Shooting Stars 04 Honey

by V. C. Andrews

  "They should let you go to a good school then," he said. "I hope Mr. Wengrow can convince them. You have something, Honey. You can be someone."

  "So can you," I said quickly.

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  "Why maybe?"

  "I don't have as much passion as you do. I'm good, technically very good, I know, but there's one other thing that makes the difference, and you have it," he said, his eyes fixed on my face. "I envy you for that."

  "You've got it, too." I insisted. He smiled.

  "Maybe if I keep hanging around with you, it will nib off or I'll catch it, like a cold," he said. "Of course, we have to get closer and closer before that might happen," "That's okay with me."

  We stared at each other. I felt my heart beg-in to pound, the warm glow rise from just under my breasts, up my neck, and into my face.

  "We can go to a different movie tonight," he said. "What do you mean?"

  "My parents are out for the evening. I have a great DVD collection. You ever see a DVD movie?"

  "I don't even know what it is."

  "You've got to see it," he said excitedly. "I have about fifty movies. You can choose any one you want. You'll think you're in the movie theater. Okay?"

  He waved to the waitress for our check.

  I felt as though I had stepped into the ocean and was being pulled out to sea with the outgoing tide. There was no way to resist. It was best to simply relax and go along,

  Chandler's house was a large. stone-wall-clad Tudor with a circular driveway set on a grand track of prime land just outside our small city. From the welltrimmed hedges and bushes to the immaculate sidewalk and rich dark oak front doors, his house looked elegant enough to be the home of a governor. I was awed by the size of the entryway, the marble floors, and elaborate chandeliers. All of the furniture looked brand-new and expensive.

  - C'mon," he said eagerly after we had entered. He took my hand and rushed me along past the large dining room, in which I glimpsd the longest table I had ever seen, dressed with place settings and silver dishes as if a gala evening was about to commence.

  He brought me to what he called their media room. There was a television set so big it nearly rivaled some of the smaller-screen movie theaters.

  "Dad's always competing with his friends when it comes to state-of- the-art equipment," he explained. 'Wait until you hear the sound system.-

  He opened a dark mahogany wood closet to reveal a collection of movies that looked like it contained anything and everything ever made. "Choose," he commanded.

  I shook my head.

  "I don't know where to begin."

  "Whatever you want," he said. -Don't worry

  about the ratings either," he said. winking. I glanced at him and then at the titles. I really didn't know which one to pick.

  "You choose," I said.

  "Okay. This is one of my favorites," he said. "Sit on the settee," he added, nodding toward it.

  I sat and waited for him to get it started. Everything was on a remote, even the room's lights. He dimmed them and sat beside me. The movie began, and it was everything he had described. I did feel as if we were in a theater.

  "Incredible. huh?"

  "Yes,'" I said.

  "We can even have popcorn, if you want."

  "I'm still stuffed with pizza."

  "Me. too. Want to drink something?

  Anything?" he said impishly. "I'm fine." I said.

  He nodded and we sat back to watch the movie. I felt his arm move around my shoulders and then his hand against my side, pulling me closer to him. His lips were on my cheek, soon moving up to kiss my hair.

  "We're not going to see much of this movie if you do that," I said. When I turned to him, he was only an inch or so from me.

  His response was to kiss me on the lips and hold me tighter. "Pretend we're in an old drive-in movie," he whispered.

  "I've never been in one." I said.

  "Me neither, but we can pretend, can't we?"

  "I don't know."

  "I do," he said. He kissed me again, moving his lips down to my neck. "I really like you. Honey. No one makes me feel as comfortable and happy as you do."

  I said nothing. His words, his warm touch, the power of his eyes were quickly sweeping away any tenseness I had. I felt myself soften in his arms and wanted to kiss him as hard and as passionately as he was kissing me. When his hand grazed my breast. I tightened.

  "It's all right," he said. "If you like me as much as I like you, it's all right."

  My heart was pounding. The tingle that traveled up and down my spine and swirled in around my heart was delightful, warm, welcome. His fingers went under my sweater and moved quickly up to my breast. When he touched me, he brought his lips down on mine harder. His tongue moved between my lips. We were sliding down on the leather settee and he was moving over me. He had lifted the edge of my bra cup and touched my naked breast. It seemed like thunder in my head, my blood was rushing so fast around my body,

  "I think I love you. Honey. I can't imagine liking someone as much as I like you without it being love," he continued, whispering in my ear.

  "Like the serpent whispered into Eve's ear." I heard Grandad say.

  Chandler's right hand moved down behind my shoulder and under my sweater. His fingers and palm traveled like a hungry spider up to my bra clip, which he squeezed and undid so quickly. I barely had a chance to shake my head. My bra lifted and a moment later, his left hand was over my breast. I was breathing so hard and fast, I thought I would faint.

  There were feelings being born everywhere along my legs and in the pit of my stomach. feelings I had tempted and taunted in dreams. My own rush of pleasure was sweeping over me like the wave I imagined myself caught in earlier. I could feel the great struggle going on inside me, the battle between the forces that wanted me to push him away and jump up and the forces that wanted me to soften, relax, fall back, and invite him to go further and further.

  "You do love me, too, don't you, Honey? Don't you?" he pleaded, lifting my sweater so he could bring his lips to my breasts.

  I opened my eyes. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to speak. but I suddenly imagined Grandad standing the looking down at us. nodding. He extended his arm to put his Bible on Chandler's back. and I screamed.

  Frightened by my cry, Chandler pulled himself away. The image of Grandad evaporated instantly, popping like a bubble.

  "What's wrong?" Chandler asked.

  I caught my breath and sat up.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I couldn't..."

  Chandler slumped against the settee.

  "Don't you like me enough. Honey?"

  "Yes, I just... couldn't. Chandler.'"

  "Why not?"

  "I couldn't," I repeated and fixed my bra. "I'm sorry," I said.

  "Me, too," he said, looking petulant and crabby. "We probably should have just gone to the movie theater."

  "I said I was sorry, Chandler."

  "When you wanted to come here. I thought you wanted to be with me."

  "I do," I insisted.

  "Right."

  "I've never done this before," I confessed. He looked at me, and then at the floor, "I thought you knew that. too."

  "I'm not exactly Don Juan myself," he said. "What I felt, what I hoped, was that when the right girl came along, a girl who thought I was the right guy." he added, turning back to me. "we'd trust each other enough to... to love each other."

  I felt tears coming to my eves.

  "I trust vou and I want to love vou," I said. 'But..."

  "But?"

  "You didn't just sit at your piano and start playing Mozart's Concerto in A Maj or. did you?"

  He stared at me a moment.

  "It's not something you need to practice to get right. At least. I don't think of it that way," he said.

  "But it's not something to rush into. either. It's not practice. It's building a relationship, learning to care and care for each other until you both feel ready for all of it," I s
aid "Too many girls I know don't think it's anything special anymore. Am I wrong?"

  "No," he said. He smiled. "Okay," he said. I'm sorry." I sat back, and we both turned to the movie once again.

  But out of the corner of my eye, I looked to the doorway. I searched every shadow.

  I was looking for Grandad.

  9 The Pond

  Chandler and I enjoyed the remainder of the movie and then sat and talked for nearly an hour afterward. We had just started out when the front door opened and his parents came in, quite unaware that Chandler had brought anyone to their home. I knew that was true because they were arguing quite vehemently as they entered, his father complaining about his mother's ridiculous infatuation with the Ivers, who he said were perfect examples of the nouveau riche, people who had inherited money and had no class.

  "This," he declared before either of them glanced our way. "is a perfect example of why clothes do not make the man. An oaf in a tuxedo is still an oaf. and I'm surprised that you, of all people, can't see that. Amanda."

  "I am not infatuated with anyone. I'm merely... oh," Chandler's mother moaned. grimacing so emphatically she made her face look like a rubber mask, stretching her lips and widening her eyes when she saw the two of us standing there, listening to them.

  She was otherwise an attractive woman, stately, her black hair perfectly cut and styled. She wore a thin wrap with fur cuffs and a collar, and diamond earrings hung in gold leaves glittered under the hallway chandelier's light. When she turned and her wrap opened. I saw the biggest diamond pendant I had ever seen in real life, lying softly just above her cleavage, prominently displayed in her deep neck satin gown.

  Chandler's father was dressed in a tuxedo with a vibrantly red silk scarf over his shoulders. I guess dapper was the proper word for him. I saw the great resemblance between Chandler and him, especially around their eyes and their mouths. However. Chandler's nose was smaller and straighter. and I thought he had a stronger chin. They were about the same height.

  "What's this?" he asked, a look of annoyance disrupting his face. It was as if Chandler had brought home a prostitute or something. At least, that was the way he made me feel when he fixed his critical eyes on me.

  "Dad." Chandler said, not losing a bit of his cool, calm demeanor, "Mom. I'd like you to meet Honey Forman, the girl I told you about, the one who plays the violin and practices with me once a week," he added, obviously annoyed it was taking both of them so long to recall my name and who I was. "At Mr. Wengrow's house? Remember?"

  "Oh," his mother said, jumping as if someone had touched her behind with one of Grandad's cattle prods. "Yes, of course." She scrunched her nose and wrinkled the area around her eyes as she peered at me. "You two weren't practicing your music now, were you?"

  "I doubt that," his father said, giving her a look that practically shouted "stupid."

  "Oh." his mother said again. "Then what..."

  "I brought Honey here to see our new television system and watch a movie on it," Chandler explained.

  "New television system?"

  "He's talking about the DVD player, new widescreen television set, and the surround sound system I recently had installed. Amanda." his father said.

  "Oh." She looked very confused.

  "I wonder why it doesn't surprise me that you've forgotten about it," his father said.

  "Well, you know I don't watch very much television these days, Dalton."

  "Right."

  "We were just on our way out." Chandler said. "I'm taking Honey home."

  "Forman. Right, yes, Your grandfather is Abraham Forman. the Forman farm." Chandler's father said, as if he was giving me the information for the first time. "It's one of the more successful familyrun farms these days." he told Chandler's mother. "It's an immaculate property, a jewel in our community," he added. "The farmer is still a large part of the backbone of this country," he lectured.

  "How nice," Chandler's mother said. "I'm sorry I can't stand here and chat. but I must get out of these clothes and relax. Chandler. We didn't have an enjoyable evening," she said. "and I'd just like to forget about it as quickly as I can. Nice to have met you..." She looked at Chandler. "I'm sorry, did you say her name was Honey or did you call her honey?"

  "That's my name. Mrs. Maxwell," I said.

  "Is it? How... different. Well, nice to have met you anyway." she said and walked toward the stairs.

  Chandler moved quickly to open the front door for me. He and his father exchanged angry looks, and we started out.

  "Good night. Mr. Maxwell," I said. "It was nice to meet you. too.'

  Chandler closed the door sharply behind us before his father could reply.

  "Sorry about their being so stuffy," he said as we walked to his car. "I guess they were just taken by surprise," I said.

  He nodded, but after we started away, he said it wasn't just their being surprised.

  "I wish I could blame it on that. but I'm afraid my parents are somewhat snobby. They both come from wealthy families and rarely have gone anywhere in their lives that wasn't first class. All their friends are just like them." he continued. "I'm like you. Honey. I need to get away. too. Especially from that." he tagged on.

  "What are you looking for, Chandler?" I asked him, wondering what he meant by "like you."

  How could I not wonder how he and I were alike? The worlds we came from were so vastly different. Most of the young people our age would and even did envy him for what he had already. I remembered Daddy's comments about people who were always looking beyond their own fields of achievement, their own accomplishments, yearning to have what someone else had. Was Chandler one of them? Would he ever be happy?

  He was quiet for a long moment. Then he smiled to himself and turned to me.

  "Remember that night after our first duet practice, when you told me if I understood how the piano plays me, I'd understand myself, and I countered by saving who says I don't understand myself?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Well. I was just being a big shot. Honey. I don't know who I am. I think I'm on the bottom of the list when it comes to that. I mean. I should have no problem with identity. My parents put our name out there prominently. Everyone knows who I am but me.

  "Parents take it for granted that because you have inherited their name and because you walk in the long, wide shadows they cast, you'll be just another example of who they are and what they are. My parents can't even begin to imagine me not being happy with the things that make them happy.

  "Somehow, parents take it personal if you claim your own identity, set out to be different. They set it as a rejection of them, but it's not that. It's a search for your own self-meaning.

  "That's what I have to discover and that's why I have to get away." He grimaced.

  "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to get so deep and lay all this heavy stuff on you."

  "No, I'm glad you did.'

  "Really? Most girls would just think me very boring. I'm sure,' he said.

  "You're hardly that. Chandler." He smiled.

  "I am without you." he said.

  He reached for my hand and I snuggled closer to him. We were silent, moving along, the headlights of his car plowing a path through the darkness for us, both of us wondering what really lay ahead.

  He drove very slowly up our driveway, probably expecting Grandad to pop out at us from some dark shadow again. I was half-expecting something like that myself. To both our reliefs, there was no one around. It was quiet and dark. Uncle Simon's light was off and so were most of the lights in my house.

  "I had a good time. Honey," Chandler said. "I hope you did, too," he added, a worried look in his eyes.

  "I did," I said convincingly enough to bring a smile back to his face. "I'll call you tomorrow, if that's all right."

  "Yes. I'd like that." I said. He edged toward me and I met him halfway to kiss him good night. Then I got out, closed the car door softly, and ran into the house. There was just a small lamp on in the hallway. I tip
toed up the stairs. They creaked like tattletales, and when I reached the landing, Mommy stepped to her bedroom doorway.

  "Have fun. Honey?" she asked. She was in her nightgown, her hair down around her shoulders.

  "Yes."

  "Good. Okay, sleep well. We have a big day on the farm tomorrow," she said to explain why they were all asleep already.

  Besides our usual chores, there was the planting of the north field. and I knew that Daddy and Grandad had some repair work to do on the grain combine, the machine we used to harvest our corn in the fall.

  "Good night. Mommy," I said and entered my room.

  My mind was so heavily occupied with all that had happened on my date with Chandler that I didn't see what was on my bed until I actually had gone to the bathroom, put an my nightgown, and reached for the blanket to turn it back and crawl under.

  There, prominently before me. was Grandad's old Bible with a faded blue ribbon inserted in the pages to mark a place. For a moment I stood there frozen, almost too afraid to touch it. Grandad had once told me the story of a sinful woman who, when she attended Communion at her church, choked to death on a wafer.

  "When a soiled soul confronts something holy, the Lord's retribution is mighty and dreadful," he said.

  I thought about calling Mommy to show her what he had done. but I was afraid. What if something terrible happened to her because I made her lift the Bible off my bed? Was I a fool to believe in such things? Despite what I thought of him and his ways, Grandad Forman was so confident, so sure that he knew what God wanted of us.

  To illustrate his confidence, he often pointed to his success as a farmer.

  "God rewards me for my devotion," he claimed. "Everything I have, everything I do is dependent upon nature, solidly in the palm of God's very hand. He could wipe me out in an instant," he said, snapping his fingers right before my eyes.

  I felt my heart jump in my chest when he did that.

  As a result of all that. whenever Grandad looked at me. I would think God Himself was looking at me through Grandad's eves. Sometimes I fled from them, avoided him, afraid that he could actually read my thoughts and know I had dreamed wicked things. All the days of my youth, he seemed to hover over me and around me more than he did anyone else in our family. Why? What did he know about me that I. myself. didn't know? It used to terrify me and still did a little. Was there something dark and evil inside me? Was I what Grandad Forman called, "prime feed for hungry Satan"?