Gypsy Eyes

by Virginia Andrews

  “Magic act? My uncle Wade’s a magician!”

  “Dad hasn’t done magic for a long time. He was already writing and publishing when I was born. This is your uncle who gave you the ring?”

  “Yes.”

  He shut off the engine. “C’mon.”

  I got out, and he came around to take my hand and lead me to the portico. It was somewhat overcast now. There hadn’t been a moon, but the night hadn’t looked as dark to me until now. There was only a small light over the entrance. Most of the windows in the house were dark.

  “Are you sure he’s home?” I asked.

  “He’s home. He’s probably in his little office and so involved with his story that he’s unaware how dark the rest of the house is. There’s no one more absent-minded than my father when he’s working.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t disturb him, Summer.”

  To my surprise, and I think Summer’s surprise, too, the front door opened before he reached for the doorknob, and his father stood there, silhouetted against the backlit hallway.

  “I thought I heard you drive up,” he said.

  He reached to the side and flipped a switch for a small chandelier above his head. The illumination flowed down over his coal-black hair, which was cut and brushed in the style of a 1920s actor, with the top brushed to the right and a part on the left. He wore a vintage burgundy velvet smoking jacket, a black cravat, a white shirt, and black slacks. I saw he had on a pair of black fur-lined slippers.

  “You must be between chapters,” Summer said.

  “Yes, perfect timing. So this is Sage? I can see she is even more beautiful than you described,” he said. “Welcome.” He stepped back.

  “Thank you,” I said, and we entered the house.

  I smelled a familiar scent. “Is that garlic?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. Sorry. I made myself pasta tonight, and as Summer will tell you, I can be heavy-handed when it comes to the garlic.”

  “And the red pepper,” Summer added.

  “The spice of life. Please, come in.” His father led us to the small living room on the left.

  There was barely any light coming from the small table lamp next to a large dark brown cushioned chair. He quickly turned on a larger floor lamp next to the matching sofa.

  “Let me get a better look at you,” he said, indicating that I should sit near the lamp.

  Summer led me to the sofa, and we sat.

  “Can I get you anything to drink? Had dessert?”

  “We’re fine,” Summer said. “Mamma Mia’s,” he added, as if that would explain everything.

  His father nodded, smiled, and sat across from us. He crossed his legs and folded his hands on his flat stomach. On his left hand, he wore a silver ring with three strands of woven gold in the center. It seemed to seize the light from the smaller lamp and glitter. His face was in some shadow, but I had seen that his eyes were an interesting and unique shade of gray. He had my father’s kind of handsome, symmetrical facial features, only his face was narrower, his chin a little sharper. I thought he was a little taller than Summer, not as broad in the shoulders, but with a more regal stature and a mature elegance. Even though it was the first time we had set eyes on each other, there was something familiar about him. It was as if he had been in my dreams more than once, a stranger introduced to me in sleep, faintly recalled and always fascinating.

  “As I understand it,” he began, “this is a forbidden date tonight.”

  Surprised, I looked at Summer.

  “I always tell Dad the truth,” Summer said.

  “My parents are very careful about my socializing,” I said.

  “Why? Did you do some terrible things in the past? Come home late, get into serious trouble, use drugs or drink too much?”

  “No, none of those things,” I said.

  He shrugged. “What makes them so concerned? From what Summer tells me, you’re a perfect A-plus student, in the chorus, and well thought of by your teachers.”

  Where should I begin? I thought. Should I talk about the way my parents had reacted to my stories and dreams from the time I was able to talk? Should I tell him about their fear of my biological father coming to snatch me away? Should I bring up their failure with two previous children? “I’m hoping they’ll change and become more relaxed about me,” I replied instead.

  “So I don’t have to worry about you leading my son into a life of sin?”

  I glanced at Summer. He was smiling, but his father still looked serious.

  “I think the devil will be quite disappointed if he’s looking for help from me,” I said, and his father laughed.

  “She’s bright,” he said.

  “Summer told me you were once a magician,” I said.

  “Yes, in my younger days.” He leaned forward. “Does magic interest you?”

  “I have an uncle who’s a magician. He travels all over the world performing.”

  “Yes, the Amazing Healy.”

  I looked at Summer. I was sure I had never told him Uncle Wade’s stage name. “How did you know that?”

  “Oh, I still have an interest in the profession and keep up with the stars of magic. Do you do magic tricks now, too?”

  “Me? No. Hardly. My uncle doesn’t give away his secrets.”

  “Nor should he ever,” Summer’s father said.

  “I am fascinated by what my uncle can do, however.”

  “I imagine so. Summer also tells me that you and your girlfriends had copies of one of my novels.”

  “That was supposed to be a joke on Summer, but he beat us all to the punch.”

  “Yes, he can do that,” his father said. “Well, if you still have the book and read it, let me know how it was. I value comments from young, beautiful women more than the comments I read in reviews.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Well, you two probably have things you want to do, and I have to get back to a young woman whom I have in such a depression over a lost love that she is threatening to kill herself.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry. There’s a knight in shining armor about to come into her world and save her from unhappiness. He’s even going to help her see how much potential she has and free her of all those things that keep talented people from enjoying their talents,” he added as he smiled and rose.

  I stood up, too, and so did Summer.

  “I do hope you will come see us again,” his father said, crossing to me. “Perhaps your parents will relent and permit you to come to dinner, or maybe Summer will figure out a way to get you liberated long enough.”

  I was a little surprised at what he was giving his approval to: deceiving my parents.

  He could see the shock on my face. “Sometimes the ends justify the means. I am a believer in that. Nice to have met you, Sage. I love your name.” He reached for my hand and brought it to his lips. They felt more than just warm on my skin. When he raised his head, his eyes locked on mine, and I felt like something within me, something more than just my heart, was caressed by something within him. It was almost overwhelming, making my head spin just a little.

  He looked at Summer and then turned and walked out of the room.

  “What a charmer,” Summer said. “I can’t tell you how often he has embarrassed me into being more polite than I had ever intended to be with some of the girls I introduced to him.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” I said.

  He laughed. “Let me show you my room. I have a surprise for you.” He took my hand, and we walked out of the living room and up a short stairway to the second floor. His bedroom was the first one on the right. He turned on the light first and then stepped back for me to enter.

  I stepped in and stopped quickly.

  There on the wall, facing his queen-size bed, was a photograph of me that measured at least four feet by five feet.

  16

  His room wasn’t very big, even compared with mine, which I always thought was smaller than most of my classmates’
bedrooms, especially from the way they described their furniture, televisions, closets, and computer desks. However, houses of this vintage normally didn’t have large rooms or high ceilings. Maybe that didn’t matter as much to boys. He certainly didn’t look embarrassed or ashamed, neither of it nor of my blown-up photograph.

  I was surprised that he had nothing else on any of his walls, no sports posters, no posters of singers or movie posters, nothing. It was as if he had just moved to America. The room was spartan, with an old, dark cherry-wood dresser that matched the bed’s headboard. There was a large, dull yellow, saucer-shaped light fixture overhead and light brown hardwood floors with no area rugs. The closet was on the left, and there was one nightstand on the right side of his bed, with a square-shaped clock on it and a small lamp that also looked like a refugee from a thrift store. The bed itself was neatly made, with two large pillows and a light blue spread. There were two windows, both with their dark blue curtains closed. I wondered where he kept his books and did his homework. I imagined there were motel rooms that had more character and certainly more furniture than his room.

  “I know it doesn’t look like I have much right now. I haven’t half unpacked my things,” he explained. “In the past, Dad’s packed us up and left where we were almost before I could settle in. He gets a feeling for an area quickly. Before you ask, he likes it here.”

  I still had my gaze fixed on the picture of me. In it, I had turned around in class and was looking at him, probably, but I didn’t recall him snapping my picture, either on a smartphone or with a camera.

  “When did you take that picture of me?”

  “The first day I was in school,” he said.

  “I didn’t see a camera.”

  He walked over to his nightstand, opened the drawer, and took out a camera that was so small it could fit in the palm of your hand. “Neat, huh?”

  “No. Sneaky,” I said. “Why did you do it and then blow it up so big?”

  “I have this thing for real beauty when I see it,” he replied. “I like waking up to your face,” he added without the slightest hesitation. “I go to sleep with you and wake up with you.”

  I knew I was blushing.

  He sat on his bed and looked up at me. “I want to know more about you, Sage. I want to really get to know you.”

  “I’ve told you everything. I haven’t had as exciting and interesting a life as you have.”

  He shook his head.

  “What?”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re holding back,” he said. He reached out for my hand. I didn’t move. “I won’t bite. I’ve been accused of many things but never of being a vampire.”

  I stepped forward, and he clasped my hand and gently pulled me to him. We kissed. It was the longest kiss of my life. My whole body seemed to swirl, but in more of a panic than I had anticipated. Until now, his kisses were quick pecks on my lips and my cheeks. This kiss seemed to have fingers reaching deeply down inside me and touching places that slept comfortably in the sanctity of my youth. It was as if the sleeping sexuality within me was ambushed, roused, unprotected. His hands slipped down my back and over the crests of my buttocks, pulling me even closer and then turning me so I fell beside him on his bed. In an instant, he was over me, straddling me and then bending closer to kiss my forehead and trace the side of my face to my neck with his lips, lips that were so hot I thought they would burn my skin. Instead, they broadcast waves of heat down to my breasts and the base of my stomach.

  I felt myself start to weaken, my resistance starting to crumble beneath the erotic weight of his hands, his longer kisses, and finally the full pressure of his body against mine. It was all happening so quickly. I felt myself surrendering. But the alarms that sounded and the hardness that came to my rescue surprised even me, for there was a strong part of me that had wanted his advances, had craved his affection, and I thought had prepared willingly to surrender. From out of a dark place that I didn’t know existed inside me, I could feel and hear a great NOOOO, and I pushed up on his chest, practically lifting him completely off me.

  He stopped, surprised at my strength and my refusal to continue. “Hey,” he said, rolling onto his right side, “I thought you would want this.”

  “I do, but not so fast,” I said.

  He smiled and nodded. “You think I’m out to nail every pretty girl in school and began with you, is that it?”

  “In the garden of suspicions, that one has flowered,” I admitted.

  His smile widened. “How could I get a reputation like that so fast?”

  “How else would you explain the rush?” I asked.

  “Okay, okay. I was told to expect that you’d be different,” he said, and sat up.

  I sat up, too. “Who told you that, Summer? Who told you that I would be different?”

  “Never mind. I’m not complaining. If you want to know the truth, I kind of like it. You’re the first girlfriend I’ve had who’s been able to resist my charms,” he added, half kidding. “I love a challenge.”

  “You didn’t give the rest of your girlfriends one of those pills on your first dates with them by any chance, did you?”

  He laughed and brushed down his pants. “No. Never needed anything but my own animal magnetism and good looks.” He stopped smiling and reached for my hand again but held it more gently this time. “I didn’t mean to rush you. You underestimate your own charm and good looks and overestimate my power to resist.”

  “Oh, clever. Now blame me,” I said, rising.

  He continued to hold my hand and sit there looking up at me, his eyes and his smile subtly changing from amusement to a suddenly deeper perception. “You need to realize and accept that you are head and shoulders above everyone else in that school, Sage. What applies to them doesn’t apply to you. You’re special.”

  “Why do you keep telling me that? There are other girls who have grades as high as mine, girls who do more extracurricular activities, have more friends and certainly more boyfriends.”

  “I’m not talking about any of that.”

  “What are you talking about, then?”

  “Your power to anticipate the future for others, even somewhat for yourself, and . . .”

  “And what?”

  “To persuade and control other people.”

  I started to shake my head.

  “No,” he said. “I saw what you did to Mr. Jacobs that day.”

  “What day?”

  “The day you persuaded him to put Jan Affleck back to sing the solo part he wanted you to sing.”

  “All I said was—”

  “What you said wasn’t enough to change his mind, Sage. He wasn’t going to do it. He even resented your telling him how to run his chorus, and then . . .”

  “Then what?” I asked. Inside me, I knew the answer, but it was something I had never recognized, something I had been afraid to recognize.

  “Then you did what you do, and he changed his mind. You focused on him. You transmitted your will, and he easily surrendered to it, and quite abruptly, I might add. Even I was surprised. It happened in the blink of an eye, didn’t it?”

  I stared at him.

  “You’ve done that before, haven’t you?” he asked. I started to shake my head. He let go of my hand. “That’s what I meant when we first came in here, Sage. That’s what I meant when I said I really wanted to get to know you, when I said you were holding back. What else have you done? Who else have you controlled?”

  “This is silly talk, Summer,” I said. I looked at my watch. “I’d like to start back to the mall.”

  “What if I told you I’ve done similar things? Something told me that you suspected that, too.”

  I stared at him. Could that be true? Was that why he said so often that we were alike? I was tempted to tell him more. Holding these secrets close to my heart was a lonely, scary thing at times.

  “Your adoptive parents suspect all this about you, too, d
on’t they? That’s why they’re so hard on you, try to keep you so confined and under their control. They are afraid of you. Am I right?”

  “This is crazy,” I said. “You’re frightening me.”

  “Okay, okay. Maybe I am rushing things. I’m sorry. I really like you. I was only trying to help you realize you shouldn’t be afraid of anyone or anything, and if anything, you should be permitted to grow, to enjoy your powers, not resent them or be afraid of them.”

  “I don’t have powers,” I insisted.

  “Call it what you like. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

  I looked away. “I don’t want to talk about this,” I said.

  “Okay, let’s go,” he said. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be upset with me.”

  I looked at him and nodded. “It’s all right. Right now, I’m just worried about . . .”

  “Everything,” he said, and smiled. “So am I.” He took my hand and led me out of his room, shutting off the light and closing the door. “Please don’t tell my father I said any of that to you. He’s been on my back lately about not making friends and having what he calls ‘normal relationships’ whenever we do settle down somewhere.”

  “He should understand how difficult that is for you because of how much he moves you two around.”

  “Exactly,” Summer said.

  When we reached the bottom of the stairs, his father called to us.

  “Let’s say good night to him,” Summer said, and we turned to continue down the hallway to a room on the right. His father sat at a large, dark oak desk with a single lamp throwing just enough illumination for him to see what he was writing. I was surprised to see he was writing in longhand and not on a computer.

  His face was cloaked in shadow, but he leaned forward into the light. “Leaving?”