by Ann Mauren
While they interviewed me I was surreptitiously surveying the crowd for my mark, or marks. I imagined he might take the form of a sinister looking man in a deep olive suit, complete with black shades and an earpiece, sentinel style ala Agent Smith from The Matrix. But as I scanned the room I was disappointed to see no one looking perturbed. About ten minutes passed and finally, there it was: the look of agitated concern accompanied by quick movements that had no place here on this lazy afternoon at the movies.
He wore a Dallas Cowboys ball cap and jersey, faded jeans and high top sneakers. Without staring I couldn’t tell if he was American Indian or just Indian; but he wasn’t Latino, I was sure of that, even if his Texas affiliation might suggest otherwise. He was about five ten, with a muscular but more or less medium build, and had black, sort of curly, medium length hair and tan skin, but surprisingly light, bloncket (bluish gray) colored eyes. Eyes that were wide with anxiety and despair—maybe even panic.
I felt a sickening wave of remorse. He was absolutely beautiful and he was looking for me—worried that something terrible had happened when his back was turned—and stressed out that the bad guys that someone obviously thought were after me had somehow succeeded in abducting me from right under his nose. As his eyes methodically searched the room, I averted mine just before they made their way to our corner. I was certain that if our eyes locked the game would be over, with me being removed from the scene by my ear—the side without the studs.
Then, to my absolute horror, he began moving forward in a straight line for us! Now a wave of nausea was cresting over me. He approached Sam and asked, “Excuse me. I’m looking for the little blonde haired girl that just came out of the theater. I thought I saw you talking to her on the way to the restroom.”
He spoke with perfect diction and no discernable accent. Now I didn’t think he was Indian, either. I just couldn’t tell. Perhaps he was from a previously unknown tribe of fabulously handsome people—it sure looked that way to me.
It took Sam slightly longer to respond than it should have. She must have been deliberating whether the truth or a lie would go over better. She opted for both.
“Do you mean Ellery? Long blonde hair, about three feet tall?”
The girls all laughed.
“I know her from school. I said ‘Hi’ to her after the movie, but we didn’t come together. She’s probably gone by now.”
Good answer.
“Do you want me to give her a message, when I see her?”
Even better.
He thought for a second and then said, “Just tell her that Ash was asking about her,” he paused, looked around again then added, “I guess I’ll catch up to her later. Thanks.”
He turned on his heal and swiftly walked away.
Then I had an inspiration. ‘Kit’ said to Sam in a tone he was sure to hear, “Do you think it could have been this Ellery who was retching in the last stall?”
It worked. His course veered immediately back toward the restrooms. That meant he hadn’t recognized me after all. Relief. Then more inspiration.
“Perhaps we should go and check on her, see if she needs a hand?” I suggested.
I was anxious to get back to the incarnation of myself that would set his mind at ease. I couldn’t bear the thought of driving away with Sam now, letting him suffer through thinking the worst, only to realize later that he’d been punked.
Sam’s simple reply, emulating my accent, was “Indeed.”
We excused ourselves and were on our way back to the restroom. Ash hesitated by the exit. He was talking on his phone now. It didn’t look like a pleasant conversation. We strode purposefully past him through the Ladies’ Room entrance and past ten people standing in line. Once inside we stalled briefly, and then I said, somewhat loudly, “Pardon me there, are you quite all right?”
After the stall’s bewildered occupant vacated, I stepped inside. Then, at my suggestion, Sam doubled back to where Ash was standing and informed him that it was Ellery all right, and that we would see to her. Meanwhile I had begun removing my disguise. Next I set to work on my face using several special makeup removing cloths that I had purchased with this in mind. Sam slipped her crazy big purse under the door and I shoved everything back in. Then I said in a loud voice for listening ears, “I’ll catch up later, love. I need to clean off my boots. No worries.”
Before I exited the stall, I handed out the bag and she put her arm around my waist to ‘assist’ me out of the facility. I was disappointed when I realized he was no longer in sight. He was still watching, I knew, but I wasn’t going to get to see the relief erase the anxiety from his unbelievably handsome face, and I was unhappy about that. Those negative emotions playing over my own face probably added to the illusion of my illness. I took deep breaths and bent slightly forward with my arm wrapped in front of my stomach as Sam guided me to her car. She helped me into the passenger’s seat and then got in on the driver’s side. Her face was alight with mischief and pleasure.
She smiled hugely and said “Capital!” She was still being British with me and asked, “So now Love, let’s hear all about this Ash fellow, shall we?”
I was back to being me.
“I’ve never met him before,” I admitted, though considering his extreme handsomeness, I was already thinking about how to remedy that situation.
As we pulled out of the Tinseltown lot, I kept stealing glances in the side mirror, trying to look for a trailing car. There was too much traffic to be sure, though. I gave up and let my mind wander over what had just happened, focusing especially on the face of the most appealing thug imaginable. There was no way he was a thug, I corrected myself. He didn’t look mad when I disappeared—he looked scared. He was scared for me, about what had happened to me, and that had been instantly endearing. All my plans of perpetration instantly vaporized.
Sam let me mull over my reflections in peace for several minutes, but she wasn’t done with the subject just yet.
“So, he was really cute, El. Are you sure you don’t know him from anywhere?”
I was a little hurt. I had never lied to her before, and what I just said was true.
“I wonder what he wanted,” I asked, more to myself than to get a response.
“Probably to ask you out, Blondie,” she said with a pleased sounding giggle.
She had a wicked grin shining across her face as she glanced over to catch my reaction.
“So you think he’s a pedophile?”
That burned on the way out. I wished I could retract it. It was a mean thing to say about him, even if it was just a self-deprecating joke.
She laughed out loud though, and said, “Hey, you’re eighteen now. You better get used to it gorgeous. There’s going to be a line of boys waiting for you.”
Whatever. There was no point arguing about it.
“But seriously, he didn’t seem like a boy to me. He looked a little older. Well, maybe not looked older, but seemed older, you know?”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. And I agree; he was totally handsome. Maybe he was in my grandpa’s class at U of L. One time I visited campus to hear Grandpa give a lecture. Maybe he remembered me from there.”
I was trying to flesh out a reason for Ash’s interest in me for Sam’s sake. It was plausible. At the funeral quite a few Chemistry students, exclusively male, had paid their respects, some even trying to hit on me in the process with ‘sympathy’ hugs, most of which I’d been able to dodge.
“Or maybe he’s just a stalker…a totally handsome stalker.”
She laughed at herself, but she had no idea how right she was.
Chapter 10 – Emperor
One day a new student hit the scene. This wasn’t an exaggeration, because his presence had a physical effect on everyone in his path, like a rock hitting the water. It was as if there was some force field radiating around him. It was easy to understand. The wide berth everyone afforded him was born from instinctive self-preservation. The news quickly spread about him. Hi
s name was Trevor. He was eighteen. He moved here from California. But no one needed a report to see the obvious. He was dangerous and frightening. He was tall and dark and menacing looking. If my Sam was the Prime Chancellor of the Goths here, then Trevor was the new Emperor, and all remnants of the old republic had been swept away.
Sam had informed me of my status as her best friend several weeks back. Though I was thrilled, my returning the favor by granting her that same status in my life was greatly diminished by the fact that she was also the only friend I had. She laughed at me when I expressed these regrets and assured me that my situation only made things more solid between us.
BFF (best friends forever) status came with privileges. I was now eating lunch with the G3 (Goth Gal Group) on a daily basis, so this afforded me an uncomfortably close encounter with our new classmate. He was naturally drawn to this female contingent of kindred spirits, like a foreigner might be drawn to people speaking his native tongue. Approaching our table in a wake of silence and awe, he asked if he could sit with us. His words and manner seemed strangely gentlemanlike, and totally at odds with his appearance.
Rachel, Corey and Splash instantly assumed the role of contestants again, this time in a struggle for Trevor’s attentions. Samantha held back. It was as if she already knew the future, and that she understood there wasn’t cause to exert any effort. It was also as if she realized that there was no need to offend her friends by prematurely stepping on their hopes and dreams.
Trevor was very affable and solicitous with his three new acquaintances, or worshipers, to be more precise. He nodded pleasantly when Corey introduced Sam and me, but he didn’t engage Sam or even look her way any further on that occasion. Still, I suspected that he already had some sense of the future as well.
I relinquished my position next to Sam (physically and socially) when I realized Trevor was going to be in our English class. There was only one other open seat and it was behind her. So, beating them both to class, I headed in and sat down in that lonely rear seat like that’s where I had been sitting all along.
Feeling a little sad about my upcoming supplanting—that I was voluntarily facilitating—I cheered myself with the knowledge that the view was going to be spectacular. They didn’t disappoint. She was ultra-cool, not that into him, apparently. Oh, there was a little small talk when possible, but she was all about paying attention in class. He was all about paying attention to her. He stared at her for inappropriately long segments of time. It reminded me of a scene from a popular vampire story. Yeah, I could see Trevor as a character like that. Everybody already treated him like he was something...other.
I already knew that Samantha was something wonderfully other. I was so glad I had gotten over my stupid prejudices and my ridiculous insecurities and reached out for her friendship. It was the hardest I’d ever made myself work for anything, and it had been the best reward of my life. She was such an awesome paradox: looking like one thing and being another thing altogether. Appearing very negative but being the most positive influence imaginable. With her help I had broken out of the prison of my shyness and depression. She was my savior. Although I wanted to keep her friendship all to myself, she had helped me to such an extent that I really didn’t need that anymore.
Sitting there in English day after day, watching them unfold into each other, I hoped with everything I had that he could deserve her.
As it turned out, my worries on that score were completed unjustified. He was a perfect gentleman, opening doors and pulling out chairs, with courtesy that extended even to me sometimes. He was very sharp and well spoken, and a bit reserved, but not shy. He just didn’t need to hear himself talk. I really liked that. He listened intently to everything we said, which was sometimes revealed in his disconcertingly perfect recall. He had a quiet assurance about him that I appreciated, too. It was at odds with my assumption that everyone who chose to look like they did must be gripped by some insidious insecurity. Instead, I was forced to reevaluate my own insecurities and assumptions…like the assumption that I would never be drawn to Goths, male or female.
Trevor and Samantha eased into a relationship over the course of a month or so. To my extreme relief, Sam did not dump me for Trevor. In fact she insisted that I accompany her whenever he was to be present with us. I was worried that watching them up close would be painful for me, but I was surprised, and relieved again, to find that I was genuinely pleased for them and felt no self-pity at all. I guess it’s because I liked them both so much. They were similar in many respects. Their temperaments were well matched; they were the two most confident, cool, and secretly good-looking people I had ever known in real life.
Upon close observation, I could see that, similar to Sam, Trevor was a very attractive person under all the strange layers. Why on earth would anybody want to cover that up? But again, it was something they shared. As time passed, though, their biggest common interest turned out to be each other. This was a huge disappointment to the rest of the G3, but they knew better than to be jealous. Jealousy is easily identified and would surely cut off any access to acquaintance with Trevor. So they each switched into a friendly, however hopeful, “wait and see” mode. It was obvious to me that they were going to be waiting for a long time.
Another aspect of Trevor that I found endearing, though sometimes uncomfortable, was that he did not use my shyness as an excuse to ignore me, but instead he seemed to go out of his way to engage me, though this consisted mostly of good natured teasing. It seemed like he enjoyed the challenge of conversing with me, and any way he must have sensed that this would please Sam, which it did. And, of course, because I’m strange in my own way, he seemed to find me to be highly amusing much of the time. So his attentions to me had the double effect of pleasing his lady and entertaining himself. Meanwhile, two birds lay dead somewhere, victims of death by stoning.
Sam had been regularly picking me up for school until one day a different car pulled in as I dithered on the porch, debating about what to do. It was Trevor, I finally realized, and he was alone.
Awkward.
As if there was truly no way he could be there for me, I approached him on the driver’s side, like maybe he needed directions to somewhere. This made him smile for some reason. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there holding my books looking pathetic. He didn’t make me squirm for long.
“Hi Ellery. Nice house,” he complimented.
“Th-Thanks,” I replied, a little stiffly.
“So I’m the new chauffeur, and you’re the first stop.”
There was a rogue’s smile on his face.
Relief.
Sam must have put this new arrangement in place.
“Oh, that’s very kind of you. But you shouldn’t go to any trouble on my account.”
Good grief! I sounded like a character from a Jane Austen novel. Where did that come from?
Get in the car and shut up before he reconsiders!
“It’s no trouble. Get in,” he commanded and I obeyed.
Something about me getting into the back seat directly behind him was amusing to Trevor, making him laugh. I mustered my courage and explained, “You’re the one who said chauffer,” but it still came out a little too tentatively.
He liked that and laughed even louder. He gave me a long look in the rear view mirror and I, of course, lost the staring match quickly and had to look away first. We pulled out and headed away from my neighborhood.
I understood now why he picked me up first. Since Sam lived closer to school than I did, he would have had to back track if he’d retrieved Sam first and then come for me. I didn’t know where he lived, but I assumed it was farther out than either of us, and so I would be the logical first stop.
I realized with relief that it was a good thing that my mom and Hoyt were already gone for the day. I really didn’t want to have to explain Trevor to them, though it might be interesting to try. I’d love to know what my security detail was making of this right now. Though things were
changing, and I was mostly over my melancholy now, Mom still gave me a wide berth in relation to restrictions of any nature, in the hope that I would venture out. But this was untested since until recently there had been no reason or circumstance to explore the limits. Riding away with Trevor would definitely qualify as “exploring the limits.”
It was quiet for a while. Without looking up at me in the mirror he cut into the silence and asked, “So, Ellery, I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime.”
My jaw dropped open with an embarrassingly loud pop. Did I need to have my hearing checked? Or maybe my brain? Was I back to having delusions again?
No, I quickly decided. Apparently I was just the victim of a cruel joke. If he was just messing with me, that was cruel. If he was serious and I had to say no to someone like him (and I definitely had to say no) then that was cruel too. Plus I was wrong about the passenger routing for this trip. This was why I was the first stop. I had no idea how to act or what to say. So I just shut down. I closed my eyes, like I would do on roller coasters, and waited for it to be over. After a while I had to peek, though.
He was finding me amusing again with a huge smile that I could see for myself because he had actually turned around to look at me, taking advantage of a red light.
“Are you okay?” he asked with too much pleasure and not enough concern.
I took a deep breath and confessed, “No,” my eyes closing tight, again.
“You just don’t like me that way?” he pressed.
I wasn’t sure what the right answer was supposed to be. “I…uh….I like you fine,” I confessed.
I was shocked and angry with myself that my admiration for him had been so obviously plain—it hadn’t been to me. Until this moment I hadn’t considered myself in contention with Rachel, Corey, or Splash. And I knew I would never, ever be in contention with Sam, on purpose or otherwise. It was time for some major damage control.
