My Boyfriends' Dogs (28 page)

Amber and Mom took the unspoken hint and disappeared with the dogs to another part of the house so Eric and I could finish our dance lesson in private. After he played the part of instructor and showed me some fancy waltz moves, I decided I was tired of his version of slow dancing.

“My turn,” I told him, popping in a soothing Norah Jones CD. “Now, here's the correct position.” I inched as close as I could get to him and reached my arms around his neck. “Your arms fold around me like this.” Eric played along. I rested my head on his chest and felt his head on mine.

“Now, none of that fancy stepping. Just lean side to side. That's the way.” This was how boys in Millet danced, in a moving hug.

“How am I doing, coach?” he whispered, his hand moving up and down my spine.

“You, young man, are a quick learner.” I loved being held by Eric. We moved together, pressing closer. I felt his lips, his breath, on my head, my cheek. Still wrapped in each other's arms, we kissed. I'd felt passion for Eric every time we were together. But this was something more. My heart was racing.

Eric ended the kiss, and I sensed his whole body sigh. “Bailey? ”

“Mmm-hmmm? ”

“I want to be sure of something.”

“Anything.”

He smoothed my hair and whispered, “When I'm moving like this with you . . . are we traveling around the Virgin Islands? ”

I gulped. I knew exactly what he was asking. With my face buried in his chest, I nodded. I knew this would happen. It always did. It was amazing it hadn't before now.

“I thought so,” he said.

I pulled away from him. “Why? Why did you think so? It's not like I haven't had boyfriends before.” What did he think? That nobody had ever wanted me?

“Hey, I respect that, Bailey. I'm glad you haven't sailed off the Virgin Islands with anybody else.”

I relaxed a little. “You are? ”

He smiled down at me. “Of course I am.”

I studied his face, his eyes. He meant what he said. Was it possible that I'd finally met a guy who loved me and respected me for waiting? “It's not that I don't want to.”

“I get it, Bailey. I do. Your first time is so important. You want to be sure, right? ”

“Right.” I also wanted to be married. But the vortex pulling me in to Eric Strang kept me from saying anything more. All I could do was agree with him.

“And when you're sure,” he said, pulling me back into his arms, “I just want you to know that I'm here for you. And I hope you'll let me be your first.”

In a way, it was good that I had four months to prom. I needed to lose at least two pounds a month to fit into my prom dress. And I needed all of my waltzing lessons. The weeks flew by in a flurry of senior year activities. Amber and I were reduced to texting each other because she was always slaving on the school paper, and I spent so much time working, or playing, at the country club.

Eric and I, on the other hand, spent more and more time together. The subject of “Virgin Islands” didn't come up again. I wanted to know what Eric was thinking, but I wasn't about to pry it out of him.

It was early March when Roni begged me to come over and check on her newts. Eric was off with the debate team, and nobody else was home. The first thing I did was free Shirley, who spent way too much time in the basement kennel. The little dog was so glad to see me that I decided I'd take her home with me for a couple of nights.

“This way,” Roni said, leading me through her enormous bedroom to her private bath. I'd never been in her room before. Her bed was made, and she had nature prints on her walls.

“So where are the daggers tacking up posters of Dracula? ” I asked.

“Shut up!” she called from the bathroom. “And get in here.” Her bathroom was as big as my bedroom. “I'm scared, Bailey. I'm not even sure Moe's alive.”

The two newts, slimy, shiny black lizards, were sprawled on rocks at opposite ends of the aquarium. They weren't moving. “Which is which? ”

“Don't be so
bête
. Curly's female, and Moe's male. I thought they'd get together by now and have a baby, and I'd call him Larry. Then I'd have all three stooges.”

“I don't think they do it that way, you know? One lays eggs, and the other fertilizes. I don't think they ever touch each other.”

“No sex? ” she asked. “No wonder they're so sad.”

I glanced at Roni and wondered if she'd already had sex.

She caught me studying her. “No, I haven't,” she said.

“What? ” I asked, as if she hadn't read my mind.

“You and Eric haven't either, right? ”

“How did you know? Did he tell you? ”

“Are you kidding? ” She laughed.

“So, do you think it's weird that we haven't? ”

“No!”

“Well, do you think that it's weird we don't even talk about it? ”

“Eric? It would be weird if you did. Not a great talker, my brother.”

“Are you kidding? Eric can talk to anybody about anything. There's a reason he's captain of the debate team.”

“That's because they don't talk about anything past layer three.” She reached into the aquarium and stroked Moe with her fingertip. The newt moved. “Look! He's okay.”

“Wait a minute. Explain ‘layer three.'”

Relief spread over Roni's face. She really cared for the slimy creatures. “What? Oh. Layer three. Like, out of ten. It's my personal onion theory. See, it's like we've all got layers on layers, going deep inside, to layer ten, that place where we're spiritual and private. But we don't show those deep layers. Strangs, for example, can live their whole lives on the top couple of layers. We don't like to dig into others or ourselves.”

I thought about the way Eric had cut off my conversation about old boyfriends. And the couple of times I'd mentioned God, he'd changed the subject pretty fast.

“Peeling onions can make you cry,” Roni said. “Did you ever see Eric cry? ”

I shook my head. And Eric had never seen me cry either. Amber, Mom, and I had seen each other cry—cried together—more times than I could remember. I don't think I'd ever seen Eric sad. But so what? What was so wrong with not crying?

“Come here, you.” Roni lifted Curly out and eyed her. “I love you, Curly.”

“That's because Curly doesn't have layers two to ten,” I teased, trying to convince myself that the onion theory was just another of Roni's quirks. “So Curly never cries. See? Made to order for a Strang.”

Roni didn't laugh. She set Curly down again. “No judgments until you've walked a mile in my shoes, Bailey,” she said softly. “So far, you've only walked a few hundred yards.”

 

Roni's onion theory might have had some truth to it. Maybe Eric and I were staying on those top layers of the onion, but they were fun and wonderful layers. I loved working at the club. Eric dropped by all the time. Jeannette too. They both helped out when I worked on retirement parties, debutante balls, and spring galas. Even our own senior prom got shifted from the Tri-County gymnasium to the Riverbend Country Club, thanks to Eric's mother. Tickets would cost more, but most of the kids seemed fine with it.

Not Amber, though. “I mean it,” she complained at lunch when she heard the news about the prom changing locales. “The only good thing about a stupid prom is being able to transform a gym into something cool. Now that's gone!”

“Come on,” I reasoned. “No way could you turn the gym into anything as cool as the club will be.”

“
The
club,
” she muttered. “Eric's mother is behind this, isn't she? ”

I shrugged. Eleanor Strang had used her influence at the club and on the school board to pull this off. She'd bragged about it to Eric and me. More than Amber needed to know.

“I can't wait to write my editorial in the
Rag
. I might throw in something about a link between prom buffets and salmonella,” she muttered.

“Will you give my boyfriend a break? Anyway, he's got a point about salmonella. Did you know that in St. Louis last year—? ”

Amber didn't want to hear it. “I'm boycotting the prom if it's at a country club,” she vowed.

“Amber, you are not.”

“No? Well, you just wait and see.”

 

The rest of our senior year flew by.

Amber kept her word about boycotting the prom. She'd already invited Travis, but two weeks before the prom, she half uninvited him. Instead, they made big plans to watch TV and dog-sit for Mom and me on prom night. Eric's mom had roped my mom into helping chaperone the prom. Like Jeannette, Mrs. Strang was convinced that Eric and I would be on prom court, and she couldn't imagine Mom not wanting to be there to see it. She'd even given Mom a dress, a Strang original (though not a “Unique”), to complement her own. Problem was, our school colors were orange and black. And Mrs. Strang's chaperone dress was black.

“I look like an undergrown pumpkin in this dress,” Mom complained when she tried it on for Amber and me. Adam and Eve barked at her. Shirley, who'd spent the night, hid under the couch.

“It's nice, Big D,” Amber said, obviously fighting off hysterical laughter.

Mom swatted at the poufy skirt as if she could close it like an umbrella. “Do you know that the woman actually had the nerve to tell me she'd picked this one especially for me because she thought I could wear the thing again? ”

Amber's floodgate of laughter broke. “Sure, Big D. Like to Candyland.”

“Stop it, Amber,” I said. But I was laughing, too. The dress really was hideous.

“Plus,” Amber continued, “you never know when they'll have tryouts for
Gone With the Wind
.”

Mom threw couch pillows at us. But she was a good sport and promised to wear the Strang dress to the prom.

 

The week before prom couldn't have gone better if I'd scripted it myself. When the student body voted on the prom court, not only did Eric and I make it, but so did Jeannette and Glen, her date and one of Eric's best buddies. I knew I was just there because everybody loved Eric. But it still felt great, almost like I was living somebody else's life.

 

Prom morning was picture-perfect, with the sun shining in a clear blue sky. Amber promised to come over later and help me get ready. I'd had my hair appointment at Mrs. Strang's favorite salon lined up for two months.

Mom was studying the classifieds for garage sales when I came out to the kitchen. “Morning,” she said. “I can't believe this is your senior prom, Bailey.”

“Know what you mean.” I let Adam and Eve and Shirley outside and watched them in the yard. Shirley loved staying with us. I strongly suspected that on Shirley-sleepover nights, Mom tried to teach the little Shih Tzu to bark. Once I'd caught Mom on hands and knees outside, barking into puzzled Shirley's little face. Shirley romped around with the other dogs, but she still didn't bark.

“Are you going over to Amber's? ”

“I have prom court rehearsal this morning, remember? ” Mrs. Strang had insisted that all five couples rehearse the promenade and the “Royal Waltz,” even though it would only be danced by the king and queen. Eric and I had stopped our waltz lessons around number seven, but I knew the basics.

“That's right.” Mom sighed. “Eleanor wanted
me
to be there. Tell her . . . tell her I didn't have anything to wear to rehearsal.”

“Mom,” I scolded.

“Hey, I'm sacrificing my dignity and wearing a pumpkin to the ball for you, my dear daughter. A tiny white lie is the least you can do for me.”

 

Rehearsal was worse than I thought. Jeannette was sweet as ever, but the other girls snapped at each other. “Jeannette!” Cara Weyland shouted, storming up behind her. “You're standing on my spot. Michael and I are supposed to be there.”

“Sorry,” Jeannette said, retreating to the rear with Eric and me.

“What's with Cara? ” I didn't know her very well. She was a cheerleader, and her parents didn't belong to the country club.

“I think the competition's getting to everybody.” Jeannette smiled at me. “Like they don't know there's no competition here.”

Eric put his arm around my shoulder. “Jeannette, you don't know that. You and Glen have as good a chance as anybody.”

Jeannette narrowed her eyes at him. “Anybody but you guys.”

I knew Eric expected us to win as much as his mother did. I'd be lying if the thought of being prom queen to Eric's prom king didn't make me light-headed. But the whole campaigning thing wasn't something I'd thrown myself into. Eric had, though. And so had all his buddies, which had made me feel bad for Jeannette. They were her friends, too. And Glen's.

I watched Jeannette walk gracefully back to her date. “Do you think Jeannette likes Glen? ” I asked Eric.

Eric frowned down at me. “Of course she likes him.”

I grinned up at my perfect, but dense boyfriend. “I mean
likes
him, as in romance? ”

Eric swung his head around and stared at Jeannette as if I'd just clued him in that she was on fire. Then, seeing no flames, he relaxed. “No way. Jeannette and Glen? ” He shot them one more look, longer this time. “Don't be crazy.”

“What's crazy about Jeannette and Glen together? ” I couldn't explain it, but I felt the old jealousy creeping back in. Why should Eric care if Glen and Jeannette were more than friends?