Becca Read online

  “What could he have done to you to make you hate him?”

  “It’s not what he did to me. It’s what he didn’t do—” She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to talk about it. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

  “That’s true. But you don’t want to talk about you, and I really don’t like talking about me, so I guess this is as far as it gets—information wise.”

  “And otherwise, buckaroo…” she smiled. “I’m sure at some point we’ll have a nice long chat about each other, but there’s no need really. I mean, what’s the point? She leaned back in her seat, took off her headband, and ran her hand through her locks, then brushed hair from her eyes.

  Bert tapped his fingers on the table.

  “Oh, my, that’s not a good sign,” Becca said.

  “What?”

  “The finger tapping. It means you’re bored. You should be. I am. So, you ready to go?”

  “Dancing?”

  “Yup.”

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea?

  “Not at all, but I don’t have any others.” She flipped Bert the car keys. “You do have a license don’t you?

  “Yes, of course.”

  VI

  “Let’s do this,” Bert said as he drove up the narrow road to the Varsity House, “I’ll drop you off at the door, and you go inside. I’ll follow and we’ll just kind of get together once we’re inside.”

  “Let’s do this,” Becca countered, “we walk in together.”

  “They might not like me in there, let alone you and I walking in together.”

  “Look, quit thinking you’re an outcast or something. Cut yourself a break.”

  “You might see someone you know.”

  “That’s very likely.”

  “And you’re okay with it?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve pretty much made up my mind I can’t stop people from seeing us.”

  “You talk like this isn’t the last time people will see us together.”

  “Don’t go flattering yourself. I’m not suggesting anything of the kind.”

  The parking lot was nearly full and he stopped at the door, where a group of people turned their heads to look at the car.

  “What’re you doing?” Becca asked.

  “Your leg’s bothering you. I’ll let you out here, looks like I’m going to have to find a place to park,” Bert said. “Know any of them?”

  Becca shook her head and got out of the car to stand near the door as Bert parked the car.

  He walked toward the Varsity House and noticed Becca talking to a couple. The young man leaned over and said something to her and she laughed, then he and his girl went inside. Faces turned toward Bert, but no one said anything. Bert knew they were appraising him and wondered if this had been a mistake. Becca smiled as he opened the door for her and they stepped inside.

  A man at the desk smiled at Becca and said hello, but greeted Bert with a curt nod and a request for four dollars. Open windows on their left revealed the golf course. On their right, a large room served as the dance floor where a bandstand in one corner held the equipment, the band members having just taken a break. Couples and singles milled about. As Bert and Becca moved through the crowd, heads turned. Eyes stared. Becca said hello to people who regarded her and Bert with surprised looks.

  They found a table and sat down.

  “So far so good,” Bert said. He did not feel relaxed, and kept scanning the crowd for signs of trouble.

  “Quit worrying, Bert,” Becca said.

  Becca excused herself for the ladies room. Bert sat quietly, watching the crowd that consisted mainly of younger teenagers, and only a few people his and Becca’s age. People watched him, but he did not allow their stares to make him feel uncomfortable.

  Becca now walked across the dance floor. He stared at her—following the slim, sensuous curves of her body and he looked at her eyes, which he saw had been watching him. She wiggled her hips now, smiling but at the same time favoring her right leg.

  “Okay, now you can’t tell me you weren’t looking at my legs this time. I caught you,” she said as she sat down. “Like what you saw?”

  He shrugged.

  “I’m beautiful, Josh. Admit it.” Becca crossed her arms on the table. “So,” she said, “nobody’s getting out the tar and feathers.”

  “Not yet. Give them time.”

  “What could you possibly do to warrant being tarred and feathered?”

  “What I’m doing now, talking to a pretty white girl.”

  Becca chuckled. “Come on, Josh. That’s not true.”

  “Sure it is. Well it’s half-true. You’re a white girl.”

  She snickered. “There you go again, insulting me.”

  “Why do you hang out with me?”

  “I need my head examined.”

  “Okay, well, for the time we’re hanging out, let’s try and enjoy it, okay? Drink?”

  “Coke—lots of ice.”

  Bert made his way through the growing throng on the dance floor. The band had taken its place and the drummer tapped his sticks and band began playing I Ain’t Gonna Eat My Heart Anymore—their sound close enough to the Rascals to elicit some shouts and applause from the audience. He circled the dance floor, aware the crowd scrutinized him to find out who his date was—or perhaps if he’d just wandered in on his own.

  As he approached the table, Bert saw Becca was rubbing her leg, and she her face wore a frown. “Your leg’s bothering you?” he asked.

  “No. Yes. It comes and goes, but lately it’s been bad. I don’t know how I hurt it.”

  They sat in silence for a minute or two. Becca looked around, smiling at people with whom she made eye contact.

  “We’re being watched,” Bert said.

  “Oh yes we are. And nobody’s bothering us. You can relax and enjoy it.”

  The band paused briefly and then started singing a Long, Long Time.

  “Oh my God, I love that song. Let’s go watch,” Becca said.

  They went into the dance floor and made their way to stand close to the bandstand. The lights had dimmed and some couples began dancing to the singer’s rendition of Linda Rondstadt’s hit.

  Bert felt a tugging on his shirtsleeve. He bent his head toward Becca.

  “Dance with me, Josh.”

  “I don’t—” He was going to say “I don’t dance” but he saw the look in her eyes. She was not asking, she was demanding.

  They went to the middle of the dance floor and Becca raised her hand to Bert, he took it in his and slipped his arm around her waist, while her other arm went to his shoulder. They started moving, awkwardly because Bert was trying to remember the basic box step and Becca was way ahead of him. Plus, there was the distraction of her hot, soft hand in his and the feel of her slim, taut body under her clothing.

  “Follow me, Josh,” she said, “and relax for crying out loud.”

  “I’m not good at this.”

  “Really? You’re doing fine.”

  “Well only because you’re leading me, otherwise I’d be all over the place.”

  “Well, we can’t have that. Hold me closer, get a better grip; I’m not going to break.”

  She moved into him, against him, forcing legs and torsos to touch. Her arm went from his shoulder to around his waist. “Loosen up, Josh.”

  “I am loose.”

  She smiled into his eyes. “Hey…hey, what is that? Is that a roll of quarters in your pocket?”

  “I don’t have quarters in my pocket.”

  “Oh, God, you’re thick.”

  “Ah, got it now. Shit…sorry.”

  “You’re slow, Josh.”

  “Well, maybe. But I think you’re being kind.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It should feel like a roll of Lifesavers.”

  Becca’s laughed heartily. “Oh, God, I love you.” She said with a look of sheer joy on her face. He smiled at her, and she felt an excitement she had no felt in a lo
ng time. Then she looked away, at other couples and at the band, and then back at him. He was trying desperately not to make a misstep. “Relax, Josh,” she said and he looked at her.

  “How am I doing?” he asked.

  “Okay, but you’re too tense. Relax. Hold me for crying out loud.” Her hand slipped out of his and she put both hands around his neck and rested her head against his chest. His hands rested on her hips, the thin material of her dress felt like her skin against his hands.

  Bert could not relax. Becca’s body against him would not allow it. He felt awkward—as if everyone watched them, and they waited for him to step on her foot, or trip over his own feet. Her hands held him to her as if she was afraid that he would drift away from her. Her body, sensuously hot and lithe against him—so close that when she moved his body followed suit as if he had no control over it. The feel of her softness under his hands spread a heat up his arms to chest and he knew that she felt his raging heart—heard it. He began to perspire. He wanted the song to end so he could release her—or she could release him. Her perfume embraced him; the aroma teased him to arousal. He fought that sensation but could not.

  “Definitely a role of quarters,” Becca mumbled and giggled. Soon she was singing along with the band, and mumbled “Oh yeah” when she realized the band was playing the long version of the song.

  Bert hung on. Becca was in charge.

  When the song ended, she raised her head from his chest and looked up at him. “You dance very well.”

  “I wasn’t dancing; I was just hanging on for dear life. You were doing all the work. He smiled. “Sorry about the quarters.”

  “Nope. Don’t be.”

  “I’m embarrassed.”

  “Why? I think it’s neat. That never happened with Greg.”

  “Well, of course it wouldn’t.”

  She laughed and stepped away from him as the band launched into Light My Fire. Smiling at him, she started dancing. Bert watched her, she had the rhythm perfect, moving her body with her legs and feet doing crazy things and all the while she looked at him, smiling. Bert picked up the beat and started his inept imitation of someone who thought they could dance. Becca’s smile widened and she moved in close to him.

  “Come on, light my fire,” she sang to him, poking him with a finger, and winking. She leaned into him, brushing her breasts against him and giggling, then moving back to watch his reaction.

  Bert stopped dancing and watched her. She winked at him again and turned around a couple of times before moving in on him again and taking his hands in hers and smiling at him. She tugged at him, forcing him to start moving, though he was no match for her, but she would not let him go and once more turned and then was against him, her face inches from his, her eyes sparkling, her full lips puckering. She kissed his nose then let go of his hands and danced away from him, giggling and as the music faded, she was back against him, taking his hands and holding him as if afraid that someone was going to snatch him away from her.

  “Let’s sit down, Josh,” she said. “My leg is killing me.”

  She took his hand and led him back to the table, walking with a noticeable limp.

  “Are you okay?” Bert asked.

  “Yeah,” she said and drank from her Coke. “Just a cramp.”

  “It looks like more than a cramp to me.”

  “Nope. I’m okay.” She smiled. “But I don’t think I can dance anymore tonight.”

  They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the music and watching the crowd. After a few minutes, Becca said, “Josh, you want to go? You don’t mind?”

  “Nope.”

  As Becca walked to the door with Bert, she limped and leaned against him for support.

  “I’ll get the car,” Bert said. He was back in a couple of minutes and opened the passenger door for her. “How’s your leg?” Bert asked.

  “Throbbing.”

  Once in the car, Bert asked. “Where does it hurt?”

  She took his hand and guided it to her right thigh, sliding up her dress and placing his fingertips against the hot softness of her thigh. She pressed his hand against her and winced. “Right there.”

  “Yeah, I feel something.”

  “Okay, Mister,” Becca said and lifted his hand from her thigh. “That’s your feely for tonight.”

  “Hey,” he said in mock anger, “I was feeling a lump, not your leg.”

  “I just didn’t want it to move somewhere else, you know?”

  “The lump moves?”

  “Your hand, silly.”

  “Trust me, Rebecca Abigail Smith; I would never take advantage of you.”

  “You wouldn’t get very far if you tried, Josh.”

  “Seriously, Becca. I woudn’t.”

  “And seriously, you wouldn’t get far.” She smiled. “But I appreciate your sincerity.”

  “So, are we going to sit here all night or is there someplace you want to go?”

  “Gas. We need gas, and then we’ll figure where we’re going next. There’s a station just down the road. Turn right at the bottom of the drive.”

  “Why?” Becca asked as Josh maneuvered down the narrow drive to the main road.

  “Why what?”

  “Why wouldn’t you take advantage of me?”

  “You have a boyfriend.”

  “Wrong. You know the deal there. Try again.”

  “We…um…well—” Josh paused and smiled, then scratched his head. He was at the stop sign and waiting for cars to pass so he could turn. “I guess…we’re…”

  “Speechless,” Becca said. “Look at you, you can’t talk. Maybe you don’t want to take advantage because you don’t find me attactive.”

  “Who told you that you were attractive?”

  “So that’s it, Josh? You don’t find me attractive, or desirable?”

  “You see right through me, don’t you.”

  “Why do you hang out with me?”

  “Excuse me. You’re the one that always seems to be hanging around me.”

  “Take me home, Josh, right now.” She crossed her arms.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “How about I take you to my place—”

  “Why would I want to go to your place?”

  “Well, this is your car. If I take you home, I’ll be stuck.”

  “You can call cab.”

  “Becca…come on… I was joking.”

  “About what?”

  “About—”

  She punched his shoulder playfully and giggled. “I knew it. You do find me attractive and desirable.”

  Bert laughed and shook his head. “Becca…sheesh.”

  “Okay, buckaroo…so why wouldn’t you take advantage of me?”

  Bert sighed. “You really want the truth”

  “Not if I’m not going to like it, no. Tell me a lie.”

  “It’s not me…to…um…do that. You know?”

  “No kidding.”

  “You think I’m that kind of guy that would do something like that?”

  “No, Josh, I don’t think you are. Thank you.”

  Bert slowed as he approached the gas station. “But I’m curious,” he said. “Let’s say I did try and take advantage of you…you said I wouldn’t get very far. You would you reject me?”

  “Of course—if you’re trying to take advantage of me.”

  “And if I wasn’t…I mean…if we—”

  “Are you asking me would I have sex with you if I thought you weren’t trying to take advantage of me?

  “Oh, Becca…sheesh—”

  She giggled. “Look at your face, Josh. It’s all red.” She waved a finger at him. “Nope I think I won’t answer that.”

  Bert stopped the car beside the pumps. “Why not?”

  “Because, if you must know, I don’t know how to answer you.” She favored him with a sad smile. “Now tell this guy to fill the tank so we can get on with our evening.”

  VII

  As the attendant fil
led the tank, Bert excused himself for the restroom. When he returned, he saw that Becca was behind the wheel. He got in the passenger side as Becca paid for the gas.

  “I feel like driving,” she said.

  Becca rolled the window down and turned up the radio. The cool September air filled the car with the hint of autumn, and blew Becca’s hair about. Bert watched her, and listened to her sing along with the songs on the radio. Her face wore a constant smile, and she would shoot him sidelong glances with her sparkling eyes. Once she jabbed his arm to add emphasis to the verse of the song she was singing. He didn’t speak because he felt it would break the mood.

  Becca turned down the radio now and said, “Rub my leg, Josh. You know where.” She rubbed her right thigh and kept her fingertips there until Bert touched her and then she moved her hand away. “Not too hard. Yeah, like that.” She winced. “It feels good when you do that, but it hurts at the same time.”

  Her skin had the texture of hot silk. He rubbed with his fingertips, pausing every now and then. “You’re going to a doctor, right?”

  “Yes. Okay, that’s enough ‘cause now it’s starting to really hurt.”

  Becca turned onto a two-lane road with few houses and woods that pushed to the shoulder.

  “You seem to have a destination in mind,” Bert said.

  “Yup. The hatchet man.”

  “The hatchet man? What is it?”

  “You’ll see in a minute.”

  Becca slowed almost to a stop and then turned left into a narrow track that led slightly downhill. The headlights picked up a makeshift parking area. Another car was there, its lights out and looking deserted. Becca maneuvered as far away from the other car as she could. She carefully turned the Mustang around so that she faced the main road and cut the engine.

  “Parking?” Bert said, “We’re going parking?”

  “You have a problem with that?”

  “Well, no. But—”

  “Sssh!” Becca leaned her head out her window. “Listen. Hear him?”

  The sound. The hatchet man. An incessant slicing sound, as if someone was hacking away at a tree—or a body. It was steady, unrelenting and in the darkness and quiet of the night, it prayed on your nerves and could stand up the hair on the back of your head.

  “He’s coming for us,” she said, grabbing Bert’s arm and giving a playful squeeze.