I wander over to where we found the prince capes. There’s a shelf full of crowns and a mirror on the side of the aisle. I pick out two and carry them to the mirror. One is more of a tiara than a full crown. I set it on my head. Tanisha offered to sweep my hair into an updo, whatever that means. I think the tiara will be a better choice than the bigger crown, and it’s three dollars less, so, decision made, I walk back to put the crown away.
I stop.
Something has caught my eye and I can’t seem to move. I hear Adam calling my name from the front of the store, but don’t immediately respond.
I’m standing in front of a costume display, frozen to the floor, heart racing. I don’t understand what is going on inside me. I mean, why am I staring at this particular rack? What does it mean?
I don’t need a black cloak.
Do I?
Eighteen
Time for action.
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The week flew by and although I have been checking the mail and my e-mail daily, there’s no word from the scholarship committee. Not yet. It’s Friday and today’s mail had nothing with that famous Yale crest in the left-hand corner. Maybe tomorrow.
Now I’m getting dressed. Casual. My own clothes. Blue jeans, black tank top, cute boots, funky long coat. I bought the coat last year, but haven’t had many occasions to wear it. It’s that funky. It looks solid grassy green from a distance, but when you get close there are autumn-colored flecks in the material. It’s a “going out” coat and tonight … I’m going out.
But not with Adam.
I know you’re probably wondering where my boyfriend is. Well, I suppose you could say he gave me the night off. Adam wanted to go to the movies with some guys from swimming. He suggested that I take the evening and focus on sewing the dresses since the prom is only eight days away.
“Great idea,” I told him.
I lied.
There is a lot of work to be done on the dresses, that part is true, but I’m not planning to do it tonight. Nope. I’m wearing my kick-ass jacket and going to a bar. Eight p.m. The Holy Grail.
I never told Cherise about the cryptic invitation I was given at Gavin Masterson’s house. I never told a soul. This is my secret. Mine alone.
I might not have gone tonight if Adam had wanted to do something together. But the truth is, I was glad for the reprieve. Who needs a break from their boyfriend? Me, apparently.
As I sit on the bus to Pleasant Ridge, the butterflies in my stomach begin to multiply. I’m a bit nauseated.
I actually like taking public transportation in Cincinnati. We have those new buses that use old cooking grease for fuel, which makes them smell vaguely like French fries. Under normal circumstances the smell is appealing, but tonight, my stomach is churning and I long for the old smell of gasoline and burning oil.
When I get off the bus a few blocks away from the club, I need to sit down to collect myself.
It wasn’t really the bus that’s making me ill. It’s that I’m about to do something completely out of character. Obsessively anal, highly neurotic, overscheduled teenaged girls don’t lie to their new boyfriends (and father—I told him I was out with Cherise) then take a bus across town to go to a bar, the invitation for which was mysteriously handed to her by some strange boy.
I put my head between my knees and take a few deep breaths. The realization hits that I have no idea what or who I’m going to find at the Holy Grail. Part of me, the biggest part, wants to sit here until the next bus comes and catch a ride back home. This was a stupid idea. I could be walking into danger. Maybe some psychotic stalker gave me that invitation and the gory details of my demise will lead tomorrow’s news headlines.
Then again, I’ve come this far. I might as well see it through.
I decide to give my imagination a rest and, getting up from the bench, point my feet toward the Holy Grail. What good are cute boots and a stylin’ jacket if you don’t take them out every once in a while? I’m going in!
At the door, the bouncers are handing wristbands to anyone over twenty-one. Without a wristband, I order a Sprite, then make my way to the front of the room, near the dance floor. A band is playing. They’re actually pretty good. A lot of people are dancing.
The Holy Grail is packed. Most of the people inside are college-aged, probably from the University of Cincinnati or maybe Miami of Ohio. I don’t see anyone I know and again, I wonder what has possessed me to come here.
A guy named Bill, or Phil, (it’s really loud in here) asks me to dance. I turn him down. I’m positive I didn’t come here to dance with a guy wearing a plaid sweater vest.
The band finishes their set and a DJ takes over while the next band sets up. I’ve been here a half hour so far, and I still have no idea what I’m doing here. I’ll give my mysterious invitation sender another twenty minutes to make the big reveal, then I’m going home. The club seems like a fun place, the energy is electric, but I’m alone. Being at a bar alone is very similar to eating alone. I don’t like either one. You can only watch other people have fun for so long before you have to either quit or join in. In twenty minutes, I’m planning to quit.
The DJ spins another song, then the bar goes dark. A spinning strobe announces that a new band is about to begin. This is obviously the band that people have come tonight to see. There is a crush as people rush to the base of the stage. The dance floor no longer has any room for dancing, and I am pressed up to the base of the stage between Bill/Phil and a college girl wearing a bra as if it were a shirt.
There’s so much screaming and cheering that I miss the announced introduction of the band. I turn to bra girl to ask what the announcer said, but she’s now making out with Bill/Phil. I wonder if they know each other. I bet not. I’m pretty sure they met over my head and behind my back, since until a few minutes ago, I was standing between them. I briefly wonder if bra girl is feeling fireworks from the kiss.
The drummer has begun the set. Sitting alone under a spotlight, he’s wearing black. Black T-shirt, black jeans, black boots. He’s banging out a rhythm and the crowd is stirring wildly, hands pumping in the air to the beat.
A bass guitarist joins the drummer. Then another guitarist, acoustic this time. I’m starting to feel those butterflies again in my stomach. With blinding clarity, I know for sure they aren’t caused by the bus fumes. This time, they’re in anticipation.
I now know who it was that braved Gavin Masterson’s house party and gave twenty bucks to some kid to deliver an invitation to me. I should have guessed.
There’s an excitement in the crowd as the band begins to play together. Only one last musical position needs to be filled. I’m shoved up against the stage base with a perfect view of that still-empty seat. It sits in front of the keyboards.
A little drum solo. A guitar jam. A bass rhythm. And then, the spotlight focuses on the guy walking across the stage. Black cargo pants. Black T-shirt. Black tennis shoes. And a shiny silver earring.
Tyler Gregory winks at me and then begins to play.
Nineteen
There is something going on that you do not fully understand.
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“Sylvie!” I hear my name called from somewhere behind me. I know that voice as well as my own. It’s Cherise.
She and Nathan shove their way through the crowd toward me. I hear her saying, “Excuse me,” over and over again as they barrel forward.
Cherise wedges herself between me and Bill/Phil. She and Nathan are holding hands and I immediately notice that she’s holding as tightly to him as he is to her. They look like they are actually enjoying the whole handholding thing, sweaty palms and all.
“I thought you’d be out with Adam tonight,” Cherise says. “What are you doing here?” She’s screaming, three millimeters from my ear and still, I can barely hear her.
What am I doing here? That’s a loaded question. There is the short answer: Tyler invited me. And the long answer, which begins the day I lost the diam
ond out of my mother’s ring and ends here at the Holy Grail watching Silent Knight in concert.
The long answer is too confusing. The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’ll shoot for the short answer and see what happens.
“Tyler invited me,” I say simply.
“He did?” Cherise asks. I nod, then in an attempt to get out of any further conversation, I turn to Nathan and say, “Hey.”
With his free hand, Nathan gives me a little hug. I smile. He’s a nice guy and he and Cherise seem good together.
In the pause between songs, Cherise tells me that this is Silent Knight’s first big gig. They hired a manager, who’s doing great things for the band. Once Tyler graduates and the guys can devote themselves full-time to their music, Cherise thinks that they might really have a chance at hitting the music scene huge.
Those butterflies I was feeling have converted to a groundswell of warmth. I’m filled with pride. My best friend’s brother. My friend Tyler Gregory rocks the house.
Silent Knight takes three encores. They play until they run out of their own original music and have to start playing radio covers.
After the concert, Tyler is swarmed by fans. We can’t get near him, so we hang off to the side waiting for the crowd to thin. Most of his admirers are girls, who are thrusting small slips of paper at him with their phone numbers written in lipstick. He pockets the numbers, but I see him look over at me a few times, and it almost seems like he’s gauging my reaction. What do I care if college girls are coming on to him? I have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who’s taking me to prom next weekend.
Cherise grows quickly bored with waiting for her brother and tells him to catch up with us at the Corner Café. By the time we leave the club, it’s late. I’ve called my father to extend my curfew. He said that as long as I was in the neighborhood, which includes the café, I could have an extra hour.
I feel better now that I’m not lying to my father anymore. One lie is more than I can emotionally handle at a time. Now I really am out with Cherise. And Nathan. And once he breaks free from his adoring public, Tyler will be joining us, too.
No bus for me. Nathan has wheels. And as fate would have it, Nathan’s car is a hybrid. I run my fingers through my hair and wonder why Cherise and Nathan never got together before now. They are kindred souls.
Dotty shows us to a booth by the window and hands us each a menu. It’s past midnight now and the place is pretty much deserted. Clearly Cherise has been bringing Nathan here pretty often, as she asks us what we were up to tonight and Cherise tells her about Tyler’s big concert.
“That boy’s gonna be famous some day,” Dotty tells us. “Mark my words.”
Cherise agrees. “The band was great tonight.”
“How’s Jonathan Miller’s family doing?” Dotty asks Cherise. “I think about him nearly everyday.”
“Me, too,” Cherise says. A second ago, I though I was part of the conversation, or at least knew what was going on; now suddenly I’m out. I have no idea who Jonathan Miller is. And, by the look on his face, neither does Nathan.
Dotty pinches her lips together and says, “Tell Alex ‘hey’ for me, when you see him next.”
“Will do,” Cherise says, then we all order.
When Dotty retreats to the kitchen, I turn to Cherise. “Who’s Jonathan Miller? Or Alex?”
“You remember Jonathan, don’t you?” Cherise toys with the edge of her paper napkin, tearing off a sliver and rolling it between her fingers into a ball.
I’m about to swear I’ve never heard of him, but then I put it all together. Just to be sure, I ask, “Is Jonathan the same as J.J.?”
A shadow passes Cherise’s eyes and for a minute, I think maybe she’s going to tear up.
Nathan gives me a questioning look and I explain, “J.J. Miller was one of the original members of Silent Knight.” I know the story, even though I never actually met J.J. “He was the drummer. Jonathan was two years older than us.”
Cherise jumps in, reminding me that the band’s members were from Tyler’s junior high school soccer league. Jonathan was one of the oldest players on the team, Tyler, one of the youngest. She leans her head onto Nathan’s shoulder for support as she continues the story.
“Right out of high school, J.J. joined the army.” Cherise gets that moist-foggy look in her eyes again. “His unit was taken directly from basic training and dropped in the middle of Baghdad.”
“Go on,” Nathan gently prods.
“He was killed by a roadside bomb less than a month after he deployed.” Cherise says all that on one breath, as if the words themselves are so painful that they need to be said quickly and gotten over with as fast as possible.
It comes back to me in a flood of memory. At the time, I was visiting my mother’s cousin in Kentucky. It was the one week I’ve ever taken off from work. By the time I got back, J.J.’s death was old news, the funeral was over, and Cherise didn’t want to talk about it.
“Those Miller boys used to come in here all the time with their dad,” Dotty chimes in as she returns to our table carrying our drinks. “The parents were divorced. Mr. Miller would have the boys two weekends a month. They’d drop by for Sunday brunch. It was a tradition.” Dotty sets the waters on the table and puts her hands on her hips. “After Jonathan died, Mr. Miller stopped coming in. Now and again he’ll pop by, but I think there are too many memories in this place for him to handle.”
“Who’s Alex?” I ask after a respectable silent pause. For me, the story began and ended with Jonathan’s death.
“J.J.’s kid brother,” Cherise answers as Dotty goes to welcome new customers. “He took over the drummer position for the band.”
There’s a question niggling at the back of my mind. It’s been there since Tyler told me to “ask Cherise,” a couple weeks ago. I never did and now, it feels somehow connected.
“Why does Tyler wear only black?” I ask slowly, as if the question is as big and important as “What is the meaning of life?” In my head I can distinctly see the other members of Silent Knight dressed the same as Tyler.
“When Jonathan shipped out,” Cherise says tossing her little napkin ball and ripping off another strip from the tissue, “the band agreed that they would only wear black until Jonathan came home safely.” Cherise snuggles in tighter to Nathan. “None of them is willing to break the pact. Even after the funeral, the guys have kept on wearing black.”
Has it really only been two years that Tyler has been dressing in black? Funny how the memory can play tricks on a person. I’d swear it was forever. But now that I’m thinking about it, maybe it has only been the last few years. I am bringing up a picture of Tyler, sitting on his living room rug, reading a book, wearing khaki pants and a striped T-shirt. It must have been the beginning of our sophomore year because I’m certain that Cherise and I were on the couch reviewing notes for our first algebra exam of the semester.
Cherise pulls herself away from Nathan and leans forward. “Do you know how hard it is to find organic fabric dyes in black? The stuff has no holding power. One wash and his shirts fade to gray.” She smiles and the tension is broken.
“Does he have any plans to add color in the near future?” I ask.
“No,” Tyler answers. The conversation was so intense that nobody noticed he had arrived. I wonder how long he’d been standing by the booth, listening. He sits down next to me, saying, “I might go on dressed like Zorro for the remainder of my days.” He tells me that when the guys made the pact, they’d tacked on wearing the requisite black cloaks as a joke. They never expected that J.J. wasn’t coming home.
“J.J. would love knowing that he single-handedly ruined the individual fashions of his three best friends and brother, too.” Tyler shrugs. “I regret that pact every day since we made it. What I’d give to wear white underwear!”
I nearly laugh. I had wondered about Tyler’s underwear once before.
The conversation moves from Jonathan Miller and the war in Iraq to th
e band’s big news. Apparently their new manager got them another gig next Saturday night. Tyler will find out the details in a few days.
Cherise and Nathan immediately remind Tyler that next Saturday is prom night. He knew that, but since he’s not going, it doesn’t matter. “You’re a great sis,” he tells Cherise, “but you don’t have to be at every gig.”
“While you’re playing the clubs, I’ll come when I can, but mostly be with you in spirit,” she says. “But when you hit it big, you’d better save me a seat at the Grammys,” Cherise adds with a laugh. She glances at Nathan, then amends, “Two seats.”
I want to go to the Grammys, too. But it seems silly to throw that out there. I mean, not that Tyler might not make it to the Grammy Awards, but because Tyler and I don’t really have a relationship. It would be too weird for him to include me on his VIP list.
The café is closing. It’s time for us all to go home.
Cherise walks Nathan to his car. Tyler and I start walking toward our apartment building together. That usually comfortable silence between us feels heavy. There are things that need to be said, but how to begin?
“Thanks for inviting me tonight,” I say, letting Tyler know that I figured out he was the one who hired the mysterious delivery guy at Gavin Masterson’s party.
“You’re welcome,” Tyler says simply. With that, the conversation about the invitation is opened and closed.
Speaking of Gavin Masterson, Tyler and I are about three blocks from our apartment building when we run into him. Not literally, but pretty darn close. He pops out of a bar almost at the exact same time as we pass the doorway. And to my great surprise, Adam’s with him.
“Hi,” I say sheepishly, looking from Adam to the sign above the GLOBETROTTER BAR. I’m experiencing that horribly uncomfortable flushed feeling that you get when you’ve been caught in a lie. Wait a second! What’s Adam doing at a bar? And why’s he alone with Gavin?
In the Stars Page 14
