didn’t
hold with anybody younger than twenty-one drinking liquor, so the
only booze she had ever tasted had been an occasional sip of the beer
Renzo had brought to the tree house every summer since he was
sixteen. The punch seemed all right, so she drank it in long
swallows, grateful for its iciness as it slid down her throat.
Carrying
her plate and refilled cup, Sarah returned to an empty table. The
other girls had either got up to dance, had gone to the bathroom to
repair their makeup or had sneaked outside to the bushes or the
backseats of cars to neck furtively or indulge in a covert smoke.
Even Dody had already finished eating and disappeared, probably to
bring back up whatever she had downed. Sarah felt lonesome, awkward
and conspicuous. She wished Renzo were beside her, that he didn’t
play in a band, that he hadn’t had to be part of the prom’s
entertainment. She felt as though everyone were staring at her,
whispering about her, making fun of the fact that she didn’t
have a date, was sitting alone, a wallflower. Rejected, the boys who
had come stag and had asked her to dance earlier had now moved on to
other, more willing prey.
For
comfort, Sarah stroked the gold necklace around her throat and slid
Renzo’s ring back and forth on the chain, reassuring herself
that she was loved. She ate her buffet supper. She whiled away more
time by going to the bathroom herself, and then by pretending to
study the prom program, a copy of which was placed at every seat. The
program was bound in silver, with a braided, tasseled silver cord to
hold the inside pages in place. Knowing it was meant to be taken home
as a keepsake, she tucked it into the small evening bag Mama had lent
her for the night.
“ Now,
what’s the loveliest girl at the prom doing sitting all by
herself?” a voice whispered in her ear, startling her. “No,
don’t answer that. It’s my fault, and for that, I’m
sorry, Sarah. I’ll try not to be jealous if you want to dance
with other guys. I know it can’t be much fun for you, being all
alone like this and watching everybody else have a good time,”
Renzo said soberly.
“ It’s
all right,” she insisted, smiling up at him. “I don’t
mind. Really, I don’t.”
“ Well,
I do mind. So I’ve arranged not to play this next song.”
He held out his hand to her. “Will you dance with me, Sarah?”
“ Yes,
oh, yes!” Her eyes shining, she laid her hand in
his.
The
guy running the band’s sound and lighting equipment manipulated
the controls on his board, and all the lights over the bandstand
gradually turned a soft blue, except for the white light that shone
on the now spinning mirror ball, so it seemed as though thousands of
tiny stars were strewn across the dance floor as Renzo led Sarah
toward it. From the band’s PA system, the opening strains of
Lionel Richie’s “Truly” drifted into the darkened
gymnasium, through the louvered windows and out into the night as
Renzo took her in his arms.
In
Sarah’s mind, the two of them danced alone beneath a starry
spring sky. She was oblivious of the other couples that crowded the
dance floor, so there was barely room to shuffle in place to the
music. For her, there were only she and Renzo in all the world, and
the lyrics of the song told the story of their love. She felt so
light on her feet that it seemed she floated in his embrace, his
breath warm against her skin, his chest pressed against the sensitive
tips of her breasts, rubbing the organza of her gown across them, the
strapless bra she wore doing little to mitigate the erotic
sensations. She thought Renzo, in his old, black leather jacket and
matching trousers, looked more handsome than any of the other boys
did in their smart, rented tuxedos. She wished she were really alone
with him, that they danced together in their meadow instead of the
Lincoln High School gymnasium.
But
it was nearly summer, and soon there would be weeks of long, lazy
days at the tree house, days during
hold with anybody younger than twenty-one drinking liquor, so the
only booze she had ever tasted had been an occasional sip of the beer
Renzo had brought to the tree house every summer since he was
sixteen. The punch seemed all right, so she drank it in long
swallows, grateful for its iciness as it slid down her throat.
Carrying
her plate and refilled cup, Sarah returned to an empty table. The
other girls had either got up to dance, had gone to the bathroom to
repair their makeup or had sneaked outside to the bushes or the
backseats of cars to neck furtively or indulge in a covert smoke.
Even Dody had already finished eating and disappeared, probably to
bring back up whatever she had downed. Sarah felt lonesome, awkward
and conspicuous. She wished Renzo were beside her, that he didn’t
play in a band, that he hadn’t had to be part of the prom’s
entertainment. She felt as though everyone were staring at her,
whispering about her, making fun of the fact that she didn’t
have a date, was sitting alone, a wallflower. Rejected, the boys who
had come stag and had asked her to dance earlier had now moved on to
other, more willing prey.
For
comfort, Sarah stroked the gold necklace around her throat and slid
Renzo’s ring back and forth on the chain, reassuring herself
that she was loved. She ate her buffet supper. She whiled away more
time by going to the bathroom herself, and then by pretending to
study the prom program, a copy of which was placed at every seat. The
program was bound in silver, with a braided, tasseled silver cord to
hold the inside pages in place. Knowing it was meant to be taken home
as a keepsake, she tucked it into the small evening bag Mama had lent
her for the night.
“ Now,
what’s the loveliest girl at the prom doing sitting all by
herself?” a voice whispered in her ear, startling her. “No,
don’t answer that. It’s my fault, and for that, I’m
sorry, Sarah. I’ll try not to be jealous if you want to dance
with other guys. I know it can’t be much fun for you, being all
alone like this and watching everybody else have a good time,”
Renzo said soberly.
“ It’s
all right,” she insisted, smiling up at him. “I don’t
mind. Really, I don’t.”
“ Well,
I do mind. So I’ve arranged not to play this next song.”
He held out his hand to her. “Will you dance with me, Sarah?”
“ Yes,
oh, yes!” Her eyes shining, she laid her hand in
his.
The
guy running the band’s sound and lighting equipment manipulated
the controls on his board, and all the lights over the bandstand
gradually turned a soft blue, except for the white light that shone
on the now spinning mirror ball, so it seemed as though thousands of
tiny stars were strewn across the dance floor as Renzo led Sarah
toward it. From the band’s PA system, the opening strains of
Lionel Richie’s “Truly” drifted into the darkened
gymnasium, through the louvered windows and out into the night as
Renzo took her in his arms.
In
Sarah’s mind, the two of them danced alone beneath a starry
spring sky. She was oblivious of the other couples that crowded the
dance floor, so there was barely room to shuffle in place to the
music. For her, there were only she and Renzo in all the world, and
the lyrics of the song told the story of their love. She felt so
light on her feet that it seemed she floated in his embrace, his
breath warm against her skin, his chest pressed against the sensitive
tips of her breasts, rubbing the organza of her gown across them, the
strapless bra she wore doing little to mitigate the erotic
sensations. She thought Renzo, in his old, black leather jacket and
matching trousers, looked more handsome than any of the other boys
did in their smart, rented tuxedos. She wished she were really alone
with him, that they danced together in their meadow instead of the
Lincoln High School gymnasium.
But
it was nearly summer, and soon there would be weeks of long, lazy
days at the tree house, days during
Similar Books
