Beyond Blonde

by Teresa Toten

  He leaned in closer to me. “I won’t claim the first dance since you’ve probably got that reserved for your father, but will you promise me the one after that?”

  “Absolutely, pa da, for sure, she does!”

  “Auntie Radmila!”

  David smiled, both dimples fully engaged. His black eyes lit me up. “Good, I’ll come for you then.” We watched him walk away, melt into the crowd, into his friends. We, Auntie Eva, Auntie Luba, Auntie Radmila, and Sarah, who had just joined us, sighed.

  “Wow, James Dean and Elvis rolled into one.” Sarah thrust a lipstick at me. “Madison said freshen up your lips and not to worry. The entire second string is going to double-team him while you do your hostess-like thing. Those girls won’t get anywhere near him tonight!”

  “Really,” I said. “What for? Why would I care? Who cares? Why does no one care that I don’t care?” I stroked my carnations. It felt like someone had injected a syringe of caffeine straight into my heart. What was the matter with me?

  Auntie Luba and Sarah rolled their eyes at the same time.

  “Lipstick!” ordered Auntie Eva. She looked around and then grabbed both of my arms. “Zat von.” She indicated with her head to the back of the room where David was horsing around with Stewart Morgan and Kyle Levy. My heart galloped as soon as I caught sight of him. “Your Mama vould not saying zis to you because it vould be in a property.”

  It took me a second. “Do you mean inappropriate?”

  “Zat is vat I said,” she said. “Za point is, you are afraid.”

  I opened my mouth to deny it but was greeted by three new people coming in before being hijacked by Auntie Eva again. She was like a dog with a bone. “You are seventeen, Sophie. Don’t be afraid. And don’t be afraid of zat von.” Again with the head pointing. “Za boy is a shotgun, but he is yours, eh.” I made a face. “Iz true. I love you and your pieces, but don’t be an idiot, Sophie!”

  I watched as Jennifer Giacometti tried to pull David onto the dance floor. He wasn’t having it. David? Mine? I saw two of our second string make their way over to him to run interference.

  I nodded. “Auntie Eva?”

  “Yes, buboola?”

  “I, well, I know we, you all, had agreed that you, the adults, I mean, except for Mike of course, anyway, you said that you would leave by midnight and …”

  “Vat midnight?” She looked at her watch. It was 10:10. “I could barely not make it to eleven o’clock even, eh, Luba?”

  Luba frowned and then nodded and threw in a yawn for good effect. “I am so tired, I cannot be standing anozer minute even. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Da!” Auntie Eva had to shout above the din. “Sorry, sorry, but ve, za old people, have to going home in a few minutes, not a minute more. I vill go right now and remind your Papa and Mama how tired zey are.”

  I threw my arms around her. “I love you, Auntie Eva!”

  “Of course you do, buboola.” She pinched my cheek. “You love me because you are zat fantastik and I am zat fantastik.”

  And right then and there, at 10:12 P.M., Saturday, February 17, 1977, I believed her on both counts.

  Mama asked whether I was having fun. As soon as I assured her that I was, she took my picture, again. It was like she needed every happy breath recorded for future proof. Finally, Papa came to the rescue. He took my hand and led me onto the dance floor in one long and fluid movement. I blew thank-you kisses to Mama and the Aunties the whole way. “So, we old folks are all exhausted, eh?” Papa winked. “So tired in fact that we must leave immediately?”

  “Yes, Papa, it really is a pity. But don’t feel bad. I understand and I’m sure you can still find enough energy for one quick dance with Mama.”

  Papa shook his head. “No, Princess, tonight is your night and yours alone.” He kissed my forehead and then looked around the crowded room and crowded dance floor as we waited for the next song to come on. “Which one is he, Sophie?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” The jukebox delivered “My Special Angel” by Bobbie Helms.

  Papa rolled his eyes, or the grown-up version of it. “Let’s not go through that again, Sophie. Every time we dance, you’re trying to hide a boy from me.”

  I winced. He was right. The last time we danced was at Mike and Auntie Luba’s wedding, just before Luke and I snuck out on the landing together, before Luke knew about Alison, before so much and so long ago.

  “He’s behind you, black T-shirt.” Papa started to turn. “Don’t look!” He waited three heartbeats and then twirled me just as the chorus hit. Very smooth my Papa is.

  “Your coach?” he said, trying not to look unnerved.

  “Assistant coach,” I corrected.

  “Ah, I see.” Papa was quiet as he whirled me around the dance floor. The other couples stopped to watch us. No one is a better dancer than my father. “Sophie,” Papa whispered, “I was still sick, I mean, I was drinking last year when your heart was trampled on. I caused you pain when you were already hurting.” Luke again. “And I missed your life even when I was in the middle of it.”

  I began to deny it, but Papa shushed me.

  “But, I believe, I understand from your Mama that you were not abused in the process.”

  “Abused? Luke?” I sighed. “No, Papa, in the end, too much had already happened for anything like that to happen.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Don’t worry.” I shook my head. “Nothing happened that a father has to worry about, I swear.”

  He took in David. “I’m sober now, Sophie. You are a year older and with every year in life and love, the stakes are higher.” Papa crooked his finger under my chin and smiled. “If he hurts you, I will kill him.”

  I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his rough cheek. “I’ll be sure to tell him, Papa, but it may not come up. It’s pretty confusing all in all. He seems to be angry with me more than anything else. I don’t have a clue as to what his real feelings are.”

  Papa raised my hand with the carnation corsage. “I do,” he sighed. “That young man has not taken his eyes off you since he walked in the door.”

  “Oh Papa!”

  “Don’t you ‘oh Papa,’ me. Fathers know about these things. I am on alert, Sophie, and this time, I will stay on alert.”

  And then I got it. He was trying so hard. Papa needed me to know he was watching and that he was here this time. “I know, Papa. Glad to have you back.”

  He squeezed my hand. “My special birthday present to you will be ready next Saturday at 4 P.M. Reserve the date for your old man, will you?”

  “Of course, Papa. And we’ll save all you old people some birthday cake!” As soon as the song was over, Papa stood ready to go, but instead of leading me off the dance floor, he waited.

  I felt him in waves breaking behind me.

  “Good evening, Mr. Kandinsky.”

  Papa nodded. “David.”

  “May I have the honour of the next dance with the birthday girl, sir?”

  Papa looked at David, David looked at me, and the whole floor, including the girls in the tight skirts, looked at us.

  Papa leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Happy birthday, Princessa.” Then he placed my hand onto David’s. David gave him a little nod. And my father walked away.

  David stepped in front of me. “Sophie.” Oh my. All I could see was him. Well technically, just his chest, his shoulders, and his arms, those arms, what arms. I moved my head up a fraction, his jaw was clenched, and his mouth, uh … I levelled my gaze back down to his chest. My right hand was still placed flat against David’s open palm. My hand is cold. His hand is warm and large but not rough. I’m surprised by this. Instead of clasping my hand, David slides his palm over to the outside of my hand, covering it. I’m surprised by this too. He locks on, turns my hand into him, and then pulls my palm flat to the centre of his chest.

  Jesus.

  A surge of electricity rushes from him right through to me.

  I didn’t have a cha
nce.

  The lights dim even further. The adults were gone. Bobby Darin comes on with “Dream Lover.” It’s a night of Bobbies, Bobbie Helms and now Bobby Darin. There are no Bobbies now. Where did all the Bobbies go, I wonder, trying to maintain focus, but I can’t. I can’t because my hand is on his perfectly carved beating chest. I realize with a shock that my heart is pounding in rhythm with his. Maybe it always did.

  I raised my left arm and placed it on top of David’s shoulder and behind his neck. The underside of my arm was alive to every nuance of his movement. Each time his body stirred, the soft part of my arm sensed his muscles and sinews reacting and anticipating the actual motion. It was not possible that I felt the things that I did just dancing.

  Hello, I was in trouble here, and we hadn’t even gotten to the chorus.

  David covered the small of my back with his left hand and with no discernible effort at all, pulled me to him, hard. Of all the things I felt in that one delirious moment, the most stunning was that I am safe.

  David looked down at me, his hair falling into his eyes. I went to brush it away, but he stopped me. He intertwined his fingers into mine, brought my hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of my fingers, tasting each one. Stuff was firing from places I didn’t even know could fire. My entire Sweet Seventeen self lit up with sparklers. This couldn’t be right. Then he laid my hand flat against his heart again, pressing it deeper into the soft, thin fabric, covering it with his hand. David’s heart beat through my fingers, into me, and straight through to my heart. The drumming within me was deafening.

  “You feel so right, Sophie.” He caressed my back, running his hand up and then back down, pressing me to him.

  “It’s the sweater,” I said because I am a blue ribbon idiot. All I wanted to do was wrap my legs around him and then … well, okay, then it got a little fuzzy, but clearly, I needed kissing, if nothing else to shut me up. “It’s real cashmere.” I sounded like I was starring in a Florida orange juice commercial. “Isn’t it amazing?” It was official: my mouth was running amok. I never knew what that meant until that exact moment when I was amokking all over the place. “I’ve been feeling myself all day.” Aargh! Holy Moses, kill me or kiss me, but somebody shut me up!

  “Hmm …” He bent down and growled in my ear while he travelled the breadth of my back with his hand before settling just below my waist again. “Hmm. No, not the sweater. You.”

  David moved me around the floor with his thigh. It took every ounce of concentration in me to not think about that. With what was left, I tried to anticipate his touch. And couldn’t. It was a shock each time he caressed me. When his thumb stroked the curve of my back, I dissolved.

  “How are you feeling, birthday girl?” he whispered, grazing my ear with his lips.

  “Overstimulated,” I chirped. Dear God, find a stick and beat me silent! If he didn’t kiss me pronto, I’d ruin everything.

  Instead, David threw his head back and laughed! Madison and Mike Jr. were dancing beside us. They looked over and smiled. So did Sarah and George. I probably smiled back, but all I wanted was to crawl into David’s beating black T-shirt.

  “Sophie, Sophie.” David shook his head and took me into him again. Ahhh, I exhaled into his chest. He let go of the top of my hand just long enough to raise my chin. “There’s nobody like you, and I knew that the minute I first saw you when you were in grade nine.” Whoa. What? I was getting confused. I needed kissing in the worst way. Instead he wrapped his arms around me. “I saw you first. I need you to know that. I should’ve told you sooner.” He kissed my hair. “Much sooner. I’ve waited long enough and tonight, I’m hoping we can start like we should have two years ago.”

  My head spun. Wait, wait. Even in my highly flammable state, I sensed that this was something. That he was saying stuff. “What do you mean, you saw me first? What do you mean grade nine?” David pressed my hand back onto his chest. Damn. I mean, oh my God, what was I supposed to do with all of that at my fingertips? I forgot the questions. Didn’t care about the answers.

  He drew in his breath, which was a beautiful thing to experience with my hands on him. The boy smelled like Ivory soap and … me.

  “Yeah.” He smiled. “So, a couple of years ago, I was bored and I checked out the girls’ junior tryouts.” My face burned. I had an instant cringing recall of trying so hard to impress the Blondes, to make them like me, accept me, and protect me, all in one lousy basketball tryout.

  “You lit up the floorboards. Not only were you better than anyone had a right to be on a junior court, but the way you looked, moved, smiled … it was ridiculous. I was gone, lost to a kid that was all curls and fire. You were, you are like nobody else.”

  “But …” I suddenly remembered him and Luke at practices, at a couple of our games, and at Mike’s on Saturdays. David had always hung back. I saw that now. David had stayed away. “Then why …?”

  He put a finger to my mouth.

  “Like an ass, I even pointed you out to Luke.” The muscles underneath his skin tensed and held. “We, we were competitive then.”

  “No.” David’s always been jealous of me. If he knew about you … Luke’s body language, the way he looked away when he had said that. I knew even then when he tried to sell it to me that day at the park.

  “He baited me about you, but I wouldn’t bite. You were too young, Sophie, I couldn’t …”

  Luke had lied.

  “Much too young,” David whispered.

  What the …? “Hey, you’re only two years older than me!” He pulled my fingers to his mouth. Bit. Dear God.

  “There are lots of ways of being too young.”

  David cupped my face and then moved me so that he could kiss below my ear and then planted soft little butterfly kisses beside my eye until I just about passed out. “And you’re still too young, Sophie Kandinsky. It’s just that I can’t wait anymore, and I will not risk you getting involved with another fool.”

  Wait, wait. “So, was I like a game to Luke?”

  I felt, rather than saw, his jaw twitch. “Maybe, in the beginning.” He grazed my ear again, whispering. “See, I wasn’t watching out for him—he had Alison. I thought she kept him busy enough. I was wrong. I should’ve paid attention. I should have …” David placed my head back against his chest. “I don’t believe you stayed a game to him, Sophie.” His body tightened. “But I’ll admit that I thought long and hard about lying to you about that.”

  Oh, Luke. I burned up tears before they could form.

  The song ended. Neither of us moved or breathed until the next one came on, Elvis’s “Love Me Tender.”

  “Sophie?”

  It felt true, all of it. “You don’t need the lie, David.” I skimmed his shoulder, the nape of his neck, reaching for him.

  “It made me crazy, the whole thing, him.” He paused. “Him and you. I wanted to kill him. Luke treated Alison like a joke, but at least he manned up and married her when he had to. I was sorry, but I was relieved too, relieved he’d stay away from you.” David kissed my eyes and then folded me into him again. “But even with him married, I couldn’t be sure he’d stay away. He knew I was still gone on you. Then, when I saw him at the funeral.” His back stiffened. “He was after you again. I was so pissed, I couldn’t see straight for weeks wondering if you were meeting, where, how … Sophie, I was such a jerk. See, every time I saw you, I’d see him and you. Forgive me.” He nuzzled my neck. “Can we start again?” He kissed my throat. “Please give me a chance.” My entire body agreed, no contest.

  His voice was low and rough. “Hi, my name is David. I play basketball. I’ve got a big game next week. Would you like to come?” He’d kiss me if I nodded.

  I nodded.

  David kissed my earlobe and then bit. My head exploded. Would he kiss me now? “Then since I can’t risk you getting mixed up with other unsavoury types,” he squinted into the darkness and surveyed the room until he zeroed in on Paul, “would you consider coming as my girl? I think I�
�ve waited long enough, don’t you?”

  David took my face into his hands. He kissed my eyes. “Say yes, David.” How could I be so alert and so hypnotized at the same time? His face, his mouth was an inch from mine. “Yes, David!” And then I was seized by panic. The boy had a cast of thousands. “Wait, what does that mean, ‘your girl’ exactly?”

  “It means,” he kissed my forehead, “that you are mine,” kissed my cheek, “and I, Sophie Kandinsky, am …” kissed the top of my chest, “so yours.” Then finally, finally, David nudged my mouth open with his and I fell into him, ready or not. It was a hard, hungry kiss that went on forever and nowhere near long enough. No gentleness for either of us. Bits of me, the bits that were locked up and careful, concerned with image, and consumed with being safe, all those bits broke off and fell to the floor in that kiss.

  The song ended. David pulled away. And I swear to God, it hurt.

  Even in the semi-dark, I could tell there was a crowd around us.

  “Holy Hannah!” yelled Kit above the din. “Talk about combustible!” It was true. I was going to be able to light my birthday candles just by standing next to them.

  Sarah squeezed my arm.

  “Okay, that’s enough cheap physical stuff. There’s a birthday cake to eat.” Madison pulled me forward to the front of the restaurant.

  David placed one hand at the small of my back, protectively. He leaned over to me and whispered, “What would you like to do, Sophie?”

  Kiss some more was probably not the right answer, but there wasn’t an inch of me that wasn’t vibrating like a tuning fork. “Cake is good,” I squeaked.

  “Cake it is!”

  My team made way in front of us to reveal a monster slab of chocolate fudge birthday cake lit with seventeen pink candles and one white one for good luck. David stood behind me. Mike handed me a shot glass of brandy and poured one for himself. The rest of the room sang “Happy Birthday,” including, albeit grudgingly, all the girls in the tight skirts. Mike clinked our shot glasses. “On behalf of your Mama and Papa and your Aunties and …” He raised his glass to Kit, to Madison, to Sarah, and then, finally to David. “Know that you are loved, on this your seventeenth birthday. Živili, Sophia Kandinsky.”