by Peg Cochran
But the thought had spoiled Rivka's afternoon. She felt restless, and the sun burned hot and brutal on her bare skin. Kids were splashing at the water's edge, florescent colored inner tubes circling their waists. She knew she couldn't swim well enough to go too far into the water, but surely she could at least get her toes wet.
Rivka jumped to her feet. "Anyone want to go down to the water with me?
Pamela shook her head, and Mary groaned. Rivka shrugged and began walking across the soft, powdery sand.
She joined a group of mothers at the water's edge and waited. A wave broke, and foaming water rushed in, tickling the very tips of her toes. She edged closer. The next wave crested in the distance, broke and roared in, swirling water around her ankles. It was cold enough to numb her feet instantly. She jumped back onto the warm sand.
Eventually she got hot standing in the sun and ventured closer to the water again. It didn’t feel as cold, and she watched as the water pooled around her ankles and then eddied and slipped away as if it were going down some giant drain.
After a few minutes, she got comfortable with the sensation and ventured in a bit further. This time the water foamed around her knees before rushing back out toward the sea. She almost lost her balance as the water flowed out, and she backed up a little to where it wasn't as deep.
She was watching a line of dark gray waves rise and swell in the distance when someone grabbed her around the waist.
She gave a little shriek like the kind her mother always made.
“Lance!”
He laughed. “Surprised?”
“Yes. Of course.” Rivka glanced around nervously, but Pamela was nowhere to be seen. “What if Pamela sees us?” Rivka couldn't help asking even though she'd promised herself she wasn't going to worry about it.
Lance tightened his grip on her waist. “I’ve told you. I don’t care about Pammy and what she thinks. It’s you I care about. I’ve missed you.” He lowered his head.
His lips were warm and tasted like a tropical concoction of salt and coconut. His arm was warm around her waist, too. For a minute she forgot about Pamela, Deirdre, Mary, her parents or the fact that she was standing knee deep in the ocean.
“Let’s go back to the house,” Lance whispered in her ear, nibbling gently on the lobe.
“I can’t.” Rivka pulled away.
“Come on.” Lance grabbed her and kissed her again. Long and slow.
Waves slapped against their legs and Rivka slipped, but Lance tightened his grip and didn’t let go.
“Come on.” He took her by the hand. His eyes were dark, his voice husky. He led her away from the water.
“Wait.” Rivka stopped. “I have to get my stuff. I left it with Pamela and Mary,” she gestured down the beach.
“I’ll meet you.” He kissed her again. Slowly.
Chapter 15
Pamela put up a hand to shield her eyes and watched as Rivka walked across the sand towards the steps. The lying bitch claimed she was tired and was going back to the house to check on Deirdre and have a nap. Pamela knew that was bullshit. She was meeting Lance. She'd seen them in the water kissing and fondling each other. It was disgusting. Lance was wearing those goofy bright orange trunks he'd insisted on buying. They made him hard to miss.
Pamela's fist clenched into a ball so tightly that her perfectly French-manicured nails dug into her own palm. She hardly noticed the pain. She was concentrating on Rivka's departing back. If only she could shoot laser beams from her eyes—she'd knock Rivka down on the spot and would watch, happily, as she burned to a crisp.
On top of that, she thought she saw that crazy lady—the one who came up to her that day in the town center. Maybe it was her imagination. Lately she'd been seeing her everywhere.
It made her more determined that Rivka was going to pay.
Rivka and Lance went to his bedroom where he pulled the blinds closed against the scalding afternoon sun and yanked back the dark blue comforter that had been tossed over the bed.
He slipped out of his bathing trunks, then took Rivka by the hand, leading her toward the bed. There was a sharp line where his tan faded to white skin flecked with bronze-colored, curling hairs. Rivka wanted to look—desperately—and at the same time she was afraid to look. She'd never seen a boy naked before. He coaxed her gently onto the bed next to him, wrapped his arms around her and intertwined his legs with hers. She felt the heat of his sun-tanned skin even where they weren't touching.
The mattress shifted as he propped himself on his elbows, leaned over her and lowered his lips toward hers. She was too nervous to enjoy the delicious sensations his kisses normally aroused. He was pressing hard into the softness of her stomach as his mouth devoured hers, more urgently than usual. She heard the bed groan as she sank deeper into the mattress from his weight. She couldn't breathe. She felt overwhelmed. Claustrophobic.
He bit her lip, and she cried out. She felt him poking against her. It scared her. She thought of her parents and her Bubbeh and Zayde. There was nothing wrong with what she was doing.
Then why didn't this feel right?
It felt good when Lance kissed her. It felt good when they snuggled and hugged and talked and teased and tickled each other. But not this. She wasn't ready.
She knew lots of girls who had already had sex at her age. Probably most of them had. But she wasn't like them. Maybe her mother was right—maybe she really was different. Maybe she wasn't meant to fit in.
"What's the matter?" Lance drew back and ran a finger down Rivka's cheek. "You're crying."
"No, I'm not." The words came out choked by a sob.
"Don't you want to?" Lance sighed and rolled off her onto his back. He stared at the ceiling
"I'm nervous, that's all." Rivka touched his arm and he flinched as if she'd stung him. "I'm sorry," Rivka sniffled. She hated herself for being such a baby. Why couldn't she be like everyone else? Why couldn't she do it and get it over with?
"Forget it." Lance rolled off the bed, picked up his swim trunks and stepped into them.
"I'm sorry." Rivka said again. "Are you mad?"
"No."
But he slammed the door on the way out.
"You two did it, didn't you?" Pamela jumped out of the shadows as soon as Rivka opened her bedroom door.
Rivka had taken a long, hot shower, and even though she'd toweled her hair, it was sticking wetly to her shirt in back.
She tried to edge past Pamela, but Pamela got in her face and blocked the way.
"What do you want from me?" Rivka shrank back against the wall. Pamela looked weird, and it was scaring her. She smelled like she'd been drinking and that scared Rivka even more.
"I told you. I want you to stay away from my brother." Pamela jabbed Rivka's shoulder with her index finger, punctuating each word.
"Don't worry," Rivka's mouth twisted with bitterness. As if Lance would ever want to see her again. She'd blown it big time by being such a baby. She felt alone and desperately wanted to cry. Pamela hated her. Lance hated her. She didn't belong here.
But she was stuck.
She could hardly call her parents to pick her up. She'd have to stick it out till Sunday.
Mary had just gotten out of the shower when she heard voices downstairs in the foyer. She slipped into some shorts and a t-shirt, ran a comb through her hair and dabbed on some lip gloss. Her reflection surprised her. She’d tanned slightly, and there were blond streaks in her light brown hair. She actually looked good.
Deirdre's father was standing in the living room when she got downstairs. She stopped short on the bottom step, and was about to turn around, when he called to her.
“Mary!”
He was wearing tan trousers and an expensive looking sport coat. His dark hair was wind blown, and there was one curl that flopped forward onto his forehead.
“Deirdre’s upstairs.” Mary motioned toward the upper floor. She felt awkward after their conversation last night and what his wife had said.
"I need to
talk to you." He put a hand on her arm as she swept past. "They've set a court date. We need to sit down before then."
"Oh." Mary stopped in her tracks. She'd managed to put all that out of her head. Strange. After it first happened, and she was caught with the iPod and taken to the police station, she'd been unable to think about anything else. Even in her dreams she couldn't escape. She kept having nightmares where she was running through the dark night with a police car on her heels, its lights blazing and siren going.
Mike looked at his watch. "How about dinner? I know a great seafood place. I think you'd like it."
"I guess so." Mary really didn't want to, but she couldn't afford to say no. Maybe Deirdre could come, too.
"Great. I'll make a couple of reservations." He pulled out his cell phone, and Mary could hear him talking as he went up the stairs to the second floor.
He came back down fifteen minutes later.
"Looks like everything's going to be okay."
Mary was in the kitchen with Pamela and Rivka. Something was going on between the two of them. Rivka kept giving her these looks. She knew how nasty Pamela could get. Rivka was no match for her. She was a baby.
"Got any scotch around here?" Mike rummaged through the cupboards. "I could do with a drink."
Mary and Rivka exchanged glances.
"Sure." Pamela opened a door and took out a bottle. She reached into another cupboard and handed Mike an expensive-looking tumbler.
Mike opened the freezer, filled his glass with ice and poured in a hefty shot of Johnny Walker Black. He took a long sip.
"That's better." He smiled at the girls. He took another hefty swallow of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I've made reservations for 6:30," he looked at Mary. Kind of early, but it's a bit of a drive back."
"Is Deirdre going home with you?" Mary asked.
He shook his head. "Says she wants to stay with you guys." He looked around at them. "That okay?" He shook his glass so that the ice rattled against the sides.
"Sure." Pamela took the lid off the pot and slid in the spaghetti.
Mike tipped his glass back and swallowed the rest of the scotch. "Ready?" He looked at Mary.
Mary nodded. She took her sweater from the chair and followed Mike out the door.
She had a really bad feeling about this.
It was awkward being alone in the kitchen with Pamela who refused to talk to her or even look at her. Rivka made the excuse that someone ought to check on Deirdre and nearly tripped running up the stairs to the second floor.
She stopped on the landing abruptly. There was a noise coming from their room. She listened and realized it was Deirdre, crying.
“What’s the matter,” she rushed in and sat on the side of the bed. "You're not bleeding again, are you?" Deirdre was slumped down on the pillows, her eyes red and puffy.
“He couldn’t even stay half an hour,” she wailed. “And the whole time he was here he was talking on his cell phone to his stupid office.”
“Your father?”
Deirdre nodded. She twisted a piece of hair around and around her finger. “He doesn’t care about me anymore. All he cares about is his stupid job.” She started to sob again.
“Can you call the Bergmans? You said they wanted to come see you and were going to bring you something."
Deirdre brightened a little. “I could, couldn’t I?”
“And then why don’t you come downstairs and sit with us? You’ll feel better. The doctor didn’t say you had to stay in bed.”
“Okay,” Deirdre sniffed. “I am getting tired of being up here all by myself.”
Rivka was relieved. She wouldn’t have to be alone in the kitchen with Pamela.
Pamela was scaring her.
Mike's Z4 convertible was parked at the curb. They walked toward it, Mike’s hand on the small of Mary's back. "You do like seafood don't you?"
Mary nodded, and Mike opened the car door. Mary surreptitiously ran her hand over the glossy green paint on the car's hood. She'd never have anything like this now. She'd blown it big time. She could feel the pressure of tears against her eyelids.
The top was down, and the breeze ruffled Mary’s hair as they sped down Long Beach Island Boulevard. Once, at a light, Mike took his hand off the gear shaft and put it on Mary’s knee.
Mary stared at it. He was wearing a school ring with a red stone. Dark hairs curled up around the gold band. She sat very still until the light changed, and he moved his hand back to the gear knob.
The restaurant wasn’t on the water as Mary had expected but rather several blocks inland in a square building with small windows.
Inside it was dark and what she supposed would be called “intimate”. A hostess wearing red lipstick and a low-cut black dress led them to a table toward the back of the room.
Mary slid into the wine colored velvet banquette, and Mike slipped in after her. The waitress made a point of bending forward to hand Mike his menu, and Mary noticed the way he looked at her. She supposed he was an attractive man even if he was at least forty.
“How about a drink?” Mike turned to her when the waitress left. “Some champagne, maybe?”
“Sure.” Mary pretended to be engrossed in the menu. It was hard to see. The lighting was dim, and the miniature lamps on each table cast very little light.
Mike slid the menu from Mary’s hands.
“But I don’t know what I want yet.”
“Lobster. You’re having lobster.” Mike made a mock horrified face. “You do like lobster don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had it.”
“You’ll love it.”
Mary took a sip of her water. "When is my court date?" She'd been thinking about it obsessively since Mike mentioned it earlier in the evening.
Mike put a finger to her lips. "Let's eat first and then we can talk business. But I don't want you worrying about it. Everything is going to be fine."
Mary really wanted to believe him. "Thanks for helping me with…everything, Mr. Ruffelo."
"Please. Call me Mike." He ran his finger slowly down the inside of Mary's bare arm. "I could never leave a beautiful girl like you in distress."
Fortunately the waitress arrived with their drinks. Mary inched as far away as she could under the guise of straightening her skirt.
The waitress put a flute of champagne in front of Mary, and a glass with ice in it in front of Mike. She poured a measure of scotch into Mike's glass from a miniature beaker and then added a splash of water from a pitcher. Mike was quiet until she left.
"What plans do you have for the future, Mary?" He swished his drink around in his glass. "College?"
It was weird, but somehow or other, adults always got around to asking about school, Mary thought as she took a sip of her champagne.
"I wanted to go to college."
"Wanted? You've changed your mind?" He fiddled with the swizzle stick in his drink. "Deirdre tells me you're smart. It would be a shame not to get an education. It's the only way to get ahead these days. I went to law school at night while I sold vacuum cleaners during the day. It was a struggle, but it was worth it." He waved a hand around. "Now, I can do pretty much whatever I want."
"How am I going to get into college now that I have a..a..record."
Mike laughed. "I don’t think it's going to come to that! It was a youthful prank."
"You don't?"
He shook his head. "I know Judge Lemmen. I'm sure we can work something out."
The waitress reappeared with a giant tray loaded with plates, balanced on her shoulder. She selected one.
"Blue cheese dressing?"
"That's mine." Mike moved his drink to one side.
Mary moved her champagne glass out of the way, too. She'd drunk almost all of it already. She hadn't meant to drink anything at all.
"Have you given any thought to scholarships?" Mike ground some pepper over his salad.
"That's pretty much all I've thought about."
>
"My fraternity, Psi Epsilon, offers one every other year. This year is the year. Sometimes we go begging for applicants." He took a bite of his salad. "You should apply. I'm on the selection committee. I can pretty much guarantee you'll get it."
"How…how much is it?" Mary asked. Her heart was beating hard. The dream she had given up on was coming back to life in front of her eyes.
"Five thousand." He laughed. "Oh, I know it's not much compared to the cost of tuition these days, but it's a start."
It was more than Mary had dared to hope. And if she were still in the running for the Miller Foundation scholarship, she might be able to pull it off. She could work almost fulltime if she arranged her classes right. She felt her hopes lift a little.
The waitress placed a plate with a lobster sprawled on it in front of Mary. She looked at it in dismay.
Mike burst out laughing. "Don't worry," he tied the bib the waitress had given them around his neck. "I'll show you how to eat it."
The lobster was delicious. Mary knew she had melted butter on her chin, but she didn't care.
Mike ordered a bottle of white wine to go with the lobster. Mary was still warm from the sun, and the wine was cold. She drank a lot more than she intended.
Even the coffee Mike ordered with dessert didn't dampen her giddy mood. She leaned against Mike slightly as they left the restaurant and walked toward the parking lot.
They got into Mike's car, and Mike put the key in the ignition. He didn't turn it on but turned toward Mary instead.
Drunk from the wine and thoughts of the five thousand dollar scholarship, Mary didn't stop him when he took her face in his hands and kissed her.
Chapter 16
The wind was picking up. Rivka could hear the metal forks and tongs hanging from the barbecue grill on the deck clanging together. The sound was getting on her nerves which were already stretched nearly to the breaking point. Pamela was banging around in the kitchen, and she and Deirdre were huddled together in the family room. Pamela wouldn’t let them turn on the television, and the only things to read were some glossy issues of Architectural Digest that didn’t interest her at all although Deirdre was gamely thumbing through one of them.
