Saturday Night (10 page)

But the wind was louder than her cries.

Emily could feel the lightning hitting her. She could feel what it would be like to be cooked from the inside: having that electricity course through her body, ripping through her limbs, cooking her brain. What would be left of me after lightning got me? thought Emily. Would I still have a soul after my mind was literally fried?

Above her the huge trees tossed wildly, their branches rubbing together with a scream like wolves after prey.

Very slowly Emily Edmundson pushed herself across the leather seat, onto the wet cold parts the wind had drenched. Very slowly she levered herself outside the car entirely and stood on the pavement, while prickly evergreen needles stabbed through her gown and rain wet her hair down to her skull.

If I step on that live wire, she thought, will there be time to know what’s happening? Time to mutter, Oh for heaven’s sake, in disgust before I die?

She climbed over branches. Her gown caught on the sticky sap, and the sharp prongs of a branch ripped it. She gathered the dress neatly around her waist, fought grimly through the tree, and reached the side of the wrecked car … a collection of rips, tears, and mud.

Matt was halfway in the front seat. The driver’s door was bent so he couldn’t open it all the way. It kept slapping against him when the wind caught it. His ribs will be broken while he stands there, Emily thought.

“He’s bleeding bad,” said Matt when she slid over next to him. “Unconscious. I can keep enough pressure on this major wound to stop most of the bleeding, though. But Emily, you’ve got to go for an ambulance. There was a house up the road half a mile.”

Half a mile? In this? Alone?

Matt’s position was awful: He was hunched in a backbreaking way over the victim. Rainwater ran off a tree branch and into his hair; the wind smacked the car door against him again. When Emily did not move, he frowned at her. “Hurry up!” he yelled over the wind, and went back to the hurt man behind the wheel.

She climbed back over the fallen fir tree. She was afraid of the woods. She didn’t dare circle through the forest and come back out on the road again. Lightning thoughtfully struck again, so she could see where she was going. The road, in her one terrified glance, appeared to be free of wires.

But the wire was there somewhere.

Waiting for her.

Emily began walking forward. She tiptoed, so that less of her foot could come in contact with something. Twenty steps forward she touched something with her left foot. Emily screamed, louder than she or anybody else in history had ever screamed before. The scream itself was so terrifying that it made Emily leap forward, moved by her own adrenalin. It felt like an electric shock, and even as she ran she sobbed, thinking,
It got me, it got me.

She had no dress left to speak of. One huge portion of the skirt had torn entirely away, and the rest dragged after her like a broken leg.

And to think that none of this would have happened if she had paid attention and told Matt to take the turn he was supposed to take.

Only hours before she had had the pampering of her life. That hot perfumed beauty shop. Sitting under the hooded dryer, dreamily staring through an old
Glamour
. The babble of voices around her was drowned out by the hot air that rushed to bake her new curls. And when Emily came out, there was the wonderful warm brushing of her hair. Nothing was more pleasurable than having her hair brushed. But then, she thought, waiting for Michael the hairdresser to finish her, her sensual experiences were zero. From what she had read, there were many things more wonderful than having your hair brushed. As Michael used a blow dryer to finish one little curl, then frowned into the mirror and tried an electric curling iron to perfect the lock, Emily pretended that tonight, at the Autumn Leaves Dance, she would find out about some of those wonderful things.

Now what could she look like?

Emily hated going swimming, because when she came out of the water with her hair plastered to her skull and her makeup gone or staining her cheeks, she looked ridiculous if not downright ugly.

And here she was utterly destroyed by wind and water.

And oh, so cold. The temperature felt like February in a blizzard. She ran, her side hurting. I’ll probably die of exposure, she thought. She slipped on a patch of leaves slick from rain and fell heavily on her side. She wasn’t hurt, but the heel had broken off her right shoe. She tripped immediately, fell, and tore her knee open.

Thunder.

It rattled her heart, so close it was like being inside the bass drums of the marching band. Emily felt as if she had been staggering forever through the wind, attacked by lightning, assaulted by the branches that lay in the road like so many animal traps in the dark.

Another tree began to fall.

Emily froze in place, terrified. The tree fell with remarkable,
Twilight Zone
-like slowness. It took her a while to realize that its own roots and other tree branches were slowing it down. It came to rest rather quietly on the far side of the road. Emily could not even hear the sobs that were wracking her over the howling of the wind.

She could not believe this was Westerly, only a mile or two from her own home. This was some other, terrible planet.

Ahead of her she saw the lights of the only house on the road.

How could they not have lost their electricity?

Was she truly in the
Twilight Zone
?

Or maybe it had been the cable tv wire, or the telephone wire, that had terrified her so thoroughly.

She stumbled forward.

I can never go to the dance now, she thought. It’s all ruined. My hair, my dress, my lace stockings, my shoes.

She pounded on the door, and fell inside, weeping, as it was opened to her.

Slow music.

Sweetly, softly, wafting them all the more deeply into each other’s arms. Beth Rose vaguely recognized the melody. It’s usually much faster, she thought. The band changed it so we could dance slow.

Me. Dancing in Gary’s arms. Slow.

She truly felt like Cinderella in Prince Charming’s arms. Aunt Madge will like that, she thought. Aunt Madge as Fairy Godmother. It’s perfect.

She found herself glancing at her tiny watch, to see how many hours till midnight, and the end of the magic spell.

They had dimmed the lights and turned off the wild, flashing strobe lights that had accompanied the fast music. The band played under enough light for them to recognize each other’s faces, but certainly not to read music by. The kids danced almost in darkness. Beth loved it. “If the storm knocks out the electricity, we’ll never even know,” she said to Gary.

He laughed. “We won’t hear from the guitars again any time soon, if the electricity goes.” He put both arms around her now. She had never danced close with a boy. It was too much for concentration. She could not maneuver her feet when Gary’s face was against hers like that; she couldn’t think. But Gary did nothing except sway slightly, and shift a few inches when another couple touched them. That she could manage.

The fabric of her gown rustled against his jacket. The lace that covered her bosom was crushed against the starched front of his evening shirt. Her bare skin touched the white cloth. For a moment she was too tense to relax. He touched her hair and she let herself lean on his shoulder. He was, she guessed, three or four inches taller than she. It was perfect. She could lean on him comfortably, move her own weight in rhythm with him, and resting on his shoulder was like falling in love.

She closed her eyes. It was wonderful that way, because nothing intruded on her happy thoughts. When at last she opened her eyes, it was even nicer. She was used to the dark, and she could now see that people were looking at her.

She knew that she was as beautiful as Gary was handsome. She knew that they made a perfect couple. The people who did not know her wanted to; and the people who
did
know her were intrigued.

She wanted to shout to them all—it’s me! I’ve joined! I’m not the outsider anymore. I can do all the things you guys can do. I can win the games, run the races, have the boys. Just look!

She found herself almost laughing with delight.

“What’s so funny, Beth?” said Gary. He drew back from her so he could see her face. She beamed at him, happiness as much a part of her as her eyebrows and skin. “I’m just having such a good time,” she said joyously. “I didn’t know I would have such a good time! Thank you, Gary.”

To her surprise and shock, Gary’s face became expressionless.

He did not, as she had hoped, lean down to kiss her.

He looked away.

I did something wrong, Beth Rose thought. What could I have done wrong? I was just being honest. I thought you were supposed to be honest.

The dance ended.

They stood without speaking on the dance floor and couples all around them hugged and went back to their seats, or headed over for refreshments.

Gary gave her a perfunctory smile, and she knew in an instant he was going to leave her.

Panic walked over her like an insect, and she shivered. Gary looked faintly puzzled, but nothing more.

But the music started up again, this time fast and rowdy and wild, and everyone left on the dance floor began shouting along with the song, and stomping their feet. Gary danced. He was really dancing alone, not even touching or looking at her, but she danced, too. The dance was wrong for the dress. It was a dance for blue jeans and a torn sweat shirt. Here she was in a froth of pale pink and antique ivory. But she danced anyhow, lifting the skirt so she wouldn’t catch her feet on the hems of lace. It was weird to dance with her hands holding onto the dress. Beth liked to use her hands and arms a lot when she danced to rock, and now they weren’t available. What could she look like?

Whatever she looked like, Gary seemed to be pleased. He circled her, came back to her, grinned at her, and danced like a madman.

I know what I did wrong, Beth Rose thought. I made him responsible for giving me a good time.

I’ve got to remember he didn’t bring me here. He just materialized at the door when I did. I cannot place demands on him, or expect anything from him. I’ve got to leave every door open just the way it was, so he can leave any time without feeling guilty. He’s going to leave anyhow; I have to let him leave easily.

The joy faded from the wild dance.

What an assignment! Have fun—but know it will end any moment.

Truly, thought Beth Rose Chapman, I am Cinderella. But there is no glass slipper. He won’t come to my house tomorrow, begging to marry me. I have this minute, and that is all.

Their name was Gorman. They were her parents’ age, and they were very calm, very reassuring, and their telephone worked. After they reached the ambulance and the utility company, they called Mr. Edmundson to bring Emily a change of clothing. She sat, wrapped in an old afghan, on a kitchen chair, feeling that she could sleep for a week.

“Do you think I could take a shower?” she said. Her voice sounded floaty to her, removed from herself, somehow.

“In a little bit, dear,” said Mrs. Gorman gently. “I think we’re going to send you to the emergency room first, though.”

“Me?” said Emily. “The lightning missed me and so did the tree.”

“The gravel didn’t,” said Mr. Gorman.

Emily could remember no gravel.

“Honey, your shoes fell apart,” said Mrs. Gorman, “and stockings aren’t much protection against a gravel road.”

“Amazing you could run on it at all,” said her husband.

Emily looked at her feet, and quickly looked away. She did not care for the sight of blood.

I was so afraid of the lightning and the dark and the thunder and Matt’s disapproval that I didn’t think of being afraid of other things, too. Except my clothes. I didn’t want to ruin them.

The Gormans hovered over her, telling her how wonderful she was to have suffered so much to rescue a stranger in distress.

Emily said nothing. She was ashamed to admit she suffered only so Matt would not think less of her, and ran not so much to save a life as to get out of the storm.

The afghan she was wrapped in was very old. Any itchiness from the yarn was long gone; there was nothing left of it but softness and weight and comfort. She felt herself falling asleep. The whole school is dancing, she thought, and I’m sleeping it off in somebody’s living room while we wait for an ambulance.

She was aware of sirens, and flashing lights, and the Gormans talking, but nothing seemed related to Emily. She was surprised to be put on a stretcher. “Doesn’t mean there’s anything seriously wrong with you, honey,” said the attendant, grinning at her. “It’s just the way we do it. Lie down, kid. You’re quite the heroine. You know who that guy was in the car? Your boyfriend saved his life.”

My boyfriend, thought Emily, savoring those two words, smiling at such a lovely thought. “Who?” she said, as they strapped her in.

“Jasper L. Chase.”

She had never heard of him. “He wasn’t that badly hurt then?” she said anxiously.

“He was hurt real bad. Your boyfriend saved his life,” he repeated. “And so did you, getting here. You can be real proud, honey.”

“How come you’re not dressed in white ?” she asked. They slid her into the ambulance and closed the doors behind them.

“We’re volunteers. We have twelve-hour shifts of being on call,” he explained. “I was at home working on my son’s train set. That’s why I’m a little greasy around the edges.”

“I’ve never minded a little grease around the edges,” Emily said.

“Good thing, sweetheart, because if there’s one thing you need, it’s a long hot shower.”

He was joking, but that remark took all the fun out of it in a hurry. Did she look that dreadful? How horrible. She didn’t want anybody to see her like this! She wanted to go home and start the afternoon all over again, beginning with the hairdresser at three.

In the emergency room, a very kind doctor cleaned her up briskly. “Mostly deep scratches, my dear,” she said. “Nothing to leave a scar. I’m just going to put some stitches into this ankle and you’ll be fine.”