Goddess of the Night (6 page)

"L.A.
Philharmonic," she said as the van pulled away from the curb.
She let the wind rush through her hair.

A purple
crystal hung from a black satin string draped over the rearview
mirror. Vanessa touched it. It felt oddly smooth and then it almost
seemed to move in her hand. She pulled her hand back.

"It feels
alive, doesn't it?"

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She nodded.

"It was a
gift from my grandfather," he said, and seemed pleased she had
noticed it. "It's for courage and patience. A patient heart
needs courage to endure."

"I wish
I'd known my grandfather," Vanessa commented. "It's just my
mother and me. My father died when I was five."

"What
happened?" He spoke softly.

"He was a
stunt coordinator on a movie," she explained. "Something
went wrong and one of the helicopters crashed. I remember seeing it
on the news, but I was too young to understand it was real. I thought
he was just making another movie. I mean, he had taken me to so many
movies where he had rolled a car or jumped off a building. And he was
always okay. But this time, he never came home."

He waited a
moment to speak as if he were imagining what life would be like
without his own father.

"My
family's a big mess of people," Michael said finally. "Cherokees
and Lebanese. You'll have to come to one of our family
get-togethers."

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Was he planning
their future?

"Grandpa
tells great stories. You'll really like him. He gets frustrated with
me, though, because I don't believe all his stories. They're just
ancient legends, but he acts like they're fact."

She wondered if
his grandfather knew any stories about invisible girls.

Michael turned
left and followed a narrow winding road into the Hollywood Hills. At
the crest of the hill the houses no longer had yards. Front doors
opened onto the corkscrew street. He parked the van in front of a
sprawling house perched next to the curb and jumped out.

Disappointment
blossomed inside her. He wasn't taking her to someone's home, was he?
A party? He had definitely said the Bowl. She wanted to be alone with
him, not competing with a crowd.

He opened her
door and took her hand. "I thought you said we were going to the
Hollywood Bowl?" she asked.

"It's a
surprise," he answered. "I hope you don't mind a walk."

She looked down
at her beaded sandals.

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"No,"
she lied, and hated that she hadn't worn oxfords.

He took the
picnic basket from the back of the van, then holding her hand led her
down a tight cement walk between two houses. They squeezed around a
line of palm trees and a Doberman panting behind a chain-link fence.

"Be
careful." Michael took a step down a rugged ridge, then turned
and helped her off the cement slab and into the underbrush. They
walked through dense shrubs. Leaves and grass scraped her legs. They
continued downhill under houses built on stilts. Then the houses gave
way to chaparral and fire road. He ignored the sign that read NO
PUBLIC ADMITTANCE.

"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

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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

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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

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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

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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."

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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

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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."

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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

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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.

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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."

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"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