And man she's ready for him. More than ready. He's a better kisser than she'd expected but. Sexy as the boy is, he is just not a hustler. Jose is hot, alright. But he's not going to set the world on fire. A hard worker, sure, but he's not going anywhere extraordinary. And he won't be so hot when he gets a pot belly, starts balding. He'll teach elementary school in some nowhere town, married with a bunch of kids, be a good dad, join the Lions, PTA, have a wife, couple of kids in soccer, the works. Great life for some girl.
Just not this girl. Seeing her cousin get hitched this weekend 'cause the silly twit got herself knocked up was bad enough. That is just not gonna happen to her. Bright lights, big city, glamour and glitz, that's the ticket.
“It's okay, Jose. Sorry, I didn't mean to, um, bother you.”
She glances down at his straining jeans then quickly looks away, her breathing shallow. So easy to scratch the itch, but she knows damn well Jose would expect her to be his woman. Which would mean she'd have to chuck her plans. No, no. no.
He nods. Looking over at her with those big dark eyes. Licks his lips, her turn to blush. He's not being subtle at all as he looks longingly at her. She better watch it or she'll be the one making babies. Uh uh. No way. No how. Not this girl.
“I gotta go.” She grabs her stuff and takes off without a backward glance.
Jose lays back and sighs. It was too good to be true.
chapter 22 . . .
Natasha, stands with hands planted on her hips, “I think it's just about perfect.”
Boris chuckles. “You can't be serious.”
But she is serious, staring up at the black metal statue. The horseman is mightily gripping the reigns of the rearing horse delicately balanced on its two rear legs. The statue's tail touches the concrete base making the third leg of the tripod, but it still looks precarious.
“She wants us to find a new way of looking at the world, a different point of view. This will be different.”
“Well,” Boris says, “Just how in hell do you think you're going to get up there?”
Natasha tilts her head and looks up at Boris, wearing a mischievous smile.
Boris holds both hands up in front of him, defensively. “Whoa there girl, You think I am going to help you get up on that ancient statue? I don't think so. I like it here at Christie and I don't really want to have to transfer out.”
“Aw Boris, don't be such a poop. I only need a boost.”
“Oh yeah? What happens if you wreck the thing, eh?”
“How am I gonna wreck it? It's made of metal for gods sake, and it's bolted to a concrete pedestal.”
“Look, it's balanced OK now, but the horse is only standing on two feet. You go up there you might unbalance the whole thing. So let me ask you, is it worth the risk?”
Natasha looks into Bo's eyes. A big smile spreads from ear to ear, and she nods vigorously. “Oh yeah.”
Boris claps himself on the head. “You're certifiable. Jeeze, Nat. If you get caught they might throw you out.”
“Come on, Bo. I won't hurt anything . . . and nobody will catch me. It'll be fine.”
“You're missing a really big point though.”
“And that would be?”
“You take your shots from up there it would be evidence. Not a good idea. The pictures you hand in will bust you.”
“Gee, that's an interesting point, Bo. I never would have thought of that.” Natasha carefully winds the small camera bag around her wrist then scrambles up the side of the plinth, hoisting herself onto the pedestal.
“Wait, Nat, wait, you're not still gonna do it!”
“Sure I am.” Natasha wraps one arm around the horse's near hind leg and reaches her other hand to Boris. “Now are you gonna help me or not?”
Boris looks at her outstretched right hand and her expectant face. Damn. “Okay okay.” Boris waves away her hand, planting both of his on the top of the pedestal so he can vault up to join her.
Balancing precariously on top of the damned thing, he draws himself up to his full height and looks around.
From this vantage point Boris does in fact have a better view of the oval, pretty empty now in spite of the fabulous weather. Students are back in class or off campus this late in the day. Nobody is looking over this way. Seems safe enough.
“I just need you to give me a little boost up Bo.”
Natasha extends her arms upward over her head, her fully extended fingers just brush the bottom of the saddle. She won't make it without him. Unless she jumps, which would be incredibly dangerous. Boris sighs and takes one more stealthy glance around before reaching down and gently picking her up by the waist and raising her above his head. Natasha grasps the horse's metal mane, gets a good grip then throws her leg over the statue's withers, squeezing in between horse and general. Boris drapes his arm over the horse's rump while scanning the Oval, miserably hoping that they won't be caught and kicked out.
Natasha's camera is out, she aims here and there, checking the framing on the screen back against her view of the wider world. She looks around until she is satisfied that she is really seeing. Only then does she begin taking photographs. Getting the view from here, the buildings, plantings, scattered students hurrying along the paths.
“Are you almost finished?” Boris hisses urgently.
Making sure she's got a couple of incriminating shots of Boris, Natasha slips the little camera back in its bag. “All done.”
She slips out of the general's grip and starts lowering herself down the side of the horse until Bo's hands encircle her waist. He carefully lowers her half way down so she can make a gentle jump to the grass below, then shakes his head, still surprised he's been dumb enough to go along with this crazy girl. His head is spinning, his heart racing as he glances around, certain that a contingent of campus cops will be coming for him any minute. But the coast is clear, so he jumps down, landing rather less gracefully. Rolling onto his back on the grass, weak as a kitten, he stares up at the impossibly blue sky, giddy with relief.
Natasha again offers him a hand, and this time he takes it, and she helps him up.
“Okay”, she says brightly, “I've got mine, what's yours?”
Boris laughs, happy no one is slapping handcuffs on his wrists. Oh, it's good to be a free man. “I have no idea.”
chapter 23 . . .
Cameras slung around their necks, Liz follows Jake up the back stairs of the Art Centre. At the top Jake pushes open the door leading into a dimly lit corridor.
“So what's up here anyway?” Liz asks.
Jake smiles, touching a finger to his lips, then crooking it to indicate she should follow. Exasperated, she follows him anyway. Midway down the hall he stops and pushes a door inward, then walks into the dark.
“What is this brilliant idea anyway, Jake?”
He pops his head out, holding a finger to his lips, this time actually “shushing” her before disappearing inside. Liz doesn't know what to do, but follows him into the dark anyway.
Liz feels a little guarded. It's dark and there's a kind of weird ambiance. And what sounds kind of like . . . maybe water falling? She just feels more confused. But Jake is already making his way through the darkness. So Liz trails after. It's a long, room, or maybe a hallway? Hulking shapes huddle along the walls. Some kind of containers. Barrels maybe? It's weird. Jake was so excited, he wouldn't steer her wrong. Would he?
Of course that's what everybody always thinks in the slasher movies. Reaching down to her fanny pack she makes sure she has her cellphone. Just in case. And she has the tripod if she needs some kind of a weapon. And she's a lot bigger than . . . Wait a minute, this is Jake here. What is she thinking?
Ahead the dim light from the camera's screen back illuminates the shadow that is Jake. Light stabs through the darkness and the sound volume swells. Liz realizes Jake is very cautiously opening yet another door. Suddenly she can clearly hear the rumble of a crowd, and puts it all together in a rush of relief. Vaguely Liz recalls Amelia saying so
mething about the drama department hosting a play.
It's easier going now that there's some illumination. Liz moves up to stand beside Jake. They look out at a lighting catwalk strung between large theatrical lights suspended from a latticework of metal struts mounted on the ceiling. Compared to the storeroom it's bright, but it's really just the spill, with the lion's share of illumination pouring down onto the stage.
Jake moves silently onto the catwalk to set up. There's no one else up here, so Liz assumes the lights have all been preset. Probably being run from a control board somewhere, maybe backstage. She watches Jake. He's clearly aiming straight down at the audience, sure to get some great shots of the tops of heads. Bald spots, dandruff, who knows what he'll capture, but whatever it is it'll sure be different. She smiles as she realizes he has come up with an interesting new perspective.
Liz fires up her own camera, adjusts her settings, feeling a little foolish for being worried.
About Jake.
She feels like an idiot.
Instead of stepping out onto the catwalk herself, Liz crouches and takes a series of photographs capturing Jake at work. Retrieving her cellphone from the fanny pack she turns it off. It wouldn't do to disrupt the show being put on below. Liz feels a bit of a stomach flutter as she steps out on the catwalk, moving away from Jake, toward the stage.
Jake brought her along so she can't very well poach his idea. She needs her own spin, make her own distinct images. The Stratford Touring Company, that was it. It is warm here. A little hard to breathe. Overheated by powerful lights and body heat from the audience below. No wonder.
One of the big Shakespeare plays probably. Was there dancing in Macbeth? Doesn't matter, she feels supercharged as she applies herself to her task, photographing the mammoth lights that are so close she could almost touch them as they cast their magical glow on the stage below.
Liz feels a chill, but she's too busy, so she pushes it aside. She wants to get some good shots. She focuses on the stage, filled with masked revellers in flashing colours twirling to some kind of medieval music. Following the colour and motion from this angle is interesting. A little dizzying. When she's got enough pictures, Liz shuts down her camera and stows it in her pouch. Why is her heart racing like this? So hot. Turning back the way she came she doesn't see Jake at all. He must have finished. Maybe he's gone.
Now the work is done Liz realizes that she's having a bit of a problem. She tries to take a step in the darkness but . . . she can't make her foot rise. Now that she's looking through her own eyes and not the camera, she realizes the edges of her vision are ragged.
The dizziness is making her feel nauseous, along with a kind of falling sensation, pulling her to the side, drawing her to the audience. Down there. Now that she's not taking pictures, she realizes the physical discomfort she feels isn't excitement, it's fear. She does not want to be this high up. No. Her hand snakes out and grabs the catwalk railing.
This is silly. She walked out here, she should be able to go back again too. Looking down at her feet she can see the people below. Reflected light from the stage reveals them clearly through gaps in the metal mesh floor. Liz can feel the little holes in the floor through her shoes, she's mesmerized by the sight.
Heart pounding furiously Liz realizes she can't stay here.
She can't move either. Where is Jake? She can't lift her foot. Not the other one either. Lifting it off the floor is too scary. The nearly invisible floor. Not an option. Maybe she can slide it. Her death grip on the railing helps pull her forward a step. Progress. Slide the hand, slide the feet.
The heat is intense, Liz feels sweat running down her back. Got to get out of here. Dizzy.
The pounding in her chest is bad, now there's a pounding in her head, the rushing of the ocean, the blue of the water . . . white froth . . . Liz slumps to her knees, held upright by her mechanical grip on the rail.
As consciousness wanes, her fingers relax and she sprawls on the catwalk.
In the store room Jake is scrolling through the thumbnails of the images he's photographed. Looking good. He packs up his camera and wonders what's taking Liz so long. He goes back inside and takes a peek through the doorway. She's not there. Where did she go? He heads back out through the store room and into the hall. She must have left. That's annoying.
Not like Liz to just take off without a word though. Maybe she just thought it was stupid and didn't want to say anything.
He shakes his head in frustration, but he should be used to being ditched by girls by now. He starts down the stairs, feeling an increasing sense of annoyance. Just he didn't think Liz was like that. She been a good friend until now. One of the very few here who don't treat him like a little kid.
As he reaches the exit door, it hits him.
When he was here this afternoon helping the crew set up the lights, he was all over the lighting grid. There is no other way out of there. The only way Liz could have left would have been to go right past him. And she didn't. So Liz must still be up there. But where was she? He turns and starts back up again.
chapter 24 . . .
Adam is tucked away in a study carrel in the back of the library, totally caught up in creating his software architecture plan. Crunching numbers, verifying, testing, he's totally oblivious to the world around him. Which is why he hasn't noticed it's getting dark. Or Barbie, when she finally makes an appearance.
Standing in the doorway, Barbie scans the room, trying to spot the computer guy who has her laptop. She's never been in here before, and it's bigger than she thought it'd be. If she had actually looked for him in the oval she'd have it now.
She could be home already. But it was so warm and snugglely in the sun, too much fun laying in the grass smoking up with her friends to go hunting up her laptop. Of course if she'd got her laptop from Alan things wouldn't have got out of hand with Jose. That's gonna be so awkward.
It's one thing to lust after him in her head and mess around with that great body in her fantasies, but she knows she's damn well given Jose ideas now. Hell, she's given herself ideas. That was too close, she needs to get laid.
And soon.
But goddamn she is not gonna end up like Tam, stuck with some loser. Or her dimwit cousin. God, who is stupid enough to get knocked up these days? Even if you don't want an abortion, there's always adoption. You don't have to marry the guy and wreck your whole life. She will just have to steer clear of Jose. Don't think about it now. Just find the guy with her computer.
She walks through the main area, there are a few guys who might be him, but she's not really sure what Alan looks like actually. Ordinary looking. With a tie. But it'd probably be a different tie today, so that might not help very much.
Barbie cruises around the perimeter. Some of the possibles catch her checking them out and look up hopefully, but she ignores them.
He had brown hair. Or was it black? Not blond anyway. Maybe dark, uh dirty blond. Um. No glasses. Kinda like Dilbert, actually. Duh. For sure he isn't any of the guys working at the common tables in the centre of the room. She walks along peeking in the carrels, looking for her computer case. That she'll recognize.
And finally, Barbie sees it. She comes up behind the guy, taps his shoulder. Skinny, not muscular like Jose. She's pleased to see she was right, he's got brown hair. He turns around and smiles when he sees it's her. Yup. He is wearing a tie too, with some kind of . . . what is that spaceships? . . . yeah, spaceships on it.
“Hey, where were you? Couldn't find you at lunch.” Barbie bestows one of her brightest smiles.
“It was so crowded and I looked but you weren't anywhere. I think the whole school was out in the sun.”
“I am sorry, Barbie, I did try. We probably missed one another because it was crowded and we were both moving.”
“Probably. Then I had a class. Sorry I missed you.”
Adam smiles happily, “Oh that's fine. Have you got a moment now? We can go over it.”
Barbie frowns prettily, “I wish
I could but I promised my Dad I'd have dinner with him. My folks are divorced and I don't get to see him very much.”
“That's alright.” He pulls her computer case out from under the carrel desk and hands it to her. “Let me just tell you, I've installed the new Ubuntu distro, and upgraded all your open source software, Open Office, Gimp, and Firefox. I set up a directory structure I think you'll like but if you have any problems give me a call and I'll get you fixed up, okay.”
“Oh wow, you did all that? That's amazing.” she gushes. Adam smiles, feeling terribly pleased with himself.
“Hey, you know,” she says glancing down at the computer bag, “There's one more thing you could help me with, that is if you've got the time?”
“Yes, I have some time tonight. How can I help?”
“It's these,” she says. Fishing a couple of CDs out of her purse she hands them to Adam.
Adam looks at the cases, Black Eyed Peas' The E.N.D. and Coldplay's Viva La Vida. “What is the problem? Do they skip in your player?” he asks.
“No they're fine. My friend loaned them to me but I always have so much trouble making copies, I thought maybe you could put them on my MP3 player. Or even just show me how to do it?”
Adam's face isn't happy any more. “You can't do that.”
Frowning. “I know, that's why I'm asking for your help, because when I try to do it something always goes wrong. The Peas aren't supposed to sound like The Chipmunks, you know?”
“No, that's not what I meant at all, Barbie. I meant that it's illegal to make copies of CDs.”
She shakes her head, frustrated. “I don't think so. Everybody does it, and that's why she gave these to me so that I could copy them. She knows I'm gonna, she said it was okay.”
“That doesn't matter. She can't give you permission, she doesn't have the right to . . .”
“Of course she does, they're her CDs. I was with her when she bought them.”
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