by Teresa Toten
“What you mean, you feel him?”
“It’s an electric thing. I can always sense him when he’s near.”
“Sophie, that is straight out of your cheesy romance novels.”
“I don’t read them anymore, remember. I got religion instead.”
“Well, he didn’t even sit. He was in the back row, at the very top. And never mind that. Are you sneaking around with—”
“No!” And without any warning, my eyes burned. “Not really.”
Madison reached over and put her hands on my knees. “Sophie …”
“He is so, so unhappy, Madison. Poor, poor Luke. It’s like his life is over.”
“Luke made that life, Sophie.”
“He loves me. Just me, he said so or he said ‘there was just me’ and I, well, there is just Luke, there will only ever be just Luke, Madison.”
I could tell she was trying not to roll her eyes. “He’s married, Sophie, with a wife and baby. Married.”
“I can’t help it, Madison. I’ve tried. I love him.” I put my head on the cool, soothing counter. “I’m sure of it. Almost a hundred percent, practically.”
“I know when I’m licked.” Her shoulders slumped. “Okay, let me know if you need my help.”
I threw my arms around her.
“I’m also licked about Edna. You’re right. She’s wearing me down. I’m going to tell them. Soonish.” She nodded to herself. “Enough about that. Let’s talk about your party. It’s going to be the party of the year, the best night of your life!”
The party again. My stomach clenched. I didn’t want to talk about the party, think about the party, or plan for the party. It got in the way of my denial about the party. And unclenched. She turned to me. “I know you hate the word, Sophie, but I keep my word when I give it.” And clenched. She grabbed my arm. “Your Sweet Seventeen will be brilliant. You will be brilliant, Sophie Kandinsky. I promise,” she said.
The first week of December is always brutal at school and beyond brutal at home. It was mid-terms at Northern, a hellish week when all your projects and papers were due, plus the added thrill of exams. That was tolerable. What was intolerable was Mama breathing down my neck every single second I was home. She got anxious during my mid-terms at the best of times, but some fool had gone and told her that marks counted as of now, that universities start looking at what you did in grade eleven. I will hunt that person down and give them cavities.
I looked up from my calculus. She was pacing the living room. Mama rearranged her house-showing schedule just so that she could babysit my studying. I now knew exactly how Papa felt when he was trying to find a job last year. She made me coffees, brought me sandwiches, paced, and asked if she could quiz me, time me, help me, over and over again.
By Friday, when exams were done, I actually contemplated having a drink at Madison’s End of Mid-Terms bash. It wasn’t supposed to be a party-party per se, it would be looser than that, a last-minute blow-off-some-steam type of deal. She invited less than thirty people, so, less than fifty ought to show. The party was going to be in her pool house way in the back of their yard, which had a slight whiff of danger, especially since she’d somehow got her parents to vacate the premises. Fabi, who would take a bullet for Madison, was supposed to be the adult in charge.
Fabi cleaned up the pool house and rigged it with space heaters while we stocked the mini-fridge and brought in armloads of ice and junk food. Madison insisted that we string up the summer lanterns and she was right. In the snow all softly lit up, it was like we were starring in Doctor Zhivago.
Madison just invited Northern kids, well except for George and Mike Jr., who were now a fixture because of Sarah and … was Mike Jr. circling Madison lately? Could be. He was an older boy, so he’d know not to move too fast or he’d scare her off. I felt heat rise off of Madison when he came in and kissed her fingers. Smooth. Of course our entire team was there, plus the “fans” who were loyal enough to come to our championship game. Some of the senior boys basketball team was invited, plus a couple of hockey players, and a stray football player or two. By ten-thirty or so, we had just under sixty kids.
Barbara Sweeton, left guard, second string, was in charge of the music. She and Barbara Barton kept it cool, alternating disco, rock, and seriously slow dance tunes. Kit wandered around passing out mini Christmas cupcakes with a dependably lovesick Rick trailing behind her.
Madison was on the floor dancing with Mike Jr. Sarah was on the floor too, with George, but they were barely moving. I, of course, was with nobody and torqued pretty tight to boot. Something about the architecture of the pool house made you feel the songs more—they vibrated on the floor in a way that travelled up your body and, well, someone should bottle that. When I couldn’t stand it a minute longer, I went to the bar. Paul Wexler, who happened to be Madison’s next-door neighbour, was nominally in charge.
“Hey, Sophie.” He winked at me. “Sorry I couldn’t make the game. You look real nice tonight. Different from everybody else, but extra nice, always extra nice.”
“Thanks, Paul.” I was wearing black jeans and a black boat-neck top with a big wide slit at the neck and shoulders. It was my Audrey Hepburn look and I was about to tell him, but I then realized he wouldn’t know what I was talking about. It was Luke who loved old movies. Luke would have got it. I looked at the beers in the cooler, the vodkas and rums lining the bar. Did I want a drink?
“Madison said that if, by some miracle, you ended up looking for something, I was supposed to give you this.” Paul disappeared on the other side of the bar and then reappeared with an unopened bottle of Courvoisier and a smile. “Apparently, she’s had it and hid it for almost two years.” I looked out into the room. It oozed romance, right down to the snow decorating each windowpane on the French doors. Kids were talking, laughing, a group was playing Twister of all things in the corner behind one of the sofas. But mainly there were couples. Couples dancing, couples kissing, couples everywhere. I wanted to be a couple. I wanted to crawl right out of myself. “Yeah, sure, why not? Please pour me a brandy, Paul.”
He was only too happy to oblige. Never mind a shot, Paul filled an entire juice glass. That would be more brandy than I’d drunk in my entire life. I’d never even been tipsy before. If I drank that I’d have to be hospitalized.
“Cheers, tiger!” He took a swig of his beer. “I’ll demand a dance as my payment.”
“Sure.” I smiled. Paul was sweet in that tall, blonde, sunburned skier kind of way. Apparently, he raced as well as played football. Maybe I could get myself to like Paul. He winked again.
Then again, maybe not. I looked out into the room. Before I could take a sip, or continue considering how unfulfilled I was feeling, Sarah popped up beside me, beaming blissfully.
“Two more beers, please.” She fanned herself. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Not good. “Hot in here, ain’t it, Soph?”
Warning bells rang around me. We had a real scare with Sarah last year just about at this time. It’s like she loses her brains every winter. I leaned over and whispered, “I think we should go to the girls’ room.”
“I don’t have to pee, but if you want some company sure, Soph!”
The lights in the pool house suddenly got dimmer. Someone was playing with them. Our DJs, the Barbaras, were spinning sexy hurtin’ tunes. I heard a little yelp, giggling. And then the air changed. David walked in. Well, strode in. Well, as much as anyone can stride anywhere with Janice Wilton clinging to him like Saran Wrap. It was a testament to his strength that David Walter could move at all. The room sparked; everyone noted his arrival. Janice started sucking his face as soon as he plopped down on the sofa. It could turn your stomach.
“Wow,” said Sarah. “She won’t even let that poor boy catch a breath.”
“Yeah, poor boy.”
Two other girls joined him and Janice on the overcrowded sofa. David semi-reclined and his retinue rearranged themselves around him. Sandy Thomas minced up to the bar, got four beers, a
nd minced back.
“You know.” Sarah couldn’t take her eyes off them. I stared at the opposite wall like I was personally responsible for holding it up. “You know,” she repeated, “I think our coach is a wee bit loaded. Hmm, looks good on him. But then again, you gotta admit that everything looks good on him. If it weren’t for George …”
“Speaking of George, girls’ room, Sarah? Not here, the one in the house.”
I grabbed my drink and her. The sharp frigid air was a slap in the face compared with the steamy pool house.
“What’s going on, Sarah? I know all the signs now. You promised me that you weren’t ever going to put yourself in that position again. So to speak.”
She didn’t say anything until we got to the house. “I know I said I wouldn’t, Sophie.”
My stomach seized. I was still spooked from last year’s five-alarm pregnancy scare, but not so our Sarah. “Holy Moses, Sarah, you promised!” There was that word again. “I can’t take it! Have you and George, don’t tell me you …”
“No!” She yanked me into the main floor powder room and shut the door. “Not yet, I mean. I, we haven’t and I wouldn’t tonight, honestly, but see the thing of it is …”
“What do you mean but? Sarah, we can’t go through that again!”
She jumped up and sat on the vanity counter. “Oh hose yourself down. You’re wound up tighter than a copper coil. What you need is a good, uh, romance.”
“Sarah Davis, you’re drunk!”
“Oh Lord, just a little, and when did you turn into such a priss?” She faced the mirror and played with her hair.
“Sarah?”
“Relax.” She swung back to me. “I haven’t, but one day, maybe soon, we may, and I want to be prepared this time. I read all about it in those pamphlets you got me from Planned Parenthood last year. Condoms, I mean. I’m actually going to buy them and make him wear them, I swear. I’m never, ever going to go through a nightmare like last year again. Like how mature and super responsible is that?”
I took a big swig of brandy.
“And you’re going to help.”
And then another swig.
“We have to go somewhere where no one could possibly recognize us and buy some. Plan? I’ll be seventeen in March, that’s practically an adult, after all. How about tomorrow?”
I pulled down the toilet seat lid and sat. Holy crap.
“I really, really like him, Soph. How about after you’re finished at Mike’s?”
“I guess,” I groaned. “I mean, if you’re bound and determined, I suppose it’s better than—”
“That’s my Soph.” She jumped off the counter. “Tomorrow, four-thirty, at Bathurst station!” And then she dashed off, leaving me in the can, so to speak. Priss? Did she say I was prissy? I took another sip and then got up. “Prissy?” I snorted. Then I realized I’d said it out loud. “It’s just me, Fabi!” I said to the hallway. “I’m going back to the party now.”
I took another sip and noted that I was feeling nice and warmish in the various bits of me. As if anyone cared.
Not true, Paul had looked like he cared. Maybe I could make myself care that he cared. I stepped back outside into the yard. Took another sip as I picked my way through the snow and tried to imagine Paul holding me. I shuddered.
I was almost at the pool house, just about to reach for the door handle, when he grabbed me and spun me around with such force that I dropped my drink in the snow.
“Sophie!” His voice blistered the stone-cold air. “Sophie.” Somehow one hand was holding my head and the other was behind my back. David crushed me into him and against the outside wall. I opened my mouth to yell at him, but he covered it with his lips. “Sophie,” softer now, “Sophie.” I felt delirious in that kiss. I was stunned. Everything turned. It was like being on a free-floating carousel. I have never been held like that, felt like that. I should be furious, yet … damn. I was in love with Luke! It was not possible that I was feeling what I was feeling. David’s hands were at first like a vise, then stroking, then caressing, then almost not touching me. Is this what this feels like? My body was so disloyal. How could I do this to me!? He traced my face and neck with the tips of his fingers, caressing one small part of me at a time, making the rest scream out in protest. I should resist, make more of a show, at least pretend. Then his lips were on me again.
I knew from watching him all these months that no one was stronger. He bit my lip tenderly, teasing me before forcing my mouth open again. David’s hand glided down to the small of my back. He pulled me into his body with a force that stole my breath and my brains because somewhere, somehow I was kissing him back. If that’s what we were doing. He made my body mould to his, fit into him. He was too practised, much too aware of exactly what he was doing and its effect. There wasn’t a square inch of me that wasn’t lit up. The snow sizzled around us.
David yanked my sleeve, pulling the top away from my neck and shoulder. He let go of my mouth and I reached out, wanting to grab him to me again, the shock of him detaching was so great. He looked at me and groaned. Then he licked and nipped the crook of my neck, travelling up and down from my ear to the top of my chest, my shoulder while his hands were on me. I almost passed out. David’s mouth crushed mine again, rough and angry. And then, just as I lost myself in him, he growled, his voice so low and gravelled, I could barely make out his words.
“So tell me, Sophie,” he whispered. “Are you tired of being Luke’s little something on the side?”
He might as well have thrown me in the snow. Without missing a beat, I hauled off and slapped David Walter with everything I had.
It took both of us by surprise.
He let go of me, of course. A canyon opened up between us. The humiliation, the shame of it was that I wanted to pull back into him more than I wanted to breathe.
“Whoa.” David brought his hand to his face and almost smiled. “Good arm.”
I looked through the French doors into the party. Janice was combing the room for him.
“I’m … I’ve had too much to drink.” He sucked in some air, whistled. “Just too … No. I apologize, Sophie. Damn!” He looked up at the night sky. “I’m an ass and there is no excuse. God, I’m sorry.”
Fine. I lose my head to a guy who’s so plastered he doesn’t know what he’s doing. What was the matter with me? My body betrayed me! Totally. Enough already. I couldn’t count on anyone, especially me. Dear God, I wanted to hug him and hit him, hug him and hit him, hug him and forget it. I was reeling.
David reached for me and stopped. “I mean that. I sincerely and completely apologize.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I have never …”
“Ivory soap,” I said. I thought that maybe if I said stuff, I would stop swirling, stop feeling those feelings.
He exhaled. Didn’t say anything for a while. “Pardon?”
“You use Ivory soap.”
David stepped closer then stepped back again. “Damn,” he muttered. “How do you know? My mom says it isn’t supposed to smell like anything.”
His mom? Somehow that was startling. “It doesn’t,” I said. “You just smell like you.” I was trying to cycle myself down, get control over any part of me. The scent of him wasn’t helping. I stepped back.
“God, Sophie, I’m so—”
I put up my hand. “S’okay, David, I’m not going to report you or anything.” I looked back into the party. My head spun, full as it was of brandy, or of David. “Your, um, friends, are looking for you.”
David stepped toward me and then he stepped back. He was remembering those girls in there, what they could and would do for him. He nodded, stepped back even farther. Angry? Then he turned and went back into the party. Yup, angry.
What the hell?
I left. As soon as I could walk properly that is. Holy Moses, enough was enough. I was tired. It was almost midnight. I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t even go in after my purse.
Mama was home. The door would be unlocked. I
walked the whole way in some lame attempt to cool off, calm down, and stop feeling so wired. It didn’t work. I was practically levitating.
As soon as I got in, at almost one, Mama popped up from the couch, ready to pretend she was watching the test pattern for the Buffalo channel. She had done this every single night since Papa left. “Did you have lots of fun and celebrations at da party?”
“You bet, Mama.” I bit my lip. Ow. It was swollen. “But I’m exhausted. Good night.”
Back in my room I sat my sorry butt on the bed, didn’t move. Well, except for turning my brand-new little Buddha statue around, so he wasn’t looking at me. I didn’t get changed, nothing. I traced the shape of my lips with my index finger over and over again. You don’t get more pathetic than me. I was angry and ashamed of myself on so many different levels, I couldn’t even begin to sort it out. Even worse, way worse, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about him, and of course that made me mental. But still, even worser than any of that, was when I looked back and saw Janice Wilton jumping into his arms before he could even shut the door, followed by the picture of David Walter kissing her back like he was starving.
I checked my makeup in between serving customers at Mike’s. My lips were swollen when I got up and they were still in full bloom at the restaurant. And that wasn’t the worst of it. David had marked me! How could he? How dare he! I had a hickey! Well, two actually, both in the crook of my neck. They stared at me accusingly when I got up and they kept staring back and shaming me every time I pulled down my turtleneck in Mike’s restroom.
“You okay, kid?” Mike asked when I returned from my 157th hickey check.
“Sure.” I nodded. “End-of-term party at Madison’s last night, you know?”
Mike grunted, reached over, and pounded the cash register. When it slid open, he reached for two packets, threw the tablets into a glass and filled it with water. “It’s our secret, kid.”
Alka-Seltzer was not going to help my hickeys any, but I could hardly explain that to Mike. “Thanks.” I gulped down the bubbling fizz in one shot.