She would have remained like this if Harley hadn’t intruded—not Harley the person but Harley the idea. He arrived unbidden with the impending allegro, filling her with notes and recall, the click of his heels against the hardwood floor. She gripped the limb to steady herself.
She couldn’t put into words what she felt. Instead she endured the ache of embarrassment and the awful recognition of what he thought. How could she face him with what he surmised? How could she tell him he was wrong when he really wasn’t? Garth? Kendall? Did it make any difference?
When the issue began to clarify, she dropped to the ground, as if problems of this sort could be left hanging on branches like unwanted underwear. Standing naked, she let the heat loosen her, flexing her arms and back to thrust her small breasts forward. Gazing up at her blue panties, she decided they would, if ever noticed, be taken for a glimpse of a wild bird in momentary refuge.
Go on, she told herself, but managed nothing farther than the bluff’s edge, that memorable spot where she’d taken so many Malvern boys, Jimmy what’s-his-name the last. She could still see herself tasting him and thought of what he’d do if he saw her stark naked. She smiled with visions of an uncontrollable ejaculation.
Below there was activity at the Malvern Gardens Inn. Sutherlands were moving along the winding path toward the Hall, children trailing parents, couples arm in arm, clusters here and there, a scattered but persistent wave. It was surely close to seven, but Jennalee couldn’t bring herself to join the throng. She thought of calling out, drawing attention to the human animal on the bluff, but she saw Harley just then, unmistakable in black, violin case in hand. He strode along purposefully, apart from the rest, seemingly unrecognized, and it was this that set her moving, scrambling into her clothes and running down the hill. She still had to clean up and choose an outfit, fix her hair; it all had to be perfect, and she sped along in anticipation until Donna Witherspoon stepped out from behind Building Four. “What’s your hurry?”
Jennalee stopped, then slowly closed on the girl. When she was within arm’s reach, she let go her anger. “You fucking bitch!”
“What’s the matter? You don’t like waiting in line? He’ll do anybody, you know. He’s such an asshole.”
A trigger inside Jennalee clicked and sent her fist into Donna’s stomach. Caught short, the girl staggered back and then Jennalee was at her, punching repeatedly as her anger found a home.
Donna began to flail with open palms, slapping where Jennalee hit with a closed fist, shrieking where Jennalee was silent. She reached for Jennalee’s hair but found no handhold; she tried to kick, but Jennalee put another fist to her middle and knocked enough wind out of her to send her to the ground. Standing over the gasping girl, Jennalee was amazed to find her opponent, who substantially outweighed her, so inexperienced a fighter. She allowed a short respite, then began to kick. But Donna, who had regained her wind, caught a foot and twisted it to send Jennalee sprawling. She then rolled over and pinned Jennalee, and they were in this position when Lizann Laidlaw intervened.
“Ladies? Is there a problem?”
Donna grinned down at Jennalee, whose arms were locked beneath the girl’s knees.
“Is there?” she asked again.
“It’s nothing,” Jennalee said.
“Then why don’t you let her up,” Lizann said to Donna.
Donna took a moment—possibly to compare Lizann’s size to her own—and relented. “Sure.” Before rising, she managed a discreet yet formidable bounce which pushed the last breath from Jennalee. “Catch you later,” Donna called as she hurried away.
Jennalee couldn’t immediately stand. More than air seemed to have been forced out of her and she sat up only enough to rest her head on raised knees.
“Are you all right?” Lizann asked. She was leaned over now, pink dress cascading.
“Fine, I just…”
“Take a few deep breaths.”
Jennalee did so, but it wasn’t enough.
“Better?”
Jennalee nodded.
“You’ll be able to play, won’t you?”
“Oh, sure. This was just a…difference of opinion. No big deal. Really.”
“I’m glad. It looked pretty serious for a minute there.”
“Donna gets bent over nothing. I mean, it really was nothing. Really.”
Lizann offered a hand, and as Jennalee was drawn to her feet, she found the woman’s strength surprisingly gentle. “I’ve got to change,” she said.
Lizann smiled. “I look forward to your performance.”
“Me, too.” Jennalee was several yards away when she turned back and called, “Thanks for helping me out, but it really was nothing.”
Lizann waved and glided onto the path, headed for the Hall all alone. Where’s Garth? Jennalee wondered, and even though she meant the here and now, an image sprang to mind and she broke into a run, headed for her room.
“Jennalee!” Gerald Preece started after his daughter but relented when a Sutherland man caught his arm. Jennalee never broke stride or acknowledged her father’s call, and in minutes, had showered and dried her hair, only to stand paralyzed before her open closet.
Suddenly it was all so revealing. Pawing among miniskirts and skimpy dresses, she finally found a narrow, ankle-length hibiscus-print gauze skirt and slipped it on. She added navy T-shirt, pink lipstick, and white sandals. After running a brush through her hair, she was out the door.
This time Gerald Preece deserted his guest to come around the desk and confront his daughter. “Where are you going?”
“I’m really late, Dad.”
“For what? Why the rush?”
He peered over the wire-rimmed reading glasses that sat well down his nose. They made him look old-ladyish, and Jennalee fought an urge to knock them off. “I’m playing in their talent show,” she said.
“You?”
“Don’t panic. I didn’t butt in. Harley asked me to do the Spring with him.”
“Who?”
“Harley Laidlaw.” When Gerald grew puzzled, she added, “The bikers.”
“Oh, yes, the Laidlaws. They’ve got a violinist?”
“Jeez, Dad, where have you been? Harley, the punk. He’s great.”
“And he asked you to join him?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“A bit, yes, considering you haven’t played since we arrived.”
“Well, I am tonight, if I get there on time. Can I go now?”
Gerald nodded and Jennalee left him adrift in the middle of the lobby.
The glut of last-minute Sutherlands was substantial, and Jennalee threaded her way to the Oak Room only to find Harley absent. She froze, struck by the alternative, and took a long look around, hoping he’d been waylaid by family members. Unfortunately, this was not the case, and she was left no choice but to open the Spruce Room door.
He sat atop a table and Jennalee knew, absolutely knew, he could tell what had happened. Furniture pads were still arranged as she’d left them and the scent of bodily fluids was overwhelming, at least to her. She swept a glance and was relieved to find no telltale wet spot.
“You had me worried,” Harley said.
“Sorry. My dad had to give me the third degree. You know how it is.”
He offered a smile and Jennalee was caught once again by his lack of inquiry, grateful now even though everything inside her had begun to tighten, as if the awful secret needed expelling in the worst possible way.
The fact that Harley was all in black made him even more appealing. The long-sleeved shirt was rolled to the elbow, open collar bordered by a narrow gold scarf. This single strand of contrast took Jennalee’s breath away. For a moment she couldn’t speak. “What time is it?” she managed at last.
“Seven twenty,” Harley said, “but don’t worry, they’ve got their skits and shit first. We’re down the list. Park will tell us when we’re on.”
Jennalee’s insides were churning. “The other room is better if we’r
e going to be a while.”
“Your hired hand is in there.”
“Wesley?” she asked.
“The cowboy, yeah.”
“No, I just looked, there’s nobody there.”
“Well, he was. Does it matter?”
“No.” But, of course, it did. And Wesley had been hovering earlier. Could he have seen her with Kendall?
“You all right?” Harley asked.
Jennalee sauntered as far from the furniture pads as possible. “Of course,” she said. “Totally.”
“I’m always a little nervous, even with this bunch,” Harley offered.
Jennalee seized the admission. “Really?”
He nodded. “It’s always a relief to get onstage.”
Jennalee realized she hadn’t given any thought to the performance, she’d been so caught up in everything else. “Right,” she said, making no attempt to define the jumble inside her. “I saw your mom,” she added. “She was by herself.”
“Dad and Garth never do the talent show. She lets them off the hook this one night.”
“They don’t want to see you play?”
He shook his head.
“But they have seen you play.”
“Only when they can’t get out of the way. Mom’s the fan.”
He was so straightforward about this awful circumstance that Jennalee came back to him and perched on the other end of the table. “I can’t imagine my family not wanting to see me play.”
“No big deal. You just go on.”
She wanted to take his hand at that moment, offer comfort even though he didn’t seem to need any, but she kept to herself.
“I like your outfit,” he said. “That skirt is wild.”
“I like your scarf.”
When silence settled between them, Jennalee couldn’t stand it. “One time I had this recital,” she began, “and I was so nervous. I was really young then and Mr. Mendel was trying to calm me down and my folks were there and my grandparents. So I went onstage and did my Chopin, playing like this hot-wired robot or something, and when it was over, I peed my pants right there on the piano bench. I mean I had no control, none, I just felt this warm sensation and didn’t even realize what it was at first, this wonderful relief, and then they’re all clapping and I had to stand up, but luckily nothing showed in front. But the back of me was soaked and I sort of sidled off the stage and ran, absolutely ran, to the bathroom and wouldn’t come out. Finally I let my mother in. It was so embarrassing. I was eleven. The funny part is, after that, I never really got nervous again. Mr. Mendel heard about it, of course. Everyone heard about it, but he never said a thing to me and I was so grateful for that. I mean, I would have died if he’d mentioned it, but he went on like I’d been a great success, which I guess I was. That’s the worst thing that ever happened to me. Onstage, I mean.”
Harley issued a long sigh and Jennalee wondered for a second time if she hadn’t said too much, then decided it was just the opposite. He knew how it felt. Maybe he hadn’t peed his pants, but he still knew. “I broke a string in the middle of a performance,” he said. “That’s my worst.” He paused as if in recall. “I think I’d rather have peed my pants.”
They shared a quiet laugh and then Parker opened the door. “You’re next,” he said. “Break a leg.” And he left them on their own.
They stood together, each drawing along breath. “We’re gonna blow ‘em away,” Harley said. He took his violin from its case, kissed Jennalee on the forehead, and ushered her to the door. In the Oak Room, they stood to one side as Winslow Sutherland announced them.
“And now the musical portion of our program, our own Harley Laidlaw, who will be accompanied by Miss Jennalee Preece, daughter of our hosts Gerald and Jane Preece. Harley and Jennalee are going to play—” here Winslow consulted a small card, “—the first movement of Beethoven’s Spring sonata.”
Applause rose and fell. Jennalee seated herself, and Harley took up a nearby position. When all was quiet, he put the violin to his chin, smiled at her, nodded, and they began the allegro as if they’d been playing it together for years.
Sutherlands grew quieter than they had been for days, perhaps weeks, as music filled the Oak Room. Gerald and Jane had crept in at the back; Wesley stood at the farthest corner. Even Donna Witherspoon was in attendance. Jennalee, unaware of this, was lost to the music. But partway through—near the Sforzando Harley had made such an issue—she realized she wasn’t lost to the music, she was simply lost. She looked down at hands moving along keys with surprising accuracy and heard the sounds they produced, but had absolutely no idea where she was or, worse, how she’d gotten there. She was trapped inside the piece, unable to feel anything, least of all what it was, and because of this, she was unable to look up at anyone, not even Harley. Especially not Harley.
She kept playing, and when she missed a note—did she miss a note? she couldn’t tell—Harley kept on. When she missed a passage—she thought she missed a passage—she recognized improvisation on his part, so clear and true while her own efforts remained distant. They tossed the melody back and forth and she kept up her end yet everything was collapsing, there wasn’t any room inside her, the whole of her taken up elsewhere though she had no idea where exactly. Her mouth dropped open, dried out; her breath came with difficulty, heart pounding. And then it was over, applause trampling her and Harley at her side, taking her hand, lifting her, guiding her to a brief acknowledgement, then offstage. As soon as they were out the door, she ran.
Chapter 13
No one followed and for that, Jennalee was grateful. Not Gerald, who knew the Spring and would therefore know what had happened. Not Jane, whose mother-bear instincts often rose unchecked at times such as these. Not even Harley, who had shared the devastating experience. The bluff remained an island and Jennalee settled upon it like a shipwreck survivor.
Lying on her side, she curled against the base of the oak and tried to cover herself, the sexy knee-high split in her skirt suddenly annoying. She pulled at as if there might be enough fabric for cover but, of course, there wasn’t. Skin was everywhere.
A squirrel chattered high above her, intruding when she knew he was complaining about her encroachment. She looked up to find his tail flicking, little hands pleading, and she began to cry and hated him for making her do it, yet when he leaped to another branch and hurried away, she cried all the harder. She was asleep, cheek in the dirt, when Harley found her. “How ya doing?” he asked, brushing her face with a nearly indiscernible touch as she turned to him. She had no answer.
“Nobody knew,” he said, settling beside her.
“I knew.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
She flared. “So it’s all right to crash and burn?”
“It’s gonna happen. How you handle it is what’s important.”
“You handled it. I just…”
“They thought you were great. You should have heard them afterward, everyone wanting to congratulate you, asking where you’d gone.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That you had to pee.”
Jennalee laughed when she didn’t want to and sat up. “Don’t try to cheer me up.”
“What, you want to hang onto your pain?”
Now he was asking questions, the one time she didn’t want him to. “I just don’t want to avoid it, okay? Something happened.”
“What?”
“I have no idea.”
He slid an arm around her and eased back against the tree, and Jennalee found after a bit that she wanted more than anything to figure it all out. She waited until the sun was nearly gone to tell this to Harley.
“Figure what out?” he asked.
“Where I went.”
He squeezed her as if he knew the question intimately and for the moment, that brought comfort. “It’s happened to me,” he offered. “Maybe not the same exact way, but it still happened. Probably does to everybody, even civilians. I picture the produce guy
at Safeway suddenly waking up and he’s drowning lettuce.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Lettuce and music? They are to the produce guy. We’ve all got a place we go. Ours requires a little more skill, but it’s still a kind of refuge, only sometimes you go along thinking nobody can get you and you find out you’re wrong, the eggshell does crack.”
Jennalee wanted to ask about his eggshell world—there seemed to be so much more to it than hers—but got the feeling he’d tell her only if she didn’t ask.
“I used to wish I could go off somewhere and just play my fiddle,” he continued, “but you can’t get far enough. The moon maybe, but there’s no sound up there so what do you have? I got partway, though.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
Darkness had crept across the bluff when he took up the story again. He let go of her and drew up his knees. “It wasn’t really a place,” he said, “as much as a person.”
“What happened?”
She could scarcely see him in the dark yet knew his eyes had closed. “It went on a long time,” he said softly, “but it’s over now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sometimes when I play, I wake up in the middle of a piece like cold water’s been thrown on me and I have no idea where I am, but I’m still playing. It’s like I’m one person and the guy with the fiddle is someone else.”
“Scary,” Jennalee said.
He turned toward her. “Terrifying.”
“So what do we do?”
“You can’t not play,” he said.
He was so right that Jennalee seized the phrase like an amulet he’d given her, a charm that gathered fragments into a whole. “It’s never happened before,” she told him.
“Then you’re lucky. And maybe it won’t ever happen again.”
Jennalee thought of Garth and Kendall and all the boys she’d been with, all the penises she’d handled one way or another. “Maybe you’re right.”
They stretched out on their backs and looked up at a moonless sky. “You ever been in love?” Harley asked.
Jennalee had to think about it. She’d professed love for Howard Li, but he was slipping away and, if that could happen, was it really love? She gave Harley the truth. “I’m not sure.”
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