Innocent Ride

by Robertson, Alethea

  The rest of the night, we sang karaoke and drank kombucha. The next thing we knew the morning rays were opening our lids, each of us in our own sleeping bags sprawled across the living room floor. Thankfully, Oliver had padded the floor with blankets before we arrived.

  Soon, Oliver was kicking us out to get the condo ready for his party tonight. Of course, he made us pinkie-swear we’d be there.

  I was home before noon. Though last night had been a nice reprieve from reality, the empty house was no comfort from Robbie’s absence, which remained a gaping hole, ever present, and unavoidable. The only hope of distraction was Oliver’s party, though I clung to the possibility that Robbie would be there. He had been invited, after all.

  Chapter 14

  THE CONDO WAS packed like a thriving nightclub by the time Carrie and I arrived. Strobe lights roamed. Black light pulsed. Music blared. Oliver’s living room served as the dance floor, his modern furniture pressed against the wall beneath the wrap-around staircase. I was amazed that he’d done all this in an afternoon. I scanned the room, catching glimpses at masks between strobe light blackouts. No one wore their real face. Robbie could be here and I wouldn’t—

  “You’re looking for him, I can tell!” Carrie shouted above the noise. “Stop! I don’t wanna hear any of that star-crossed shit. We’re done with that. We’re here to forget, remember?”

  Of course I remembered. That’s what Carrie had been doing for years. My heart went out to her. She was right, I was looking for him. I wanted him to be here, to come for me, like my prince. I looked away from her, feeling naked in this slutty schoolgirl costume that she’d insisted I wear. We meandered through the crowd and found the self-serve bar in the kitchen. Carrie flung her long blonde hair over her shoulder and poked my chest. “No cock-blocking!”

  “What?”

  “You know,” Carrie said. We mixed a Long Island iced tea at the kitchen counter, following the instructions on a laminated sheet. “I’ll tell you who’s mine. You tell me who you like and there’ll be no territorial disputes.”

  “Oh…kay....” I was sure, even if I did like anyone here, that it wouldn’t be the same guy Carrie was interested in.

  She pursed her lips.

  Drinks in hand, we set off to mingle. We were flirting (well, she was flirting, I was studying) with Wayne’s World’s Wayne and Garth when I first felt eyes on me. They belonged to a pale vampire in a dark corner. Carrie laughed and slapped Wayne, who was gawking at her breasts, which looked about to spill out of her hooker costume at any moment. Wayne and Garth left for drinks.

  “That vampire’s staring at you.” Carrie lifted her glass in his direction.

  I followed her glare to the tall stranger, already knowing what I’d see. This time the vampire’s crimson-stained lips curled into a seductive smile. I returned it, though not with any confidence.

  I left Carrie to wander the room, half aware of my hunter and half admiring the costumes. Occasionally I felt my skirt move from behind. Halfway through my second drink, I caught a blind referee lifting my skirt with his cane. I should have expected such treatment, dressed as a naughty schoolgirl. The thong certainly didn’t help beneath a skirt too short to cover my cheeks, but I didn’t care. I was forgetting Robbie tonight. And as the Long Island iced tea started to work, I didn’t care about the referee either.

  The crowd thickened and sound blurred. I began to doubt Oliver was here at all when someone tapped my arm. I spun around, expecting Carrie, wanting Robbie. It was neither.

  The vampire had me in his grasp.

  “If you don’t mind my candor, you seem a little out of your element.” His voice was strong and deep and…familiar. His black eyes probed me, as if looking for something through my costume. They were obsidian. Contacts, I assumed. They had to be. His face was pure white, his mouth dripping fresh crimson streaks down his chin. His fangs were sharp, and they looked so…real. It was a chilling sight. This guy was a professional artist. Blood warmed my face as I stumbled for coherent words. Nothing came.

  “Am I right?” the vampire asked, cutting fangs dimpling his lips.

  “And you?” I deflected. “Is this your element?”

  He scanned the room. “Not really. But a good friend of mine’s throwing the party.” His lips curled deviously.

  “You know Oliver?” Of course he knew Oliver. This was Oliver’s party.

  He smiled at my realization. “We go to the same church.”

  “Where is he?”

  The vampire pointed across the dance floor to a flapper in a red fringe dress and black feather boa. I rubbernecked. No wonder I hadn’t seen him. I’d been looking for a guy. Oliver laughed with three other drags. I wondered if one of those belonged to him, then remembered I wasn’t making assumptions anymore. Our gazes caught his attention as he twirled for his audience. He waved and floated across the floor.

  “Mmm, girl. You look good. Lemme see.” He snapped and motioned for me to twirl. I humored him as dramatically as I could. “I see you found my Angel.” Oliver patted the vampire’s broad chest and flipped his foot back.

  “Angel?” I crossed my arms.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Thought I’d have some fun with you first.” The corners of the vampire’s mouth curled deviously, revealing his pointed incisors. Those could not be real, I thought.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t approve,” Oliver warned Angel with a pointed finger, then reconsidered. “On second thought, yes, please do.” Stroking my arm, Oliver gave an admiring, motherly sigh, then pulled my ear to his lips. “Don’t you dare think of you-know-who. Tonight you’re forgetting that boy.” After an exaggerated drag on his faux cigarette in its long-stemmed holder, he bounced off, swinging his hips and whistling at his guests.

  The vampire smiled again and a chill bit me. He pulled me closer to him, speaking in my ear, probably so I could hear him above the music. I could feel his breath on my neck. It was warm and comforting, and I wanted to get lost in his arms, if only to forget Robbie. Another chill—this time it trickled up my spine, and for a moment we were the only two in the room.

  “You know I came this close to throwing pebbles at your window,” he said.

  I felt my jaw drop. What was I supposed to say to that? “Why haven’t you called?”

  “I don’t know,” Angel said, and I could hear the frustration in his voice. “I was hoping to see you here tonight. It’s the only reason I came.” The more he talked, the less I had to pretend not to think of Robbie. When that realization dawned on me I reached the beginning of hope. Maybe I could live without Robbie. That thought died when Carrie ripped me from Angel’s embrace and I was naked again, exposed and alone.

  “Let’s dance!” she said. I stumbled, feeling the weight of the alcohol in my blood. As Carrie dragged me to the dance floor, Angel stayed in his dark corner, his obsidian eyes on me. I couldn’t remember their natural color, blue maybe? The next time I checked, Angel was gone. I scanned the painted faces and masks between flashes. Nothing. I moved to the 80’s rhythm until Carrie wrenched me back to this decade.

  “Stop that!” she mouthed to me.

  “What?” I tried to focus.

  “You’re cock-blocking!”

  “Am not.”

  “Huh?” she said, though I’d thought my speech was pretty clear. “Get away from Scott.”

  Who was Scott? The Michael Jackson dancing with her? I wasn’t anywhere near him. Someone bumped me, flinging me into a blonde guy trying to grind with me. Maybe that was who she meant. How long had he been there? I narrowed my eyes at him. He had no rhythm. He wore no costume. He was here as himself.

  I stopped. “This guy? You can have him.” Hopefully Scott had heard that.

  After a moment’s reeling pause, probably to decipher my words, Carrie said, “Then why are you all over him?”

  “He won’t keep his hands off me.” I removed the guy’s paws when he wrapped his arms around my waist.

  “You’re not stopping him.” She
rolled her eyes and grabbed the scrawny King of Pop. Hips to the beat, she rocked them to the floor and back up into a grind. Was she planning to leave with two guys? I had to see this.

  Scott continued to dance too close to me, oblivious to our conversation, nothing but a greedy smirk plastered on his lips. He was in my space. Thankfully, I had the Long Island iced tea, a drink I’d had only once before, to fuel me. I pushed Scott toward Carrie. He boomeranged back. I tried it again. He twirled like he was center-stage of his one-man show. It seemed he had no idea I wasn’t interested.

  I ignored him, dancing my way to the other side of the floor. But he came from behind me, his hands creeping up my body, pausing on my breasts long enough to sober me. I spun out of his hold and glared. His remorseless expression mocked me. I wanted to slap it off his face. Instead I did something I never would have thought I could do.

  I punched him. I punched him in the nose—hard.

  Heads turned. Scott stumbled back and touched his nose, incredulous at the blood that came off on his fingers. I shook the pain from my hand. It refused to leave. I looked for help from Carrie, but she and Michael Jackson were gone. Then there was a tap on my shoulder. I flung myself around and fell into Angel, still cradling my hand.

  I clung to him in relief. As if he were mine. As if I were over Robbie. I closed my eyes and rested my head on his strong chest, trying not to imagine it was Robbie’s, willing Robbie’s angelic face from my imagination. It was getting easier, though slowly, incrementally. My hope surfaced again. But when I opened them, my eyes teased me with a sudden trick.

  Robbie was tucked in the crowd watching. Like he’d been watching. His jaw hung motionless, as though I’d betrayed him. I lifted my head, about to tear myself from Angel. To run to Robbie. Light pulsed. I blinked. Robbie was gone.

  Had he even really been there? Or had I imagined it, like I’d imagined his voice last night at the slumber party?

  “You okay?” Angel asked. I nodded distractedly, unsure if I could trust my eyes. I looked for Carrie again, but she was nowhere. She must not have seen me hit Scott. Something caught Angel’s stare and I followed it, hoping to see something that would convince me my eyes hadn’t been lying to me. But it wasn’t Robbie.

  Instead, I saw Scott, holding his arms firmly in place, his calculating eyes spouting venom. Was he still here? For a moment, I thought he might challenge Angel. How could Carrie want a guy like that? Then I saw a restraining hand on Scott’s shoulder, and the crowd swallowed him before I could see whose. Carrie returned and nodded her approval over Michael Jackson’s shoulder.

  “You know that guy?” I asked Angel.

  “Yeah. Goes to our church. He’s just an ass. He’s not gonna touch you again.”

  In Angel’s arms, I thought of Robbie, and how much I didn’t want to think of Robbie. I was tired of thinking of him, and tired of living without him. This was the moment I wanted to last, here in the arms of a gentleman, where all was perfect. I stayed with Angel until the music slowed and the last of the guests staggered off the floor.

  Angel lured my ear to his lips. “What are your plans tomorrow?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’d like to take you for a ride, if that’s okay with you.” Again, he didn’t wait for an answer; he just promised to call. He would this time, he assured me, though he didn’t need to. Then he pecked me on the cheek, his lips lingering just long enough to give me a chill. His breath was warm, comforting me like a pumpkin steamer and a juicy book. That was when my peripherals caught movement in a shadowed corner. I turned to steal a look. It was Robbie.

  Chapter 15

  SUNDAY SKIES OFFERED glimpses of hope between the gray stacks of clouds. On my front porch, Angel stood tall, ebony strands framing his blue eyes. Now I remembered—of course his eyes were blue, as bright and serene as tropical waters, and pure as a baby’s curiosity. He tipped his head and curled his lips, hooking a thumb to his belt loop. There was something different about him. He held out a leather jacket.

  “Here,” he said. “I want you to wear this.”

  I obeyed, shrugging into it and zipping up. He proffered a gentle hand. I accepted, allowing him to lead me to his cherry-red Harley. I didn’t know anything about bike models, but I knew sexy when I saw it, and this bike had just that kind of body. It was a classic, sleek look that probably demanded head-turns. It reminded me of something Robbie had said. Harleys are all show. But Angel didn’t seem showy to me. In fact, there was a humility about him that reminded me of Robbie.

  Angel’s bike was lower than Robbie’s…or at least the seat seemed lower, or maybe it was that the bars were higher. It didn’t have the back bar that Roxanne had. And there was something else that was different. The pipes were wider on the end, and shinier. When he fired it up, I almost covered my ears. The roar wasn’t just louder, but deeper than Robbie’s bike, with a pop that demanded attention. I could see now how this could be safer in traffic. There was no way any vehicle couldn’t know this bike was in the vicinity.

  When I got on behind Angel, I could feel the bike’s power between my legs. It was a stronger, more pronounced pull. We cruised long, empty roads, where the surrounding grasses were marshy, wet, and inhospitable. The sun hung low between the plumes of gray, the air cooler against my skin. Something heavy brewed in my stomach. A sudden whiff of guilt rushed through me, like a ghost possessing me, controlling me, telling me how I should feel. It felt like I was betraying Robbie.

  That made my blood fume. If Robbie didn’t want me on a bike that was stronger and better than his, then this would be his bike between my legs right now. But it wasn’t. Because Robbie wasn’t here. I told that guilt to shove it and squeezed Angel, fully aware that he was not Robbie.

  We ended at Angel’s house, a white country rambler in the middle of miles of prairie. Inside the décor was elegantly simple, and very…bachelor-ish.

  “Why do you need so many rooms if it’s just you?” I asked when he showed me the fourth bedroom on his tour. This one had been converted to a music room, with a keyboard, an electric guitar on a stand, and a classy drum set—Angel’s specialty, apparently. Then, when he turned around, I saw the acoustic guitar.

  As if noticing my reaction, Angel picked up the six-string, put a foot on a table, and glided a thumb down the manipulated cords. Then the most beautiful sound flowed from his lips and reverberated through me. It called to me, lured me into his cadence, his gaze piercing though the air between us. I lowered myself to the edge of the divan, feeling a little light-headed. I was officially confused. How could I feel this way if I loved Robbie?

  Angel led me down the hall again and opened the door to a giant room with a large leather couch in the middle of it. A projector hung from a ceiling beam and a screen lowered along one wall at the push of a button. He invited me to watch a movie with him. “You gotta hear the surround sound. I installed it myself. Top quality.”

  We watched a vampire movie, of course. He was right; the sound transported us into the screen. Battles surrounded us, sonorous and resounding. The symphony of the score came from all directions, as if we were planted right in the middle of the story. And Angel held me like he would never let me go. His hands were strong and gentle; they made me feel safe.

  After the movie, during conversation, sometime between his building projects and his gun collection, I tried to figure out how to ask him about church. I mean, c’mon, why would an atheist go to church? I was dying to know. I couldn’t think of a way without giving Oliver away. Finally, I gave up and went in a different direction.

  “You’re a…school teacher, right?” I asked.

  “Well, a music teacher. I don’t report to any school or anything. I’m pretty independent.”

  I nodded. Independent, he’d said. “What do you mean?”

  He reminded me of his building projects. He liked to design and construct buildings and sell them.

  “What do you like about teaching music?”

  “The kids, of course. Their innoce
nce and eagerness. I can’t wait to have my own kids to teach and guide and play around with.”

  Kids? He was already thinking of kids? I had been berated for talking about soul mates. But kids and a family? That was too fast. I couldn’t imagine another kid in my life. Shannen was the only one for me. Besides, I wasn’t exactly child-raising material…I was way, way too selfish with my time.

  Angel must have sensed my unease. “Eventually, of course,” he said. “Nothing right now.”

  Eventually…there was plenty of time for eventually. I blushed at the way he was looking at me, his endless pools of blue regarding me intensely, yet gently. Again, I felt safe. We’d somehow made it to his front porch, watching the sun melt into the prairie. Angel wrapped his strong arm around me, luring me into his embrace, and I leaned into him, looking up at him, wondering, if he were to kiss me…if I could do it. Come to think of it, after all this, why hadn’t he kissed me? His lips drew near enough for me to feel his breath. He traced a thumb across my bottom lip, the way Robbie had done.

  His lips touched mine, softly, subtly, a graze. Then he was done, and I was left standing there, confused. “You’re not ready,” he said, as if mostly to himself.

  He regarded me for a moment more, his expression enigmatic. He brushed the hair from my shoulders. Then he said, “I should take you home.”

  He held my hand on the way to his bike. He mounted and started the engine, and I straddled the bike behind him, its purr vibrating my body. Then we were off, away from the warm, sinking sun, toward the night.

  Chapter 16

  THE SECOND FLOOR buzzed early Monday morning as people settled in for another long day chained to the phones. I saw Robbie’s car as I droned across the lot with the flock, wondering, not for the first time, when he planned to get his bike from my garage. But, even more pressing on my mind, why had he been at the party this weekend? Was he watching me, or did we just happen to catch each other’s glance? Or…had he already moved on? Could he have been there with someone else, with…her? Maybe he had been hoping he wouldn’t see me. That thought cut me from inside. My stomach sank into my chair with me.