Shooting Stars 02 Ice

by V. C. Andrews

  Moving together, touching each other, even through mere looks and words, was like trying to navigate a minefield in which passion could explode at any time if we accidentally triggered it through a deeper look or an innocent caress.

  "Step back. Ice," I told myself. "Hurry before it's nearly too late again."

  However, my own fingers, like little traitors, betrayed me. They came around to undo my pants. Baiwin began to lower them over my hips. His lips moved over my naked stomach, pushing into the waistband of my panties. I moaned as his hands went under them to grip my buttocks and hold me.

  He breathed deeply as if he wanted to commit every aspect of me to his memory. Then, he lowered his arms, surrounding my legs behind the knees, and stood, lifting me.

  "See how strong I've become?" he asked. smiling. I kissed him again and we were back on the settee. This time. I lay there quietly as he carefully and patiently removed every piece of clothing from my body, including my socks. Then he knelt at the settee and put his forehead on my stomach. My blood felt like it was at a boil. When he lifted his head and perused my body. I looked at him and saw the pleasure and the utter amazement and joy building in his eyes. He hovered over me, taunting me with his lips and his fingers.

  "Turn off the lights." I whispered. He rose to do so.

  "I understand," he said, "You're not ready to see me like this yet. Got a ways to go, huh?"

  "That's not it at all, Ballwin."

  "Sure it is. That's fine," he said. "I'll be there soon." he vowed.

  He slipped out of his clothing and then lay beside me. We kissed and held each other.

  "Muddy waters clearing any?" he asked.

  I was so deep down in the well of passion, his voice seemed to reverberate above me. I was losing the battle. In fact, it might be all over. I thought. My own curiosity and excitement were plashing caution away from the controls. Alarms were being drowned out by the drumroll in my heart, the parade of desire and lust marching up from my thighs to the back of my neck and around to my lips.

  He moved closer. closer...

  And then, we heard the upstairs door open and close and his parents' voices, his father's laugh and his mother's following.

  Balwin practically flew away from me, scurrying like a rodent over the floor to gather his clothes. I rushed to get mine on as well,

  "The lights!" I cried. "They'll wonder why we're down here in the dark."

  He flicked on the lamp at the piano just as we heard the door to the basement being opened. I rushed around the corner to keep out of eyesight as I completed dressing. Balwin tapped out some notes, pretending to be working at the piano.

  "Hev!" his father called down. "You still working with Ice down there?"

  "Yes. Dad."

  "Getting late, son," he said and closed the door.

  I came around quickly and we looked at each other. Most of the lights had been off. Surely, it looked suspicious and strange.

  "It's all right." Balwin said trying to reassure int. "Don't worry."

  "I'd better get home,' I said. He nodded and we started up the stairs.

  When we stepped into the hallway, his father appeared in the living room doorway, gazing at us, a wry smile on his face.

  "Making music down there?" he asked.

  Balwin looked at me, his eye shifting every which way as he searched desperately for just the right answer.

  "Yes," I said for him.

  "Good," his father said. He smiled at me. "Good," he continued and turned away.

  We hurried out and to the car.

  "Sorry about all that," Balwin said as we drove off.

  "Maybe we had better cool it for a while," I suggested.

  "Just awhile," he said nodding. "We'll start again after the concert Saturday. okay?"

  "We'll see." I said.

  Little did I know what my hesitation would come to mean to him. but then. I had no idea myself.

  Our annual spring concert was always a very well-attended affair. We had an excellent, awardwinning orchestra as well as an award- winning chorus. Many people attended who didn't even have students participating. They just knew they would get their money's worth buying a ticket to one of our concerts.

  Most of the proceeds went toward a scholarship for a worthy musical student. The winner or winners were announced just before the final choral number of the evening. Mr. Glenn called up the principal to make the presentation. Everyone was sure that Balwin would be this year's recipient. After all, he had volunteered his services for the chorus for more than two years now and had even performed solo at past concerts, always bringing the audience to its feet.

  Despite his father's reluctance to praise Balwin for his musical abilities, the accolades and the congratulations he and Mrs. Noble received made it impossible for him not to at least appear proud. It wasn't hard to set, however, that he had hopes Balwin would eventually go on to pursue a career that held more financial promise. Balwin told me that if he hadn't been chosen in an early admissions program to attend Juilliard, his father would surely have pressured him to go to Harvard or Yale, both of which had accepted him, and then get an MBA.

  "He's got to get it out of his system," was Mr. Noble's favorite expression whenever anyone talked to him about Balwin's pursuit of music. It was as if he believed music was like an infectious disease or something, a flu or virus he had to purge from his soul, Mr. Noble seemed to think that with time. Balwin would simply outgrow it.

  All this applause was nice, he told friends, but when it came right down to it, applause didn't put food on the table or pay for an elegant home or provide a good living. For that. Balwin would eventually have to turn his attention to more mundane things like following in his footsteps perhaps and becoming a financial advisor, manager or even a company chief financial officer. He could always buy a piano and play for people on holidays, couldn't he?

  "After all, how many people do you know," his father would ask someone, "who make a very good living on entertainment? We all can't be Frank Sinatra," he pointed out with a laugh.

  I heard him say these very things in the auditorium lobby during the concert's intermission. Balwin heard them, too, and was embarrassed enough to try to lose himself in the crowd.

  "I've got to check on something," he told his mother and slipped away.

  My mama and daddy had come to the concert. I was surprised Mama had actually shown up, even though she had gone into her room to prepare long before I left. She always thought the music was too stuffy and made her sleepy. I had to admit that she looked very nice, dressed in a dark blue dress with her pearls and her hair and makeup perfect. She was enjoying a lot of attention, and every once in a while, glanced at me with her eyes dancing, brightly filled with pride. Daddy looked somewhat uncomfortable beside her, his tie like a hangman's noose on his neck. He flashed me a smile and made his eyes roll toward Mama who had just let out one of her sweet sounding laughs while she absorbed a compliment from someone else's father.

  We were called back in to finish the concert. The second half began with three orchestra numbers and then a chorus number, after which the auditorium grew very quiet. Mr. Glenn introduced the principal who stepped forward and announced that this year the school had extremely worthy recipients for its prestigious music scholarships. He then began with a very detailed rendition of all of Balwin's

  accomplishments. I had forgotten myself how he had often gone over to the elementary school to help that chorus rehearse and once had performed a small assembly program for the primary classes.

  The audience rose to its feet when he was called forward to receive his scholarship. I clapped as hard as I could, He glanced my way and smiled and then stepped up and thanked the school and his parents. He promised to make good use of the scholarship.

  Again, there was a hush in the crowd. The principal put on his reading glasses and began by describing someone who was truly a discovery, "a jewel so covered in modesty, someone could walk right by her. Until." he added lifting his
head to look out at the audience, you heard her sing. Then, there is no question. It is with great joy that we present a scholarship to someone who has the potential to make us very proud citizens of this school. Ice Goodman."

  At first. I didn't realize he had uttered my name. I stood there, waiting for another name. Mr. Glenn turned to me, beaming, and the others looked at me. too. All their eyes brought the reality home. I thought I would be unable to take a single step. but Mr. Glenn came forward and reached for my hand to escort me to the podium.

  Balwin's face was so full of joy, his eyes glittered like tiny stars in the footlights. I thought I would surely faint. My heart was beating so fast. I couldn't find a breath.

  The principal handed me the envelope and stepped back. I knew that meant I had to say something. Everyone in the auditorium was looking at me, waiting.

  "Thank you," I said. Then I turned and hurried back to my place. No one applauded.

  The principal stepped forward, laughing.

  "She makes up for all that when she opens her mouth to sing, folks. Just sit back and enjoy the final number."

  The audience finally applauded.

  I did sing hard and strong until the final note, after which Mr. Glenn congratulated me first and then most of the chorus. Balwin and I remained backstage waiting to greet our parents. Mama was in her glory. She feasted on the accolades and compliments as if she had expected them, and then Daddy revealed that they had been informed of my impending award so that they would be sure to attend the concert.

  "We're very proud of you, honey, very proud," he said hugging me.

  Some of the men he knew pulled him off to shake hands and receive their congratulations. Balwin and I stood close to each other, greeting people like the victors of some Olympic event. Finally, his father came up to me.

  "I guess your working together helped you both in different ways," he began. Balwin was shaking hands, but listening with one ear turned our way.

  I nodded, smiled and started to turn away from his father, when he reached out again and took my hand.

  "You deserve this," he said. "And now that I know you've got a promising future, it will be put to good use. I'm sure. Thanks for fulfilling the bargain," he said.

  I opened my hand and looked down at five crisp hundred-dollar bills.

  Balwin gazed at it as well and then he looked up at me, his face full of confusion and pain,

  "No," I said shaking my head. 'I don't want your money, Mr. Noble." I cried. "I told you..."

  He turned his back on me and walked into the crowd. I looked at Balwin.

  "I told him I didn't want..."

  He didn't wait for me to finish. He moved away quickly, disappearing into the crowd. I started after him. but Mama seized me and started to praise me in front of her friends, claiming how much she encouraged me to sing in church. Half of me listened.

  The other half was off, screaming into the night.

  8 Wounded

  The silence I had once embraced as a friend soon turned into a despised enemy. It was the silence I heard growing between Balwin and me almost the instant the incident with the money occurred in front of him. The pain he felt was so deep, I thought I could never reach down far enough to wipe the salve of my explanations over it. He would always suspect, distrust, even detest me as long as he had any reason to believe I had been part of a conspiracy hatched by his father.

  Full of a thousand anxieties. I tried calling him as soon as I was home from the concert, but he didn't answer his phone and when his father picked up their main phone, he told me Balwin was already asleep.

  "You did a despicable thing handing me that money in front of him. Mr. Noble. He thinks everything between us was planned, contrived, done for the money." I said, tears burning under my eyelids.

  "Wasn't it?" his father asked coldly.

  A hot rush of blood heated my face.

  "No!" I screamed. "and I want you to take your

  money back.-' He laughed. "Sure you do," he said. "Mail it to me," he challenged and hung up.

  I found an envelope immediately and addressed it. Then I stuffed the money in it and set it out to mail it to him first thing in the morning. Balwin's mother answered his phone the next day and told me he had gone for a ride with some friends. I didn't know whether to believe her or not. I asked her to tell Balwin I had called and she said she would, but I didn't hear from him, and I decided not to keep calling.

  Of course, we saw each other in school the following Monday, but as soon as he set eyes on me, he turned and headed in the opposite direction. His avoidance of me caused more of a stir than when we had begun to be together. Everyone wanted to know what was going on. but I ignored the questions and the comments, all except one: Thelma Williams's implication that Balwin was upset he had to share the award with me.

  "The only reason why you don't know how stupid that is." I told her. "is because you're so stupid."

  It nearly started a bad fight. If Balwin heard about it, he didn't say anything to me before the day ended. Chorus was over for the year so we didn't meet after school, but on my way home. I saw him driving his car in my direction. When I rounded the corner to my street. I found him parked alongside the curb. He was staring ahead. waiting.

  I got in and closed the door.

  "I heard about you and Thelma Williams," he began. "Thanks for defending me,"

  "It was a dumb thing for her to say." He nodded and then he squinted at me.

  "I just want to know if everything you did was paid for with that money my father gave you," he said.

  "Nothing was paid for. Balwin. I've been trying to tell you that, but you won't listen."

  He stared at me, the pain and hurt tearing at his eyes.

  "Why didn't you tell me what my father had done? Why didn't you ever say anything about it?"

  "I thought you would always be suspicious. I thought you would never believe it wasn't true." I replied. "I also thought your father would get so angry. . . he would forbid you from ever seeing me."

  "You should have told me," he repeated, shaking his head. "If you like someone, really like him, you trust him. Trust is a very important thing, Ice, very important."

  "I know, I'm sorry, Balwin. Really. I am. I sent the money back to him. When I called and told him, he said I wouldn't and he laughed at the idea."

  "You called?"

  "A few times. I called your phone and spoke to your mother, too. Didn't anyone give you the messages?" He shook his head.

  "I guess they thought my usefulness was ended," I said. I was feeling so sorry for myself. I wished someone would dig me a well to cry in. "Your father didn't have to pay me to like you and to help you feel better about yourself, Balwin."

  I turned on him, my eyes burning with unrequited tears.

  "I enjoyed every minute we were together and the song you wrote for me will always be something special to me."

  Balwin glanced at me and I stared at the floor. I was afraid to look directly at him again. afraid I really might start to cry and never stop. I think he sensed it. His voice turned so much softer.

  "I should have given you more of a chance to explain. Ice. I'm sorry about that. but I was so hurt, so angry. I felt betrayed."

  "I know."

  "Will you come back?"

  "No." I said. "I don't think I'll feel comfortable there just now."

  "Well, then let's keep practicing at school. Mr. Glenn will let us use the chorus room. okay?"

  I was silent.

  "Ice? Okay?"

  "If that's what you really want," I said.

  "I do,"

  "Then. okay," I said and got out of the car.

  "Tomorrow, after school?" he called.

  I nodded.

  Then I turned and walked away. He watched me walk all the way to my apartment building before he started his car and left. I watched him drive off.

  Music, I thought, music was still the tie that binds. The rhythm, the melody and the words flowed through my h
eart as well as my mind. I could face anything if that was always true. I thought.

  I was soon to be put to the test.

  It came in the form of a loud knock on our apartment door just a little after eleven that same evening. Mama was already asleep and when she fell asleep, she was pretty much dead to the world. Sometimes, she even put cotton in her ears to keep anything from disturbing her.

  I thought the knocking was part of a dream I was having. I tossed and turned all night, fretted in and out of the nightmare trying to settle in my brain. I heard the knocking continue and finally opened my eyes. I listened, heard a voice and more knocking and then rose quickly, scooping up my robe and shoving my feet into my slippers.

  "Who's there?" I called through the closed door. There were two robberies this month in the building, and both had happened because someone had opened her door too quickly.

  "Mike Tooty, from the agency." I heard. I knew that was Daddy's security company and I knew Mike Tooey. I looked toward Mama's bedroom, but she hadn't vet woken.

  "Just a minute." I said and undid the locks. I opened the door and faced him. He had his hat in his hands and he was in full uniform. "What is it?"

  "Your dad." he said, "was shot about an hour ago. He was stopping a robbery."

  I pressed my hand to my breast. My whole body felt as if I had fallen into a large pot of boiling water. I could barely move a muscle.

  "How is he?" I finally managed to ask.

  "He's in intensive care at the hospital. You and your mother should get over there." he said. "Sorry."

  Sorry? It sounded so simple, so nonchalant, so nothing. Sorry to wake you. Sorry I stepped on your foot Sorry I snapped at you. Sorry I bumped into you. Sorry your father was shot.

  "I can take you two there," he offered."I'll wait outside in the company car. okay?"

  I nodded, closed the door, took a deep breath and started for Mama's bedroom.

  There was no music in my mind, just the continuous, ominous roll of parade drums.