Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight (13 page)

As I had suspected from the beginning, he
was indeed very handsome when he was normal. I warned myself that I
needed to stop staring, but he caught me and let me know by
flashing me a wink and a smile. That made me lose focus on my
approach and I slipped on an icy patch.

Naturally, I wished it had happened to
someone other than me for a variety of reasons, but particularly
because it must have looked spectacular—it sure felt that way—and I
wished I could have seen it.

One second I was trudging forward, the next
I was airborne and sickeningly horizontal with a straight-on view
of my boots before I made solid contact with the driveway again.
After the deep impact I actually saw stars (or maybe that was just
the disturbed snow floating back to earth). At any rate, I couldn’t
breathe and I couldn’t bear to get up and face the car, which was
now full of howling hysterics, about three feet above my head, only
slightly muffled by the car’s frame.

Suffering from equal parts mortification and
debilitation, I just lay there, pretending to be knocked out. An
uncharitably long time passed until finally Trevor eased his door
open, which passed over my face by mere inches, and stuck his head
out to examine me—working hard to stifle a smile, but not hard
enough in my opinion. Then he stepped out over me and helped me
first to a sitting and then a standing position. Next he set about
removing the crust of snow now clinging to my backside. When he had
dusted my rear longer than I could stand, I thanked him and moved
out of his reach to reclaim the backpack and take my place in the
peanut gallery that was the back seat.

I made the sixth addition to the group and
the girls in the back seat squashed up to make room for me, though
Trevor’s late model car was made in the era before safety (B.S. as
I fondly considered it), when four people could ride comfortably
side by side in the back of a sedan, as long as having your own
seatbelt wasn’t an issue. The squashing was due mostly to the extra
layers of winter wear, not the excess of bodies.

Besides the spontaneous and poorly subdued
giggles of remembrance, there were various sounds of derision as I
was prompted to explain about the two large thermoses I was lugging
in the backpack. When I wordlessly produced a bottle of Godiva
Chocolate Liqueur from a side pocket, the atmosphere and my social
standing improved immediately.

They were all about the ‘special’ hot
chocolate within two minutes outside of the car, because it felt
like fifty degrees below zero as we stood in the parking lot at the
top of Mount Cherokee. Coming clean, I’ll admit that this didn’t
truly qualify as underage drinking. The supply of chocolate liqueur
that the bottle once contained had been mostly used up during my
mom’s recent “chocolatini” (chocolate martini) phase. But since I
was going more for perception than actual effect, I had filled the
empty bottle with leftover hot chocolate, dumping in extra
chocolate syrup to darken the liquid, making it appear to be
something more than it was.

I was amazed at how much room there was in
the trunk of this car. It actually held three sleds. I would have
bet money against that, but seeing was believing as we gathered
around the tail end to help unload and I could see them stacked
neatly on their sides, back to back to back.

It was surprising to me that no one else was
there at the hill with us. It was usually a very popular spot on a
day like this. There was another car at the other end of the lot,
but it looked like a businessman because he was talking on his cell
phone and keying away on this laptop at the same time. Maybe he was
the first to arrive in a ‘team building’ outing with others from
his office, and I amused myself with the image of people in
business attire without coats, cell phones in hands, streaking down
the hill at mach three.

Since there were three sleds and six people,
the pairing up seemed like it should have been a straightforward
endeavor, but this brought on another round of subtle maneuvering.
I figured it was the perfect time to do some not so subtle
maneuvering of my own.

“I’m just here to watch, so one of you lucky
contestants (oops, did I say that out loud?) can have a sled to
themselves.”

Trevor snickered more loudly than he’d
intended, trying to squelch it half way through, unsuccessfully.
Turning to me he quickly added, “Sorry, babe. Nobody just watches
today.”

I could tell he wanted it to seem like the
half laugh and his subsequent comment were related, but in a moment
of wordless communication that flowed between us, we both knew they
were about separate subjects.

With a sled dragging behind its rope in one
of his hands he walked past me and hooked me from behind under my
arm with his other hand. For the second time in a half hour I
dropped my backpack in the snow.

“You’re with me. Let’s go.”

It was a command from the Emperor, and there
was no other option but to obey.

I remained stoic as I kept pace with my
abductor, moving forward to my impending doom. We walked about
twenty yards from the car to the middle of the crest of the hill.
He set the sled down just a few feet back from the precipice and
ordered me to sit in front. For a panic stricken moment I feared he
might shove me off for a ride by myself, but apparently he wasn’t
quite that evil. I felt his weight settle in behind and then around
me as he tucked his legs around mine and slipped his feet onto the
guides in the front of the sled. Then his arms clamped around my
waist and his chin was on my shoulder. We just sat there for an
uneasy moment.

I could feel his breath on the side of my
face.

“So, you enjoy watching the contest too?” he
asked, punctuating his question with a chuckle.

I was startled by this beginning and made an
involuntary move, turning my face in the direction of his voice,
trying to see his face.

Wrong answer.

My movement placed my cheek squarely against
his face. He couldn’t resist teasing me and pushed back with a huge
kiss. Even though it was cryonic outside, it felt like August
inside my coat and under my hat.

He sighed and whispered in my ear, “But you
don’t consider yourself a contestant, do you?”

I tried to lean away from him, but he was
all around me and there was nowhere to go. And then we were flying.
This hill was very steep and quite a long way down. When the
hillside was green it was part of a public golf course. I wondered
how quickly a park ranger might arrive to shoo us away. Not quickly
enough to save me now.

I wouldn’t call the ride pleasurable, by any
means, but I didn’t feel as frightened as I expected. The
confidence that constantly radiated from Trevor must have
influenced my mood, perhaps transferred more efficiently through
the direct contact of his tight hold on me.

I was struck at how Trevor could actually
control our direction. I thought the ability to steer a sled was
only an urban legend.

The extra weight of two people increased our
momentum and we shot down the hill like a rocket. I was listening
for the sound of our sonic boom. Instead there was an eerie quiet,
broken only by the sound of the slats skimming against the snow,
and my embarrassingly loud, out of control breathing.

Trevor could tell I was scared and hugged me
tighter, in a move that was meant to be reassuring, I think. My
involuntary response was to stop breathing all together.

Because he could actually steer, we were
able to extend our time on the sled considerably. On this hill,
most rides ended quickly in an ‘abandon ship’ style debarking
technique using the ground to slow one’s velocity as opposed to
having a tree perform that service.

He effortlessly guided us toward and between
the trees into no-man’s land and uncharted territory. I stopped
being scared and opted for being amazed. He had found the cart path
that wound its way down to the next fairway and beyond. Since we
had launched from the highest point on the course (and the county,
for that matter) our downward momentum combined with his incredible
navigation skills turned an ordinary sled ride into something more
like a joyride through a snowy, sunlit fairyland. I leaned back
into his chest and breathed deep, surprised to be enjoying the
pleasure of the moment.

Suddenly I was in another cold place,
thousands of miles and tears away, being held by different and
better arms. Another voice was whispering reassurances in my ear. I
closed my eyes and gave way, just letting myself be there again.
All the external sensations were right: I was very cold, moving
fast in a lonely, glistening white landscape. Strong arms were
tucked around my shape, keeping me warm and secure. I was feeling
safe and vaguely happy, instead of scared, like I should. All the
sensations were there except for the feeling in my heart. That felt
all wrong.

Instead of being full and bigger than it
ever had been, it was empty…at first…then it felt heavy…with the
weight of pain. My eyes snapped open, trying to escape.

We were coming to a slow stop as the fairway
leveled to an open plateau. It was stupid to hope that simply
returning to present time, place and company would ward off the
emotion I’d just unleashed. Building to a huge swell, I could feel
the wave cresting in my mind, the water surging in my eyes.

Great.

The last thing I needed was to cry in front
of Trevor. I sniffed, hoping that he would think it was because of
the extreme cold. There was no way I would be able to hide the
tears from him though. I needed time to get control and get myself
together. It felt like I had come unglued.

This was my first ‘episode’ in months. I
thought I was all better now. But the complex combination of
sights, sounds and temperature was too similar, like being in the
very same car at the very same intersection, getting t-boned all
over again.

Time was almost up. We were drifting very
slowly now, just crawling. Finally we came to rest. Sitting in
silence, perfectly still, it was like we had been painted into a
glistening still frame, shimmering in the sun. I sniffed again.

I went on the offense, trying to buy
time.

“Do you mind if we just sit for a minute?’ I
whispered, knowing my normal voice would malfunction and expose my
very fragile emotional state.

“Whatever you want,” was the quiet
response.

In the back of my mind, I wondered what
Trevor trying to be sensitive and comforting would look like.
Somehow it seemed funny to me, especially since my mind constructed
the scene with him in full Goth.

Yes. This was good…exactly what I needed…to
laugh and be diverted. We were quiet and still for a time. His arms
were still around me. It felt good. I was freezing and he was
wonderfully warm.

I desperately needed to think about
something else. I was inspired with more offense.

“Why do you tease me so much?” I asked,
still whispering.

He wasn’t ready for that one, I guess. He
shifted uncomfortably, sniffed and cleared his throat.

Good. Have some of your own medicine, I
thought, although that wasn’t my reason for asking.

“Are you upset with me?” he replied.

Don’t answer me with a question! Darn
it!

“No, I just wonder why,” I countered, still
whispering.

“You don’t enjoy it, then?”

Another question!

Being peeved about his debriefing style
helped me find my voice.

“It just seems like other people might
deserve teasing more than I do, sometimes.”

It came out with a bit more bite than I’d
planned.

He laughed quietly and retorted, “So what do
you deserve, then?”

I was done with his questions. This
conversation hadn’t taken the direction I’d expected. How did this
end up in me explaining myself when that’s what he was supposed to
be doing? I started over.

“Why do you tease me so much?”

He chuckled and mercifully conceded.

“I like you…and…I can’t help myself.”

He sounded a little rueful but I couldn’t
tell for sure.

“You can’t help liking me or teasing me?” I
countered right back.

“Both.”

This was punctuated with a quick, slightly
embarrassed sounding laugh.

It was strange having this conversation with
a person I couldn’t actually see. He must have felt the same way
because he picked me up and shifted me sideways on his lap.

Game over.

“Geez! Are you okay?” he was genuinely
alarmed. The frigid air must have suspended my face’s efforts to
dry, unredden, and generally recover itself. I sniffed
involuntarily.

“I’m fine. Just cold,” I lied.

“The cold makes you cry?” he asked,
incredulous.

“Yeah,” I answered, staring up the hill,
trying to hide my face.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he commanded, very
serious now.

It sounded like he was removing his gloves.
Then with bare hands he wiped my face. I was still looking up and
away. A warm hand made contact with my chin and towed my face back
around. He moved his face in and down to the level of my eyes.

“What’s making you cry?”

He was all intensity now. Even though I
could finally see him, it was still strange having this
conversation. He didn’t look like the Trevor I was used to, so it
was like confessing to a stranger.

I tried to figure out what I could say that
would be true but not embarrassing. I came up with, “Being on the
sled brought back some strong memories…it made me sad…but I’m okay
now…really.”

I forced a weak smile at the end, trying to
be convincing. He knew I’d lost my dad. Hopefully he’d assume
that’s what I was referring to and drop it.

More wordless communication passed between
us as he searched my eyes for the details lacking in my
explanation. He knew there was much more and he knew he wasn’t
getting access to any of it. Sighing in acceptance he leaned in to
kiss my forehead.