Stacy's Song (11 page)

 

I had Greg now. I could put any personal feelings for Michael behind me. Every girl at school envied me. I was better off the way things were. Any girl who didn't have Silly Putty in place of brains could understand that. But some feelings just don't die easily. I found that out the hard way when I least expected it.

My first evening back at the club after being ill wasn't an easy one. First, Mom didn't want me to go; then Dad came home from work and heard about it. He was furious. I told him it was the last time I would perform with the band, but I nee
ded more time to tell them. He
was totally unsy
mpathetic. Anyway
,
I explained to my parents that I was feeling a lot better. I don't think they believed me. I'm not sure I believed it myself. I was still tired and not at full strength. But I was determ
ined to perform. Mom pressed my
cell phone into my hand in case I needed
to call for
an early ride home.

Jimmy pro
vided door-to-door limo service
and I bundled up against the cold just like I promised Mom. I suppose I always wante
d people to make a fuss over me but now that they were
I was mortified.

The minute we entered the club I forgot all about being sick. I felt elated and cheerful knowing I would perform again before an audience. I missed that while I was ill. Liz did most of the talking on our way to the club. Michael remained quiet and Jimmy concentrated on his driving.

Mr. Kemp welcomed me back with open arms. “Glad to see you with the group, Stacy
.” He chomped down on his cigar
thankfully unlit. “Things weren't the same without you.”

“I appreciate you saying that, but no one's indispensable. I'm sure I could be replaced easily.”

He shook hi
s head
and his chins, both of them, moved side to side as if for extra emphasis. “No, it's not the same without you. The sound is different, not as good. And Michael dragged his tail. They need you.”

I k
new he meant it as a compliment
but it made me feel guilty. We gave a good performance, although I did get tired early in the evening. The initial rush of adrenaline didn't last. Michael somehow sens
ed it because in the later sets
he chose either instrume
ntals or he sang with Liz. So I
didn't have to work as hard as usual.

It went well except for one thing: during our last set, the crowd's noise level was higher than usual. One guy in particular was making something of a commotion. He talked and laughed in a loud voice, bothering others who tried to ignore him. Usually, Mr. Kemp has someone around who keeps the peace, but his bouncer hadn't come to w
ork that evening. I have to say he was rarely needed
but I kind of wished he'd been around this particular evening.

When we ended our performance
we immediately began dismantling our equipment. Jimmy and Liz carried our instruments out to the van. Michael and I finished what needed to be done on stage.

I realized someone was near me and I looked up.

“Hey
,
babe
,
how about you and me go out now?” It was the loudmouth from the audience.

“Sorry
I have to go home. My
parents are waiting up.” Which
,
knowing my parents
,
was not a lie.
He moved so close I could smell his breath. One whiff made me feel as if I had invaded a distillery and was drowning in a vat of beer. I knew full well that Mr. Kemp never allowed alcoholic beverages served on Teen Night. We wouldn't have been able to perform at the club if he had. He could also h
ave lost his liquor license. No
,
this guy came here in that condition. He looked no more than nineteen or twenty
years old. He sported a narrow
little mustache he ob
viously thought gave him a cool
macho appearance. He had his flashy shirt open at the neck; I guess to show off his gold chains.

I turned
my back and tried to ignore him
to carry on with m
y clean-up chores. But I gave
the fellow some credit
;
he
sure knew how to be persistent.

“Hey
,
honey
,
let's go out tonight. Don't be so stuck-up! I'll show you a real good time. I promise.” He laughed as if convinced he'd said something truly amusing.

Michael stepped between us. “He bothering you?” His muscles tensed.

“Not a problem I can't handle. Don't worry.”

He nodded b
ut didn't look convinced. “Okay
,
your call. Let me know if you need me.”

I appreciated him giving me space to handle this
myself. I figured the guy was
harmless.

“So have we got a date?”

“Not interested. Go home and get some sleep.” I started to walk away.

“I'll go to sleep if you'll come with me,” he said with a leer. He put his hand on my arm.

I tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let g
o. His hand tightened on my arm
gripping me painfull
y. He wasn't tall. I
n fact
he was a
t least an inch shorter than me
but he sure was strong.

“Let go!”

He laughed
and I again got the benefit of his boozy breath that single-handed
ly
could have wiped out the entire germ population of the East Coast. “Honey,”
he said in a slurred voice. “I
like tall girls!”

“Buy a ticket for a girls' basketball game,” I suggested to him.

“Come on, let's go!”

I tri
ed pulling myself free. He was
starting to hurt me, trying to force me toward the exit.

“Okay, that's enough.” Michael came toward us. “
She would like to be left alone
,
fella. Stop bothering her!”

The drunk turned around. “Listen, I'd hit you if you weren't blind. Just get out of my way. This is none of your business!”

“Now there, you're wrong.” Michael tried to get his hands on Idiot Boy, to yank him away from me. Mr. Gold Chains wasn't having it. He wouldn't let go of my arm either.

“Stop bothering her.”

“There's nothing you can do about it,” he taunted.

Soon Michael's well-muscled arm took hold of the drunk, who staggered. Finally the other boy released me. “You asked for it,” he shouted, swinging toward Michael. He seemed so completely out of control, irrational, and unpredictable.

I must have screamed, afraid this character would punch Michael. But Michael held on to him with one hand. The other became a fist. He avoided the boy's blow, brought his fist around and landed a hard punch to the mid-section. I heard the wind literally go out of the jerk as he went down on the floor moaning and groaning, doubled over and holding his stomach.

Mr. Kemp raced toward us. He had his glasses on and I realized that he must have been back in his office working on accounts. “What's going on here?”

“This character came in drunk and tried to get physical with us,” I told him.

Mr. Kemp's beefy face colored a deeper shade of red. “I'll take care of
him. You come here with anybody
,
kid?”

The drunk was still dazed and replied only by shaking his head. Michael went toward the kid and took hold of him.

“Don't let him hit me again!”

“Relax,” Michael replied. “I'm just searchin
g for your car keys.” His hands quick and efficient
moved through the boy's pockets. “Here they are.” He prod
uced the keys and held them out
turning in Mr. Kemp's general direction. “Whatever you do, don't let him drive home. Order him a cab
or get him to call his parents
but don't return the keys tonight. Make him come back when he's sober. At least there'll be one less drunk on the road tonight.” His voice was full of powerful emotion and it occurred to me that Michael was thinking of the accident that had killed his father and left him blind for life.

“I'll call for that cab.” Mr. Kemp looked over at me. “Nasty bruise on your arm.”

Michael turned toward me. “You okay? Did he hurt you?”

“A little, but big girls
like me
don't cry.”

Michael smiled s
howing his dimple. “Big girls can
cry
too
. You have to stop exciting the men in the audience with your sex appeal.”

“So you think,” I challenged.

“So I know.” He took my arm and started to touch and explore it.

“Ouch. What are you doing?”

“Finding out how bruised you are.”

“Quit that!”

“Got a nasty lump.” He put his arm around me, his voice soft with sympathy.

It agitated me being so close to him again. It was sweet torture. “I'll put some ice on it at home.” I pulled away from him.

“Sorry,” he said. “Maybe I should have done something sooner.”

“No, I thought I had it under control. Thanks for caring.”

Instead of allowing me to go, he pulled me into his arms. Where he touched me, my skin grew hot, as if I'd been seared by an electric current. My heart began to beat in a rapid staccato. On impulse, I leaned toward him and kissed him on the lips. I thought it would be just a small peck, but to my surprise, I found him kissing me back. The warmth of his lips against mine brought such wonderful sensations. I don't think I ever felt so happy and good inside.

Then, just as suddenly, he was pushing me away. “No, no. This is a mistake.”

“Why?”

He shook his head and fisted his hands, shoving them into his jeans pockets. “You shouldn't have done that. Neither should I. Sorry. It was wrong.” He turned his back on me.

“I hate you, Michael Norris!”

“Of course, you do. I have that effect on people. I even hate me.”

That was too much! I was so hurt and angry I started to cry
. I didn't mean to lose control,
I just did. I honestly tried to choke back the sobs. I couldn't stand him rejecting me. I felt raw like my skin was being cut away by a knife.

He turned around, reached over and touched my cheek. “I thought you said big girls don't cry.”

“I lied! Never put your faith in old songs titles.”

“This is for the best,” he told me. “You'll see I'm right.”

At that moment, he
reminded me of my father. Why did they think they kne
w
what was best? Were they inside my heart? How could they understand how I felt
or what I need
ed
? It was infuriating!

Jimmy and Liz returned. I rubbed away any sign of tears. But when I looked over at Liz, I knew she was aware something had happened. Still,
she didn't say a word about it
for which I was grateful. The anguish was too great. I don't think I could have said anything that made any sense at that moment.

How stupid could one girl be? It was clear what I had to do, what was best for me. I heard my father's words in my head: one outside activity has to go. It had to be the band. That was the only sane solution to my problem.
Why would I continue to put mysel
f
through this torture?
But when I looked over at Michael, my heart ached.
I wanted to be with him. I just wanted him!

Forever.

*
***

I slept late on Saturday morning and still felt tired and depressed when I got up. I avoided my father, listening carefully to make certain he left the kitchen before I went in. My mother shoved a bowl of oatmeal in front of me and I let out an involuntary groan.

“It's good for you. So eat it. We have to build you up again.” She gave me her no nonsense frown.

“Couldn't you build me up with scrambled eggs instead?”

“Certainly, if you eat your oatmeal first.”

“Why is it that everyone thinks they know what's right for me? Do I strike you as a complete moron?”

She gave me an odd look, and I realized that I was out of line talking to her that way. After all, she did mean well.

“I'll throw out the oatmeal, if that's what you want,” Mom replied in a tight voice.

“No, I'll eat it. Only please, fix me something different tomorrow.” I ate the cereal, although I loathe
d
the stuff, because somehow I felt that if she had to throw the oatmeal away, the love would be thrown out right along with it.

I rested most of the day, lounged around feeling moody and doing as much schoolwork as I could stand. I was supposed to return to cheerleading that evening. There was an important basketball game. My heart wasn't in it, but I got ready anyway. Around four in the afternoon, Greg phoned and invited me out to dinner with his friends. Since the game started at eight, he would pick me up at six-thirty.

We went with Kar
en, Randy and two other couples that were
friends of Greg's. Only Karen and I were cheering, the rest would be spec
tators. The boys decided on burger
s. Apparently a bet had been made before Greg picked me up. Karen and Randy were in the backseat. The other two couple
s met us at the burger joint
on the highway. Greg and Randy had the price of basketball tickets bet on who could e
at the largest number of burger
s.

We walked inside and I sat with Karen and the other girls. The guys got down to the serious business of ordering. By the time they finished the meal, the table was littered with carnage. There were empty plastic containers everywher
e. Greg wolfed down five big burger
s before he quit. His other two friends stopped at four each. But to Randy went the sweet taste of victory. He polished off his
sixth burger with a gulp of cola
and then let out the loudest belch I've ever heard.

“Oh, how gross! Totally disgusting!” Karen stood up, folding her arms over her sweater and stalked away. Randy's smile of triumph faded from his lips. Success wasn't always sweet after all.

“I didn't mean to offend her.”

“We know you didn't mean to be crude,” I reassured him. “I'll talk to Karen.”

“Thanks.” Randy looked relieved.

I found Karen standing near some little children pl
aying tag. Her face was flushed and
she tapped her toe and frowned.

“Come on back,” I said. “Randy feels awful.”

“He should. He can be such a slob!”

“I remember in an old movie someone said when you burp after a meal in an Arab home, it's considered good manners. Shows you enjoyed your meal.”

“Randy's no Arab! He's just an immature kid.” Karen's green eyes had darkened like a storm at sea.

“I thought you liked Randy.”

She turned and faced me. “I do like him, but he acts like such a jerk sometimes. Not like Greg. You're so lucky to have him. He's awesome.”

Funny, I wasn't feeling all that lucky.

After I persuaded Karen to return to the table, things calmed down. Greg kidded Randy about his appetite and we all relaxed.

“We're gonna have to call you
the bottomless pit from now on
dude.”

“How about quicksand? That has a nicer ring.”

“Maybe Randy the refrigerator,” one of Greg's other friends suggested.

“Nope, that name's already taken,” Greg remarked.

We sat for a while and talked together. The guys continued to joke aro
und, poking each other. It was
pleasant being with all of them. They were easy company. But when it was time to go on to the
game
I suddenly felt light-headed.

“What's wrong?” Greg asked as he steadied me.

“No big deal. I'm still rundown and I guess my blood pressure's kind of low. Sometimes when I've been sitting for a long time and I get up too fast, I start to black out, but it never lasts. I'm okay now.”

“Are you sure?” He frowned at me.

I told him I was good to go
but as we walked out to the car I felt so tired. “Greg
,
I don't think I'm going to the game after all.”

He seemed concerned. “I'll take you home.”

“You've got to cheer tonight. Ms. Gladstone was upset when you missed those other games,” Karen said.

“She knows I've been sick.”

Karen seemed more annoyed then concerned about me.

“Why don't I just drop Karen and Randy at the game. Then I can take you home and we can sit and watch television together.”

Greg could be so considerate. “Thanks, but I don't want to spoil your evening. Just drop me off at home. I think I need to go to bed early. I'
m not fully over being sick yet
,
I guess.”

“Okay, if that's what you want.” Greg shrugged.

He might ha
ve argued with me a little more
,
I decided
,
or was I being a tad unfair to him?

After a ride done pretty much in silence, Greg walked me to my door. He didn't kiss me, just gave me a quick friendly hug—maybe he thought I was still contagious. Then he took off fast, so they wouldn't be late for the game.

When I came inside
I tried to walk quietly through the foyer and up the stairs to my bedroom. But my little brother has ears like an elephant. “Stacy's home!” he announced.

“What?” It was my father sou
nding less than pleased. “Stacy
,
come here. I want to talk to you.” It sounded more like an imperial edict than a request.

I walked into the living room at a slow pace.

“Aren't you supposed to be at a basketball game tonight?”

“I had Greg bring me home.”

My father raised his brows, sharp lines forming in his forehead. His face was all planes and hard angles. “Weren't you supposed to cheerlead tonight?”

I took off my jacket and gloves. “I wasn't up to it.”

“You were up to playing with your band last night, weren't you?” His voice accused me.

I shifted my stance in an uneasy manner. “That was different.”

My mother entered the living room. Mom listened to us as she dried her hands from cleaning up in the kitchen.

“Why was it so different?” He wasn't letting up.

“It just was.” I didn't want to explain how I felt because he wouldn't understand anyway. He only saw one side of everything—his own.

“I don't want you to perform with that band anymore. Do you und
erstand? If you don't tell them
I will.”

Now I did
feel
awfully
sick. I turned to my mother. “Mom, can I go lie down? I feel weak.”

She and my father exchanged a look. He still appeared fierce like a bull watching a matador, and I half-expected him to start charging me.

“Get some rest
dear.” Mom gave Dad a gentle sm
ile. “We don't want Stacy upset
do we?” Mom had a way of handling him. “We can talk tomorrow,” Mom stated.

That
was what I liked best about her
,
she never closed down the lines of communication the way Dad did. As I walked upstairs I could hear my father talking to Andy. “No more chess tonight. I'm not in the mood.”

I wouldn't let him make me feel guilty. Everything in my life was growing increasingly difficult. Sure, I could let Dad make my decisions for me, the way he had all my life. And then things at home would certainly be easier. I still wanted to please him and my mother. But there was something inside of me that fought against simply accepting what I was told to do. I wasn't in rebellion against parental authority. That wasn't it at all. I wasn't planning to dye my hair purple, get a tattoo or pierce my navel. But I was starting to think of myself as a person, someone with rights.
Like didn't I have a right to think for myself? Couldn't they trust me to choose my own friends and activities? It wasn't as though I was planning on doing anything criminal!

But was I thinking with my h
ead or with my heart? After all,
m
y father was an intelligent man and
he'd lived a lot longer than me.
Shouldn't he know what was best?

I got ready for bed even though it was early. I was just so worn out, exhausted, my emotions tattered. I didn't want to think anymore about Michael or Greg, the band, cheerleading or schoolwork. I put on the little TV in my room and stretched out. I found a mindless comedy show and gratefully closed my eyes and listened. The real world floated away on a cotton candy cloud.