Smith's Monthly #18

by Smith, Dean Wesley

  He lay back, his butt off the ground, as in one smooth motion she pulled his pants off, leaving him laying in the middle of a fairway on the warm grass in only his white underwear.

  It was the most excited he could remember feeling since college.

  And the most afraid of getting caught.

  He had forgotten what that feeling of doing something illegal was like.

  The grass was warm and soft against his skin as he ran his hands over it. What the hell. If they got caught, they got caught. It was their vacation, after all. And they were a long way from home.

  “Now you have too many clothes,” he said.

  “Oh, I like this game,” she said, giving him a kiss and then pulling away.

  As he watched, she unhooked her bra, tossing it aside with the rest of their clothes. The soft light made her skin seem ultra smooth and silky, as if there wasn’t a mole or wrinkle anywhere.

  “Like what you see?” she asked, looking down at him.

  “Much more than like,” he said. “How about love? Admire? Adore?”

  “You say all the right things,” she said, her laugh carrying into the darkness of the desert and golf course. She lay on top of him. The feel of her breasts against his chest was wonderful.

  “Nice,” she said, pressing her leg into the hardness of his crotch.

  He pulled her tight and they kissed again, moving their bodies slowly against each other. He wanted to touch, to stroke every inch of her. He loved the way she felt against him, her soft skin moving slowly against his.

  He kept at it until she finally pulled his head up and kissed him long and hard.

  He returned the kiss, suddenly not caring if anyone else was nearby or not. She rolled him over on his back and kneeling beside his legs pulled off his underwear with a frantic jerk, flicking them into the air over her head.

  “Oh, I like this,” she said, running her hands over him.

  “You’re not the only one,” he said. The sensation was wonderful and much more intense than it had been in a long time.

  The warm night, the fear of someone nearby, the grass against his back all seemed to vanish as his body pushed upward. Before she was all the way into position he couldn’t help himself and started to move up and down under her.

  After a wonderful eternity, they lay panting, sweating, both trying to catch what air they could manage.

  That had been intense, and wonderful.

  He kissed her neck and she shivered. But she didn’t move.

  He kissed it again and got the same reaction. Only this time she hugged him, being careful to keep him in the same position.

  “Wow,” he managed to whisper into her ear.

  She squeezed him with her entire body. “Yeah. No argument there.”

  She carefully stretched out her legs and lay down on him, keeping them together as they rolled over so they were facing each other in a full hug. On one side he could feel her soft skin the length of his body, and on his back grass was sticking to his sweaty body.

  With the stars above and warm night air around them, it was a moment he didn’t want to let go of.

  Clearly Bonnie didn’t either.

  There was no sound of anyone walking toward them.

  The night was quiet, so they just lay there, holding each other, not saying anything.

  He couldn’t remember feeling this good in a long time. It was an absolutely perfect start to the vacation.

  He closed his eyes and let his body completely relax.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Friday, April 7th

  9:46 p.m.

  DANNY BAINES TOSSED his bag on the hotel bed and looked around. In all his life he had never felt so scared, so alone, so completely out of his mind.

  This all had to be a nightmare and he would wake up very shortly.

  He walked into the large bathroom and stared in the mirror.

  His eyes were red and he looked like he hadn’t slept.

  Actually he’d had a good night’s sleep last night with Steph and this morning had headed to the course to get his clubs and help get ready for the weekend rush of players before he had to leave for Phoenix.

  When he got home, he found his bag packed and sitting by the front door. A man he didn’t recognize was sitting on the couch, pointing a gun at him.

  Steph was nowhere to be found.

  He almost went crazy when the guy said they had taken Steph. He stormed at the guy.

  “If I shoot you,” the guy had said, pointing the gun at Danny, “I have to kill your wife as well.”

  That stopped Danny.

  And then Danny’s blood seemed to freeze as the man laughed. “And she’s a looker, too. It would be fun doin’ her.”

  “So why are you doing this?” Danny had asked.

  For the next twenty minutes the man had explained exactly why they had taken Steph. And what they wanted him to do to get her back.

  Then the man had helped him carry his bag to his car, helped him check the apartment to make sure everything was turned off, and then stood there and watched Danny drive away.

  Now Danny was in Phoenix, checked into his room, and going crazy. He couldn’t do what they were asking.

  He just couldn’t.

  But it seemed he had no choice.

  He headed through the bedroom and out into the main area of the small suite.

  The phone was sitting on the desk under a mirror. He moved over to it. He had to call the police. He had to have help.

  He picked up the phone, then put it back down, the man’s voice echoing in his ears. “Trust me,” the man had said, “you call the police and we can kill your wife before you hang up the phone.”

  Those words echoed through his mind. How would they know if he called the police?

  He couldn’t take the chance.

  The image of Steph’s face filled his mind and he moved over to the couch and sat down.

  It was going to be a very long night.

  And an even longer golf tournament.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Friday, April 7th

  9:53 p.m.

  BONNIE’S BREATH WAS even against his neck, the grass soft under him, and he wasn’t sure if he hadn’t even dozed a little. Amazing, falling asleep nude in the middle of a fairway. This just wasn’t like him at all.

  Suddenly he realized what had woken him up.

  Someone was coming!

  The sound of a deep, male voice in the distance drifted over them.

  He pulled back enough to see his wife’s face in the dim light. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be asleep as well. He could feel their skin sticking together.

  He leaned in close to her ear. “I think someone’s coming,” he whispered, trying not to startle her.

  “Oh, damn,” she whispered back.

  Her eyes snapped open and she rolled away from him.

  The stickiness on his stomach had dried his skin against hers and it pulled like removing a bandage.

  “How long were we asleep?” she whispered as she grabbed her shoes and the pile of clothes and moved over toward the side of the giant boulder that towered over them and the fairway. If they stayed against the backside of it, they wouldn’t be seen from the cart path.

  He grabbed his shoes and followed her as again the male voice could clearly be heard. At least two people were coming from the direction of the clubhouse, walking along the same path they had walked.

  Bonnie, her back against the tall rock, slipped on her underwear, then shorts. He started to do the same, then realized his underwear was still out in the middle of the fairway where Bonnie had tossed them aside.

  He eased away from the rock slightly and glanced toward the clubhouse. The silhouettes of two men could be seen coming up the small rise about a hundred yards away. One was smoking a cigarette and the red tip glowed in the dark.

  “Shit!” he said, softly.

  Craig pointed at his underwear and Bonnie snickered. If he went back out onto the fairway to get h
is underwear, he would be seen, so he slipped his pants on without them.

  “Watch that zipper,” Bonnie whispered as she put on her bra. “I don’t want that part hurt.”

  “Trust me,” he whispered back, “neither do I.”

  She laughed softly and they both sat down with their backs against the rock, waiting for the intruders to pass as they put on their shoes. He felt like a kid again, almost getting caught at something he shouldn’t have been doing. His heart was beating hard and he was enjoying the feeling as the two men moved toward them.

  This was fun.

  And for some reason damn scary at the same time.

  The sound of their footsteps seemed very loud, echoing over the grass and desert like irregular drum beats. Neither man had said a word for at least fifty paces. Then one with a high voice and a slight New York accent said, “I still can’t believe we’re doin’ a Senator.”

  “Believe it,” the other man said.

  The second man had a deep, distinctive voice that sounded like a musician’s.

  “I don’t much like the idea of the entire fucking government comin’ after me.”

  The two men were even with the rock and passing.

  Craig glanced at Bonnie. Her eyes were huge and she was holding her breath just as he was. Suddenly this had turned from fun to something very serious.

  “If nothing goes wrong, no one will be coming after you,” the deep-voiced one said. “We just make sure it looks like an accident.”

  “Yeah, sure,” the first man said as the two started down the hill away from Bonnie and Craig. “I better be gettin’ paid real good for this.”

  “Trust me,” the deep-voiced man said, “you are. We all are.”

  “We better,” the man said. “A senator. This is nuts.”

  Craig stared at Bonnie as the two men moved on, clearly headed somewhere out on the golf course. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. And he didn’t want to think about what those words seemed to mean.

  Bonnie finished putting on her shoes and he followed suit, not saying anything. He stood and made sure the men were long out of sight, then went out and grabbed his underwear off the fairway, stuffing them into his pocket as he turned.

  He joined Bonnie on the cart path, headed back toward the clubhouse. After about ten steps he whispered, “Did that sound to you like it sounded to me?”

  She put her finger up to his mouth and shook her head. “In the room,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

  Then she took his hand and they headed toward the beautiful hotel at a much faster pace than the stroll that got them there.

  To be continued…

  Billy meets Laura at the dance. She loves to dance. But she has a problem. She died on the night of her first dance.

  But when the dance falls on her 16th birthday, she gets to go to the dance again. And this year she meets Billy, a wonderful, gentle boy.

  She hopes he will understand.

  A dead teenager story about what happens when the song ends.

  AFTER THE DANCE

  From the moon-cast shadows of the night I watch Billy pick up his gray wool sweater from the newly mowed grass of my grave.

  He holds the sweater away from him, as if he has never seen it before, let alone worn it to the dance last night.

  Those gentle hands of his shake, and even across the darkness of the cemetery, I can see the fear clouding his green eyes. His brown hair is mussed by the night breeze and I can tell he is about to panic and run.

  I want to step out of the shadows, to let him kiss me again as he did at my parents’ front door, to feel his strength against me, but I know that would send him fleeing, now that my father has told him the truth. I can’t have him leave. There are only a few hours before the sun breaks over the tops of the hills and I will be forced to return to my grave. I must act before then.

  But at this moment the time is not right.

  I stand in the night shadows and watch him hold his sweater. He stares at it and then at my headstone.

  I know the words he reads.

  LAURA JANE ROBERTS

  Born September 22, 1946

  Died September 22, 1962

  Nothing more. A simple statement of facts.

  Even frightened, Billy seems unable to tear himself away from those words that are carved in the cold, smooth stone. He must love me as much as I came to love him in the few short hours of the dance.

  I almost laugh out loud, but then stop. That would scare him too, so I hold my hand over my mouth and let the laugh die with the wind in the trees.

  Billy sits down beside my grave, his sweater beside him on the grass.

  Good. He is not going to leave yet. I can wait a little longer, until the night air chills him and forces him into my arms.

  I move to a group of shadows closer to him and stand thinking about my first fall dance twenty-eight years ago tonight.

  That night had started out so special.

  I went to the dance with my best friend, Donna. I remember my stomach twisting with excitement. The first dance of my sophomore year. And my birthday would start at midnight.

  Donna and I had planned to stay out late, until one in the morning, dancing with every boy we saw and celebrating the arrival of my birthday.

  Only Donna started drinking. Rum and Coke that some stupid kid from another school gave her.

  Before midnight, before my birthday had even started, she was sick. She had ruined everything.

  I remember telling her I hated her, yelling at her, calling her names as she threw up time after time.

  I stormed out of the bathroom and into the parking lot and the cold night air.

  That’s where I met Craig.

  He was sitting in his blue Chevy, with the radio blaring and the windows wide open. He said he was from downtown.

  Looking back now, from the cemetery, the dark shadows, and all the years, I should have known better. But I was so mad at Donna and the cloth seats of his car felt so soft and he liked the same music that I did. After all, at midnight it was going to be my birthday. I had a right to have a good time.

  At eleven he suggested we go driving around.

  I knew better, but I didn’t want to go back into the dance and face Donna, so I said yes.

  At first we only went downtown and cruised. But by quarter to twelve, he had driven out to the edge of town and pulled off onto a dirt road next to an empty field.

  He stopped, shut off the car, the radio, and the lights.

  The darkness seemed to scream in my ears and I was so frightened, my hands were shaking. He tried to kiss me and I wouldn’t let him. I told him I wanted to go back to the dance, but he just laughed.

  I started to get out of the car like my mom had told me to do, but he grabbed my arm, yanked me back, and hit me.

  From that point everything was sort of fuzzy. I think he hurt me real bad with that first hit.

  I remember crying and him laughing at me. A high, nervous sort of laughter that I knew didn’t sound right.

  He kept trying to kiss me and touch me.

  Every time I tried to make him quit he hit me.

  I screamed once and he hit me so hard I could taste the blood.

  Looking back now I mostly remember him laughing. That and thinking about my birthday and how it was ruined.

  I guess he finally hit me too hard, because everything went completely black.

  The next thing I knew it was years later, the dance was again being held the night before my birthday, I was standing on my grave, looking at my own headstone, and thinking how odd it was to be dead because I didn’t feel dead.

  In fact, I didn’t feel a thing.

  Nothing.

  I didn’t even care what had happened to Craig. I just wanted to meet someone and dance.

  Now, four dances later, Billy, my date and dance partner for the evening, is sitting next to my grave. I think he is shivering.

  Maybe it is time for me to talk to him.<
br />
  Maybe now he will listen if I go slow.

  Very, very slow.

  “Hi, Billy,” I say as I move forward, my voice as friendly and as sweet as I can make it in the night air.

  He jumps and scrambles to his feet, clutching his sweater to his chest. His eyes are wild and his face is twisted in fear.

  I know he is about to run.

  “I’m sorry about lying to you about where I lived,” I say.

  I stop far enough away that he does not feel threatened.

  He looks around as if searching for an escape route, then back at me.

  I just stand there in the seemingly bright spotlight of the moon, looking as timid as I can, waiting, hoping he will stay without me forcing him to.

  After a moment he chokes out a question. “Are you really dead?”

  I nod, making my best sad expression, even though I feel no sadness. I know that’s what he expects.

  “But how...”

  He leaves his question open. “I don’t know,” I say. “I really don’t. I just knew I had to go to the dance, maybe to meet you. I don’t know.”

  I give him my best lost-girl shrug. I am surprised at how calculating I can be. I could have never done this while I was alive.

  He turns and points at my headstone. “Is that really you? I don’t believe this.”

  “That’s really me,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “No way. Someone is playing a joke on me. That’s it, isn’t it? This is just a big joke and you set that old man up in the house to tell me you had died. Right?”

  I shake my head slowly, thinking back over the night. After Billy and I danced for hours, dream hours, he took me home. On the way to his car I asked to borrow his sweater. I told him I was cold. He took it off and gave it to me to wear. Then he kissed me, softly, and left me at my parents’ house.

  Down the street he remembered his sweater and went back to get it. I watched from the shadows as my father answered the door. Even after having this happen four times on the anniversary of the night I died, my father does not believe I return.