by Chana Keefer
“What is it, Esther?”
Nice question. Nice touch to say my name. But the bored expression wasn’t going to pry any secrets from me. Besides, he was the last person I would tell about the little girl hurt feelings that made me want to run away and beat up a pillow.
“Nothing.” He said the word with me and I looked up, angry to be mocked yet again.
“Could you be any more smug?”
He laughed, flashing that famous smile. “Probably not.” But there was no smile in his eyes. They remained hard and cold.
“You’re a model and a journalism student, correct?”
I froze.
“And you weren’t on the list of dancers, I checked.” He leaned forward, scanning me from head to foot. “So that’s why they were there.”
He’d just had an “Aha!” moment but I was behind the times.
“Who? What’re you talking about?”
“It’d be a shame if you didn’t get your story. But truth doesn’t matter, does it. Just the set-up, then you can say what you want.”
He’d been coming closer with every word and, if I’d thought rejection was bad, I learned there was something much worse. Disgust. He looked at me as if I had sprouted horns and a pointed tail.
“So what’s she paying you?”
He was so close I could smell the wine on his breath. I shut my eyes tight, but his angry face was still there. Something curled up, died, and settled in the pit of my stomach.
I’m not a burst into tears kinda gal. Tears earned nothing but ridicule from brothers. I’m more the “hold it in until it’s no longer holdin-able” sort. That moment struck. I started shaking.
“I need out.” Those black windows were closing in, swallowing me. I couldn’t breathe. He was taking up the air I needed so I shoved him away. It’s amazing how focused life becomes when breath is at stake.
I plucked at the door handle but nothing happened. It was a wave of heat and cold sweat at the same time. I needed to breathe and the air was out there.
Sky said something to Frank and we began to slow.and, joy of joys, the window slid down. A rush of oxygen hit my face. I was vaguely aware of cars rushing by with a “whoosh, whoosh” that caused the limo to sway but my focus was on the door. If it didn’t open soon, I was climbing out the window.
“You can’t get out here. There’s no room.”
We were on a long, high overpass, barely enough of a shoulder on the side for the wide limo. The doors were blocked. Then the skyward window began to slide open. Without a word I headed up.
“What’re you… are you mad?”
But temporary insanity had never felt so good as a cool, ozone-laced breeze hit my face and the Dallas skyline stretched before me. The fingers of wind lifted my hair and cooled my neck.
“Can you please come back in here?” Sky’s face appeared in the dimly lit opening.
Poor jerk. He didn’t know what he was missing. “Come on.” I commanded and reached a hand toward him. He took my fingers and, grumbling all the way, climbed up beside me. I watched his face as he tried not to like it, as he tried to focus on the cars rather than the amazing view. “Someone will see us.”
“So? You’re gonna waste this worrying about that?” I shut my eyes and let the fresh air work its magic. I was far away, soaring like a kite on the breeze, away from anger and ugliness, flying free…
Leave behind everything that binds me…
His song came to mind, you know, the guy sitting next to me, the one who had just stabbed my heart. My face crumpled.
I’m weird that way. Cool during trauma. Cave when it’s all over.
But it was not the time for the big, fat tears that escaped and ran down my face. I wiped them away with the back of my hand and focused on the crescent moon hanging low in the west. Come on Esther. Pull it together.
Another sweet breath of wind caressed my cheek. God was very close. Panic was retreating. I was still in a jam, but I felt strong enough to face the inside of that car… for the moment.
“Okay, let’s go.” I plopped back into the limo and helped myself to ice water. By the time Sky resettled and the sleek car flowed with traffic, I held the cold glass to my throbbing forehead.
“Where is he taking us?” I asked as I took in the plush interior of the car—leather upholstery, sleek, varnished wood, twinkling lights, enough room for ten adoring fans.
“To the hotel, eventually.”
I nearly dropped the glass and the icy water sloshed onto my dress. “Why?”
“Because that’s where I want to go.”
“Fine for you, but what about me?”
“Have you eaten?”
“Well, no,” I spluttered, “but… ”
“Dinner, then we’ll take you home.” He stared out the window as if the issue was settled.
But I was tired of being pushed around by his mood swings.
“Guess you’re used to getting your way even when you treat people like dirt.”
“Your point?”
“You accuse me of being some kind of spy and Lord only knows what else, then you just go on like nothing happened?”
He turned with a bored expression.
“Ever heard of an apology?”
The slightest smile tugged at his lips, but still he said nothing.
“Here, I’ll coach you through it. I’m—Sor-ry. Now your turn.” I cupped a hand to my ear.
“I’ve never been one for false apologies.”
“Guess it requires humility that some people don’t possess.”
“On the contrary. A good apology is much more than words. It means words coupled with intent. I wanted to make sure I can back up my words.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “But I’m not going to accept your intent until I hear the words, so there.”
Sky’s face broke into a glorious, real smile. “Okay, I’m—sor-ry. Now where does that leave us? Trust restored?”
“It helps. But trust is earned, there’s no time for that.”
“Hmm.” He squinted as if calculating a difficult sum. “But there’s time to kill it. Hardly seems fair does it?”
He had me there.
“And speaking of trust,” he went on, “you didn’t start on the best footing in that arena either.”
Now it was me on the hot seat. “Can I help it if I couldn’t afford your astronomically-priced tickets?”
“So morality bends to the occasion, does it?”
“Well, no, but…”
“I saw the little Bible in your bag. Religion is fine when it’s convenient, eh?”
I opened my mouth for a scathing comeback. “Why were you snooping through my bag?” That’s the best I could do?
“I needed to know what kind of criminal mind was influencing my nephew. I could have been truly vindictive and set Renfro on you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Caught a glimpse of you from behind. Liked what I saw.”
If he thought he’d win by embarrassing me he had another thing coming. “Oh come on!”
“I’ve a weakness for velvet.”
“Pretty shallow.”
“But honest. Trust me more now?”
“Definitely not.”
He rolled his eyes. “Women say they want honesty until they don’t like what they hear.”
I mimicked his eyeroll. “And men choose to remain shallow so we’ll stop asking them to be honest.”
He threw his head back for an unexpected burst of laughter, “Can’t argue that!”
I felt better after the round of verbal table tennis. And the sound of his laugh was a jolt of adrenaline. It made me bold enough to ask questions of my own.
“So why’d you get so nasty back there?”
“I’ve been played for a fool before. Afraid I’m in for another go.” Sky reached for his wine glass.
“What do you mean?”
“Those two reporters? They make money by reporting scandal. And they’re good at it.�
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“But if there’s nothing to report… ”
“Doesn’t matter. They make it happen. Snap a photo and they’re set.”
The light was beginning to dawn. “Oh, you thought I was part of some scheme.”
“You’d be amazed how low people will stoop to sell a story.”
“What made you change your mind?”
He swirled the wine in the cup, staring into it as if into a crystal ball. “Because, an actress can’t resist the chance to milk the tears. You hid yours. Somehow, it was the most honest thing you could do.”
There was a flicker of a smile and a glance, but the wineglass held his gaze as if unpleasant memories swirled there.
Wait. I couldn’t make the cosmic shift to pity. I was still nursing anger. Luckily he saved me the trouble.
Sky stretched his arms wide and leaned back in a very “come and get me” posture. “But now is what matters and I happen to be riding with a beautiful young woman in a lovely velvet dress.”
He’d almost been sincere for a moment. The compliment fell flat. “Don’t do that,” I said.
“Ah, too honest? “
“You’re just doing that… that… guy-thing again.”
“It’s fun to watch you blush.”
Time to strike back. “Oh I get it. You keep me defensive so you don’t have to be honest.”
He leaned forward. “Must have hit a nerve. What is it? Boys too busy roping cows? Or too many prayer meetings so no time for dates?”
I wanted to come back with something smart, but he was sticking his lip out, pouting for my misfortune. And, he had pretty much summed up my life. I turned my face away, but it was too late to hide the smile.
“Now we’re getting somewhere! I got me a Texas teetotalin’ church mouse!”
He continued to tease as I defended my family, religion, hometown and boring lifestyle choices. I understand now that he was ferreting information as he made me argue, blush and squirm but at the time I was proud to be holding my own against his taunts. And, truth be told, I was enjoying myself. His mind was quick and I had to stay on guard as if playing a tricky game of chess.
The interview continued as traffic grew lighter and city streets slid by. I felt I was watching myself from the outside, seeing a side of Esther I’d never seen before. For years I had been in awe of Marti’s ability to flirt and entertain with small talk but the talent had never rubbed off on me. I would become awkward and shy around guys, afraid of saying something stupid. Yet here I was, words flowing, in what should have been the ultimate awkward situation.
I was so distracted I had hadn’t realized we were meandering, making lazy turns through parks and quiet, vine-covered neighborhoods in the hilly, south side of Dallas.
“Oh!” I exclaimed after a peek out the window, “We’re close to my grandmother’s house.” It caught me off-guard. I hadn’t been there since Grandmother Naomi’s funeral a year before. The pain was too fresh. She had been a bit like my favorite barn—a safe place. I had to smile as I thought how Nonni, as I had called her, would have reacted to my current situation. She would have been worried sick. And she would not have appreciated being compared to a barn.
The large lump in my throat grew. Oh God. Not the time for this. I put one of the cold hands that had been grasping my ice water on the back of my neck and blinked as I turned my face toward the window only to look up at the moon peeking through trees that arced over us like a tunnel, the ones I had passed under on the way to her house for countless Christmas or Thanksgiving visits.
I heard a clink and, when I looked, Sky held a fresh glass of wine toward me. More to be polite than anything, I took a sip. Yes, the taste was rancid, but it felt warm going down and broke the need to cry.
“We never had alcohol in our family.” I set the nasty-tasting liquid aside. “And my uncle thought it would be funny to pour wine instead of grape juice into my kiddie cup one time. He was a big prankster. Anyway, I got him back when I spewed it on his feet. He jumped so high!” I giggled and turned toward Sky.
Something had changed. The posturing was gone. We were separated by at least two feet of space, but no touch in my life had ever been as intimate as the look we shared.
Sky was the first to look away. He cleared his throat and took a sip from his glass, shifting in the seat as if it poked him, then lowered his window a bit more and turned his face into the moist breeze.
It felt wonderful, but I could practically hear my little kid curls shriek with delight and come out to play so I reached up to smooth it into a bun, my last defense against Medusa hair.
“Would you stop that!”
I jumped, dropped the mane, and said, “What?” as a fresh gust whipped it around my face. Aw man. What a mess.
The window went up. “Wha’d I do?” I smoothed a chunk of hair out of my eyes.
“You look like some—exotic—shampoo commercial,” he spluttered. “You can’t do that.”
I reached back up, “I was just… ”
“That. Stop it.”
He was serious. I dropped my arms and puffed a taunting curl away from my nose. “So what am I supposed to… ?”
He moved so quickly there was no time to think before his mouth brushed mine and he was once again back on his side of the car.
That shut me up. My hair could have fallen clean out of my head and I wouldn’t have noticed. I was left with the after image of his face filling my sight and the smell of wine and a subtle cologne while the touch on my lips remained, a warm pressure that had flipped some unknown switch in my body. It was like Paul Revere galloped through, waking the sleeping villages of Esther’s sexuality and the lightning-fast response would put the Minutemen to shame.
As I sat, stunned, he pushed a button and spoke to Frank saying something about “all clear” and Frank’s intercom voice said “yes” then we were pulling onto a busier street.
I felt schizophrenic. The Esther I knew, the one who had vowed to save sex until a rockin’ honeymoon, wanted out of a dangerous predicament. But another Esther, one who wanted only to think about NOW, was urging me to slide over and kiss him back.
“Marti,” I said, hardly realizing I’d said it.
“What?”
“Um, she’s, that is, she’ll be worried,” I stammered.
“No problem.” He picked up a phone, spoke to Chloe and, before a minute had passed, Sky assured me Marti knew where I was and he even passed on the information that she had secured the belongings I’d left behind in the arena.
But that wasn’t the real reason Marti’s name had sprung from my lips.
We had been sixteen the summer she met Jake, the beautiful lifeguard at the community pool. Marti, with long-lashed blue eyes flashing, had been the envy of every girl when Jake flirted and, when she began telling her mother she was with me when she was really going to meet Jake, I didn’t know what to do.
I had a front row seat for all of it. She told me how wonderful he was, what an amazing kisser he was, “Jake this” and “Jake that” until finally, one Saturday afternoon, she cried and cried, admitting she’d “done it” with him.
“It was amazing,” she had said, her eyes streaming with tears, “just like heaven. But he won’t talk to me now.”
Then the rumors started. There were other girls. Even younger. And Jake disappeared and Marti was left to cry while I, and several fathers in town, wanted to hunt the creep down and shoot him.
“You be smart, Esther,” she had commanded me. “God doesn’t want you to go through this.”
And I had laughed, looked down at my flat chest and replied, “As if that’ll be a problem!”
But I’d made my frizzy-haired, tomboy-bodied vow nonetheless, even sworn before God at Marti’s insistence, and had hardly given it a second thought—until now.
Sky was asking questions, all about my home and family, and I was rattling on about the ranch where I grew up, complete with horses, grazing cattle and some of the most amazing sunsets known t
o man even as I noticed the way he sat, legs crossed toward the window in a very European posture a country boy would never adopt. Indeed, guys in my high school might have been beat up for less. But I loved it. It spoke of French cafes and old-world elegance and hidden Indian bazaars and musty libraries filled with ancient manuscripts. So many things I wanted to know and do.
I tried to get him to speak about his life, his favorite places, but he kept turning it back to me and I obliged with tales of Friday night football, small-town parades that lasted all of fifteen minutes and the volunteer fire department that burned down. And he sat there, leaning back in his urbane way, making me feel like a captivating storyteller, laughing in all the right places and prompting me for more.
But there remained a niggling doubt and the word “schoolgirl” kept surfacing in my mind. Perhaps he was just settling for the available female. Ya know, I was the lemon and he was making lemonade.
Eventually, I realized the car had turned onto a narrow drive and the back of a monstrous building lay ahead of us.
“Where are we?”
“Dinnertime,” he answered. “Don’t you usually eat at midnight?”
I peered out, realizing we were in the river promenade area with its sleek new hotels, restaurants, and clothing stores I couldn’t afford.
Frank came ‘round to open the door and Sky took my hand to aid my exit, which was less than graceful with the velvet entangling my feet. He retained the grip on my hand as we headed for the door held open by the purple-tied Lex. I halted on the walkway and whispered, “What about the no shirt, no shoes thing?”
“Oh. Right.” He swung me into his arms and continued toward the door. “Safety first.”
I whacked his shoulder, “Now I look like a tramp, put me down!”
“So? Yore gonna miss this worrin’ about that?” He mocked my words from the overpass.
“Yes, trampy is definitely something I’d like to miss!”
But he held on until we were inside the door. “How’s it goin’ Lex?” He nodded to the bodyguard and set me down, making a show of smoothing his shirt and offering his arm.
“If Lex wasn’t here to protect you… ” I muttered as I tugged at the dress making sure it still covered everything important.