Watercolor (Dragonfly)

by Moore, Leigh Talbert

  He was gone when I opened my eyes again. The alarm was sounding, and it was time to get ready for the day.

  Chapter 9

  Summer was normal enough about getting her notes back in English class, and I avoided getting sucked into another bizarre cross-examination with her. No telling what she’d seen me do lately.

  We all turned in our assignments and had some discussion about them. I thought about my conversation with Julian last night and him sleeping over. I was tired today, but I didn’t regret letting him in. Falling asleep in his arms was heaven. He caught up with me on the way to math.

  “You look tired,” he said, lightly resting an arm across my shoulders as we walked.

  “I’ve had the strangest two nights,” I said, slanting my eyes at him. “Something keeps waking me up.”

  “Maybe you’ll get better rest tonight,” he said.

  I frowned. “I’m not complaining.”

  He grinned, catching my waist. “Hey, I was thinking I might borrow that book when you’re finished with it. You’ve got me interested.”

  I pulled it out of my bag. “Here you go, and I think you’ll like it. It ends at the bullfights in Pamplona.”

  He held the thin volume, studying it for a moment. “Let me guess. She takes up with a bullfighter.”

  “A plus, Mr. LaSalle. That’s exactly right.”

  His mouth slanted down on one side. “I’m starting to not like our heroine.”

  I stopped, placing my hands on my hips. “Why? Because she’s honest? I’d think you’d be able to relate to her more. She has needs that must be met.”

  We were quiet for a minute.

  “I don’t see why his injury has to be such a problem,” Julian said. “I mean, they could use their imaginations.”

  I shook my head. “People were more conservative back then.”

  We were walking again, and he elbowed me in the side. “Were not.”

  “Well, either way, it wouldn’t have been such a sad story if they’d used their imaginations.”

  “Why does it have to be sad?” He held out his arms. “If they loved each other, they could make it work. He could keep his lady satisfied.”

  “Julian,” I laughed. “Cohn takes it harder than Jake does, actually.”

  “What, the prep school guy?” His brow creased, and I couldn’t help it.

  “You have a great memory!” I cried.

  “I just thought what Summer said was funny,” he shrugged.

  “You should be in AP class with me.” I poked his side. “You’re very smart. You should challenge yourself more.”

  “I’m as challenged as I want to be,” he breathed, and I couldn’t argue with that.

  Mrs. Harris was at her door as usual. Julian dropped his arm from my shoulders, and we filed in like good little soldiers.

  I was having trouble concentrating again, but I focused on my notebook and tried not to gaze left every five seconds like a moony cow. The most I’d do was glance at his hand, which I could see pretty easily without turning my head. He was usually taking notes as well, but occasionally, I’d see him stray off into a little sketch. I couldn’t tell what the subject was.

  After school, I drove to the paper office in Fairview. I had the picture from Julian’s reception on my digital camera, and I hoped Nancy would let me start writing stories for publication as well. I wanted to build my portfolio to get on my college’s paper staff, but I had only gotten one clip last semester.

  Nancy was in her office on the phone when I arrived, so I wandered around the newsroom for a few minutes until she was finished. The Bugle had been in existence in Fairview since 1907, and the archives were amazing to comb through last year.

  Finally she called me in. “How’s my best intern?”

  I dropped in a chair. “Just stopping by to check in. Got any work for me?”

  “Actually, I just got off the phone with Miranda Jordan down at the glass blowing studio in East End Beach?” I nodded. “I was thinking you might do a little piece on it for me. Take some pictures, write it up?”

  I almost jumped out of my seat. “Nancy! I was just hoping you’d let me write more this semester!”

  She grinned. “I figured I’d stick you on the art beat since you have a connection.”

  “You’re so great,” I smiled, getting up. “I’ll get started!”

  She leaned forward on her desk, then paused. “Oh, and I talked to Curtis about putting in a word for you in New Orleans.”

  My eyebrows flew up. “And?”

  “He said he’d be happy to make a call, but I’ll follow up. He’ll forget.” She turned around and started working on her computer, and I knew she didn’t expect it. Still I stepped around her desk.

  “Thank you so much,” I said, hugging the back of her shoulders.

  She shrugged me off. “You’re a hard worker, and I use those archives all the time. Consider it repayment.”

  “If you say so.” I went to the door. “Oh, and I’ve got pictures from that reception for you.”

  She spun around and stood up then. “Let’s see them.”

  We walked over to the larger computer out front and uploaded the images. The one of Julian with Mr. Kyser and his mother popped up, and my breath caught. I wasn’t sure if Nancy would see the resemblance as quickly as I did, not knowing the truth.

  “That’s a good-looking kid,” she said, elbowing my ribs.

  “I think so,” I smiled.

  “This is good.” She sent the picture to the photos account and straightened up. “Keep it up, and you won’t have to worry about anybody’s help. You’ll make your own way.”

  “Thanks. So I’m going to take off. How long do you want the story?”

  She waved her hand as she entered her office. “As long as it needs to be. Not too much, but something solid.”

  “Very specific,” I muttered.

  “Focus on getting lots of good pictures,” she called back. “That’ll sell it.”

  I nodded and grabbed my bag, running out to my car. This couldn’t have worked out better. I’d make contact with Miranda and if there was time, I’d stop off at Mr. Kyser’s office. It was right down the road in East End Beach.

  The glass blowing shop was unexpectedly chaotic. Miranda was wrangling a herd of elementary kids through a “hands-on” painting activity, and paint was flying everywhere. They were creating self-portraits, and the long worktable was divided by a center line of make-up mirrors.

  “We tell the parents to dress them for mess,” Miranda said. “Sorry, I should’ve told Nancy to warn whoever she sent.”

  “I’m not really in anything nice,” I laughed, dodging a little boy’s backswing.

  I weaved through paint-covered fingers and took several shots of little ones recreating themselves on canvas. I got a nice one of Miranda guiding a little hand through a sweeping motion.

  Budget cuts had forced the elimination of art classes in several schools, and the small private academies in the area couldn’t afford additional art teachers. It was a great service Miranda provided once a week for three hours, and I was trying to decide which angle to take—the importance of early art exposure or the need for additional funding for art in schools. I decided just to take lots of notes and pictures and talk it over with Nancy.

  I left the center an hour later surprisingly paint-free and drove straight to Mr. Kyser’s office in the Phoenician I building on the Gulf. It had been weeks since I’d visited his penthouse office, and I was dropping in unexpectedly. The letter was still tucked in my bag from my earlier trip to his home. If I didn’t make the pass today, I’d have to hide it in my drawer again. It was too risky carrying it around with me. It could fall out or anything might happen.

  The receptionist was new, so I introduced myself and asked to see Mr. Kyser. I said he was expecting me and that I was with the paper, but she still made me wait. He had someone in his office, she said.

  I had just sat down in the small waiting area when th
e door cracked, and I saw the back of Will’s head. I grabbed a magazine and tried to shrink behind it into my chair, but he stopped and turned back, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  “You can blow me off,” Will snapped, sounding just as unpleasant as ever, “but if you don’t do something, they’re going to throw him out on his pampered ass.”

  “I’m not blowing you off.” Mr. Kyser’s tone was dismissive. “And lower your voice.”

  Will’s voice did go lower, but not low enough. I could tell he was fuming about something. “He’s acting like an idiot. I’m ready to kick him out myself.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mr. Kyser seemed distracted. “He’s always done well in school. Is it a girl?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. It’s not even a frat pack. I never see him with anyone.”

  There was a brief pause. Then Mr. Kyser spoke again. “Maybe he’s not being challenged.”

  “He’s failing,” Will snapped. “He doesn’t go to class. He’s always at some dive in the Quarter or at Fat Harry’s. He could at least go to Mr. B’s or Galatoire’s, somewhere with class and be a drunk.”

  I winced at his words. They were talking about Jack, and as much as I hated it, worry filled my chest. Lucy had said he was alone. I didn’t want him to be in trouble.

  “Your brother is not a drunk.” Mr. Kyser sounded pissed now. “Don’t ever say that again.”

  “Why are you hesitating? Last year, you came over at the slightest hint of a problem. Why are you dragging your feet now?”

  Mr. Kyser exhaled, and I leaned forward just in time to see him sit in the chair behind his desk. “I’m not dragging my feet. You’re adults. I can’t run in and fix your problems all the time. He’ll learn from his mistakes.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Will sneered. “You always cushion his falls. What’s keeping you here?”

  “Are you done? I’ll deal with your brother. Now I’ve got work to do.”

  When Will turned, he spotted me leaning forward and listening. His eyes narrowed, and I sank back in my seat, lifting the magazine I held again.

  “I thought we got rid of you,” he said, pausing at my chair.

  I didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Mr. Kyser appeared behind Will, but he was frowning, too. Now I wished I’d called before I came.

  “What do you need, Anna?” Mr. Kyser said.

  “I… uh… I’m here about that paper you wanted,” I said, hoping nobody questioned me further. I wasn’t sure what to say next.

  “This is not a good time,” Mr. Kyser said, then he gestured to his oldest son. “Do you know Will?”

  “Yes.” I looked down and clutched my bag closer to me.

  “We met last fall at the house.” Will glanced at my bag with a frown. “She was hanging on Jack. What paper? Why are you here?”

  His words irritated me. He made me sound like a remora. “I work for the city paper. I interviewed your dad last fall.”

  “I’ll be here Tuesday,” Mr. Kyser said to me. “Come back then.”

  Will’s eyes narrowed and quickly flicked from his father to me. “What’s this about?” he demanded. “I’m not stupid. You don’t talk to the paper. And since when do you just drop in to see my father?”

  “Don’t be an ass,” Mr. Kyser said to his son. “That’s all, Anna. Will, I forgot to show you those plans.”

  Will hesitated as if he were considering something, then he stepped back into the office and closed the door a little too hard. I remembered to breathe and hurried to the elevator. Mr. Kyser was giving me a chance to get away without having to ride down with his oldest son, and I was happy to take it. But I felt sick from the conversation I’d overheard. Was Jack a drunk? Lucy had said he wasn’t dating anyone, and now Will was telling his father he never went to class. I couldn’t figure it out, and I couldn’t help worrying about him.

  Jack had wanted to get to Tulane and finish quickly. It had been his whole reason for breaking up with me—so he’d have no distractions. What could have changed? I drove home puzzled and wondered if I should try calling him. I shook my head. I had to let him go. It was what he wanted, and it was what we’d agreed to do. I’d have to trust his father to take care of him. Jack had always been the favorite anyway. And Lucy would tell me if things got really bad.

  Chapter 10

  By the night of the dance, I couldn’t help noticing the atmosphere among the senior class was changing fast. Kids I’d never paid attention to before were suddenly like old friends, and a distinct sense of camaraderie permeated the group. We were on the launch pad, and everything we did got us one step closer to graduation and to starting our lives. It was as if we were all holding our collective breath waiting to see what would happen next.

  After school, I drove to Tamara’s hair salon to have my curls blown out. It was Julian’s and my first dance as a real couple, and I wanted everything to be perfect.

  “So Julian again?” Tamara grinned as she pulled my hair straight with her big round brush. “I knew you’d get back to him.”

  “I know. You told me so.” I flipped through a fashion magazine as she worked. “So you’re taking a break from college?”

  “Girl, I can’t afford it this year.” She shook her perfectly styled dark curls. “Have you seen Montage since summer? I don’t know what happened to him, but it happened.”

  “I think he’s the biggest person I’ve ever seen,” I laughed.

  Her head was still shaking. “You should try feeding him. He must drink a gallon of milk a day. I might have to start charging you full price!”

  My eyes flickered to hers, and I thought about my bare account. “But you’ll warn me first, right?”

  She laughed at that. “Once you get a real job.” She continued straightening. “So it seems you went from one fine young man to the next.”

  “I’ve always spent time with Julian,” I said not looking up. “We’ve been friends for a while.”

  “Don’t act so innocent. You’re turning red just thinking about him.”

  My lips pressed into a smile. “It’s just because you’re embarrassing me.”

  “No need to feel embarrassed.” She pulled one of my locks into submission. “It’s only natural!”

  “I do like Julian, and we are together.” I put the magazine down, thinking. “I guess we’ve been taking it slow.”

  “How come?” She was nearly finished, touching my now sleek head with a clear liquid.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Our eyes met and she smiled. “Sounds to me like you’re wasting time. You’re not getting any younger. Grab that bull by the horns if you know what I’m saying.”

  I started to laugh. “I’m not sure if I do!”

  “You will when it’s time.”

  The white cotton dress I’d picked out to wear was the same one I’d worn last fall to the birthday party disaster. Julian had said he thought I was pretty in it, and I wondered if he’d remember. It was also short, and while I didn’t have combat boots, my knee-high black boots were in the same category.

  I pulled a thin, black sweater over my shoulders and started for the stairs, but I stopped and went back, grabbing my ring off my dresser. Slipping it on, I admired it for a split second, deciding this night was going to be amazing.

  Julian’s eyebrows rose as I ran down the stairs, and my stomach tightened. He was dressed in his standard dark jeans and a tee, but tonight he also had on a blazer. As always, he looked so hot.

  “I didn’t have combat boots,” I said, trying not to blush, “But these’ll do, right?”

  “Combat boots?” Mom frowned.

  “Inside joke, Mom.”

  “Well, I think you both look great, now hold still for a picture.”

  “You didn’t do this last year!” I complained as she caught my arm and positioned us in front of the fireplace.

  “I should’ve,” she said. “You could’ve done a comparison.”

  I rolled my eyes and we took the pict
ure. “Have fun,” she called, and we waved, heading to the car, which started without hesitation.

  Julian slipped his hand over to the inside of my knee. “I really like this dress.”

  Warmth traveled from his touch to every part of my body. “I remembered.”

  He gave me a little pat, and my mind wandered to how soon we might be alone. I wanted his hands everywhere. “It’s going to be a good night,” he said.

  We made our way through the gym chatting with friends. I saw Montage dancing with Cynthia Williams and gave him a small wave. He smiled, and I imagined Tamara trying to stock her fridge to keep up with him. Wade was on the floor with a junior I’d seen around campus, and I caught sight of Summer. I couldn’t tell who her date was—it almost looked like she was with Blake.

  Rachel and Brad were together with the spots of the disco light drifting over them. Rachel was pretty as always, in a soft yellow dress and Brad was in his usual khakis and polo ensemble. A photographer was circling the room, and he stopped Julian and me under the canopy for a photo.

  My forehead lined as he handed Julian the claim ticket. “Whatever happened to our picture from last year?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “It’s back at my house.”

  “You kept it?” I caught his arm, and his eyes flickered to mine.

  “It’s in a drawer somewhere,” he said.

  I thought about the picture hidden in my drawer. He pulled my hand up and kissed it, and I wondered if Julian had ever looked at our photo the way I’d looked at that picture of Jack. I wanted to imagine he did as I studied his clear blue eyes. With us it would be different.

  “I like you wearing this,” he said, straightening my ring.

  “I’ve been afraid to wear it all the time,” I said, lacing our fingers. “It’s so delicate. I don’t want to break it.”

  He leaned in. “I know a guy who can fix it if you do.”

  I smiled, thinking of all the things he could fix.

  We danced a little longer then visited with friends. Rachel’s group was composed of half of the party-planning committee, which made sense considering how much time they spent together. Julian left me to chat with Blake, but I didn’t mind as I preferred listening to Rachel’s group arguing prom themes to defending myself against Summer.