“My grandfather told me about this place,” he said. “Back in the forties, airplanes used to buzz around the Bowl, so they had spotters, guys with powerful binoculars, stationed on the hills to take the license numbers off the airplanes. Grandpa was one. He loved music and that was the only way he could afford to come to the Bowl.”
He pulled her through bushes with waxy coated leaves. A swarm of gnats flittered around her face. She tripped and tumbled against his back. She didn’t try to right herself. She enjoyed the feel of him, the sweet soap smell. She let her cheek rest against him.
“You okay?” He turned to her.
The tips of her fingers brushed along his chest. She was sure the twitching molecules in her legs were half-invisible now. Too bad. He couldn’t see in the dusk. Kiss me, she thought and lifted her face.
He leaned closer. His warm breath touched her quivering lips.
“Come on,” he whispered. “You don’t want to miss the beginning.” He started forward.
“Damn.” Vanessa cursed to herself as she waited for her molecules to reassemble.
“Hurry,” he called.
Vanessa followed after him. She could hear the sounds of an orchestra tuning up now. Oboes, bassoons, and flutes followed by a lazy rumble of drums. The sweetness of violins filled the night air, bows scraping strings, and finally the lower-pitched cellos joined the song.
“Sounds like we’re just in time.” Michael stepped out on a small ledge. A pole flaking with red rust stood on one side of the shelf. He tapped it with his finger. “The spotter used to attach the binoculars to these poles.” He kicked away leaves and stones, then pulled a blanket from the basket and spread it.
“It’s a perfect view.” Vanessa looked down at the white shell-like building cradled in the natural amphitheater. They were perched high above the concrete bleachers in the rear.
“Have a seat.” Michael sat down.
She sat on the blanket, stretched her legs in front of her and kicked off her sandals.
“I should have told you to wear your hikers,” Michael began. “I just thought . . .” He shrugged. “Normally you wear real sturdy shoes. At least they feel solid.”
She thought of the dance and flushed with embarrassment. Had she stepped on his feet? She let out a sigh and wiggled her toes, then glanced to the west. Her breath caught. A thick crescent moon, hanging low, appeared as the last rays of sunlight drew a broad line of orange-red below the indigo sky. To add an exclamation point to the moon’s appearance, the music began. Da Da Da Dum.
One star appeared, then another as if summoned by the fervent music.
“Okay, ready?”
She pulled her gaze away from the night sky and looked at him. Her stomach fluttered with nervousness. She was actually alone with Michael. How many times had she fantasized about this?
He opened the basket and pulled out three red luminarias. He lit the candles inside. The flames flapped fitfully in the breeze. Shadows throbbed and twitched until the flames settled.
“I love candles.” Vanessa didn’t know that Michael was so romantic. She was happy that he was.
He placed two plates on the blanket.
She looked at him, surprised.
“Bread, cheese, sparkling cider, and my own tomato salad made with olive oil, garlic, and basil.” He pulled out paper plates. Then, a little embarrassed, he added, “I hope you like it.”
“I know I’ll love it.” She couldn’t believe Michael Saratoga had actually prepared a meal for her.
She took in his beauty, there in the candle’s glow. The music surrounded her and she wondered if he was going to kiss her.
She lay back, her arms folded behind her head and looked at the unhidden desire in his eyes. She smiled. Anticipation made her skin feverish. Her molecules flared. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of it. The night had taken on a dreamlike quality, and even the evening breeze was gentle and caressing across her arms and legs.
“My grandfather says the moon is the greatest gift from the gods.”
She glanced back at the sky. “Why is that?” She had always felt the same way but had never understood it.
“God put the moon in the sky to remind us that our darkest moments lead us to our brightest.”
“Never give up hope,” Vanessa finished quietly.
“Grandpa says that’s what the phases of the moon teach us,” Michael said. “The moon goes from light to dark, but always back to light.”
A laugh came from the hillside behind her, so soft it was like a rush of air. She felt it more than heard it. Her back went rigid and she sat up with a start.
Michael had not heard it. He still gazed at the moon.
She glanced at the shifting shadows behind them.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She looked back at him and smiled. Maybe it had only been a cat’s meow, or a rustle of a coyote attracted to the smell of food. She laid back on the blanket.
Michael moved closer. She could feel the warmth of his body radiating from his skin. “Here, try the Kasseri cheese.” He placed a chunk of cheese on a piece of bread and handed it to her.
She felt too nervous to eat but took a bite anyway. The rich flavors filled her mouth.
“You really like it?” he said.
She nodded. “It tastes great.”
He stared at her lips. Was he staring at bread crumbs caught in her lipstick? Or cheese stuck to her teeth? She brushed her hand over her mouth and licked her tongue across her front teeth.
“And the music?” he whispered.
“All of it. It’s perfect.”
He was silent for a moment, just looking at her. When he spoke, the words were quiet. “I love it here,” he said. “I’ve been coming up here alone. It’s better if someone is with you.”
She smiled and nodded. “I’m glad to be here.”
“I’ve always loved music,” Michael explained. “If the only thing you got going for you in high school is your looks and your athletic ability, you could be a has-been by the time you graduate. You’ve got to have something more to pull you into your future. I’ve got music.”
“What do you play?”
“Guitar and piano,” he said. “I’ll play for you sometime.”
“I love guitar music. My father played a little. He’d strum and I’d pretend to be a famous flamenco dancer.” She stopped. She hadn’t told anyone about that before.
Michael smiled. “I bet you were cute.”
She shrugged, embarrassed. Why had she told him that?
“This is great,” he said. “I’m glad you came with me. I was afraid to ask you out. I thought you’d say no.”
“Me?” she felt a jolt of delight.
He leaned back on his elbow. “You.” His voice was soft.
“I was hoping you’d ask me out,” she confessed.
“Yeah?” He looked at her intently. “Then I wish I hadn’t waited so long.”
She closed her eyes. “Me, too.”
The music was incredibly beautiful, all flowing notes and joy. She felt his warm breath on her cheek. When she turned, Michael’s face was next to hers. She smiled. He placed his lips on hers. Her breath caught, and then her mouth opened slightly as she felt his tongue. Her molecules danced in pleasure and bounded outward. She tried to pull them back, but the kiss was too powerful. The intensity surprised her. His hand slid down her arm. Then he leaned back and looked at her, his brown eyes soft and longing. She felt a little flustered, not sure what she should do next.
She glanced down. Under the candles’ glow, her feet looked like dancing dust, spinning to the music. Her legs had a glittery, transparent quality. Damn invisibility. What if he saw? Quickly, she lifted her hand to his cheek and held his face. She wanted another kiss. She concentrated all her thoughts on making her feet and legs whole again.
“Was that all right?”
“Very all right.” She wished she had thought of something clever to say. What did other girls say?
/> He leaned over, and as he moved his hand to place it around her, he brushed across her breasts. She sharply drew in air. Her molecules collided with cold pain that sent a shiver through her body. So Morgan was right.
He jerked his hand back. “Sorry,” he said quickly.
He seemed sincere, but Morgan had warned her. Maybe he brought all his dates up here, acting like each was the only one special enough to share this romantic evening. Then he would use his charm to seduce them.
Her thoughts were broken by hard laughter coming from behind her, still barely audible above the music, but definitely laughter this time.
“Your hand was in the way,” Michael kept trying to explain.
Didn’t he hear the laughter? She hushed him. There it was again. Was someone mocking them?
Suddenly, an irrational fear seized her. She looked into the shadows under the scrub oaks and felt a terrible need to be away from where they were.
“I said I’m sorry,” Michael insisted and reached for her hand.
“Let’s go,” she said abruptly and stood.
He seemed baffled. “Look, it was an accident.”
“I know.” She scanned the foliage. She wished they hadn’t come to such a deserted place. It felt too dangerous to climb back the way they had come, but even more dangerous to stay where they were.
“Are you angry?” he tried again.
“No,” she said too sharply. “But I want to leave.”
“All right.” He seemed resigned. He picked up the candles and blew out the flames.
Darkness gathered around them, thick and complete and alive.
Maybe they could go down the side of the canyon to the concrete seats. Maybe that way would be safer.
“Come on.” She slipped into her sandals.
“Don’t you want to go to the van?”
She put her fingers to his lips to quiet him. That’s when she heard it, a faint rustle of dry grass followed by the snap of a twig. Something was trudging down the hillside.
“Something is there.” Michael finally heard it. He stuffed the blanket into the basket but left the food and the luminarias on the ground.
Tuesday night, when she had sensed someone watching her, she had felt stark fear. But now a new feeling overrode her fear. She felt an irresistible need to protect Michael. Where had that come from? He stood a foot taller than she, with rock-hard muscles. He played water polo, surfed, did all the guy things, but she suddenly felt the Amazon stir inside of her, an instinct that had been dormant all these years. She grabbed his hand.
“Can we leave by going down the hill?” Her voice was steady.
“Yeah, but we’ll get in trouble. Illegal access to the Bowl.”
“It’s better than . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence. She started walking, pulling him behind her. What he saw as trouble, she saw as salvation. If someone saw them creeping down the terrain and thought they were trying to sneak into the Bowl, the person might alert the security guards, who would rush to meet them. They would no longer be alone.
“Vanessa,” Michael whispered. “It’s probably a coyote. They’re all over the hills. Or a skunk. Some wild animal must have smelled our food, but it won’t attack us.”
Then why are you whispering? she wanted to say. From the jagged tone of his voice she knew he didn’t believe his own words. Whatever ran stealthily in the dry brush was not a wild animal.
Something blundered down the hill, no longer trying to hide its approach.
She jumped in front of Michael to protect him from whatever was ready to crash through the bushes. At the same time Michael bent down to pull her behind him. Their heads collided in a clap of pain. They fell and tumbled down the side of the canyon, scraping knees and palms.
A dried scrub oak stopped their fall.
“You okay?” Michael said and helped her stand. His hands traced her face and arms as if he didn’t trust her to tell him the truth.
Her hands stung and her head pounded. She felt a trickle of blood on the inside of her mouth.
“I’m okay,” she panted. “You?”
“Just scrapes.”
“We better go.” She reached for his hand again. He pulled back.
“If we keep trying to protect each other, we’ll kill ourselves.”
“We’re not far enough away yet.” Vanessa didn’t let him pull his hand away this time. She grabbed it and held tightly.
Something tramped down the side of the canyon above them.
“I’ll follow you then.” He let her lead.
She stepped onto hard baked earth and slid on loose gravel. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, his body hard against hers. She wanted to kiss him, to feel his hands on her back. But another sound made her wrench free. How had it caught up to them so quickly? She whipped around and stood between Michael and the foliage.
“Come on,” he chuckled. “If it’s a skunk, you’ll be sorry.”
The closer they came to the cement bleachers, the more comfort she felt. But no security guards ran to meet them.
She and Michael sat in empty seats near the back. She was sweating, her mind too stormy to let the music wrap around her. She kept turning and staring into the fierce shadows on the hillside behind them, but she no longer sensed danger, not with seventeen thousand people in the audience.
But the evening was over, the magic gone. She wanted to leave.
She turned to say so to Michael. He seemed upset. She felt suddenly embarrassed that she had made him come down to the bleachers the way she had. How could she ever explain why she had needed to flee?
“Great,” he said sarcastically. “Stanton’s coming over here.”
“Who?” Even as she asked she saw a boy dressed in black walking toward them, his hands in his pockets. His shaggy blond bangs hung in his face. He kept flicking his head as if he was trying to whip the hair out of his eyes.
“What a lowlife,” Michael muttered.
“Is he from our school?”
“No, he hangs out with a pack of losers in Hollywood.”
Stanton was good-looking, but there was something strange and foreboding about him. His eyes were so blue they seemed luminescent. How could she see the blue so clearly in the dark? Her body thrummed, alert and watchful, as if something portentous was about to happen.
“Hey, Michael.” Stanton stared at Vanessa as if awaiting an introduction. He sat down next to her. His body pressed against hers.
“I’m Stanton,” he said. His gaze lingered over her body as if she had invited him to look and take all the time in the world. His blue eyes made her wish she had worn jeans and a turtleneck.
She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. “My face is here.” She spoke with deliberate venom in her voice. Another time she might have let it pass, but her emotions felt raw after the trek down the side of the canyon.
Stanton looked in her eyes and smiled with one side of his mouth. He seemed to enjoy her reaction.
Michael stood. “Come on, Vanessa, we have to leave before the crowd.” Was he jealous?
“I was just saying hi.” Stanton grinned as if Michael’s jealousy fed some need inside him.
Michael walked quickly, his face a scowl. Once they were away from the concert, they hiked to his van in the hills.
Michael helped her into the van, then went around and climbed into the driver’s seat. He looked at her curiously. Under the streetlight his face tottered between looking angry and seeming frightened.
“Did you feel it, too?” she asked.
“You mean when we were being chased?”
“No, I’m talking about Stanton,” she said. “Something’s weird about him.”
“You noticed it? The way he gets all happy if he makes other people uncomfortable or angry or—” He stopped. Was he going to say jealous?
“Yes.” She looked directly at him.
He started the engine. They drove back to her house in silence. Michael parked with a slam of the brakes, then got out, ope
ned her door and walked her up to the porch.
“I better get going.” His eyes were dark and intense. Then he ran back to his van.
Where’s my good-night kiss? she wanted to scream. She unlocked the front door as his van pulled away from the curb. She didn’t turn to wave good night, because she was too afraid he wouldn’t be waving back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE HOUSE WAS DARK inside and still smelled of her mother’s late-night coffee. Vanessa climbed the stairs. A spill of light from her mother’s bedroom covered the hall runner. She stopped at the door. Her mother had fallen asleep reading, an empty coffee mug on the nightstand beside her. She walked to the bed. The fragrance of her mother’s hand lotion and face creams filled the air. She wanted to curl against her mother as she had when she was a little girl.
Mom,” she said softly. Her mother did not stir. She pressed her cheek against her mother’s and let it rest there a long while.
Finally, she took the book, set it on the nightstand, switched off the light and went down the hallway to the bathroom. She turned the spigots. Hot water rumbled into the tub. Then she caught her reflection in the mirror. Dirt streaked her face, but it was something more that made her stop and stare. Her eyes looked wide, haunted, different. The pupils dilated, the lashes longer, darker. What was happening to her?
She bathed quickly, put on PJ’s from the hook on the bathroom door, and hurried back to her bedroom. She started to turn on the light, but caution made her stop. She crept to the window and closed the shutters against the night, then switched on the small lamp on her desk. She looked at her computer and scanned her room to see if anything looked disturbed.
The door to her bedroom stood open. The dark hallway loomed before her. She took three quick steps across the room, shut the door, and locked it. When was the last time she had done that? Even knowing her mother was down the hallway did not comfort her now. Finally, she called Catty.
A sleepy voice answered the phone.
“Can you spend the night?”
“Now? What’s going on?” Catty mumbled, her voice still sluggish with sleep. “What time is it?”