Kissing Brendan Callahan (10 page)

“That's not true. I'm glad you know I'm a dancer. It's what I am.”

“So why did you lie to my mother?”

“I get impressions from people. And something about her told me she might not hire a dancer to look after her son.”

“You mean she's closed-minded,” I say.

“A bit,” says Georgina. “But it's not an uncommon reaction.”

“Why aren't you dancing?” I have to know. “You're the best dancer I've ever seen.”

“It's complicated, Sarah. I would be dancing, but I have responsibilities.”

“Like what?”

She stares out the window. “I popped over to America to look after Granddad. He's a stubborn old thing with a big heart problem. He likes to think he can take care of himself, but he can't even remember to take his medicines. How can I leave him, when there's no one else to look after him?”

“But you're so talented,” I say. “Can't you find someone else to help him?”

She turns back to me. “Tried that, but Granddad ran away. I'm the only person he trusts.”

“But you have to dance.”

“I do, in private. The piece you saw me dancing is for an audition. A mate told me about a small company that will be touring Europe in the fall.”

“That's great.”

“Granddad will go nutter when he finds out.”

“You have to make him understand,” I say.

Georgina shakes her head. “Easier said than done. I'm considering a nursing home, but it will break his heart, and mine. Meanwhile, I practice secretly, except, of course, when people like you spy on me.”

“It's not fair,” I say. “Your granddad needs to see how talented you are. It's like you and the dance are one. You're incredible. I want to be that good at something.”

“How about that play you're writing?” She winks. “That's good.”

I pick up a pillow and squeeze it to my chest. “How do you know about it? I haven't shown it to anyone.”

She scrunches her nose. “Sorry,” she says, “I was curious about you, too. I took a little peek one day, and I ended up reading the whole way through.”

“You read it? You shouldn't have done that!”

“Sorry, but I was curious about what you were doing cooped up in your room all day.”

“Did you like it?”

“I did.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“It's for the contest. Do you think I have a shot at winning?”

“Very possibly, Victoria. You have a definite sense of the dramatic.”

“If there is a contest.” I tell her everything that happened last night. It's a relief to tell someone. “I have to find the plays, but I can't do that because I'm grounded.”

“Hmmm.” She thinks. “If I were you, I'd call the car rental companies straightaway.”

“But I'll eventually have to go get them.”

“Well,” she says, “I promised your mum that I wouldn't let you leave the house, but I can't watch you all the time. I mean, if you were to leave when I was busy doing something else, then how would I know?”

“You wouldn't tell on me?” I ask.

“Just don't tell me, okay?”

“Thank you,” I say, knowing I don't exactly deserve this favor. Up to now, I haven't been that nice to her.

She gets up and walks toward the door.

“Georgina,” I call. “Would you still like to borrow my hat?”

She smiles. “That would be lovely.”

Georgina looks and acts so confident, but underneath, she's struggling to do what she wants, just like me. That's really, truly, deeply amazing. And Antonia. I've sat right here, adoring her, thinking she was this creative, lovable person, but she's really, truly, deeply a liar. Until yesterday, I considered myself a good judge of character. I thought that would make me a great writer. Now, I truly, deeply don't know what to think.

EIGHTEEN

In the phone book, I find listings for five car rental companies. I call, explaining that I left important papers in the backseat of a convertible. I get through to four of the five companies. None of them found a package of plays. When I dial the fifth company, Rent-a-Dream, an answering machine comes on and I leave my phone number.

I go back to my room and wait for them to call back. A pebble hits my window. Brendan leans against his bike in the middle of the backyard. Today's shirt reads, “Yes, I'm spoiled, so what's your point?”

“Hey!” he yells. “What's happening?”

“I'm grounded. Aren't you?”

“No.”

That is so unfair!

“Want to take a ride to Antonia's?”

“I'm grounded,” I repeat.

“On a spunkiness scale of one to ten, that would be a negative two,” he says, grinning. “But then, spunkiness needs constant practice.”

“I'm in enough trouble. Besides, I have to wait to hear back from a car rental company.”

“Too bad,” he says. “But, of course, if you'd rather sit inside and watch the rest of us carrying on with our lives…”

Why is he so irritating? Why does he always seem to make sense? I hope I'm not going to regret this, but I crawl out the window and hop onto the branch. The climb down is easier because I don't have to be quiet.

“Is that Sarah?” He leans back, crossing his arms, like he's appraising me. “The girl who's
grounded?
”

I stare at him. “You love it when I break the rules, don't you?”

“Yeah, I do.” Our eyes lock. “It's a total ten.” I blush. He leans in and kisses me. It's a
wow!

“You'd better stop kissing me,” he says.

“I wasn't kissing you,” I protest. “You were kissing me.”

“That's ridiculous,” he says. “And you'll never prove it.”

What nerve! I'm never going to let him kiss me again. I don't care how good a kisser he is. I get my bike out of the garage and we ride to South Beach.

I pedal fast and hard, filled with so many different feelings. Fear that someone might see me and tell my mother. Determination to find Antonia before my mother does. Total shock that I am once again defying my mother. And then there's the fact that Brendan is here. I'm not sure what emotion that is.

I spot a Volvo coming in our direction and turn off the main street. It probably isn't my mother, but I'm not taking any chances.

We pass a parked ice-cream truck and Brendan says, “How do astronauts eat their ice cream?” I shrug. “In floats.”

I laugh, but I'm trying to concentrate on what to say to Antonia. In a matter of minutes, we'll be at her bungalow. I must be strong. She must help me.

“Did you hear about the ice-cream man that was found dead in his van? He was lying on the floor covered in nuts and raspberry sauce. The police believe he topped himself.” He taps my shoulder. “You don't think my jokes are funny, do you?”

“Sure, they're funny.”

“Last night, no one laughed, and they're in the entertainment business. I'm worried.”

“They were a little preoccupied.”

He shakes his head. “I'm going to bomb at the Java Café.”

“You'll be fine,” I say.

“You really think so?”

I nod. We reach the boardwalk and I feel better as I inhale the ocean air. Antonia
will
help me.

At the top of the steps, a man is pounding on Antonia's door. “Open up. You won't get away with this!” he yells. “There are laws on my side.”

Brendan motions for me to stay behind as he approaches the man. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I need to find Antonia DeMarco.”

“You've come to the right place,” says Brendan. “I guess she's out.”

“Where is she?” The man turns. He's large, with a mean and angry face. He's wearing dark blue overalls and his hair is uncombed and sticking up in the back. Is he some kind of crazy person?

“Maybe we should leave,” I whisper to Brendan.

“We don't know where she is,” Brendan says. “We'll stay and wait.”

“I'll wait too,” says the man. “She returned my new and expensive convertible with a big dent in the fender.”

“That's terrible,” I say, moving closer. “So, you're from the rental car company?”

“Rent-a-Dream,” he says. “Right now, it's rent with a dent.”

“That's funny,” says Brendan. The man glares. “I didn't mean the situation, just the rhyme.”

“That's terrible. It was such a nice car,” I say.

“What do you know about the dent?”

“Nothing,” I answer. “It's just that Ms. DeMarco left something in the car that belongs to my mother.”

“What did she leave?” he asks.

“A folder full of plays for a contest. My mother doesn't know they're missing yet, and she'll kill me if I don't get them back. So do you think you could let me have them?” I tilt my head, hoping to look cool and respectable.

He smiles. “Sure. You can have what's inside.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you.” I can't believe it. I have the plays back. My mother will never know any of this happened. I've never been happier—

“All you have to do is pay for the dent; then you can take whatever you want.” He leans against the side of the house.

I look at Brendan. “How much would it cost?” he asks.

“Fifteen-fifty,” the man says coldly.

“Fifteen dollars and fifty cents? I have that at ho—”

“Fifteen hundred and fifty dollars!”

Brendan whistles. “That's a lot of money.”

“I know.” The man looks at me. “This woman has acted irresponsibly with my property. Has she sent you here to bargain with me? Is that woman your mother?”

“No, she's not.”

He shrugs. “Whatever. When I called her, she insisted I made the dent. She refuses to pay.”

“Sue her,” says Brendan.

“Or charge her credit card,” I add.

He shakes his head. “That crazy lady said she'll dispute the charges. She said no one will believe me. I am a small businessman who doesn't want any trouble. I have three kids and a wife to feed. I can't wait while I have to fight with her credit company. It will take months to straighten out. If I can't rent that car, I could go out of business.”

“Antonia took advantage of both of us,” I say.

“She's a bad lady,” he says.

“Could we compromise?” says Brendan. “Since you're both in trouble.”

“Like what?” asks the man.

“We'll talk her into paying you, and you can give the plays to Sarah.”

“It isn't fair to the people who wrote those plays,” I say. “They have nothing to do with this. A lot of innocent kids are going to suffer.”

“I can't let you have them until I get a guarantee that the dent will be paid for. I'm sorry.” He looks at his watch. “I have to get back to work. Tell that crazy woman I'll be back.”

We watch him leave.

“What am I going to do?” I say.

I hear a noise below. We peer over the railing. Antonia is quietly sneaking up the stairs. She reaches the landing, looking in the direction of the man. She turns to go in the bungalow but stops when she sees me. She's wearing big sunglasses and a beautiful purple and pink sundress, and she's carrying an expensive-looking tote bag. She still looks like a movie star. I want to run up and fling my arms around her. Instead, I say, “Antonia, you have to pay that man.”

She turns and bolts down the stairs.

NINETEEN

We race after her.

“Antonia!”

“Not now,” she says. “Go away, Sally.”

“It's Sarah!” She quickens her pace.

“Stop,” I say, grabbing her arm.

“I really have to go.” She tries to pull away. “No! Please!” She frees her arm.

“Antonia, you have to pay for that dent.”

“Sarah's plays are in that car,” adds Brendan. “The man won't give them back until you pay.”

Antonia fans herself. “It's so hot. I can't think. I need to sit down. I need water.”

“Let's go back upstairs,” I suggest.

“No.” She backs away. “I can't go back there. He'll find me.”

“Just pay him and get it over with,” says Brendan. “Fifteen-fifty isn't that much for a best-selling author.”

“It's not Mr. Rent-a-Dream I'm worried about.” She sobs. “You don't know the trouble I'm in.” She sways and I grab her. “Please, get me something to drink. I'm dizzy.”

“Come upstairs, I'll find something.”

“No, I can't.… Please … Water … My blood pressure … I'll pass out.”

“Brendan, do you mind? I'll stay with her.”

“Better you than me.” He walks toward the boardwalk.

Antonia stumbles, weaving among the sunbathers. She reaches the water's edge, kneels, and fans herself with her hat. She looks like a child who's lost her parents.

I sit in the wet sand next to her. A little girl runs by, giggling as she tries to escape a wave. “Oh, to be young again,” says Antonia. “To start over so my life wouldn't be in ruins.”

“It's not in ruins,” I say. “You have a lot of fans and a movie deal.”

“I'm in big trouble, child. Charlene wrote
Enraptured Thorns in My Heart.
She gets all the royalties. I pay alimony to three husbands who've never worked a day in their lives. They're young, handsome, and blood-thirsty.” She scoops a fistful of sand and lets it slowly seep out of her hand. “I have dozens of credit cards. Every one of them is maxed out. There are collection agencies who would like to find me, too. And then there's this annoying little man who says I stole his plot for
Love Hath No Fury.
”

“Did you?” I ask.

“It's possible that I might have read his manuscript at a writer's conference. I really don't remember. He can't sue me. I'm broke. So he called me this morning and said he is going to go to the press.”