Becca (11 page)

“I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.” She tilted
her head to one side, still toying with her cup and not looking at him. “Greg
is a little intimidating because he’s a big guy, so nobody’s ever really tried
to make a play.”

“Well, they can now.”

“Yeah, they can.”

“But how will they know
you’re available?”

“I’ll be the one to make
a move.” She smiled.

“Watch out world, Becca’s
on the loose.”

She giggled. “I’m not
after the world, Josh. I’m particular. Like you. I also have a check list.”

“I bet it’s pages long.”

“Naw, I’ve got just two
things on mine: I have to like him and he has to like me.”

“Well, then you’ll have
an easier time than I will.”

She sighed. “You can be
so dense.” She stared at him a moment before continuing. “I’m only going to
make my move when I think I found the guy I want to move with me.” She shook
her head and laughed. “Oh, listen to me. That sounded so corny.”

“Naw. I know what you
meant. Not just anybody will do.”

“Yes. The only problem is
I’m afraid the guy I want to make a move on might not feel the same way.”

“But if you like him, and
he likes you as per your qualifications, that shouldn’t be an issue.”

“It will be if he doesn’t
know
he likes me. I’m afraid I’ll turn on the charm and he won’t notice
it.”

“How could that be
possible? I think you’d charm the pants of the Pope.”

She smiled. “I’m not
interested in him.” She stared at his face, concentrating on his eyes, his mouth,
and then his eyes again. “You are something else, you know that?”

“Okay.” Bert smiled and
watched her looking at his face, saw her eyes travel from one feature to
another; to his hair, his ears, his mouth and then at his eyes. She had pretty
eyes. Long eyelashes, and a cute nose; her lips were full and shiny. “What,” he
said, “do I have a zit or something?”

She shook her head slowly.
“No.”

“Oh, good, it would
devastate me. I’ve made it through my teen years without even one. I would hate
to have them start popping up now. So when you do find this guy to move on with
what’s Greg going to say?”

“Nothing.”

“He doesn’t care?”

“He does, but he knows
better than to say anything.” She looked down at her cup again. “It’s not so
much Greg I’m concerned with really, it’s my father.”

“The tyrant.”

“I hate him.”

“No you don’t.”

She looked at him
sharply, her face a mask of anger. “Don’t
tell
me who I can or cannot
hate,
Josh. He’s my father, and I can
hate
him. And I
do
.”

“What could he have done
to you to make you hate him?”

“It’s not what he did to
me. It’s what he didn’t do—” She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to talk
about it. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

“That’s true. But you
don’t want to talk about you, and I really don’t like talking about me, so I
guess this is as far as it gets—information wise.”

“And otherwise,
buckaroo…” she smiled. “I’m sure at some point we’ll have a nice long chat
about each other, but there’s no need really. I mean, what’s the point? She
leaned back in her seat, took off her headband, and ran her hand through her
locks, then brushed hair from her eyes.

Bert tapped his fingers
on the table.

“Oh, my, that’s not a
good sign,” Becca said.

“What?”

“The finger tapping. It
means you’re bored. You should be. I am. So, you ready to go?”

“Dancing?”

“Yup.”

“Are you sure it’s a good
idea?

“Not at all, but I don’t have any others.”
She flipped Bert the car keys. “You
do
have a license don’t you?

“Yes, of course.”

VI

“Let’s do this,” Bert
said as he drove up the narrow road to the Varsity House, “I’ll drop you off at
the door, and you go inside. I’ll follow and we’ll just kind of get together
once we’re inside.”

“Let’s do
this,”
Becca
countered, “we walk in together.”

“They might not like me in
there, let alone you and I walking in together.”

“Look, quit thinking
you’re an outcast or something. Cut yourself a break.”

“You might see someone
you know.”

“That’s very likely.”

“And you’re okay with
it?”

She shrugged. “I’ve
pretty much made up my mind I can’t stop people from seeing us.”

“You talk like this isn’t
the last time people will see us together.”

“Don’t go flattering
yourself. I’m not suggesting anything of the kind.”

The parking lot was
nearly full and he stopped at the door, where a group of people turned their
heads to look at the car.

“What’re you doing?”
Becca asked.

“Your leg’s bothering you.
I’ll let you out here, looks like I’m going to have to find a place to park,”
Bert said. “Know any of them?”

Becca shook her head and got
out of the car to stand near the door as Bert parked the car.

He walked toward the
Varsity House and noticed Becca talking to a couple. The young man leaned over
and said something to her and she laughed, then he and his girl went inside. Faces
turned toward Bert, but no one said anything. Bert knew they were appraising
him and wondered if this had been a mistake. Becca smiled as he opened the door
for her and they stepped inside.

A man at the desk smiled
at Becca and said hello, but greeted Bert with a curt nod and a request for
four dollars. Open windows on their left revealed the golf course. On their
right, a large room served as the dance floor where a bandstand in one corner
held the equipment, the band members having just taken a break. Couples and
singles milled about. As Bert and Becca moved through the crowd, heads turned. Eyes
stared. Becca said hello to people who regarded her and Bert with surprised
looks.

They found a table and
sat down.

“So far so good,” Bert
said. He did not feel relaxed, and kept scanning the crowd for signs of
trouble.

“Quit worrying, Bert,”
Becca said.

Becca excused herself for
the ladies room. Bert sat quietly, watching the crowd that consisted mainly of
younger teenagers, and only a few people his and Becca’s age. People watched
him, but he did not allow their stares to make him feel uncomfortable.

Becca now walked across
the dance floor. He stared at her—following the slim, sensuous curves of her
body and he looked at her eyes, which he saw had been watching him. She wiggled
her hips now, smiling but at the same time favoring her right leg.

“Okay, now you can’t tell
me you weren’t looking at my legs this time. I caught you,” she said as she sat
down. “Like what you saw?”

He shrugged.

“I’m beautiful, Josh.
Admit it.” Becca crossed her arms on the table. “So,” she said, “nobody’s
getting out the tar and feathers.”

“Not yet. Give them
time.”

“What could you possibly
do to warrant being tarred and feathered?”

“What I’m doing now,
talking to a pretty white girl.”

Becca chuckled. “Come on,
Josh. That’s not true.”

“Sure it is. Well it’s half-true.
You’re a white girl.”

She snickered. “There you
go again, insulting me.”

“Why do you hang out with
me?”

“I need my head examined.”

“Okay, well, for the time
we’re hanging out, let’s try and enjoy it, okay? Drink?”

“Coke—lots of ice.”

Bert made his way through
the growing throng on the dance floor. The band had taken its place and the
drummer tapped his sticks and band began playing
I Ain’t Gonna Eat My Heart
Anymore—
their sound close enough to the Rascals to elicit some shouts and
applause from the audience. He circled the dance floor, aware the crowd
scrutinized him to find out who his date was—or perhaps if he’d just wandered in
on his own.

As he approached the
table, Bert saw Becca was rubbing her leg, and she her face wore a frown. “Your
leg’s bothering you?” he asked.

“No. Yes. It comes and
goes, but lately it’s been bad. I don’t know how I hurt it.”

They sat in silence for a
minute or two. Becca looked around, smiling at people with whom she made eye
contact.

“We’re being watched,”
Bert said.

“Oh yes we are. And
nobody’s bothering us. You can relax and enjoy it.”

The band paused briefly
and then started singing a
Long, Long Time.

“Oh my God, I love that
song. Let’s go watch,” Becca said.

They went into the dance floor
and made their way to stand close to the bandstand. The lights had dimmed and
some couples began dancing to the singer’s rendition of Linda Rondstadt’s hit.

Bert felt a tugging on
his shirtsleeve. He bent his head toward Becca.

“Dance with me, Josh.”

“I don’t—” He was going
to say “I don’t dance” but he saw the look in her eyes. She was not asking, she
was demanding.

They went to the middle
of the dance floor and Becca raised her hand to Bert, he took it in his and
slipped his arm around her waist, while her other arm went to his shoulder. They
started moving, awkwardly because Bert was trying to remember the basic box
step and Becca was way ahead of him. Plus, there was the distraction of her
hot, soft hand in his and the feel of her slim, taut body under her clothing.

“Follow me, Josh,” she
said, “and relax for crying out loud.”

“I’m not good at this.”

“Really? You’re doing
fine.”

“Well only because you’re
leading me, otherwise I’d be all over the place.”

“Well, we can’t have that.
Hold me closer, get a better grip; I’m not going to break.”

She moved into him,
against him, forcing legs and torsos to touch. Her arm went from his shoulder
to around his waist. “Loosen up, Josh.”

“I
am
loose.”

She smiled into his eyes.
“Hey…hey, what is
that?
Is that a roll of quarters in your pocket?”

“I don’t have quarters in
my pocket.”

“Oh,
God,
you’re
thick.”

“Ah, got it now.
Shit…sorry.”

“You’re slow, Josh.”

“Well, maybe. But I think
you’re being kind.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It should feel like a
roll of Lifesavers.”

Becca’s laughed heartily.
“Oh,
God
, I love you.” She said with a look of sheer joy on her face. He
smiled at her, and she felt an excitement she had no felt in a long time. Then
she looked away, at other couples and at the band, and then back at him. He was
trying desperately not to make a misstep. “Relax, Josh,” she said and he looked
at her.

“How am I doing?” he
asked.

“Okay, but you’re too
tense. Relax. Hold me for crying out loud.” Her hand slipped out of his and she
put both hands around his neck and rested her head against his chest. His hands
rested on her hips, the thin material of her dress felt like her skin against
his hands.

Bert could not relax. Becca’s
body against him would not allow it. He felt awkward—as if everyone watched
them, and they waited for him to step on her foot, or trip over his own feet. Her
hands held him to her as if she was afraid that he would drift away from her. Her
body, sensuously hot and lithe against him—so close that when she moved his
body followed suit as if he had no control over it. The feel of her softness
under his hands spread a heat up his arms to chest and he knew that she felt
his raging heart—heard it. He began to perspire. He wanted the song to end so
he could release her—or she could release him. Her perfume embraced him; the
aroma teased him to arousal. He fought that sensation but could not.

“Definitely a role of
quarters,” Becca mumbled and giggled. Soon she was singing along with the band,
and mumbled “Oh yeah” when she realized the band was playing the long version
of the song.

Bert hung on. Becca was
in charge.

When the song ended, she
raised her head from his chest and looked up at him. “You dance very well.”

“I wasn’t dancing; I was
just hanging on for dear life. You were doing all the work. He smiled. “Sorry
about the quarters.”

“Nope. Don’t be.”

“I’m embarrassed.”

“Why? I think it’s neat. That
never happened with Greg.”

“Well, of course it
wouldn’t.”

She laughed and stepped
away from him as the band launched into
Light My Fire.
Smiling at him,
she started dancing. Bert watched her, she had the rhythm perfect, moving her
body with her legs and feet doing crazy things and all the while she looked at
him, smiling. Bert picked up the beat and started his inept imitation of
someone who thought they could dance. Becca’s smile widened and she moved in
close to him.