Siren's Storm

by Lisa Papademetriou

  “Coming in?” Jason asked.

  Gretchen pulled off her blue sundress and laid it across one of the iron chairs. She felt Jason’s eyes linger on her body, hesitating only momentarily at the scratches on her knees, as she stepped cautiously into the pool. Once Gretchen reached the bottom stair, she dove forward and swam up to Jason. “Mmm,” she said as she surfaced. The just-cool water slicked back her hair and left her feeling refreshed, washing away the exhaustion she’d been carrying from the night before. Both the sleepwalking and dealing with her father’s overwrought reaction when he saw her walk in through the front door had drained her. “That feels good.”

  Jason watched her lips hungrily. He stepped forward, pressing his body against hers. His skin was smooth, slippery in the water. He kissed her, his lips warm and sweet.

  Her mind whirled back to last summer, to the moment when they met. Gretchen had gone to a gallery to check out a retrospective of one of her favorite artists. The paintings were Pollock-like drips and splashes, but in gentler tones that suggested ripples and waves. She had talked Johnny into taking her to the opening, which was crowded with the tanned and the thin. Most of the sparkling crowd seemed to be more interested in talking to each other than in the art. Gretchen kept trying to look at the paintings, only to find herself being elbowed aside by someone reaching for an hors d’oeuvre or a glass of red wine. She finally found a far corner and managed to spend three uninterrupted minutes inspecting a miniature triptych.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Gretchen said as Johnny wordlessly handed her a Coke.

  He gave her a do we have to stay much longer? smile, and she kissed him on the cheek. “I just want to look at a few more paintings,” she told him.

  “Take your time,” Johnny told her before disappearing into the social swirl.

  “Isn’t he a little old for you?” A platinum-haired hunk had appeared at her elbow. There was a smirk in his voice, but Jason’s face was impassive, as if there wasn’t an answer that could possibly surprise him.

  “That’s my dad,” Gretchen told him.

  Jason nodded. He looked at the painting. “What do you think of this?”

  “I think it’s beautiful.”

  “I hate beautiful art,” Jason said.

  “What’s wrong with beauty?” Gretchen shot back.

  “It just doesn’t do anything for me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Jason smirked. “You’re right.” His eyes skimmed her body, and she felt her face burn.

  Gretchen found herself wondering why she was talking to this person. He was forward and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  “I’m Jason,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Gretchen.”

  “You’re an artist.” Not a question. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you’re the only one here who’s looking at the art. Everyone else is here to be seen. You’d think that they were the ones hanging on the walls.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “This is my mother’s gallery,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings by not coming to her opening.” His voice was gentle when he said it, without the slightest trace of a smirk.

  “You and your mom are close?” Gretchen asked.

  “I live with my dad most of the time, but yeah, I’m closer to my mom.”

  And that was when Gretchen had found herself confiding to Jason that she was closer to her dad—that her mom lived far away and never contacted them. They’d connected. And he was handsome. There was no doubt about that.

  Now, in the pool, she melted against him, and his hand traveled up her side. A fingertip slipped beneath her bikini top, and she pulled away. “Jason,” she warned.

  “What?” He pulled her closer, but she struggled against him.

  “The gardeners.”

  Jason looked up as if he hadn’t even realized that there were other people in the yard. They were at the other end of the wide green lawn, one up on a tall ladder with electric shears. Jason twirled his fingers into the ropes of her hair. “They don’t care.” His voice was a husky whisper.

  “I care.” Gretchen felt herself blushing.

  Jason narrowed his eyes. Then he gave her hair a yank. It was too hard to be playful, but he splashed away like a grinning otter. “Whatever.” Again his tone was nonchalant, but he sent a giant splash at her face, then headed for the side of the pool.

  “Where are you going?” Gretchen asked as Jason hauled himself out of the pool.

  “I need some iced tea,” he called without looking over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

  Gretchen stood at the center of the pool, feeling idiotic. Why did I have to ruin the mood? she wondered. Then again, it was Jason who was being a jerk. So why am I feeling so bad? Every now and then, an elbow of the rage that Jason kept clamped down would poke out, knocking at those nearby. She had forgotten how much it had bothered her last summer, how often it had left her confused and sometimes frightened. And it was usually over something small. A glass of soda with too much ice. Obnoxious air-conditioning. People on cell phones. Is it so wrong to feel weird about making out in front of strangers? Is that really something to get furious over?

  He hadn’t even asked if she wanted some iced tea.

  “I’d like the mahi mahi with the mango-avocado infusion.” Angus grinned at Gretchen as he plopped onto the red vinyl bar stool at the counter. “And a glass of rosemary tea.”

  “I think we’re out of that. How about some coffee that’s strong enough to fry your face?”

  “Even better. I’ll take one of those pumpkin muffins, too.”

  Gretchen poured a mug and set it down on the counter before him. She snapped a piece of wax paper from the box and lifted the glass cover over the muffins. Gretchen looked them over carefully before placing one on a plate and carrying it to Angus.

  Angus drummed his long fingers on the table. “I saw that,” he said. “You gave me the biggest one.” He waggled his eyebrows, then took a long swig from the coffee, and his eyes went round. “Whoa.”

  “I warned you.”

  “What’s in this? Tobacco juice?”

  Gretchen laughed. “Just coffee. It’ll pick you up, that’s for sure.” She grabbed a handful of creamers, and when she turned back, she saw that Angus had flipped her sketchbook around to get a better look.

  “That’s nothing,” she said, reaching for it.

  He slapped her hand lightly and looked up at her with a frown. “I am appreciating art,” he said primly.

  Gretchen looked down at the counter. She felt the blush creeping up her neck. There was something about having people look at her work that always made her feel naked. When she looked up, she noticed that someone was watching her. Kirk Worstler had skulked into a corner booth earlier in the afternoon and had been sitting there—drinking a soda and staring in his creepy way—for nearly ninety minutes. Gretchen forced her eyes away from him.

  “This is really amazing.” Angus took another sip of coffee, wincing slightly. “The feathers alone …” He gestured to the drawing. It was a woman in profile, her arm reaching skyward. Most of her naked back was obscured by two enormous white wings. Long dark hair fluttered to the side, as if blown in a breeze. In the distance were tall cliffs and crashing waves. Rocks hulked at the bottom of the precipice, and the waves hurled themselves against them furiously, sending foam spewing toward the sky. “Where did you even come up with this?”

  “I had this dream,” Gretchen confessed.

  “Beautiful.”

  Gretchen’s blush deepened. “Thanks.”

  Angus turned it back toward her and broke off a piece of his muffin. “So, listen, what time do you get off work?”

  “Three,” Gretchen said. “Why?”

  “I thought you might want to head over to the Commons with me tonight. It’s the first night of Big Screen. The theme is Elvis,” he added in a singsong.

  “Oh, sure. Maybe Will wants to come, too.” She reached into
the pocket of her apron for her cell phone, but Angus put a gentle hand on her forearm.

  “I thought it could just be the two of us this time,” Angus said. His voice was heavy with meaning as Gretchen looked into his dark eyes.

  Gretchen’s heart stopped a moment. She’d never actually noticed before that Angus was handsome. Maybe he never had been handsome before. She’d always thought of him as lanky and awkward, but now she realized that he was simply tall. In fact, he was slim in a rather elegant way. He’d done something with his hair—the formerly shaggy mop was now tamed so that you could see his eyes and the dark lashes that framed them. There was a splash of boyish freckles across his tan face. And when he gave that impish smile—like the one he was giving her now—he was charming.

  “It’s Jailhouse Rock,” Angus said.

  “What?”

  “The movie. It’s a classic.” Seeing her hesitation, he added, “Don’t tell me that you don’t like Elvis.”

  “I’ve never really listened—”

  “Then we have to go!” Angus slapped the counter, and a couple of the other customers looked up.

  Gretchen hesitated, squirming with discomfort. She really liked Angus, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Besides, part of her wanted to say yes. After all, the movie sounded like fun. She loved seeing films on the giant outdoor screen they set up at the Commons. You’d bring a blanket and a picnic and lie on the grass, cheering along with the crowd under the stars. But she knew that Angus could never be more to her than a friend. And he wasn’t like Jason. Angus had a heart that could be broken.

  The light at the glass door dimmed as a dark shape—Jason—yanked it open. He paused a moment, looking for her, his bulk blocking the light.

  Angus followed her gaze, and his expression hardened. “Right,” he said, unfolding himself from the stool like a pocketknife. He gave her a smile, but his face was set—a wax mask. “I guess you could never go for just a regular nice guy, right?”

  “I don’t know,” Gretchen whispered, but Angus was already walking away.

  Jason was oblivious to the cold glare Angus shot him in passing. Her boyfriend spotted Gretchen and stalked over.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he asked as he plopped onto Angus’s still-warm stool. He glanced down at Gretchen’s drawing, then shoved it aside without comment. “What are we doing tonight?”

  We? It wasn’t like Jason had ever asked her out or anything. Gretchen handed him a cup of coffee the way he liked it—loads of cream, two sugars. “Want to go see an Elvis movie on the Commons?”

  A faint, slightly patronizing smile. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. It sounds like fun.”

  Jason snorted. “No way.” He set his mug on her notebook.

  Her open notebook. The wet bottom settled across the carefully articulated wings.

  The gasp was silent, but she felt it in her chest. She was frozen. She’d heard of archaeologists finding specimens perfectly preserved in ice, as if they’d been caught in a sudden ice age. That was how she felt—like a helpless mastodon that had stumbled onto the wrong glacier. And then, on the heels of the ice, came fire. Rage seared through Gretchen’s body. Reaching out, she grabbed Jason’s wrist.

  “Ow—shit!” Jason yanked his arm back with such force that he stumbled backward off his stool. He held up his arm. His wrist was red, a small blister forming at the base of his palm.

  Gretchen stared, her heart hammering. She felt something, like a butterfly wing against her cheek. When she looked up, she saw that Asia was watching her. Watching Jason.

  “What the hell?” Jason demanded. “Is this because of your stupid drawing?” He took a threatening step toward Gretchen.

  Before Gretchen could react, Asia moved forward. “Get out,” she said.

  Jason’s jaw went rigid and his hand tightened into a fist.

  Asia leaned toward him. “You can’t move,” she whispered softly, sweetly.

  Jason’s face twisted in rage. Gretchen was pressed against the steel sink, watching his muscles strain against an invisible barrier. “Let … go …” he snarled.

  But Asia wasn’t touching him.

  Angel darted out from behind the grill. The customers fell silent, staring as Jason and Asia glared at each other.

  “Let go!” Jason screeched. “I’ll sue your ass!”

  Asia laughed. It was a real laugh—not a mocking laugh—as if Jason had said something funny.

  Jason lunged, stumblingly, as if he had been pushing against a door that suddenly gave way. Angel darted forward as Jason reached for Asia, and a piercing scream sounded from a corner booth. It was high and loud, and cut through the diner like a laser. It went on and on—much longer than a normal shriek. It was more like a siren or an alarm.

  Everyone turned to look.

  “Oh, God,” Gretchen gasped. Kirk Worstler was standing on the table, screaming. His fists were clamped into his dark hair, his eyes fixed on Asia. Finally his voice died away. He took another breath and started screaming again.

  “Jesus Christ, shut up!” Angel shouted. He scrambled toward Kirk, who jumped away, monkey-like. He leaped onto the back of the next booth, then to the floor. Angel reached for him, but Kirk ran toward the back and darted, still screaming, out the back door.

  “Everyone in here is fucking crazy!” Jason shouted.

  “You!” Angel stormed over to Jason and put a finger in his face. His voice dropped, and he snarled from beneath his moustache. “You get the hell out of here.”

  Jason slapped Angel’s finger away. He turned to Asia. “This isn’t over.”

  “I know,” Asia told him.

  Jason didn’t even glance in Gretchen’s direction before stalking out of Bella’s.

  For a moment everyone was silent. Then the chatter resumed at twice the usual volume. Asia turned and locked eyes with Gretchen for a moment. That was when Gretchen realized that she was trembling.

  “Oh, Lord, honey!” Lisette hurried over to Gretchen. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m—” Gretchen didn’t know what to say. Fine? Freaked out?

  Lisette didn’t seem to need a full answer. She squeezed Gretchen’s shoulder as Angel leaned across the counter and looked into her face. “That guy is never setting foot in here again,” he announced.

  “I’m sorry,” Gretchen mumbled.

  Angel narrowed his eyes. “For what? Living in a world filled with assholes?” He picked up Jason’s still-full coffee mug and handed it to Lisette. She dumped the coffee down the drain, then tossed the cup into the other sink, the one Gretchen had been leaning against. The sink was half filled with soapy water, and when Lisette dropped the cup in, a few drops flew up and splashed her hand. She sucked in her breath, her face contorting in pain.

  “You okay?” Angel asked.

  “Yeah—that water is boiling hot.” Lisette shook her fingers.

  Angel scowled at her. “No more injuries today, okay? No more fights, no nothing. I want it nice and quiet.” He turned to Asia, who was still standing nearby. “That goes for you, too.”

  Asia nodded, then turned quietly toward a table of customers.

  “You take a fifteen-minute break,” Angel commanded Gretchen. Then he stormed back toward his grill.

  “My hand is feeling much better, thanks!” Lisette called after him. She rolled her eyes. “That guy could make you crazy.”

  She went back to her tables as Gretchen made her way to the bathroom. She flicked on the fluorescent light and splashed water onto her face. Once she had dried her face with a few scratchy brown paper towels, she looked at herself in the mirror, trying to understand what had just happened. She’d grabbed Jason’s wrist. She hadn’t meant to grab it so hard, but that angry red blister proved she had hurt him. And then, when he’d started toward her, Asia had stopped him somehow.

  It’s amazing how quickly things can get out of control, Gretchen thought. How fast they can change.

  Things with Jason were over. She was shocked
at how relieved she felt.

  After a few minutes, someone knocked at the door. “Just a moment,” Gretchen called. She arranged her hair and straightened her uniform.

  And just like that, she thought as she reached for the doorknob, life goes on.

  He felt like the world’s worst spy, waiting for her to come out of the diner. Darkness had stolen silently over the town, but the restaurants were lit up. Even though it was only Thursday, they were packed with the rich and the beautiful. Will watched them as they sat at small cafe tables, lifting heavy silver forks to eat tiny portions of fresh bay scallops or salmon in a balsamic reduction. He was amazed at how clean they were, how fresh they seemed. Their clothes were perfectly pressed. Their skin was bronzed and smooth, their hair soft-looking and sweet-smelling. They ate slowly. They drank Coke or iced tea or sparkling water from green bottles.

  Whenever Will’s family went out, everyone drank tap water. His father considered anything else “money for nothing.” Appetizers fell under the same category, as did desserts. He would pay for the main meal, and that, grudgingly. Will’s father often complained that nothing was half as good as what Evelyn could make at home. Will usually agreed with him. He hated going out to eat—especially at nice restaurants. He hated being surrounded by all of those clean, clean people.

  Around Will, the light from the restaurants fell soft and yellow onto the redbrick walkway. But across the street, the diner’s neon sign glowed garishly pink and green, and the wide windows beamed bluish fluorescent light into the night air. The patrons, older and overfed, were backlit, and every feature was as visible as if Will had just pulled into a drive-in. But Will’s eyes were trained on Asia.

  The more he watched, the more amazed he was at her grace. Her movements were liquid, more beautiful than a dance. She balanced a white plate on her delicate hand. She turned her head, her neck arching gracefully. She maneuvered deftly around another waitress, as if she could sense others’ quick change of direction. Beside her, the other waitresses looked clunky and awkward. As if they lived in different elements. Or different times. Like dinosaurs and birds—distantly related, bearing little family resemblance.