Touch Screen: a small town romance

by L. B. Dunbar

  I leaned back on the bed and turned to look out the window. The moon was still shining brightly again tonight in a clear black sky. I kept my head turned for several minutes, just staring at it, watching a shimmer of light float around the disc. The night sky was dark blue around the moon and my mind pictured something else in that same color. A slim body with a tan back in a revealing dress. Britton.

  Scene: The Dress

  She was fifteen; I was seventeen.

  Britton and I often dressed casually around one another. It was summer, which called for short shorts and tank tops for her, and long shorts and worn t-shirts for me. I had a family function to celebrate my grandparent’s anniversary and I asked Britton to attend with me as my date. The party was in Traverse City at a nice restaurant, and a small back room had been rented for family and select family friends, including the Carters. Karyn was already married to Tom, and my mum gave in that I could bring a date. Ethan wanted to bring a friend, but Mum said no to that. She knew it would lead to trouble, as he was only thirteen.

  When I arrived at Britton’s uncle’s home, I wasn’t sure what to expect. We had never been on an official date, and while this was a family gathering, the dress code requirement made it seem formal. I had to wear khaki pants and a dress shirt with a tie, which was not typical attire for me at the time.

  Britton’s uncle Leo was an interesting man. He was hip to the times, yet rebellious in his own generation. Gertie and he lived together out of wedlock for some thirty years, yet they seemed more in love than any couple I knew, next to my parents. My parents had a different relationship; one that I could not appreciate at seventeen. My mum was the enforcer. Her word was final, but that didn’t make my dad soft. If anything, it made him tougher. He never bucked his wife’s decisions, and he valued her immensely. But I didn’t see in them the same playful love I saw in Leo and Gertie. At eighty-something years old, Leo still held Gertie’s hand when they walked down the street and he called her names like baby, sweetheart, and darling. She doted on him, but he returned the affection. I admired them, and I respected their rules.

  They were not strict. Britton had a curfew, but they were reasonable when she travelled to Elk Rapids. They had let her spend the night for the Harbor Days fireworks, and they were letting her stay out late this night, knowing I was taking her out with my family. I could stay late at their home, although Leo would give me gentle reminders that the roads were not well lit, or I had a long drive, or Britton had to work. Leo never said anything if he saw me touch Britton like holding her hand, twirling her hair, or hugging her in front of them.

  All the lights were on when I entered the small, two-bedroom home on the lake, welcoming me inside. This house was different than my old farmhouse, despite being almost as old. It had a definite cottage-feel to it, regardless of the fact that Leo and Gertie lived there, year round. The couch was large, overstuffed, and covered with a quilt. An armchair at either end of the couch faced a large fireplace that I never saw used. Each armchair had a handmade afghan and a table next to it. Leo’s held the newspaper open to the crossword puzzle; Gertie’s held a stack of books and a basket of yarn under it.

  I waited nervously for Britton, but I didn’t know why I felt anxious. I’d known her for a year. Tonight seemed different. She emerged from the side hallway leading to her room and I gasped. She looked amazing. Her hair was still down, but slightly curled; wavy compared to her regular stick-straight blonde tresses. The dress was navy blue and it brought out the color of her eyes, but it was the style of the dress that had me holding my breath. It was cut modestly in the front, but when she twirled, I saw it went all the way down her back. At fifteen, she had perfect breasts, firm and perky, and I knew she wore no bra tonight. I instantly felt myself rise and I slid my hands into my pockets, trying to think of things like dirty laundry, cherry picking, and swimming in the cool lake.

  “Wow. You look beautiful,” I said in a raspy voice.

  She approached me and kissed me chastely on the cheek while her uncle stood to the side of the door. Gertie followed Britton, and like the ball of energy that she was, she held a camera, demanding pictures.

  “Let’s go outside. By the flowers.”

  The other thing about their comfortable home was the flower garden. It filled the front yard to the point that there really wasn’t any grass. Gertie told us where to stand and I slid my hand around Britton’s back. I instantly felt a zing of electricity as my hand hit her bare skin. I was sweating slightly in the July heat with my long pants and dress shirt, but I knew it was Britton in that dress that was really heating me up.

  “You have the sexiest back,” I whispered through clenched teeth as Gertie took the pictures. I gently tickled Britton’s bare back.

  “Hhmm,” she moaned. I had to concentrate to keep from dipping her and taking her mouth in a delicious kiss right there in the front yard.

  “Later,” she whispered back, and I knew I would count the minutes until that promise was fulfilled.

  * * *

  Take 12

  Under the Moonlight

  I slept in my clothes and woke on top of the covers of my hotel bed. I showered quickly and drove my rental car to the downtown area. I had tickets for two more shows and my dinner with Mr. Mike George was at six. I parked in the three-hour lot, reminding myself as I walked toward the bookstore to return often with quarters. I felt confident as I purchased my coffee after I entered the bookstore that I would find answers about Britton.

  Which took all of three minutes. I went to the information desk and when the woman asked me cheerfully if I needed help, I replied that I needed help finding Britton McKay. The woman was hesitant in responding, but I sensed by her reaction that she knew Britton, or knew of her.

  “I’m an old friend in town for the festival and I saw her in here yesterday. I don’t know if she works here or was just shopping, but I’d really like to find her.”

  The clerk shuffled some books on the counter to align them as if they were not perfectly stacked already.

  “Well, I…”

  “Look, just tell me if she works here.”

  “Not today,” she replied with a smile.

  “Okay. Good enough.” Step forward, I thought.

  “So she lives in town?”

  The woman bit her lip and I couldn’t read the answer in her expression. Step back.

  “Can I leave a number for her? Maybe she can call me. When she does come in to work? Tomorrow?” I tried to push for confirmation.

  “I don’t know. About tomorrow, that is.” I could sense she was being honest. Okay, not forward or back.

  “But you could leave a number, I guess.” Step forward. I jotted down every number I could think of: Baycove Resort main number, my cell number, and my room number. I winked at the girl and I knew she would remember to give it to Britton if she didn’t keep it for herself.

  I was a nice looking man. I knew it, but I didn’t use it the way my younger brother had. Either way, I sensed I was attractive to others. I took care of myself, although I hadn’t been running since I’d arrived in town, plus I’d had two cheeseburgers in two days. This was something Zoe would never have allowed in California. I didn’t want to think about her this morning, but I would have to face the reality sooner or later. Things just weren’t working out for me with her. I loved her. I had loved her, but it wasn’t what I thought love should be. After the arguments that prefaced this film festival, and her random phone call last night, I was sensing that changes were coming in our relationship.

  It wasn’t that I was afraid to give up my status as Zoe Steinmann’s boyfriend, or to lose the good graces of Zeke Steinmann, financial backer of movies, but it was the backlash that concerned me. I wasn’t known well enough in my five years of experience and didn’t have enough connections to not suffer a huge loss by walking away from the Steinmann family. And Zeke Steinmann would definitely hold a grudge if Zoe’s heart was broken. How broken would it really be, though? I wondered.
Zoe would be free to do all she wanted to do, but on the other hand, I was a security for her. Showing me off as a stable, hardworking boyfriend won her good publicity over her bad behavior, and Zeke Steinmann appreciated that about me.

  I entered the State Theatre again for a blockbuster showing of a popular movie. I almost felt guilty because it was a gorgeous sunny day. The temperature had dropped to the eighties and it wasn’t as heavy hot as it had been the previous two days. After the first show, I had fifteen minutes to make another show at the middle school. Other venues such as the middle school, the local high school, and another convention center were being used to display films. A movie was being shown in the park after dark on Friday, and I learned it was a popular kids’ animation. I recalled that Britton said she was attending.

  I enjoyed the movie at the middle school more than I enjoyed the morning show. The morning movie was supposed to be visually impressive as far as documentaries went, but I didn’t see it. I wrote it off as being in a bad mood after replaying Zoe’s call and not finding Britton at the bookstore.

  The movie at the middle school, however, was about two young friends trying to make it in the film industry. It explained how they got the financial backing, found an actress to play the lead, fell in love and failed at relationships, and continued making movies. The underlying relationship themes hit home a little bit for me. The main character, who was supposed to represent the director, had a girlfriend that was sweet, innocent, and supportive, but his character experienced a growing sexual attraction to the hired actress. I compared my own reality to the fiction before me. I previously had a sweet, innocent, and supportive person in Britton, and I threw it away at twenty years old to end up in a sexual relationship with a high profile, social-climbing female at twenty-four. I suddenly sympathized with the girl, whom the director loses because of his arrogance and pride, and the flattery of the wannabe actress. Just when I was about to accuse the director/main character of being an idiot, I realized my own life was being mimicked on the screen.

  My bad mood had grown, but I was reflective at the moment as I walked to the shuttle stop to return downtown. I recalled the night of the bonfire. When Britton left, I was angry. Angry that my friend, Reese, seemed to know something I didn’t. Angry that Britton might have been attracted to him. Angry that I came home for those weeks between my freshman and sophomore year. That anger led me to make out with the girl on the beach that night. I hated myself in the morning, but by then it was too late. Whatever Britton had wanted to talk to me about, she took with her. She not only drove away, she went back down south to her home for the rest of that summer, leaving me behind.

  Our relationship hadn’t involved staying in touch when we were separated after summer. Facebook wasn’t as popular when we were teens, and calling could be expensive if you were on a limited cellphone plan. It just didn’t work to stay in contact, so when she didn’t respond to my weak attempts to contact her, I let her go. Idiot came to mind again, and this time it was directed at myself, the main character of my life.

  I still had time before dinner and I wanted to return to my hotel to shower and change. I was excited to meet Mr. George in person and actually talk movies with him. I exited the shuttle and walked to my car parked in one of the furthest spaces of the public lot. The end of the lot faced the old zoo, which had been torn down and replaced with a public space and children’s park. My attention was pulled briefly in that direction, but it was long enough to catch a glimpse of long blonde hair in a ponytail and a heart-shaped ass. Even though I had mistaken someone for Britton last night at the Beckman house party, there was no denying her across the street now.

  She was chasing after someone and I recognized the bright blond hair of the little boy. Feeling that magnetic pull again, I crossed the street blindly, dodging cars that honked at me. Britton looked up to see what caused the commotion as I finally reached the curb. She stood stone still and had that panicked look on her face again before blinking twice. I approached her slowly as if coming upon a frightened child, but Britton was no child and the expression faded. I couldn’t understand why she was responding to me like this.

  “Gavin?”

  “Hey. I noticed you from across the way and thought I’d come say hi.” I pointed over my shoulder at the parking lot.

  She bit her lip and tucked some loose hair behind her ear. Her tank top and shorts defined the outline of her shapely body perfectly, and I tried to focus on her face, knowing my eyes already scanned her luscious curves.

  “More movies today?” she questioned.

  “Yep.”

  “Better than yesterday?” she casually asked.

  “This morning not so much. But this afternoon’s I really liked.”

  “Mommy, come push me.” Britton turned in the direction of the voice and her face lit up as she smiled at the little boy. The innocent face looked at his mother as he sat on a swing.

  “Just one minute, lovie.” I sucked in a breath at hearing the sweet endearment used by my own mother.

  “After you?” I held out a hand, pointing her in the direction of the swing set.

  Britton crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, and walked behind her son to push him. There was no denying this boy was her child. They shared the same bleach blond hair, only brighter on him than his mother. They had the same nose shape, but his face was rounder, his eyes were dark brown, and he had sweet dimples that Britton didn’t have.

  Britton pushed him gently at first as I stood to the side. The boy tipped his head back at his mother.

  “Who’s that?” he asked, implying me.

  “An old friend.”

  “He doesn’t look old.”

  I snorted to contain my laugh. Britton smiled when she looked at me, and I felt a flutter in my chest.

  “No, silly,” she redirected at the boy, “he’s not old. He’s a friend from a long time ago.”

  “Like when you were little?”

  “No, when I was teenager. Older, like Ben.”

  “Hello, old friend,” he said as he tipped his head back again while he swung forward.

  I wanted to ask who Ben was, but refrained.

  “He’s here for the movie festival. He’s a director,” Britton explained.

  “You make movies?” the boy addressed me.

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Did you make Toy Story?”

  “No,” I laughed. “That’s a…” I almost said kid movie, before realizing I was talking to a kid. “…animation.”

  “What’s animal nation?”

  “No,” I chuckled again, “animation. Like cartoons.”

  “Oh, I don’t watch cartoons. But I watch Bob the Builder.”

  I looked at Britton. I had no idea who this Bob character was.

  “That’s clay-mation,” Britton explained, and I was impressed she knew that term. “Animation is like Dora.” Who are these people? I wondered.

  “Oh. Cool. Do you speak Spanish?”

  I laughed before I replied in the negative. This conversation was going all over the place.

  “Ben can speak Spanish.” Again, who is Ben?

  “And who is Ben?” I gave in to the gnawing question.

  “He’s my brother.” I looked at Britton. She had more than one child?

  “Not exactly,” Britton corrected, but didn’t further clarify. She continued to push the boy.

  “And who are you?” I asked, as I hadn’t been introduced to Britton’s son. Britton fumbled and missed the boy’s back. He swung back at her and she had to step back to avoid being hit in the face from the swing.

  “Sorry, lovie,” she said as he swung forward.

  “Higher,” he commanded.

  I realized no one had answered my question.

  “Britton? Can I ask what your son’s name is?” It came out slightly aggressive, and I cleared my throat as if it was a mistake.

  “Gee. Like the letter.”

  I thought that was an interesting name, but di
dn’t comment.

  A few minutes of silence followed as Britton seemed deep in thought. I watched her arm muscles flex as she pushed the boy, and had a strong temptation to reach out to stroke her skin.

  “Here. Let me have a turn.” I moved next to Britton, who stared at me until I nudged her gently with my arm and she stepped aside, tripping on her feet before righting herself. I stopped the swinging child with my large hand before he hit me, then pushed him forward with one firm shove.

  “Is it okay if I push for a while, Gee?”

  “Sure. Your hand is bigger. Push harder.”

  “Not too high, Gee.” Britton warned.

  “Mom, I’m not a baby.”

  I laughed again. Britton blushed and hung her head as she smiled a second time. She is still so beautiful, I thought. She was natural looking with hardly any make-up on and a real tan. Her long legs were crossed as she leaned against the back support of the swing set, and I scanned up her legs to her face. I knew every curve of this woman. She was watching me watch her, and she bit her lip, holding back another smile as she pushed her hair behind her ear, even though it wasn’t out of place.

  “I want to stop now,” Gee said.

  I grabbed the chains of the swing to stop its motion, and Gee jumped off, heading for the elaborate climbing set with monkey bars and slides. Britton came around the swing and sat while I moved to lean against the front support of the set.

  “So you have a boy?”

  “Yep.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Six.”

  “Your husband must be so proud.”

  “I don’t have a husband,” she blurted out, but then clamped her lips as if she wanted to hold the words inside. My head whipped to look at her as I had been looking at the boy while asking my questions.