"Sure, Dad." Her tone sounded forced. "Pass the green beans?"
David was just as near, so he handed over the dish. He, too, thought Allison had been acting a little weird. He could see she didn't want to talk about it, so he changed the subject: "Great dinner, Mr. K."
"Thanks." Stan beamed and David joked in return, "No, thank you."
"Oh, no; oh, no; thank you."
Allison made a goofy grin and thanked her dad. Pretty soon they were all thanking each other with the familial ease of a lame joke. Allison felt better. Somehow she knew right then that no one could hurt her.
Then she remembered someone who could be hurt: Hillary Fairchild. Quickly she finished her dinner and excused herself, saying she would be right back. She pounded up the stairs, two at a time, leaving Dave and Stan sharing a puzzled look.
As fast as she could, Allison fired up her computer and opened a new email account. Hillary, Hillary, where are you? She had to scroll through some old messages to find her classmate's address. There was no time for eloquence, so her warning was crude. Hell, it was probably none of her damn business. A better course of action would be to butt out. Regardless, Allison felt compelled to try.
Grabbing a hairclip, Allison rushed back down and made a bee line for the kitchen. David was almost done loading the dishwasher. "I see my timing is perfect!" she joked.
"As always. Hey, are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Come on, let's get started."
* * *
Hillary slid into the booth across from her date. She stared at him, wondering how well she really knew him, and whether having sex with this guy was such a good idea.
"What's wrong?" asked Hank.
"Just have a question for you."
"Oh yeah, what's that?" He smiled and sipped at his ice water. The waitress appeared, notepad in hand.
Hillary looked at the woman coolly. "Could we have another minute, please."
The waitress dipped her chin once and left as silently as she came.
"So what's on your mind?"
Brightly Hillary asked, "How are things going with the Cherry Poppers Club?"
Hank choked on his drink, splattering cold water in awkward places. A line of red crept up his face. "I don't, I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do." In a cold fury the young woman dug a piece of paper out of her purse and flung it across the table at him. Hank's mouth dropped open as he read the email printout:
Hillary, Stay away from Hank Jones, he means you harm! He is a member of the Cherry Poppers Club along with Jeff Mullins and Craig Stewart. They already got Raven! Sincerely,
A friend.
"Where did you get this?!" Hank gawped at the paper. His glance fell upon the return address. "Who's Black1?"
"Why don't you just tell me the truth?" Hillary's anger was palpable. Her blonde ringlets were shivering.
"Look, look wait! It was, it was a gag, all right, it was a joke—"
"Then how come you said you didn't know anything about it? It doesn't matter, you're a liar," she spat. Eyes blazing, she picked up her purse and flounced out of the restaurant, pausing only long enough to grab the piece of paper off the table.
Her date called after her, but she ignored him.
* * *
David stretched his fingers and shook out his hands. He'd been playing the piano for nearly ninety minutes. That was the nice thing about rehearsing with Allie and her dad — they actually practiced. Most of his peers devoted practice time to horsing around, which was frustrating for anyone who actually wanted to play.
"Nice pickin'." He grinned at Stan.
The older man smiled in return and leaned the string bass into its stand. "Not so bad yourself."
"When do we meet next with Mr. Olaffsen?"
"I talked with him today, he can do either Thursday or Friday night," Stan answered. They'd meet at the high school, where Jake Olaffsen's drum kit was already set up. It was a pain in the ass to tear down, move it, and set up elsewhere.
Dave looked at Allison, who shrugged. "Makes no difference to me."
"How about Friday, then?" It would almost be like having a date with Allison on Friday night.
"Great!" Stan looked happy. It really knocked his socks off that his kid would enjoy jamming with him on a Friday night. So many parents never got the chance. He felt sorry for them.
Dave knew the answer. "What to call our band. I've been thinking about that," he said with a sly look. He twinkled a big flourish on the keys. "Swing Time!"
"Cool!" exclaimed Allie and Stan said, "I like it!"
They shared a look of universal yes. Heads nodded all around. "Swing Time."
* * *
"Get outta here!"
Craig Stewart jumped, then realized Allison Katz was singing, not yelling. He was hiding behind the costume rack in her dressing room.
"Get me some money, too..." Allison sang. This would be the trickiest number. She'd be alternating between singing and blowing her horn. But ever since she had seen that old Peggy Lee and Benny Goodman video on YouTube, she simply had to perform it. Benny's enthusiasm was infectious, even across time and through the crackly old black and white media.
Allison wished her voice was better than passable. She would have loved to find a torch singer like Peggy Lee, but hadn't had any luck. The lack of a school choir made it impossible to pinpoint local talent. So she braved the notes herself: "Why don't you do right ... like some other men do...?" And technically it should have been a big band production. But the spare quartet sounded fine in rehearsal, and besides, David would really have a chance to shine on this one.
Still humming, Allison peeled off her jeans and sweatshirt. She shimmied in front of the big dressing room mirror, unaware that a member of the Cherry Poppers Club was getting an eyeful.
Craig studied his target critically. Her breasts were small, but perky. He thought of how sweet her tits would taste. Oh, yeah, she was a bit on the skinny side, but if she could move like that, she'd be a nice ride. And he'd show her a good time as well. This was going to be fun. His cock remained at true north while he watched her prance around.
Then he almost made a sound. Allison was taking off her bra. Yes!! She was fondling herself in the mirror. The young woman turned sideways, eying her profile. It wasn't hard to tell what she was thinking. Plainly she was wondering if she was attractive, probably comparing herself to other girls. She held up her breasts and squashed them a little, trying out the look of a tight bustier.
With a sigh, she gave up and reached for another flimsy undergarment. This one was white, too. Craig watch with extra interest as his peer fiddled with the straps, twining them into some kind of X shape across her lower back. Women did the strangest things for the sake of fashion.
Whoooo, there went the ordinary cotton panties. After a flash of bare bottom, they were replaced by a lacy scrap that he yearned to touch, to tug at. Maybe he could even sweet-talk her tonight, on the pretext of congratulations. No doubt roses would sweep her off her feet. He'd miss part of the concert while he went out to buy them, but so what? Craig hadn't the faintest interest in Allison's passion ... only his own.
Allie wiggled into a strapless white fifties-style dress. She was limber enough to zip up the back by herself, though Craig had a fleeting urge to help her with it — almost as if he were her friend, or boyfriend, and they were going out somewhere together. He drew himself up short. They would never be friends. Oh, he might charm her, spend some coin to feed or amuse her, but he'd never lose sight of his sole objective. He was the hunter and she, the prey. Once he fucked her, their relationship would end. It was that simple, and he'd do well to keep things clear in his mind.
Now she was fussing with her makeup, and Craig found himself wishing he could leave. Suddenly there was something pathetic about this young lady trying so hard to look nice. He was starting to feel bad about invading her privacy, and that pissed him off. He told himself he'd be doing her a favor by making her big night even bigger. He was still trying to convince himself when she left for the stage.
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