The Devil and Danna Webster Page 8

  "Great, why don’t you come out to my house. We can walk on the beach. Okay? And I'll make lunch for you."

  "Terrific. Anything but peanut butter and jelly." She pointed at my sandwich with disdain.

  "Hey, this is gourmet stuff. Mom bought it at the nutrition store. But for you, I might even cook."

  "No, Dani, that's okay. I want to live to my sixteenth birthday."

  I gave Joyce a shove. Then she shoved back, and somehow we managed to knock a cookie out of Phyllis's hand which made her protest.

  “Hey! You owe me a chocolate chip cookie.”

  At that moment, Gar Hansen walked up to our table. I instantly straightened up. It was embarrassing having him see me acting so juvenile.

  "Hi, I was just wondering how that test went," he said to me. "You did say you were taking it today, didn't you?"

  "Oh, yeah, well, it went okay I guess, but we won't get our grades back until at least Tuesday. Thanks for your help." I quickly turned to Joyce. "And yours too. You're both totally terrific tutors."

  I introduced Gar to Joyce. It was funny how they hit it off right away. I guess I didn't expect it. Gar stood talking to the three of us for at least five minutes.

  "Wow, he's really tutoring you? How did you ever arrange that?" Phyllis asked after Gar had returned to his own table. Her eyes opened wide.

  "There are some advantages to stupidity I suppose."

  Joyce poked me.

  "Cut it out!"

  "You were putting yourself down again," Joyce said. "I think he likes you. And I think I was wrong about him being conceited."

  At that moment, I caught sight of Gar talking with Caron Moore. "You think I could actually compete with her?"

  Joyce put her glasses on again and looked in the direction I had indicated. "Sure, why not?"

  I shook my head.

  "Danna does have a point," Phyllis said. "Anyway, it was nice just talking to him." She let out an expressive, if over dramatic, sigh.

  ****

  English was my one and only honors course. Sitting in class, I was mesmerized by Mr. McKenna. He wasn’t tall or handsome but he had presence. His magnetic personality commanded attention. Everyone loved it when he read to us. He possessed a deep, rich baritone voice and read with expression and feeling. In fact, some of the kids nicknamed him the voice. Mr. McKenna made American Lit come alive.

  “I’m assigning two short stories for this week. I want you to read them both. Then you’re to write an essay comparing and contrasting them. It’s going to count as a major composition grade.”

  There were groans. Only a few people enjoyed writing essays, and they were suck-ups who probably just said it to impress our teacher.

  Mr. McKenna raised his right hand for silence. “You’re going to love these stories. I guarantee it. Halloween isn’t far away so this is the perfect assignment. The first story is The Devil and Tom Walker by Washington Irving. The second story is The Devil and Daniel Webster by Stephen Vincent Benet. Compare the authors. Compare their style of writing. Compare how they present the devil. I’ll give extra time on the written assignment. We’ll discuss the stories in class first.”

  Mr. McKenna looked over at me. “Danna, you should especially like this assignment with a last name like Webster. You wouldn’t be any relation to the Daniel Webster, would you?” He raised an eyebrow in a question mark.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “My father died before I was born. My mother never talks about him.”

  Mr. McKenna cleared his throat and I thought what I said might have caused him to feel uncomfortable. “It’s unlikely. Webster is a common enough name. Besides, since Daniel Webster was historically such a famous American, I’m certain if there were any kinship you’d have been told.”

  I supposed he was right but made a mental note to ask my mother about it sometime. I decided to get a head start on my essay. I was going to see if there were any books that might help me. So during my study hall period I went directly to the library to check out information resources. After using the card catalog, I headed into the book stacks.

  “Hanging out in the library again? Aren’t you concerned about your reputation?”

  I turned and looked up into Kevin’s laughing eyes. “You should be more worried about yours. What are you doing here anyway? I thought you weren’t allowed in the library anymore. Aren’t you supposed to be in the cafeteria study?”

  He shook his head. “No way. I’ve got senior privileges. I’m hanging out in the commons now. More freedom and I can get coffee and stuff when I want it. I just slipped in to see you for a few minutes. I figured you’d probably be here. I was thinking about you.” He put his arm around me.

  “I’m afraid we’ll get in trouble,” I warned.

  He gave me a mischievous smile. “We might at that. Where’s your four-eyed watchdog?”

  “You mean Joyce?” I didn’t like him describing my friend that way. “She has bio lab today.”

  “So what are you looking for? Maybe I can help you?” He ran his fingers down my sides sending fissions of awareness shooting through me.

  “I’m looking for The Devil’s Dictionary.”

  “I could tell you anything you to want to know on that subject. Just try me.” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on my neck.

  I started to shiver. “Cut it out,” I said, my voice husky. “I’m trying to do some research.”

  “Me too,” he said. He pushed me against the bookshelves and leaned down to kiss me.

  I heard someone coming and shoved him away. He looked up, saw another student and muttered a curse under his breath. I immediately recognized the girl who stood there staring at us and smirking. It was Phyllis, her eyes rounded. I felt my face burn like a blood sun.

  “Hi, Dani,” she said. “Find what you’re looking for?”

  “See you tomorrow,” Kevin said. Phyllis and I watched him swagger away.

  “Hot stuff,” Phyllis said with a nod. “Watch out, Dani, or he’ll give you a third-degree burn.” She made a sizzling sound for emphasis.

  I sure hoped she was wrong.

  ****

  On Saturday morning, I did some studying bright and early. Then I spent just as long trying to figure out what to wear over to Kevin's house. I was frustrated. None of my clothes were nice enough.

  I went and found my mother. "This summer, you've got to get me a job at the store. I'll work long hours if I have to but I need to buy myself a decent wardrobe."

  My mother put down her dust cloth, frowning. "You've got plenty of nice clothes. Maybe no fancy labels, but everything in your closet is clean and neat. Still if you want to work this summer at the store, there's no problem. The others take turns going on vacation and you can take their place. It would do you good to earn your own spending money. Then if you want some more clothes, you can buy them. But don't be influenced by that boy. If he's critical of you, it could be he isn't right for you."

  “No, Kevin only pays me compliments though I don't know why. But his sister has the most beautiful clothes you’ve ever seen. She’s elegance personified.”

  My mother shook her head, disapproval obvious by the way she returned to dusting the furniture with a vengeance. “I don’t see the necessity for that.”

  I stayed her busy hands. “Mom, I just want more out of life. I'd like to get a good education and a job I really want to do someday. I'd like to earn lots of money so I could take you on a European vacation, a trip around the world."

  My mother laughed, little crinkly lines forming at the corners of her light brown eyes.

  "Wouldn't make me any happier to travel around the world. I’ve got everyone and everything I love right here. Home is what matters. But I thank you for the thought just the same. Maybe you will travel one day if that's what you want."

  I put my arms around her. "I can't help wanting more."

  "No, I guess you can't," she agreed. "Just be patient, is all. It'll come to you if you really want it. But trust me, materia
l things aren’t everything."

  I didn’t respond to her comment. I sort of thought she was rationalizing because she’d had so little all her life and had simply managed to make do. "Help me pick out something for my date with Kevin, okay? We're having lunch with his mother and I'm not sure what to wear."

  My mother's smile was like sunlight after a rainstorm. "His mother, is it? In my day, we didn't meet a boy's mother unless the fellow was ready to propose."

  "I don’t think that’s what Kevin had in mind,” I said.

  “I don’t expect so,” Mom agreed.

  “Kevin’s an independent thinker. I don't know why he wants me to meet his mother, now that you mention it, but it does seem to be important to him."

  "Well, a boy who wants a girl to meet his mother can't be all bad, I guess. Maybe I've misjudged him some. And he certainly does call here enough. Your dad was threatening to pull out the phone the other night. I hope he hasn't been keeping you from your homework."

  "No, I never talk to him that long; though I do wish I had my own phone like some kids I know."

  “Then you’d probably be on the phone all the time.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  Mom shook her head. “We’ll see about it when you’re sixteen. You can earn the money for it yourself working at the store. I suppose this Kevin fellow has his own phone.”

  “That’s right.”

  Mom sniffed her nose. “No surprise at all.”

  I could tell that no matter what I said, my mother was going to disapprove of Kevin.

  Chapter Seven

  Sheila Moore had the same dark beauty as Caron. Her black hair was permed in tight, sleek curls like a French poodle. She hugged me even before Kevin introduced us.

  "So you're Danna! Kevin has been going on and on about you all week. I have to admit I've been curious." She studied me from top to bottom.

  I knew my face was coloring again. "It's nice to meet you," I said worrying my lower lip.

  Kevin held my hand for support. He gave me an encouraging nod. I couldn't get any more words out. I knew I’d stammer if I tried. I felt as if I were back in French class attempting a recitation, but Kevin seemed to sense my insecurity and he spoke for me.

  "I think the two of you are going to get along famously," he said with a big smile.

  "Of course, we will! I hope you're hungry because I've had Juanita fix us an early lunch." Mrs. Moore had an amazing voice, throaty and cultured. I followed her into an elegant living room with intricately carved Spanish furniture and thick, red shag carpeting. There were several vivid paintings of bullfights on the walls.

  "I'd like to paint a scene like that one day, if I ever get to travel," I said.

  "Yes, it is inspiring," Mrs. Moore said in a theatrical, affected manner. "I got into bullfighting while I was in Madrid and Pamplona. It was quite exhilarating. Whenever I saw a bull killed, I pretended it was my former husband.”

  Kevin squeezed my hand. “Mother enjoys the occasional horror flick as well.”

  “Not really. They’re so ridiculous. I suppose it was reading too much Hemingway that caused me to fixate on bullfighting. The Spanish are so passionate in their love of death."

  "I didn't know you were so bloodthirsty, Sheila." Kevin said in an amused tone of voice.

  Mrs. Moore smiled at him. "Enough of that. Let's go into the dining room. Juanita is waiting. I promised she could have the afternoon off, so she's in a hurry to serve."

  We seated ourselves at a table laid out with fine white Irish linen, shining heavy silverware, gold-edged plates and crystal goblets. Joyce’s mother has that kind of quality stuff too; although she keeps hers locked away in her china cabinet for display only. Did the Moores eat like this all the time? Surely, it wouldn't have been put out just for my benefit?

  Mrs. Moore called out to someone in the kitchen. A short, heavy-set woman dressed in a white uniform and pink apron came toward us carrying a large salad bowl and a plate of hot rolls. She put them down in the center of the table and left, only to return moments later with a plate of steaming pancakes.

  "We're eating simply," Mrs. Moore explained after the woman had gone. "This is the best our cook can manage, an ordinary crepe fromage.” The woman returned again with coffee and then served each of us in turn. I thought the lunch was wonderful and told Mrs. Moore so.

  Kevin’s mother waved her manicured digits with an air of dismissal. "Oh, it’s really nothing. When we lived in the city, we would dine in true elegance. But I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. It's nice to have Kevin bring home a friend. I hardly meet his friends anymore." She let out a sigh of regret.

  We ate in silence for a time. Then Juanita brought out a pastry assortment for dessert and a large bowl of fruit. Kevin and I helped ourselves to small cream puffs, but Mrs. Moore refused to have any, selecting only a bit of fruit. No wonder she was still so slim!

  After lunch, Mrs. Moore asked me a lot of questions about myself and my family which I answered as straightforwardly as I could. I didn't feel uncomfortable talking to her anymore. She didn’t seem the least bit judgmental, but I couldn't help wondering why she was so interested in me.

  "Kevin tells me you're an artist."

  "I'm learning to be," I told her. “I have a long way to go.”

  "She's really good, Sheila. You ought to see her work. Danna's a very modest person."

  Mrs. Moore seemed pleased. "Well, I have a wonderful idea. Why don't we commission Danna to do a portrait of Caron? Wouldn't that be a wonderful surprise for her birthday?"

  I stared at Mrs. Moore in shock. "I couldn't! I'm not that good."

  "Sure, you are," Kevin said. "I think that's a great idea, Sheila. Nothing would please Caron more than a portrait of herself — as long as it's flattering."

  Mrs. Moore frowned at that last remark. "You must invite Danna to the party. She can be your date." Mrs. Moore turned to me. "You'll have a wonderful time. It's going to be quite the social event. I guarantee the girls at least will find it unforgettable." She glanced back to Kevin. "Although, I don't know if I can stand seeing your father and that woman together. It makes me physically ill. However, Caron insists on inviting him, and he won’t come without that creature. I can’t refuse since it is Caron’s party. It would be ungracious. Anyway, your father is paying for it." Mother and son exchanged bitter looks. "I'm going to have a glass of wine," Mrs. Moore said. "Would either of you like one?"

  I was surprised by the offer and refused but Kevin did accept. I realized this was probably not the first time mother and son had drinks together, because Mrs. Moore didn't ask what Kevin wanted, she just seemed to know. He also seemed very comfortable drinking. He urged me to reconsider but I steadfastly refused.

  "I don't like the taste of alcohol," I told him.

  "Your parents don't drink?" Mrs. Moore asked.

  "Sometimes, but not often; they do keep liquor in the house for guests."

  "I'm afraid it's one of my vices, and this is another." She took a long, filter-tipped cigarette from a silver case on the coffee table and lit it with a silver lighter.

  "Coffin nails, Sheila."

  Mrs. Moore frowned and raised her chin. "Not a very original observation, dear.”

  “I gave them up. You can too," Kevin persisted.

  "You had only been smoking a year. I've been smoking quite a few more. It's not so easy for me."

  "Kevin's right," I said. "In health ed, we learned about the terrible diseases smoking causes."

  "Oh, please!" She crushed her cigarette into a blue Wedgewood ashtray without taking a single puff. “The two of you are spoiling my enjoyment.”

  "Thank you, Danna," Kevin said, squeezing my hand. He turned to his mother. "Didn't I tell you she was a good influence?"

  "Heaven knows, you need one! I, on the other hand, am doing just fine on my own."

  Kevin let out a large "ha!"

  "All right, young man, go find me a good photograph of Caron. We can't have her pose for Danna
. It would ruin the surprise. Get me the one we had done by the studio last year." Kevin left to do as his mother requested.

  "I don't know if I can do her justice," I said.

  "Of course, you can and you will. Why don't I pay you fifty dollars now on account and another hundred when you complete the painting?"

  I stared at her in amazement. "I can't accept your money!"

  "Not enough? Should I offer you more? Of course I should."

  I looked into her face, painted so perfectly. She didn't look much older than Caron, yet I realized she probably had to be as old as my mother. There wasn’t a single wrinkle on her face or a gray hair. She wore a jumpsuit in a shiny black material with gold sequins through the neckline. Her figure was slim and elegant.

  "You don’t need to offer me money. I'm only an amateur."

  "But a gifted one, according to Kevin, and he's an excellent judge. No, you must accept. I'm determined. And I must have my way when my mind is made up." She found a handbag, and took two twenties and a ten dollar bill out of her purse, then folded them into my hand in such a way that I didn't dare refuse again.

  "You're the first real friend Kevin's made since coming to this town. Kevin never has made friends very easily. Not that he isn't popular whenever he chooses to be, but since the divorce he's been rather moody and tends to fall in with troublemakers. God knows he's attractive to girls but ..." Mrs. Moore broke off in mid-sentence, looking embarrassed. She continued nervously as if she felt a compulsion to talk. "Kevin really is a wonderful boy. He's been a great comfort to me in my troubles. But perhaps it hasn't been good for him having to console me." She took a swallow of her wine. "I'm glad he has you for a friend now. You're different from the usual sort of girl he dates. He needs a wholesome friend. Seeing you will be good for him." She caught sight of Kevin coming back into the room and stopped talking. He looked from her to me and raised his dark, thick brows.

  "Why are my ears burning?"