Dark Fire

by Peggy Webb

  She gave up all efforts to engage Luther in conversation and settled back to ponder her dilemma. Sid was warm and friendly and funny, but it was Luther she longed for, Luther who made the dark fire burn through her at night.

  Over the loudspeaker came the announcement that an experimental jet was next in the skies. A hush fell over the crowd.

  Rose Anne felt Sid tense. She watched him covertly, as if she were the secret police of some exotic foreign country and he had the key to world destruction. Every muscle in his powerful body was geared for flight. His right hand curved around an invisible stick. The gesture was that of both lover and master. He caressed and commanded at the same time. His face was tight, full of anticipation, excitement, and passion.

  There was a roar from the jet and a roar from the crowd. Sid was transported to another dimension . . . and Rose Anne along with him.

  He lifted his face to the sun, and all the wonders of the skies shone in his eyes. Rose Anne flew with him to a world wide and clean, a world far above the petty strivings of man, a world of such beauty, such grandeur, she held her breath lest it vanish.

  Time spun away like golden filaments on a dew-sparkled spider's web. Even the breeze stood still while Rose Anne secretly watched the glory of flight. Sid's left hand shaded his eyes, while his right hand guided the plane, moving the invisible stick.

  From somewhere deep inside her, haunting music stirred. The strains, faint at first, soon became a symphony.

  She turned her head quickly toward Luther, expecting to feel the impact of the man and the music, blended together in one glorious moment. All she felt was admiration for a handsome, noble, and very nice man.

  On her left the magnetic pull of Sid's presence drew her back. Far above them the experimental jet was a silver dot, and all around, the crowd waited and watched, breathless.

  In the sunlit silence Sid was as still as a carving, the yearning so clear in his face, it hurt to look. And yet she couldn't do otherwise, for she was lost in his passion, lost in the bright visceral moment as he chased his secret vision of glory.

  When the plane vanished over the horizon and there was nothing left to see except an endless summer sky. Rose Anne sighed.

  Sid turned to her. Leaning close, he placed one finger on her left cheek. "Tears?" he whispered, his voice as gentle as his touch.

  "Beauty always makes me cry." She reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a lace-edged handkerchief. She dried her tears without shame, smiling at him all the while.

  It was at that precise moment, with the sun shining in her eyes and tears glistening on her cheeks, that Sid realized the enormity of his love. When he had first glimpsed her through the garden gate, he had been taken by her grace and her beauty. Later he had fallen under the spell of her charm. Now it was the purity of her soul that beckoned to him.

  His love was so great, he would die for her. And yet, she belonged to another.

  Out of the corner of his eye he glanced toward Luther—innocent, trusting Luther. His best friend.

  "Would you excuse me, please?" Sid stood up.

  "Hey, Eagle." Luther turned to him, smiling. "What's up?"

  "I'm leaving."

  "Leaving the air show?" Disbelief showed in Luther's face and his voice.

  "Not the show. Just these seats. I'm tired of sitting." Sid glanced down at Rose Anne. Her eyes were still bright with the remnants of unshed tears. If he didn't get out of there soon, he would surely make a fool of himself.

  "You're going?" she whispered.

  He opened his mouth to make excuses, but the lie caught in his throat. All he could do was nod.

  She touched his arm. "Good-bye . . . and thanks." He lifted one eyebrow. "For making me see the beauty."

  "You're welcome, fair lady."

  He hurried away before he was tempted to change his mind. Panther and Gunslinger left their seats and followed him.

  "What's up. Eagle?" Panther asked.

  He started to repeat the lie he'd told Luther, then changed his mind.

  "It's this damned courtship thing. I can't sit there and watch it. I feel like a cheat and a liar."

  "I've got a simple solution to your problem." Gunslinger fell into step on Eagle's left side. "What you need is a woman."

  "Damned straight, that's what he needs," Panther said. "He's spent so much time courting Luther's woman, he hasn't had time to win one for himself."

  "One phone call will fix that. Panther and I have met some women . . . oo-la-la."

  "Yeah. Let's call them up and ask them to come down and meet us."

  Sid started to decline, then changed his mind. No use drowning in a sea of self-pity.

  "Okay. Let's give them a call."

  They found a phone booth at the entrance to the air show. While Panther made the call, Eagle and Gunslinger looked up at the skies, watching the show.

  "Do you think he'll tell her today?" Eagle asked.

  "Will who tell who what?"

  "Luther. Will he tell Rose Anne he loves her?"

  "He's planning to, but I wouldn't place money on it."

  "Why not?"

  "For one thing, I don't think he'll get up the courage, and for another, I don't think he really loves her."

  Wild hope sprang up in Sid's breast. "What makes you think that?"

  "I don't know. A hunch. I think he's just starstruck. I'm a little bit that way around her myself. After all, she is the most beautiful woman in the world."

  "She's the sun, and other women mere shadows."

  Gunslinger gave him a funny look. "Hell, Eagle, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were in love with her."

  "Does an ordinary frog aspire to be Prince Charming?"

  "Aw, hell. You and your poetry. Let's go and see if Panther reached the women."

  o0o

  After Sid left, the air show seemed endless. Rose Anne tried to muster her interest, but It kept flagging. About lunchtime Luther got up enough courage to reach for her hand. She smiled politely, but her heart wasn't in it. Her heart wasn't in anything. It seemed to have gone on leave the minute Sid had said good-bye.

  By midafternoon she pleaded fatigue, and Luther drove her back to the apartments. In the hallway he leaned down and kissed her. The kiss was pleasant, even fairly expert, but she felt as If she were kissing one of her brothers.

  Something was terribly wrong.

  "Luther," she said, pushing away from him.

  "Yes?"

  "Would you come inside and play something for me. I have a piano in the apartment."

  "Play something?"

  He looked as if she had asked him to commit murder.

  "Or come inside and sit at my desk and write one of your beautiful love poems while I make us some lemonade.

  “I . . . uh." He ran his finger around his collar. "My . . . uh . . . muse has deserted me. Maybe another time . . . tonight. That's it. Tonight. You stand on the balcony and I'll play."

  "I would love to see you play. May I come to your apartment and watch?"

  "Well, uh . . . I”ve got it... You stand on your balcony and I'll stand underneath and . . . uh, sing or something like that."

  Rose Anne studied him. He was incredibly handsome and incredibly earnest. Maybe tonight would bring the magic. And then when he kissed her, sparks would fly and she would burn.

  "All right, Luther." She caressed his cheek. "Thank you for a lovely day."

  "You're welcome."

  o0o

  "You told her what?"

  Sid paced his apartment like a wild animal spoiling for a kill. Gunslinger, Panther, and Hawk were chuckling into their beers, while Lightning stood apart, looking sheepish and running his hands through his hair. The pizza they had ordered for dinner sat cooling in the cardboard boxes.

  "It sounds like a good idea to me." Panther hooted as he reached for the pizza.

  "Yeah, Eagle," Gunslinger added. "You caterwauling under her balcony while Lightning stands in the moonlight, moving his mouth and lo
oking handsome. It ought to work." He slapped his thigh and doubled over laughing.

  "I won't do it. This has gone far enough." Sid scowled at Luther. "If you love her, get over there and tell her the truth and put an end to all these lies."

  "Do this one last thing for me, and I won't ask you for any more. Eagle."

  "Do it. Eagle," Hawk said. "You ought to be feeling generous. Panther says you scored big with Janine today."

  "She batted her eyelashes for two hours and pinched my butt twice." Sid scowled at all of them. "Some score."

  In high spirits, the pilots sipped beer and ate pizza and cajoled Sid. Finally he gave in.

  "This is the way we'll do it . . ." He put his arm around Luther's shoulders and told him the plan.

  o0o

  Panther, Hawk, and Gunslinger, ever resourceful, found a cheap guitar at an all-night pawn shop. Then they gathered on the dark balcony of Sid's apartment to watch the show.

  "I'm nervous." Luther stood in the moonlit courtyard just outside Rose Anne's balcony, the cheap guitar strapped around his shoulders.

  "You ought to be. I'm thinking of all the ways I'm going to make you suffer before I kill you." Sid hid in the shadows of the rose trellis underneath the balcony.

  "Let's get on with it while there are still lights in her window."

  "All right. Put your hands on the guitar like I told you . . . the left hand a little higher . . . that's it." Sid strummed a chord on his own guitar. As always, the sound of music soothed him. "Don't forget to move your hands and your mouth," he said softly. "Ready?"

  "Ready."

  o0o

  The first strains of guitar music brought Rose Anne out of her seat. "That's him. Auntie."

  "How do you know? I thought he played the piano."

  "The music is the same." She pressed her hands over her heart. "Listen."

  Bitsy rolled her eyes. "The saints preserve us."

  Rose Anne's eyes danced as she hurried toward the balcony. "Do you want to come?"

  "Lordy, no. I'll just go sit by the television and pretend I'm in Hollywood."

  Bitsy left for her room, and Rose Anne pushed open the French doors.

  Rose Anne stood at the balcony railing. "Luther?" she called softly.

  "Rose Anne."

  She had imagined the sound of her name on his lips would thrill her, especially since it was enhanced by his music, but the thrill didn't come. She leaned over the railing so she could see him, strumming the guitar in the moonlight.

  As always, the haunting chords seduced her. She began to sway with the beat.

  Luther opened his mouth, and the magnificent voice she had heard only from afar rose from beneath her balcony. She was amazed at the difference between Luther's speaking voice and his singing voice. It was the difference between mild breezes and raging typhoons, between curving hillsides and craggy mountains.

  Suddenly she saw a vision of Sid at the air show, a vision of such intensity, she was almost blinded. Rose Anne closed her eyes and let the music transport her to another realm.

  It was the magic she had been waiting for, the miracle she had longed for, the passion she would die for. Music and moonlight became one, centering its brightness inside her heart.

  And when the last chords died away, she stood trembling at the balcony railing.

  "You are beautiful. Rose Anne."

  Luther's voice shattered the spell. She opened her eyes. With his face uptilted, he was ruinously gorgeous.

  She sighed. "Rhapsodize for me, Luther. Wax poetic. Gather your dreams into words and send them flying up here to me."

  "You are more beautiful than . . . my mother."

  "Hmmm. And?"

  "And . . . and ... all my sisters put together."

  Behind the rose trellises, Sid groaned.

  "What did you say, Luther?"

  "Tell her you love her," Sid whispered.

  "I can't."

  Rose Anne leaned over the railing. "You can't what, Luther?"

  "Uh . . . rhapsodize."

  "Yes, you can. You do it in your notes all the time. You sang in the dark. Now make love to me in the dark with beautiful words."

  Sid cursed softly in the darkness. Then he whispered to Luther, "Repeat after me. Lightning . . . . Lightning?"

  "Okay."

  "Come fall with me beneath this summer sky/ And feel the grasses bending with our haste," Sid whispered.

  Luther spoke the words hesitantly. He looked miserable, the guitar hanging forlornly around his neck.

  "To catch this . . . fleeting world ... in Love's embrace;/And cling ... to this sweet day . . before it dies," Luther mumbled, trying not to stumble over Sid's words and struggling with the unfamiliar rhythm of the sonnet.

  "Luther?" Rose Anne called down from the balcony. "Is something wrong?"

  "Uh . . . no . . . why?"

  "You speak so haltingly."

  There was dead silence beneath the balcony.

  Sid scowled into the dark, and Luther squeezed the neck of his newly acquired guitar.

  "Come, Luther," Rose Anne coaxed. "Be eloquent. Let your voice match your words."

  "Damn," Sid said.

  "What was that, Luther?"

  "What?" he asked.

  "I thought I heard a noise under the balcony."

  "Uh ... it was just me sneezing." Luther exaggerated a huge sneeze. He pulled the strap of the guitar over his shoulder. "I guess I'd better be going."

  "Oh, please. Not until you finish. Would you leave me clinging to the sweet day before it dies?"

  "Come spin with me upon a swirling stream," a powerful voice said as a long arm hooked Luther and dragged him out of sight under the balcony. "Not a word," Sid whispered. "And fall away with me in time and space," he continued. "Then slow this world to our own measured pace/The slow but frenzied pace of Lovers' dreams."

  "Ah. That's more like it." Rose Anne peered into the darkness. "Your voice grows stronger."

  "Come dance with me for day's end can't be far;/ And sing with me to push aside our fears:/ Our terror of the cruel and countless years/That lean above us with the night's first stars."

  "That's hauntingly beautiful," Rose Anne said. "I feel tears on my face."

  "Don't cry, fair lady." Forgetting the words he was saying were for Luther, Sid pressed his hand over his heart and spoke the final lines of the sonnet straight from his soul.

  "Come love me now beneath this parting sky/ And cherish this sweet day before it dies."

  "Yes," Rose Anne said. "Yes . . . I'm coming down."

  "No!" Sid all but yelled his protest.

  Luther clutched his stomach and groaned. "I think I'm going to be sick."

  "What's going on down there?" Rose Anne strained her eyes into the night, trying to see. "Come out from under the balcony so I can see you, Luther."

  "What do I do now?" Luther whispered.

  "Shut up and keep quiet." Sid told Luther as he tried to think his way out of the dilemma. "I cherish the cloak of darkness, for I am shadow and you are light."

  "Beautiful words, but still I want to see you."

  "How could any man dare be so bold as to court you openly. Therefore, I hide behind phrases and rose trellises underneath your balcony."

  "Luther?" Rose Anne moved to the edge of the balcony and leaned far over, trying to see from another angle. "You don't sound like yourself. Why is your voice hesitant one minute and bold and strong the next? You sound like . . ." Suddenly the truth dawned on Rose Anne. "Sid Granger!"

  "The jig's up," Luther said, groaning.

  "Hell," Sid said.

  "Come out from there. Both of you." Rose Anne was red with rage.

  "This is not what you think," Sid said, stepping out from under the balcony. For Luther's sake he was sorry the plan hadn't worked, but for his own, he was glad it was over.

  "How could you possibly know what I think? Or why do you even pretend to care?"

  "I care." Sid stood tall in the moonlight, looking straig
ht up into her face. "I care more than you'll ever know."

  Her heart bumped hard against her ribs, and even in the midst of her rage she felt the passion.

  "Damn you to hell," she said softly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  "Rose Anne," Luther said, stepping out from underneath the balcony, his guitar hanging crooked and his cheek scratched from a rose thorn. "Please, Rose Anne."

  Rose Anne turned her anger toward him. "I don't ever want to see you again as long as I live. . . . Either of you," she added, whirling toward Sid.

  "I'm sorry, Rose Anne," Luther said. "I didn't mean—"

  "Leave," she said.

  With his guitar banging against his legs, Luther left. But Sid stood before her balcony. He had to make amends.

  "He loves you, Rose Anne. He asked me to court you for him only because he's too shy to say the things he feels."

  "How do I know what he feels? I know only how I feel . . . how the poems and the music made me feel."

  "It's all true. Everything I wrote, every note I played. All of it was for you."

  "For Luther, you mean. And for you." She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. "I was just a pawn in your sick game."

  "It started as a bet—"

  "A bet!"

  "But it was never a game. Never."

  "Why should I believe you? Nothing you've ever said to me has been true."

  "I lied about the notes and the music, Rose Anne. But only because Luther is my friend. He loves you. And I thought you would love him because he's so handsome."

  "Do you think I'm that shallow? That nothing matters to me except the way a person looks?"

  The truth hurt. Sid hadn't thought of her as shallow, but he had certainly believed that looks would be important to her.

  She took his silence for consent.

  "Damn you to hell, Sid Granger. Damn you."

  "I'm so sorry, Rose Anne. I never meant to hurt you. I only meant to help Luther . . . and you."

  “You made me fall in love . . ."

  "With Luther?"

  "With a phantom, a dream, a man who never existed except in the dark." Rose Anne took one last look at the anguished man standing beneath her balcony. Confusing emotions ripped at her, passion and romantic love, anger and betrayal.