanie prepared to leave.
Before walking out the front door, Jace shot a glance up the staircase. There near the top sat Sylvia. They made eye contact just briefly, but in that fleeting instant, Jace sensed some uncertainty on her part — perhaps even a touch of jealousy.
"I’m so sorry about being late," Jace told Stephanie after they left. He explained everything that had happened to him from the time his car wouldn’t start to the moment he drove off in Stick’s car.
"I have a reservation at Marchetti's," he added after finishing his tale. "I just hope they don’t cancel it if we’re not there on time."
"Marchetti's?" said Stephanie. "Great! I love Italian food."
"Yes, that’s what I heard." In his heart, he thanked Sylvia for that information, but he also found himself wondering about her. What plans did she have tonight?
They drove toward the center of town where the restaurant was located, small-talking about school, teachers they liked and didn’t like, the annoyances of having siblings, Stephanie’s dull clerical job in her dad’s
office, and Jace’s equally dull job unloading produce at Farrell’s. At one point, Stephanie looked down at the floorboard, her attention caught by something near her feet.
"Jace, who did you say this car belongs to?" she asked.
"My friend Stick Macklin."
"Well, I guess if the car is Stick’s, this must be his, too," she said, reaching down under the seat. After one or two tugs, she pulled up a magazine — the latest issue of Playtime with the centerfold extended.
Jace gasped, gulped, exhaled, and bit his lip all in the span of about two seconds. How could Stick have been so careless as to leave something like that in his car? He wished he had inspected the vehicle before picking up Stephanie, but there hadn’t been enough time. Jace could feel his cheeks blushing.
"You’re right. It must be Stick’s."
Stephanie peered at the centerfold and then leafed through the first several pages of the magazine.
"Not much in here interests me," she said. "Do you want a look?"
"I’d better not," answered Jace. "After all, I’m driving."
They both laughed, but Jace had the feeling that Stephanie was toying with him or maybe testing him.
"What should we do with it?" she asked.
Jace shrugged. "Throw it in the back seat, I guess."
Stephanie tossed the magazine over her shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Jace saw the thing fall on top of his running shoes, cover-side-up with the centerfold still exposed — in more ways than one.
Stephanie started to check and see where the magazine landed when Marchetti's Italian Kitchen swung into view on their right.
"There’s the restaurant!" Jace almost shouted. "Good food straight ahead."
"Just in time!" said Stephanie. "I’m starved."
"Yes," Jace agreed. "Just in time." He glanced at the magazine once more, wishing the thing would magically disintegrate.
By now, it was six-fifty, twenty minutes later than their reservation. When Jace gave his name to the maître d', the man checked his watch.
"You’re a little late, sir," he said with a frown. "But you’re also lucky. A party of two just phoned in a cancellation." He motioned for them to follow him, and a minute later they sat at a booth with red-checkered napkins in their laps and menus in their hands. Their server came, and Stephanie ordered a Caesar salad and chicken parmesan; Jace went with a tossed salad and cheese ravioli.
"How did you get the name Jace?" Stephanie asked after the server left.
"My name is actually Jason," he told her. "There was another boy named Jason in my kindergarten class, so the teacher called me ‘Jace’ to avoid confusion. The name stuck because it was easier for my baby sister to say ‘Jace’ instead of Jason."
Stephanie laughed. "I know what you mean. Tina called me ‘Steppy’ until she was five years old."
A few minutes passed, and their salads and a loaf of bread arrived, followed closely by their dinners. While they ate, conversation drifted to the ballet.
"Have you ever seen The Sleeping Beauty before?" Stephanie asked him.
"I saw the animated movie when I was little."
"I did, too, but I like the ballet better."
"You’ve seen it before?"
"Twice."
"I saw the Nutcracker Suite once," he volunteered. "My aunt took my sister and me for an early Christmas present."
"I’ve seen it, too. What did you think?"
Jace groped for a tactful response. He hadn’t enjoyed it that much. "I liked the energy and strength of the dancers. They must have practiced an awful lot."
"What about the beauty of their motions and their artistic expression?" Stephanie said, sounding a little disappointed.
Again, Jace felt like he might be undergoing some kind of test, and he worried what Stephanie would do if he gave the "wrong" answer to her question. He thought for a moment before responding.
"I guess I was a little too young to appreciate the beauty of it," he said. "But afterward, I did read a short biography of Tchaikovsky."
"What did you find out?" Stephanie riveted her eyes on him, and Jace felt overwhelmed by her beauty. Her eyes, nose, mouth, and cheeks nestled within the flow of auburn hair beckoned him. He bent a little bit toward her as he spoke.
"He didn’t have a very happy life. His mother died when he was still a kid, and his father was cold and distant."
"How sad," Stephanie lamented.
"And that wasn’t all," Jace continued. "When he was a young man, he fell in love with an opera singer named Désirée. They were engaged to be married, but without any warning to Tchaikovsky, she broke the engagement and married another man. But Tchaikovsky never stopped thinking about Désirée. He even secretly put her name into one of his piano concertos."
"I never knew that. How awful."
"Yes," said Jace. "It is awful to be attracted to a girl, to think you have a chance with her, and then lose her to another guy."
A serious look came over Stephanie’s face. She gazed at him intently, and Jace felt his cheeks redden. He had not intended to draw any comparison between himself and the famous composer — at least not consciously. Returning her gaze, Jace tried to determine what he saw in her eyes. Curiosity? Disdain? Sympathy? He couldn’t say, but the feeling of being a specimen under a microscope lingered.
Neither of them saw their server approach, and both were startled a bit when she spoke.
"Would you like any dessert?"
They passed on that offer; there wasn’t enough time. As they left their table, Jace made sure to leave a good-sized tip. He didn’t want to risk acting like a cheapskate. Later, out in the parking lot, he held his breath when he opened the car door for Stephanie. Perhaps another issue of Playtime would be discovered or something even worse. Luckily, no new embarrassments were lying in wait, but as Jace pulled out of the restaurant parking lot, he felt sure there must be at least ten thousand things that could go wrong on a date, and most of them were beyond a guy’s control.
****
The ballet was in Columbus in an old theater that had been saved from the wrecking ball by a group of citizens who raised enough money to have it restored. It was one of the most dazzling places Jace had ever seen. The lobby had colorful tapestries and painted murals and a wide staircase that led to the balcony. At the bottom of the staircase were two bronze bewigged footmen, each holding a candelabra. The theater’s huge stage had a blue and gold felt curtain that ran from one side to the other. Above the curtain were ornate wood carvings of angels, gargoyles, and bare-breasted women, and hanging from the ceiling was a glittering chandelier decorated with flying horses.
An usher directed Jace and Stephanie to their seats in the twelfth row of the center section. On their way down the aisle, Jace saw the bobbing heads of the musicians in the orchestra pit. He also noticed that the people around them were different from those at neighborhood movie theaters — older, quieter, and better dressed. No giggling girls or guys with their hats on sideways.
"Sylvia told me that you took ballet lessons when you were a kid," said Jace, while they waited for the performance to start.
"Syl told you that?" Stephanie’s face wrinkled in disgust. "Leave it to her to gab about a failure of mine."
"I don’t think she meant anything bad by it," Jace said, surprised by her reaction. "She just wanted me to know that you’ve been a big fan of ballet for a long time."
Stephanie scowled. "I guess it’s no big deal that I wasn’t good enough to go very far in ballet," she said with a sniff. "And it’s not as if Syl hasn’t failed at quite a few things herself."
The lights dimmed, the orchestra started to play, and the curtain opened.
Jace rather enjoyed the music. Tchaikovsky’s melodies had a way of speaking to the heart, and Jace suspected that the great composer used music to escape the demons that troubled his own brief life. The dancing, on the other hand, didn’t do much for him. As he had with The Nutcracker, Jace found himself admiring the energy of the dancers b
ut not understanding the meaning of their motions. During the intermission, he thought about asking Stephanie to explain the negative comment she made earlier about Sylvia, but decided not to. Despite some snags, this date was going pretty well. Why risk probing into something that wasn’t his business anyway?
During the second act, Jace spent almost as much time stealing side glances at Stephanie as he did watching the stage. Even in the darkness, her beauty radiated, as if kindled by some inner flame, and he realized that her being there next to him was almost as much a fantasy as the story being told on stage. Just a few weeks ago, this date — this whole evening — would have been beyond his imagination.
Amid the applause that followed the ballet’s conclusion, Jace checked his watch — ten after ten. It seemed too early for the date to end since Stephanie’s father didn’t expect her home until eleven-thirty.
"Want to get some ice cream?" he asked once they exited the theater.
"Sure — but where could we go this late?"
"Bostwick’s is open until ten-thirty on Saturdays. If we hurry, we can get there before they close."
"Then let’s go!"
Stephanie sounded enthusiastic, and a wild thought crept into Jace’s mind, which he dismissed at once. He had no business thinking about Wilson’s Bluff. If he wanted this new relationship to have a future, then taking Stephanie to Ridgeview’s notorious "make-out" spot would have to wait. Ice cream cones would be enough for now.
They barely made it to Bostwick’s before the "Closed" sign was hung in the window. The tired-looking kid behind the counter scooped out a mint chocolate chip cone for Stephanie and a pistachio one for Jace.
"That’ll be two forty-five," the kid said.
Jace pulled out his wallet and saw there was a single dollar bill there. Rummaging through his pockets, he could come up with just eighty-five cents in change. "I’m afraid I’m a little short," he said.
