“My God, Sudsy, how much did you bring?”
“Well, my mother made dolmades and I know how much you love them. And then Aunt Sophie came by with baklava.”
I opened the car door. “Well, hurry and get in. Was she suspicious?”
“Who? My mother or Aunt Sophie?”
“Your mother.”
“No, she knows how much you love Greek food. And we’ve been sleeping over at each other’s houses since we’ve been seven. How about yours?”
I shook my head. “Not a hint of suspicion. All I took was my overnight bag, my DVD player and three DVDs—Pride and Prejudice, Summer Place and Twilight.”
“Well, I’m glad you brought something besides Twilight, because I’ve seen it like ten times.”
“Me, too, but you have to admit Edward is majorly hot and worth seeing a couple zillion more.”
“Yeah, he’s hot, but I can’t expend my emotional energy drooling over someone who doesn’t even know I’m alive. I’d be satisfied with a guy from Coral Cove who doesn’t know I’m alive.”
And I’d be satisfied with Nick, I thought, but didn’t dare say so. Not after all the horrible things I’d said about him.
I pulled into Miss de France’s driveway and drove to the back of the house and parked. “I’ll get the key and be right up.”
I gamboled up the red brick walkway to Miss D’s back door. James appeared on the third rap, a striped dish towel over his shoulder.
“Hi, James,” I said. “Cooking dinner?”
“All day. Beef Bourguignon. Would you like some?” He was actually smiling.
“Oh, how sweet, but Sudsy brought dolmades. She’s spending the night, and—”
“You need the key to the Emerald City.” He laughed. I guess cooking put him in a good mood. “Be sure to return it when you leave because—”
“Because it’s the only one in the entire universe.”
He nodded. “Oh, by the way, Madame bought something for you. I’ll get it.”
Something for me? My mind scanned my mental wish list for possibilities.
In a matter of seconds, James had returned with a Publix grocery bag he handed to me. Disappointed, I peeked in. There in a pretty yellow foil wrapper was a big bag of dried plums.
“I hope you like prunes. Madame believes in them wholeheartedly. Insists I eat four a day.”
“Then why does it say plums?”
“Marketing, I guess.”
“Hmm. Well, please tell her thank you. I would myself, but Sudsy’s waiting with the food.”
“I understand,” he said, handing me the key.
“Do you want to eat the dolmades now or a later?” Sudsy asked when we were in my apartment and she’d plunked the box on the tiny kitchen table.
“Are there alligators in Lake Tarpon? Yeah, I want to eat them now.” I took the pan of dolmades out of the box. “Get a couple of plates out of the cupboard. The silverware’s in the drawer. I’ll heat a couple of them in the microwave.”
“This little Pullman kitchen is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Reminds me of the playhouse kitchen we had in kindergarten.”
“I wouldn’t know. Paige Barton and Tamara were always hogging the hell out of it, and I never could get my unassertive little ass inside.”
“Well, you have your own playhouse now.” Sudsy looked wistful. “You’re so lucky.”
I am lucky, but if I’m so lucky, why do I feel so totally alone and sad?
Lying, the little voice in my head answered. It’s because you’re lying to your parents.
Stop it, I told the voice. You’re giving me a headache.
The sound of Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream” on my cell interrupted the throbbing in my head. Sudsy looked at me. Terror was written all over her face.
“Omigod, Brooke, don’t answer it.”
“I have to. It could be my mother.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I dug my cell out of my purse and looked at the number. Tyler. Thank God!
“Hi Tyler. What’s going on?”
“That’s what I want to know. “Your mom said you were at Sudsy’s, and her mom said she was at your house.”
His words tightened like a monkey wrench around my heart. “You didn’t tell Sudsy’s mother anything, did you?”
“I never tell parents anything. Where are you, anyway?”
“Listen, meet me at Spring Bayou in ten minutes and I’ll tell you everything.”
I waited for Tyler on a park bench. The bayou was deserted except for a man walking a cute, little black Cockapoo.
How nice to be a dog. To have nothing to worry about except eating and peeing and wondering when they were going to take you for a walk. Of course, dogs don’t live very long, but if my parents find out I’ve been lying to them about my apartment, I might not live very long either.
I was debating how much I should actually tell Tyler when he pulled up on his bike. It looked more beat up than ever. I waved. He looked disappointed.
“Where’s the Green Lady?”
“I decided to walk, why?”
“Because I just wanted a little privacy, that’s all.”
“Let me guess, you don’t have a girlfriend anymore and you want to make out.”
“Well, you’re kinda right.”
I laughed.
“But it’s more than that. I miss you, Brooke.”
I gulped, and my heartfelt all soft and squishy. “Oh, Tyler, I sort of miss you too.”
“Then why don’t we get back together?”
No, I thought. No, no, no. I love Nick. But how could I tell Tyler that?
“Hey, you’re the one who broke up with me, remember?” I began, trying to sound reasonable. “Grandma Donnie was really mad. She called you a little asshole.”
It was Tyler’s turn to laugh. “I guess I was sort of an asshole. I was just frustrated about us not having sex. But, I don’t care anymore.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, I like sex, but it’s really no big deal.”
Ching-ching-ching sounded in my head, like when someone wins at the slot machine in Las Vegas and all the little cherries line up in a row. But in this case, the cherry had to do with Tyler.
“Don’t tell me you actually did it!”
“Sshh, not so loud.”
“Then you did find somebody! Who was it? Not Paige Barton. That little tramp. I knew she was having sex.”
“It was not Paige, and I’m not going to tell you who. It wouldn’t be cool.”
“Right.”
“Listen, it doesn’t matter, because it didn’t mean anything.”
“That’s what they all say.”
I stood up and so did Tyler, who grabbed me by the arm, turning me so we were looking into each other’s eyes.
“Brooke, I still love you. I’m totally miserable without you.”
“Tyler, I still care about you too, but like a friend. Besides, it’s too late. Too much has happened the last couple of weeks. I’ve grown.”
He let go of my arm. “Grown? What you really mean is you’ve got a new boyfriend. Let’s see, who could it be? That old guy who gives you acting lessons? Or is it his brother who teaches you to dance?”
“Anthony is Nick’s cousin and I’m not remotely interested in him. He’s my dance instructor, that’s it.”
He walked to his bike and hopped on. “Well, something’s up, because your parents don’t even know where you are.”
Suddenly I knew I had to tell him everything. If I didn’t, he’d tell my parents I wasn’t at Sudsy’s and tell Sudsy’s parents that she wasn’t at my house. It was too terrible to think about.
“Okay, Tyler, I’ll level with you.”
It was another of those time-stood-still moments, me spilling my guts about the carriage house and my new black Patent Leather Room and Tyler devouring every word.
“So that’s where you were?”
I nodded.
; “Then I’m coming over.”
“You can’t,” I said, panic in my voice. “Sudsy’s spending the night.”
“Okay, then tell me when I can come.”
“I don’t know,” I said, stalling. “I don’t really think it’s a good idea. Miss de France has rules.”
“Then break them. I don’t think your parents would like it if they knew you lied to them, do you?”
He smiled. Not his usual grin, but a smile that reminded me of a Tyler I didn’t know.
He pedaled off, his red bike blending in with the cherry sunset. If we’d been in a soap opera, it would be time for a commercial, but this wasn’t TV. It was my life.
I couldn’t believe he was blackmailing me! But he’d had sex, and I guess that once a guy had it, he’d do anything for more.
I crossed the park toward Miss de France’s, the scratchy St. Augustine tickling my bare feet, the Technicolor sunset reflecting in the tall, narrow window panes of the Victorian. Looking up, I saw Miss de France at her bedroom window. I waved and she waved back. A shiver ran through me in spite of the humid evening air. My life was no longer my own.
I thought of her list of rules for the carriage house. Let her know when I come and go; no more than three guests at a time; no drugs or alcohol. But she’d never said no boys, so I wouldn’t be breaking any rules if I let Tyler in, would I? Had Miss de France really forgotten about boys or had she planned it that way?
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was the following Thursday afternoon and I’d just scampered down the stairs of my apartment to my three o’clock dance lesson. Miss de France was waiting in the drawing room in her red chair.
“Hello, darling,” she said. “You are looking unusually lovely this afternoon. May I attribute your freshness to love or to a healthy intestinal tract?”
I blushed, remembering the bag of prunes James had given me three days earlier.
“I’m not sure,” I answered, unwilling to admit to either love or regularity.
“No matter, you look divine. Anthony should be here shortly. Such a handsome young man, just like Nick. Obviously, it runs in the family.”
I nodded, thinking of Nick and the way we’d ignored each other during our previous day’s acting lesson: me, because I was too stressed worrying about Tyler’s promised visit to my apartment; Nick, because he always ignored me.
“You’re right,” I answered. “Anthony and Nick are handsome enough to be models.”
“Or movie stars.” Miss de France wore her cat that ate the canary look.
“Don’t tell me Anthony wants to act, too?” I said, sounding a tiny bit bitchy.
“The whole world wants to act, darling!”
The startling revelation that the entire world is filled with egomaniacs wanting to show off in front of a camera was interrupted by the rattling of a door knob. I turned to see Anthony lope through the French doors, his usual fakey smile on his face.
“My two favorite girls,” he burbled, hopping over to give Miss D a peck on the check. He sashayed my way. I did a sidestep and missed the slobbery kiss intended for my mouth.
He frowned.
“It’s a fox trot glide,” I said with a smirk. “How did you like it?”
“Killer, Brooke. Just killer.”
Miss D beamed, obviously enjoying our little sparring match. “Well today,” she announced, “we will begin the tango, also known as the dance of love.”
I gulped. Great! All I needed was to have Anthony plastered against my bod all afternoon.
Miss de France assumed her movie actress voice. “Originating in Argentina, the tango has been adapted into both English and American versions. Anthony will be teaching you the American version, will you not Anthony?”
He nodded, giving me an icky smile that left me wanting to bolt from the room.
“The tango is danced in 4/4 time,” he began, “but some dances are in 2/4 or 6/8. Now, I’ll do a few steps first, Brooke, so just watch.”
On cue, Miss de France tapped her way across the room to the record player.
“The music is entitled ‘La Cumparsita,’ and it is my absolute favorite. It was composed a very long time ago by a young man just your age, Brooke.”
Soon the scratchy sounds of “Dah, dah, dah, dah, da, da, da, da, da, da, da. Dah, dah, dah, dah filled the air. Fascinated, I watched Anthony glide across the room, back arched, a sneer on his face. After a few dramatic lunges and abrupt halts, he stopped.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Miss D’s cultured voice echoed across the tile floor once the music ended. “Ahh, if I were only thirty years younger.”
Thirty years younger? Does she mean dancing or? She couldn’t possibly mean sex! Yikes!
Unruffled, Anthony continued. “Now, here’s the basic tango position.” Grabbing me, he plastered my hips against him, his head off to the side as though I’d just eaten a grouper sandwich. Nodding to Miss D to start the music, we crept across the room.
“Step back on the ball of your foot; forward on your heel,” Anthony reminded. “Ball, heel, ball, heel, sidestep.”
“Remember, you are a cat!” Miss D called as I whirled by the phonograph. “You are a strong, passionate feline.”
But instead of strong, I felt weak and confused, because as much as I loathed Anthony, his body against mine was leaving me strangely turned on.
Emotionally exhausted, I staggered up the stairs to The Patent Leather Room where I locked the door, kicked off my shoes and flopped down on my Hollywood bed.
I am not attracted to Anthony, I reminded myself. He is a weirdo pervert and I’d rather kiss the old Greek barber who chopped my hair off than kiss him. But I am only human, and having a guy press his unit against you for an hour would be enough to turn on Mother Teresa.
I closed my eyes. If only it had been Nick. If only he were giving me tango lessons, I would tango the rest of my life. I turned over and kissed my pillow, imagining it was him.
Oh, Nick, why do you have to be so old? Why can’t I be twenty-one? I could really live in the carriage house and you could be my boyfriend and we could...
It would be wonderful. Nick and I naked in this bed, just like in The Young and the Restless, my favorite soap. I was in the really good part of my fantasy when there was a knock on the door.
Maybe it’s Nick! I thought wildly. Maybe he’s come to tell me he’s changed his mind about me being a little girl.
I got up and walked to the window. Please, God, let it be Nick. I pushed back the silver drapery and peeked out. It was a man. Tall, dark and Greek. But it wasn’t Nick. It was his cousin, Anthony.
“I’m taking a nap,” I told him through the glass pane. “I really can’t—”
“I can’t hear you. Let me in for a second.”
Ignoring intuition, I unlocked the door.
“Nice pad,” he said, pushing his way in.
“It’s not really mine. I mean, obviously it’s Miss de France’s, but she just lets me use it. I really live at home with my parents. I’m only sixteen.”
Anthony gave me a piercing look. “I thought you just had a birthday.” He moved closer.
“Oh, you’re right, but I’ve only been seventeen for a few days and I guess I’m not used to it yet.” I laughed a make-believe laugh.
He nodded making me wonder whether it was an I understand or you’re a real idiot kind of nod.
“So, how did you like our tango lesson?” Catlike, he plopped down on my Hollywood bed and stretched out on my silver duvet cover, his dark curls resting on a mountain of pillows. “Did I turn you on?”
“No, you didn’t turn me on, and get your filthy shoes off of my bed,” I said, knocking his feet to the floor.
“Sorry,” he said, not moving a centimeter. “But I’m tired.”
“Then maybe you should go home and take a nap.’’
“I’d rather take a nap with you.”
In one quick movement, Anthony grabbed my arm, pulling me down on top of him. I struggled against him
and the suffocating scent of sweet cologne.
“Stop it!” I screamed. “Let me go, right now!”
“Don’t give me that. You like it and you know it.” Forcing his hard lips to mine, he tried to slip his hand under my blouse.
Panic hit me. This can’t be happening! Anthony wouldn’t force me to have sex, not with James outside cutting the grass. Or would he? An image of Maria running away from Anthony through the rain floated through my mind.
“Okay, have it your way. I don’t need you.”
On my feet, I backed toward the door. “Get out,” I said evenly, turning the knob. “Get out, and don’t ever come back again or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what? Tell James? I’d just tell him you asked me up here. It would be your word against mine. Besides, we didn’t even do anything.”
Was he right? Would James believe Anthony instead of me?
He moved languidly across the room, stopping to admire himself in the vanity mirror.
“Just remember one thing, you little tease,” he said, adjusting his shirt collar, “one morning you’re going to wake up wanting me just as much as I want you.”
He walked to the open door, then turned. “By the way, baby, don’t be late to dance class.”
The slam of the carriage house door shook every loose pane in the French windows. Solemnly, I picked up a piece of loose putty that had been jarred loose and tried to stick it back.
“Don’t worry little room, I said, “I’ll never let him in to hurt us again. Never. I promise.”
Tears streaming down my cheeks, I watched Anthony walk across the new mown lawn and get into his black Trans Am. But as I watched, I had the funny feeling someone was watching me. My eyes moved to the Victorian’s kitchen window where the slight flutter of a lace curtain revealed a glimpse of make-believe movie star Miss de France and her gold opera glasses.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Frantically, I grabbed my purse and leaped for the door, opening and locking it at warp speed. I want to go home, I thought. I want to go to my real house.
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