Jilly-Bean (Jilly-Bean Series # 1) Page 8

  “Yeah, I'm going through a metamorphosis,” she replied happily. She stepped back to survey Andrew, who looked as if he had somehow wandered into a party from the wrong decade; his hair was damp and shiny, recalling the slicked-back greasy look of the 1950's, and his face was shiny and flushed. He wore a leather bomber jacket and jeans— not at all what she would have expected for this event.

  “Did you leave your motorcycle parked out front? I'm surprised the bouncers let you in, looking like that,” she said smiling.

  “Oh, what? Do I look weird? They couldn't keep me out. I'm a graduate,” he replied with grim seriousness.

  “I would have expected something a little more formal.”

  He ignored her remark and smiled as he took a sip from his drink. “Is that lipstick you're wearing?”

  She tossed her head back, putting one hand on her hip and regarded him comically. “Well, I'm just trying to fit in.”

  “You don't need to wear lipstick. It really doesn't suit you. Everyone here is trying to be something they're not.”

  Jillian looked annoyed. “I'm not sure I know what you mean. What is it about you? Why can't you just try to fit in, too?”

  “I'm getting hungry. Follow me, and I'll show you the food spread.”

  Jillian followed Andrew, and moments later they were gazing wide-eyed and hungrily at the dishes of food spread out on long oak tables, carefully guarded by solemn looking men in hygienic white waiters' coats, each holding a spatula in one hand. Jillian and Andrew filled their paper plates with an assortment of vegetables, seafood and cold pasta, olives and tiny crackers with paste, which they proceeded to eat greedily, laughing through mouthfuls of food.

  The dancers seemed to take on new life as the DJ put on a catchy tune by the group INXS:

  “I need you tonight, 'cause there's something about you babe... that makes me sweat...”

  The music shook the floor under their feet; suddenly everyone wanted to dance. Jillian saw Amelia walking over, maybe slightly drunk, with her arms swinging high above her head and her large hips gyrating to the thump, thump, thump of the music. She laughed giddily as she pulled Andrew away, but not before he hastily handed Jillian his plate. Moments later Andrew and Amelia were whirling around the dance floor, keeping a frantic pace to the beat of the music, and were soon swept into the dancing crowd.

  Jillian was left alone holding two paper plates covered with food. Eager to get away from the dancing crowd, she steered herself like a raft shooting rapids, holding the plates high above her head, skirting around dancing couples. But then sighted Bill, who was unconsciously scratching the stubble on his neck and looking at her expectantly; he wasn't going to let her get away. No way! Absolutely not! she thought. So she turned sharply around to head in the opposite direction, only to find that she was now standing face to face with the mysterious stranger Matt.

  Jillian's face turned various shades of red. She knew it was pounding with blood. She found she could not utter a single word or so much as move her feet. Meanwhile, Matt casually took a sip of his beer as he studied her sidelong, one hand in his pocket, appearing very cool and casual. Finally he broke the silence and said with a glowing smile, “You know, I wasn't intending to come here, but now I'm glad I did.”

  Jillian stammered, “I was just about to leave.”

  “Oh, why? It's early. I'm Matt Barnes, by the way,” he held out his hand in greeting. Jillian extended hers in turn and felt the light squeeze of his fingers as she smilingly and shyly gazed straight into his eyes. They say that eyes are windows to the soul; his were a grey blue, the colour of skies just before a storm. Up close, he was good-looking, tall with thick dark wavy hair that wisped around his forehead; a chiselled face that reminded her of Michelangelo's statue of David. Oh, and soft-spoken too? Yes, he was perfect.

  “Your name's Jillian, is it?”

  “Yes.” Jillian was surprised and flattered. “How did you know?”

  “I've got ways. It's not that difficult, really.”

  She stared at the ground and bit her lower lip, which was caught between her teeth in a shy smile. She didn't know what to say next and felt awkward.

  “Do you dance?” he asked.

  No, she did not dance. There was no way in a million years that she would dance and embarrass herself in front of all her friends! She stammered an apology: “No, I don't dance. I have two left feet, as they say.”

  “Oh, there's no such thing. You just have to go with the rhythm.” He held out his hand to her. “I could teach you a few steps. There's really nothing to it.”

  In a moment they were trotting to the dance floor. All she could hear was the sound of her own giddy voice, up somewhere amid the carved beams of the ceiling, ringing out, “Y-Yes, I'd love to.” She could barely swallow the spittle in her mouth as Matt rushed her to the centre of the hall. She felt thrilled, but her knees almost buckled. This was her very first dance! Well, at least she wasn't thirty-five years old, like her next-door neighbour, who still lived in her parents' basement; technically she was still a teenager and could make up for lost time. Couples were brushing against them, thrusting their bodies haphazardly to the rhythm, and they slipped into a gap that briefly presented itself. But just then the music stopped. Jillian turned to face Matt and gazed up at him anxiously. He looked much older than her male friends. She saw stubble on his face; he probably shaved every day. He also towered over her, standing a good six inches taller than her meagre five-foot-five-inch frame.

  “We'll wait for the next song,” he said reassuringly.

  Unfortunately the DJ selected a love song by the Cranberries, “Linger.” Jillian's heart sank. This song would require dancing close or worse, embracing! She mumbled apologetically, glancing sidelong, afraid to look him straight in the eyes. “It's okay if you want to skip this dance, we can ....”

  “No, I'd really like to dance to this one,” he replied— “that's if it's all right with you. I've always liked this song.”

  He ran the fingers of one hand lightly down to her waist and gripped her hand with his other. Under his grasp Jillian went stiff; she caught her breath and took a few steps back, a point that her dancing-partner did not fail to notice. He smiled and drew her closer.

  “This is the way slow dances go. Just follow my lead.”

  She accidentally tripped, stepped on Matt's foot and quickly mumbled an apology. Her face was burning hot, and she was thankful for the darkness. She looked around, took her cue from the other dancers and tentatively, carefully rested her head on his shoulder. Her heart was racing. Her anxious eyes darted around the crowd in the dimly lit hall, to catch a glimpse of who might be watching her slow dance with Mr. Wonderful; and to her horror she saw Amelia and Annie watching her with wide fiendish grins on their faces. Amelia was mockingly throwing her kisses, while Annie was holding one hand up to her head and pretending to faint in a swoon. Jillian felt abashed; her cheeks continued to burn as she flashed a smile at her friends but then quickly turned her head the other way so that they might not see the euphoria in her soul shining through her eyes as she swayed to the music and felt the warmth of Matt's breath on her hair and the cool, crisp texture of his shirt under her fingertips. Still, though, her heart was beating rapidly, and a part of her wanted to run somewhere far away. Was this real, or was she dreaming?

  She looked up, startled, and saw Matt smiling, and then she too was smiling as she closed her eyes. The effect was overwhelming for a shy sheltered girl of eighteen, who until then had never been held by any man near her own age. The music gripped her and she was swallowed up by the intensity of the moment. When had music affected her so? She couldn't remember. A pulse of joy was beating in her. The melancholy sound of The Cranberries rang in her ears:

  “You've got me wrapped around your finger, do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger....”

  Then opening her eyes and looking vaguely around the room, she saw couples walking out into the darkness, heading for the quad
rangle. She wished that the moment would go on forever; but the song was almost over, and she would probably never see this man again.

  She looked up and her startled eyes met his gaze.

  “I know I just met you, but I feel I know you,” he said quietly, smiling, “like— we've met in another life.”

  She laughed nervously and shrugged. “That's funny. Like Marc Antony and Cleopatra?”

  “Yeah,” he was smiling. “Let's go sit for a while. There's a reading-room near here.”

  She looked up. His eyes were so warm and appealing. “Sure.”

  She was flattered and surprised when Matt accidently brushed his arm against hers as they walked side by side and he escorted her down a corridor to a room with leather-upholstered sofas and an enormous fireplace, burning bright. She caught sight of a hopeful young girl's face, glowing and rosy in a large gilded mirror across the way, and was startled to realize, it was her own! They were talking, and her face was flushed and had taken on the warmth and the colour of the flames; tiny beads of perspiration like dewdrops glistened on her forehead. She was smiling and murmuring sweet happy words that fell from her lips like exhaled breath, it was so easy and natural. Matt was smiling but looking anxiously about and, after a moment's hesitation, cleared his throat; his face was quickly approaching hers! Was he about to kiss her? She edged herself away. He grinned, reached over with one hand and lightly touched her knee; she could feel the warmth of his hand through her silk stockings. She was frozen with fear. Still childlike in many ways, she could hardly breathe; something seemed stuck in her throat. She gently removed his hand and then lifted hers, tightly clutched into a fist as if she were about to punch him, but instead she raised it up to her chest and exclaimed, “I have to go. I need some air. It's become awfully hot by the fire.”

  “It is getting hot in here, isn't it?” he replied with a grin.

  She looked into his experienced eyes and at once realized she was caught up in some flirtatious game; but the impression was a fleeting one. From the edge of her vision, she was vaguely aware someone was watching her. Her eyes quickly darted towards the door, which caused Matt to look as well, but he had the guilty look of someone who was caught in an illicit act. Standing in the doorway was none other than Sarah! Her sneer seemed to fill the room like a cold draft. Her perfect rosebud mouth was puckered into an angry pout, indicating displeasure, as with forced cheerfulness she walked over in her two-inch-high heels, which clicked on the oak floor like the sound of an approaching train. Sarah laid a proprietary hand on Matt's shoulder, leaned over and whispered something in his ear, then straightened herself up. Leering, she added, “There's something you must see outside.”

  Matt brushed his hair back away from his forehead with one quick movement of his hand and grinned, peering sidelong at Sarah. “Of course. I'll just be a moment Jillian.” Sarah slipped a hand around his as they walked out.

  Jillian remained behind, warming her feet by a fire whose flames had quickly died to smouldering embers, and could hear the chatter and laughter outside in the quadrangle. From the doorway came a familiar voice: “You're not going out with them?”

  She didn't answer. She kept her head lowered, staring into the fireplace and giving no sign of having heard, until the speaker was standing right before her. Still she refused to lift her head.

  “Jillian?”

  “Oh, what do you want to know Andy? There's nothing to see.” she replied sadly.

  “Who was that guy you were dancing with?”

  “Oh, him? His name is Matt something,” she replied vaguely.

  “He's not a graduate. Who invited him? What's he doing here?”

  “Well, I don't know,” she replied, getting a bit annoyed. “Someone invited him, I guess.”

  She knew he meant well and decided she had better humour him; so she got up and walked with him back down the corridor until they reached the double door that led to the quadrangle. It was open, and a gust of cool night air blew into the building.

  “Jillian!” Matt cried as he spotted her, “I'm not finished with you.”

  “I was just about to leave,” she called back apologetically.

  “What?” Matt sounded genuinely surprised. He walked quickly in from the quad and over to her. She saw the smile on his face falter; he was staring at Andrew. Could he be jealous of Andrew? she wondered and found she actually liked the idea. In the animal kingdom two rival males often fight to the death over the female. She smiled to herself. Matt regarded Andrew critically, summing him up. “Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

  Silence.

  “Andrew is an old friend of mine,” Jillian explained, smiling broadly. “Matt, meet Andrew; Andrew, meet Matt.” Andrew nodded and gave Matt a slight bow, and they shook hands. More awkward silence followed.

  “I hope I didn't interrupt anything!” Matt ventured at last.

  “But you didn't, really,” Jillian replied matter-of-factly. “Andrew was just leaving.” She looked up at Andrew with hopeful appeal. “Right?”

  “Ah, yes! That's right, I was just leaving.”

  “Jillian, I'd like you to come and see something. You can actually see the planet Venus in the sky,” Matt insisted.

  “You've seen one planet, you've seen another,” quipped Andrew.

  Jillian laughingly protested, “I'd love to, Matt.”

  “Now, don't make a fuss. I'll carry you.”

  “Really, Matt, I can walk for myself. I have two perfectly good feet.” But her words fell on deaf ears and suddenly crouching down, he lifted her up in his arms, and all the while Jillian was laughing and protesting: “Matt, please put me down. Don't be silly.”

  “This little mouse has to come out and see Venus,” he teased.

  Andrew lingered behind silently and watched Jillian being carried away. She sensed his eyes following her and peered briefly over Matt's shoulder. In that instant her eyes met his gaze and caught a curious startled flicker, as if Andrew no longer recognized her.

  “Andrew, tell Matt I'm not a mouse,” she pleaded laughingly.

  “I'm sure you could do that for yourself, Jillian,” Andrew replied in a serious tone.

  Her smile faltered as she stared back at Andrew.

  Matt carried her through an arching stone doorway, framed on the outside with Boston ivy, and set her down in the quad; there knots of other couples were chatting, smoking and looking out into the night sky. She paused to look back through the vestibule to one door of the great hall, still rosy with light; the music, the talk and the laughter floated out and into the night. Her heart was beating strangely in her chest; she felt a gentle pressure as Matt encircled and firmly gripped her waist with his hand; she looked up to see the dim outline of his head and shoulders against the darkness and caught the flickering intensity of his smile. Then he leaned over and whispered words just barely audible as his warm breath touched and tickled her ear: “How about a stroll along Philosophers' Walk?”

  “What's that?”

  “It's a path between the university buildings, flanked by big old trees. It's a nice walk.”

  “But— ”

  “But what?”

  “The grass will be all damp,” she argued anxiously.

  “You won't get your feet wet. The path is paved,” he insisted.

  She tried to break loose from his grasp, but he wouldn't let go. “I won't bite,” he persisted. She looked up at him and smiled. He took her hand and led her out of the quad by another door, then right out of Hart House and headed off down Philosophers' Walk. At first she kept her head lowered, staring at the ground as she walked, not wanting to look Matt straight in the face. She felt shy. But then she glimpsed up curiously at him and saw his gaze resting thoughtfully on her in a deliberate searching way and it seemed quite clear to her that he had been staring at her all along. Just then, a flock of birds— starlings?— broke out of one of the trees and flashed black overhead. Their forceful wings and excited loud cries startled them. Jillian had the palms
of her hands pressed tight over her ears as they both ran down the path towards a bench.

  “Those crazy birds nearly gave me a heart attack,” he exclaimed. But within seconds, he had his arm around Jillian and was sitting very close. She wondered, half in a panic, if he was about to kiss her. She was sitting so close against his warm body; waves of new emotion washed over her. Was this what it was like to be in love? Moments later she surrendered, almost too easily, laughing yet almost crying, as he pulled her down to the damp grass beside the bench into his waiting arms. From somewhere close by came a chirp of crickets, hidden amongst the bushes. The kiss came suddenly. It felt like nothing she had expected— wet, as if her mouth had got caught in a trap. It was different. It was sudden. She felt a moment of panic; her feelings were in turmoil; yet in that brief instant, she felt a comingling of desire and excitement - that she mistook for love.

  Chapter Six

  A warm hazy breeze was blowing as the girl walked down a tree-lined street in a dress of white lace. Pink cherry blossoms were falling invisibly from the sky onto her shoulders, onto her hair and along the path. Birds were singing; it was spring, and the air had a misty feel, while the sun cast a pearly glow. She was thin and demure and held herself upright, almost rigid, scarcely casting a glance to the right or to the left but always looking straight ahead at some indeterminate spot on the horizon— facing the future. Jillian couldn't clearly see the face but knew it was her own. She was the main character in this dream. Her friends were looking on, mouths gaping, in wide-eyed disbelief as she approached. The dress came into focus, elaborate in detail, embroidered with pearls and rosebud appliqués and sequins. Was she a bride; and if so, whom was she marrying? The answer to this question was not even clear to Jillian. A veil suddenly appeared over her head and trailed down to her feet. There were whispers and laughter, distant hollow sounds and voices that seemed to emanate from a cavernous place, echoing in her ears, “The bride is late.” And like one of those incomprehensible shifts in scenes in a movie, suddenly she was looking straight down into a church; it could have been St. Michael's Cathedral. In the front pew, along with a few dignitaries, she caught sight of her parent's solemn, anxious faces. The high altar glittered with gold and was lit with rows of candles and adorned with an abundance of flowers such as daisies, lilies and yellow roses. In the centre stood a priest, austere in his ceremonial robes, reading the sermon in a language that might have been Latin; standing at his side was a shadowed figure that she could not identify for certain. She looked towards the back of the church and saw many anxious waiting faces. Then she looked up to the gallery, and there mounted on the wall was a large round-faced clock; the red second hand was quickly marking time's rapid advance while the minute hand appeared stopped. According to the clock it was twelve noon. The notes of a large choir sounded, but no one was there; the music was coming from an antique wooden gramophone that skipped and crackled as the needle made its bumpy way around the crevices in the vinyl. Although faint and dream-like, the sound was a beautiful rendition of Pachelbel's Canon: angelic voices reaching notes so high she could never have dreamed possible.