Dare Truth or Promise

by Boock, Paula

  They stood in silence for a bit, listening to Susi's movements. Finally they heard her in the bathroom upstairs.

  "About time," muttered Louie, coming to her. Kissing Louie still blew Willa's mind. She'd expected it to be like kissing Cathy, but that had always been a physical attraction, almost against their will, a desperate giving in. Louie volunteered it, looked for it, delighted in it. Kissing her was a celebration, not a capitulation.

  But tonight there was a tension. Louie put on some music and Willa watched her fiddle with the stereo and play a sixties revival group called The Burglars. She pulled the curtains across her ranchslider doors, then opened them again on the peaked ears and yellow eyes of Judas against the night. She was nervous, her hands moving jerkily, not with her usual ease. The bed thing.

  Willa sat down on the floor beside the stereo. "They're good," she said. "Where'd you discover them?"

  "Mo," Louie answered, joining her on the carpet. "She's always first to discover new bands."

  They listened to the whole CD, and didn't talk much. Louie came over eventually and leaned against Willa's shoulder. Soon Willa noticed her breathing had taken on the regular rhythm of sleep. She shifted and Louie sat up.

  "Louie, you're tired."

  "No, no I'm not," and Willa saw her eyes flick across the room towards the beds. "Let's listen to something else. I'm not ready to go to bed yet."

  Willa sighed. "I know."

  Louie looked up at her tone.

  "Relax, huh? I'm not expecting to sleep with you."

  Louie dipped her head and fingered the carpet. "It's not that," she mumbled. "It's—it's the opposite. I don't want you to get into the other bed."

  Neither of them went to bed. Louie found some matches and they lit candles. All night they lay on the floor, listening to music, talking quietly, touching each other. Louie was shy, Willa scared they would get caught, and both hesitant at first. The moon snailed across the window and shone on their bodies as they wrapped around each other, discarded clothes, fingered, kissed and discovered the other and themselves. Willa pulled the duvets and pillows from the beds and for a while they slept in each other's arms.

  As the room grew light, Willa woke and looked at Louie asleep beside her. Her tousled hair lay still for once, black half-circles strewn across the pillow. The light sculpted her face so that her cheekbones and nose, the moulding of her lips and her jaw stood out, and Willa wished she had some poetry, some of Louie's own words to describe her loveliness. She'd thrown her leg out from under the cover and it lay next to Willa's, olive against her own pale calf. She thought of Cathy and their fearful touching, the denial afterwards and she shook her head in wonder. Willa smiled gratefully at Louie's sleeping face. This then, was what it was like to be in love, and to have it returned.

  Louie stirred and woke slowly, then suddenly she jumped up and grabbed her watch.

  "Take it easy, it's only seven," said Willa.

  Louie sighed and flopped back down.

  "Come with me," said Willa, helping her back up.

  When Susi came in at eight o'clock, ostensibly to offer tea or coffee, she found both girls sound asleep in their own beds. Something similar to but not quite the same as disappointment passed across her face.

  Willa

  It was Saturday night and all hands on deck at the bar. Two of their staff were away including Midge who did meals. So Willa was doing a turn behind the Golden Grill with Jolene who dashed back and forth to help Sid when the bar traffic was heavy. Usually Willa avoided the pub—years of drunks and fights, vomiting and bad singing had put her off for life, but there were occasional times, and this was one of them, when the crowd were good-spirited, and the atmosphere full of bonhomie, when Willa laughed with them and liked them all.

  "That should give you some legs, Bruce," she commented to a student as she handed him a T-bone steak and chips.

  "What's wrong with m'legs?" he said, acting offended, and another guy gave him a playful shove.

  "Too much sitting on your butt in that rust-bucket of yours rooting the clutch." It was Darryl, the mechanic from across the road.

  "Don't you call my car a rust-bucket or I'll take my money elsewhere."

  "Money? No money in clutch repairs, mate, they're fiddly as buggery."

  "Oh, pull the other one," laughed Willa, "you garage people have got more money than you know what to do with. Our best customers, mechanics." Willa left them to the ensuing debate and threw more chips in the deep fryer.

  "You're in fine form tonight," commented Jolene. "Had a good day?"

  "Yeah, not bad at all."

  "You're happy at the new school, love?" Jolene put her arm around her daughter's waist.

  Willa smiled back. "Yeah, Mum, I like it." They went back to their work for a bit, then Willa said, "I'm going to be in the school production—Shakespeare."

  "You're joking." Jolene put down her knife and looked delighted.

  "Well, not acting. I'm doing the lights. Thought it might be a laugh."

  "It's a start. We'll get you on the boards yet." Willa knew it was a disappointment to Jolene that neither of her daughters showed any inclination to sing or perform like their parents.

  Later, she said, out of the blue, "Your friend Louie, is she in the production too?"

  Willa stiffened. "Yeah, she is. She's one of the leads." Is it that obvious?

  Jolene nodded. "She's a nice kid, Louie."

  "Yeah, she is." Nice, she thought. Yeah, like the Sahara's cosy at this time of year. She's nice to the power of a hundred! She's nice with turbo-charge and electric fuel injection! Nice, hell.

  Willa smiled as she thought about Louie today, rushing into Willa's home room at lunchtime and pulling her aside.

  "Look, look," she'd said, shoving a book under Willa's nose. "Read this."

  "What?" Willa had frowned at the tiny print. It was a very old, musty-smelling book.

  "Here!" Louie pointed at the print and read out loud. "It loved to happen." She turned over the book, to show Willa the spine. "Marcus Aurelius. He was a Roman Emperor and philosopher. It loved to happen," she repeated. "Isn't that it? What you were saying to Mum the other night? You know," she insisted when Willa must have looked blank. Louie lowered her voice. "About love and everything. You said it just happens, it isn't something you plan for or know about. It comes from outside and changes everything. It loved to happen. Like you and me."

  The warmth of the crowd at the Duke increased as the temperature dropped outside. Not long after the Golden Grill closed for the night, someone came in and announced it was snowing. People milled out into the road and played in the white hurries, then hopped back inside for a drink. Sid was worried they'd run out of whisky.

  Willa was as excited as anyone. She rushed through the last of the dishes in the kitchen, then headed out of the bar. "I'm going for a walk," she said to her mother.

  "Hang on Willa, love," Jolene stopped her. "Where are you going? It's late to be out walking alone."

  "Just a little way, to enjoy the snow—come on Mum, everyone's outside."

  "Put on some warm clothes—really warm, I mean, and I suppose you're going to Louie's, are you?"

  Willa was surprised into telling the truth. "Yes."

  "Okay," agreed Jolene, and Willa noticed a little concerned frown around her eyes even though she was smiling. "I just like to know you're safe, you know?"

  Willa was so excited and thankful she hugged her mother. Jolene's arms tightened about her, strong and wiry. "Be careful," she whispered, without explanation. When she pulled away Willa saw her mother blink rather hard, and she was sorry she hadn't been able to hug her since the Cathy mess.

  "Off you go then," croaked Jolene, "boots, hat, scarf and gloves, all right?"

  "Got it." She rushed up the stairs, chose a concoction of woollen garments, bundled most of her hair under a knitted hat and threw a heavy black coat over the rest. On her duchess sat an unopened blue envelope. It had arrived that afternoon. Willa l
ooked at it for a minute, then poked out her tongue and threw it in the bin. She galloped down the stairs and Judas barked in excitement as they took off down the street. He zig-zagged about, sniffing and tossing the snow with his nose, his back legs skidding as he bounded back and forth.

  "Wow! Big spin out, Judas," Willa laughed as the dog slid across the road until he was facing back the way he had come. There were no cars about and the snow lay several centimetres thick already. It was still and the streets had that magical hushed quality of snow at night. The bush beyond the road hung silent and hunched, gleaming under its cover of white.

  She met Louie coming down the hill, a dark rustling lump in the mauve light, something waving like antlers on her head. "Hail, who goes there?" cried Louie. "On guard!" She came at Willa with a long karaka spear which Judas barked and jumped up at. The antlers, Willa realised, bending over with laughter, were actually the peaks of a large felt jesters hat.

  "You look ridiculous," snorted Willa.

  "Thank you. It's what I do best. Come Judas, let us ignoreth the slings and arrows of outrageous bores and cavorteth together in the snow."

  Willa ran after her and tripped Louie up, then they bumped off each other in their swad of clothes, threw snowballs and pushed each other over. Louie tried capers and somersaults but Judas leapt on top of her and trampled her with his wet paws. Soon they were joined by some more people, including Mo and her brother Jay. Mo had brought some huge plastic bags and they made a scraping sound careering down the hill on them while Judas chased and cut them off, causing a pile-up at the bottom.

  One by one the others went home, and when Mo and Jay disappeared' Louie, Willa and Judas went up to Louies house. They'd taken to coming and going through the sliding doors into Louies bedroom, so the Angelos didn't always know. They crept in quietly and tried to get warm in front of Louie's heater, but Judas always managed to get in front of them.

  "What we need is a spa," said Louie after a while, looking at her snow-encrusted mittens.

  "Mmm." Willa's black coat was dripping on the carpet. Warm water sounded wonderful. "Push off, Judas."

  Louie jumped up. "Well, why not? A spa! A spa! My bedroom for a spa! I'm going to turn it on."

  "But it's outside—well, mostly." In fact it had three walls and a roof, only the fourth wall being open to trees and the bush. "And your parents..."

  "So what? We're just having a spa. If they ask, we tell the truth—we met down the street in the snow." Louie shrugged, her palms spread heavenwards like her father.

  That's exactly what happened. Just as they were really enjoying the hot frothing water, and watching Judas's puzzlement at the snowflakes drifting down right beside them, in walked Susi in her dressing gown. Louie was in the process of fixing the clip that held Willa's hair up on the top of her head.

  "What's going on? Oh—Willa," she feigned surprise. Judas woofed, once. "I didn't know you were here." She pulled her hands above the range of Judas's inquisitive nose and looked at her daughter. "Do you know what the time is, Louie?"

  Louie's dark eyes sent a private message to Willa as she let go her hair. "Yes Mum, we asked Mr. Wolf and he said it was late. But look, it's snowing outside! Everyone's playing on the street. I met Willa and we came back here for a spa. Isn't it amazing out there?"

  Susi looked at both of them rather hard. Willa was pleased the bubbles hid her naked body. All the same, she was beginning to feel flushed. She drew up her legs and hugged her knees. Judas lay down with a small whine.

  "Won't your mother be wondering where you are, Willa?" Susi enquired.

  "No, I told her."

  "I thought you said you only met on the street?"

  "We did," said Willa. "But I thought—we might come back here."

  "I see." Susi lifted an eyebrow and looked down at them grimly. "Well, I think it's time you went home."

  "Mum!" objected Louie.

  "It's late," Susi said.

  "It's Saturday night."

  "It's Sunday morning actually, and we've got church in seven hours."

  "I'm not going," said Louie.

  "Well the rest of this family is. And your father and I can't sleep with the noise of the spa motor."

  "But—"

  "Lou," Willa shook her head slightly.

  Louie sighed in exasperation. "All right, you win. Do you think we could at least have some privacy to get dressed?"

  Susi twisted her mouth. "Yes." As she went back through the door she turned to them a final time. "You're more than welcome to visit during the day, Willa, even with your dog," she said with the now familiar Antarctic smile, "but we all need our sleep, including Lome."

  Willa smiled wanly in reply and the door closed. Louie exploded out of the pool.

  "How dare she! What a bitch! You'd think I was twelve years old. God, Willa, I can't stand it when she's like that to you."

  Willa stayed in the pool and closed her eyes.

  "I don't know why. She's never been like this before. She just—"

  "She knows, Lou."

  Louie looked at Willa, her mouth still open. "What?"

  "She knows. Something, anyway. She's suspicious of me."

  "Do you think so?"

  "Uhuh."

  Louie was quiet for a moment, patting Judas's head and looking out at the falling snow. "She asked the other morning too, after you'd been here. She thought she heard voices in the middle of the night..."

  "What did you say?"

  "The truth, that you'd called in after the late shift at Burger Giant."

  Willa thought again how different Louie was from Cathy, who had panicked and lied to her parents about everything, until she was so consumed with the deceit that it took over. She looked up. Louie had turned to face Willa, her dark curls shimmying against the backdrop of feathery snow. She absently noted that Louie's hair was almost blue-black, metallic like starlings' wings.

  "What should we do?" she asked.

  Willa grinned. "Put some clothes on. I can't think straight."

  Louie tossed her a towel. "That's because you're not."

  Louie

  Both Louie and Willa had to fit the rehearsals for Twelfth Night around their jobs at Burger Giant. For Willa, it wasn't hard—she was only needed for a couple of early rehearsals, then took Louie and some others for fencing sessions at lunchtime. But Louie had to be at most practices, and they took up her after-school hours, weekends, and, as the deadline approached, evenings as well. Then Willa got involved again, setting up and operating the lighting. They'd both had to ask Kevin to give them a couple of weeks' leave.

  That left some time at least for Louie to learn her lines. Willa knew them already—sitting up in the lighting box she'd learnt virtually the entire play by heart, and Louie teased her that she was hoping Mo would fall sick on opening night and Willa could play Orsino.

  Willa denied it, but Louie knew she was a little jealous of Mo. Not only was she Louie's closest "ordinary" friend, but she was playing the Duke Orsino who falls in love with Viola in the play, and that led to some extraordinary moments in rehearsal.

  A week or so from opening night, Mrs. Ashton was having terrible trouble showing Mo how to fake a stage kiss by sweeping Viola in her arms away from the audience, bending her backwards and leaning over her face. Mo kept getting her footwork all muddled and in exasperation Mrs. Ashton, who was halfway up a ladder fixing a curtain motioned to Willa, who was often standing around ready to fill in for absent actors.

  "For goodness' sake, Willa, show her what I mean. Just take her weight with your right arm and swing her round."

  Louie paused to take a sip of her Coke as Willa leapt lightly onto the stage and walked over. She deftly slipped an arm around Louie and leaned her backwards dramatically. Centimetres from her face she murmured, "Kiss Mo and I'll black the lights."

  Mrs. Ashton crowed from above. "See? It's easy. Don't even think about your feet!"

  What Willa didn't know was that Mo was a bit jealous of Willa, too. M
ost days Willa and Louie had taken to walking home together, and although Louie tried to encourage Mo to join them, she usually made an excuse. More than any of her friends it was Mo who had noticed the difference in Louie. She made little comments about not wanting to get in the way, or to bother her. She'd taken to ringing before visiting, just to check that it was all right. Louie knew she was mostly checking to see if Willa was there. In her own quiet, noncomplaining way, Louie thought, Mo was backing off. Now they were in the play together it was different though. Mo and Louie had been friends since the third form, and had acted together in plays for nearly five years, including pieces they wrote for fun and performed at school, like the Comedy Club. There was always a special closeness when they worked together. The day of the stage kiss, Willa stayed behind to rig up a couple of extra spotlights so Louie made a point of walking home only with Mo. She knew Mo was hurt and she wanted to explain what was happening, but she wasn't sure if she could.

  "Willa's good at the lighting, eh?" said Mo, as they cut through the park. It was five o'clock and the birds were chirping and bustling about the trees all around them.

  "Yep," answered Louie, thinking, Its not fair. I have to tell her.

  "You like her a lot, don't you?"

  "Mo ... I—" Louie went blank.

  "I'm sorry, Louie, dumb question. I don't mind, really. I don't have to be your best friend. Just—a good friend, okay?"

  Louie stopped and stared straight up at an enormous kowhai tree. It was just in blossom and tuis had been feeding on it as she and Willa walked past this morning. Now it was empty, the late sun firing its flowers like a chandelier of golden droplets. Help me say this right, she asked the tree silently.

  "You're still my best friend, Mo," Louie said carefully. "Willa's not a friend." She stared at Mo for a long time and waited. Mo's eyes narrowed, puzzled.

  "What d'you mean?"

  "She's—more than a friend." There, it's said. Think what you like.