Candlemoth: A Holy City Romance

by Pauline West

  Okay, music. Maybe that would help smooth things over.

  I flipped the kitchen radio onto a soft rock station, knowing Ry wouldn’t mind and that it would chill Dad out a little. “Dad, Ry was in pararescue over in Afghanistan. I told him you were in the Navy.”

  “Oh yeah?” Dad said. “You want one of these?”

  “Sure, man, thanks,” Ry said, graciously accepting a beer. He sat down at the kitchen table politely, and Steve joined him.

  “You do a couple tours?” Steve said, after a beat.

  “Just the one. My mom was having a hard time,” Ry said, quietly.

  Dad didn’t pry. They just nodded at each other respectfully.

  I was quiet, dishing out the sesame chicken and stir-fried rice, letting them do their silent caveman-thing. Until I realized Steve’s next question would be to ask Ry what he was up to now. And Ry’s answer, whatever it was, wouldn’t be the one Steve wanted to hear.

  So I came in with, “Mm! This is so good!”

  Yep. Genius. But that’s all I could think of. And I was too late anyway.

  “So what are you doing now?” Steve said, ignoring me.

  Ry met his eyes. “I don’t know yet,” he said.

  Steve didn’t even have to give me a look. He didn’t nod, didn’t say a word, just went on eating his sesame chicken. Well, all right.

  Mr. Calhoun had made me feel like a shitstain, but right now dear old dad was giving him a run for his money. Ry’s face was unreadable, but I knew Steve had made him feel ashamed.

  Then again, who was Ry kidding? Gallivanting around like some eternal playboy- maybe it was good for Ry to realize how he looked in the eyes of the 99%.

  I looked from one man to the other, my heart tugged in both directions.

  Then one of Steve’s favorite dad-sayings came to mind. If you chase two birds, both will fly. I wondered if it was true. Could I lose them both if I refused to choose between them?

  Forcing the terrible thought from my mind, I started to fill Steve in on my new life in Charleston. Tidbits about my catering job, about Hazel and Beren, how excited I was to start school in a few weeks.

  Usually I don’t like talking for very long periods of time, but as the silence between Steve and Ry deepened, I felt like I was drowning again. As if, by babbling on and on brightly enough, I could keep the three of us afloat, pretending not to notice what was obvious: they couldn’t stand each other.

  But you haven’t even tried! I wanted to tell them. I looked from Steve, the dearest man to me in the whole world, and then to Ry, who’d become almost as dear to me in only a matter of days.

  But this was crazy. Steve knew me. Steve loved me and had my back. If Steve saw something bad in Ry, what wasn’t I seeing? Maybe classism just ran both ways, or-

  Or else I had a great big old clod of lust in my eyes, making me stupid.

  I began to wonder if Ry was having second thoughts about me, too. Now that he’d seen my shitty apartment, and my beloved but decidedly redneck father, maybe he wasn’t as over the moon as he thought he was. And he didn’t even know the whole story yet! What would he think when he found out I was the spawn of two lowlifes?

  My heart twisted into a knot. I knew exactly what his parents would think, anyway.

  We finished our dinner in silence.

  Then Ry kissed me goodnight in the hall, taking my hands in his. He pressed them hard to his lips, as if that could change things. But when Ry opened his eyes, all the obstacles between us were still firmly in place. Neither of us said a word. Our eyes said it all.

  “Goodnight, Lily,” Ry said, softly. His big hand drifted through my hair and then fell to his side as he turned and walked away.

  I made a bed for Steve on the sofa before we settled in to watch a movie.

  “I’m not sure I like that one, Lily,” he said, pouring out the rest of his beer. He leaned against the wall quietly, folding my arms.

  “I know you don’t, dad,” I said. I swallowed the rest of my words.

  The next morning, I woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs. Steve had gotten up so early that he’d gone to the grocery, stocked my fridge, and made us both a giant breakfast.

  “Want to go to the beach?” he said cheerily, as I padded into the kitchen, unbraiding my hair sleepily.

  “Wow, this is amazing,” I said, kissing his cheek. I started the coffee, making it extra strong, the way he liked it. “I’d love to, but I-”

  “Actually,” Steve grinned, sheepishly. “Hope you don’t mind, doll, but I already called your boss and got it off for you. They said you’re covered.”

  “Dad!” I threw my arms around his big rounded shoulders, beaming. “You’re wonderful.”

  “You look so happy, kiddo. Surprised?”

  “I’ve got a surprise for you, too, actually. Stay there!” I went back into my bedroom and grabbed the pair of beach shorts I’d picked up on sale for him with my first paycheck. I’d meant to give them to him for Father’s Day or something, but somehow this morning felt special. It made my heart happy to have something I could do for him, too.

  Even if he hated Ry, I thought, sadly.

  Maybe if I focused on Dad hard enough, it would make it easier for me to forget about Ry Cahoun. And the deep, full-body ache I still felt for him. Right now, he sure seemed like my missing piece….

  “Oh, wow, kiddo. These are great! These are really great.” Steve hugged me back, admiring his new board shorts.

  “You like them? The Japanese design made me think of you. Those samarai movie’s you’re always watching?”

  Steve beamed.

  We drove down to Folly Beach and spent the day walking barefoot down the shore, keeping an eye out for pretty shells and far-off dolphins as he filled me in on everything that was new with him. The new kid at the firestation, Mark’s girlfriend, his and Mark’s newest fitness routine, which they’d probably abandon in two weeks, like they always did.

  All the while, women in bikinis were eyeing my dad, but Steve never once seemed to notice or even care. In Steve’s way of thinking, Charlotte was his once and forever wife.

  So I knew what he was thinking when we looked out and finally spotted the dolphins. A whole school of them, making a far-off chain against the sunset.

  He put his arm around me, and I thought for a moment his eyes looked a little wet, but then Steve blinked and looked like his happy self again.

  “Let’s see if we can find some clam strips at this ungodly hour, kiddo. What is it, 9:30? Old folks like me oughta be in bed,” he said.

  When I got home, tired and happy, I finally let myself pick up my phone. I’d missed a few calls from Vanessa, but I didn’t want to pick up any extra shifts, so I decided to ignore them. Since Beren had picked up the one I was scheduled for today, I knew I wasn’t scheduled for another until Tuesday night.

  The rest of my texts were from Beren. Of course, Ry didn’t even have my phone number. So why were you hoping to hear from him?

  Because he found out where you live, I thought. He can have anything he wants. If he hasn’t written to you, there’s a reason.

  So let it go.

  “Ready for Casper Graham tomo?” Beren had written.

  “the singer?” I texted back. “Wait, is there a concert?”

  “for us maybe,” Beren answered, sending a winkie face.

  “Wait, what-?

  “he’s Chandler’s best friend! So PS look super hot. I mean, like, try to out-hot me, starshine,”

  Beren texted.

  “!!!” I wrote back. “What?”

  “Pick you up at four, night!” Then the dots disappeared off Beren’s phone. I imagined him laughing.

  “ack, wtf did you dooo!” I wrote, trying again.

  But my response hung there in the white void, unanswered. Shit, Chandler. I’d almost forgotten about modeling for him. The idea was enough to give me hives, but I didn’t want to let Chandler down. There was something captivating about his aesthetic purity, but he a
lso seemed like a soul-friend.

  Plus, Beren was crazy about him.

  The only problem was, I didn’t know anything about modeling. I was so clumsy I could hardly manage carrying a cocktail tray! And now a famous singer-songwriter was mysteriously in the mix?

  =========== Chapter ====================================

  When Beren scooped me up the next day, I was wearing a floaty silk camisole, crisp chambray shorts and a pair of beloved old wedges that had belonged to Charlotte, Steve’s beloved wife. They were made from leather and wood, and she’d hand-painted each side with a tiny, smoky green pastoral, highlighting here and there with a little pop of a rich, hazy lipstick red.

  I hardly ever wore them because they were so special, but I knew Chandler would appreciate them. Armed once again with the pair of heart-shaped aviators he’d given me, I felt half-way all right.

  “Smoking hot!” Beren said, pulling up in his old-school convertible.

  He had to yell for me to hear him over his rumbling muffler, but Beren looked gorgeous and dashing with a light-weight scarf tossed around his neck over his trim black muscle shirt. The pale blue of his scarf matched his slim cut shorts beautifully, and with a pair of high-top chucks to cap off his outfit, he looked as cool as an ocean breeze.

  “You approve?” I said, sliding in beside him.

  “Most heartily, madam.” He kissed my hand elaborately.

  I laughed. “You look smashing yourself, my love,” I said. “Let’s play!”

  Chandler lived a few minutes from downtown, in a pretty white house with two huge myrtle trees out front. They were brilliantly in flower, their slender boughs so heavy with blooms that they arched gracefully towards the lawn. Chandler was beaming when he came to the door, dressed all in tight black as before. It was his signature look, I guessed.

  “Darlings!” he said. “I made punch.” Chandler pressed a glass into my hand as we stepped inside. “Hello, little minx,” he said, kissing my cheek.

  And there was Casper freaking Graham sitting right there on the sofa, just like, no big deal. My lungs clenched in a suppressed squeal.

  Casper Graham! He was one of those rare artists whose music made you feel happy and wistful and sad all at once, and I could never get enough of it.

  “Hey,” Casper said, coming towards us, extending his hand. It was warm and strong, flecked with small, gnostic looking tattoos. “I’m Casper,” he said, smiling warmly. As if anyone in America didn’t know who he was.

  His famously long, thick brown hair was tugged into a bun on top of his head, and he had a thick beard now as well. His thin forearms were attractively sinewy from playing his guitar. God, he was super cute.

  I shook his hand firmly. “Hi, I’m Lily.”

  “Good to see you again, Beren,” Casper said, already turning away, letting my hand go.

  I glanced around at Chandler’s house, trying to pretend that my heart wasn’t racing a million beats a minute. I’d never met anyone famous before, and the effect was disorienting. For one thing, he looked so familiar, since I’d practically grown up seeing his face everywhere. For another- I couldn’t help wanting him to notice me, too. Be cool, girl, I thought.

  “Yeah! How long you in town?” Beren said to him, nonplussed.

  “Ah, I just got off tour, so I’m taking it easy, seeing where the wind takes me for a while. I’m re-combobulating, you could say,” Casper stretched, grinning. “It feels good.”

  Beren laughed. “Yeah, re-combobulating- I bet.”

  A rack of clothes in the corner of the room caught my eye and I went towards them. “I love your palette,” I said, smiling over my shoulder at Chandler.

  “I love yours,” he said, taking in my outfit. “Smoky greens, white and pale blue- a little pop of red-? It’s like you read my mind.”

  “Maybe I did. Maybe we’re on the same wavelength. Ting ting!”

  “I think so,” Chandler said. “So… I thought maybe we’d shoot some pictures out back in the garden, maybe head downtown, and then to one of the beaches. What do you think, is that too much?”

  “No, no, that sounds great. I mean, there’s always coffee if we need it.”

  “Perfect.”

  The clothes were beautiful, and I loved the way they felt against my body. But it took me a while to feel comfortable posing in front of the guys, even when Beren and Casper wandered off to the side of the house, chatting about South Carolina.

  “Take a big breath and let it out, slowly,” Chandler advised. And that gave me an idea. I felt self-conscious posing- but what if I just moved from one position to another, very slowly? Even though the movements needed to be slightly bigger than life, exaggerated, when I flowed, things didn’t feel so awkward. In a way, it was like dancing.

  Before long, the pictures were flowing, too.

  I slipped into a chiffon maxi with big, glamorous poetess sleeves and a filmy, watercolor print. It was the kind of dress you couldn’t help but twirl in, and when Beren wove me a sash from Chandler’s roses, the look was perfect.

  I reached up into a magnolia, tilting my neck and hip slightly to create an interesting line, and Chandler crouched down near a flowering bush, tufting a few strands out in front of his camera so that they made soft, unfocused silhouettes in the foreground of the image.

  “Look at this, Lily,” he said, afterwards, showing me the screen. The smile on his face made me feel so happy that I hugged him. “Great,” he said.

  “Let’s keep going,” I said.

  We took a few more shots. “I hate to say this, but we need to stop for a second; I want to take the dress in just a little closer to your waist, here,” he said.

  “Can’t you just clip it?” Beren said.

  It took Casper a moment to respond. “That wouldn’t feel… right,” he murmured. While he took the dress back inside- “just a quick stitch!” he called- I sat down cross-legged on the patio with Beren. The warmth of the boards felt delicious against my skin, and I lay back, propping myself up on my elbows.

  I closed my eyes, soaking up the sun. Tiny black shapes danced behind my eyelids… like tiny gnostic tattoos… tiny falling stars…

  In spite of myself, I remembered Ry, and the delicious sensations he could call up in me without saying a word. I squeezed my eyes tightly, trying to escape the thought, but it was impossible. I belonged to him even when I didn’t want to.

  I sat up as a shadow crossed over me, and realized Casper was standing above us, smiling softly.

  “Sorry,” Casper said. “Couldn’t resist. Maybe he’ll be able to use these shots, too.”

  “Let us see!” Beren said.

  We scrolled through the pictures Casper had just taken while Chandler finished working inside. Soon we were throwing ideas back and forth for poses and locations.

  And just like that, we became a team. Soon Casper was comfortable stepping in, adjusting my hair or my arm, giving me ideas for expressions while Chandler took dozens upon dozens of pictures. We were all having so much fun that the hours flew by.

  One of my favorite pictures that day happened as a lark. We were walking to Chandler’s car, and I had the idea to leap up and sit cross-legged in a deep window frame on the side of his house, with my gown hanging down behind me. There’s flowers in the corner of the frame, and I’m looking back at the camera, laughing, shading my eyes from the sun.

  In Chandler’s photograph, the sunlight washes away the shadows of the ledge, so that it looks almost as if I’m perched there in pure whiteness. It showcases the gown beautifully. He’s been making variations of it for several seasons now, but every year the whole line is sold out before it even drops.

  But before that happened- before Casper Graham brought both Chandler and I into a kind of notorious fame that has chased us ever since- we were just a group of new friends hanging out, shooting pictures on Folly Beach.

  It was late in the day, and the sunlight was almost horizontal. Everything was tinged with rose and gold. I stood in the su
rf, wearing my next to last outfit for the day: a pale bronze crop top made from a light, sweater-y material, and skimpy bikini bottoms. Beren’s rose sash was strung low around my waist. We were laughing, dancing around to a makeshift radio Beren had fashioned from his phone and a red solo cup, and Casper was beatboxing, jiving around in the water with me.

  I knew he was in some of the photographs, too, and that we probably looked like a couple, the way we were jumping around together, grinning. At one point Casper even started carrying me around on his shoulders, the ribbons of my sash trailing down one of his arms. They were great pictures.

  Casper stood back, considering me. I grinned back, but he continued giving me this steady look that simmered all through me, warming me head to toe.

  “You need something,” Casper said, stepping back, putting one finger to his mouth. “Hmm.” He wandered thoughtfully back towards the car. “Keep going, I’ll be back!”

  “Costume change,” Beren sang out, and I danced around a clump of driftwood to change out of the wet swim bottoms into my last outfit, which was supposed to be the crop top and a pair of swishy, golden wide-leg pants. But now the top was wet and cold.

  I took it off, and felt much better.

  The clean, bright wind coming in off the water felt delicious against my naked skin. It stroked over my breasts, and they sharpened against the cool air as if it were a lover’s hands.

  I walked back around to my friends.

  Chandler shook his head, smiling. “You sure?” he said, before he started shooting. “You look beautiful.”

  I nodded silently, my mouth curved in a Mona Lisa smile, and went through my last movements, just as Casper came back down over the dunes. His hair was loose under a battered old leather hat I recognized from photos I’d seen of him in his concerts.

  My arms flew up around my breasts, covering them, and I whirled away, laughing.

  “Hey, now!” I said.

  “Mayday, mayday,” Beren said, “wild titties on Folly Beach…. do not approach the water…”