Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows)

by Judith Arnold

  "You'll know a lot of the people there," Laura promised.

  "Who?"

  "The usual people. Kids from Mendham and Morristown. Allyson will be there."

  The party suddenly became much more appealing to Erika. Allyson Rhatican was her closest friend at the high school. Allyson didn't ride, but like Erika, she'd lived in South Orange before moving to Mendham in middle school. By the time Erika's family had moved to Mendham a few years later, Allyson was one of the most popular girls in town. And she'd chosen to take a fellow South Orange refugee under her wing.

  If Erika was stuck knowing only one person in the entire school, Allyson had been the right person to know. If not for her, Erika would probably still be a loner two years after her arrival in Mendham, acquainted with no one, a weirdo pariah at Mendham High.

  Which, as far as she was concerned, wouldn't have been the end of the world. But between Allyson's willingness to welcome Erika into her circle and Laura's insistence on dragging Erika to parties, Erika didn't have much chance to be a hermit.

  "And there's tons of bedrooms," Laura cajoled. "If you play your cards right, you won't have to sleep on the living room floor."

  Erika laughed. Most people thought of New Jersey as an industrial sprawl, the New Jersey Turnpike slashing through miles of factories and refineries that belched pollution into the air. But New Jersey was the Garden State, and the northwest corner, where Mendham was located, justified that nickname. The region was bucolic, its rolling hills dotted with small farms and stables and homes surrounded by vast, undeveloped acreage. When someone was hosting a party, the guests often wound up spending the night rather than facing a long drive home. The host's parents would collect kids' car keys as the kids arrived so no one would be tempted to cruise home, twenty or more miles over the winding, unlit country roads, after partying half the night.

  Erika had slept on a few floors after parties. Couches were better than the floor. Beds were better than couches.

  "All right," she conceded. "If I'm not too tired, I'll go to the party with you."

  "Don't be too tired," Laura warned her. "I'll pick you up around eight."

  On days when Erika was competing in a horse show, she often arose as early as three-thirty in the morning to allow herself the time she needed to dress, eat, drive to the stable with one of her parents, load Five Star into the trailer, and then travel to the venue. When she'd told Laura she might be too tired afterward to attend a party that evening, she hadn't meant that the riding itself would exhaust her. In fact, she found riding invigorating. She loved the way she felt perched in her saddle, the way she and Five Star read each other, felt each other, merged until they were like a single living creature gliding down the course and then leaping, levitating, soaring over the fences. After a good ride, she was invariably invigorated, drunk on her own adrenaline.

  But the early mornings, the long drives, the brisk air, the noise and bustle and stress-all of that tired her out.

  Still, she had promised to go to the party with Laura on Saturday night. She was hardly the most social girl in Mendham, yet she appreciated Laura's attempts to liberate her from her tidy, limited world of high school and riding. And Laura was right: she was a senior. She'd already received an early-decision acceptance into Colorado College's Summer Start program, which meant she'd be starting college over the summer rather than in the fall. Her plans were in place. She ought to cut loose a little.

  So when she got back from her horse show on Saturday, with a new ribbon to add to the scores she already possessed, she napped, showered, and shampooed the heavy perfume of leather and sweat and hay and horse from her hair. When Laura pulled into her driveway at a few minutes past eight that evening, Erika climbed into her car, gave her friend a smile and said, "Here I am."

  Laura drove out into the country. Erika was used to the hills and forests, meadows and split-log fences, but she still responded to the beauty of northwestern New Jersey's landscape. If only she had a modicum of artistic talent, she'd capture the pastoral scenery in a painting. She was in awe of people who could paint and draw and sculpt. All she seemed able to do was earn good grades and ride.

  She assured herself that that was enough.

  She wasn't one of those girls who got all insecure and selfconscious at parties. As a competitive rider, she'd developed a level of confidence that was probably disproportionately high, given that she was cursed with her fair share of flaws and shortcomings. She'd learned that if you lacked confidence, you couldn't compete in show jumping. The horse would feel your fear, and you wouldn't be able to commit to the jump.

  The lessons learned on the back of a horse stayed with a rider once her boots were planted on the ground. She saw no point in second-guessing herself. If she was filled with doubt, she'd fall, so she refused to admit to any doubt.

  The party was already going strong by the time she and Laura descended the stairs to the rec room of the sprawling mansion. Music blasted from a pair of floor speakers-Pearl Jam-and at least thirty kids filled the room, a couple playing a SEGA game on the TV in the corner with a small audience surrounding them and shouting advice, a cluster of kids near the sliding glass doors that opened onto a backyard patio, another cluster crammed onto a pair of overstuffed couches, clutching cans of soda and beer and emptying a gigantic bowl of popcorn, which made the room smell like the lobby of a movie theater. Allyson sat on one of the couches, surrounded by her usual posse of cool friends. The minute she saw Erika, she shifted on the couch and patted the cushion. "Erika! Come eat some of this popcorn before I eat it all," she said.

  Erika wiggled her butt into the narrow space on the couch between Allyson and Ted Skala. Fortunately, Ted was pretty skinny and she was able to squeeze in. Or maybe he was just happy to inch closer to his girlfriend Kate, who sat on his other side, a can of light beer clutched in her hand.

  "Hey, Fred," Ted greeted her. "How's it going?"

  "Great," she said, filled with a sudden rush of delight. Laura had been right to drag her to this party. She'd ridden well, she'd rested, and now she was surrounded by laughing, chattering, popcorn-devouring compatriots who welcomed her into their midst.

  She spotted Laura near the cooler chest, wrestling a can of soda from the ice. As Laura straightened, her gaze met Erika's and she raised the can in a toast. Erika grinned as a scruffy guy wearing a sweatshirt that identified him as a student from Delbarton, a private all-boys academy just up the road from Mendham, moved in on Laura. From across the room, Erika could tell when Laura was connecting with her inner flirt. Laura's eyes grew wide, her smile turned mysterious, and the Delbarton boy didn't have a chance.

  Someday Erika ought to consider taking flirting lessons from Laura. But her lack of flirting skills didn't bother her. She didn't want a boyfriend. She'd dated two boys since moving to Mendham-one wasn't exactly a boy, and as it had turned out, he wasn't exactly appropriate, either. The other had been a lacrosse player at the high school-and she found that life was a lot simpler without boys or love or sexual pressures or flirtations.

  She had no time for love. But on a cold Saturday night after a good day's ride, she had friends and music and a handful of popcorn to stuff into her mouth. More than that she didn't want.

  AFTER A WHILE YOU START TO WONDER why every time you go to a party Laura Maher has told you about, Erika Fredell is there, too. Sure, Laura and Erika have been friends since before Erika moved to Mendham. But still, it's kind of funny how often Laura calls and says, "You've really, really got to come to this party, Ted," and you go, and Erika is there.

  Maybe it's not funny. Maybe it's not worth noting at all. Maybe Laura calls up everyone she knows and tells them they really, really have to go to this or that party, and you and Erika are the only people who actually obey Laura when she starts spewing the really's.

  Maybe you're just aware of the coincidence because you're so aware of Erika. Because she's the coolest girl you've ever known, and you love the fact that you and she are actually frie
nds, however superficially. Because you want to be more than friends with her.

  Which is nuts, because you've already got a girlfriend, and Erika obviously isn't interested in anything more than friendship with you. And why should she be? She's rich. She's smart. She's a champion rider. She's in a class by herself

  At least you can count her as a friend. At least she doesn't hesitate to plunk herself down on the sofa next to you when she arrives at a party and send you a gorgeous smile that makes your pulse rate accel erate.

  With someone like Erika, you take what you can get. In your book, friendship is worth a lot. Especially her friendship. So if you can't have more than friendship with her, you accept what you can have, and you're grateful for it.

  Ted felt like an asshole. There he was, his arm slung around Kate, whom he'd been dating for months, and all he could think of was that Erika Fredell was sitting next to him. The couch was so crowded that every time she moved, he felt her-her elbow poking his ribs, her shoulder bumping his, her thigh pressed against his. Her hair brushing his cheek like a whisper of silk when she turned her head.

  He wished Kate would get up and go somewhere. Just to give them all a little more room on the sofa, he told himself, but this wasn't about comfort. Although sandwiched between the girl he was seeing and the girl he had a crush on was kind of an uncomfortable place to wind up.

  As if he'd spoken his preference out loud, Kate abruptly pushed herself to her feet, one hand on the arm of the sofa and the other on Ted's knee. Ordinarily, having a pretty girl's hand on his knee would turn him on. But as he stared at Kate's fingers pressed into his leg, all he could think of was, I wish Erika's hand was there. Kate said something about someone who'd just arrived, and she leaned over and kissed his cheek-not the cheek Erika's hair had brushed against-and he nodded and grinned and pretended to be hugely interested in whatever the hell she was telling him. Then she spun away and crossed the room to where a couple of other girls were standing, and Ted was able to shift on the sofa, putting a sliver of space between himself and Erika.

  Much as he missed the contact of her thigh against his, moving a couple of inches from her enabled him to turn so he could look at her. The smile she gave him was dazzling. But then, he was pretty much dazzled by anything she did.

  "So, here we are again," she said cheerfully. "Every party I go to, I see you."

  "I'm such a party animal," he joked, secretly thrilled that she'd also noticed how Laura was always inviting them both to the same parties. "How's it going?" he asked.

  "I'm tired," she said, though she looked refreshed and downright sparkling to him.

  "Yeah, life is boring, isn't it." I'm Too Sexy started playing and Ted sang along, doctoring the words to fit Erika: "I'm too sleepy for my shirt ..."

  She laughed. "Listen to you sing. You have well-hidden talents."

  "Oh, yeah, I'm a really good singer," he bragged, then shrugged. "My mother made all us kids participate in choir from an early age. So I learned how to sing. I was even the lead singer in a rock band for a few minutes."

  "No kidding?"

  "We sucked," he added with a laugh. "We played at a school dance once, and managed to empty the room in no time flat." He took a swig from the bottle of beer he was holding, then extended it to her when he noticed she didn't have a drink.

  To his great delight, she took the bottle, raised it to her lips and sipped. He liked knowing her lips closed around the glass where his had just been. "I took a nap but I'm still tired," she told him as she handed the bottle back. "I rode in a show today. I had to get up before dawn."

  "Where do you find the energy?" he asked, genuinely impressed.

  "I don't. That's why I took a nap." Because he'd given her a little more room on the couch, she was able to settle deeper into the cushions. Her hair swayed gently around her face, straight and glossy, and he was glad to see she wasn't wearing lipstick. Kate wore lipstick all the time, and it made her mouth taste funny when they kissed. "You probably slept 'til noon."

  "I did not," he defended himself. "I was up at dawn, too."

  "I was up before dawn," she reminded him.

  Her competitive spirit amused him. "You got up before dawn and rode horses. I got up at dawn and fed sheep."

  "You have sheep?"

  "Two sheep. Ba Ba and Bunky."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Ba Ba? That's its name?"

  He launched into another song: "`Baa baa, black sheep ...' Only our sheep aren't black."

  "So, you fed the sheep," she said, her eyes glowing with amusement. "I didn't know you were a farm boy."

  "Yeah, that's me. And then-in case you thought I went back to bed after feeding the sheep, and the ducks, and the rabbits-"

  "My God, it's a whole menagerie," she said.

  "We've got a big barn, and my mother likes to keep it filled. I'm lucky she doesn't make me live there."

  "I suppose you're a little neater than the sheep and the ducks."

  "A little. But the rabbits are so neat they're practically anal."

  That she laughed at his stupid joke pleased him enormously.

  "And then I spent the day helping my dad grout the bathroom.

  "Wow. That must have been fun." Sarcasm filtered through her tone.

  Sealing the bathroom tiles with fresh grout wasn't exactly fun, but Ted was used to helping his father with home repairs. When you lived in a nearly two-hundred-year-old house, things were always falling apart and demanding attention. Ted and his brothers and sister had grown up learning how to deal with dry rot, how to unclog pipes, how to change a fuse and rewire a light switch without electrocuting themselves. When his parents asked for assistance from their children, they received it. Sometimes eagerly, sometimes begrudgingly, but Ted's parents worked damned hard and they deserved whatever assistance they asked for.

  He could have thought of a dozen things he'd rather be doing that day than smearing white paste around the tiles edging the bathtub. Sleeping until noon would have made his short list. Meeting his friends and driving somewhere. Taking in a movie, maybe, or heading down to the shore, even though it was off season. Especially because it was off season and the beach would be empty, the boardwalk shuttered and peaceful. Or just going to someone's house, listening to tunes, playing Ghouls 'N Ghosts. Or driving west into Pennsylvania and catching a wrestling meet at Lehigh University. That school was a wrestling powerhouse; Ted and his teammates could probably learn a hell of a lot just by watching the Lehigh boys do their thing on the mat.

  But when his dad said he needed help, Ted helped. With his older brothers one foot into adulthood and independence, he helped even more. His parents were getting older, and the house was already too old.

  "The problem with the grouting," he told Erika before drinking a little more beer, "is that the ghosts eat it."

  "What ghosts?"

  "The ghosts that live in my house."

  "Oh. Right." She rolled her eyes and laughed.

  "You think I'm kidding? The place is haunted."

  "I'm sure it is." She wiggled her fingers in the air, as if conjur ing a spirit from the beyond, and attempted a spooky moan, although it didn't sound the least bit scary. She was probably the kind of girl who used to dress as a fairy princess or a ballerina on Halloween, not realizing that the whole idea of the holiday was to frighten people. Fairy princesses and ballerinas were about as frightening as Ba Ba and Bunky.

  "My house sits on what used to be a cemetery," he explained. "Pleasant Hill Road. You know the Pleasant Hill Cemetery?"

  She nodded, still obviously amused and skeptical.

  "The original location of the cemetery is where my house sits. The bodies were moved down the street to where the cemetery is now, and my house was built on the land where their graves used to be."

  She took a minute to digest this. "So the bodies were moved down the street, but their souls remained behind?"

  "I don't know if they remained behind or they just wander back down the street to visit their
old home."

  "Their old haunt, you mean?" Her eyes glinted with suppressed laughter.

  Bad pun, but he appreciated it anyway. "Exactly. You should come to my house sometime, Erika. Just sit on the stairs and turn off the lights. You'll hear them moving around. You'll feel them."

  "Just what I want to do," she said. "Sit on a stairway in the dark and listen for ghosts."

  "You don't have to listen for them. You'll hear them."

  "What do they sound like?"

  He leaned toward her, hoping he looked somber and just a little bit spooky. "They sneak up behind you and whisper. You feel their icy breath on the back of your neck. They say, `Eh-eh-eh-ehrik-ah-ah-ah."' He murmured her name long and low and realized he probably sounded more like a dog on the prowl than a ghost. When Spot, his golden retriever, the one animal allowed to live in the house rather than the barn, sensed a dog in heat within a three-mile radius, he made a deep, groaning sound like Ted's throaty wail.

  "These ghosts would know my name?"

  "Sure. They're from the beyond. They know everything." He reached behind her and ran his fingers lightly over the nape of her neck. "It feels like this," he whispered. "You feel their nearness right here."

  She held her breath for a moment, then laughed and leaned away from him. "If this is supposed to be scary, it's not working."

  "Of course it's not. I'm not a ghost." But he liked having his hand against her smooth, soft skin, with her hair spilling like rain over his fingers.

  "Are you telling her about the ghosts?" Kate asked.

  He hadn't even realized she had returned to the sofa. He withdrew his hand from Erika's neck and smiled up at his girlfriend. "She doesn't believe they exist," he told Kate. "Tell her I'm not making this up."

  Kate eyed Erika and grinned. "He's not making this up," she recited, sounding not the least bit convincing. Then she extended her hand, wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tugged. "Matt thinks one of his tires is flat. He wants you to look at it."