The Eyes Have It

by L. M. Reed

  Chapter 6

  “Try not to be any more of a jerk than you can help, Richard,” I said in exasperation removing his hand from my thigh and pulling my skirt back into place.

  “Oh, come on Allison, don’t be such a prude. You won’t even let me kiss you. We will be married one of these days.”

  “Not if I can help it,” I muttered under my breath.

  “What?”

  “I told you the other night I don’t think of you that way. You’re more like a pesky, annoying…cousin or something. Keep your eyes on the road please.”

  There was no way I even wanted that intimate of a relationship with Richard, but cousin seemed more innocuous than brother. That would have been way too close. I already had one brother I didn’t like very much, I certainly didn’t need another.

  “You’ll have to get over that; our parents expect us to marry.”

  “Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

  Although he was good looking in a sleek, pampered way, he was definitely not my type. Maybe I didn’t even have a type. None of the guys I knew from high school had ever interested me, and even in college, they all left me cold.

  Jason was the closest I had come to actually being attracted to anyone, but he was Nat’s and therefore off limits. She’d made that rule in high school when one of the guys she’d dumped had asked me out. I was fine with her decree as none of her boyfriends had ever appealed to me until Jason and even he only warranted a second glance, nothing more.

  What’s wrong with me? I wondered in despair.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I asked blankly as Richard’s voice broke into my thoughts.

  “What is wrong with you?” For a second I wondered if I had spoken aloud. “You aren’t paying attention to anything I’m saying.”

  “I’m sorry, Richard, I guess I am just a bit distracted. Finals are coming up you know.”

  Well, that was true, even if it wasn’t the reason for my distraction.

  “We still have a couple of weeks,” Richard replied breezily.

  “Yes, but some of us like to do well and have to actually work at it,” I replied sternly.

  Richard lapsed into silence. He never liked it when I used my ‘stern Hannah voice’ with him. He was a lackadaisical student at best, doing just enough to get by, but it wasn’t that he didn’t have the brain power—if he even halfway applied himself he could have easily had a 4.0 GPA—he just didn’t care to waste his time doing any type of studying when there were so many women and so little time.

  Not that it mattered; he had a position in his father’s bank all wrapped up with a pretty bow for him after he graduated, but I could tell by the way Richard talked about it that he wasn’t looking forward to the real working world. He was content to have another year and a half in college to play and, if he was lucky, he might be able to stretch it out for longer than that.

  A few minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of the auditorium. We were running later than usual because I had stayed at Elsee’s longer than planned fixing her hair and helping her get dressed so I had barely begun to get ready when he arrived at my apartment. I’d answered the door still in my robe and he’d immediately taken it as an invitation to grope me. My rejection of him had been harsher than I intended and had set a poor tone for the evening.

  Glancing up as he put the car into park I exclaimed, “Richard, you can’t park in a handicapped spot!”

  “If you hadn’t made us so late I wouldn’t have to,” he complained. “The closest park is miles from the door,” he continued in exaggeration, “and I don’t intend to sit through an excruciatingly boring concert in puddles of sweat from having to walk that far. This is a new suit,” he informed me as he brushed imaginary fuzz from his lapel. “Besides it’s the only parking spot big enough to keep my car from getting dinged by idiots who don’t know any better than to park too close to the line.”

  “Give me your keys and get out,” I could feel my temper rising but valiantly attempted to keep it under control. “I’ll meet you inside.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked irritably.

  “I’m saving you the mile long walk,” I said as nicely as I could knowing Richard well enough to realize that totally alienating him would just make the situation worse. “Now may I have the keys please? I’ll go find a place where we can legally park.”

  “Oh don’t get your self-righteous panties in a wad,” Richard sneered. “Fine, I’ll park somewhere out in the boonies,” he said in the same long-suffering voice he used frequently whenever we were together. “Hope you’ve saved enough allowance to repair all the dings I’m going to get,” he mumbled.

  “Thank you, Richard,” I laid my hand on his arm and gave him my most brilliant smile.

  Slightly mollified, Richard pulled out of the handicapped space and drove around until he found a spot with which he was satisfied. The good thing about Richard was that even though he was quick to take offense, he could never stay angry with me for long.

  Putting the car in park he turned toward me and said, “Last chance, Allison, we could ditch this boring evening, go back to one of our apartments, and have our own private little party.”

  “Give it a rest Richard; I am not one of your bimbos.”

  “You could be the head bimbo, you know.”

  “Big honor,” I replied acidly. Changing the subject I asked, “Where are we meeting Nat and the others?”

  “She said she would find us,” Richard replied petulantly, definitely not used to rejection.

  This is going to be a very long night, I sighed quietly.

  It took a little maneuvering in order to exit the extremely low to the ground Porsche in my straight skirt—Richard lacked a lot in the gentleman department and would never think of offering any assistance—but I finally managed to assume an upright position on the sidewalk.

  “Thanks for nothing,” I muttered under my breath—I seemed to do an inordinate amount of muttering whenever I was with Richard—as I walked to the back of the car to join him.

  “Did you say something?”

  “Nothing important,” I replied a little grumpily.

  Putting his arm around my waist, the palm of his hand resting on my rib cage, Richard guided me through the parking lot to the open doors and into the foyer of the auditorium. Richard was very consistent, even though his actions sometimes appeared inconsistent. I wasn’t born yesterday; I knew his seemingly solicitous behavior had nothing to do with gentlemanly courtesy and was merely a means of trying to establish ownership, while at the same time touching me in one of the only ways I ever allowed him.

  I found myself wishing the weather had been cool enough for me to wear a bulky sweater over my thin, white silk blouse. Richard’s fingers were enjoying themselves a tad bit too much for my liking, inching up little by little.

  “Behave your self,” I murmured as his fingers crept even higher.

  “What?” he asked innocently.

  I hated making a scene in public and he knew it. Usually he was very circumspect, but he was in a strange mood. I wondered what had happened with his “girlfriend” the other weekend; perhaps she had gotten tired of waiting around for him. That might explain his more aggressive behavior towards me.

  Although we never talked about it, I knew he didn’t have platonic relationships—our conversation in the car was the closest we had ever come to discussing his affairs—and I shuddered as I realized I needed to nip his behavior in the bud before it got out of hand.

  “You know what,” I responded barely moving my lips while at the same time smiling at the people greeting us as we walked through the foyer searching for Nat. Changing to a studiously conversational tone, I continued, “I’m wearing spiked heels, and I tend to be very clumsy at times. I would hate to accidentally step on your toes.”

  Chuckling in appreciation, he immediately lowered his hand an inch and whispere
d in my ear, “You’re never boring.”

  “Allison!”

  Turning towards the sound of my name, I saw Nat standing in a small group of people waving at us. She had been nicknamed Nat by her older sister when she was very young, and, even though she passionately hated both the nickname and her sister, the name had stuck.

  “Hey Natalie, sorry we couldn’t make dinner.”

  Knowing that Nat hated her nickname, I scrupulously avoided using it to her face. Although she appreciated the effort, she knew good and well that behind her back I used her nickname just like everyone else.

  She hadn’t objected to it until junior high and by then it was too late, I had known her too long to ever think of her as anything but Nat. Our dad’s were partners in the same law firm and her sister was married to my brother Phillip so we had known each other since the diaper days.

  “Not a problem,” she shrugged “the service was hideous and the food was second rate so you didn’t miss anything.”

  I noticed the slight frown on Jason’s face at her rude comment and wondered what was up with him.

  “Hi Richard,” Becky, Nat’s tag-a-long friend, said ingratiatingly.

  Richard ignored her as usual. Becky had attached herself to Nat our freshman year, and for some reason I couldn’t fathom, Nat allowed it. It was painfully obvious that Becky had a thing for Richard, but he simply felt irritated by her transparent infatuation.

  Becky was very…nondescript. Medium height, somewhere around 5’4” I would guess, with brown…everything. She even wore brown clothes most of the time.

  I knew Becky didn’t like me, I could see it in her eyes every time she looked at me, but the one time I brought it up to Nat she replied, “Nonsense, of course she likes you. You are my best friend, she has to like you.”

  Although I didn’t argue with her I knew that was exactly why Becky didn’t like me. I was Nat’s best friend as well as for all intents and purposes Richard’s ‘intended’. She obviously coveted both positions.

  Becky bothered me, although there was nothing I could put my finger on. She was usually so quiet there was no way to guess what she was thinking and I could feel her watching me speculatively, which made my skin crawl. Sometimes though, whenever Richard wasn’t around, she would make snide remarks about his preferring his painted china dolls to me obviously hoping to get a rise out of me.

  Because Nat knew I was uncomfortable around Becky and that she annoyed Richard, in my more uncharitable moments I suspected she enjoyed our discomfiture. I worried about the sadistic streak I sometimes sensed in her, the wicked look that came into her eyes at times.

  Nat had both of her arms wrapped around one of Jason’s holding it against her body in what I considered an embarrassingly intimate manner, but Jason didn’t seem to mind. Becky’s escort was one of Nat’s old boyfriends, but he had his eyes glued on Nat. I remembered him, but his name escaped me. He and Jason could have been twins, fraternal twins, but still…twins.

  I had no idea how Nat inspired so much devotion in the guys that she dumped regardless of what Richard had told me about her ability to be all things to all men, but I would hazard a guess that almost to a man, they would have taken her back if she had snapped her fingers. Whatever she had said to “what’s his name” to get him to escort Becky it must have been good because he looked happy just to be there worshipping her with his eyes.

  “Oh, don’t look now, but it’s the gay mama’s boy,” Nat said spitefully.

  I turned to stare at Nat, rather than the object of her venom. She knew how I felt about that type of talk and I was surprised she would allow herself to sound so malicious in front of Jason. Nat met my eyes for a split second almost defiantly and then lowered her gaze.

  “Wow!” Becky was staring with her mouth gaping open. “He’s a hunk!”

  “That’s James Wilson, our backup quarterback. He’s a junior,” ‘what’s his name’ informed us. “Next year he should take the starting position.”

  I turned to look at the guy who had claimed everyone’s attention and… almost forgot to breathe. He was the most attractive man I had ever seen in my entire life…pure perfection. I couldn’t even begin to verbally do him justice. I just thought Jason was good looking. He paled in comparison.

  Although James Wilson’s hair was the same brown as Becky’s, on him it was definitely not nondescript. It was cut short but feathered back from his midline part and looked beautifully casual, like he had just stepped out of the shower, run his fingers through it once, and then forgot about it. The strength in his tanned face was obvious from the set of his square jaw line to his well-defined patrician nose. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

  He had to be over 6 feet, slightly taller than Jason, with the wide shoulders and narrow hips of an athlete. The charcoal grey suit he was wearing was off-the-rack, but he wore it so well he could have been a male model wearing a designer label.

  Bending down to listen to what his companion was saying, it was clear that he was very attentive to her; solicitous. His bent head temporarily blocked my view of the woman, but there was something vaguely familiar about her dress. As he straightened, I gasped…Elsee!

  “And as gay as they come,” Nat continued viciously. “Apparently didn’t know how to cut the apron strings, either.”

  “James Wilson is not gay. I have no idea why you would even think that, much less say it,” Jason looked stunned at Nat’s vicious attack.

  “Because no straight guy in his right mind would turn me down for his mother,” Elsee’s son must have really angered her, otherwise I was sure she would never have spoken like that in front of Jason.

  “So you did ask him out?” Jason asked incredulously “Even though we’re dating.”

  “I never said we were exclusive,” she pointed out impatiently. “Anyway, he’s no competition. He’s obviously not normal.”

  “You’re just upset because he wasn’t interested in your…invitation,” Jason contradicted with obvious distaste. “He’s just not that kind of guy.”

  My opinion of Jason soared. Perhaps he had some backbone after all.

  “Not the kind of guy who dates girls you mean.”

  “You’re wrong,” Jason contradicted her quietly, reigning in his anger.

  “I’ll prove it,” Nat snarled at him.

  Jason folded his arms in front of him, skepticism clearly etched on his face.

  Before anyone could stop her Nat was calling out, “James! James Wilson!”

  The gorgeous hunk paused in the middle of his conversation with his mother, and scanned the crowd, looking for the source of his distraction. His companion pinpointed Nat before he did, and directed his gaze to our group. Startled confusion swiftly crossed his face as he realized who had been calling him. He leaned down to his mother, as if explaining something, then straightened up and drew her over to our group.

  “Good evening…Natalie, isn’t it?” The low timbre of his voice sent shivers down my spine.

  “James, who do we have here?” Nat asked slyly.

  “This is my mother, Elsee Wilson. Mom, this is Natalie…”

  “Preston,” Nat supplied.

  “Yes of course,” James acknowledged.

  “So you were telling the truth, your mother is the reason you turned down my invitation,” Nat said meaningfully, eyeing Jason triumphantly.

  For Nat that would be sufficient proof to support her theory that no independent, heterosexual guy in his right mind would turn her down for his mother, but I knew better. Apparently, so did Jason.

  “I’m envious,” Jason grinned at James, totally ignoring Nat for the first time since I’d met him. “I wish my parents lived closer. California is a long way from here.”

  Returning Jason’s smile with what appeared to be relief James continued with the introductions, “And this is Jason Whitlock. Jason is one of my teammates.”

  “Plea
sed to meet you, Mrs. Wilson,” Jason murmured respectfully.

  “Nice to meet some of James’ friends,” Mrs. Wilson replied as she shook Jason’s hand.

  Well that would explain why Jason knew something about the Wilsons. I hadn’t realized that Jason played football, although there was no reason I would have; I mistakenly thought all football players were humongous oafs without a brain in their heads. I had never been overly fond of sports—tennis and golf at the country club occasionally was my limit—so it was no surprise that I knew absolutely nothing about the school’s football team.

  “I don’t know the rest of your names, I’m afraid,” James began apologetically, looking at each of us in turn.

  The moment his eyes met mine was a moment I will never forget, no matter how long I lived. He had the most incredibly gorgeous green eyes I had ever seen, including his mother’s, and I felt an electrical shock pass through my body as our eyes met; it was exactly like Hannah, my old nanny, had told me.

  “How will I know when I meet the right one?” I had asked her time and time again as I reached puberty and entered the horrid teenage years.

  “It will be in the eyes,” she had repeated patiently for the thousandth time. “You will just know.”

  And I did know at that moment that James Wilson and I were meant for each other. A split-second later I could tell he felt it, too.

  Somewhere in the distance, I could hear Becky introducing herself and her date. I still didn’t catch his name, but I couldn’t have cared less. I was mesmerized.

  After what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds, I heard Richard saying, “And this is Allison Tate, my girlfriend.”

  That snapped me out of my trance. I glanced irritably at Richard before turning and politely saying, “Very nice to see you again, Mrs. Wilson.”

  Even though I had been calling her by her first name for quite a while, I hoped she understood my situation well enough to realize why I needed to be strictly formal in the presence of my ‘friends’.

  “Allison, good to see you, too,” Elsee discreetly winked.

  Throwing her a quick smile of gratitude for remembering to use my given name, I glanced back at James who was watching me through narrowed eyes.

  The lights started flickering at that point, and Elsee took James by the arm and said, “We should find our seats, dear.”

  Richard grabbed my arm and began pulling me towards the auditorium. Handing the tickets to the usher, Richard kept right on moving.

  “Let’s go,” he urged, “I don’t want to have to climb over people,” tugging on my arm as I tried to slow our progress.

  I smiled apologetically in thanks at the sullen faced usher as he quickly handed me back our ticket stubs along with a program. His answering smile lit up his entire face.

  We were the last of the group to reach our row. Nat and Jason were waiting in the aisle for us. Tucking the ticket stubs in my small evening purse in an attempt to avoid her eyes, I realized Nat was going to grill me.

  “Jason, you go in first and sit by Becky,” Nat instructed linking arms with me.

  I had no choice but to follow her to our seats. Richard obediently brought up the rear. For the sake of peace, we all usually fell in with Nat’s wishes.

  As predicted, we had to crawl over a few people to get to our seats, which were in the middle of the long row. The ends of the rows curved toward the stage to give the people on the outside a better view of the stage, but the middle seats were preferable and more expensive, albeit harder to get to at times.

  “Okay, give,” she demanded, once seated.

  “Give what?” I asked feigning ignorance as I pretended to peruse the program with great concentration. “Oh, look, they are going to do Bach’s Air. That is my absolute favorite,” I gushed, trying desperately to distract Nat. “I was afraid they wouldn’t do anything but the Nutcracker since it’s a Christmas concert. Not that I don’t enjoy that, too. Still…”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Nat interrupted in frustration.

  I wasn’t going to make it easy on her. She obviously was harboring a grudge against Elsee’s son, and I wasn’t going to help make either of them a target.

  “Perhaps you should spell it out for me,” I encouraged, stalling, praying that the concert would start on time and save me from having to reply. I snuck a glance at my watch…one minute to go.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you knew James Wilson?” she asked petulantly.

  “Because I don’t,” I replied, relief my predominant emotion. I could be honest about that. “I met him for the first time just now.”

  “You know his mother,” she said in an accusing voice. “How can you not know him?

  “I met her at a craft store and we’ve chatted a few times,” I shrugged nonchalantly, hoping to sidetrack her, knowing how she loved to make fun of my crocheting.

  “You and your knitting,” she replied predictably scathing “How lame.”

  “It’s crochet, thank you very much,” I corrected her lightly. “Ssh, the concert is beginning.”

  She was obviously more interested in whether or not I knew James than in my relationship with his mother and thankfully wasn’t observant enough to have noticed my silent exchange with him. Hopefully, she would drop it, but even if she refused at least I had some time to think about what to say.