Since she could not thank the composer, she thanked the performer who had gifted her with an offering superseding any that could be found wrapped in gay ribbons beneath a Christmas tree.
“Thank you, Brian.”
He nodded and handed the Stella back to Jeff. But Jeff had quietly slipped from the room. Brian’s gaze returned to Theresa, still curled up at his feet. Her hair picked up the holiday colors from the lights behind her, and only the rim of her lips and nose was visible in the semi-darkened room.
He slipped from the piano bench onto one knee, bracing the guitar on the carpet, his hand sliding down to curl around its neck. He could not make out the expression in her eyes, though he sensed the time was right ... for both of them. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and the scent he’d detected in the steamy bathroom seemed to drift from her skin and hair—a clean, fresh essence so different from the girls in smoky night spots. Bracing elbow to knee, he bent to touch her soft, unspoiled lips with his own. Her face was uplifted as their breaths mingled, then he heard her catch her own and hold it. The kiss was as innocent and uncomplicated as the Chopin Prelude, but the instant Brian withdrew, Theresa shyly inclined her head. He wanted a fuller kiss, yet this one of green, untutored innocence was oddly satisfying. And she wasn’t the kind of woman a man rushed. She seemed scarcely woman at all, but girl, far less accomplished at the art of kissing than at the art of playing the violin and the piano. Her unpracticed kiss was suddenly more refreshing than any he’d ever shared.
He pushed back, straightened and intoned quietly, “Merry Christmas, Theresa.’’
Her eyes lifted to his face. Her voice trembled. “Merry Christmas, Brian.”
Chapter Five
THE WEEK THAT FOLLOWED
was one of the happiest of Theresa’s life. They had few scheduled duties, the city at their feet and money with which to enjoy it. She and Brian enjoyed being together, though they were rarely alone. Everywhere they went the group numbered four, with Jeff and Patricia along, or five, if Amy came, too, which she often did.
They spent an entire day at the new zoo, which was practically at their doorstep, located less than two miles away, on the east side of Burnsville. There they enjoyed the animals in their natural winter habitat, rode the monorail part of the time, then walked, ate hot dogs and drank hot coffee.
It was a sunless day, but bright, glittery with hoarfrost upon the surface of the snow. The world was a study in black and white. The oak branches startled the eye, so onyx-black against the backdrop of pristine landscape. The animals were sluggish, posed against the winter setting, their breaths rising in nebulous vapors, white on white. But the polar bears were up and about, looking like great shaggy pears with legs. Before their den, Theresa and Brian paused, arms on the rail, side by side. The bears lumbered about, coats pure and as colorless as the day. A giant male lifted his nose to the air, a single black blot against all that white.
“Look at him,” Brian said, pointing. “The only things that are black are his eyes, lips, nose and toenails. On an arctic icefloe he becomes practically invisible. But he’s smart enough to know how that nose shows. I once saw a film of a polar bear sneaking up on an unsuspecting seal with one paw over his nose and mouth.”
It was a new side of Brian Scanlon: nature lover. She was intrigued and turned to study his profile. “Did it work?”
His eyes left the bears and settled on her. “Of course it worked. The poor seal never knew what hit her.” Their eyes clung. Theresa grew conscious of the contact of Brian’s elbow on the rail beside hers—warm, even through their jackets. His eyes made a quick check across her shoulder where the others stood, then returned to her lips before he began to close the space between them. But Theresa was too shy to kiss in public and quickly turned to study the bears. Her cheeks felt hot against the crisp air as Brian’s gaze lingered for a moment before he straightened and said softly, “Another time.”
It happened before the habitat of another animal whose coat had turned winter white. They were watching the ermine coats of the minks when Theresa turned toward Brian, saying, “I don’t think I could wear—”
He was only three inches away, encroaching, with a hand covering his nose and mouth, eyes gleaming with amused intent.
She smiled and pulled back. “What in the world are you doing?”
From underneath his glove came a muffled voice. “I’m trying the polar bear’s sneaky tactics.”
She was laughing when his glove slipped aside and swept around her, his two hands now holding her captive against a black railing. The quick kiss fell on her open lips. It was a failure of a kiss, as far as contact goes, for two cold noses bumped, and laughter mingled between their mouths. After the brief contact, he remained as he was, arms and body forming a welcome prison while she leaned backward from the waist, the rail pressed against her back and her hands resting on the front of his jacket.
“There, you see,” she claimed breathily, “It didn’t work. I saw you coming anyway.”
‘‘Next time you won’t,” he promised.
And she hoped he was right.
__________
PATRICIA TOOK THEM
on a guided tour of Normandale College campus, beaming with pride at its rolling, wooded acres. They were walking along a curving sidewalk between two buildings with Patricia and Jeff in the lead, when Jeff’s elbow hooked Patricia’s neck and he hauled her close, kissing her as they continued ambling. Brian’s eyes swerved to Theresa’s, questioning. But Amy walked with them, and the moment went unfulfilled.
__________
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT
they went to St. Paul’s famed Science Omnitheater and lay back in steeply tilted seats, surrounded by an entire hemisphere of projected images that took them soaring through outer space, whizzing past stars and planets with tummy-tickling reality. But the dizzying sense of vertigo caused by the 180-degree curved screen seemed nothing compared to that created by Brian when he found Theresa’s hand in the dark, eased close and reached his free hand to the far side of her jaw, turning her face toward his. The angle of the seats was severe, as if they were at a carnival, riding the bullet on its ascent before the spinning downward plunge. For a moment he didn’t move, but lay back against his seat with the lights from the screen lining his face in flickering silver. His eyes appeared deep black, like those of the polar bear, and Theresa was conscious of the vast force of gravity pressing her into her chair and of the fact that Brian could not lift his head without extreme effort.
His forehead touched hers. Again their noses met. But their eyes remained open as warm lips touched, brushed, then gently explored this newfound anxiety within them both. There was a queer elation to the sense of helplessness caused by their positions. She wished they were upright so she could turn fully into his arms. But instead she settled for the straining of their bodies toward each other, and again, the unfulfilled wishes that grew stronger with each foray he initiated.
The elementary kiss ended with three teasing nibbles that caught, caught, caught her mouth and tugged sensuously before he lay back in his seat again, watching her face for reaction.
“No fair making me dizzy,” she whispered.
They were still holding hands. His thumb made forceful circles against her palm. “You sure it’s not the movie?”
“I thought it was at first, but I’m much dizzier now.”
He smiled, kept his eyes locked with hers as he lifted her hand and placed its palm against his mouth, wetting it with his tongue as he kissed it.
“Me too,” he breathed, then carried the hand to his lap and held it against his stomach, folded between his palms before he began stroking its soft skin with the tips of his callused fingers while he turned his attention back to the broad screen. She tried to do likewise, but with little success. For the interstellar space flight happening on the screen was vapid when compared to the nova created by Brian Scanlon’s simplest kiss.
__________
ONE EVENING
Brian and Jeff provided the music for the promised rock session, to which Amy invited a mob of her friends. The house was inundated with noisy teenagers who gave their approval by way of prompt, rapt silence the moment the music began.
Theresa was cajoled into joining the two on piano, and before ten minutes were up, the boys and girls were dancing on the hard kitchen floor, after Margaret came through the living room decreeing, “No dancing on my carpet!” She seemed to forget she and her husband had danced a hoedown on it within the past week.
Still, the evening was an unqualified success, and at its end, Amy was basking in the reflected glow of “stardom,” for all her friends went away assured that Jeff and Brian would be cutting a record in Nashville soon.
__________
THE DAY FOLLOWING THE PARTY
there were no plans made. All five of them were together in the living room, lounging and visiting. The stereo was tuned to a radio station, and when a familiar song come on, Brian unexpectedly lunged to his feet, announcing, “The perfect song to learn to dance to!” He exaggerated a courtly bow before Theresa and extended his hand. “We’ve got to teach this woman before Saturday night.”
“What’s Saturday night?” Amy asked.
“New Year’s Eve,” answered Patricia. “I’ve invited these two to join Jeff and me and a group of our friends.”
Jeff added, “But your sister claims ignorance and has declined to go.”
Theresa dropped her eyes from the hand Brian still held out in invitation. “Oh no, please, I can’t ....” She felt utterly foolish, not knowing how to dance at age twenty-five.
“No excuses. It’s time you learned.”
She replied with the most convenient red herring she could dream up on short notice. “No dancing on the carpet!”
“Oh, go ahead,” Amy said, then admitted, “the girls and I dance on the carpet all the time when mother’s at work. I won’t tell.”
“There!” Theresa looked up at Brian, feeling her face had grown red. “Dance with Amy.”
To Theresa’s relief, Brian willingly complied. “All right.” He directed his courtly gesture to the younger girl. “Amy, may I have this dance? We’ll demonstrate for your reluctant sibling.”
Amy’s braces caught a flash of afternoon sun from the window as she beamed in unabashed delight. “I thought you’d never ask,” she replied cheekily.
Looking on, Theresa felt years younger than Amy, who, at fourteen, could bound to her feet, come back with a coquettish response, then present her slim body for leading. Theresa wished she could be as uninhibited and self-confident as her younger sister. Jeff and Patricia joined in the demonstration, Jeff holding his partner stiffly and frowning. “Watch carefully now ... a-one ... a-two ....”
As he always could, Jeff made Theresa laugh with his proficient clowning, for he held Patricia in a prim, stiff-backed, wide-apart mime of the traditional dance position, until the girl threw up her hands and declared laughingly, “You’re a hopeless case, Brubaker. Find yourself another partner.”
Jeff didn’t ask, he commandeered. One minute Theresa was watching from the piano bench, the next she was on her feet, being sashayed around in Jeff’s arms. Askance, she saw Brian watching her progress. In all honesty, Theresa had no delusions about being able to dance and dance gracefully. Now, with her brother, her natural rhythm couldn’t be denied. Theresa’s feet took over where her self-consciousness left off. Within a dozen bars, she was moving smoothly to the music.
She’s been hoodwinked—she realized it later—by Jeff and Brian, who’d probably been in cahoots the entire time—for she’d been following Jeff’s lead no more than a minute when her hand was captured by Brian’s. “I’m cutting in, Brubaker. Snowball time.”
After that there seemed no question about New Year’s Eve. And when Theresa surreptitiously took Patricia aside to ask what she was wearing, the issue seemed settled.
On Friday, Theresa knocked on Amy’s door, but when she got no answer, she peeped inside to find her sister lying in a trancelike state, arms thrown wide, ankle draped over updrawn knee, eyes shut, with the black vinyl headset clamped around her skull.
Theresa went in, closed the door behind herself and touched Amy’s knee.
Amy’s eyes came open, and she lifted one earpiece from her head. “Hm?”
“Would you take that thing off for a minute?”
“Sure.” Amy flung it aside, braced up on both elbows. “What’s up?”
“Hon, I have a really big favor to ask you.”
“Anything—name it.”
“I need you to come shopping with me.”
Amy mused for a minute, then rolled to one hip, reaching for the controls of the stereo to stop the music that was still filtering through the headphones. Then she sat up. “Shopping for what?”
Even before she asked, Theresa realized how ironic it was that she, the older, should be seeking the advice of a sister eleven years her junior. “Something to wear tomorrow night.”
“You goin’ to the dance?”
For a moment Theresa feared Amy might display an adolescent jealousy and wasn’t sure how she’d deal with it. But when Theresa nodded, Amy bounded off the bed exuberantly. “Great! It’s about time! When we goin’?”
__________
A
N
HOUR LATER
the sisters found themselves in the Burnsville Shopping Center, scouring three levels of stores. In the first dressing room, Theresa slipped on a black crepe evening dress that gave her shivers of longing. But it was scarcely over her head before her perennial problem became all too evident: her bottom half was a size nine, but her top half would have required a size sixteen to girth her circumference.
Theresa looked up and met Amy’s eyes in the mirror. They’d never before exchanged a single word about Theresa’s problem. But, distraught, the older sister suddenly became glum and depressed. Her gaiety evaporated, and her expression wilted. “Oh, Amy, I’ll never find a dress. Not with these damn, disgusting ..
. dirigibles
of mine!”