The Shadow of the Bear: A Fairy Tale Retold (The Fairy Tale Novels)

by Regina Doman

  “You’re mistaking me for someone else,” Bear said evenly.

  “Yeah, sure. We paid one of your boys for four hits and when we got it, there were only two. What’s up with that?”

  “I don’t mess with Shaky’s stuff.” Bear continued to stare at him levelly. “You take it up with him. It’s not me.”

  “How can we believe that?”

  “I don’t think you picked the right time to talk to me.” Bear had a warning edge to his voice.

  “Oh, I think we picked the right time. Seems you’d be in a more generous mood now—anxious not to get into any trouble.”

  “I can get into trouble anywhere I want,” Bear responded, growling. “I haven’t got a reputation to whitewash.”

  Tom laughed, “Well, if it was your friend who gypped us, maybe you’d be willing to make up the difference.”

  “I haven’t got any money. Even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you,” Bear snarled. His voice terrified Blanche, but she stood still.

  “Any money would be okay—” the boy’s eyes landed on Blanche’s purse, “Even your girl’s cash would be just fine.”

  Bear snorted. “You’re very funny, moron. Tell you what, you push off right now and I’ll agree to forget you said that.”

  But the boy nodded to the others and all three of them rushed him. Blanche screamed, leaping out of the way as one of the boys staggered and reached for her. Bear shouted at her to run. She darted away, but one of the boys pursued her, snarling and laughing. The next thing she knew he had caught her, and grabbed her by the arm. She hurled her purse away with her free hand and kicked at the boy when he scurried after it. Then another boy shoved her, and she fell, the pavement biting her cheek. Suddenly there was a yelp and she heard the purse drop beside her. A body hit the ground with a crushing thud, someone was shouting for the police, and two arms were pulling her to her feet while the world swirled. She heard Bear’s voice telling her to run, and heard someone else yelling Bear’s name. Bear pulled her along, but the air was growing black, darker than black normally seemed—

  There was an ugly sound of a curse word and suddenly Bear was gone and she heard the sound of more fighting. She tried to move away but caught her shoe in a grate and staggered forward. Someone caught her, someone smaller than Bear, but with Bear’s voice. “I’ve got you. Hold on, now. Chin up,” the voice was saying, and through the moisture in her eyes she could see a face with eyes like Bear’s swimming in the blackness before her, glimmering like the reflection of the moon in the river, and then the depths swallowed him up.

  The thin boy grabbed Blanche and half dragged her along with him while Bear dispatched the punk who was still wrestling him with a thump on the head. His assailant crumpled to the ground and Bear ran to the thin boy and gathered Blanche in his arms.

  “She’s blacked out!” said the thin boy.

  Bear moaned, searching her pale, blank face. “Get a taxi. It’s going to be pretty hot around here soon.”

  “Righto.” The boy jumped into the street and signaled a passing yellow cab. It pulled over obligingly.

  Bear gave the driver Blanche’s address, then sank back into the cushions. “What’s up now?” he asked the thin boy.

  The boy’s face was pained. “It’s trouble. I can’t tell you here.”

  “Right.” Bear stared ahead as Blanche’s street came in sight, but when they turned onto it, there was a police car parked in front of the Brier’s house.

  Bear blinked, licked his lips. He glanced at his companion, and saw the same consternation on his face that he had felt at the sight of the patrol car.

  “Driver,” Bear said suddenly. “Change of address. We’re going to Manhattan.”

  The driver turned around, squinted at them suspiciously, then shrugged and turned away with a grunt. He obviously didn’t want to get involved.

  The cab passed the police car in front of the Briers’ door, streaked down to the end of the block, turned right, and was off again into the night.

  Chapter 11

  AS IT TURNED OUT, Rose’s evening was somewhat different than she expected. Rob had gotten in the car and threw it in gear. Next thing she knew, they were skimming down the rainy streets to the prom.

  Rob turned up the rock song on the car stereo after asking her if she minded. She did mind, but said she didn’t, just to be polite. Her fingers kept pinching the satin of her dress and rubbing it together, to feel its slickness. Rob talked, raising his voice over the stereo, about small, unimportant things like the weather and the baseball team’s lousy season. Rose tried to come up with other topics of conversation, but felt at a loss.

  The best part of the whole night was when they were walking up the steps to the banquet hall and Rob remembered to open the door for her, and gave her his arm. Timidly she took it, and came into the restaurant on the arm of the most popular guy in school. She saw heads turn, whispers, nods. An awareness of her suddenly enviable status was like a current of electricity coursing through her.

  They went into the softly lit banquet hall to the beat of the slow rock song playing in the background. Guys and girls drifted around the tables, talking, drinking, preening, flirting. Everyone seemed more sophisticated and grown up in the plush atmosphere. Rob found a table with a guy named Franklin and his date Suzanne, a girl Rose knew from chemistry class. He pulled out the chair for Rose and seated her. She sank into her seat, smoothing her skirt over her legs.

  “We’re cutting out of here early,” Rob said in her ear as he sat beside her.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “These things get old real quick. We’re going back to my house for some real fun.”

  “Will your parents be there?” Rose asked guardedly.

  Rob grinned sarcastically. “What? You can’t go anywhere unless there’s a parent present? Are we still in kindergarten?”

  “No,” she said, miffed. “It’s just that—”

  “Sure, my parents will be there,” Rob said, putting his arm around her.

  There was a buffet supper with dessert afterwards. Rob talked about baseball and cracked jokes about various couples passing their table, while the girls made small talk, and flirted with their dates. It was fun, but not terribly fun, Rose thought.

  “Is my hair starting to fall down?” Suzanne asked her in a low voice when the guys had gotten up to get more drinks.

  “It looks fine,” Rose said. Suzanne’s brown curls were pulled into a French twist at the back of her head.

  “Your hair looks stunning—where’d you have it done?” Suzanne looked envious.

  “My mom did it,” Rose admitted. She had never thought of going to a hair salon.

  “Really? You’d never know. Where’d you get your dress? It’s cute.”

  Rose had been admiring Suzanne’s sophisticated (but too short, she thought) black velvet. “Oh, at a thrift store.” She hoped it didn’t sound cheap.

  “Really? Wow. How are things going with Rob?”

  “Good, I guess.” Rose was puzzled by Suzanne’s look. “Why?”

  “Oh—you never know. He’s a pretty cool guy, I guess.”

  Rose wondered, but the guys came back with the sodas just then. A few minutes later, the music became loud and fast. The lights dimmed. The prom had officially begun.

  “Wanna dance?” Rob asked Rose.

  “Sure.” Feeling strangely uncomfortable with him, she rose. Rob took her hand and led her to the dance floor with the pulsing beat of the latest hit. The music was energizing, intoxicating. Rose felt the glances of other people and held her head high as she began to cut loose. This was going to be fun.

  Rob treated the songs as though they were athletic exercises, making choppy motions with his feet so that he jerked back and forth to the music. Rose preferred to flow into it and let the beat take her where it would. Soon she realized that dancing with a person who can’t dance, when you know you can, makes you very self-conscious. She had danced before at sleepovers with her girlfriends in
the country, when they had pretended to be in a TV dance contest. But dancing in front of a guy is different, she thought as she toned down her movements beneath his shadowed gaze. An uncomfortable feeling stole over her. She danced away from him a few steps and tried to dance next to a few other girls. But they seemed as self-conscious as she was. Rob continued to pulsate awkwardly away, and inside she knew that he wouldn’t want to dance to any other fast songs.

  The next song was a slow drawling love tune, and Rob pulled her to himself and wrapped his arms around her, which she found more hot and uncomfortable than romantic. Rob continued to make small talk, which she couldn’t find interesting. She wished he would at least look at her, but he didn’t really look in her eyes, just over her shoulder. His hands were moving slightly over her back. For some reason, not being able to look him in the face made her nervous.

  “Want to go see what else they have to eat around here?” he asked when the song was over and the beat picked up again.

  “Sure.” She followed him off the dance floor, glancing behind her a bit longingly.

  They drank punch, and danced a few more times to slow songs. Each time she felt his hands moving across her back she wanted to squirm. She didn’t like it. She wondered if she should say something, but everything she thought of sounded too dumb. After about seven songs, Rob looked at her and said, “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” asked Rose, stupidly.

  “Back to my house, like I said. Franklin and George and their girls are coming. We’ll have a little party by ourselves.”

  Rose considered, and wondered what to do. “What are we going to do?”

  “Kick back, watch a movie, relax. Come on, be a sport.”

  Rose paused. “What movie?” she said at last.

  “Casablanca. My folks have it. Ever seen it? It’s a great movie. One of my favorites. I’d like you to see it.”

  “Well, just for a bit. But I have to be home pretty close to one.”

  “As if I didn’t remember. Come on, let’s go.”

  Rose sighed. So that was the prom. Oh well, she thought. It wasn’t that much fun after all. A little bemused, she looked around for Suzanne.

  Rob lived in an apartment building a few blocks from the school. It was a nice place, modern and slightly classy. There was no sign of Rob’s parents, but Rob said they had probably gone out to the store to get some more snacks. Three other couples were there, all Rob’s friends.

  As promised, Casablanca was on the screen soon after they got to Rob’s house. But there was a stereo blasting in the next room, and the one couple who stayed in the living room were obviously more involved with one other than the movie.

  Also, there was beer. Franklin went to the fridge as soon as they came in and got out two six-packs. Rob offered her some, but Rose, shocked, shook her head no. “Aw, come on,” he teased her. Then he said, “All right. Let’s watch the movie now. I’ll be right over, okay?”

  So Rose watched the movie while the others drank. She thought about calling home several times. “Who’s driving home?” she asked Rob once.

  “Oh, Manny is.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “The designated driver. Over there in the corner of the kitchen.”

  Manny was talking to a tall blonde. She didn’t want to disturb them. I should call home, she thought. As soon as this scene is over.

  But the movie, which she had never seen, was good. Fascinated by Ingrid Bergman, she kept telling herself that she would get up after the next scene, but she didn’t. And pretty soon, Rob sat down to watch it with her. She thought that was kind of him. Even though he took occasional drinks of beer, he pointed out all the best lines, and after a while, she began to relax and enjoy herself again. It was a very romantic movie.

  “How do you like it?” he asked during an interlude.

  “It’s fantastic,” she said. “But I sort of wish they’d turn off that music.”

  “Why don’t we go in the other room?” he said to her, “My parents have a TV that’s hooked up to the VCR. It’s quieter in there.”

  “What?”

  “C’mhere.” He vaulted over the sofa, a bit unsteadily, and walked over to the first bedroom down the hallway. Rose followed him cautiously, stopping to take her purse for security.

  He switched on the TV and Casablanca came on. “Pretty cool, huh?” he said, “We can watch it here.”

  A bedroom. “No thanks. I think I’ll watch it out here,” she said cheerily.

  “Aw, come on! See, I set it up especially for you!” he grinned again. Normally, he had a nice smile.

  “No, I don’t think so—” Rose shook her head.

  Rob interrupted her, his eyes on the TV screen. “Hey! You don’t want to miss this. Look, this is the good scene where she pulls a gun on Bogart.”

  He took her hand and pulled her gently into the bedroom and sat down on the bed. “Just watch this part with me. It’s good.”

  He had shut the door behind them. “Rob, I—” Rose’s eyes darted to his and to the door, unsure of what to say.

  Now he leaned back on the bed, a smile playing over his face. “Relax, won’t you? Boy, you’re tense. I’m not going to eat you.”

  “I just—”

  “What’s wrong with a little privacy? Sit back with me and relax for a while. We’ll watch the movie. You’d really get distracted if we were out there in that crowd.”

  He patted the bed and gave her a puppy dog smile. Unwillingly, she sat down on the very edge of the bed. Rob leaned back beside her, but didn’t touch her. Her eyes moved back to the TV screen as the music sang with tension. It was too easy to sit still and watch as Bogart faced Ingrid Bergman, his eyes taut with ambiguous thoughts.

  “Sit back here with me,” Rob whispered through Bogart’s sarcastic retort.

  She decided to pretend she didn’t hear him.

  “Rose—” Now Rob’s voice dropped to an even lower whisper. “You’re really beautiful, do you know that?”

  She did, and he was distracting her. “Thank you,” she said distantly, her eyes on Bergman’s anguished face.

  Rob put his hand on her shoulders, then began to pull her head towards him.

  “What?” She tried to move away, disturbed. “What’s wrong?”

  “I want to kiss you,” he murmured in her ear. “Come here.”

  Kiss him. The thought flashed through her mind, attractively, but Rose ignored it. “No, I don’t want to,” she said, pretending to be absorbed in the TV screen.

  “Why not?” She felt him moving closer.

  “I don’t know you well enough,” Rose muttered, and moved away. His arm caught her around the waist and stopped her.

  Danger lights went on in her mind, and she quickly looked at him. His eyes were changed, and he suddenly looked different. She could smell the alcohol on his breath.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and turned up the volume on the television set by the remote control very loudly with one hand while holding her with the other. Then he tossed the control aside and grabbed her with both arms.

  His arms were strong. She tried to pull away, and realized that he could hold her and kiss her and there was nothing she could do about it, no matter how hard she might struggle… .

  She put on a slow smile and deliberately calmed her racing heart. “This is so romantic of you, Rob. But first,” she said quietly, offhandedly when his face was less than an inch from hers, “I really, really need to go to the bathroom right now.” Eye color: guileless blue.

  He looked at her in bewilderment.

  “Is there a bathroom here?” she asked quietly.

  “Right behind you,” he said, a bit sullenly, and released her a bit.

  “Excuse me,” she said, and rose. He let her arms go, and she wondered if he could see her shaking as she reached down casually to pick up her purse.

  Once inside the bathroom, she locked the door and sat down on the toilet seat, breathing hard. Narrow escape,
you fool. The only way out of the bathroom was back into the bedroom with Rob, and she had no doubt that things would get out of hand if she went back out. She paused, and her mind darted over this escape route and that, and the more options she thought of the more she realized that she was flaming, raging mad. He had no right to trick her like this. And now he thought he had her trapped.

  All right, so she had been trapped. Thank God he had let her go to the bathroom. Now what? She clasped her shaking hands and prayed hard. Better do something fast, girl, before he gets suspicious.

  The window. She stood on the toilet and opened the curtains, praying that there were no bars on it. There were none. It was a small window, looking out on the back of the apartment building. She was on the second floor, and she estimated there was a good twelve-foot drop.

  However, there was a balcony with a fire escape at the bedroom window. It was within an arm’s length. She kicked off her shoes (wretched high heels) and, after a pause, flushed the toilet with her foot and pushed the water spigot with her toes so that the water came on. Then, after dropping her purse and shoes outside, she hitched up her skirt and wiggled halfway out the window. She could reach the fire escape with both arms, and pulled herself all the way outside, trying to get a good grip on the wet metal surface. For a terrifying moment she flopped between heaven and earth, her feet kicking about for a hold. Then she pulled herself up (eternally thankful for all those chin-ups in gym class) and got a leg over the fire escape rail.

  The next minute she stood shaking on the wet metal balcony. Were the windows open? The shades were pulled, but the lights were on, and Rob might see a movement and guess. Thank heavens the TV volume was still turned up so loud.

  “Here’s looking at you, kid,” Bogart was saying.

  “I wish I didn’t love you so much,” Bergman replied.

  Hurriedly she tiptoed over to the metal slide ladder and fumbled about in the dark for the metal hook that would release it. After what seemed an eternity, it creaked free, and Rose let it slide slowly down, catching it and setting it down so that it wouldn’t clang on the pavement below.