Destiny (24 page)

"But you did once?"

"For a while. Years ago."

He sighed. The answer seemed to please him.

"To tell you the truth, it's a little scary." She paused. "It's shadowy in there. You feel like you're being watched."

He didn't answer this, but drew on the cigarette. There was silence again; in a comer, a clock chimed.

"It certainly is very hot," Helene said at last. Her mind was whirling. She knew there ought to be lots of things she could say, but right then she couldn't think of one of them. "Is Mrs. Calvert at home?"

Out it came, just like that, sounding idiotic. But Major Calvert didn't seem to mind. He just looked up, absently, as if he were thinking of something else.

"What? Oh, no. She's visiting. Her family, you know. Up in Philadelphia."

Helene considered this information. Major Calvert said nothing more, but he was looking at her again. He put his cigarette out and slipped his hand back into his pocket. She didn't know why, perhaps it was the way he was looking at her, so quietly like that, but Helene felt more and more self-

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conscious. She could feel the color mounting in her cheeks, and she felt peculiar, excited and nervous all at once. She drained the glass of limeade quickly.

"You'd like another?"

"Oh, no. Thank you." She twisted her hands nervously in her skirt.

"You still sound English. Not American at all. Remarkable." He spoke so suddenly he made her jump. She smiled.

"Do I? I can sound American too. When I want to."

"Can you now?" He leaned forward. "Say something to me, then, in American. ..."

Helene drew in her breath. She let her lashes fall, then looked up again at him.

"I'm sorry I was trespassin' on your land. Major Calvert. . . ."It came out perfectly, a slow southern drawl, demure, with just a little provocative edge. Major Calvert looked at her for a second intently, then he threw back his head and laughed. Just the way she remembered.

"Well now—who'd have believed it?" He stopped laughing. "You're a clever young woman. As well as a pretty one." He leaned forward suddenly, his dark teasing eyes meeting hers. "Do they tell you that, all the boys' round here? I'm sure they do. That you're pretty? More than that. That you're beautiful?"

Helene's heart seemed to miss a beat. A quick shiver of excitement went through her, like an electric pulse and just as quick, there and then gone. She lowered her eyes again and stood up.

"I'd better be getting home now. Thank you for the drink. Major Calvert."

"It's been a pleasure, ma'am."

He stood up in the same moment, and his voice sounded as if he were teasing her. But she looked up, and he didn't seem to be. His eyes were dark brown and quite serious. He was standing close to her suddenly, and Helene could see that his breath was coming a little fast.

"Your hair's still wet, Helene Craig. You know that?" he said, and his voice sounded odd and kind of thick. Then he lifted his hand and he touched her hair. He lifted one long strand very slowly, and let it run through his fingers. Helene didn't move. "And your blouse. It's wet almost right through." She saw his tongue pass over his lips, saw his chest rise and fall under the elegant white jacket. And then he touched her. Her sleeve first, and then, slowly and deliberately, looking right down into her wide, shocked eyes, her breast. A light touch, so she knew he could feel the swell of her breast through the wet material, but a movement that could just as easily be passed off".

She knew she ought to do something. Tell him to stop, knock his hand

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away, run out of the room, something; but somehow she couldn't do any of those things. She just stood there, looking at him.

"Wet through. Right down to the skin."

His voice was deep and thick now, and kind of whispery. For a moment he stayed still just like that, then his hand tightened over her breast suddenly. Still his eyes never left hers, and Helene thought confusedly that it was as if he were looking for something there, something he could read, and she didn't know what it was. Then he slipped his hand in under the blouse, easily, gently, and cupped her naked breast in the dry palm of his hand. Again, he stayed like that, quite still. Then he moved his fingers, once, twice, over her nipple, with a feather-light touch that was piercingly exquisite.

Then he removed his hand, and it was as if nothing had happened at all. He simply took her arm, the way he had before, and led her courteously to the door.

In the entrance hall he looked down into her face. He looked quite composed again now, quite relaxed, and that odd intentness had gone from his eyes.

"Would you like to come here again someday, Helene Craig?" He paused. "See 'round the plantation maybe?"

Helene hung her head. "I don't know. Perhaps."

Her answer seemed to please him once more, for he smiled.

"Fine," he said. "Fine. Anytime you feel ready, you just let me know. Doesn't matter when."

"It doesn't?" Helene lifted her head, her blue eyes flaring with doubt.

He shook his head.

"No, ma'am." He touched her arm. "I can wait."

It was her fifteenth birthday, and Billy Tanner said that was something special, something to celebrate. Billy had graduated from Selma High now; he was working in the garage over Maybury way, working full-time, earning good money, he said.

"We could go out. Have dinner someplace," Billy said. "Celebrate in style ..."

Helene looked at him uncertainly. Billy seemed to avoid her less these days; he'd even promised he might take her swimming again sometime. But he'd never asked her out on a date.

"Just you and me, Billy?"

Billy's face went a dull brick red. "You'd rather we made it a double date maybe?"

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Helene hung her head. She thought she might prefer to be alone with Billy, but she didn't like to say so. She didn't want to sound pushy.

"I could ask Priscilla-Anne, I s'pose," she muttered.

"Okay. Sure. Why not?"

So she had asked Priscilla-Anne, and Priscilla-Anne's eyebrows had disappeared right up under her carefully groomed bangs.

"Billy Tanner? Billy Tanner! You must be kidding. In a restaurant? He's paying?"

"I guess so."

"Okay." Priscilla-Anne sighed. "Some celebration. I'll check it out with Dale, okay? Because then we can go in his car. I'm not going on some bus. No way . . ."

And so here they all were, crammed into Dale Garrett's Buick. She and Billy in the back, Priscilla-Anne and Dale in front; Dale driving, one hand on the wheel only, and Priscilla-Anne laughing, and opening up a six-pack. She tossed two cans into the back, and opened one for herself; Budweiser squirted all over the dash. Then one for Dale. She tilted her head back; one hand rested on Dale's thigh, and he said something Helene couldn't catch, and Priscilla-Anne laughed. Helene leaned back in her seat. Dale was Priscilla's latest beau. She'd lost count how many there had been between Eddie Haines and him. Six at least; seven maybe. And she herself was fifteen—fifteen years, two and a half days. When was her hfe going to start?

Next to her, Billy carefully opened a can of beer and handed it to her. He left his own unopened. Billy didn't drink, and Helene thought she knew why—because of his father.

She stole a glance at him, and her heart contracted. She could just see how hard he'd tried. The crew cut had gone, some years back. Now Billy wore his dark hair combed straight back; it was shiny with grease. He had his good suit on; the one he wore to weddings and funerals. It didn't fit too well, and there were threadbare patches on the elbows. He was wearing a shirt and a tie, too, and you could see they made him uncomfortable, because every so often he'd reach up a finger and slip it under the collar, as if it were choking him. He'd cut himself shaving, and there was a little nick just below where he was trying to grow his sideburns. He smelled too strongly of aftershave, and he was sitting bolt upright, both hands on his knees. He hadn't said one word since they'd gotten into the car.

Helene felt embarrassed, and hated herself for it. She tried not to look at Dale Garrett up front. He was loaded, or so Priscilla-Anne said. His daddy owned a fertilizer plant over Montgomery way. He had a college degree, a Buick, and a reputation as long as your arm. Priscilla-Anne loved him. He's the one, Helene, she'd say. This time I just know. He's the one. Dale

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Garrett was wearing a sport jacket and a button-down Brooks Brothers shirt. No grease on his hair; it flopped over his forehead when he laughed —which he did often. A red and gold fraternity ring gleamed on his finger. Helene looked away: she didn't even like Dale Garrett that much. He was a snob, she thought, and a boaster; clean-cut good looks, sure enough, but not nearly as good-looking as Billy, with his kingfisher-blue eyes. Not nearly as nice, either. So how come, when she looked at him and then looked at Billy, she felt pity, and then shame?

"You made a reservation, Tanner?" Dale turned and grinned over his shoulder. He tossed the Budweiser can out the window.

"No." Billy's voice was quiet. "Didn't need to. It won't be full."

"Hope you're right. Tanner ..." Helene saw him glance across at Priscilla-Anne, and wink. "I mean, these fancy places, they can be funny about that. Turning up without a reservation, you know?"

"It'll be all right."

"Hope so. Because I worked up quite an appetite today, thinking about tonight and all. In more ways 'n one . . ." His hand came down over Priscilla-Anne's and adjusted it slightly. "Yes sir! I fancy myself a good steak, and plenty of fries, salad on the side. A little French wine, maybe. They have French wine in this place of yours. Tanner?"

"Sure." Billy's face looked pale and tight. "I mean, I guess they do."

'''French wine, I said. Tanner." Dale laughed. "I mean, this is a celebration, right?" He grinned at Helene in the rearview mirror. "French name, French wine. Makes sense, don't you think?"

Helene said nothing. Her eyes locked with Dale's for a second, then slid away. He was trying to rile Billy, she knew that. And her, too, maybe. She made him feel uncomfortable, with her funny name and her funny voice, she could tell that. Dale liked to place people, she thought, and he couldn't quite place her. It was the nervousness that was making him so rude. Quietly she reached across the backseat and found Billy's hand. She gave it a hard squeeze.

The restaurant was on the outskirts of Montgomery someplace.

"Not downtown?" Dale said as Billy leaned forward and started to give him directions.

"No. Not downtown. Make a left here. . . ."

Past the turning to the airport, under a bridge, and onto the main highway into town. They passed a parking lot, a garage, two gas stations, traffic lights. Billy was beginning to look excited, and proud. He gestured with his hand.

"Over there. There. Make a right now. . . ."

Dale Garrett spun the wheel. They came to a stop. There was a silence, broken by a stifled giggle from Priscilla.

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"Here?" Dale's voice sounded disbelieving. "Howard Johnson 'sV

"That's it." Billy was already getting out the car. He came around to Helene's side, opened her door, and carefully helped her out.

"The restaurant," he said to her softly, and she could feel the nervousness in his body. "What did he think I meant—the coffee shop?"

"It's lovely, Billy," Helene said quickly. "Just lovely. Thank you."

Priscilla-Anne and Dale were necking, so she and Billy walked on ahead of them, in through the lobby and into the restaurant itself. It was very large, and half empty. A Une of white businessmen on stools by the bar; acres of shiny red banquettes. The captain was wearing red too; he was Billy's age, no more, and his face was spotted with pimples. He looked Billy up and down, and Helene could see the sneer start way back in his eyes. Then he looked at her, and his eyes widened.

"We'd like a table," Billy said firmly. "Over there in the window."

The man came as near to giving a shrug as he could, then he turned back to Helene and gave her a long stare.

"Sure thing. This way. Ma'am."

Helene felt the color flood up over her face. She followed him to the table and sat down. Two menus were tossed down on the table.

"We need two more. There'll be four of us," Billy said, but the man had already gone.

Helene looked up to find Billy staring at her. She wondered if he'd noticed the man's rudeness, because if he had, he didn't seem to care. His face looked soft, and gentle, and intent, and the blue eyes blazed like the sky on a summer's day.

"You look beautiful," Billy said simply. "You look—well, I guess you're just about the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life."

"Billy?"

"So I don't give a damn, okay?" He gave a quick smile, and the blue eyes crinkled around the corners. "Not about Dale Garrett, or that guy over there, either. Not about anything. Just so long as I can go right on looking at you. That's all."

"Billy, I . . ." She hesitated, not quite sure what to say, because what he said surprised her and pleased her, and also made her feel a little afraid. Something in her was holding back, and all she knew was that she didn't want Billy to be hurt, not ever. And especially not by her. "I . . . you like my dress?"

It was a white dress, cotton, and it showed off the tan of her skin. When her mother had showed it to her, she'd danced around the room for joy. It was the prettiest dress she'd ever worn.

"I hke your dress."

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"My mother made it. For my birthday. She got the material cheap, she said, and ..."

"Does she know? Where you are tonight?" Billy's face had clouded shghtly. "I mean, did you tell her you were going out with me?"

"No, Billy." She raised her eyes pleadingly to his face.

"She thinks I'm not good enough to take you out?"

"No, Billy, of course not. It's not that. It's just that she doesn't like me to go out on dates. Not with anyone. She says I'm still too young, and so I said I was going over to Priscilla-Anne's. ..."