Riding the Thunder (11 page)

Because Tommy wasn't her date.

“Jerk.” She choked back tears.

If Tommy had escorted her, the night would've been magical. She'd nearly made herself sick for weeks before working up the courage to ask him. He'd been home, up all night cramming for finals, and looked deliciously sleepy when he answered the front door. Ooooh, she had just wanted to step against him and kiss that sexy mouth good morning. Instead, she'd made silly chitchat until she finally stammered out the words and asked him if he would take her. He'd smiled, listened to her request, and then laughed. He'd laughed!

“No way am I escorting you to the Junior Prom, Laura,” he'd said, “so just get it out of your pretty head. No college man in his right mind would be caught dead at a party for a bunch of juniors.”

Her joy at him calling her pretty had soured as he'd shattered her dream of going with him. After that she'd wanted to stay home, but her mother wouldn't hear of it, and when Erica Valmont put her foot down, there was no changing her mind. With mild distaste, Laura had accepted a date with nerdy Junior Donner—their mothers' doing. Junior didn't have a date either. It was hard to be the only ones staying home. With their class so small—only thirty-three—if you failed to attend you may as well hang a billboard around your neck announcing, ‘I'm a loser and can't get a date.' Thus, she'd come in the beautiful formal, feeling as pretty as a faery princess. A princess who lacked her prince.

The night was almost hot, odd for May. The gentle breeze brushed against her bare arms with a gossamer touch, pushing her to feel restless. The pool whispered a tempting lure.

“For a double-dog-dare, I'd unhook my garters, bunch this damn petticoat up and go wading.” And she meant it.

There was a lull in the tunes as the hired disc jockey, Rusty Rogers, from WAKY loaded 45s onto the spindle changer. Lesley Gore's clear voice sang out that it was her party and she'd cry if she wanted to, cry if she wanted to, cry if she wanted to—causing Laura to glance up. She saw the group of college kids coming up the concrete stairs winding up the hillside to The Windmill's clubhouse. Tommy was halfway back in the group of seven couples. Her heart dropped, and then started a slow thud as their eyes met.

He was so handsome! He was wearing a white shawl tuxedo and wore it like a man, instead of like the juniors playing grown-up. Most of the guys still wore their hair in a pompadour in the front and combed into a ducktail in the back, a stubborn holdover from the late '50s, showing styles were slow to die here. Brylcreem still made a tidy profit in Backwater Kentucky! But not Tommy. His hair was short, kept that way because the thick black curls were too wavy to do much else. The look suited him. He was elegance and male grace . . . and with another girl.

“Damn him! Oh, how I'd love to kick him in the seat of his pants!”

Catching her eyes on him, he smiled. Tears threatened, but he wouldn't be able to see them from that distance. She reeled from the pain.

“The bastard couldn't take little old Laura to her Junior Prom because a college senior couldn't take a junior in high school, eh? Yet, he dares turn up with a date, he and his snotty college friends crashing the party. Ooooh.” She spun away, unable to look at him. Putting a hand to her stomach, she feared she might puke.

The night had been crappy enough without having to face the one person in the whole world—the only person—she'd wanted to escort her.

In her girlish dreams, Laura envisioned Tommy, handsome in his tux, them dancing slowly in some dark corner. Tommy stealing a first kiss. It'd been painful enough to have him laugh at her after she finally sucked up the courage to ask him to take her. His crashing the party with a girlfriend was about as cruel as he could get.

In the background, Lesley Gore wailed obscenely about her boyfriend coming to her party with another girl, acid to Laura's wounds.

Heading off trouble, the chaperones confronted the group. The junior class had paid for the party, so Laura hoped they'd send them packing. If Tommy were closer, she'd likely dump the punch bowl over the jerk's head.

After words were exchanged, the group from the University of Kentucky was permitted to go up on the sundeck and dance—as long as they behaved. “Fat chance of them behaving.” UK kids wanted nothing to do with a teen dance where there wasn't liquor. That left trouble. The chaperones were shortsighted to think otherwise. Laura noted a few guys already staggered while navigating the narrow staircase. “I bet my pale yellow shoes they've been drinking.”

The last one to the stairs was Tommy the Rat—with his date, Joy Dinwiddie. He paused with his hand on the rail
and smiled at Laura. Joy pushed at his back, nudging him to go on up. His smile faded as he felt the blast of Laura's icy fury, and a question lit his dark green eyes.

Tommy stared at her with an unreadable expression. Flashing Laura a dirty look, Joy pushed at him again. He shrugged the blonde off and started toward Laura. Unable to face him, she turned away. He caught up with her in a couple strides. Grabbing her bare upper arm, he pulled her around. His incisive stare lanced her heart.

“Laura, what's wrong?”

“Bastard. Are you that cruel and insensitive?” Her long lashes batted away the tears.

He seemed puzzled. “Cruel? What do you mean?”

“God, you're thick!” she growled. “Did your IQ suddenly drop? Or is this punishment for me daring to hang around, hoping someday . . . ?”

Laura couldn't go on. What a silly fool she'd been. It stopped here and now. Tommy Grant was bane to her. She tried to jerk away from him.

Tommy tugged her back to face him again. Before she knew what she did, she slapped him. Hard. She read the shock on his face. Part of her was stunned, too. Part wanted to do it again.

“What the hell was that for?” He blinked, still not believing that his adoring acolyte dared raise a hand to him or stare with such loathing.

“You have to ask? Well, Mr. Suddenly-Stupid, I begged you to bring me to this dance. But no. Something about no college man in his right mind would be caught dead at a party for a bunch of juniors. Now, what do I see? Seven BMOCs here. You arrogant, think-you're-so-damn-hot college men are here to cause trouble and make fun of us. Well, jump in your cars. You aren't wanted here.” She tried to shove away from him, but he held her by the upper arms. “Leave me alone. In fact—just leave.”

One of the chaperones—Mr. Taylor—came over. “Laura, is everything all right? Is there a problem here?”

Tommy held up his hands, backing off. With a strange expression of regret, he spun on his heel and headed to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Laura glanced up to the sunroof, still seething with anger. Tommy stood, staring down at her, his hands on the white railing. Even from this distance, she saw his uncertainty. Unable to bear staring at the man she both loved to the depths of her soul and now hated with a warrior's passion, she rushed inside the clubhouse and into the ladies' changing room. She wanted to bawl like a baby, but wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

A box of Kleenex was on the shelf before the long mirror. She beelined to it. Pulling out three, she carefully dabbed at the tears to keep her mascara from running. Hearing chatter headed into the women's lounge, she rushed toward the changing rooms; she couldn't face anyone now.

She scooted into the last stall and closed the louvered door as the voices drew near. Sitting on the bench, she leaned her head against the wall, trying to find some peace. Maybe they wouldn't linger.

“Well, I feel sorry for her,” the soft voice of Melody Hayden said.

Another laughed—Patti-Sue Moran. “I don't. She's such a spaz. For the past two years she's dogged Tommy Grant. Like he'd ever want her.”

“She's cute,” Melody defended.

“I'm cute, too,”Patti-Sue sneered.

A third voice, Maddy Paddington added, “She's got a set of knockers. Guys stand to attention when she goes by.”

“They're too big. More than a handful is too much.” Patti moved to stand before the mirror to apply lipstick; through the louvered slats, Laura spied her preening.

“I heard it was more than a mouthful. Either way, she's got 'em.” Maddy snorted.

Patti leaned forward and pressed her lips together to set her lipstick. “It won't do her any good. Joy Dinwiddie's putting out. She'll get knocked up to land Tommy. Watch. It's sad to see poor Laura follow him like some lovesick puppy.
Tommy's always complaining to my brother how you open the door and she falls into his home.”

Melody pushed the other girls toward the door. “Come on, the guys have waited long enough.”

Laura hadn't realized she was crying until a tear hit the back of her hand. Forcing herself to her feet, she walked to the mirror and frowned at her coon eyes. Getting soap from the sink dispenser, she carefully washed the black from under her lower lashes and repaired her face.

The door swung open and Melody rushed back in. She jerked upright, seeing Laura before the mirror. “Ooooops . . . you heard.”

Laura summoned her strength and turned to face Melody. “It's always good to know what people really think about you. I prefer honesty to two-faced pretenses.”

Melody looked ashen. “Patti is such a snot sometimes. She's jealous of you. We all are. You're so pretty. You just never tried to fit in.”

“I'd want to fit in with a bunch of vicious backstabbers?” Laura started to push past her, only Melody caught her arm. “Let go,” she snapped.

“Look, I'm sorry,” Melody apologized.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

Laura shoved by Melody and out the door. She went straight up the stairs to the roof to look for Junior, where she'd last seen him, hoping he'd take her home; her dad worked second shift at the Corning plant in Danville, and her mom didn't have a car to come get her. It was nearly ten miles or she'd walk all the way home. In despair, she glanced down at her pale satin shoes not made for walking on pavement.

As she reached the roof, her eyes alit on Tommy sitting on a chaise along with the other college kids. Joy sat right behind him. Laura seemed unable to move as Tommy and she locked eyes. He stared at her—trying to judge her mood, she guessed.

Whatever he felt, it didn't matter. She merely wanted to
find Junior and get the hell out of here, but first, she had to stop staring at Tommy.

Joy leaned against his arm, deliberately brushing her breasts against him. Laura felt like vomiting. She couldn't stop the picture of Tommy and Joy having sex from flooding her mind. The image would keep her from sleep tonight; of that she was sure.

Tommy smiled, as if hoping to draw one from Laura. Damn him! She wanted to dump an ice bucket in his lap. Flashing him a Medusa-on-the-rag glare, she went in search of Junior.

She asked several people. No one had any idea where her date had disappeared. Despite everyone staring, Laura didn't care. She just wanted to leave.

Melody was suddenly at her elbow. “Laura, what's wrong?”

She almost recoiled from the other girl's touch, except she was desperate. “I came with Junior. I want him to take me home. I don't feel well. I think I'm going to be sick.”

“Junior went off with Jess and Carl a bit ago. Carl's brother is a bootlegger. Bet they're off drinking. You don't want Junior to drive you home if he's liquored up,” Melody warned.

“Well, he has to take me home sooner or later.” Laura was nearing panic. She didn't know how much longer she'd be able to hold it in.

Melody grasped her hand. “Take a deep breath, Laura. Don't give these idiots a show. Let's you and me go dangle our feet in the pool. When my dad comes to pick me up, he can drive you home. We don't want you out with Junior. That jerk can't handle liquor. Why did you come with him?”

“His mother and my mother . . .”

“Enough said.” Melody rolled her eyes. “How I ended up with Davey Dean. Mothers and their well-meaning intentions are a pain in the tush.”

“What's up?” John Carlyle inquired from behind Melody and Laura.

Melody's eyes flicked to John and then guardedly to Laura. “Laura's looking for Junior. She wants to go home. I told her she's welcome to come with me when my dad picks me up.”

John reached out and roughly took Laura's arm. “That's okay, I'll take her.”

Laura leaned back. The bourbon fumes mixed with the cinnamon breath spray he used to mask the alcohol made her stomach roll. John was with Tommy's group. And very drunk.

“Thanks . . . I'm going with Melody.” Laura tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

“Don't be like that, sugar. Let go of that Goody Two-Shoes image and live a little.” John leered. “Come on, baby, I'll take you.”

Suddenly, Tommy was there. “Let go, John. She's just a kid.”

Laura wanted the roof to open up and her to fall through; maybe she'd break her neck and none of this would matter.

John chuckled. “Kids don't have tits like that.”

The music fell silent so everyone heard his vulgar comment.

“Take your hand off Laura—now, John, and apologize to her.” Tommy's voice was steel. He moved between them, like some medieval knight ready to do battle for a damsel.