"Wow! Would you look at that!" Anita grabbed Katie's arm and pointed across College Blvd. The white Hummer stretch limo idling in the parking lot behind Howie's Hamburger Hut was about as inconspicuous as Moby Dick wallowing in the municipal plunge. "Let's go check it out."
Crossing the street in the middle of the block they found a small crowd gathered around the limo. The driver, spotless in a gray uniform complete with peaked cap, was standing with his arms crossed a few steps from the car, his posture deterring any of students from approaching too closely. He had the practiced implacable look of a sumo wrestler and the solid torso to go with it. His broad face was pocked and brown and a line of prison tats showed above the edge of his starched collar. "Let's ask who it is," Anita said. "No, 'Nita," Katie tugged at her arm, intimidated by the man. But trailing Katie behind her, Anita walked up the driver and flashed her best smile. His chin dipped a barely perceptible amount as he took her in, his eyes invisible behind his mirrored glasses.
"Is it somebody famous?" Anita asked him.
He rubbed his fingers against his thumb.
"Rich?"
He smiled at her, big white teeth with one gold incisor. He said something in Spanish in a low voice and Anita giggled.
Just then the passenger door at the rear of the limo flew open and to their surprise, Chiclet jumped out, her eyes squinting in the sunlight. Her face was red, her lips drawn tight. She stormed across the parking lot right past Anita and Katie, not even seeing them, and pushed through the crowd, leaving a murmur in her wake.
"Wow," Anita said, "I could practically see steam coming out of her ears! What's up with that, homes?" she asked driver.
He half-turned away from her, holding his finger to the ear-piece in his ear. Then he looked at Katie and asked her something.
Katie had trouble understanding him. It sounded like asked her how many ears she had. She just looked at him, mouth agape.
"He wants to know how old you are." Anita elbowed her.
"I'm eighteen."
"You go see," he motioned her over to the car.
"Hey, what about me?" Anita asked.
"You wait."
Katie walked over and poked her head into the open door, hesitating as her eyes struggled to adjust to the dim interior. She felt the driver's callused hand on her elbow as he boosted her up the step and eased the door shut behind her. There were black leather benches along both sides of the limo, contoured to accommodate mini-bars on each side. It was cool inside, the air conditioning running, and the heavily tinted windows made the scene outside look far away and one-dimensional. Toward the front a bluish shaft of sunlight angled down through the tinted panel of a moon-roof. Though there was easily room for more than a dozen to sprawl on the benches, she could make out only two forms in the shadows at the front of the cabin on the other side of the moon-roof.
"Please, come in."
She went forward hesitantly, one hand brushing the bench as she bent under the low roof.
At the front, sitting on the broad bench than spanned the width of the limo just behind the driver's partition, there were two young men. Her eyes went first to the one on the right. He was slim and carefully dressed in a white linen suit coat and slacks, his shirt half unbuttoned. His face was very pale, with a long neck and prominent nose, his high forehead artfully framed by disheveled blond curls that hunt to his shoulders. "Please," he gestured her forward. He had an accent, though it wasn't Spanish like the driver's. But there was something else about him, a kind of presence that drew the eye, like that pale suit that floresced against the black leather upholstery. He wasn't handsome like a movie star, but Katie immediately thought he was the most attractive man she'd ever met.
Her eyes fixed on his, she hardly even noticed the other boy at first, but then she glanced to her left and gave a start. She straightened involuntarily and bumped her head against the headliner. She felt her face glow with heat as she blushed all the way down to the roots of her hair. Slouched in the corner in a pair of jeans and a faded Wildcats tee shirt was Dwayne Studemeyer.
"Hi, Piglet."
"Don't call me that," she said to him sharply. She turned to the other man and held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Katie Prado."
"Enchante," he said, taking her hand in both of his. "Lucien de Rubempre. But my friends call me Lucky." He patted the seat beside him. "I'm pleased you could join us. I was just asking Dwayne--" (he pronounced it with two syllables: Du Wayne) "--who is that strikingly beautiful girl out there?"
"You're not from around here, are you?"
"He's a real Count," Dwayne said.
"I was looking over some of my father's business interests in Tulsa when Dwayne's father invited me to come down to see a cockfight." Lucky laughed. "It was very colorful, but I'm afraid I'm better at handicapping the horses. But then I hear that there is to be the big football game here. . ."
"Lucky's just a bettin' fool," Dwayne interjected. The Frenchman's eyes had not left hers since she sat beside him. His arm was draped across the banquette behind her and she was very conscious of the touch of his leg pressed against her. She loved the lilt of his voice. "You know, we have the football in my country, but it is all entire a different game. We do not have the cheerleaders."
He took her hand in his. "If you were in my country, you would look a fashion model, of this I am quite certain."
Katie giggled. She could listen to him talk all day.
"You would permit me to take your picture?" He held up a small camera.
"Cheese," she said. The flash left stars dancing in her vision.
He turned to the mini-bar behind him. "If you like, Katie, I have some wine here from our estate that I would like you to taste." He poured her some in a flute. It glowed ruby in the soft light. She had never been much of a wine drinker, but this was light and fizzy, tangy, not sour. It was cool going down but warm inside. The bubbles went up her nose and made her eyes water. She finished off the glass and handed it back to him.
"That's really good. It's sort of like champagne, isn't it?"
"Yes, but from a different terroir, so we can't call it that, you know." He leaned toward her and lowered his voice confidentially. "Tell me. . .Dwayne, he is your lover?"
Katie reddened and shot an puzzled glance at Dwayne. "What? Did he tell you that? No, he's not. He's Chiclet's boyfriend. You just met her--the one who left here in a huff?"
"I assure you, Dwayne has said to me nothing, but I sense you have a story with him, no?" "What do you mean?"
"When you came in and saw him, I think you were surprised. You blushed." Lucky took her hand in his palm, stroking it softly with his other hand. "I do not mean to make you feel uncomfortable, Katie. I am just trying to understand."
"Perhaps you ought to ask Dwayne, then," she said, holding her chin up, the corners of her mouth turned down in a moue of disapproval.
"Whoa there, gal." Dwayne held up his hands. "I'm sensing some hostility here."
She turned on him angrily. "You're nothing but a big jerk, Dwayne Studemeyer. I can't imagine what I ever saw in you. You're just an arrogant, self-centered, fatuous, conceited JERK! When you asked me to meet you behind the gym I thought you liked me. And then, just because I was. . .I was. . . well, you just jumped on me!" She bit off her angry tirade and buried her face in her hands.
Dwayne was staring at her with his mouth agape. "Nobody ever called me fat before," he sulked. "I don't know what yer talking about."
"There, my dear," Lucky soothed her, putting his arm around her and drawing her closer. "I'm sure this was all just a misunderstanding." He raised his eyebrows at Dwayne.
"I never laid a finger on her, cuz. I swear."
"Liar!" she sobbed into Lucky's shoulder. "Here, little one, let me dry those eyes," Lucky said. Tilting her head up with a finger under her chin, he dabbed at her cheeks with his embossed handkerchief. "Your distress makes me sad, my dear, but it only makes you more beautiful."
She threw her arms around him and kissed Lucky full on the mouth.
"Well, if that doesn't take the cake," Dwayne said.
"I must confess my humble attempts to understand your American mores have left me more puzzled than ever," Lucky grinned ruefully.
Katie snuggled up to him. "I like the way you talk." Her hand went to his open shirt, tracing lightly across his chest. "What's this?" she asked, feeling the chain dangling there.
"That's my lucky piece. Let me show you." He drew it over his head and held it up for her, a pendant about the size of an acorn the color of melted gold, with a silver cap through which was threaded a braided silk cord. "This is amber. Sometimes, after a storm, it washes up on the shore near where I live. One day when I was a boy, I found this. If you look closely you can see the inclusion."
It rotated lazily in the light. She tried to fix her eyes on it. "It's hard to see."
"Just relax your eyes," he said. "Amber is like warm honey. Imagine it flowing down your body, soothing all your muscles. Can you feel that?"
"Umm."
