Confessions of a Serial Kisser (27 page)

97

Good Lighting

"B
UBBLES
!" I
ZZY SAID
when I stepped inside Groove Records. He was smiling from ear to ear.

"You are such a sneak!" I laughed, running up to hug him.

"Happy birthday, kiddo," he said, hugging me back. Then he laughed and said, "Your old man has terrible timing!"

"So it wasn't just that the guitar was gone?"

"No! He was hiding right here!" he said, pointing behind a bargain bin of CDs. "I was sweating bullets."

"Well, you fooled me! And I'm dying to get home to play it."

He seemed shocked. "You've got a Fender Strat at home and you went to
school
today?"

I laughed. "You're a bad influence!"

He chuckled. "I know, I know." Then he hurried back behind the counter. "Here. Take this. You need something until you get a real amp."

He handed over a guitar cable and a small greenish plastic thing about the size of a bar of soap. "It's called a Smokey. Just plug in and play. It may not be a Marshall, but you'll have fun."

I hugged him again, then ran all the way home.

I couldn't wait to try out my guitar, but when I caught a glimpse of myself as I passed by the entry mirror, I hesitated, then moved back for a second look.

I'd stopped wearing makeup days ago, but I didn't feel plain-Jane or washed out. My cheeks were rosy, my eyes seemed clear and bright, and my haircut and highlights still looked great.

Maybe it was the lighting, the afternoon sun coming through the glass arch of the front door at just the right angle.

Or maybe, I thought as I smiled at my reflection, I was just starting to feel good in my own skin.

98

Shelved

A
T LONG LAST
, Grayson held her in his arms and gazed upon her radiant beauty. How had nature managed such exquisite perfection? Soft as a dove, with eyes pure as crystals, she was like a pool of sunshine, a cleansing rain to his soul.

As Delilah searched Grayson's deep, rich eyes, she saw an uncommon tenderness, a caring beyond earthly confines, a depth to his heart only dreams could imagine. With a small, helpless gasp, she surrendered to the strength of his arms, relaxing in their loving bondage, knowing he would never let her fall.

As his lips descended, she could feel the pulsing of his heart, could taste the heat of his desire. In that moment, she forgot the world, forgot Elise, forgot the pain that had engulfed her for so long, and embraced his hunger with the sweet, unbridled abandon of her soul.

I read the passage one last time, and then, with a heavy sigh, I filed
A Crimson Kiss
alongside
Lord of the Rings
and
The Princess Bride
on my makeshift stacked-crate bookcase.

In the week I'd had it, my guitar had edged out
A Crimson Kiss.
Where the story was something I could imagine, the guitar was tangible; something I could hold.

But still. A guitar cannot deliver a crimson kiss. And although the book might have lost its effect on me after so many readings, by shelving it I felt like I was also shelving my fantasy.

Maybe there really was no such thing as the perfect kiss.

Maybe it was just as Adrienne had said.

Simply fiction.

And I did need to deal with reality.

I'd been trying all week to patch things up with Adrienne. I'd waited outside her classrooms. I'd waited outside the Performance Pavilion. I'd called her and left messages. I'd written her notes and explained how my kiss with Paxton was not really a kiss at all but merely a collision of lips followed by a shove-off. But none of it seemed to matter to her. She continued to ditch me, dis me, or simply ignore me.

I didn't want to give up, but I didn't really know what else to do. By the end of the week I was wondering if lifelong friendships were like perfect kisses.

Maybe they didn't really exist.

But on Friday night (after doing scales on my guitar until my fingers were almost bleeding) I made a fateful decision.

It was the opening night of Adrienne's spring choral performance.

I was going to attend.

99

Yodeling the Night Away

O
NLY A REAL FRIEND
(or duty-bound relative) would attend a Larkmont High choral performance. Putting it as kindly as possible, they're sad. The singing is good, but the songs are always strange, never-before-heard numbers that were most likely rescued from the depths of a waste bin by an overzealous janitor more than a hundred years ago. (I'm just speculating, of course, but I can't seem to come up with any other explanation for the sorry song selections.)

To make matters worse, the choir is...sparse. There are
maybe
five singers on each part. And because it's a tradition (or something), they stagger the singers on three-tier aluminum risers across the entire Performance Pavilion stage. Mrs. Vogel plays the baby grand on one end, Mr. Vogel conducts from in front, but no amount of gesticulating on his part (or hers) can conceal the fact that there are about twenty singers on risers that could comfortably hold a hundred.

Anyway, I picked up a small rose bouquet for Adrienne on my way to the Pavilion, then got my ticket at the box office, accepted a Xeroxed program from an usher, and went inside.

The saving grace of any Larkmont choral production is the Performance Pavilion itself. It's new and plush, has stadium and balcony seating, and belongs nowhere near Larkmont High School. It
is
on campus but on the outskirts, and I don't believe the school actually
owns
it. I think the money was donated by an outside source and is maintained by some foundation.

Why else would the box office workers, the concession people, the ushers, and the security guards all be senior citizens?

If I'd been there to get extra credit for some class (as Miss Ryder has been known to offer for dramatic performances), I would have chosen a seat in the back or up in the balcony. But I was there to get friendship credit, and for that I needed to be visible. And although there were only a few minutes remaining until show time, seating was still wide open. So after looking around for any other Willows who might be in the audience (and finding none), I chose a seat right up front and got comfy.

"Welcome to the Performance Pavilion!" came a recorded voice over the loudspeaker. "Please quiet your cell phone, and remember: Food, drink, and gum are not permitted inside the theater. Also, for the performers' safety, do not use flash photography. Please take your seat, as the performance is about to begin!"

All twenty-five audience members got ready.

The curtain parted.

Mrs. Vogel started tinkling the keys of the baby grand, Mr. Vogel's hands went into action, and the choir was off, putting their heart and soul into janitorial pilferage selection number one: "How Mightily the River Doth Flow."

The girls were all wearing blue taffeta gowns, and Adrienne looked absolutely gorgeous. Her hair was pulled back in an up do, with little ringlets falling from her temples, in front of her ears, and at the nape of her neck. Her diamond pendant sparkled under the lights.

I soaked herin, remembering how we had climbed into her attic as third graders and discovered boxes of her mother's old clothes. Funky, oversized sweaters, dresses with wide belts and padded shoulders, shoes with radical heels, and the jackpot of dress-up: a box labeled Bridesmaid Dresses. (Mrs. Willow had, we learned later, been a bridesmaid eight times before becoming a bride.)

The blue taffeta gown Adrienne was now wearing reminded me very much of one of those bridesmaid dresses. It was strange to see her looking so grown up, and yet still see her in my mind's eye, up in the attic, playing dress-up.

It also drifted through my mind that in a way
I'd
been playing dress-up. I'd borrowed my mother's clothes, her makeup, her perfume...

I wondered when the final shift into adulthood happened. When did you go from playing grown-up to
being
grown up? Sometimes it seemed like my parents were still playing at being grownups. Seventeen years after having a kid, they didn't seem completely comfortable in grown-up clothes.

This is how I whiled away the time through "The Trumpet Vine on Window Nigh," and "Roses Blue and Cold," and "Underneath the Pock'd Moon." Then Mrs. Vogel announced the Germanic origins of the next tune, and when the choir launched into "Ach Du Lieber Meinen Hund," my attention turned to Paxton.

That boy is very serious about his singing.

A little too serious.

But between songs I noticed that
his
attention turned to a certain girl in blue taffeta. (Well, okay, all the girls were in blue taffeta, but I'm talking about Adrienne here.) He was a riser behind her and a section over, with only two singers between them. (In other words, he was a mile away.) But because the risers were arranged in a shallow U shape, he could see her beautiful up do (and part of her profile) with a simple twist of his bow-tied neck.

And twist he did!

This made me inexplicably happy. I was dying to pull Adrienne aside and tell her. Dying to give her all the nitty-gritty details of the focus of his attentions. Dying to watch her jump up and down in giddy bliss.

Maybe none of this was news to her (she had, after all, gotten at least one ride from the guy). But maybe it was!

Suddenly it was like there was nothing weird between us. We were back in the attic, the best of friends, and I just wanted to deliver the news!

When the last song before intermission ("Yodeling the Day Away") was finally over, I knew I couldn't wait through the second half of the program.

I had to go backstage.

Now!

100

Witness

M
Y ATTEMPT AT GOING BACKSTAGE
was thwarted by an eighty-year-old security guard wielding a bad attitude.

"I said no, miss," he snarled after my third attempt at talking my way past him. "You do understand the definition of No, don't you?"

I frowned at him.

Smartass.

So I took my flowers and went outside. I knew my way around! I knew about the back doors! I didn't need some old guy blocking me from delivering some very exciting news!

The night air felt great, and I inhaled deeply as I walked toward the back of the building. I could smell the pine trees that lined the property. It was a sweet and comforting fragrance. Adrienne wouldn't stay mad at me forever! She couldn't!

I turned the corner full throttle, but then immediately stopped short and hugged the wall. Paxton had Adrienne by the hand and was pulling her outside through the back door that I'd been heading toward. She was laughing and he was smiling, and the moment the door closed, he swept her around to face him.

A security light glowed like a moon high above them. It washed them in a warm softness, wrapping them in a moment that was all theirs. And as they gazed into each other's eyes,
my
heart began to race.

He was going to kiss her!

I both wanted to disappear and move closer. So (very sensibly) I stayed put, pressing harder against the wall.

And then, like the scene from the book come to life, I watched Adrienne search Paxton's eyes; I watched him drink in her beauty. As he pulled her toward him, I saw her melt in his arms.

When he kissed her, I could see that the world fell away around them, I could feel their happiness radiate out through the night.

My knees gave way and I slid down the wall.

Now
that
was a crimson kiss.