Gabrielle's Bully (Young Adult Romance)

by Malek, Doreen Owens

  “I’ll see you at eight tomorrow night?” he asked, as if I might have changed my mind.

  No way. “Eight o’clock,” I said.

  I wondered if he would walk me to the cafeteria, but he just nodded and moved on.

  Still shy. Well, that made two of us.

  * * *

  Barbara was almost as excited as I was on the night of the dance. She was going to the movies with Mike, but had told him to pick her up at my house at seven-thirty.

  She arrived an hour before that with an assortment of jewelry and makeup sufficient to stock a small store, in case I needed to “borrow” anything. My father shook his head when he saw what she was carrying and said that it was enough to outfit the Rockettes for a year.

  “I have to say one thing for old Heathland,” she mused as she watched me struggling into my slip. “He doesn’t fool around with movies or bowling, he goes straight to the major leagues. The country club, my dear. I’ve yet to see the inside of the place. I’ll have to speak to Michael about that.” She examined the chipped polish on one fingernail. “What time do you have to be home?”

  I lifted the dress from my bed. “Midnight. It was a compromise. My father wanted eleven, and I wanted one.”

  “Thank God for your mother,” Barbara said. “If it were up to your old man you’d be locked in a tower like Rapunzel.”

  I was ready to go at seven-thirty when Mike came for Barbara. She told me to stay upstairs because if Mike saw me he might decide he was dating the wrong girl. Fat chance. Everybody knew he was crazy about Barbara.

  I looked at myself in the mirror, and wondered what Heath would think of me. My hair was drawn up and back to reveal Barbara’s drop pearl earrings. I wore just a touch of lipstick and mascara, and the fine gold chain with a tiny diamond that my parents had given me for my sixteenth birthday. The dress looked perfect with sheer stockings and slender heeled shoes. I didn’t worry about the hairdo or the heels because Heath was so tall. It was a relief to know I could be with a boy without scrunching down to appear smaller or sticking to flats. And, in that dress, for the first time I could see what my mother meant about my height being an asset. Barbara could never carry it off.

  My mother came in and handed me a cup of tea, smiling tenderly. “Wait ‘till your father sees you.” She set her own mug on my mirrored dresser tray, and fussed with the skirt, tugging it around my legs. Then she straightened and put her hands on my shoulders, blinking rapidly, her smile trembling on her lips. “You are going to be a beauty like my mother,” she said. “She was tall, like you, and had that same lovely hair. If you want to know what your grandmother Dillon was like, all you have to do is look in the mirror.” She turned abruptly and left the room.

  I stood still, moved by her little speech. She rarely mentioned her mother, who had died from blood clots in the lungs after the birth of my Uncle Leo. My mother had been ten. We had a few pictures of her, one clear one, which showed her in her early thirties, a year before she died. It was a black and white shot, enough to see the similarity of her features to mine, and her height.

  My mother remembered her younger, and in color.

  When I went downstairs a few minutes later, my father was in the den watching the news with Mom.

  He looked up and said, “Ellie, who is this dazzling creature? She can’t be the same Gaby who was wearing my sweatshirt this afternoon.” He stood and put one arm around my mother and one around me. “I’m quite a lucky fellow, to be living with two such beautiful girls.”

  My mother said, “Go on back upstairs, Gaby. I’ll call you when Heath comes.”

  As I left the room I heard my father say in a funny, uneven voice, “She’s growing up so fast.”

  * * *

  I jumped a foot when the doorbell rang. My palms were wringing wet and I wiped them on my quilt before I picked up my purse.

  I’ll never forget the look on Heath’s face as I came down the stairs. He was standing in the hall, watching me descend. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to. It was all there in his eyes.

  I couldn’t believe how handsome he looked. Somehow the clipped hair and erect bearing that made him seem out of place at school went very well with the navy blazer and gray slacks he was wearing. He had a square white box in his hands.

  His father was standing behind him, a distinguished- looking man with gray hair, older than my parents.

  Heath introduced everybody, sounding like an etiquette book. I realized that part of what made him seem different was that he was more grown up and mature than the other boys I knew.

  He handed me the box. “This is for you, Gaby.”

  It was a single dewy white camellia on a bed of tissue paper. My mother took it and pinned it in my hair.

  “Come along, son,” Heath’s father said. “Lois is waiting in the car.”

  My mother picked up on that, and I knew she would ask me about Lois later. Oh, well. Heath’s mother was dead, after all. I wouldn’t say that his parents were divorced before she died. Mom might never find out.

  Heath helped me into my coat, and we said goodbye to my parents and followed Mr. Lindsay outside.

  The car was big and square, not the one Roger drove but some foreign model I didn’t recognize. Lois was a dark shape in the front seat, exuding perfume. She said hello as we got in the back, and then we were on our way.

  The drive was short, just to the other side of town. It felt strange to sit next to Heath in the dark. He turned to me and whispered, “I have my license, but I thought your parents would like it better if we went with my father.”

  He was right. I doubted very much if I would be accompanying him on this little adventure if my parents hadn’t heard that his father was going. That seemed to reassure them that their precious darling was in good hands. The way they immediately trusted other adults amazed me. They didn’t know Heath’s father. He could have been Bluebeard. Their logic defied comprehension.

  The country club was brightly lit. There was a long drive past rolling lawns and elaborate gardens, and attendants to park your car when you pulled up at the door. I had passed the entrance many times, but had never been inside the gates. My parents weren’t members.

  One of the men in uniform took Mr. Lindsay’s car, and we went up the wide white steps, under the overhanging portico, and through the massive glass doors.

  Inside, a huge chandelier illuminated us as we stood on a patterned Oriental carpet that covered most of the marble floor in the hall. A hatcheck girl took our things, and the pause gave me a chance to look at Lois. She was a very pretty champagne blonde, much younger than Heath’s father. I’m bad with ages once people get past twenty, but I would guess her at about thirty. Heath’s father was fifty-five, at least. Once again, I felt a stab of sympathy for Heath. I tried to imagine my father with a girlfriend who was closer to my age than his, and couldn’t do it.

  The band was already playing, and couples were on the dance floor. The dining area consisted of an array of small tables with round lace cloths. Each one had a crystal vase of fresh flowers and a hurricane lamp with a candle inside to cast a romantic glow. The people were all well dressed, beautiful. It was like an enchanted fairyland.

  I was relieved to see that we were seated by ourselves across the aisle from Heath’s father and Lois. I wanted to be alone with Heath, and also didn’t relish the thought of trying to make conversation with Mr. Lindsay. He looked like the President of General Motors or the Chairman of the New York Stock Exchange, and I wouldn’t know what to say.

  “It’s all so lovely,” I said to Heath after we sat down. “Have you been here before?”

  Heath shook his head. “My father joined when we moved here, and he’s been bugging me to come with him to one of these things, but I never did.” He looked across the table at me, his eyes shining in the flickering candlelight. “I didn’t know anyone I wanted to ask to go with me.”

  That comment made me glow like the candle between us. He had asked me. And his d
irectness surprised me. Most boys would try to be cool about it and give the impression they had lots of dates.

  Heath called the waiter and asked for two Cokes, and we ordered dinner. Most of the dishes on the menu were unfamiliar, but I muddled my way through it with shrimp cocktail and prime rib. I didn’t care what I ate anyway.

  As soon as the waiter left, Heath asked me to dance. My heart began to pound. I hoped I wouldn’t trample on his feet.

  He took my hand and led me to the floor. When I stepped into his arms my head only came to his shoulder, which was a nice feeling. He smelled wonderful, too, clean and . . . manly.

  He knew how to dance. He led strongly, sort of pushing my feet with his, and was remarkably easy to follow. I had been worried about dancing to this music, which was a far cry from the blaring rock numbers which were featured at our school dances. I had always thought of this type of music as the sort of thing old ladies with afghans on their knees listened to on Lawrence Welk. But I found I was enjoying it, drifting along, Heath’s arms tight and warm about me. I didn’t think about tripping over him, or anything else. The song was Moon River, which never failed to make me think of a small boat sailing peacefully into the sunset, like Henry Hudson’s Half Moon beginning that last voyage from which it never returned.

  Heath gradually pulled me closer as we danced, and I pressed my cheek against the coarse material of his jacket, closing my eyes.

  The band stopped playing and took a break. Heath and I stood looking at each other in the middle of the floor, his hands still clasping my waist.

  “You’re a good dancer,” I said softly.

  “They made us take ballroom dancing at the Academy,” he said, leading me back to our table. “I never thought I’d use it.” He smiled. “It was pretty embarrassing, all of us guys dancing with one another.”

  I laughed. He pulled out my chair and I sat in it.

  Heath walked to his side of the table and sat too. “I can’t do the dances the kids at school do, but if you want a waltz, a tango, a mambo, or a cha-cha, I’m your man.”

  “I’ll teach you the other stuff,” I said. “It’s mostly just jumping around, anyway.” The mention of school had reminded me uncomfortably of Jeff Lafferty, and Heath saw it in my face.

  “Gaby, what is it?”

  I felt a little thrill every time he said my name. “I can’t forget what I did that day outside the gym with Jeff,” I blurted. “I still feel terrible about it. Are you sure you have forgiven me?”

  He took my hand and separated the fingers with his. “Of course. I know Jeff Lafferty is a force to be reckoned with at your school.”

  He always referred to it as “your” school to me, as if he didn’t belong there. “You reckoned with him, all right,” I said. “I’ll bet that’s the only time His Imperial Highness has been decked.”

  Heath shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything.” He didn’t seem particularly proud of what he’d done.

  “I guess you took boxing at the Academy, too,” I said.

  He nodded. “Yup. They taught us about everything, except life.” He turned my hand over and studied the palm, as if about to tell my fortune. “Nobody taught us about life.”

  “I think you have to learn that for yourself,” I said quietly.

  He looked up and smiled at me. “I think you’re right.”

  The band struck a note, and then began to play something with a Latin rhythm.

  “Come on,” he said, standing. “I’ll show you the cha-cha before dinner.”

  And he did.

  * * *

  I never wanted the evening to end. When the food came I ate very slowly, as if by stretching out the time taken to consume it I could extend the hours until midnight.

  It didn’t work. When it came time to go home I felt like crying. I knew that Monday we would be back at school in jeans and sneakers, buried in math and chemistry, and this magic would be lost forever.

  Heath’s father and Lois were staying later, so Heath called a taxi for eleven forty-five. He used the phone at the reception desk.

  “Maybe next time your parents will let you go with me alone,” he said, “and I’ll drive.”

  I looked down, trying not to show my delight. There would be a next time. I giggled to myself like an idiot while he got our coats.

  The doorman called us when the taxi arrived, and Heath gave him a tip. It was the first time he’d given anybody money. I had assumed it was all covered by his father’s club membership.

  I had only ridden in a taxi a few times, in New York, and had the same feeling I’d had then, the uncomfortable sensation of undeserving royalty being chauffeured around by some peasant. I didn’t like it.

  We arrived at my house too soon. Heath got out to open my door, and told the driver to wait.

  He walked me to our porch, his hand on my arm. He always guided me, as if I were blind. I guessed that was something else they had taught him at military school.

  My mother had left the little amber porch light on, but it was hard to see Heath’s face in the enclosing dark.

  “I had a wonderful time,” I said, truthfully, but it still sounded dumb, like my mother had told me to say it when she gave me a fresh handkerchief and checked to see that I had bus fare.

  “So did I.” He loomed above me, bending toward me swiftly. I felt his lips on my cheek, soft and warm, and pulled away a little. Then he moved his head and kissed me on the mouth.

  I kissed him back, but I knew I wasn’t very good at it. I hadn’t had enough practice.

  He didn’t seem to mind. He drew back and said huskily, his breath fanning my face, “I’ll see you in school on Monday.”

  I nodded, then realized he might not be able to see it. “Okay.”

  He lingered, reaching out to stroke my hair, as if he didn’t want to stop touching me, and then ran lightly down the steps.

  I leaned against the door, watching, until he got into the cab and it drove away.

  * * *

  My mother was in the den, waiting up for me, watching the late movie. She looked away from the screen as I came in.

  “I guess I don’t have to ask you if you had a good time,” she said. “The answer is written all over your face.”

  “It was heavenly.”

  “Heavenly, hmm? Well, he seems like a very nice boy. And his father looks like Dana Andrews.”

  “Who?”

  My mother got up and shut off the set. “Never mind. Don’t make me feel any older than I already do. You’d better get to bed, honey, you have church at nine in the morning.”

  I’d forgotten all about that.

  I followed my mother upstairs, thinking about Heath, his sudden, blinding smile, his gentle kiss. As I turned into my room and began to unbutton my dress, I knew that I was falling in love for the first time in my life.

  Chapter 4

  Heath called me on Sunday afternoon, about four o’clock. By a miracle, I was the only one home. My parents and Craig had gone to the movies. I talked my way out of it because I wanted to spend some time alone and think; reliving my hours with Heath the night before was a very pleasant pastime. I was surprised when they agreed to leave me behind, after issuing the standard warnings about locking up everything and not opening the door to strangers. My father is convinced that a horde of burglars is going to descend on our house the moment he leaves it. He can never go anywhere without a departing sermonette on safety practices. He almost seems disappointed when he comes back and discovers that we weren’t pillaged in his absence.

  When the phone rang, I grabbed it carelessly, thinking it was Barbara. She always lets her math homework go until Sunday, and then calls me to find out how to do it. I should charge by the minute for consultation, like a lawyer.

  “Hi, Gaby.” Heath’s voice startled me into alertness, and I sat up quickly, rapping my ankle on the coffee table. The pain shot up my leg and exploded in my brain.

  “Hi, Heath.” It came out in strangled tones, as I bl
inked back tears and fought for control. Why, oh why, did I have to be such a klutz?

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Are you all right?” Heath asked. “You sound kind of funny.”

  Yeah, hilarious. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I lied rapidly, gripping my ankle and massaging it fiercely. “I was just watching a sad movie, and it got to me. Bette Davis, high drama, a real tearjerker.”

  He chuckled. “Do you like those old movies?”

  “I love them,” I answered. It was the truth.

  “So do I,” Heath said. “You know what I really dig? The ones from the forties, with people like Alan Ladd and William Bendix walking around in trench coats and those hats, you know those hats? And they’re always saying things like, ‘She’s a swell girl,’ and ‘Don’t be a chump.’”

  I laughed out loud, delighted. Another forties freak! I couldn’t believe it, it was too good to be true. Everybody thought Barbara and I were crazy for being in love with those corny old flicks. And Heath liked them too. This was the man for me, for sure.

  “How about, ‘Think you’re a tough guy, huh?”’ I said to Heath. “You forgot that one.”

  “That’s right. That’s what the villain always says to the hero before he orders three thugs to beat him up.”

  “While Veronica Lake or Ida Lupino weeps delicately in the background.”

  “Not hard enough to run her makeup or disarray her sequined gown,” Heath answered.

  I giggled. Heath had obviously spent as much time as I had in the gin mills and nightclubs of the late late show. Barbara and I sometimes stayed up all night at her house when her parents thought we were asleep, glued to the screen of her portable television set. It was in her bedroom and had an ear jack. The next day Barbara talked out of the side of her mouth and walked around with her fists thrust forward in her pockets like a G-Man with a concealed gun. Her parents thought we both needed professional help.

  “It must have been a different world then,” I said wistfully.