At the Twilight's Last Gleaming (20 page)

And absolute beauty.

I woke up all sweaty, hugging my pillow.

My neck hurt again. I went to the mirror.

No bite marks. In fact, there was no bruise mark, no discoloration at all.

I went back to bed and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

W
HEN I AWOKE the next morning, I felt wonderful.

I felt absolutely great.

“Emory!” I said.

Then I hopped out of bed and got into the shower.

It was early. So I took a long soothing shower. Then I used my Mom’s blow dryer longer than usual, and brushed my hair longer than usual, until my usual rat’s nest fairly glowed, straight and long. Then I dug deep into my closet and got out a light gray skirt and a bright blue blouse with a pretty pattern on it. I got out a nice sweater that hadn’t fit me last month. I tried it on, and realized to my joy that I’d lost some weight. It fit!

I put the sweater on.

Then I found my faithful penny loafers, the brown ones. My lucky shoes, I called them. My ruby slippers, my Oz-wear, my Off-to-See-the-wizard shoes.

There’s a line in William Shakespeare’s
The Tempest
that the heroine says when she sees her first gorgeous man.

“
Oh brave new world, that hast such creatures in it
.”

That’s exactly the way I felt.

That’s precisely the way I felt about Emory. Whether he was a vampire, or a Senator’s son, or just a shy, sweet, tender guy trying to get through life like everyone else — suddenly Emory was making me see everything in a new way.

I had a different point of view on life.

Whether it was dark or dreary and gothic, or thrilling and romantic, life was a mysterious adventure. I was the star, and I couldn’t wait to find out what happened.

It was a typical Monday morning breakfast I walked down to in the Williams household.

Mopey.

Mom was frying bacon and eggs. Little brother was playing with some oatmeal. Dad was tilting some coffee down his mouth. He was wearing his colonel’s outfit. He looked up blearily from his day-dreamy motion — and then did a double take.

“Whoa! My goodness. What’s the occasion!”

My brother looked up at me and his eyes got wider.

“Wow. Must be some guy!”

Mom looked at me, and she smiled.

“You’re wearing the clothes I bought for you!”

“No dark princess of the gloom anymore?” asked my father.

“I’m not stuck on one way of dressing, but I’m still me.”

“Like a Hershey’s M and M.,” quipped Donald. “Bright and brittle on the outside. Dark and gooey in the middle!”

“What is this, a sitcom?” said my mother. “Don’t make fun of her. She looks very nice!”

“Nice? She looks fabulous!” said my father. He smiled. “You look really nice, Rebecca. Pay no attention to your brother.”

I felt very pleased to get my father’s positive attention. He had an odd look to his face, a kind of pride, I think, and I absolutely basked in it.

I ate my breakfast and then hurried to the bus stop.

It was a Monday morning, so Harold had stayed with his Uncle the night before and so was on the bus. He was sitting on the aisle as usual holding a seat for me, but he wasn’t reading a science fiction paperback of digest fiction magazine. He was just dully staring at the back seat ahead of him.

He brightened when he saw me.

“Oh. Hi there.”

“Hi to you. Scoot over.”

“Oh. Sure.”

He made room for me. As I looked at him, I realized he was a bit paler than usual.

“So why the long face, Seabiscuit?” I said.

“Oh, just didn’t sleep to well last night, I guess.”

“You’re not commenting on my attire,” I said.

“Yeah. You look really nice. Is there an occasion?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up this morning and felt like it.”

“That’s nice.”

“Sheesh, you’re the gloomy one today!”

“Taking up the slack for you, I guess.”

“Touche.”

“So. You’ve got a date with Emory or something?”

“No. Like I said, no special occasion. I just got up and these clothes were there and I felt like putting them on.”

Silence.

We picked up some more people and then the bus ground onward. For some reason the driver was having problems with the gearshift today which made the ride very noisy.

I broke the unusual silence between Harold and I.

“So. Whatcha been reading?”

He looked at me. “What have
you
been reading?”

“Actually, I just did homework last night. Haven’t been reading anything.” Usually, I informed him in explicit detail about the latest gothic that had crossed my path.

“Me neither.”

“What about that Keith Laumer book?”

“It was okay, but it wasn’t half as good as
Retief’s War
.”

Retief was Jame Retief, a fictional diplomat in a far future when mankind has gone to the stars and discovered alien races to parlay with. He’d made me read a few of the novelettes and I had to admit, although I wasn’t a science fiction fan, I found them rather clever.

I said, “You know, I really should read that.”

“I gave you a copy. You mean, you really are gonna read it? I mean, you’ve always got some gothic you’ve got to read first.”

“I’m not so sure I should just read gothics,” I said. “Maybe that’s just a phase, anyway. I probably should branch out a bit in my reading, shouldn’t I?”

“Oh. Sure. Why not?”

The idea of me reading some science fiction stirred him a bit, but didn’t seem to get him entirely out of his funk. So I just took up the slack in the conversation, as is my wont, until the bus pulled up to the boarding apron at Crossland Senior High. We students disgorged. There was a good fifteen minutes left until first bell, and the doors to the multi-purpose waiting room were open. So, naturally, almost automatically, we all filed that way.

As usual, the tables set up by the proscenium and curtain weren’t the popular ones. Again, almost automatically, Harold and I moved that way. It was nice to feel the wax-smell and warmth of the auditorium after the dismal blast of cold from outside and the fumes of the buses. We settled down to our table. Usually, this was time to yawn and finish up last minute bits and chunks of homework, but we didn’t.

We just sat down.

I looked up at the stage and said, continuing the monologue.

“Wow. It’s hard to believe that in just a couple of weeks, I’m going to be playing Lucy in
Dracula
in front of a big audience.”

“Getting stage fright?”

“Yeah. Kinda. Sure, maybe I am.”

“Not surprising.”

“Why?”

“Why?” said Harold. “I mean, everyone get’s stage fright sometimes. It’s natural. I know I sure wouldn’t like to put on a blonde wig and get out there and try to remember my lines in front of a bunch of goggling people.”

“You kinda get into it, I think. It’s really rather thrilling.”

“I’m sure it is. But from my point-of-view, I get rattled just standing up in front of class and reading something, let alone trying to remember stuff I memorized.”

“You get used to it, I think.”

“You’re not scared?”

“A little. But I’m not thinking about it much. I guess there are just other things to think about.”

“Oh. Like about Emory, you mean.”

I shrugged. “I suppose.”

“You’re very blasé.”

“That’s a good word, Harold.”

“Readers learn good words.”

“Oh yes, I suppose about Emory. But you know, Harold he’s just a boy! I really do have to think about more than boys, now, don’t I?”

“There certainly is plenty to think about, that’s for certain!” said Harold. He had a hopeless quality in his voice.

“You know maybe we just think too much, Harold. We should think less and live more. Shall we make a pact on that?”

“Okay.”

He was acting kind of strange for sure, I thought. Now, though, with the stage and the day before us, I didn’t dwell on the issue.

Nor did I have much time to do so.

“Hello, Rebecca!” called a voice from behind me.

I turned.

There stood Peter.

Peter Harrigan!

“Peter?” I said, voice no doubt betraying disbelief.

“None other!” said the dashing fellow behind me. There was a big smile on Peter Harrigan’s long face. His adorable wave of hair hung down over his forehead, draping over his dark eyes. Those eyes that were focused now, only on me. “My you’re looking — very bright today, Lucy! Resurrected from the grave!”

“Yes. Uh — sure,” I said. I remembered to laugh a bit. He’d made a sort of joke. I should laugh. Right. I felt I should say something witty now, but it just didn’t come out. Peter looked very handsome and dashing in a nice striped blue sweater that fitted snuggly over the top of his neatly creased cream slacks. He had on some kind of cologne that smelled very nice indeed. Just enough civilization to it, just enough maleness. My hormones got up, curtsied, and danced with his pheromones.

“What’s the occasion?” said Peter.

“Just — uhm — a bit of a lark I guess.”

“Trying on a different character?”

“Sure,” I said. “Sure, I guess you could say that.”

“Well, you look very, very nice indeed.”

“Why thank you, Peter!”

“Might I sit with you and your friend…uh…”

“Harold.”

“Harold. Hello, Harold.”

“Hi,” said Harold, a bit aghast at the whole business.

“Sit with us? Uh — yes. Why not?”

Peter skipped around happily and sat right across the table.

I turned around and looked at him.

He looked terrific and dashing, and the fact that he was looking at me, paying attention to me was quite staggering.

“The play is coming along very well, isn’t it?”

“It’s my first, so I really can’t say,” I said.

“You’re going to see it, aren’t you Harold?” said Peter.

“Many times, I’m sure.”

“Good. Anyway, Rebecca, I spoke to Mr. Crawley yesterday. He’s very excited. He’s definitely entered us in the state competitions.”

“Peter! That’s terrific!”

“Yes, indeed it is! And best of all — I’m having a smashingly good time! You know, Mr. Crawley was right. I get a lot more stage time as Van Helsing than I would have as
Dracula
. And it…stretches me some. It gives a whole new vista to my sense of what I can do. What I can accomplish as an actor.”

“It certainly puts more ham on the menu,” said Harold acidly.

“Oh yes, of course. But that’s part of the fun. Don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’m not an actor,” said Harold

“Say, pardon me intrusion here….but I was rather wondering… I always see you two together in the mornings and other times I guess. Are you two…dating?”

“Oh no!” I said, maybe too quickly. “Were just really good friends!”

“Okay. I see. I understand. That’s great, that’s great. I have a lot of good friends too. I was just checking. I wouldn’t want to do anything….awkward.”

“Awkward?” I said.

“Yes. I mean, like ask you to go to a movie with me, or go out to dinner — or the prom or something like that.”

“Uh — no. Like I said, we’re just good friends,” I said. “You could ask me out, Peter,” I said. I smiled. “But if you did, I’d still have to say yes or no.”

He blinked. “Oh. Sure. Of course.”

“So — is that what you’re about to do?” I teased. “Ask me out.”

Peter Harrigan looked taken aback. “Well— I often try to get to know the other people in the productions I’m in better.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I said. “And I’m sure there are quite a few acting tips you can give me —”

Suddenly, seemingly from out of the blue, a tall figure leaned onto the lunch table, looking directly at me.

“Rebecca!”

It was Emory. Like me he wasn’t dressed in his usual black attire. Rather, he wore a suit and a striped red tie. His hair was neatly combed.

“Emory,” I said, surprised.

“Rebecca, I’ve got to speak to you. Right away!”

CHAPTER TWENTY

H
ERE WAS HAROLD Lumpkin, my faithful attendant, sitting by my side. And then, Peter Harrigan, my erstwhile crush arrives, hinting about the possibility of some kind of boy-girl date. Finally, who should appear, but my current flame, Emory Clarke — with a demand.