Season of Mists (Young Adult Paranormal Romance) (Cupid's First Strike - Teen Love In The 80's)

by Doreen Owens Malek

  I realized that I was still gripping the box of candy in my hands. I extended it to her. “I brought these for you.”

  “Why, thank you. That was very thoughtful.” She eyed me critically. “Well, when you came here, did you think you’d be hearing the romantic fantasies of a crazy old lady?”

  I had to laugh, wiping my nose with a tissue from my pocket. “You don’t seem crazy to me, Maggie. May I call you that?”

  She stripped the cellophane wrapper from the box. “I think that would be permissible. So, what did your mother tell you about me?”

  “She said you taught at the grammar school for a long time,” I answered, drastically editing my mother’s comments.

  Maggie was not fooled. “I’ll bet she said more than that. As I said before, she and I did not see eye to eye on a number of occasions. I believe I gave your mother the lowest grade in the class in deportment one semester. It’s coming back to me now.”

  I filed that away for future reference. Miss Sanborn was supplying me with ammunition for projected arguments with Mom.

  “What did she do?” I asked eagerly.

  The old lady smiled slyly. “I seem to recall something about her punching the Thompson boy on the playground.”

  “Punching?” I repeated incredulously. This was good stuff!

  “Yes, she was a little scrapper. Would you care for a caramel?”

  I took one and we munched in companionable silence.

  “Do you have a young man?” she asked me suddenly.

  I had no idea how to answer that question. “I don’t seem to do very well with boys my age,” I said truthfully. “They seem like babies to me, and I’m a loss at social events. I have to go to a party Saturday night, and I don’t even have a costume.”

  “A costume?”

  “It’s a Halloween party. People dress up, you know. I’m not much into it, and I can’t think what to wear. I’d get out of it if I could, but I’ve already promised I would go.”

  “Your friends, what are they wearing?”

  “Well, two of them are going as Caesar and Cleopatra. The girl who’s giving the party is dressing up in a turn-of-the-century outfit, the gay nineties, and her boyfriend is too. One guy is getting a caveman costume at a rental place. Just about anything, I guess.” Why was she so interested in this?

  “Help me up,” she said suddenly.

  I took her hands and assisted her out of the chair. She walked over to a closet on the far wall. “I have an idea,” she said in a tone of conspiracy.

  She opened the closet door and pushed a selection of hanging garments along the rod, looking through them. She came up with a zippered plastic bag and turned back to me with it.

  “Have a look at this,” she said. “I’ve kept it for so long, and I never knew why. Couldn’t bear to get rid of it, I suppose.” She opened the bag with unsteady fingers and showed me what was inside.

  It was a flapper dress from the twenties, with a dropped hem and ruffled at the collar and cuffs. The material was very old and faded, giving the rose color an uneven tone in spots. Even so, it was beautiful.

  “Why don’t you wear it?” she suggested. “With a few accessories it would be perfect. It’s totally authentic, and only needs a beaded bag and a headband to go with it.”

  “I could never accept this,” I said.

  “Why not? What am I going to do with it? It’s been rotting in closets like that one for too long. You might as well get some use out of it.”

  “Why did you save it?” I asked. But I knew.

  “I wore it to the dance with Tom,” she said. “I have no one to give it to, and heaven knows what will happen to it when I die, which can’t be long now. I would rather you had it, my dear.”

  “It doesn’t seem right to wear it as a Halloween costume,” I said.

  She chuckled. “Why not? It would be less right for it to wind up as a dust rag.”

  I folded the dress. “Thank you,” I said inadequately.

  “You’re very welcome. Will you have another candy?”

  I looked up and saw her bedside clock. “Oh, dear, I have to go. I took my mother’s car and I have to return it on time.”

  She looked disappointed. “So soon?” she said.

  “I’ll be back,” I promised. “I’ll be back for another visit and tell you all about the party.”

  “Oh, good. I’ll look forward to that.”

  I leaned forward impulsively and kissed her on her dry, leathery cheek. “I’m so glad I came to see you,” I said, meaning it.

  “I’m glad too,” Maggie said. She was waving as I left.

  I stuck the folded dress under my arm and streaked out of the apartment and out of Building C.

  I had to see Tom before I went home.

  * * *

  Agnes was holding the fort at the agency. She looked up in surprise as I came through the door.

  “Busman’s holiday?” she asked. “Aren’t you off tonight?”

  “I left something in the back room,” I said. “I’ll just go get it.”

  She went back to her magazine as I hurried to the rear of the office and slipped through the covered door. I halted on the balcony.

  “Tom?” I called softly. “Tom?”

  “Here,” he said, and stepped out of the shadows.

  I ran to him.

  “Every time, I’m afraid you won’t be here,” I said, hugging him. “Every time.”

  He said nothing, holding me close.

  “Tom, I found Maggie,” I finally said.

  He exhaled slowly. “I thought you might.”

  “You wanted to see how she was, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “Yes.” There was a pause. “And how is she?”

  “Tom, she’s so old,” I said sadly.

  “So am I, Cory,” he responded quietly. “So am I.”

  “I don’t think of you that way.”

  “Is she happy?” he asked.

  I hesitated. “She never married,” I said. “I don’t think she ever got over you.”

  His fingers dug into my shoulders. “Don’t tell me that,” he said. “Please don’t tell me that.”

  “Would you rather I lied to you?” I asked him.

  He released me and turned away. “I can’t bear the thought that what happened to me ruined her life.”

  “She doesn’t feel her life was ruined,” I said. “She just made a choice to stay alone and live with her memories. Is that so wrong?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I have no answers, only questions. When you leave me the loneliness is terrible. When you’re with me I dread when you must leave. Can this go on?”

  “Cory.” Agnes’ voice floated out on the chilly air.

  “She’s calling me,” I whispered. “I have to go.”

  “Stay,” he pleaded. “Stay with me.”

  “I can’t. You know I can’t.” I pulled my hand away from his and ran back to the door.

  He was gone when I looked back.

  “What happened to you?” Agnes asked curiously. “Where did you disappear to?”

  “I was outside.”

  “In this weather? You’re getting weird, kiddo.”

  “That’s what everybody says. I have to get home, Agnes. I’ll see you Wednesday. Bye,” I said, heading for the door.

  I pulled into the driveway ten minutes before the car was scheduled to turn into a pumpkin. My mother was still correcting tests.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said breezily, dodging Stella.

  “Hi, yourself. Did you get what you went after?”

  “I certainly did,” I answered.

  Chapter 8

  The week moved on toward Saturday, and Gina’s party. I saw Tom on Wednesday and Friday. There was an air of desperation about our meetings now; we both knew that the end was coming, and we felt an unfocused sense of dread.

  I showed my mother Maggie’s dress. I was borrowing a handbag from her, and she stitched a band to go with it on her sewing machine.
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  “Where did you get this dress?” she asked, examining it. “This is silk, you know.”

  “There’s a secondhand clothing shop downtown,” I said, not exactly answering her question. “You’ve seen it.”

  “This must have been lovely when it was new.”

  “I want to freshen it up as much as possible.”

  “Well, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  She did a fantastic job with the dress. When she was finished, it still looked old and used, but wonderfully authentic, which of course it was. I curled my hair with an iron into a twenties bob, and the sequins on my headband matched the sequined bag from Mom. I got a pair of glittery pantyhose and added the final touch of an unlit cigarette in a holder.

  I studied myself in a mirror and wondered why I was going to so much trouble. What I really wanted to do was sneak back into the agency and be with Tom. But I had promised Linda I would go, and I intended to follow through on it.

  Mom and I made two trays of brownies for me to bring to Gina’s house. Mom wanted the car, so she dropped me off at the door. Linda was going with Ken, and he had said he would bring me home when the party was over.

  Gina lived on the other side of town, in a big old colonial which her father had refurbished and modernized. It wasn’t enough that Gina was beautiful, she was also rich. She answered the door in a floor length lace dress with leg-o’- mutton sleeves that made her look like the etching on a cameo.

  She smiled radiantly at me. “Hey, Cory, you look great. That’s some dress. Come on in. We’re just getting under way.”

  Gina’s mother had transformed the recreation room of the house into a fantasy world of goblins and witches, trolls and ghouls. A large pumpkin carved into a jack-o’-lantern glowed on the mantel of the fireplace. Black and orange crepe paper streamers draped the windows and hung from the pine board rafters. Cardboard cutouts of Halloween figures were pinned to the curtains and tacked to the walls. A table of refreshments along one side of the room held jugs of cider and an assortment of food. Two tin washtubs on the floor were filled with water for bobbing for apples. I looked around and thought how far all this was from the reality of the supernatural: Tom.

  Everybody was in costume, including Gina’s mother, who wore a Lorelei mermaid outfit with a long tail, which kept tripping the guests. She finally gave up and circulated with the tail draped over her arm like a cape.

  I spotted Jack, who was dressed to complement Gina in a tuxedo with tails and sported a false moustache. It was already coming loose and showed evidence of glue around the edges. Even in this improbable getup he was handsome. Nothing on earth could make Jack look unattractive.

  Linda and Ken arrived shortly after I did, and they were some pair. Ken was wearing a sheet draped over his shoulder like a toga, and had powdered his hair to make it look gray, as befitted Caesar in his declining years. He had twisted the leaves of a plastic plant onto a wire to make a laurel wreath and had spray painted it gold. He had even spray painted his leather sandals, and sewn a purple senatorial band along the hem of his skirt. We all bowed when he passed.

  Linda looked her part as well. We hadn’t a clue as to what Cleopatra actually wore (very little, we assumed), so we had made do with a reconstructed evening gown of Linda’s mother’s. She had twisted her hair into an elaborate arrangement, and was wildly made up with elongated kohl eyelids and deep purple eye shadow. Only under the guise of dressing for a party would Linda’s mother allow her out of the house like this. Linda, meanwhile, was enjoying the fantasy; she kept glancing in Gina’s hall mirror and making moues in the glass.

  As I surveyed the gathering it became apparent that a number of people were there without dates, and I felt better. It was a pretty congenial group. I knew most of the kids from school, and I was actually beginning to have a good time when Brian Cranshaw arrived. I put down my plastic cup of cider and went in search of Linda.

  I found her helping Gina’s mother to slice the lasagna. I got her arm in a viselike grip and dragged her off to the empty living room. She tried to wrench free, protesting.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she demanded. “Let me go!”

  “Guess who’s here, Linda,” I said between my teeth.

  “Who?”

  “Brian Cranshaw.”

  She looked bewildered. “What?”

  “You heard what I said. He just waltzed in, dressed like a gladiator complete with shield. Linda, did you know he was coming to this? Is that why you insisted I show up?”

  “Would I do that? I know you hated him. I would never try a second time. I haven’t a clue as to what he’s doing here.”

  “Would you please see if you could find out? I’m going to wait right here until you do.”

  She sighed. “All right. I’ll go ask Gina.”

  Linda disappeared, and I wandered around the living room looking at the assortment of china and glass objects on the tables. One wall was covered with family pictures in expensive cherry frames. Gina’s father was a doctor, and the whole house exuded an aura of money like subtle, expensive perfume.

  Linda returned, crestfallen. “Gina invited him,” she reported disgustedly. “She met him when he was down for the weekend with Ken. I didn’t even know about it. Ken doesn’t tell me these things. When I asked him why he didn’t tell me that Brian was coming, he said he didn’t see why I would be interested.” She threw up her hands. “What can I say?”

  “Thanks a lot, Lin.”

  “You can’t hold me responsible for this! I have no control over who Gina invites to her house!”

  She was absolutely right, of course. I was just looking for somebody to blame for this annoying development.

  “What am I going to do?” I demanded. “I practically punched him to get him off me at the door to my house.

  He’s very persistent. How am I going to avoid him? I feel like leaving right now.”

  Linda put her hands on her hips, “Don’t you dare.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “I suggest that you don’t panic. He may not even talk to you.”

  “Are you kidding? By now he’s probably convinced himself that my lack of response to him was a freak of nature, and is blaming it on the full moon or something. Anybody with an ego that size would never think he might be at fault.”

  “I’ll bet you’re the reason he’s here,” she agreed gloomily. “He’s giving you another opportunity to experience his boyish charm. Second time lucky, you know.”

  I made a gagging face.

  Linda closed her eyes. “I should have known Gina would do something like this. She never could resist a pretty face.” She opened them again. “After all, Brian is prettier than I am.”

  I had to laugh at that.

  “Come on,” Lin said, “you can’t hide out in here all night. Just stick close to me. You’ll be all right.”

  I wasn’t so sure of that, but I went with her and rejoined the party. The stereo was blaring a current hit by a British group, heavy on the synthesizers: “I’ll stop the world and melt with you.” I listened, sympathizing totally. How wonderful to stop the world, indeed.

  I managed to dodge Brian for a while, but he eventually cornered me. He had shown up without a date; in Brian’s case that could only mean that he had plans for me.

  “Hi, Cory,” he began, displaying a dazzling set of teeth.

  “Hi.”

  “How’ve you been?”

  “Fine.”

  “Enjoying the party?”

  “Yes.”

  My monosyllabic answers would have given anyone else the hint that I wasn’t interested. But as previously noted, Brian wasn’t easily discouraged.

  “I like your costume,” he commented. “Who are you supposed to be?”

  “Maggie Sanborn.”

  He looked confused. “Who?”

  “A woman who was young during the twenties. You probably haven’t heard of her.”

  “No
, I haven’t.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  He leaned against his shield. “I thought about calling you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I could have gotten your number from Ken.”

  Not if I got to Ken first.

  “I really enjoyed the time we spent together,” he added.

  “I’m glad you had a good time.”

  “You seemed a little distracted that night.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yeah,” Brian said, “like you were thinking about something else.”

  “I had a test the next morning.”

  “The next morning was Sunday.”

  “Oh. I meant the next school morning. It was a big test and I was worried about it.”

  “I see. I thought it was my company.”

  Oh, boy. I had said the wrong thing. Gorgeous George had had some doubts about himself after all, and I had unwittingly dispelled them. He would be unbearable now.

  “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression,” I said hastily. “Excuse me, I think Gina needs me in the kitchen.”

  Gina wasn’t even in the kitchen. I stopped in front of the sink and had a glass of water. A boy I didn’t know came in after me and went to the freezer for some ice.

  “Hi,” he said, cracking cubes into a serving bowl. “Do you go to school with Gina?” He was dressed as a pirate, with a bandanna tied around his head and a papier-mâché sword at his side.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so. I’m a friend of Jack’s. I go to Bishop Connelly.”

  Bishop Connelly was the all boys parochial school in Levittown. “Hi, Jack’s friend,” I said.

  He smiled. “Phil Harrison.”

  “Hi, Phil. I’m Cory.”

  “Cory? What is that short for?”

  “Cordelia.”

  “Oh yeah, like in that play. We had it in English last year.”

  “So did we. I had to read Cordelia’s part because I was named for her. My English teacher thought that was very cute.”

  “I’m sure glad my name isn’t Hamlet,” Phil responded.