Kiss Her in the Moonlight

Breakwater Harbor Books

Presents:

KISS HER IN THE MOONLIGHT

By

Mindy Haig

Copyright © 2013 by Mindy Haig

Smashwords Edition

ISBN 9781310310287

Cover Art by Mindy and Delaney Haig

All Rights Reserved

License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or redistributed without permission of the author. Unauthorized distribution is a violation of copyright and subject to penalties under the applicable Piracy Laws regarding intellectual property. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Breakwater Harbor Books, Inc.

Scott J. Toney and Cara Goldthorpe, Co-Founders

www.breakwaterharborbooks.com

Table of Contents:

1. The Beginning, Spring 1981:

2. First Love, Winter 1986:

3. Work That Body, Fall 1991:

4. College Life:

5. Radio Days:

6. Woodstock, November 1995/August 1969:

7. The Portal Calls, February 1996:

8. Finding Elliot, April 16th 1996/1974:

9. Deiner Park, April 17th, 1974:

10. Wednesday Concert, April 17th 1974:

11. History Notes, April 18th 1974:

12. Wishing For A Loophole, April 18th 1974:

13. 1996:

14. There’s A Story About Those Boards, April 20th, 1996:

15. Radio Night:

16. The Big Tree, April 25th 1996:

17. Realizations, April 26th, 1996:

18. Comfort and Joy, April 27th 1996:

19. Seven Photos:

20. Stephen, May 12th 1996:

21. Moment of Surprise:

22. Regular Things:

23. Letting Go of the Past:

24. New Memories:

25. To Us, May 25th 1996:

26. Home, May 26th 1996:

27. New Life:

28. Learning Each Other:

29. Gossip:

30. A New Song, August 1996:

31. Reunion, September 1996:

32. Kiss Her in the Moonlight:

33. White Dress:

34. Concert Weekend, October 18th - 20th, 1996:

35. Wedding I, October 19th, 1996:

36. Holidays:

37. Wedding II, April 16th, 1997

38. Fear, April 19th, 1999:

39. Mace, November 22, 1999:

40. The Best Christmas Gift:

41. Maricela, April 2000:

42. Choices:

43. Epilogue:

1. The Beginning, Spring 1981:

The school bus dropped us off everyday at a fork in the road at the base of a hill.

It was an uphill climb in both directions. The street to the right went past the entrance to the park and a nicer part of the neighborhood where most of the kids on our bus lived. Stephen and I lived off the road to the left, in a shabby little cul-de-sac. The builder died before completing his master plan, so there were just a few tiny houses and no other children.

Stephen was quiet all the way to our stop that day, which wasn’t unusual or surprising, he was always aloof. He tended to be somewhat detached, even unfriendly, but he was brilliant. He was so much more intelligent than the other kids could possibly imagine, though I guess it would have been difficult to imagine given that he couldn’t relate to the other people and very rarely spoke. He was a non-stop thinker. His mind never stopped dancing its virtual tango in the maze of his thoughts but he completely lacked all ability to just be a child.

Being a genius had obvious drawbacks.

At the time, Stephen was my best friend, my only friend really.

We got off the bus and walked away from the crowd without a word, just like we always did. The stop was about half a mile from where we lived, but the walk seemed longer, perhaps because I was so small. But that day, we were nearly to the cracked and jagged portion of our sidewalk where the old oak tree had thrust its ropy roots upward into the light of day, before Stephen finally spoke. Do you think it’s possible to time travel, Lea?

His words took me by surprise. No. I don’t think that’s possible. I answered frankly as I shook my head.

I think it might be, Stephen started, and then he immediately retreated into his own mind, as we climbed.

I was glad it was spring, the sun was shining and the hill was easier to climb since the ice and snow were finally gone. I put my schoolbag down, pulled off my sweater and tied it around my waist. My hair crackled with static and clung to my oversized t-shirt. I picked up my bag and ran to catch up with Stephen again.

Yes, I know it’s possible, he continued as though he hadn’t even realized I wasn’t beside him anymore. I think I might even understand how to do it. It’s just tricky. I heard a Professor on television talking about it. He says it’s been done, but he didn’t say how.

Oh, Stephen, maybe you watch too much TV, I shook my head.

He was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice my disapproval, and yet the idea he planted in my mind was already beginning to grow.

It would be really fun, I would like to do that, Stephen. I looked at him seriously, judging him as much as a child could. We’re just kids. I think maybe if it can be done, you’ll figure it out someday, you’re really smart. I’m pretty sure you’ll have to be a grown up first, though. I’m only six but I just know that.

Yes, maybe that’s true, he nodded. His mind was already far away, then, his eyes grew distant and I thought he was probably already time traveling inside himself. He may have been making a mental list of supplies or creating a graph of time waves in comparison to light and sound. He could have been thinking about having a peanut butter sandwich when he got home, I didn’t know. What went on inside of Stephen was foreign to me; he only let me know things he was confident saying aloud.

I think I’ll be able to do it, someday Lea, when I do I’ll take you with me, he smiled.

Will you? I asked skeptically.

Sure.

You’re just saying that, you don’t mean it.

He laughed. I will, Lea. You’ll see.

I nodded doubtfully. Not doubting the fact that Stephen would time travel, just not believing he would keep his word.

Still, my mind was captivated by this new idea and I wanted to hope. Would you be afraid that you wouldn’t be able to get back home, Stephen? I asked the question curiously, not in a shaky, frightened voice, but boldly, like the danger was the adventure.

He shrugged. I don’t know. I guess if I figured out how to do it, I would know how to get back, right? Or I guess I could just go to the future, then if I couldn’t get back, you could take care of me, he laughed nudging me off the sidewalk.

I thought you were going to take me with you? Are you already taking that back?

No, he smiled. I won’t take it back, okay? He stopped and stepped in front of me and gave me a curious look. Would you be scared, Lea?

No, I shook my head. I’ll leave here someday anyway. I won’t be scared of anything, ever, Stephen.

He nodded and we started walking again. You probably wouldn’t be scared. You never are.

Promise you’ll take me with you when you figure it out.

I will, I promise.

* * *

I thought about that conversation for twelve years.

Every time the longing to leave that place weighed on me I would think about it. It was a perfect fantasy; it let me dream. It let me think there might be a place for me somewhere. Maybe I actually existed out in the past or the future somewhere. I pictured myself in the past; I might have made a good hippie. I spent most of my life dressed like I belonged in the age of peace and love anyway. But considering that my entire wardrobe came from the thrift store down the street, my choices were slim. I had to make do. My gold hair was long and straight. I wore headbands tied around it or ribbons braided through it. I wore peasant blouses and fringe.

I stood out like a sore thumb.

But even on my most inconspicuous days I still stood out because I had eyes like a cat. They were gold; not hazel, not flecked with color, no, my eyes were like staring into the midday sun.

And people stared at me all the time because I was different, strange, a curiosity.

As I got older, into my teens, and the desire to leave grew, so did that fantasy of traveling into time. I always dreamt about going back in time. I imagined drinking bootleg gin in a speakeasy, dancing in a flapper dress, wearing pin curls and loads of eye make up. I wished I could jump in and out of different time periods, like changing costumes in a play or going through the vintage racks in the thrift store, just to see what fit and how it felt. Those dreams got me through a lot of dull days.

I never wondered about the future me. I had no idea what a future of mine might be yet. I only knew it wasn’t going to be like my present. I knew there was something more out there. I was meant to do something. I could feel it. I longed for it, but I couldn’t imagine it. So I just hoped the music would be good. Yes, the music; music was how I comforted myself and how I lost myself. Music was how I came to be, because I was named after a song, ‘Lea’ by a band called Sliver.

Music was my fantasy world, my own way of traveling through time.

And I loved every bit of it from the frenzied Charleston of the Roaring Twenties, to Swing Dancing, American Bandstand, and The British Invasion. I worshiped all things related to music, from the sultry swing of Elvis Presley’s hips to the engaging snarl of Mick Jagger’s lips. Techno, Disco, Punk Rock and Grunge, they were all mine.

Mine.

But always there was that one song, my song, sung by that one man who was my everything. He was my dream above and beyond all else in the world. There was nothing I would not do to be able to look into his eyes and hear his voice.

Elliot Raush.

I tingled.

* * *

In the real world, Stephen was my next-door neighbor. As I said, he was the only other kid in my neighborhood. So even though he was five years older than I was, we were constantly together.

He was not at all outgoing. His social skills were pitiful. He almost never had other friends come to his house to play. But if he did, it was going to be a bad day for me, because his friend Jay would entertain himself by trying to make me cry.

I would never give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

I never cried.

That didn’t mean his abuse didn’t hurt.

Stephen never stopped him and he was never sorry.

That was the ugly side of Stephen.

But there was something beautiful about him too.

Stephen was actually a genius. The title wasn’t an exaggeration. He was so far beyond smart, that he made smart people look like imbeciles.

Not on purpose.

He couldn’t help being what he was. He had a gift, but that gift akin to having a magical power that couldn’t quite be controlled.

He was a born scientist. While he could be quite cold, there was a fire for knowledge that burned in his blood. He didn’t just want to know how things worked, he needed to know. Figuring out the secrets of the world was his passion, no, his one obsession. Why was it that some elements could go directly from a solid state to a gas without passing through a liquid phase? Why weren’t the planets equidistant from each other? How can numbers be irrational? Answering the questions, knowing what no one else knew, was what made him who he was.

Fate landed us both on the same side of the street, so I was the person Stephen talked to. That is, when Stephen talked. He could be very patient at times. I was so much younger, and my imagination was more active than his. I asked millions of questions and he liked that. He almost never got frustrated. Though there were definitely times when my youthful flights of fancy would go beyond his logical thoughts and he would speak to me like I was just a ridiculous little girl.

I didn’t like that.

I did like that he was driven, that he always knew what he wanted. He shaped me in that way as well. I respected intelligence, talent and passion. I valued those inner qualities that made people what they were. But where I longed for companionship, Stephen, like science itself, was sterile, impersonal, and sometimes cruel. He knew what my life was like, or at least I thought he did, and being around him was better than anything else I had, so I took the good parts of Stephen along with the parts that weren’t so good.

It was hard to know what went on inside of him.

And sometimes I did not want to know.

But years passed, and Stephen never mentioned time traveling again. I wondered if he realized it couldn’t be done. No, not Stephen, I truly believed that as far as he was concerned, nothing was impossible.

Perhaps he didn’t talk about it because he thought I would ridicule him. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t keep his secret. Or maybe he was still working on it and didn’t want to admit that until he had something tangible.

It didn’t matter what the reason was, there was an unspoken agreement between us; we simply did not talk about that.

Part of me knew it was just a crazy childhood fantasy. I didn’t dwell on it, but I never gave up on the idea. The place I belonged was out there somewhere. I had a purpose; I could feel it.

And I had to believe in that because the world made sense, but my life didn’t.

So I secretly hoped and wished and prayed that Stephen would open the door of time. I knew if anyone could do that, it would be him.

And I kept my fingers crossed that if he did open that door, he would keep his word and let me walk through with him.

2. First Love, Winter 1986:

What is love?

It sounded like such a simple question. It seemed like there should be a simple answer, though no two people would answer the same way, and there was no general theory that fit the range of emotions that fell under the umbrella of Love.

I certainly didn’t have an answer.

But I remember the day that I fell in love.

It was a typical day.

A day just like every single day of my twelve years of existence had been up to that point.

My mother was somewhere staring into space while the television polluted our house with its nonsense. Obviously, I was not a person who watched television.

However, my mother liked it, so the television was always on.

That day, television changed me.

I remember it so vividly. The details branded into me, becoming part of who I was, or maybe I became the person I am because of that day.

Music videos had become all the rage almost overnight. Music channels had gone from a fad to an industry. And suddenly everyone was talking about music as though it had just been invented.

Frankly, I was bitter.

Music was mine. It had always been mine. It was my pulse and my breath, it was the dreams in my head and I was not going to give this new video intruder a chance.

But then it happened.

I heard his voice. I stopped in my tracks. I could not tear my eyes away, my mouth dropped open and my heart pounded inside me. I can remember how the goose bumps ran down my arms.

That was the day I fell in love.

It sounds ridiculous saying it; ludicrous writing it, but when I laid eyes on him for the first time, I felt him. The breath caught in my throat, I couldn’t even sing the words as he sang the song that named me. The song he wrote. The song I listened to every day of my life just so I could hear his voice.

The song my heart believed was about me.

I had always known his name; Elliot Raush, and his voice was the voice of my dreams, but that day I saw his face. He was beautiful; the most beautiful man I had ever seen. He had long dark wavy hair and eyes as dark as the sky at midnight. I stood transfixed, watching the way his mouth moved as he sang and the way it looked like he was singing it to me alone. Every single thing about him was perfect. In that instant I understood my mother a little. I understood how it was possible to lose your soul to someone. I understood her emptiness.

Elliot was my someone.

And though my heart went with him the moment he left the television screen, and that emptiness ached, for the first time in my life, I felt happy. Not ‘Christmas morning’ happy or ‘today is my birthday’ happy, but true happiness that warmed me inside and gave me a purpose. I felt the kind of happiness that gave life meaning. Elliot was my someone, my reason for being. I didn’t think about the fact that he was also 20 years older than I was, it didn’t matter. I was in love with the man who was singing my song twelve years ago, and none of the semantics mattered to me.

My heart belonged to Elliot, and from that moment on, no one else would do.

I didn’t tell anyone how I felt about Elliot.

Stephen would have been contemptuous. I knew that for certain.

But I didn’t keep it a secret either.

Starting that day there were little signs. Sometimes it was no more than a vague feeling, or hearing my song unexpectedly on the radio. Sometimes it was a blatant display meant to keep him on my mind. One day there was a utility truck on our street with ‘ELLIOT’ written in red block letters across the side and I just sat out on the curb looking at it.

I found a poster of Elliot in a music stand at the flea market. My girlfriends didn’t understand my excitement. Stephen was just plain harsh when he saw it on my wall.

I was in Junior High then, and while my friends were listening to Bon Jovi, U2 and INXS, I had Elliot. When they were hanging posters of the popular crushes like Johnny Depp, Robert Downey Jr. and Tom Cruise, I had Elliot. They pretty much all thought I was out of my mind, except Elizabeth. She had a poster of Patrick Swayze on her wall; age didn’t matter so much to her. She would look at Patrick, smirk and say: Look, the man has great hair, ripped abs and he can move his body like nobody’s business, what is not to like. I don’t think she understood my obsession, but she didn’t belittle it either.

Anyway, I hung it over my bed. Every night I would run my fingers over Elliot’s cheek, and whisper his name before I fell asleep. Then I would dream of him lying beside me, his dark hair spread across the pillow, his dark eyes looking directly into my soul.

And he would breathe out my name: ‘Lea’.

I tingled.

* * *

Stephen was seventeen then.

He would pick me up from school in his car, which was at least a million times better than riding the bus. Well, most days it was.

My friends were so jealous.

I think everyone thought he was either my boyfriend or my older brother. He felt like an older brother, though he sometimes looked at me like a boyfriend.

Of course, I didn’t look twelve. I went from looking like I was six to looking like I was sixteen in what seemed like about a week back in the summer when I was eleven, and I just stayed that way until I matured into my late teens. I guess I was a smaller than average height, only about five foot three, with my mother’s lean dancer legs and curves that made men stare. I would go to the town pool with my friends, my long, straight golden hair loose and my sun-bronzed skin highlighting my golden eyes.

And boy did they stare.

Not just boys, not just the life guards, but men with wives and kids. I felt like this small town’s Lolita. My mother never warned me about that, but she probably didn’t remember what it was like, she hardly remembered me anymore.

The stares bothered me at first. I didn’t like being an object, I liked being the smart girl, men didn’t leer at the smart girl, and being smart was an accomplishment, not an accident of nature.

But then again, it was summer. It was hot in the center of nowhere, New Jersey, and it evidently didn’t bother me enough to stop wearing a bikini.

I guess I got more comfortable with what I was as time went on and I grew into my body a little more. Maybe I just got better at ignoring the stares and the gawking. Nevertheless, any guy who approached me let the first words out of his mouth be ‘You are beautiful’ would be treated to a withering glare and a very deliberate turning away. Beauty was incidental. I was more than that. I was intelligent. I had passions and feelings. I had ideas and dreams, and being an object was not one of them.

Stephen was average height, about five foot ten, he had hair lighter than mine, more blonde than gold and brown eyes. He might have been good looking but he didn’t make any effort to be.

He spent all his time with his computers. In a way, I liked that he was unconcerned with his appearance. I liked that he wasn’t superficial and that he didn’t try to look trendy all the time. Perhaps at that time in my life, his casual attitude in regard to his physical appearance seemed mature, and I was nothing like the children I went to school with, so I liked that maturity. But at the same time, running a comb over his hair occasionally would have been okay.

He would help me with my homework from time to time. Not that I really needed the help. I probably knew more about Physics, Algebra and computers than anyone my age because I had been around Stephen and his science all my life. But I would walk into his house whenever I didn’t want figure it out the work for myself, and sometimes when I just pretended I couldn’t figure it out because I wanted to be around somebody else.

Sometimes I needed someone else to talk to me, to affirm my existence.

And Stephen was there.

Stephen’s room was full of computers, or more like computer parts. Some of them were just empty skeletons of what might have been a computer while others looked like the Frankenstein’s Monster version with extra parts and wires jutting at odd angles. Some hooked to monitors, one hooked up to his television, his room was his laboratory, his sanctuary, his bank of knowledge, his Bat Cave, his Fortress of Solitude form which he might save the world or go mad and destroy it.

There were days he wanted to share his knowledge with me.

There were definitely days when I was just an intruder.

On those days, he would speak condescendingly to me, acting like I could not possibly comprehend his work. I may have been younger than he was, but those times became a challenge for me. It was like verbal poker. I would play the silly girl card and call, engaging him. He would plod through his next move and I would raise with the innocent question then the thinly veiled sarcasm until the pot was full, and I would finally lay down my full house and let it be know with biting clarity and contempt that I was his equal. I don’t think those times ever really registered with him the way they did with me. But that was just another of his may quirks.

When Stephen went off college, he started to change a little.

Not in a good way. He just became more obsessed with his programming, and if possible, less concerned with himself. Things he was learning and information that was available to him at stoked that ever-present fire in him to the point where it nearly burned away the little bit of him that was a real person. He was getting thinner and shabbier by the day, though he didn’t notice what was happening to him. He was home nearly every weekend, working on his computers. I didn’t really understand why if he had the chance to be gone from our dumpy little town, he would still want to spend so much time there. If I could have left, I would have flown like a bird. My wings would never bring me back. Yet, there he was and he just kept coming back.

Elizabeth would say teasingly, Maybe he’s here for you, Lea.

I think everybody thought that. There just seemed to be some strange understanding that someday Stephen and I…

I could hardly think about that. One thing I knew for sure about myself was that my future was not with Stephen.

But regardless of what they all thought, he wasn’t back for me, even though he sometimes looked like he might want to be, especially as my High School years progressed. The fire that consumed Stephen had its secret locked away in that computer in his room. Perhaps Stephen was in love with something beyond his reach like I was with Elliot. But it went on like that for a long time. Stephen a prisoner to the elusive string of code that would unlock his secret, and me in love with a man I didn’t even know, but whose eyes owned me and whose voice made me want to know how to use my body.

And then one day, Stephen slipped.

It was a few years later; I must have been fifteen or sixteen at the time. I was lying across Stephens’s bed on a steamy, sweaty July afternoon wearing a tank top with no bra and the shortest shorts I owned. It was so hot the old air conditioner in the window couldn’t do much to keep his room cool especially with all the computer equipment plugged in there, and even in such scant clothing, my skin glistened with perspiration.

Stephen was furiously typing code into his program, but my mind was far away that day. It was too hot. I was tossing a tennis ball up at his ceiling and catching it. I knew the day-glow green streak in his periphery was distracting him. He turned and looked at me a number of times. He might have considered asking me to stop, but then he wouldn’t have any reason to look at me. And though Stephen’s passion was stirred by something within that computer, his eyes wanted to look at me. Usually, he would try to engage me with outrageous claims and I would dispute them whether I thought he was right or not, and we would have the equivalent of intellectual intercourse. I played along with him because it was safe and I had time to play.

That day, I didn’t take his bait, and I should have.

There’s a professor, he started. Taught at my school for a long time. He published some papers about the possibility of time travel.

I was thinking about something else. I should have given him a little more attention when he mentioned the time traveling. It had been such a long time since he talked about it, when it peaked my curiosity. I should have been excited that Stephen was still thinking about it. I should have asked him a million questions.

Hmm, time travel, was all I said.

Yes, Dr. Pershall claims it’s possible and has been done. I’ve read all his writing, I think I’m getting…

Have you ever made love to a woman, Stephen? I interrupted him, tossing the ball at his ceiling again.

He froze. Whatever the rest of his sentence was going to be, it was gone. I thought I heard him whisper something, but he composed himself and turned to me.

Yes, I’ve been with women, Lea.

I turned onto my side and rolled my eyes at him slowly. That is not what I asked, Stephen.

What are you asking me? he said looking at me intensely.

I don’t want to know who you’ve had sex with. I want to know if you’ve made love to a woman. I want to know if you’ve been so consumed that you needed to know it was good for her too. I want to know if you’ve ever felt passion so strong it became a part of you.

You’re too young, Lea. Don’t mess around with that.

Were we talking about me?

He looked at me sternly. I am sure he had a reprimand on the tip of his tongue but he held it in.

Have you, Stephen?

No.

I nodded. I think he was telling me the truth. He never talked about having a girlfriend. I couldn’t really imagine Stephen being a passionate lover, but he probably wouldn’t talk to me about that anyway. I guess that’s pretty hard to find. I said as I rolled off his bed. I stood close to him for a moment; I leaned in over his shoulder looking at his computer while I considered him. I could feel the hot flush off his cheek. I knew he was looking at me, I knew he was considering me too. But I didn’t feel that passion for him so I just told him that he had three typos in his last line of code, and I turned and left.

I went home and threw myself across my own bed. I looked up at Elliot. Even upside-down he was beautiful. I wondered what he looked like right at that moment. I wondered what he was doing. I wondered what he would be like as a lover. I wondered what it would be like to have my hands in his hair, his mouth on mine and to feel him inside me.

I wanted to know him.

I was curious to know what making love would be like, but I wasn’t ready to waste myself. I wanted to feel something.

I was willing to wait for that.

3. Work That Body, Fall 1991:

During my Senior Year of High School, my curiosity started to get the best of me. I didn’t look my age and I knew it. I wasn’t interested in high school boys, and I was tired of high school drama. I wanted to be out in the world. I was bored with this town and this life. I was tired of being unsatisfied and unhappy all the time.

I got a job; it was something new to do.

I worked in a record store in the mall. The manager was a tall, handsome guy named Mo. He had perfect milk chocolate skin, shoulders that never quit and truly diverse taste in music. I never knew what was coming on next, and we had an entire store to choose from. He was incredibly fun to work with, had a great sense of humor and he knew how to move his body. Whatever the song, Mo had the move.

He also had a gorgeous girlfriend.

Her name was Jodie and she was very poised, very laid back. Her attitude was fascinating. She was definitely a woman who’d been made love to by a man.

She warned me that Mo would flirt with anything in a skirt, but he was harmless, and she was not concerned about that at all. I admired that she was secure enough with him that he could look at other women and she wasn’t ever jealous. She knew where he was going to be when the lights went out at night. She knew Mo was hers.

I wanted to be that kind of woman.

I wanted a passionate man.

I knew how to dance, but Mo taught me how to move, how to be completely uninhibited, how to lose myself to the music and we were free. The store was our private nightclub. There was always music on; we were always in motion sometimes together, stars of our own floorshow, sometimes separate in our own section of the store.

There were always people in the store watching us.

Somehow, if they were watching me dance, it didn’t bother me. It was different than just being stared at in a bikini. I guess the dancing just begged for an audience. Sometimes I lost myself enough that I didn’t even notice the crowd, I just did my job and moved my body.

And I loved it there.

I would come in, usually dressed in something skimpy that I could move in, and I would say, Ready for tonight’s performance?

Mo would laugh and answer: They are watching you, Lea, not me! He said I was a goldmine. He probably meant that in more than one way.

Jodie would come and bring him dinner sometimes. I walked in on them kissing in the stock room so many times they didn’t bother stopping after a while. In fact, if they weren’t kissing, I felt more like an intruder. When they were lost in their passion, they didn’t notice me at all. But I could tell by the way they kissed that she owned him, she didn’t need to be a jealous woman. She was the only one no matter who he looked at. I respected that.

I worked in the store for three months before our big boss, the regional manager, came to visit. Our sales had been steadily high since Mo and I started working together, and our boss was curious about that I guess. He wanted to see what we were doing that made us different from the other stores. His name was Steve and from the moment Steve walked into our store, I could practically see myself kissing him the way Jodie and Mo kissed in the stockroom. He was probably a decade older than I was. He was about six foot, maybe six foot one; he was well built, and had the most shockingly blue eyes I had ever seen. And other than introducing himself that first day, he avoided speaking to me altogether.

It was curious, and maybe a little disappointing.

He could have joined in, we could have least engaged in a little verbal foreplay, but Steve just stayed away from me. Mo and I went about business as usual, even with Steve there. Music played, we moved, sometimes together, tantalizingly close, sometimes apart, and the store made money.

Steve came back a lot.

I thought he might tell us to cool it down, but he didn’t. Management wants to make money however possible, I guess. Or maybe he just liked the show.

It was more than a month later that I caught him looking. He might have been looking before, I didn’t know, it didn’t matter, but this time he watched just a little too long. It was a Thursday night and I was stocking some new CD’s, by C&C Music Factory. Mo had it blaring, I was grinding along, and Steve was standing in the stock room doorway watching me. His mouth was open a little and I think he liked what he was seeing. I held his gaze for a moment as the music moved me, and he knew he was caught so he looked away.

He left ten minutes before my dinner break.

I walked out into the mall on my break. I always went to the same place: Haagen Dazs. I was standing in line when there was a voice at my shoulder.

This is dinner, Lea?

I smiled to myself a little; he had a good voice. It gets hot in the store, Steve, I answered without looking at him.

Yes, it does, doesn’t it?

I thought you left. Why are you still hanging around here? I said rolling my eyes up at him over my shoulder.

Maybe I thought I should apologize for staring.

Liar. I shook my head.

He laughed. You’re right, I wasn’t going to apologize. I could at least buy the ice cream, macadamia in a cone right?

Better make it a cup, it takes a long time to eat it in a cone, I said.

He brushed against me as he leaned toward the counter to pay. He smelled good. He handed me the cup and I turned and walked. He followed. I ate.

How long have you been watching that you know what I order? I asked swallowing.

Long enough to wonder if that’s all you eat.

I scooped the ice cream and held the spoon out to him. He opened his mouth and let me put the ice cream in, and I knew for sure in that moment that he was going to kiss me before I went back to work. We walked a little farther. There was a delivery corridor not too far down, and there wouldn’t be any deliveries so late in the day. I dropped the mostly eaten ice cream cup into the trashcan beside the door and pushed it open.

I glanced down the empty corridor then up at him. There’s nobody watching here.

No, there isn’t. he said, wide eyed.

So what were you thinking when you were watching me?

He didn’t answer. He looked me in the eyes and ran his hand into my hair and he kissed me. It was a good first effort, I wanted to see how aggressive he’d be on his own, and was actually a little surprised how hungrily he kissed me. He must have been watching for a while. So I pulled him back to me and I joined in this time. That was the first time I ever wanted a man who wasn’t Elliot. I was going to let him teach me. I knew that just from the kiss. And he was going to do it, because he was looking at me the way Mo looked at Jodie.

He didn’t tell me I was beautiful, and I liked that. Whether he thought it or not, the fact that he didn’t say it made me feel like he wanted more than just to look at me.

Wow, he started. Then he shook his head and said, This is crazy.

Maybe, I said slowly wiping him from my lips. Does that mean you don’t want to see where it goes next?

He swallowed audibly, I do, Lea.

I get off at nine on Saturday, Steve. I said and I turned away from him and went back to work smiling.

He didn’t come in on Friday or Saturday, but he was waiting by the Mall entrance when I was leaving Saturday night and I left with him.

Have you had dinner? We can get something to eat.

Chinese?

Sure, if that’s what you want.

There was a place on Route 17, not far from the mall, Hunan House. It was still open. We ate there. There was a good amount of small talk. Steve was twenty-six. He had a degree in Economics from University of Delaware. He was having a hard time reconciling the way I looked with my date of birth, and he admitted that he looked at my employee application just to see my age.

That’s why you never spoke to me in the store.

Yes. he grinned.

And now?

I am weak. I can’t resist. I keep coming back in there.

He took me back to his place.

I looked around, it was fairly empty like he either didn’t own much or hadn’t lived there long. It was hard to know anything about him just looking at his things. He had a decent collection of CDs and I pulled out Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd and handed it to him. Put this one in, I said.

The music started. He pulled me over to the couch and he kissed me. He was handsome and he smelled good. I liked the way he used his hands and his mouth. The music was a good background. I unbuttoned his shirt and felt him. He was muscular. He had soft hair on his chest.

He was a man.

I wanted to see him. I was surprised how my body felt when his was pressed to me and I was touching his bare chest.

Do you want to take me to your room, Steve?

Yes. Are you sure you want that, Lea?

I nodded. I took his hand and that night I learned what it was like to be with a man. He explored me and encouraged me to do the same. He was eager but patient. He made me gasp and I made him shake.

And I spent the whole night there.

* * *

A few weeks into our affair, Mo was curious. Steve was still coming in a lot, and I was always lukewarm with him at work. We didn’t talk much. I did my job. I moved my body and the store was always busy. But Mo evidently watched Steve more than I did, and he saw something else.

So, what is up with you and Steve? he finally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

What do you mean? I replied innocently.

The guy breaks into a sweat every time he looks at you.

Really?

Mo gave me a look that said I know you know what I am talking about.

I shrugged. It wasn’t a secret, and I wasn’t ashamed of it, so I told him. I’ve been sleeping with him on the weekends. I answered just matter-of-factly.

Mo burst out laughing. Shit! No wonder he looks like that, he’s in a constant state of wanting to get into your clothes! Lucky Bastard.

I shrugged again.

Isn’t he a little old for you?

I laughed out loud. If Mo really knew anything about me, he would not have to ask that question. He’s a good teacher. He’s got skills and he’s not touchy about using protection.

Okay, I get that. Who started this?

Which answer would shock you more?

I don’t know that I can be any more shocked. I’m already blown away!

I laughed. I didn’t put the blame on Steve; I just went back to stocking the music and grinding away.

* * *

There was someone else that made a mark on me in that time. His name was Kurt. I thought of him as ‘Beat Box Kurt’ but I called him Truk.

It was a funny story.

He would come into the record store nearly every day, dragging his buddy Heath along with him. And he would call me ‘Ela.’ Every time he came in he called me that, and he would sort of sing it out. I corrected him at first, but he would just smile at me, and the next day he would still call me Ela.

Heath would get aggravated.

Kurt, You’ve been coming in here for months already. Her name is Lea for crying out loud!

Finally one day, Kurt sighed, exasperated, I know her name is Lea! But she is astounding. I mean, look at her!

And they both did look at me and nod.

I laughed.

She is incredible, he said waving a hand in my direction. I am utterly forgettable. Kurt continued bowing slightly. So even if she only thinks of me as the guy who never gets her name right, at least she’ll think of me.

I smiled at him.

Heath shook his head. Sorry, Lea, he’s a moron. I’m embarrassed to hang out with him.

He’s not that bad, Heath, I said smiling.