by Laura DeLuca
“I’ll have to take your word for that.”
The waiter came and took their orders. Justyn laughed and the waiter looked at her like she had three heads when she asked for a soda to drink. With a blush, she settled for a glass of water, and sat back to wait for the mystery meal to arrive. When it did, it actually smelled pretty good. She picked up her fork, and was just about to ask Justyn what had made him choose such a little place for their date when the lights on the stage sprang to life. An older man walked up to the little podium, and spoke into a crackling microphone. He had a long, graying beard, and a colorful turban covered his head. His wide smile lit up the stage more than the lights.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The man spoke in a thick Middle Eastern accent, each word rolling off his tongue like a purr or a growl. With only a few words, he had the whole crowd anticipating a great show. “Tonight for your viewing pleasure, we bring you a remarkable seductress. Let her entrance and mesmerize you with her breathtaking fusion of modern and traditional belly dance. I present to you . . . the amazing . . . the extraordinary . . . the alluring . . . Tempest!”
The old man disappeared around a corner taking the microphone with him, and Rebecca waited for someone to step onto the stage from behind the small curtain. A slow, deep, rhythmic drumming and the gentle flow of a wooden flute began to play, followed by a stringed, guitar-like instrument Justyn identified as a sitar. She was surprised when she heard a sudden jingling that beat in time with the music coming from behind her. She turned around and saw one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever laid eyes on standing in the dining room entrance way.
The woman sparkled and glimmered from head to toe. Even her eyes, the only part of her visible behind the long blue veil, were outlined in deep glittery make up, enhancing the already hypnotic stare of her deep, nearly black pupils. Long black curls cascaded down her bare back, moving in time to the music along with her gently shaking and pulsating torso.
Her costume was spectacular. The skirt was a rich blue that was fitted around her shapely hips and hung loosely down to her ankles. It reminded Rebecca of a mermaid fin; it fit her curves so perfectly. Both the skirt and the bra top were covered in silver coins and diamond cut glass that jingled and shimmered with every fluid movement. Her smooth perfect belly, bejeweled with large dangling blue gemstones, was so dazzling it might have been part of the costume instead of her own skin.
Rebecca was entranced as she watched the veiled woman weave her way through the crowd. Her face was still covered, giving her an air of mystery. She moved with a slow, practiced grace until she reached the center of the stage. Then the veils fell away, revealing her highly painted cheeks and lips. Her hips swayed to the music, her arms moved like snakes through the air. With each motion, the coins around her waist jingled in time to the slow moving music. Then the tempo changed. The new age ballad blended effortlessly into a faster paced mix, and the movements of the dancer became more intense. She wrapped her legs and arms around the dancing pole like she was gripping her lover in the throes of passion. Around them, the men in the room started to hiss.
“Why are they hissing at her?” Rebecca was a little shocked. How could anyone think she was anything but perfect?
“That’s a sign of appreciation in the middle east,” Justyn explained. “It’s like clapping, only not as noisy.”
Rebecca nodded, appeased, and went back to watching as the belly dancer twirled at an incredible pace, shaking and shaking, faster and faster, until Rebecca was sure she would fall to the ground in exhaustion. But when she did hit the ground, she inched her way along the stage, sliding on her belly like a graceful cat about to pounce on its prey, all the while sensually licking her lips. Then when the audience least expected it, she jumped back into a standing position, again without missing a beat, shaking her ornamented bosom in a way that would have been obscene if anyone else dared to try it. Yet on her it was only beautiful and feminine. She continued a complex mixture of shakes, twists and shimmies that were truly poetry in motion. Rebecca couldn’t tear her eyes away. She didn’t even blink. She was too afraid of missing even one impressive, fluid movement.
“Do you like it?” Justyn whispered beside her.
Like it? He was an artist. How could he possibly think a word as simple as ‘like’ could express the way she felt as she watched the dance continue. She had to swallow past a lump in her throat so that she could speak.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Justyn was undeniably smug and pleased with his accomplishment. “I’m glad you think so. I knew you would appreciate it.”
They watched in silence for the next half hour as the performer finished her routine. Rebecca’s dinner sat untouched, growing cold on her plate, because she refused to tear her eyes away from the dancing for even a moment. Only when there was an intermission did she even consider picking up her fork. But she quickly dropped it again when the beautiful, dark-haired woman waltzed up to their table, and without a word leaned over and kissed Justyn on the cheek. Rebecca knew her mouth fell open, and she had to stifle the ridiculous twinge of jealousy she felt. The woman had to be at least thirty, and hardly interested in a seventeen-year-old boy.
“Justyn, what a wonderful surprise.” Her voice was just as fluid as her movements. “I was wondering when you’d finally come to see my show.”
Justyn shrugged, completely nonchalant. “I told you I’d make it eventually.”
She nodded and looked Rebecca over appraisingly. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Darlene, this is Becca. Becca, Darlene.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Rebecca told her honestly. “I really enjoyed your show. It was amazing.”
Darlene smiled broadly at the sincere compliment. Rebecca would have thought it was impossible, but it made her look even more beautiful. “Thank you. Well, I have to freshen up before I get back up there. It was very nice to meet you, Becca. I hope to see you again.”
“Great job tonight, Darlene.”
“Thanks, honey.” She patted Justyn’s shoulder, and again Rebecca felt inadequate. How could she possibly compete with perfection, even if she was at least ten years younger?
“I can’t believe you know the dancer,” Rebecca said, once she was gone. “How long have you known her?”
She tried to make the question sound casual, but Justyn was too perceptive not to pick up the hint of jealousy in her voice. It only infuriated her even more when he looked amused by it. She tried to mask her frown by picking up her water glass.
“Hmm, how long have I known Darlene? Well, only since the day I was born.” He smirked. “She’s my mother.”
Rebecca very nearly spit out the water she had just sipped. She actually did start choking on it. “Your . . . your mother,” she sputtered between coughs. “Are you kidding me?”
“Why would that be funny?” He seemed honestly confused.
“But she’s so . . . so . . . .”
“Beautiful? Exotic? Sexy? Yeah, I know. It’s a little weird sometimes. But she’s more than just a belly dancer, you know. She’s an EMT, an artist, and a Wiccan high priestess. She’s an amazing teacher, and an even more amazing mother. Besides, she doesn’t dress that way at home.”
Rebecca couldn’t help but giggle, just as much at her own silly jealousy than anything else. “Why do you call her Darlene?”
“Because that’s her name.”
“Do you always call her that?”
“No. Sometimes I call her Tempest. That’s her stage name, and the name she uses in the circle during her Wiccan rituals. She was the leader of a huge coven back in Vegas. Here, it’s just the two of us, until we meet some other pagans. And no, we don’t practice skyclad. I don’t want to see my mom naked even if she is more attractive than average.”
That was an understatement. Rebecca’s own mother was a plump, middle-aged matron who spent her nights playing bridge with her friends or wa
tching reality television with her father. She would never be able to pull off that costume, and would probably wind up in traction if she even attempted any of those outrageous bends and twists.
“Wow, you certainly are full of surprises.”
“I try not to be boring.”
Rebecca laughed. Boring was not a word that could ever be associated with Justyn. And apparently it ran in the family.
They sat through the second half of the show, which was just as amazing as the first half. It was dark when they finally decided to leave. But Rebecca didn’t feel nearly as jumpy on the walk back to the car. In fact, she wasn’t nervous at all. The excitement of the night left her yearning for more. She waited with sweet anticipation for the goodnight kiss she was sure would come when he dropped her off at her front door. When Justyn led her to a bench so they could look out at the water, she thought perhaps the moment would arrive sooner.
It was the perfect romantic setting. The nearly full moon was large and bright in the sky, and its reflection shimmered across the calm water of the ocean. The earlier clouds had dissipated, but the temperature outside had dropped and Rebecca didn’t have a jacket. Justyn noticed right away when she started to shiver, and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.
“Are you cold? Do you want to leave?”
“Not yet. It’s so beautiful here. I could look out at the water forever.”
Rebecca sighed and leaned back against his chest. He lifted her chin, and his dark eyes met hers. She found it impossible to look away as he ran his hand along her check and started to sing. It was just a few short lines from the play, but the words had meaning in their real life situation.
“Beauty is the sound of your voice.
Tell me angel, have you made your choice?
Is it I or is it him?
I wait here to obey your whim.”
He moved in closer as he spoke, and Rebecca could feel his sweet breath on her lips. But right when she was certain those lips would touch hers, right when her body ached and yearned to feel that touch and her lips parted in anticipation, Justyn pulled away.
“I won’t kiss you, Becca. Not until you’ve made your choice. Not until I know I have you completely, body, and soul.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Of all the frustrating, aggravating, annoying, impossible . . . Justyn Patko is just completely . . . aghhh!”
Rebecca stalked into her bedroom and tossed her handbag across the floor in her agitation. It landed on the ground in a small heap and all its contents spilled out onto the carpet, including the crystalline geode that she had gotten into the habit of carrying with her everywhere. It rolled to her feet, sparkling brighter than any diamond, and making dozens of little rainbows flash across the wall as it glittered in the brilliance of the overhead lights. The colorful rainbows reminded her that earlier that night she had experienced the most perfect and magical date of her life. She picked up the stone and caressed it lovingly.
“Justyn you are . . . the most romantic, sweet, amazing, wonderful . . . moron . . . that I have ever met!”
Rebecca heaved a sigh. There weren’t enough adjectives, positive or negative, in the entire English vocabulary to sum up exactly the way she felt about Justyn at that moment. She was frustrated with him, yet she wanted him in a way she had never wanted any other man. She was angry, yet resentfully respectful of his methods. No other man alive had the power to attract and annoy her in the way that he could. No man alive had ever had this kind of effect on her at all.
It was ridiculous, really. One minute she was fuming, and then the next she was daydreaming about him. She just couldn’t believe that Justyn hadn’t kissed her. It made her feel slighted. Yet, at the same time, the fact that he hadn’t kissed her and had wanted to wait until the moment was true and sincere, had permanently tipped the scales in his favor. It could only mean one thing—something that Rebecca was no longer able to deny or push to the side. She was falling in love with Justyn. Maybe she was already in love with him. And this was no schoolgirl crush like what she had—and it was past tense—felt for Tom. This was the real deal. The once in a lifetime connection that some people waited their whole lives to experience. Rebecca knew without a doubt that there was only one man for her. And that man was Justyn Patko. Lord Justyn. It was an exciting but also a terrifying revelation.
Every touch sent fire through her veins. Every word left her hanging on breathlessly, waiting for more. All she wanted was the chance to hear him speak. It didn’t even matter what he said as long as she could hear the sweet sound of his voice. All she longed for was his gentle touch. It didn’t matter where he touched her as long as his hands were on her body somewhere. This was the kind of connection where she felt his presence all the time, even when they were apart. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, this was the thing that she, that every human being on the face of the earth, longed for, and waited for all of their lives.
She had never given herself over to anyone so completely, and Rebecca was more than a little afraid. The old proverb that no one could choose who to love was certainly a true one. She had never fantasized about a dark Gothic prince carrying her off on his ebony stallion. She had only ever seen white knights in her dreams, just like every other teenage girl who had been weaned on stories of fairytale princesses. The fact that Justyn not only broke the white knight’s mold, but also seemed to ridicule it with his very existence was a little disturbing. Yet still, he made her feel every bit as beautiful as a princess. And more than that, he made her feel like a grown woman, with all the wants and yearnings that a girl blossoming into womanhood should be feeling. She wasn’t a fairytale princess longing for love’s first kiss. She yearned for more—so much more that the very thought of it brought a ferocious blush to her cheeks.
Riiiiinnnnggggg.
The sudden jarring ring of her cell phone startled her from her deep thoughts. She jumped and dropped the crystal geode she was still holding. It rolled under her white dust ruffle and she forgot about it as she reached down to pick her handbag up off the floor. She pulled the phone from the bag so she could rid herself of the obtrusive noise that dared to take her thoughts away from her daydreams. But then again, the thoughts she was having were frightening and unfamiliar. So maybe it was better that they were disrupted after all.
She glanced down at the number display as the phone rang for the third time. “Unknown number” flashed threateningly across the brightly lit screen. Rebecca immediately forgot all thoughts of romance as she felt her rebellious heart begin to pound.
She had sworn up and down that she wasn’t going to let her mystery stalker terrorize her anymore. She had vowed to herself again and again that she would not live in fear of some unknown psychopath. But as the phone continued to pulse and vibrate in her open palm, she found that she didn’t have the courage to flip back the cover. On the fourth and final ring, she was so overcome with panic that she flung the phone across the room with all her strength. It slammed against the far wall, making a dent in the plaster, before falling silently to the ground.
Rebecca left it there, staring at it in wide-eyed horror, half expecting it to come to life and fly back into her hand of its own accord. But it remained still and silent for several long moments. Long moments in which Rebecca held her breath to the point of turning blue. Then, just as she had recovered a little bit of her sensibility and allowed herself to breathe again, a few musical beeps declared that whoever had called had left a message. Rebecca found herself frozen in place once again.
Chicken. Chicken. Chicken. Rebecca chided herself silently. It’s just a stupid phone. What are you so afraid of?
It wasn’t a question that could be answered rationally. All she knew was that she was suddenly filled with a terrible sense of foreboding, an indescribable feeling of dread. She had never considered herself even remotely psychic; in that moment, she clearly saw a future heralding death. The feeling of doom was so strong that she thought she might choke on her own ove
rwhelming fear. Terror was gagging her, paralyzing her. She didn’t want to listen to that message. She didn’t want to prove herself right. But she couldn’t control herself. She inched closer and closer to the phone, drawn to it by some sort of morbid fascination.
She approached the phone with such exaggerated caution; it might as well have been a tarantula or a cobra. She was sneaking up on it, like a cat preparing to pounce on a helpless mouse, even though she knew she was behaving like a complete and total fool. She was grateful there was no one there to witness this lapse in sanity.
When she finally bent down to pick the phone up from the ground, her fingers trembled with a terror that was impossible to contain, and the fear deepened to out and out horror when she saw that she really did have a new message and it wasn’t just her imagination or some waking nightmare.
It took an incredible amount of willpower for her to hit the button that dialed into the voicemail system. Her shaking hands hit the wrong button more than once before she was able to retrieve the message she didn’t really want to hear. She fought the urge to hang up just as strongly as she fought the urge to hyperventilate. But when she heard the voice she had come to know so well begin its gently broken recitation, she came very close to having a panic attack despite all her best efforts to remain calm. These were words she knew well—words of the phantom. Words she had heard Justyn speak every day at rehearsal. Words that sounded eerily melodic despite the machine that distorted the voice beyond recognition.
