Ascent

by M. C. Zappitello

  "Yes. Mom?"

  She heard my request. "Will you be alright in the car, Cassie?" she asked, handing Will her keys.

  "I think so."

  "Melinda and I will be out as soon as we can."

  And with that, Will hustled me out to the car. Fortunately, we had parked right outside the particular store we were in, so we didn't have to go through the mall to get there. A few minutes in his arms in the back seat and I was feeling much better. I was tired, but fine, by the time we reached the house. Mrs. Stuart and Melinda brought everything in and put it on the table in the family room while Will and I went to sit down.

  "Cassie, you just relax for a while. Melinda and I are going to make sure everything is ready," explained Mrs. Stuart.

  "Yeah. We're going to cut off the tags and de-wrinkle your clothes and all," Melinda elaborated.

  "Will, what time are your dinner reservations?" his mom asked.

  "Six o'clock. The performance doesn't start until eight, so we should have plenty of time to eat without feeling rushed."

  I hadn't even thought about asking before. "Where are we going to eat?" I sure hoped it wasn't a place with all the extra forks and spoons that I wouldn't know how to use.

  "An Italian place called Tuscany Villa. Mom and Dad went there a few weeks ago and really liked it. It was a little expensive, but very nice without the unnecessary fuss of some restaurants," he responded.

  “No extra forks or spoons or anything?” I asked Will’s mom.

  "No extra forks or spoons or anything. Only one of each," she answered with a grin.

  It was probably a silly thing to worry about, but I breathed a quiet sigh of relief anyway.

  Will smiled, and went on, "A lot of people go there before or after an event at the performing arts center. It's only a couple of blocks away, so I was planning to park in the center's garage, then walk to and from dinner. Since you like Italian food, and walking . . . ."

  "Should I have asked you before making plans?"

  No. You couldn't have surprised me if you had. And I enjoy your surprises. "Sounds just right, Will." I reached up to stroke his cheek. "Thank you."

  "Well, then, you’ll probably want to leave soon after five thirty. So we ought to get started by four thirty to get you ready, Cassie. Okay?" his mom asked.

  "Okay." They had all gone to so much trouble for this―for me. Along with Mark and Gina, of course. How could I ever thank them? "Thank you so much for everything."

  "You can thank us by having a good time, Cassie," instructed Melinda.

  "She's right," Mrs. Stuart agreed. "That's the best thanks we could have. Just enjoy yourself. Come on, Melinda. Let's get these taken care of." They gathered up the dress and bags and headed upstairs. "Get yourselves some lunch whenever you want," she called to us as they walked out of the room.

  "Your shoulders are tight, Cassie. Sit in front of me and I'll massage them for you." He scooted back as far as he could on the sofa and patted the space in front of him between his legs. I moved up and over his nearer leg to sit where he indicated. His hands went to my neck, his thumbs working outward from there across my shoulders, then down the inside of my shoulder blades, then up to the beginning again.

  I let out a sigh. Thank you.

  "More?"

  Yes, please.

  After a few minutes of more, he stopped. "All better," he said. He put his left arm around me with his hand on my opposite shoulder. "Put your chin on my elbow." I did. "Good." He readjusted himself slightly. "Now let me hold the whole weight of your head. Just rest it on my arm." I had to concentrate to do it. "That's right," he affirmed. Then his other hand started massaging the back of my neck along the spinal column from where he had left off with my shoulders up through my hair to the base of my skull. I released a soft moan. Thank you. Still.

  "I love doing this for you. Still want more?"

  Yes, please.

  So he gave me more―and not just with his hands. He continued to massage the same area for a few more minutes with my head still resting on his arm. Then he lowered that arm with my head on it while his other hand moved all my hair off to one side in back. I felt his lips touch the back of my neck, and thrilled at the feeling. He continued kissing my neck, following the hairline around to my ear, which he brushed with his lips, then traced with what felt like the tip of his tongue.

  "Oh, Will . . . ." I left off with a sigh.

  "Still more?"

  Yes. Please.

  He carefully shifted the weight of my head from his one arm backward to his other arm, then reached under my legs and lifted them while he put his legs together and placed me on top of them. Lying in his arms―at a good angle for easy access―he teased my lips by barely nudging them or pulling on them with his. Until I couldn't stand it any longer, that is. It became too much, yet not enough, as my body yearned for more. So I stretched both arms up around Will's neck to hold his mouth still while I kissed him with all the seductive skill I could muster, even touching his lips with my tongue, which I had not done before.

  At that, he froze. "You're too good, Cassie. I've got to stop."

  I . . . don't . . . want . . . to!

  "I know. I don't, either. But do you need to?"

  Oh, how I wanted the answer to be no. But it wasn't. Yes, darn it! And I let go of him.

  He then surprised me by hugging me tightly and saying, "Cassie, I can't tell you how much better this makes me feel!"

  That sure caught me off guard. Huh? "I don't understand, Will," I spoke softly over his shoulder.

  He released his hold to explain, "Well, that you want me that much, too. And that we don't have to be careful solely because of me. And that you are willing to stop, even when you don't want to."

  Okay. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I sure must love you. This is hard."

  "I know." And I knew that he did.

  One more breath. "So, what do we do until time to get ready?"

  He thought for a moment, then grinned. "How about a game of chess? We haven't played for years."

  The mere word recalled pleasant associations for me. "Sure. I wonder if I'll remember how to play."

  "Let's find out," Will suggested as he went to get a chess set out of the cupboard where the games were kept.

  We set it up on the table by the sofa, brought our lunch in from the kitchen, and spent the rest of the afternoon playing chess. It took a few losses for me to recall all the rules and the finer points of the game, then Will and I were again (according to him) evenly matched and took turns beating each other. Because we were so accustomed to seeing into each other's thoughts, we both had to make some adjustments in order to avoid inadvertently seeing the other's strategy. Or, more accurately, so Will wouldn’t see mine. Will left his shield up so I couldn’t read him, and I closed my heaviest curtain as a reminder to him to stay out. Good exercise, we decided. And the time flew by.

  Dr. Stuart came in and watched for a while, then left to take a phone call. Melinda decided to watch a movie, then stayed after for a while to kibitz. And, finally, Mrs. Stuart came in. "Time to get ready, Cassie," she advised.

  "Okay. Coming."

  "I'll put it away," Will offered.

  I had already stood up to go, but leaned over, touched my fingers to the side of his face and kissed him once, lightly. "Thank you."

  He looked puzzled. "For what?"

  "Everything you are, Will."

  He smiled. "Same to you, Love."

  I kissed him once more. "See you in a little while."

  "Looking forward to it."

  So was I.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  It was fortunate that Will's mom and sister weren't going to do anything major with my hair, or I wouldn't have been ready in time to make our dinner reservation. Most of the time was spent with makeup, including detailed instructions on how to freshen it up as needed throughout the evening. Melinda assured me that knowing us (Will and me), I would have to reapply my lipstick more than o
nce during the evening. I also received helpful hints regarding the management of full skirts and heels, again mostly from Melinda.

  By the time we finally got around to my hair, I agreed that a couple of simple barrettes that blended in with my hair―to hold some of it up and back on the sides―would indeed be nice. And that style would show off the earrings and necklace Will had given me, which I put on as the final touch.

  That was the last of the primping, so I turned to leave the guest bedroom―headquarters for my transformation from regular girl to debutante for a night (at least that's how it felt to me)―when Melinda exclaimed, "Cassie! You have to look at yourself." She opened the closet door all the way so I could see myself in the full length mirror mounted on the inside.

  I was in a hurry to get down to Will, but obliged her. She and her mom stood behind me and a little off to the side as I stepped in front of the mirror to look at myself. Then I looked again.

  Yes. That was me. But I was . . . well . . . . Hmm. For the first time in my life, I looked pretty to me. Truly pretty. How did that happen?

  "You look lovely, Cassie," Mrs. Stuart opined.

  "Yeah, Cassie. I'm going now so I can see Will's face when you come down." And she took off.

  Mrs. Stuart stayed with me. "Ready?" she asked.

  I nodded. If I actually spoke, the spell might be broken and I would be plain old me again. That's silly, Cassie. This is real, I chided myself.

  "What's silly? And what's real?"

  You can decide for yourself in a minute. I'm coming down.

  "I'm ready."

  But was I? This was all seeming very fairy tale-like to me, and I was starting to worry about where the evening could go from this emotional height except for downhill. I took a deep breath and kept walking carefully toward the stairs, Mrs. Stuart at my side. At least the heels of my shoes weren't so high that I couldn't walk rather easily in them. In any case, I was determined to be careful going down the stairs as I wasn't used to dress shoes at all, even if they weren’t particularly high-heeled.

  I forgot to even think about my shoes on the stairs when I saw Will's face as he looked at me. He didn't smile at me as I had half expected. The expression on his face was more than that―an adoring, almost worshipful look that took me by surprise and penetrated to my very core. He held out his hand for me as I neared the bottom of the stairs.

  "Can you believe me now? That you are beautiful?"

  I couldn't honestly argue with that―for the moment, at least.

  Yes.

  "As beautiful as you look right now, it's nothing compared to how beautiful you are inside. I know. I've been there."

  Now that was something completely different. But I wouldn't argue about that, either―for the moment, at least. Thank you.

  I had reached him, and he accepted the hand I put in his. Refusing to look away from my face, he asked, "So, Melinda―I suppose I'm not allowed to kiss her for fear of smearing her lipstick or some such thing."

  Melinda sighed melodramatically. "I figured. Didn't I, Mom? Cassie can patch up whatever you mess up with what's in this," she explained to Will, holding up my evening bag.

  Will still didn't look away from my face. "Thanks," he responded, touching my cheek carefully with the fingers of his free hand and barely touching his lips to mine.

  "Very good," said Melinda. "You don't look like you're wearing any of Cassie's lipstick. But, just in case . . ." and she offered him some tissues.

  He grinned at her as he took them and put them in his pants pocket. "Shall we go?" he asked me. I nodded. He bowed slightly to Melinda when she handed him my coat, which he helped me into. She then handed me my purse and gloves, and went to open the front door. (Why were we going out the front instead of through the garage?)

  It was then I noticed that Dr. Stuart was recording the event with his digital video camera. "Do you have your cell, Will?" he asked. Will patted his pocket in response. "Tickets? Money?"

  "Yes. Thanks, Dad."

  "Have a wonderful time," said Mrs. Stuart, as the three of them followed us out on the front porch, Dr. Stuart still recording. "You'll be fine, Cassie," he encouraged.

  Dr. Stuart's Lexus was warmed up and waiting for us on the circular drive in front of the house. I looked inquiringly at Will. "Dad thought we'd be more comfortable in his car. It warms up faster than mine. And it's roomier. For your dress particularly," Will explained, a twinkle in his eye. Well, the skirt was kind of poofy. He helped me in, then got in himself. And we were off.

  Looking back, the whole evening still seems like a blissful dream. Everything went smoothly, from finding a convenient spot in the parking garage, to having a pleasant, relaxed server and meal at the restaurant, and culminating in the magic of "The Nutcracker." It was even unseasonably warm with no precipitation. Couldn't have ordered anything better.

  I was able to manage the evening quite well. There were a couple of times―when we first walked into the full restaurant, and upon entering the crowded concert hall―that I started to get a little shaky. But Will pulled me close and sent calming reminders to my mind about breathing and such. So we avoided any serious anxiety issues.

  A favorite moment from the evening occurred after we arrived safely at the theater and were securely seated in our almost private box on the second level. Will had taken care of me as always―removing my coat and hanging it up (one of the amenities included with the expensive box seat tickets), making sure my evening bag was handy (he knew I wasn't used to carrying one), and, in short, doing everything possible for my comfort and ease of mind.

  It was while we sat quietly together, before the house lights went down and the performance began, that I finally felt composed enough to really look at Will. He had always been attractive to me. But it wasn't until then that I finally noticed and appreciated the care with which he had dressed for this particular evening.

  He was wearing a classic black tux and white shirt. The tie was a deep royal blue that matched the studs and cuff links of his shirt, which brought out the absolutely gorgeous, intense blue of his eyes. His soft, blondish-brown hair was styled back from his face more than usual, which emphasized his strong, handsome features. And made it possible to see the well-formed ears which I enjoyed whispering into from time to time, and kissing whenever possible.

  At that moment, I was overcome with how extraordinarily handsome he was―at the same time knowing full well that even this impressive outer projection didn't come close to satisfactorily representing the inner being of the man sitting next to me. My heart felt as if it were overflowing, and the abundance of feeling was making itself evident through the moisture accumulating in my eyes.

  Maybe I did understand what he meant about me after all. I didn't see myself as he did, but I now understood how he could see me that way because of how I saw him; how I felt about him. And I wanted him to know.

  Will?

  As he instinctively turned to me, I eased into his consciousness enough to―metaphysically speaking―take him by the hand and lead him back into mine, inviting him through even my heaviest curtain which was necessarily in place for our evening out. It was always a pleasure to feel him there, and that was deepened by his delight at discovering that I was finally able to appreciate his perception of me―inside and out.

  He leaned toward me until he was very close. "I love you, Cassie," he whispered, sealing his words with a silent kiss on my ear.

  On a whim, I raised our clasped hands and imprinted the shape of my lips on the back of his, then displayed my handiwork to him. He raised an eyebrow. "I like it," he declared after inspecting it thoroughly. "I hope you're planning to share some more of that with me later."

  What a lovely idea. Absolutely.

  Just then the lights went down, and we were magically transported to the world of Tchaikovsky: Clara and her Prince, along with the Sugar Plum Fairy and company. The music and the skill of the artists effectively created a wonderland of childhood hopes and dreams, transporting us fo
r a time out of the real world. The grace and strength of the dancers particularly excited me, as they performed feats that I could never in my wildest imagination hope to master. But that was okay. I wouldn’t want their life, anyway. After all, I had my own. With Will.

  He undoubtedly thought my behavior rather silly as I hummed music from the ballet, and did little leaps and turned myself under his arm (with his cooperation) as we walked to the car, but he smiled at my antics all the same. Before opening the passenger door for me, he turned me to face him with his hands on my shoulders. "Let's do it again!" I exclaimed before he had a chance to say anything.

  "Well, that answers my question," he commented. "You must be psychic or something," he added with a smirk as he opened the door to let me in. I risked making him think I was entirely lost to all reason by taking his face between my hands, pulling it gently down so I could reach it, and placing another personal imprint in the middle of his forehead. "Thank you," he grinned. "But I get to decide where the next one goes."

  "Okay," I agreed, and got into the car.

  When we reached his house―this time going through the garage door after parking Dr. Stuart's car―I was surprised to see that the rest of the family was still up watching a movie in the family room. And wanting a report. "Did you have a good time, Hon’?" and "How did it go, Son?" and "You don’t look messed up at all, Cassie! How’d it go?" were among the questions we answered over the next half hour or so.

  There seemed to be as much excitement over the fact that I didn't suffer any panic attacks as there was about our overall enjoyment of the evening. And that was fine with me. It was just like family to be concerned that way.

  "Well, Cassie, you look like the excitement is wearing off," observed Mrs. Stuart. She was right. “Let's get you upstairs, and Melinda and I will help you put everything away and get to bed.”

  "Would you two mind going ahead? We'll be up in a minute," Will requested.

  "Okey-dokey," replied Melinda. "But don't spend too long smooching. I want to go to bed, too," she added as her mother herded her from the room. Once again, I noticed that Dr. Stuart had already made his escape.