Rain

  "Most of my time when I'm home. I go over to the main house for my meals and to sleep, but I've slept here many nights too."

  "Your parents don't mind?"

  "Mind? I'm out of their hair," he said. "My father had the carpenter build it for me and they bought me all the furniture and let me take the stereo and the television set out of the house."

  How strange, I thought, that parents would want to avoid their child so much they would actually create another home away from home for him.

  Corbette sat beside me, sipped his beer, and gazed at me as if he was waiting for me to say or do something mind-shattering. I glanced around again and then I opened my bag and took out my script.

  "Should we just read through it first?"

  "I have it memorized," he bragged. I put the script down.

  "I think I do, too."

  He smiled that smile full of confidence again.

  "Thought so." He turned serious. "You know, you're driving everyone crazy."

  "I am? Why? What have I done?"

  "You're the first ghetto girl to attend Dogwood and the other girls have been expecting you to fall flat on your face. You keep surprising and disappointing them, especially Colleen," he said.

  "Did you expect me to fall on my face, too?"

  "Yeah," he confessed, "but I'm enjoying your success because I don't like most of those snobby bitches. It's refreshing to meet someone like you, a girl who knows the score, who's been around and yet can hold her own with them. They're jealous and they're afraid of you. I like that. Rehearsals have never been more fun for me."

  He put his beer down and moved closer.

  "Let's start, because I have to get back in a few hours:' I said. "My guardian will be calling from the hospital and the maid isn't exactly a fan of mine."

  "Sure, but we should get to know each other better first. That way we'll relate to each other better on the stage. I know about these things. I've been in dozens of plays," he said nodding.

  "I don't think that's as important as getting to know the people we're supposed to be on stage," I countered. "It's easy to see they're both pretty shy. That might give you the most trouble," I added.

  He stared for a moment and then laughed.

  "You're pretty funny," he said. He reached under the sofa and came up with a small plastic bag. "I've got some good stuff," he said.

  "What is that?"

  "I'm sure you recognize good pot:' he said.

  "No."

  "Come on. It's probably more common than cigarettes where you live."

  "It's not more common for me," I said.

  "You mean you don't smoke?"

  "No," I said.

  "Hey, it will relax you and you'll do better. Take my word for it."

  He inched closer and brought his face so close to mine, we were nearly kissing.

  I leaned back.

  "I'd rather not," I said. "Is this why you brought me here? I thought we were really going to work on the play."

  "I just want to get to know you better," he said. "Don't you want to get to know me?"

  He put his left hand around my waist and urged me to lean into him. I resisted.

  "Stop it, Corbette," I said putting my right palm against his chest. "I don't know what you expected, but I'm not here for anything but practicing our parts."

  "We're supposed to be getting married in the play."

  "So?" I asked.

  "And Emily dies in childbirth. She has to get pregnant first," he said with a wide smile.

  "I'll skip that part, thank you."

  "You're tough."

  "I'm not anything, Corbette, except

  disappointed in you. Is this what happens with all the girls you bring here?"

  "Most," he admitted without any shame.

  "I'm not most," I said. I stood up. "Maybe you should just take me back and we'll leave practicing our lines for rehearsals at school."

  "Hey, don't get so bitchy. I didn't mean anything bad," he said looking down. He tossed the plastic bag of pot under the sofa and looked repentant.

  "I don't just jump into a boy's arms," I said. "I get to know people."

  He looked up at me skeptically.

  "I don't know what you think or have been told, but not everyone from my neighborhood is the same. People should judge each other as individuals and not as some stereotype," I lectured down at him. I felt the blood fill my face and the heat go into my eyes. He looked impressed.

  "Boy, you can get mad," he said. "But you know what, you just get prettier."

  It was something Roy had said to me often. I relaxed, but I didn't sit on the sofa again.

  "I don't understand the way you live," I said gazing around again.

  "Why?"

  "How come you want to be away from your parents so much?" I asked.

  He gazed up at me and then down at the floor.

  "It's been hard in my house ever since my baby brother died of a blood disease," he said. "My mother keeps herself busy just so she doesn't have think about him. My father is the same way and I think when they do things with me, they're forced to remember and it hurts. It's easier for me to be alone and leave them alone. It doesn't stir up the grief."

  "Oh, I'm sorry," I said.

  He sat back, looking as if he was about to cry. I sat next to him.

  "How old was he when he died?"

  "Four," he said.

  "That's terrible. I lost my sister this year. I can appreciate what you're going through."

  "What happened to her?"

  "She was murdered by gang members."

  "Wow. I guess you have seen a lot more real life." "It's not real life, Corbette; it's real low life."

  "It must be hard for you living without family," he said. He leaned toward me and twirled some strands of my hair in his fingers. "It's hard for me even though I pretend it isn't. You think I have everything because I drive a fancy car and live in a big house and my parents are rich, right? You even resent me because of it. Right?"

  "That's why you're so ...cold to me."

  "No, that's ridiculous," I said. "I don't resent you and I'm not cold to you."

  He smiled.

  "Good. I really do like you, Rain. You're an exciting girl," he said. He held my hair firmly so I couldn't back away as he brought his lips closer and closer until he touched mine. I didn't resist and he kissed me harder.

  "You're right. It's so lonely here for me," he whispered. He kissed my cheek and then my neck. "Everyone is jealous because I have my own little place, but it's really lonely, just as lonely as it is for you. But neither of us really have to stay lonely."

  His lips moved around my neck, to the other side and then up my cheek to my lips. This kiss was longer, harder, his body pressing against me until I fell back. He kissed the base of my throat and undid a button to kiss me lower until he was at my collar bone and then he undid another button and another. His lips nudged one breast and then the other and his tongue dipped into my cleavage. I felt my heart pounding. I wanted to turn away and yet, I felt as if my body was in rebellion, demanding I stay.

  "Corbette," I pleaded. "Please, don't ..."

  "Rain, oh Rain. How warm and exciting you are," he whispered.

  Another button went undone. His hands were inside my blouse and around to unfasten my bra. He undid it with expertise and then lifted the material away from my breasts. His lips were on one nipple and then the other and his body was down on me so that I couldn't get my hands around to stop him.

  I tried to protest, but he filled my lips with another long passionate kiss and managed at the same time to unzip my pants. In seconds, his fingers were under my panties, exploring. I thought I would explode with excitement. I was surprised at the part of me that didn't want to resist.

  "I knew you would be more mature than the other girls. I knew it," he muttered in my ear.

  "Corbette, wait," I said weakly. "I'm not who you think I am."

  "I want you. I want to know you so much," h
e said. I felt his fingers fumbling with his own pants. Panic began to do battle with the waves of erotic pleasure that rose from my loins into my stomach to meet the tingling coming from my breasts. I felt as if I was sinking into the sofa and every attempt to bring it to a stop was blocked by a darker side of my own self.

  He started to jerk my pants down and when I pulled up to get away, I only aided his efforts. They were down to my knees and his hands were tugging at the rear of my panties. I felt his penis hardening between my legs.

  I shook my head. This can't be happening so fast. It can't, I thought.

  "Wait, no, wait," I pleaded. "This is too fast." My head was actually spinning.

  "Not for you," he said. "Come on."

  With one final burst of strength, putting all my resistence into it, I shoved him far enough to the left to have him roll off the sofa. The moment he was off me, I pulled up my panties and my pants and sat up, buttoning my blouse. He lay stunned on the floor.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  "I told you I don't just jump into bed with someone," I said. "I'm not saying I don't like you, Corbette, or I couldn't get to like you a lot, but I can't just do this the first time we're together. I just can't."

  He stared at me and then he smiled.

  "Okay," he said. "We'll take our time, get to know each other a little better. See?" He said buttoning himself, "I'm easy to get along with."

  "Let's do some of the lines," I said, "or take me back."

  "Okay, okay. The lines." He stood up, brushed back his hair, took a sip of his beer and after he regained his composure, we began.

  We practiced for nearly an hour, with his interrupting every once in a while to kiss me and then, pull back with his hands up, claiming he was just trying to get to know me better. I had to laugh, even though I had just come the closest I had ever come in my life to making love. He didn't know it, but he had been only seconds away. I had nearly lost control of myself and even felt some regret that I hadn't, but that was something I wasn't going to let him know.

  I told him I had to get back home and I insisted. He was disappointed, but we left.

  He took me home the same way, over the back roads. At the house he kissed me long and hard again, running his hand over my breasts and down my stomach to my thighs before I pulled away and got out.

  "What about tomorrow?" he asked. "Same time?"

  "No. My guardian is coming home and I should be here to help out," I said.

  "Maybe one night after school this week?"

  "Maybe," I said.

  "You're going to make me work hard for you, huh?" he asked, half-jokingly.

  "Won't that be a big change for you," I said and he laughed.

  "Good-bye, Emily Webb."

  I watched him drive away, a part of me relieved, but an even bigger part of me sulking at my self-control. Yes, he was rich and arrogant, but he was so handsome and as he showed me by telling me about his family, he could be very sensitive, too. I couldn't help but wonder what Grandmother Hudson would think about all this, especially if Corbette and I actually became an item.

  As I was going up the stairs, Merilyn called to me. "You had a phone call," she said. "Someone named Roy."

  "Roy?" I hurried back down. "Oh when?"

  "An hour ago."

  "Is he calling me back?"

  "He didn't say."

  "Did he leave a phone number for me?" peppering her with questions.

  "What did he say?"

  "He just asked for you. I told him you were studying lines from a play with a boy from school and he said to tell you he called. That's all. I wasn't hired to take messages for you," she added and marched away.

  Disappointed, I walked slowly up the stairway and threw myself on my bed, my heart feeling jumbled. Pictures and sounds ran up and down, back and forth across the screen of my memory. Corbette's eyes faded into Roy's and Roy's voice was overtaken with Corbette's. Their kisses, their caresses nudged that part of me that had awoken with each small explosion of passion Corbette and Roy had created.

  I lay on my back with my eyes closed and moaned softly, wondering if I should have

  surrendered myself, wondering what it would have been like, wondering what danger and what ecstasy waited on the other side of that door, a door I had nearly opened.

  .

  Merilyn had left before I went down to prepare myself some supper. I was standing in the kitchen, looking through the pantry and the refrigerator, reviewing what my menu choices would be when the phone rang. I lunged at it, snatching it off the cradle, hoping it was Roy, but it was Audrey.

  "Hi," she said in a tiny voice. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to call to see how Mrs. Hudson was doing."

  "Oh, she's doing fine, Audrey," I said, not able to hide my disappointment. I felt bad about it and quickly added, "but it's nice that you called."

  Her voice grew stronger, bolder.

  "I was worried about you too," she said. "The play's coming along really good, isn't it?"

  "I guess so. It's my first so I really have no way to judge."

  "Oh it is. Believe me. I've been in a few and none of them was as good as this is already. It has a lot to do with you, Rain. You're really very good."

  "Thank you, Audrey. When you're as scared about it as I am, you appreciate that."

  "A huh," she said.

  She was quiet for a moment.

  "What are you doing tonight?" I asked her. "If you'd like, you could come over here and have some dinner with me."

  "Really? Let me ask my mother," she said jumping at the invitation. I heard the receiver drop to a table and laughed to myself. Moments later, she was back on line. "She said okay. We're just staying at your house though, right?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "I'll be right there," she said. She didn't even say good-bye.

  I couldn't help but marvel at how easy it was to make friends and even become involved in a relationship with these rich white kids. Loneliness knew no boundaries after all. It doesn't care about the color of your skin or the numbers in your bank account. It just waits for its opportunity to crawl inside you and put a shadow over your heart.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, I heard the door chimes and greeted Audrey just as her mother drove away.

  "Hi," she said. "Thanks for inviting me."

  "Come on in. I'll show you around, if you like."

  "Oh, you don't have to. I've been in this house before," she said as I closed the door. "It's very nice. The last time I was here, I met Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter and grandson."

  "Really? Tell me about them," I urged.

  "You've never met them?"

  "No. Come on. We'll talk in the kitchen. You can help me cook."

  "Cook? You're making your own supper?"

  "Yes," I said laughing. She still looked amazed. "It's not brain surgery."

  "My mother never lets me make anything-- except brownies once when I was very little."

  "I often cooked for my family because Mama was working late or she'd come home tired," I said as we entered the kitchen.

  "What are you making tonight?" she asked, looking at the bowls I had out on the counter. She was obviously telling the truth, I thought. Anyone with just the smallest amount of experience in the kitchen would know what I was doing.

  "Fried chicken. First, I beat the egg, then I dip the chicken in the egg, the flour and seasoned bread crumbs."

  I showed her how to prepare a few pieces.

  "What do we do next?"

  "We put it in the deep fryer?"

  On the stove I had some black-eyed peas.

  "You can mash the potatoes. They're already boiled." She looked like she was in heaven helping me.

  "I've got to watch the biscuits," I told her. "Roy says I always bake them an inch from burning."

  "Roy is your brother?"

  "Yes," I said. "Tell me about Mrs. Hudson's grandchildren."

  "I didn't spend that much time with them. Alison wasn't very in
terested in anything I had to say. Brody was nice. He's very good looking, as good looking as Corbette Adams."

  I smiled.

  "What?"

  "Corbette picked me up earlier today and we went to his place to study lines."

  "Oh," she said. She sounded disappointed. I imagined she, like most of the girls I knew at Dogwood, had a crush on him and dreamed she would be the object of his attention.

  "Did you know he has his own little apartment in the barn?"

  "Yes. It's famous," she said.

  "Excuse me? What do you mean, famous?"

  "Lots of girls have seen it. I never have," she added quickly. She mashed the potatoes harder. "But Corbette doesn't stay with one girl too long. I don't have any experience when it comes to boys, but I feel safe warning you to watch out. I wouldn't go there even if he invited me," she assured me.

  I smiled to myself. This sounded like the fable of the fox and the grapes. Mama used to quote it all the time: The fox tried to reach the grapes, but they were too high. After repeated attempts, he declared they were sour anyway.

  "He's not as bad as he makes out to be," I said.

  I took out pieces of chicken and put them on a plate. They looked and smelled wonderful.

  "He has a reputation. The other boys call him King Cherry Picker."

  "What? Why?"

  "He brags about how many virgins he's ruined," she said with her face turning crimson.

  I smiled at her and shook my head.

  "That's probably just all rumor. Boys brag a lot in the locker room. He's actually a very sensitive person. It hasn't been easy for him since his little brother's death. He opened his heart a little and told me."

  "What?"

  "About his younger brother dying from a blood disease," I said. "He was only four."

  She stared at me for a moment. I turned off the fire under the black-eyed peas and put them into a serving bowl. When I looked back at Audrey, she was still staring at me with the same strange expression on her face. She looked like she had just swallowed her chewing gum.

  "What is it?" I asked. "You look so funny all of a sudden. Still think cooking is so difficult?"

  "No, I was thinking about what you just said about Corbette's little brother."

  "So?"

  "I didn't know he had died."

  "Oh. Very sad. Only four years old," I said. "You take the potatoes and the peas in. I'll take the chicken. The table is set and..."