The Innocent

by Candice Raquel Lee

  Then I heard some people coming down the stairs. I had no choice. I didn’t want to be found cowering in a stairwell. I placed my palm on the cold metal knob, turned and pushed. Head down, eyes on the floor, I walked forward and bumped into a guy who was crossing the lobby.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “No. It’s my fault.” He was staring at me like he was stunned or something. “Nothing could ever be your fault. You’re perfect.”

  I laughed as if he were trying to be funny. Then Cristien stepped in front of him, wrapped an arm around me and kissed me.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” he whispered.

  What could I say? I thought I should laugh—“ha ha, of course I was coming”—but I didn’t have it in me. My mind kept chanting, “Girl throwing away her future here! Watch a girl throw away her future!” My gaze wandered. It met Lance’s. He smiled at me. I smiled back. Again, it was very easy.

  “Hey, li’l sister,” he said, then shook his head, “I mean, Alexa.”

  “Hi, Lance. How are you?”

  “Cool. And you?”

  “Okay, I guess.” Not okay at all, I thought.

  “Don’t worry. We don’t bite unless you want us to,” he told me reassuringly.

  “That’s good,” I said, thinking that was the oddest thing to say.

  I looked up at Cristien. He was staring at Lance; then his eyes met mine. There was nothing in them except a wall, star high and forever long. I couldn’t say anything to that, so I turned away again.

  “Let’s go,” Cristien said, leading me out.

  There were three sports cars outside this time. Three of the same car, in three different colors. Lance’s was gold, Abe’s white. Cristien held his blue door open for me.

  “What happened to the Phantom?” I asked.

  “This is an Aston Martin Vanquish. It’s a bit more intimate.”

  It was a two-seater. I got in. All three doors slammed shut almost at once. Cristien got in on the other side. I turned around. I could see Lance and Reese behind us. I waved. They waved back. Cristien reached behind his seat and pulled out a flower.

  “For you,” he said.

  It was a single red rose. I took it carefully, brought it to my nose and inhaled. My eyes closed automatically at the sweetness of it and him. When I opened them, he was watching me but quickly stopped to start the car.

  “Thank you,” I said, laying it across my lap.

  He nodded then pulled out. He turned on the radio. The Classical station was playing again. I stared out the window at the streets and buildings. Then he reached over and took my hand. My skin sighed where he touched me like it had missed him. I started to melt. I looked back at him to see if he felt anything, but he was staring straight ahead. Slowly though, his thumb started moving. His hand warmed over mine. He brought them to his lips and kissed my hand.

  “Why did you give me the wrong number?” he asked.

  I blushed. “I don’t date…” I couldn’t say, non-Jewish guys.

  “Really?” he asked, surprised. “A beautiful girl like you?”

  I licked my lips, “I have a lot of work, besides I’m not the kind of girl a guy like you would want to date, anyway.”

  “And what kind of girl do I want?” he asked without anger, as if he really wanted to know.

  I shrugged again. “A girl that is fun. Any of the other girls at that dance party.”

  “You think I wanted anyone else at that party?” he asked, frowning.

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “We are here now simply because you are the only one at the party I wanted,” he said, meeting my eyes.

  “But if I hadn’t been there you would have gone home with someone else.”

  “That would have been better.”

  I read his eyes. He meant it. I looked away. I could feel my heart hardening against his rejection. I painfully felt his hand warm around mine. I wanted to yank my hand away, but I didn’t want him to know that what he had said hurt me, and I was angry with myself for being hurt. I made a tentative effort to slip my fingers from his, a casual tug so it seemed that I was simply stretching it. He responded by closing his tighter around mine. I didn’t understand. If he didn’t want me why was he still holding my hand? Why wouldn’t he let me go?

  He glanced at me. “So where were you all day?”

  I continued to stare out the window and not look at him.

  “Out,” I said, wanting to hurt him back.

  “With whom?”

  “None of your business.”

  He shifted a little, “So, how long have you been going out with him?”

  “And what part of none of your business didn’t you understand?”

  “Should I let go of your hand?” he asked watching me.

  “If you want to,” I said, meeting his scrutinizing gaze. There was enough worry in his usually confident expression to make me feel quite good.

  “Do you want me to?” he asked softly.

  “I want you to keep your eyes on the road.”

  He half smiled, then looked away toward the windshield, “So do you?”

  I turned to peer out the window again. I ignored the tree lined streets whizzing by and my own expression reflecting back my petty annoyance. A part of me wanted him to let go of my hand because I was still pissed at him, but another part, a greater part, didn’t want him to let go because I didn’t want to let go of him. I didn’t want him to know either of those things, but if I didn’t tell him not to let go he would let go. Would ‘I don’t care’ work? Or better: “Do whatever you want,” I said, hoping to sound nonchalant.

  “I’m asking you what you want,” he insisted, still clasping my hand.

  I said nothing for as long as I could. I rolled my eyes. I sighed.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “No, what?” he asked, slipping his fingers between mine and laughing. I could hear the triumph.

  “So, what’s his name?” he asked after a while.

  “Oh, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t you give up? I was in my room when you called. Okay?”

  He turned to me again. “No, you weren’t. Were you?”

  “Road,” I said, this time smiling.

  He looked back, “Were you?”

  I laughed and the car slowed for the first time. We finally got a red light. He put the car in park and leaned over. I moved closer to my door. He leaned over more. I had no where to go. I turned my head then--his lips were on my very sensitive ear. His breath, his lips, I didn’t know which or what made my whole body scream.

  “Were you?” he whispered.

  I faced him. Our mouths were barely a centimeter apart. His eyes were locked on mine.

  “Green light,” I said and then either Lance or Abe beeped us.

  He got back into his own seat. The car accelerated. The wheels squealed. But he was still holding my hand.

  He parked outside what looked like a bar. I put the rose on the back seat for safekeeping. Then Cristien got out, gave the key to the valet, shoving him out the way, so he could open my door himself.

  Cristien took my hand to help me up. He watched my legs swing out. I stood and found myself fighting not to slide my body against his. He had not stepped back, and that stupid backward-opening door was hemming me in.

  “Excuse me,” I said, holding myself in the tight space.

  He put my hand over his heart.

  “Let’s dance,” he said, stepping back and taking me with him. He spun me and pushed the car door closed. We did not go to the bar. We entered the white marble lobby of the gorgeous old building next door. We took the elevator up. Cristien pressed a button that read “The Place”. The elevator doors opened and the music hit me like a pillow. It was soft and slow. I turned to him in horror.

  “Come on,” he said. “You’ll love it.”

  He dragged me toward the Maître d’.

  “The name’s Cristien LaRoche,” he said and glanced a
t me.

  Now I knew what to put on his Hanukah presents.

  The man looked at his computer. “Ah, yes, sir, table for six. Of course. This way.”

  He took our coats then led us to a dark round room. The filled tables were scattered next to huge windows and around a large parquet dance floor. Our private booth was across from double doors. I could see a lovely glass-enclosed balcony outside.

  “May I take your drink orders?” the waiter asked, walking up.

  “A Black Velvet for me,” Cristien said, “and a calimacho for the lady.”

  I had to laugh, then I stopped when he started running his fingers up and down my spine.

  “This is a nice place,” Reese said, gazing at the little white lights that hung from the ceiling.

  “Yeah,” Mikayla agreed, though she sounded as disappointed as I felt.

  Cristien looked at me, waiting for my affirmation. I thought a moment.

  “It’s a bit old-fashioned,” I quipped.

  He laughed, really laughed. His whole face lit up. I was so captured by the moment, I didn’t even see the waiter come back with the loaded tray. He put the drinks down and left. The others took long sips.

  “Do you want to dance?” Cristien asked.

  “Not really,” I said.

  “Oh, come on. Let’s go,” Reese cried loudly.

  “You heard her.” Cristien pulled me to my feet and on to the parquet.

  When he took me in his arms, it happened again. I started trembling, this time uncontrollably, wherever he touched me. If he was touching one arm it shook. If he was holding me, both shook. After a while it was like he was playing twister on me, touching here and there to see my body parts tremble. I couldn’t take it. I walked away from him. I sat back down in our booth. He followed me. He tried to take my hand, but of course that shook. He tried to hold me, to calm me, but it got worse. I was so embarrassed, I wanted to cry.

  “Give me a minute,” I said, wriggling away from him. I slowly stopped quaking.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. This has never happened to me before,” I admitted.

  “Never?” he smiled with a too-pleased expression.

  I turned toward the balcony doors. I should just run and jump.

  “Do you want to go outside and get some air?” he asked.

  That might work too. I nodded, getting up. He took his drink and followed me. He couldn’t stop himself from putting his arm around me again, but the coolish air of the sunroom helped to clear my head. I walked across the stone balcony. A net of tiny lights hung above our heads. I leaned on the railing and looked down at the surrounding rooftops and tiny people. I listened to the soft music, sirens, and gunshots that filled the night air. He put his drink down on the ledge.

  “Have you ever tasted a Black Velvet?” he asked.

  “What?” Then I remembered that was the name of his drink.

  “Drink to me only with thine eyes,” he said, quoting Ben Jonson’s Song to Celia, “and I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup and I’ll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; but might I of Jove’s nectar sup, I would not change for thine.”

  He took a sip, then kissed me. His mouth tasted like bubbles. He took another sip and kissed me again, and then he forgot the drink.

  I don’t know what happened, but the whole world went away except for his touch. Even the eternal stars dimmed. He became everything and everywhere. He became elemental. His breath was the wind I breathed, his lips the earth I was bound to, his kiss water, his hands fire. All these things held me, spoke to my body in a language it alone understood, a primal language that went beyond words or logic or mind, a speech of skin. It echoed through me, waking something, like a mirror inside me. As he held me, I wanted to embrace him. As he bewitched me, I wanted to beguile him. I wanted to bind him to me as he bound me to him. Without thought my hands moved, my lips moved. There was no superego, no I shouldn’t, only I want. I wanted him to feel the way I felt.

  Some part of me was shocked, frightened of the thing he was awakening in me, the thing that kissed his neck, his ear, until he moaned and pulled me even closer. That thing liked the noises he made, the way his muscles felt hard against me. It craved the feeling and wanted to hear that sound again and again.

  “Let’s go. Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  Yes. Yes, I thought. Then I blinked. Was I nuts? I wasn’t going anywhere with him. I wanted love, first and foremost. I pulled away from him and saw a woman with wings come crashing through the glass roof above us.

  Cristien grabbed me, protecting me with his body as the shards rained down on us. Then he swung me around toward the doors.

  “Sleep. Forget what you just saw. Just go inside. Wake,” he said, pushing me inside.

  I marched inside, angry at him for tempting me and angry at myself for being temped. I sat watching Reese and Mickey happily dancing with their dates. Cristien staggered in some time later. He sat by me, looking tired.

  “Do you want to dance?” he asked after a while. I shook my head.

  “We can go out on the balcony again if you want?” I shook my head.

  “You want to freshen your drink?”

  I shook my head.

  He narrowed his eyes and stared at me, “What do you want to do, Alexa?”

  My friends came back just then. I smiled and laughed at their observations while I sipped my calimocho (I really did like them) and ignored Cristien while he fumed. When Reese and Mikayla finally got tired it was nearly two in the morning.

  Cristien drove me back in silence. Well, mostly silence. I stared out the window while he kept asking what the matter was, and I kept saying nothing. He pulled up in front of my dorm.

  “Alexa, for the love of God, will you tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I said, opening the car door. I ran inside, slipped into an elevator before the doors closed. I reached my room and locked my door. I didn’t have to wait long for the knocking to start.

  “Alexa?” It was Cristien. He had followed me again.

  “Go away!” I yelled.

  “What did I do?” he asked.

  “I didn’t see him do anything,” Mikayla said. She was there?

  “Alexa,” Reese called. She was there too?

  I didn’t answer any of them, and they finally left.

  Bears and Wolves

  I refused to think about the date. There was nothing to think about. It was over. It was in the past. I was never seeing Cristien again. I had drawn a line in the sand, for both of us. There were things I was willing to do and things I was not. That was the way I had been brought up. This was the way I was going to live my life. I showered and changed into a big T-shirt with a puppy on it and climbed into bed. I grabbed my teddy bear, CJ, and held him.

  Why were things so hard now? In high school everything was so black and white. The choices were simple. There were rules for everything. Now everything seemed grey and muddled and confusing. I cried myself to sleep.

  I had another dream. Of course, Cristien was in it. I thought I had decided to forget him, so why was he sitting on the edge of my bed, beautiful as ever, his wings shimmering in the streetlight? Was my subconscious telling me I was wrong? Maybe. Maybe not. He looked kind of angry. He was holding the rose he had given me, twirling it between thumb and forefinger. My rose, lost in flight. I wouldn’t even have it to remember him by.

  “I sent thee late a rosy wreath,” he whispered, “not so much honoring thee as giving it a hope that there it could not withered be; But thou thereon didst only breathe and sent’st it back to me; since when it grows and smells, I swear not of itself but thee.”

  He finished the poem he had started at “The Place,” then touched my lips with the silken petals of the rose.

  “Why do you keep rejecting me?” he asked.

  “Well, just look at you. I mean, you look like some kind of fallen angel, which do
es not bode well for the longevity of our relationship. Guys like that rarely stay. Besides, you aren’t even Jewish,” I said with the honesty only dreams would allow.

  “So, would it be better if I were a Jewish fallen angel?” he growled. “I cannot believe that a girl raised in this century would be so religiously intolerant.”

  “Listen, I didn’t say anything bad about you. I just said I did not want to date you.”

  “Because I’m not Jewish… Sounds intolerant to me.”

  “I am not intolerant. I have nothing against polar bears, but that does not mean I will sleep with one.”

  “Unless he was Jewish,” he snapped. “Would you date Jesus? He was Jewish?”

  “We are not discussing Jesus, and I am not dating you.”

  “Why not, if you aren’t prejudiced?”

  I started to answer when my window was thrown open and a guy and a girl leapt through. The guy, with a drawn gun, aimed for Cristien.

  The girl went for me. I ran for my door. She grabbed me from behind, locking her arm around my throat. I turned, pulling on her hand, trying to breathe. I bent over, yanked as hard as I could and sent her flying over my head into the wall over my bed. Free, I ran to my door again. I was almost in the hall when she crashed in to me and brought me down. She climbed over me, started to bind my wrists behind my back.

  “Daniela!” a strangled voice cried.

  I turned my head, saw Cristien holding the man by the throat. Cristien’s light was burning him to nothing. Daniela let me go, rushed to help her partner. There was nothing in Cristien’s hand by the time she reached him.

  “No!” she screamed, then turned to attack, but Cristien punched her hard, sending her careening into the wall. She collapsed to the ground.

  “I don’t care what you do to me now,” Daniela wept. “I loved him. I loved him. Just kill me too.”

  “I don’t do murderers favors,” Cristien said, unleashing his light.