The old man leaned heavily on his cane gazing at the sheer pristine garishness of it all. Constantly dusted and de-finger printed there it all was, enshrined behind glass, available for the passersby to ogle and wonder at, but safe at an untouchable distance; like the memories that each held for him.
He looked around to see that he was, as usual, alone. Lights dimmed and quiet, he fished a key from his pocket and opened the glass. He scanned each of the accolades, most of which had his name on them.
“Is this all that’s left?” He thought to himself. Opening the glass, he reached for that first Oscar, a little tarnished by time, but still shocked by the weight of it when first picked up. He grasped his tired fingers around it and relived the excitement, the anticipation and the heavy climax that evening held.
“Now remember,” the severe woman in the seat across from them said, “You’re movie stars. Try to act like it.”
“Lucille…” the other man in the limo said, “this isn’t the first time.”
“It’s the first time you’ve all been nominated.” She said as she fussed with his bow tie for the fourth or fifth time since the driver picked them up.
He smacked at her hands, fed up with it. “We’ve done this before.”
She pointed to the woman across from her. “She hasn’t.”
The woman she pointed at was white, her fingers grasping the jewelry around her neck, seeming to take what little comfort she could in the texture, running over and over it with her fingertips. The man beside her took one of the jittery hands, grasped it and held it between his.
“She’ll be fine.” He turned to capture her attention. “These are our friends, people we work with.”
“Except their wearing designer clothes and don’t smell like armpits for a change.” The severe woman snapped.
Her companion snapped back. “Are you sure you’ve been to one of these before?”
She turned her daggers at him. “Yeah, and don’t forget if it wasn’t for me, you would just be one of them again and not a nominee.”
“If I win.” He smiled. “I’ll be sure and mention that. How does thank you to everyone who helped me get here including that bitch publicist I married sound to you?”
“Better than nothing…” She mumbled and turned her attention back to the couple across from them. “You look like death warmed over.”
“She looks beautiful.” Her companion said. He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. You’re with me.”
“What if…” She whimpered softly.
He lowered his voice into a soft firm promise. “I won’t leave your side. You can do this.”
She tried to smile, and managed to momentarily but then shivered when the thought entered her head. “What if I win?”
“Then I’ll give you a kiss, help you stand up and go get your Oscar.” He kissed the back of her hand.
“But I’ll have to say something.” She said so softly. “We agreed…” she said even softer and looked out the window.
Her companion tugged on her hand. “Look at me.” She didn’t respond so he tugged lightly again. “Look at me.”
Her fear filled eyes did their best to connect with his. “If you win, just read what I wrote down. Remember?” She nodded her head as he reminded her. “If you win just pull out the paper, look at it not anything else and read it. That’s all, when they start applauding just nod your head in appreciation and go wherever they lead you.”
“Where will you be?” She asked.
“I’ll come right to you.”
The severe woman had had enough. “Look missy, do not screw this up. We have worked too damn hard to pull this off and you will not screw it up. Any moron can stand up, walk twenty feet and read what’s scribbled on the back of a napkin and by God, you will to!”
Her husband turned to her. “Lucille, I have never struck a lady before in my life, and if I beat the ever living crap out of you right now, I’m sure my record would still be clean. Now sit back, and shut up!”
The past back behind him, he bit his lip and put the award, and the memory, back from where it came. The metal base scratched the glass shelf as he put it back in place echoing through the dark halls. He slowly closed the door and locked it back with another echoed click.
He was old again, standing in front of the glass. This time he was looking at himself and he pointed at his reflection. “You will not screw this up.”
She looked out the window gazing at the tiny lights of the city, so far below and quickly being covered by clouds of night sky. There was something so calming about flying in the dark.
It kind of made her think that anything was possible. She didn’t know why. This was wasn’t impossible. It wouldn’t be easy, but she could do it. She had always taken him back before. Of course, this time the situation was just a little reversed.
He could be so stubborn. It must be all that inbred redneck blood. Or maybe that he was melungeon. They never trusted anyone, but when they did…and she knew Ian trusted her. He had to. He was all that she had going for her now.
That obnoxious little ding went off. She unlatched the seatbelt and made herself comfortable. She had a long flight ahead of her, and no thanks to Ian she was flying coach. Imagine Clare Humphreys flying coach.
She wasn’t used to having anything but the best, but Ian was mad, really mad. So she made a little mistake? That was no reason to move across the country without her, and cut off her credit cards. It wasn’t even a mistake, just a little maneuver miscalculation, easily rectified…sort of…
Okay, it was a BIG goof, but she’d fixed things before. She tried sticking that little pillow comfortably behind her lower back. “You’ll get this one taken care of, too.” Clare sat back and smiled.
They were destined to be together. She just knew it. Of course, she didn’t think so at first. Actually, he was quite beneath her station. She was from the most influential family in the county, and he was one of those people.
You know the ones. The people from little shacks, who if they get struck by lightning and manage to get to college, end up right back in the shack they came from happy as inbred clams opening up a dip dog stand where the dirt road meets the pavement. Ian was one of those people, worse.
Clare closed her eyes and sighed. She couldn’t help but notice him on campus, none of the girls could. There must be something about lifting all those hay bails and milking all those cows. Those eyes, the dark hair, that awkward smile, and that body, Ian Justyn was gorgeous.
Of course, he had social awkwardness down to an art form. Clare had to teach him everything. The guy could barely handle a knife and fork. She shook her head and almost laughed out loud remembering their first encounter.
Sure she’d noticed him on campus, and Donna Farmer, she was her best friend then (another story entirely) had informed her that Ian would only be one slice in the fresh meat of the fall acting class. Donna had dated the guy that was his roommate, if you called screwing in the backseat of his pickup after football games dating.
They were theatre majors, sophomores, and every fall they all took the first semester seminars together. Clare knew some educational reasoning behind it, but the girls all saw it as a chance to get first dibs on the new hunks that weren’t gay. That first day of that first class would be the only time they all showed up in full make up and dressed to kill.
She made her entrance that morning, and if nothing else Clare knew how to make an entrance. She was wearing nylons, stilettos and a new dress purchased specifically for the occasion. Much to her dismay she had spent four hours getting ready for a chubby girl from Gravel Scratch, a dimwit blonde who stuffed her bra from Grundy and Ian, who had the audacity not to even notice her.
In fact he pretended not to notice her for most of the semester, no matter what she did. She didn’t have a thing for him but, she was positive that he had a thing for her. All the boys did. She just needed him to admit it to her, so she could let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he was too far beneath her for it to matter.
Clara Myrtle Humphreys, even her mother could not believe she named her that blaming it on the drugs, was used to having her way. She was Daddy’s girl and Mama’s pride. Anything she wanted, they made sure she got. Daddy was president of the county bank and Mama was a former Miss Virginia. Her mother groomed her as her successor and her father did exactly what he was told, something Ian could never quite got the hang of.
She’d never in her life had met anyone, especially a man, that didn’t acknowledge her lofty space in the universe, until Ian Justyn. Drop dead gorgeous, corn fed, mountain stupid Ian Justyn, who ticked her off for months by almost convincing her and everyone else that he didn’t seem to remember her name.
Of course, she only cared that he didn’t acknowledge her talent, beauty and his barely controlled desire for her. She knew it would only be a matter of time and then she could put him in his place—at the back of the line of all the men who wanted her.
Just to prove her point she had begun dating Gordon Stewart, the golden boy of the department. The first show of that year was “Romeo and Juliet”. Everyone knew that Gordon would play Romeo, and Clare knew she’d be Juliet.
After the auditions, the notice on the call board announced to all, that Gordon would be playing Mercutio and Ian Justyn, newcomer and hay seed, had over stepped his boundaries to play Romeo. Even further to anger her, Kleenex girl would be playing Juliet and Clare hadn’t made the cut…at all.
Ian and, much to Clare’s chagrin, Kleenex girl were the best things to come out of that department ever. Before them, they could only boast of a young man who was an extra in “Independence Day”, and a girl who had three lines in an episode of “Golden Girls” way back when. Maybe when she got out to California, Ian would use his influence to make her a bigger star than Kleenex girl had managed to accidentally become. Of course, Clare wouldn’t sleep her way to the top. She’d marry it.
It was during that first summer break that everything changed. Shortly after she had returned home for the summer, Clare’s loving Daddy suddenly passed away, hit by a bread truck crossing the street for a cup of coffee. Her mama was a mess, and Clare wasn’t doing much better a week after burying him.
Then that fateful doorbell rang. It was Ian, standing on her doorstep with an armful of flowers.
“I just heard or I would have come sooner.” He said awkwardly, and then shoved the armload of sweet smelling calla lilies into her arms. “These won’t take the place of anything, but maybe they’ll make you smile for a minute.” He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “It was all I could think to do.”
Clare was speechless. He’d barely spoken two sentences to her for entire school year, and yet he’d traveled all the way from Lost Mountain to Kingsport just to give her some flowers. She managed to say “Thank you.”
He kept standing there shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. To Clare’s shock, a little tear trickled down his beautiful, beautiful cheek. “I only know the awful heartache of never having a daddy. I cannot imagine the pain of no longer having one that was always there.”
That was the moment she knew she was in love. That was the moment she realized she had been wrong about Ian all along. That was the second Clare knew that she had to make that young man hers, and no one else’s. She couldn’t help herself. It would take most of the rest of summer, but Clare was persistent and the the time Junior Year ended, she knew he was hers.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed her; it was that he never believed he was worth being noticed. It was a struggle. He was a whole different breed. She had never struggled so hard, just to make some one open up and love her, but she did it.
It took a while, but he seemed to need some one to take control for him. There was so much she had to teach him, how to dress, how to react in public. Ironically, the hardest part was just to get him to stop cutting his own hair.
There was a lot she wasn’t used to. Ian wasn’t like the other guys she’d dated, or even been around. They were yin and yang. He was simple and direct, sometimes too direct and Clare loved the frills, especially to “foofy” stuff, as Ian called it.
The frills got hard to come by. After Clare’s father died, she ended up having to work at a Kentucky Fried Chicken just to have spending money. She hated every minute of it, but what Ian taught her was that more often than not, you had to just put your head down and get it over with just to make the next day happen.
Ian had given up the theatre and started singing with a band by that time. She became his groupie. She hated it, but she was not about to let him play in bars all over three states, where drunken little sluts would have a free range opportunity to get in his pants. That was definitely hers, too.
To her surprise, Clare also grew quite fond of the woman he called his Aunt Hil. She was a big old black woman that was the closest thing to real family Ian had. When he sold his old dump of a house and property to that young couple, Ian stayed with the woman until he was able to afford a little apartment.
The first time she went to visit, Clare wasn’t sure what to think. Miss Hilary had fussed over a big dinner of fried chicken and biscuits. She was sweet and kind, until she handed Ian a ten-dollar bill and gave him a grocery list she insisted he fill immediately.
As soon as Ian’s little truck was gone in a cloud of black dust, that Hillary woman pointed to a “flowerdy” sofa and ordered her to sit down.The woman squinted her eyes at her and in a low tone, told her to it was time they had a talk. “I’m gonna make this clear honey, nothin’ personal. If it were personal I’d tell ya yer a molly coddled brat who ain’t good enough fer that boy, but he loves ya. That’s plain as day.”
Clare wasn’t sure what to say as the woman poured her a cup of hot tea from an old tea set that was who knows how old. She was about to give her what for, when the woman picked up her own cup. “I can see ya fight for his love, and that’s good. It’s good to see someone fight fer him for a change, ‘stead a him doin’ all the fightin.”
She took a mean drag off her cup and put it down. “I think ya push a little too hard, but he’s a man now, and if nothing’ else Ian knows how ta push back. You be good to him, and you won’t be havin’ no problem from me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Was all Clare could say.
Ian rarely talked about his past. Clare thought it embarrassed him, but through her chats with Miss Hilary, she came to realize that it was too painful for him.
The whole town knew his mother was a crazy little slut who got herself killed when Ian was just a baby. A grandmother raised him until he was seven and then his abusive, alcoholic uncle finished the job, Miss Hilary stepping in whenever she could. No one knew for sure who his father was, but all assumed it was either the drunken relative or the man who got put in jail for killing his mother.
Ian both amazed and infuriated Clare. Just when the band was about to hit it big, he dropped out and changed directions again. This time, he settled on broadcasting. At least he wasn’t traveling all the time, but she just knew he would end up heading across country and leaving her, just like he was doing now. Fortunately he quickly found a job at the local TV station and started working his way up.
That was what amazed her; he seemed to not even break a sweat in the struggle. The struggle seemed natural for him. That was one of Ian’s secrets. It was when things were calm that he got uncomfortable. He never seemed to bat an eye when people were difficult and mean to him. He almost seemed to expect it.
Clare’s mother had no problem hating Ian, but Ian took it all in stride. She said some of the most horrible things to his face, and he would just nod his head and say “Yes, ma’am” peaking her ire to further heights. When she had a series of strokes two years ago, leaving her completely debilitated Ian wanted to bring her to live with them.
Fortunately, the doctors said she would need more care then she could get a home. Ian now was making good money, and instead of buying a new car he really needed, he used the money to make sure Clare’s mother was in a good facility. He even made the time to stop by and see her almost every day. Helping to feed her, holding her hand and talking to those faraway eyes, it absolutely amazed Clare that despite how the woman had treated him, that he still insisted on making sure she was respected and cared for with kindness.
Even that lawyer or accountant man who called Clare a few weeks ago said that Ian planned on continuing to pay for her mother’s care, until the time she was able to. He had put the condo he’d bought in Clare’s name and paid her car off. Other than that she was on her own.
Now she was amazed that he could cut her off like this. She’d had to sell the car and the condo just to scrape together enough cash to buy this plane ticket. There was enough left over to where she could survive for a little while, just in case things didn’t work out. But they had to work out. They just had to.
Clare was certain they belonged together. She knew him too well. This had happened before. They had split up before, many times before, but they always found their way back to each other. She was the only one who knew all his secrets.
“Yes.” Clare thoughts, “I’m the only one who knows all his secrets, even one that he probably doesn’t even know himself.”
She looked back out the window and into the night clouds. She knew that now was the time to tell him hers, that she needed him so much more than he could ever need her.
Uncle Nate had beat him to a pulp again. He hadn’t meant to upset him, but that seemed to be his calling.
He didn’t mean to rat either but he got dizzy and fell down by the tree between their field and Aunt Hil’s house. The next thing he knew he was lying on her couch and she was dabbing that stingy stuff on him.
“Why’d he do this to you, child?” She said so soft and tender. “He drinkin’ again?”
“Aunt Hil, when does Unk not drink?”
She smiled. “Poor bastard.” She said. Ian didn’t know if she meant him or his uncle. “Honey, why ain’t you in school?”
“Unk said I could read and write and that’s all I needed. I wasn’t to go no more. He had to have me at home.”
“Say what?” Ian didn’t have time to answer. Aunt Hil grabbed his wrist and yanked him across the field to his own house, screaming his Uncle’s name the whole way.
To his Uncle’s lapse in judgment he came stumbling out of the house trotting right up to her. He didn’t expect the swift and heavy right hook that caught him square on the chin. She kicked him in the ribs as he fell to the ground in pain. “You beat this boy?”
“Screw ya!” He recoiled.
She retorted by stomping on his elbow. Ian heard bones crack. “Watch your mouth.” Hil let go of Ian’s wrist and grabbed his uncle by the throat, yanking him like a rag doll up to his knees. “Answer me!” She slapped his face twice, once coming and once going. “You beat this boy?”
“He done fall down again Mizz Hillary. You know how dumb and stupid he is…”
She kneed him in the crotch. “One more time, you drunken liar! You beat this boy?”
“Yes’m...gaddamn...he sassed me. Just getting’ the devil outta him. You know he’s got his mama…”
She smacked him twice again. Blood from Uncle Nate’s split lip splattered across Miss Hillary’s apron smock. “You got the devil in you Nate Ransom. Don’t you ever lay a hand on this boy again! You hear me?”
“Yes’sm”
She let go of him and he crumpled in a heap in the dirt. “And what’s this about no more school? This boy is smart. He got something and he gots to go to school. He don’t got no business staying home being yer bitch!”
“But I…”
“Don’t you sass me, bastard!” She kicked him again. “If I ever even think you keeping this boy from school, I turn you into the po-lice. You got me?”
“Shit…they ain’t gonna…”
“You know what I talkin’ about. I know lotsa secrets. Some I swore I won’t tell on ma death bed, but some I just dying to tell. You got me?”
Uncle Nate rolled over and looked at her.
“You got me?”
He just held his belly and nodded his head. She kicked him one more time for good measure, adjusted her humongous breasts and sauntered back to her property.
As soon as she was out of sight, Uncle Nate made a blood spattered grab for Ian. Ian ran as fast as he could. He was out of breath by the time he made it to the barn, locking the door behind him, but a pair of hands grabbed him. Ian squirmed and screamed. A firm hand went over his mouth.
“Calm down, son, calm down!” A soothing voice spoke, and held him until he stopped squirming.
Ian looked up into a face. “Mister Jude? You scared me….”
Jude set him on his feet and got down on his knees and looked Ian in the face. “Now what’s all the…holy shit youngun...What happened to you?”
Ian looked away. He could feel Mister Jude get angry. “He do this to you?” He shook him a little. “Boy, answer me. That drunken bastard do this to you?” Jude let go of Ian and stood up. “Never mind. I know the answer to that.”
Jude slammed his fist into his palm. “You okay, sonny?”
“Uh huh.”
“You go in my room, and you stay there until I tell you its okay to come out. You hear me?”
“Yes Mister Jude”.
“I’ll take care of this. This ain’t never gonna happen again, you hear me?”
“Uh huh.”
“Now scoot! There may be an old pop in that bucket in there. Get cha some ice and drink that pop.” Ian scooted toward what used to be the old tackle room at the back of the barn. “And don’t come out til I tell ya. Hide under the bed if’n you ain’t sure it’s me!”
Ian liked Mister Jude. He didn’t know much about him, except that he had showed up during the winter and moved into the barn. Uncle Nate made Ian clean out the old tackle room for him to stay in. He was about Uncle Nate’s age, but Ian didn’t care about anything other than the fact that he was nice to him and he always made Ian feel safe.
Ian found the old silver bucket with some melted ice in it. He fished his hand around its water until he found a cube or two. He stuck on in his mouth and sucked on it. It stung a little bit, but it made his jaw feel better. He heard his Uncle bellowing his name. Ian crawled like a cockroach under the bed.
He had barely gotten to safety when he heard the door slam open and could smell his uncle’s breath.
“You hidin’ in here you wasted spunk you?”
Ian could see his boots stepping into the room. All of a sudden those boots got lifted off the floor and he heard a body slam against the wall. Uncle Nate sure was having a bad day.
“You son of a bitch!” It was Jude’s voice, fiery and scary. He heard a body slam against the wall again. “You ever lay a finger on that kid again and I’ll kill you!”
“Aw, Jude, you ain’t got no right…”
He heard the slam a third time, and then saw the boots slide to the floor heels down. “I ain’t got no right? Seven years, I served! Don’t you ever tell me I ain’t got no right!”
“You don’t know nothin…”
“I was drunk, but I remember. It took a while, but I remember it all.”
Ian heard a whomp that made him jump. “You been touching that boy?”
“Huh?”
“I know you Nate, you been touchin that boy?”
“Hell no, I swear…”
Ian heard a thwack and a crack. “Damn, Jude, I swear!”
“Bes not be. Or you’ll answer to me. By God he may not have been born with much of a chance, and you tuck as much of the rest of it as you could. That poor kid never done nothin’ to you but be born. You let him be, or you’ll wish it was you sent up and not me.”
Ian saw Jude’s hand’s reach down and pick up Uncle Nate like a piece of paper. He heard footsteps and a splat outside the barn. He heard the barn doors shut and then silence. Ian cowered in the corner…
The screams in the night blistered his ears. They were his. He sat up, bathed in sweat and shivering in the fear he seemed to never be able to shake. He caught his breath after three heavy tries. Steadying himself with both hands, knotting the drenched sheet on either side of him, he forced himself to focus his eyes.
Ian swung his feet to the floor, finally taking comfort that this was real and the rest was not. He stood, alone trembling in the dark. From where he stood he could see a form on the other side of the room; afraid and staring back at him.
He took a step toward the mirror and looked at his own trembling reflection. He pointed in the dark and said out loud. “You are not allowed to cry.”
He drug himself to the bathroom, turning the taps in the vanity on and splashing himself with water. The cold only added a shiver to the trembling. He reached for the towel, wiping himself with one hand, steadying himself on the rack with the other.
“You can do this, man.” He said to himself out loud. “You can do this.”
Finding himself back in the bedroom, he pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. It trailed behind him as he walked down the spiral staircase.
The house was in so many ways still a strange place. Maybe things will be better once all the paperwork is signed and the place was legally his. Ian couldn’t help it. He always expected to be shoved back in the hole, once he’d dug himself out.
He poured some bottled water in a mug and banged things around in the dark until he found a tea bag. Leaning against the cabinet top, he waited silently, mind blank as possible until the microwave bell went off. Pulling out the steaming mug, he squeezed the bag with his fingers, and added sugar, lots of sugar.
Sipping and strolling through the first floor, he looked at his home like a burglar casing the place, every tiny sound or shift in light causing him to freeze and prepare to bolt. He was a stranger here, no matter how hard to tried to convince himself otherwise.
He stopped in front of that painting on the landing. He touched it, rubbing the roughness of the dried color with the back of his hand. He loved that painting. He kept getting lost in it. It drew him in and he found strange comfort in the wild swirls and the bold primaries that somehow all came together.
Ian was no longer trembling. He took the rest of the stairs to his bedroom. Still in the dark, still swathed in bed linen, he searched for the remote and opened the glass wall. Swiping a cig and lighter as he strolled out, he lit and smoked by the railing, staring out into the night, as he did into the painting just moments ago.
Movement caught his eye. He whipped his head toward the hedges. Whatever it was darted away. His eyes scanned the backyard. Ian crushed his cigarette out in the always clean ashtray on the table. He hoisted the blanket a little closer around him. He took a deep breath and headed back for his bed.
There it was again; movement in the hedges. He tried to tell himself he was just hearing things, remembering the dream he was trying hard to forget.
The rustling got stronger and he stepped to the safety of his bedroom, but leaned out when he heard giggling. Someone was definitely in his back yard, and whoever it was had company, female company, as the giggles were definitely girlish, but he still saw nothing in the shadows.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Followed by muffled giggles.
“Oh, yeah, we do it all the time. The Mormon Tabernacle choir could have an orgy here and they wouldn’t hear. Besides, I think Miss Elizabeth is away somewhere”, a boy/man’s voice said.
Finally two figures emerged from the hedges, appearing just at the edge of the pool. It was a young man and a young girl, holding hands oblivious to the night and Ian peering at them from his bedroom.
The girl was young and pretty and the boy a little older, and without a doubt one of Colton Shore’s sons, Ian’s guess was the youngest. The moon wasn’t very bright that night and it was hard to tell for sure, but Ian was able to see the boy-man wrap himself around the girl and begin to kiss her.
The girl giggled and pushed him away. “I thought you wanted to go swimming.”
“Yeah, yeah, I do, but I thought you might give me a little kiss first”, he said.
She put her hands on her jeaned hips, “You thought I’d give you a little something else first, Jesse Shores.”
Jesse guiltily shuffled his feet and pointed his head to the ground. “Besides,” the girl said, “It’s so dark out tonight I couldn’t see even if we did.”
“Well, I can fix that”, he said and disappeared from view. Within seconds the patio flooded with light. Ian made a mental note to ask the guy where that button was when he wasn’t hiding in his bedroom spying on him.
“That better?” Jesse asked hopefully.
The girl looked around. “It’s not very romantic”, she flipped her over blonde locks off her shoulder.
“Not a problem,” he heard Jesse say with an almost dirty tone. Ian heard a switch flip and then the pool itself was illuminated from the bottom. Another quiet punch came and the patio lights went back out.
Both Ian and the girl were impressed. The girl gleefully clapped her hands.
Jesse stepped back into view and said, “Well?”
The girl coyly twirled a lock of hair and said, “Well...I’m hot.” And with that she pulled her top over her head. She unzipped her too tight jeans and looked at Jesse, “Turn around you perv!”
“Aw man!”
The girl rossed her arms and cupped her breasts in her hands, “I said turn around Jesse Shores.” He reluctantly did, and the girl stripped off her pants revealing no underwear before disappearing from view with a splash.
Jesse grinned and without hesitation stripped off himself and jumped in after her. They disappeared from sight for a moment, but Ian could soon see the two in the pool, playfully tagging each other like children unaware their bodies had fully developed and were blissfully naked.
From his growing all too familiar hiding spot, Ian could now see that Jesse had successfully maneuvered the girl to the edge, kissing her neck as keenly as the disturbed water lapped at the concrete of the pool. Her head was thrown back in the water so that her blonde hair spread out and floated across the surface. She started moaning and the sneaky boy slid them closer and closer to the edge.
“Okay.” Ian said to himself, not really wanting to disturb the couple. “I’m not doing this again. He turned his back on the young lovers, heating up the night with their lack of control. He hit the button that closed the curtains, noisy or not and went back to bed.
Just before Ian drifted off to sleep he thought to himself, “Everybody’s getting laid in this town, but me.”
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