They turned with parade ground precision to enter the restaurant and marched to the velvet rope next to the sign that read “Please wait to be seated.” Matt told the hostess they needed a table for six. Even at nine thirty at night, they had to wait while she checked to see if the large table in the back was free.
Since there was no room to march, they contented themselves with stamping in place and playing their imaginary instruments. When Perry barked and Keisha “boomed,” the people sitting nearest the exit jumped. It seemed to Lynda that everyone in the restaurant turned to watch them. If she'd been herself that evening, she would have felt embarrassed, but she was Lucy that night, the girl who would be Queen. She raised her head with regal pride and sang louder. In record time, the hostess returned and showed them to a booth.
The benches on either side were long enough to fit all six actors. Lynda slipped in between Matt and Richard, while Keisha sat opposite her between David and Perry. Perry slid as close to Keisha as possible, put his arm around her shoulder and crooned into her ear. “I feel every now and then that I've got to bite someone.”
He leaned down and attacked her neck with mock fury. Keisha giggled and pretended to push him away.
“Watch out, Snoopy,” Lynda said before Keisha wrapped her arms around him and returned the favor. “She bites.”
Lynda smiled. Keisha and Perry made an intriguing couple. Keisha reveled in her African ancestry. As if deter-mined to deny the European ancestors who'd bequeathed her a narrow nose and hazel eyes, she corn-rowed her hair and preferred bright, flowing dresses to blue jeans. Lynda knew that Keisha's secret dream was to someday visit the African continent and search for distant relatives. Perry, on the other hand, had grandparents who immigrated from Haiti the year before his father was born. The relative purity of his ancestry showed in his blue-black complexion and classic African features. He was tall, a full head taller than Keisha, and thin. Lynda could imagine Perry standing on one leg, spear in hand, surveying the Serengeti Plain. But Perry had no interest in Africa, or in his African origins. He was an all-American boy, and proud of it. No one followed baseball with more fervor. No one ate more hot dogs and hamburgers. No one watched more sitcoms on TV.
Richard put his arm around Lynda and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “They're a cute couple, aren't they? Almost as cute as we could be.”
Lynda found herself returning a remarkably warm smile, and had to remind herself that Richard went through girlfriends like most people went through potato chips. Glancing around the room, she spotted a girl watching them from a nearby table. The girl had long hair the color of spring sunlight and amber eyes. Lynda guessed she was fifteen or sixteen. “We'd make a terrible couple,” she said, pulling away from him. “She's more your type.”
Richard followed Lynda's gaze to the solitary girl. The girl smiled tentatively before turning back to an enormous bowl of salad. “Good point.”
Standing, Richard nodded to the others and sauntered over to her table. Lynda—stung that he'd agreed with her and angry at herself for caring—refused to watch, but she couldn't help hearing their conversation through the buzz around the table.
“Hello.” Richard's voice dripped interest. “I'm having a party with some friends. Want to join us?”
The waitress dropped off six glasses of water and a stack of menus. Determined not to pay any attention to what Richard was doing, Lynda snatched a menu from the pile and threw it open, nearly ripping it in half.
“Thanks anyway,” the girl said. “My date'll be right back.” Her voice was soft and light, like her hair, with a noticeable east coast accent.
Lynda tried to concentrate on pizza.
“He should know better than leave a pretty little thing like you all alone.”
Jerk, Lynda thought.
The blonde must have agreed because her answer was cool and firm. “You should get back to your table before your friends miss you.”
“Come and meet them,” Richard insisted.
Lynda heard a sharp intake of breath. She was laying down her menu when another voice, low, angry, and familiar spoke.
“Let her go, Hammer.”
The menu dropped to the floor. Lynda spun around and saw Greg looming over Richard. They stood beside the booth, the blonde sandwiched between them. Richard glanced over at Lynda. “Hey, Lynda, I told you there had to be a reason Ursek's never free at night. Here she is.” His smile turned her stomach to ice.
Greg turned and appeared to notice her for the first time. “Lynda? What are you ... I mean, I thought with the play and all...”
Jumping up, Lynda stormed to Greg's table. On the way, her elbow hit a waitress carrying a tray of drinks. The tray tipped, the drinks slid, and the waitress swore when ice and soda splashed across her blouse. Lynda never noticed. A molten mass clogged her throat. It stung her eyes and drenched her words with sarcasm. “So, you only go out on evenings you think I'm busy. How considerate of you.”
Lynda knew Greg wasn't like Richard, that she should ask him what was going on. But she was too humiliated. Blinking back tears, she turned and fled the restaurant. Before the door swung shut behind her, she heard the soft, light voice ask, “What was that about, Greg? Who is she?”
Sobbing outside the restaurant, Lynda never heard Greg's answer.
Interlude
HE STARED INTO the alley. The building's lights were off; its occupants slept. Even the bulb over the stairwell had burned out. Street lights struggled to brighten the night, but they seemed miles away. No illumination invaded the shadows. The dark shapes lining the alley could have been trash cans, Weber grills, or lonely people with no better place to sleep.
A siren sounded in the distance. Its undulating wail shattered the alley's silence, but couldn't lift the crushing solitude. He looked accusingly at the sky. Even through the thick cloud cover, he could feel the moon's presence, but it offered no comfort. Riding high above the world, the infant crescent was powerless to brighten the alleyway, or to lift the shadow from his heart. Turning his back on the night, he returned to his dark and lonely bed.
Chapter 11
LYNDA WAS late. Tearing around the corner of the Circle theater, she almost missed the stage door. She threw it open and rushed inside, nearly colliding with Ellen and Matt.
They stood next to an old fashioned rotary pay phone, apparently arguing. Ellen never blushed, but today her cheeks burned as brightly as her eyes. Matt stared at the toes of his running shoes, his whole face crimson. Not wanting to get mixed-up in their fight, Lynda murmured an apology and continued toward the dressing room.
Ellen caught her arm. “I was about to call you. Miss Mendelson wants everyone to get into costume ASAP.”
She turned back to Matt and said in a rush, “What I'm saying is that I'm in the dance recital next weekend. I'd like it if you came.”
Without a word, he fled past her into the men's dressing room.
Ellen sighed. “At least he listened to the invitation.” She paused and looked closely at Lynda. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Because you look awful, that's why. Come off it, Lynda, this is me you're talking to. What's up?”
“I had trouble sleeping last night.” Lynda darted into the women's dressing room before Ellen could ask more questions.
Ellen barged in after her. “You can't fool me. I know you too well. You're upset about something.”
Lynda sat in front of the make-up table. “Would you just leave me alone?” Wincing at the dark rings under her eyes, she picked up a coverstick and started dabbing it on.
Ellen hopped up on the table facing her friend. Dang-ling her feet over the edge, she swung them back and forth like a restless five-year-old. “You might as well tell me now. You know I won't give up until you do.”
“Fine,” Lynda snapped, throwing the coverstick back in the make-up box. “After last night's performance, I ran into Greg at the Medici.”
“Greg? As in Never-goes-out-
after-dark Ursek?”
“Right. Not only was it after nine o'clock, but he was with this really beautiful girl.”
Growing comprehension filled Ellen's gray eyes. “Oh.”
Lynda grabbed the lightest shade of foundation and started slapping it on. “I practically begged him to come with me to the cast party, but he said his parents wouldn't let him go out at night. Richard's right, Greg's been jerking me around.”
Ellen leaned forward and put her hand on Lynda's shoulder. “I don't know what happened last night, but I do know that you can't trust anything Richard says. Did you ask Greg who the girl was?”
“What was I supposed to say, ‘Hey, Greg, who's the bimbo?’ I don't think so.”
“Well I wouldn't ask like that.” Ellen paused. “Didn't Greg say something about having visitors this weekend?”
Lynda frowned into the mirror while she blended in the streaks. “Yeah. Something about his aunt and bratty cousin.”
“Well, there you go,” Ellen said triumphantly.
Lynda turned to her. “What?”
“I bet you saw him out with his bratty cousin.”
“That's ridiculous. She's gorgeous. No way is she any-body's bratty cousin.”
“Wrong,” Ellen said. “Looks don't count when you're related. I bet even Madonna is somebody's bratty cousin.”
“Well, maybe.”
“Not maybe, definitely.”
Lynda felt a curious lightness. “Do you really think so?”
“I'm sure so. Why don't you give Greg a call and ask him?”
“I can't do that,” Lynda said. “I lost my temper and really made a scene. He's probably not speaking to me.”
“I'll call him, if you want,” Ellen offered.
“No!” Lynda considered a second before continuing, “I'll wait and ask him Monday. By then he'll have time to cool off, if he's mad at me, and I'll have time to figure out how to handle it if it turns out she's not his cousin.”
Lynda's lips eased into a tentative smile. “Thanks for butting in, Ellen. I think.”
“What are friends for?” Ellen slid off the table and headed for the door. “Break a leg, Lynda.”
“Thanks.”
Lynda turned back to the mirror and finished putting on her make-up. Keisha joined her a few minutes later. They were dressed and ready to go by the time the stage manager called the three minute warning.
* * * *
AFTER THE curtain fell, the girls ran into the dressing room. Lynda took a seat at the make-up table, while Keisha started undressing. A few minutes later, Ellen joined them. “Are you coming to dinner with us?” Lynda asked.
“Can't. I've got to go home, pick up my costume, and get back to the school auditorium in,” she checked her watch, “less than half an hour. Ms. Cavelini wants us all there early for the dress rehearsal.”
“At least, you were able to work crew with us this afternoon.” Lynda started removing sweat-streaked make-up. “I was afraid you wouldn't get a chance to help with ‘Charlie Brown.'”
“Me, too,” Ellen said, nodding. “Are your parents coming tonight?”
“No. They saw the show yesterday.”
Lynda picked up the bouquet of white carnations perched beside the mirror and buried her face in the cool petals. Their fragrance reminded her of her father's expression when he'd presented it after the show.
Ignoring her sweat soaked costume, he'd wrapped his arms around her in an enormous hug. Her mother had smiled and kissed the air next to her left cheek. They'd wanted to take her to Hemingway's to celebrate, but Lynda had talked them into letting her go out with the cast instead. If she'd only gone with her parents she wouldn't have seen Greg in the Medici.
Lynda forced her mind back to the present. “How late does the rehearsal go?”
“Until ten or so.”
“Why don't you join us at Richard's party afterwards? Matt's going to be there.”
“No thanks. I visited Richard's house once last year, and that was plenty for me.” Ellen took a deep breath. “I know Richard's been acting nicer, but he gets weird at home. Whatever you do, don't—”
A knock sounded on the dressing room door, and Richard Hammer stuck his head in. “You girls decent? We're out of cold cream in the other room.”
Lynda glanced over at Keisha, who nodded. “Come and get it.”
He stepped into the dressing room and reached past Lynda to grab a jar of cold cream. His hand brushed her arm. “Thanks, Lynda. Ellen.” He smiled, turned, and left.
After the door closed, Ellen turned and whispered, “Whatever you do, don't let him get you alone.”
“Why? Does this have anything to do with why you broke up with him last year?”
“Just don't let him get you alone,” Ellen repeated. She checked her watch. “Got to go. See you Monday, Lynda. Be careful at the party, okay?”
“Okay,” Lynda said. “Have fun at your recital. Break a leg.”
“Thanks, Lynda. You, too.” The two friends smiled at each other. Then Ellen checked her watch again and ran out of the theater.
* * * *
THEY WERE on the last verse of the last song. Lucy and Charlie Brown stood in the center of a circular stage, while the others sang from surrounding ramps.
The lights began a slow dim. Lucy turned to her long-suffering friend. “You're a good man, Charlie Brown.”
And the audience exploded.
* * * *
“ALL RIGHT!” Perry was the first one backstage, as usual. The rest of the cast crowded after him, all talking at once.
“Awesome show!”
“Give me five, my man.”
“Matt, you were great!”
“All in favor of electing Lynda queen, say ‘Aye.'” A chorus of voices carried the motion.
“What about Keisha?” Lynda laughed after the four male characters picked her up and carried her around on their shoulders singing, “For she's a jolly good queenie.”
“Can only have one queen,” Perry answered, after they set her down. “Have to elect Keisha Goddess.”
After a chorus of, “For she's a jolly good Goddess,” and a congratulatory kiss from the new divinity, he set her down as well.
“Anyone need a ride to the party?” Perry asked.
Lynda nodded. “I do. Mom's Audi is in the shop again.”
“Me, too,” said Matt.
Richard tore off his yellow T-shirt and tossed it to Perry. “Put that with the other costumes, would you? I've got to go home and set up.” Throwing a jacket over his bare chest, Richard waved and ran out the side entrance. Everyone else scattered to the dressing rooms.
* * * *
RICHARD'S HOUSE blazed with light when the carload of cast members pulled up in front. 4915 Greenwood was one of the smaller houses on the block, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in style. After languishing for decades, Kenwood's mansions had been swept up in a wave of gentrification. In the early eighties, Richard's parents had anticipated the trend, bought, and painstakingly restored the brick and limestone Victorian.
The cast members ran from Perry's ancient Oldsmobile through the light rain to an open wrought iron gate and found themselves in a world completely removed from the street a few yards away. Artfully lit flower beds showed faded tulips and daffodils to their best advantage. Garnet hued numbers glittered over the doorway. The brass knocker and knob glowed in the porch light. Even the traffic noise seemed muted. Except for the iron bars on the windows and doors, they could have been standing in an exclusive North Shore suburb.
“So this is how the other half lives,” Perry whispered while they walked up to the door.
Lynda snorted. Perry's mother was a well-known children's dentist, his father a respected architect. She'd been to their lake shore condo and knew it was easily as elegant as the Victorian jewel in front of them.
Richard opened the door before they had a chance to knock. He'd changed into tan slacks and a forest green polo shirt. His eyes reflected the
dark fabric and appeared even more vibrant than usual, like emerald magnets. “Come in out of the rain. My parents decided to turn in early, but their room's soundproofed. We can party all we want.”
The cast members followed him through the entryway into what was probably a family room. Someone had pushed the couch against the wall and rolled up the carpet. The wooden floor gleamed under the subdued track lighting. A multimedia center dominated one end of the room. A table next to it held a keg of beer, a bowl of punch, some glasses, and chips.
Richard had cranked the CD system to three-quarters volume and the whole house rocked with alternative music. Some of it was good to dance to, and Lynda enjoyed herself until her ears began to ring.
Wishing she'd brought ear plugs, she looked around the room. David and Matt were dancing with a couple of girls from the stage crew. Perry and Keisha lay kissing on the couch. Richard and most of the crew had vanished. Lynda preferred mellower groups like Jewel to the jarring dissonance of White Zombie, particularly when played loud enough to hurt her fillings. She decided to join the missing crew in another, hopefully quieter, part of the house. Stopping at the drink table, Lynda passed up the beer and grabbed a glass of punch. She took a sip before stepping into the hallway.
The punch tasted sweet, almost sickeningly so. Lynda's stomach churned and burned around the strange liquid. Trying to pinpoint its ingredients, Lynda took a second, smaller sip. She couldn't tell what was in it, Hawaiian Punch, certainly, but something thicker and stickier as well.
The second sip went down a littler easier. Her stomach calmed, and the burning turned into a warm glow. The punch reminded her of snow-cone syrup, she decided. Lynda toyed with the idea of going back to the living room and getting something else to drink, but the volume increased behind her. Torn between burst eardrums, or drinking the thin syrup, she opted for the syrup. After all, if she ran across the kitchen, she could always pour it out and refill the glass with water.
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