The Stage

by Catherine Russell

  I reached for my cell phone to try calling the 1-800 number, even though I knew it would be late back East, and I realized that I didn’t have my phone with me. Well, it wasn’t the first time that had happened, but I felt a bit naked without it.

  I looked up and realized that I’d spent far more time sitting there and reading through everything than I had thought. The rush-hour traffic had slowed down and people were out and about for the evening. I didn’t see a bus coming so I stuffed most of the printouts into my backpack, keeping a few out to read, and started trekking down the hill. As I walked, I read bits and pieces, still trying to make sense of it all. I kept looking up, making sure I didn’t trip or stumble into the street.

  I was standing at the crosswalk, well inside the small crowd of people waiting for the signal to change, when my eyes caught sight of someone. Wait, who was that again? I quickly did a double-take, and he was gone. Did I just see him across the street? I stutter-stepped, and the person behind me huffed and puffed in annoyance.

  I was just seeing things; too much info, that’s what it was. But when I stopped at the last corner before turning right, there, in the shadow of the light post, I saw his face again. This was just getting weird, so I decided to follow my gut and confront him. I knew I wasn’t hallucinating; I knew I saw him. I entered the alley, however, and all that met me was the sound of a car driving off and a stray cat scurrying behind a dumpster for its dinner.

  The darkened alley was creepy, with its wet pavement and obnoxious odor. I looked up and saw lots of empty clotheslines, fire escapes, and power lines, which cast scary shadows. As a child I used to have some sort of sixth sense about me that let me feel another’s presence when I couldn’t actually see anyone. I closed my eyes, trying to recreate that, but I didn’t sense anything now.

  I gave up searching, leaving the alley behind me as I made my way down the last few remaining blocks. One way or another, I knew he was stalking me—but why? I hadn’t given him the time of day, really, and I certainly hadn’t flirted with him. He probably thought I was crazy, anyway, since I was hearing voices in my head.

  As I was crossing over to my street, a motorcycle with a leather-clad rider pulled up and startled me. It was a sweet ride: a Ducati with a wicked midnight blue metallic paint job on the tank, but I wasn’t comfortable with the situation, so I backed away from the curb, eyeing different directions in case I needed to make a run for it. Then the rider raised his visor, and lo and behold—it was Geoffrey.

  So he had been in the area. I knew it!

  “Geoffrey? Fancy meeting you here,” I said sarcastically as he waved off the traffic around him.

  “Hey, Megan. I thought it was you,” he said, flashing a huge grin. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Like you didn’t know I was out here. You’ve been following me!”

  “As much as I would’ve enjoyed that, I must say that I haven’t been.” The traffic was veering around him, and he didn’t seem to realize he was still in the middle of the road. “I pulled over to ask if you’d like to grab a bite to eat—that is, if you haven’t eaten already.” He had a hopeful look on his face, and a much kinder smile than I remembered…

  Megan! Shake it off, you idiot! He’s been stalking you, I told myself. You’re not hungry…

  “Let me pull over,” he said, pointing to the curb, and I willingly stepped back—though I was beginning to question my own sanity.

  He stepped off his bike, and I did my best to keep my mouth from falling open like a fool. His style was easy on the eye, to be sure—the total biker look: tight black jeans, biker boots, and a well-worn, soft leather jacket. He took off his helmet and his hair seemed to fall perfectly into place, looking tousled yet presentable. He really was the whole package, but still—why was he following me?

  “So you’re really sure you weren’t driving around, following me?”

  “Of course not—but back to my original question: would you like to go out for dinner?”

  His blue eyes held mine, making my brain all fuzzy. “Dinner, hmm?” I said, watching as he ran his hand through his hair. There was just no polite way to get out of this, so I quickly caved. “All right, you’re on. Just let me go change and then we can head out.”

  Then I remembered the note he’d left for me, attached to the inside of my front door. “By the way—how’d you leave that note in my place last night?”

  “You let me come in… remember?”

  His words seemed to have a leading edge to them, but then I remembered everything exactly as he said. “Oh, right.” I felt like a moron for not remembering.

  We grabbed the elevator heading up, and I did my best not to stare at him. I caught a whiff of his scent; there was something about it that stirred up an old memory. We rode in easy silence and made our way to my door, stepping around the strewn boxes and packing material that were scattered across the hallway.

  I opened my door. “Looks like they finally rented the open place next door,” I said. I could hear voices and movement through the wall as we walked in and turned on the lights.

  “Now you’ll have neighbors,” he said oddly.

  “Yeah, it’s been vacant awhile, actually.”

  My place was a bit of a mess, at least by my standards, and now that he was inside, I felt embarrassed. He seemed too perfect to be standing in my hazard zone. “Sorry about the mess. I’ll just go change.”

  “No worries. I’ve seen worse. Besides, it’s very eclectic. I love all the framed drawings,” he said, looking at one very intensely. Art and drawing had been a passion of mine when I was younger. It was something I could lose myself in when the step-jerk was around. It had kept me out of trouble most of the time. Having get-togethers wasn’t a priority for me, so only Ashleigh had been inside my apartment before. Having someone else see my drawings—and even like them—was a pleasant surprise.

  “Thanks. I doodle now and then, nothing much.” I felt awkward suddenly, and felt my cheeks flush. I hadn’t felt them warm up like this in God knows how long…

  “They’re yours, then? You have quite the eye,” he said, charming me with his smile.

  Okay, go change before you do something to screw up a simple compliment, idiot. I smiled and went to change, not saying anything. Since I didn’t know where we were going, I threw on my one clean pair of jeans and a dark blue tank, with a long-sleeved white shirt layered on top. I ripped my pony tail down and raked my brush through my hair, willing it to look nice but knowing better. I slipped in a heart-shaped clip instead, pulling back the sides.

  I walked out to find him looking out my balcony into the fall night, his hands casually behind his back. He seemed completely at ease; I, on the other hand, felt nervous.

  “So, where are we going?” I asked, tying my shoes and adjusting my glasses.

  “It’s a surprise. A little gem I found I thought you’d like,” he said, hiding a smile. I began thinking of questions to ask as I grabbed my pack and slipped on my old leather jacket, slipping my I.D. inside the pockets. Without thinking I asked one question that was simmering in my head.

  “I gotta ask this.”

  “And what might that be?” he said casually as he turned around. His eyes looked me over from head to toe and back, and a slight smile pulled up one side of his lips.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” he countered.

  “Why are you asking me out?” I said, now crossing my arms and tilting my head, waiting for some lame answer.

  “When you ask a question…” he started, leaning his back against the plate glass window and raising his knee to rest his foot against it, “…are you prepared to hear the answer?”

  A chill ran up my spine, and I wondered if this was going to be a night of riddles. My mouth went dry, but then I looked at his eyes. There was kindness there near the edges, and his casual stance said nothing of dark int
entions. I couldn’t help but grin at his cleverness.

  “Sure. I’d like to hear your answer—or else I wouldn’t have asked the question.”

  He gently shook his head, grinning as his hair fell into his eyes. “I’m asking you out because I’d like to get to know you. It’s that simple.”

  “All right, but you could hang out with any girl that walks into the bar. You’ve got groupies that follow your every move on stage.”

  “You’ve just answered your own question,” he said as we walked toward the door.

  My confusion was clearly written on my face.

  “Because I’m not interested in girls,” he said with a patronizing sigh. “I prefer women. And I’d like to get to know you—if you’ll let me, that is.”

  Oh my God, could he be any more charming? Or is he just being conniving? My gut told me he had honest intentions, so I overrode my brain and followed something new—my heart.

  We walked out the door at the same time my new neighbor came out, trying to balance several boxes. Seriously? He’s my new neighbor? You’ve got to be kidding…

  “Hey, Megan,” Chase said with his trademark goofy grin.

  “Uh, hi, Chase,” I said, barely able to contain my surprise. Geoffrey said nothing, yet I could feel the slightest pressure of his hand on the middle of my back. I wasn’t expecting that, and strangely enough, it felt natural. “So, you moved in next door. Welcome to the neighborhood,” I said, trying to sound polite so it didn’t sound like he was the last person I would’ve wanted as a neighbor. I guess it could be worse.

  “Thanks, it’s a great place. I got it with a couple of the guys from study group. Plus, I get to be your neighbor—isn’t that great?”

  I tried not to roll my eyes, and smiled. Then Geoffrey stepped forward, extending his hand to Chase, who seemed surprised.

  “I’m sorry, totally rude of me—” I started, but Geoffrey spoke instead.

  “I’m Geoffrey Drake.”

  Chase hesitated to take his hand, first wiping it on his shirt as though it was dirty. “I’m… I’m Chase Wellington.”

  The testosterone was so thick, you could have sliced the silence with a knife. “Well, we gotta go,” I added quickly. “I’ll catch you later.”

  “Bye, neighbor,” he cheerfully replied.

  We made our way to the elevator without looking back.

  “So, was that your boyfriend in the hall just now?” Geoffrey asked, sounding curious.

  “Oh, no! He’s not my boyfriend.” I blurted out, wanting to make it perfectly clear. “He just wishes he was,” I added. “Chase is nice, just not my type.” I pushed the elevator button, hoping this strange conversation would end.

  “What exactly is your type, Megan?” he asked.

  My type? Oh, I don’t know—tall, dark, and mysterious, with eyes I can get lost in. Okay, now I was sounding really foolish. Since when did I think that way? Was he really getting under my skin that easily?

  “I don’t really know but I’m pretty sure that he’s not it.” I was frantically trying to think of some way to change the subject when he asked a question that should have dawned on me much earlier.

  “Tell me, have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?”

  My stomach bottomed out. Sweat broke out on the back of my neck. “Yeah. Of course I’ve been on bike before.” I wasn’t going to tell him I was ten years old the last time, sitting on the back of a motorcycle with my cousin going about five miles an hour…

  He spied my nervous look and gently led me by my elbow to his bike. The sun had set but he still had his shades on. I couldn’t comment on it, however, since I always hid behind mine. He slid his black, skin-tight gloves on, then grabbed the smaller of the two helmets and helped me on with it. It slid on, fitting perfectly. I hadn’t noticed before that there was a second helmet on the back. That was a bit too convenient…

  “You look a bit nervous. Trust me, all right?” he said, looking directly at me, holding my gaze for a bit longer than normal. Those words. I’d heard them before, but for some reason I couldn’t place where…

  He got on first, standing the bike up, looking perfectly at ease on top of it. It was almost sinful the way he straddled it. I approached it awkwardly, trying to figure out how I was going to sit on it without looking like a fool. He reached for my hand and pulled me to sit behind him.

  Okay, I can do this… yeah. Don’t look stupid, Meg. Just casually throw your leg over. It was a good thing the weather had actually cooled and I already had the

  helmet visor pushed down. My face had turned red and I found that my entire body had gotten suddenly very warm trying to position myself behind him.

  I felt so out of my element it wasn’t funny. I wasn’t about to tell him that this was why I took the bus everywhere. Yes, I could drive; I had my license and all that, but I was easily flustered by other drivers and their stares and blaring horns if I did the slightest thing wrong.

  Instantly I was nervous as I realized that the people walking by were eyeing the bike, with me on the back—and then him. They gave us a wide space and walked on the other side of the entryway.

  He sensed my nerves and turned back towards me, raising his visor. “Don’t pay them any attention. Relax.”

  His calm voice instantly put me at ease. I closed my eyes and tried not to think. He revved the engine beneath us, pulling away from the curb. I held on tight with my eyes shut. I chanced a peek through my visor and saw that the people on the sidewalks were all a blur. The cars were moving way too fast, but it wasn’t them.

  It was us.

  He was weaving in and out of traffic, and responded to my internal cringe by wrapping one arm back toward me. I stiffened but didn’t want to offset the balance, so I relaxed a little.

  Feel, don’t think. Trust me.

  How could I hear him over the engine? He sounded as though he’d spoken the words right in my mind.

  Around the corners, down the hills we went, smooth as silk. I had to admit, it was a sweet ride. His arm never left me. I felt a thrill at this, though I didn’t want to think about it. He’s just being careful, nothing more, I wanted to convince myself—but even I couldn’t believe my own thoughts.

  I had to admit it wasn’t just the ride that was exhilarating, but also his touch—something I would never say out loud. I didn’t want to stop. The sheer terror from the beginning of the ride had given way to a high like I’d never imagined. It was a short ride on the freeway, and then all too soon we were pulling up to the curb of a small, out-of-the-way dance club called The Vault.

  I caught myself thinking “we,” not just him.

  “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asked, smiling. I handed him my helmet, trying to flatten my hair out as he put his gloves in his pockets. Then he locked the helmets on the back.

  “That was a little more like fun, actually. Which is kind of surprising for me,” I answered, trying not to grin too much.

  As we walked in I could smell the food, and I remembered that I’d forgotten to eat today. My stomach rumbled loudly and Geoffrey looked at me sideways.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Okay, now I’m officially embarrassed. Twenty shades of red later I answered, “It just smells really good.”

  The music was pumping through the air already, but when we walked in I did a double take looking around. Is it open for business? There’s no one here. What’s all this about? My instincts told me to scope out the exits immediately.

  Geoffrey saw my perplexed look. “I know the owner. He opened early for us.”

  “Sweet,” I said as I looked around, my senses on high alert. I didn’t like it, yet his words were sincere. As we walked in, I tripped, dropping my pack—and the printouts from the library scattered all across the floor. I picked up the pages and he handed me a few, realizing what they were. I was now totally mortifi
ed, but I played it off the best I could.

  “I take it you’ve got more questions?” He smiled, so I guess he wasn’t offended.

  “A few. Just curiosity, really.”

  “You can ask me anything. Always remember that. Just be prepared for the answers.” We chose our seats in a private booth off to the side. He helped me off with my coat, standing closer than usual. “So, what is it you’d like to know?”

  I still felt embarrassed about researching him and wanted to lose the awkwardness. “First off, I’m sorry for being so rude the other night, and I want to start off on the right foot. So, hi. I’m Megan O’Day.” I put my hand out to shake his, which was very uncharacteristic of me. I had a tendency to avoid physical contact, because it was so personal.

  He grinned slightly, taking my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Megan O’Day. I’m Geoffrey Drake.”

  The moment our hands touched, I felt an incredible connection to him, like a warm, pulsing current. We both sensed it; the look on his face lasted for just an instant, but it was obvious.

  He regained his composure as I assembled my now very scattered thoughts. “Well, how’d you meet Ashleigh?” I asked.

  “I met her in New York a few years back. She was working off-Broadway and I had just finished the score for another show. She was helping open the dance studio she called Heels,” he said while tucking a few strands of hair back behind his ear—the side profile that looked like it should be on a magazine cover. “You look wonderful tonight,” he complimented.

  I had to remember what I had on. “Thanks,” I finally said.

  He took off his riding jacket to reveal an inviting hunter green, sharp-collared shirt that was slightly open, tempting me to look. Oh my, could he possibly get any hotter looking? What on earth does he see in me?

  Suddenly I heard bass music start up in the back of the house where the dance floor must be. A young girl came up to us, addressing him directly.