Chapter Eight: Allegro Modulation
Allegro: cheerful or brisk.
Modulation: To shift to another key
May 17, 1969
Several trips to and from the Stewart house had fairly cemented the route in Donald's memory. By the end of his second week in California, he felt he could drive it in his sleep. Of course, trying to negotiate streets made for left-hand-drive vehicles and keep his wits about drivers who were very, very good and very, very fast kept him quite awake.
As he waited his chance to turn at the light, he caught sight of a familiar car toward his left. Gene's bright purple Firebird was… noticeable, to say the least. He tooted the horn and waved. Tish responded by leaning out the passenger window, yelling over traffic and pointing. He knew it was useless to call back; if he couldn't hear her, she certainly couldn't hear him. From her gestures he gathered that she wanted him to pull into the parking area of the petrol station. He swung wide on the turn and pulled off to the side then watched the light change, Gene fly down the street, make a neat U-turn and come back.
"Cosmic timing," Tish laughed when they pulled up.
"Small universe."
"Dad was called in for a consult at Little Company of Mary. He walked over to pick up his car." Her eyes danced with mirth. "He is so pissed he can't talk straight. They haven't even started the repairs."
"Oh, my."
"Yeah, he finished chewing them out, called the insurance company and gave them an earful, now he needs a ride to pick up a new rental."
"Why does he need a second hire car? Does he plan to ride them double chariot style?"
"Could be interesting. No, the repair shop called on Wednesday and said the car would definitely be ready this morning—so he dropped off his rental last night."
"Ah. Just making the situation even more intolerable."
"You got it."
"I'd be happy to go fetch him," he offered.
She gave him a speculative look, plainly currying favor with your girlfriend's dad? Well… he couldn't deny that was part of it. "Nah—but thanks. He has a couple of errands, and I need to pick up my car, too. Just a tune-up, thank God, but hopefully it won't act like a bucking bronco at stoplights any more."
"Spark plugs and wires?"
She looked at him in astonishment. "Yeah, among other things. You work on cars?"
"A little."
"Man, I should have asked before I took it in. Denny is the one guy I ever knew who didn't like to mess around under the hood." She jerked her head toward Gene. "He's the second."
"I thought you built robots and electronic puppets and things like that."
"Sure do," Gene said affably. "Gears and wires and servos, fine. Car engines? Forget it. I can't tell you what the carburetor even looks like."
"So—we'll be back in a couple of hours, but Den and Mad and Biz are there. Just go around to the patio door, you don't need to knock."
"I'd hate to be rude—"
"You won't be." She glanced at her wristwatch. "As a matter of fact, if you hurry—it should be entertaining."
"Ent—" Gene started the engine and began to pull away. "Enter—Tish, what do you—"
Entertaining?
If it were in regard to anyone but Elizabeth, that would have sounded truly ominous.
Entertaining. Hmm.
He drove up the hill, wending his way to the house. Feeling only slightly like a burglar, he entered the side gate and made his way to the pool area. Robbie met him at the patio, capering about his feet. "Hey there, ol' boy," he murmured, ruffling the dog's mane. "Where's Elizabeth?"
A burst of feminine laughter made him glance up; "No, no, try it again!" he heard Maddie's voice from a distance. It sounded like they were in the library. Slipping inside and setting his swimming trunks on the couch, he followed his instincts through the entertainment room.
The door to the library was half open. He peered through the doorway. Elizabeth and Madalena were in the middle of the room, working through what seemed to be a dance routine. Elizabeth? Dancing? He must be hallucinating. Dennys sat at the piano, holding what Donald recognized as an Irish drum, a bodhran, and looking amused.
"Okay… step, step, step, hand-on-hip, wag finger—" Elizabeth directed. She and Madalena walked the steps and stopped. "Oh, yeah, that works better. Let's try it from the start."
"Give us an A chord, sweetie," Madalena requested. Dennys complied; his sister and girlfriend leaned close and hummed to find their pitches. Donald grinned; he was finally going to hear Elizabeth sing, even if she wasn't playing the guitar. Dennys swung off the bench and stood a couple of feet from Maddie and Elizabeth; he started twirling the small stick against the drum head and set the rhythm to a quick pace and the girls launched into an a cappella song.
"There once was a handsome lad, all from the town of Kimmin
He was so proud and boastful of his prowess with the women
Well the tales were told that made him out to be a Romeo
But he'd have his way with a lass whether she would or no!"
Their voices melded very nicely, but he wasn't sure he liked the song. The lyrics already made him a little uncomfortable.
Elizabeth took the lead on the song, Madalena "acting" the part and singing harmony.
"One day young Mary Stockwell did catch this Johnny's eye
And the next thing that you know he had his hand upon her thigh
Young Mary, hearing of the tales did push his hand away
And her proud and foolish gesture, did cause this lad to say—"
Dennys joined in, taking the part of "Johnny."
"Oh, run like the devil Mary, run
Run like the devil Mary, run
For I will catch you quick
And we will have some fun
For the time's run out on your virtue!"
What in the name of all that was holy was this song? Donald was absolutely appalled. But it was like a train wreck—he just couldn't turn away.
The girls continued their part, Elizabeth as lead, Madalena providing harmony and primary performance, Dennys adding a few movements around his drumming.
"Mary took off like a shot, went running through the town
Johnny was upon her heels to bring that gal to ground
But Mary's track did take her speeding through the flour mill
And she pushed a bag in Johnny's way so over him it spilled.
Well Johnny came out of the mill looking like a great white mountain
And his eyes, being full of dust, fell right into the fountain
At the sight of this the townsfolk laughed and Mary shrieked with glee
And Johnny got back to his feet shoutin' "Mary I'll get ye!"
Dennys took the end of the last line with gusto and launched into a repeat of his chorus. Donald nodded; okay, this was improving. It was turning into a comedy—so far.
"Mary she stuck out her tongue and started off once more
But Johnny grabbed her skirt so fast that a good piece of it tore
His passion infused with his rage, it nearly made him blind
And he took off so intent on Mary's now exposed behind."
Madalena wiggled her hips and kicked up her heels. Donald clamped a hand over his mouth to stop a snort of laughter.
"Johnny ran 'neath a laundry line, his head he had to duck
But flour and water soon make paste and to his back now stuck
A fine young ladies handkerchief of lovely bright red silk
While Mary ran into the barn where the town's cows all did milk."
Definitely a comedy. Donald barely suppressed his chuckles as Dennys belted out another chorus.
"Mary ran down the row of stalls, looking for safe cover
When upon her fell the shadow of her maddened would-be lover
"Ah-hah! Now I have cornered you and no more tricks you'll pull!"
When Mary opened the stall door of the dairy farmers' bull.
Well Mary hid behind the door, the bull saw Johnny only
And it crashed out of that stall door, being mad—"
"Or maybe lonely," Madalena sang suggestively. Donald grabbed his side; it was starting to ache from censoring his laughter.
"Johnny he turned tail and ran and that handkerchief so red
Went flapping out behind him as across the fields he sped!"
The girls stepped forward together and placed their outside hands on their hips.
"Oh run like the devil, Johnny, run
Run like the devil, Johnny, run
For I have banked your prowess
And your reputation's done
And I'll be the keeper of my virtue."
Elizabeth changed the pronouns and they waggled their fingers at "Johnny" and finished with a flourish. "Not bad, not bad," Madalena pronounced. The chime of the doorbell interrupted her and Elizabeth looked at the clock and gasped.
"Oh, my gosh, it's that late!" she cried as she turned around. Seeing Donald in the doorway, she stopped. "Donald—I, ah—I didn't know you were there."
"I'm sorry. Tish told me to come on in—that, that must be Eddie and Amanda," he added, waving toward the front of the house, finally able to let loose a few chortles.
"I'll get the door," Dennys murmured, slipping from the room.
"I'll come with you," Madalena added with strained brightness. Subtle.
"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I shouldn't have been listening."
She shook her head, but was silent for a long moment. "No. No, it's okay. Maddie and I, we do a sort of comedy Celtic folk thing. We call ourselves the Bawdy Barmaids."
"Bawdy?" he echoed.
"Yeah, well… I've got this red wig, so we look more alike, and the costumes…" She looked at him hesitantly. "It's all just in fun. Please don't be angry."
"Angry?" He stepped over and put his arms around her. "Ealasaid, why would I be angry?"
She stared at his chest and gave a small shrug. "I don't know," she mumbled. "I just… we've been doing it for a while, I never thought how it might look to… someone…"
"Well… at first the lyrics were a little disturbing. But then it turned out to be so funny—and the two of you sing wonderfully together. Dennys, too," he quickly amended.
"You really aren't angry?"
She actually looked afraid—he didn't know if he was more stunned, hurt… or angry himself. Where had she learned to be so fearful of someone's displeasure? She had seemed so confidant, so self-assured while she sang… He mentally shook his head. Where else would she learn to be afraid? Her mother.
"Not angry." He managed a smile. "Surprised. But—I can appreciate a good farce with the best of them."
She smiled up at him and sighed. "I'm so glad. I just suddenly realized how it might seem to someone from a more… conservative background," she said hesitantly.
He grinned. "You need to see some of the plays we have running in London."
She grinned in return. "I hope to." She surprised him by reaching up to give him a quick kiss.
"So… do I get to hear you play the guitar next?"
"Soon. I promise."
He pulled her closer. "Another?" he hinted. She glanced toward the door, but willingly gave him another kiss, deep and rich with promise. It took tremendous effort not to scoop her up and land them both on the couch, touching and kissing her more intimately. "I love you. More than life itself."
"You are my life."
/ / /
Dr. Stewart was very tolerant of Donald seeing Elizabeth on an increasingly frequent basis. Donald often jaunted down in the middle of the week just to take her out for a quick burger (or what the Americans called fish and chips), a forty-five minute drive each direction to spend only and hour or two with her—a worthwhile tradeoff in his book. Between visits they spent hours on the telephone, Donald feeding in a pocketful of dimes and nickels until the lateness of the hour or poverty forced them to stop talking. He often looked at them with a hint of amusement, perhaps thinking back to when he was a young courtin' man… but he seemed to accept the situation in any event.
Mrs. Stewart was another matter. If pressed, Donald would honestly admit he didn't care for her, after seeing how she treated her children, had total disregard for her husband and his work, and was careless and borderline rude to those visiting her home. But he was reared to be polite, and kept his feelings to himself, always speaking to her with civility and deference. Why she had taken him into such dislike was a mystery, but she had. He was careful not to be too affectionate to Elizabeth when the others were around, and was decorous to the point of absurdity when her mother was nearby. It didn't matter. She didn't like Donald, didn't approve of him seeing her daughter, and didn't care who knew. She often called him "Daniel" instead of Donald (though she mixed up Maddie and Gene's names, too, so that might mean nothing); as she waltzed her way through the contents of the bar she frequently progressed from dirty looks to outright daggers. No, she was far from being a champion of Donald Mallard.
He looked at the figure in the patio doorway and smiled politely. No response (not even an unkind look, which was promising; maybe she was warming toward him?). He turned back to the pool, where most of the group cavorted in one end and Elizabeth and Mandy swam long laps to see who could finish five rotations first. Elizabeth won handily. "I grew up swimming," she panted when Mandy congratulated her. "You grew up in the snow."
"Yeah, next time I challenge you to downhill skiing!"
Elizabeth swam over to the edge. "Yeah, right. Stand at the top of the hill with waxed wood on my feet and try not to go down a slippery hill of ice and snow. Pass. I like my bones where they are!"
"Chicken!"
"Bwak-bwak-bwak!" she called back. "You bet!"
Oh, there weren't enough hours in the day, days in the week… He squatted closer to her. "Do you think your father would object to us going out to a movie after dinner? Or would he think we're seeing too much of each other?"
"No, no, Dad likes you, he won't…" she trailed off.
Ah. But the dragon lady might. "It seemed okay with her last weekend, when we all went out to that Renaissance dance… Maybe if it's all eight of us? Or maybe six, or even just four?"
She smiled up at him. "I'm in love with a genius."
"Say it again."
"You're a genius."
"No, no… the first part."
"I'm in love…" She stared into his eyes, her look gentle. 'With you,' she mouthed. "Hey, Denny, Gene," she called, motioning them over. "Donald has a great idea." She filled them in, and both young men agreed. "Mandy!" she called. When Amanda looked up, she continued. "We're all talking about hitting the flicks after dinner—you and Eddie want to come along?"
"Can't speak for him, but, sure—I'm up for it." She held up her hands. "So long as it isn't that lousy remake of The Wax Museum."
"No horror movies," Elizabeth agreed as her brother and Gene returned to Mandy and their game, the three playing an odd version of water volleyball.
"Ah, darn," Donald teased in a low voice. "I was looking forward to you yelping in fear and taking shelter in my arms."
"Well… when you put it that way," she grinned. "We'll just say… no bad horror movies."
"Agreed."
She grabbed hold of the edge of the pool; he stood up and stepped back, giving her room to exit. She pushed down, swung a leg up hoisted herself out. Donald swallowed hard; the play of muscle against muscle did wonderful things to her bosom, even nicer than the Renaissance costume had been. He indulged in a moment of fantasy, imagining how sweet it would be to hold her, feel those pale amber breasts pressed, naked, against his chest, to caress them, kiss them… He realized he was staring, unseeing, into her eyes. She had just a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "What are you thinking?" she whispered.
Finding the nearest bed, making love to her for the rest of the night, for the rest of his life… Like hell he was going to answer honestly.
She smiled. "Are you thinking… what… I'm thinking?"
"Oh, God, I hope so." The words blurted out before he had a chance to stop them.
"Mmh." Her eyes twinkled up at him. "I promise not to slap a red kerchief on your rear… Johnny."
"Ealasaid!" He gave her a wounded look. "I would never—"
"I know you wouldn't." She glanced toward the house; apparently her mother had gone back inside, because she gave him a kiss. "There isn't a woman in the world who would spurn your advances." She gave him a measured look. "And I'll knock each and every one on their collective asses if they so much as look your way." He grinned in response. "I'm sure we can find a nice drive-in with a good double feature… worthy of being ignored." With a teasing wink she reached past him, grabbed her towel and tripped off toward the house.
Donald looked down at the tap on his ankle. Dennys stared up from the water. "Hey, Don. Break her heart… and I'll kill ya." With a friendly smile, he kicked off from the wall, swimming rapidly toward the deep end of the pool.
Donald was pretty sure he wasn't joking.
/ / /
"I'm getting spoiled," Donald said with a contented sigh.
"Well, I told you when you first arrived, this is your home away from home," Dr. Stewart beamed.
"Home isn't like this. My mother does not make fried chicken that is remotely like this." Not even close. "You're the best cook I've ever met, Elizabeth."
Bad move. He didn't know if it was because he was persona non grata and was complimenting Elizabeth or because he was complimenting her on something that held no interest for her mother but her mouth turned down in a particularly ugly frown.
"I'm glad Elizabeth got the cooking gene," her sister put in quickly. "If we had to rely on my cooking…" she shuddered expressively.
Gene laughed. "No problem, honey. I live on take out already, I'm happy to do it after we get married, too."
Julia opened her mouth to speak; from the set of her jaw, Donald had a feeling it wasn't going to be overly pleasant. "Do you have a date set?" he got out swiftly before she had a chance to draw breath.
"July 12." Tish looked sad. "I'm really sorry it's after you guys leave." She looked—and sounded—utterly sincere. "But it was the only day we could—book the Yacht Club," she finished with a brittle smile. Donald was willing to bet who had demanded they choose the Yacht Club.
"You have our felicitations and congratulations, regardless," he said smoothly. His glance took in Madalena, sitting to Tish's right.
Maddie shook her head. "We're still discussing dates," she said genially. He didn't press; Den's problems made for a roller coaster relationship. Maddie knew what she was in for, but it was still difficult.
"The two of you are already family," Dr. Stewart said expansively, including Gene in his salute. There was an uncomfortable clink of ice against glass as his wife set her drink down on the table. "So—what movie are you kids going to see?"
"Movie?" Julia hadn't quite reached the point of slurring her words, but she was definitely well on the way to getting smashed.
"Yes, they're all flying the coop after dinner. I already said it was all right," he said firmly.
"But—"
"It's Saturday night, it's what young people do on a Saturday night… Julia," he said with a slight edge to his voice. There was an almost audible click as she shut her mouth. "Now… I believe I saw something that vaguely looked like a cake when I wandered through the kitchen…" he grinned at Elizabeth.
"Oh, Daddy, you know there's always dessert," she teased back. "Let me get the dinner dishes in the washer—"
"I'll help," came three separate voices. Tish and Maddie exchanged a look. "Never argue when a man volunteers to do housework," Tish said wisely, waving from Donald to the kitchen doorway.
Gene caught the eye of his soon-to-be brother-in-law. "Oooh. I think that was meant for us. We'd better help." Eddie quickly joined with them, carrying plates and silverware into the kitchen.
"I like this," Amanda said with a wicked grin. "Dating two weeks and he's already got the right idea." Eddie looked only slightly embarrassed.
He even volunteered to stay in the kitchen and help but Donald chased him away. "There's only one dishwasher to load," he said pragmatically. "Elizabeth and I have it covered." After the swinging door had stilled, he turned to her. "Alone at last," he stage whispered.
"Almost." Elizabeth pushed Robbie aside to get closer. "I never figured you for the domestic sort."
"Oh, there are many things about me that remain to be seen." He slipped one hand about her waist, the other tangling in her damp hair to hold her head. She wrapped her arms about him, pressing against him. What was that song…? Kisses sweeter than wine? He lightly brushed his tongue against her lips, teasing. Oh, yeah; much sweeter. He barely touched the roof of her mouth, enjoying her soft gasp of pleasure. He couldn't hold back a faint groan as she imitated his movements, exploring him with a growing confidence. "No…" he said softly when she pulled away.
"They're going to come looking for that damned cake," she said with regret.
True enough. From the other room came a laugh, then: "Hey, how are you kids making out in there?"
They stared at one another for a long moment, then Elizabeth, giggling, turned toward the counter. "Just fine, Dad!" She pointed to the dishes.
"Need help?"
"No!" She grabbed the chocolate-frosted angel food cake. "I'm coming!" She backed through the door.
Donald couldn't help but sigh; coming? No—not yet… but if they hadn't been interrupted…! He scraped the plates and quickly loaded them into the automatic dishwasher. There are stories you remember to tell your children… and stories you remember and make darn sure nobody tells your children. This was definitely one of the latter.
Elizabeth made two more trips for dessert plates and forks, then one last stop to help him finish loading the dishwasher. She tossed in soap, locked it and started the cycle; "We'll put the dessert things with the breakfast dishes." Before they left the kitchen, she pulled him to her for one last, deep, searing kiss that left them both breathless. "Double feature," she promised.
He nodded. "Double feature. Definitely."
/ / /
After lounging on the floor with the newspaper, they ended up with four separate itineraries. Gene and Tish decided to forgo films for the ice skating rink, Amanda and Eddie planned on a comedy double feature at a nearby drive-in, Maddie and Dennys wanted to see "Easy Rider"—and when Donald saw Elizabeth's eyes light up over the Sherlock Holmes triple (not double) feature at a revival house in Santa Monica, he knew where they were heading. "Can you direct me?"
She nodded, even as the other California natives (plus Amanda) chorused, "You can't miss it."
After saying good nights to Dr. Stewart (Mrs. Stewart having 'retired' right after dessert), they headed for the door. Donald was stopped in mid-motion of helping Elizabeth on with her cloak by a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to find Dr. Stewart looking at him with a bemused smile. "If you two have plans for this week—the car will still be in the shop. Lizzie still won't be able to drive up to my office."
"Oh—ah, thank you, sir. We'll see what happens during the week."
The hand remained on his shoulder. It was a very firm hand.
Somehow, it was more of a threat than Denny's promise of bodily harm.
/ / /
The Nuart was a state-of-the-art building. The entire building was crisp and clean, the sound system crystal clear, the screens still a bright white. The seats were soft and plush—and had the added bonus of armrests that swung up and out of the way, making it that much easier to cuddle with your date. The owners had thought of everything.
Including air conditioning set to artic temperatures. "That's why I brought my cloak," Elizabeth murmured as they climbed to the top of the balcony section.
"Aah. You knew we were going to be turned into human ices?" He was wishing they'd offered hot tea instead of cold sodas.
"Not that bad…" She followed him to the center of the top row. "But the first time we came here, I froze my butt off."
He turned back to cast an admiring glance over the allegedly frozen part of her anatomy and chuckled. "Looks fine to me."
She swatted his arm. "Donald!" She laughed. "I can't believe you said that!"
He set their drinks a safe distance away. "Ah…" He slipped his arms around her waist, under her cloak. "I just appreciate the beautiful things in life." One hand moved down to lightly caress the object in question, making her wriggle.
"Donald…" There was a different tease in her voice. She leaned closer to his ear. "Not while the lights are still up."
"Mmh. Good point." He held her cloak while she settled into a seat and almost ceremoniously moved the armrest out of the way and then took his own seat, drawing the cloak over them like a stadium blanket. "Comfortable?"
"Almost." She twisted about until she was snug up against him, head on his shoulder. "Much better."
"I agree." While the lights were still on he contented himself with occasional light kisses and whispered endearments. But when the illumination dropped before an audience of only fifty or so he quickly moved his caresses from casual to intense. Slow and sweet at first, they shared deep, languid kisses, enjoying their mutual explorations. It was just as delightful to be the recipient of her gentle search as it was to probe her warm lips. He slowly trailed kisses down her throat, enjoying the wildly pounding pulse beneath his touch. He trailed his tongue back up the path, relishing her tiny gasp of "oh!" then captured her mouth, lightly sucking on her tongue as she deepened the kiss.
She was stroking his chest, slowly, firmly, then letting her hand trail up to rest on his shoulder, almost massaging in rhythm with their kisses. Emboldened, he let his hand slip up and gently cup her breast, feeling the heat of her skin through the almost translucent fabric. She gasped slightly, but didn't pull away; if anything, after a moment, she leaned into his caress.
"Oh, yes," he murmured. Even through the blouse and bra he could feel her nipple stiffening, growing rock hard at his touch. He moved his hand down, sliding it under the hem of the filmy gauze. "Oh… your skin is so soft…" Her abdomen was quivering under his fingers.
"Mmh…" It was a simple sound of pleasure more than a noise of agreement, but turned into a shuddering intake of breath as he moved his hand back up to recapture her breast, fingers stroking her skin. "Oh… Donald…"
She was just a shade hesitant, but plainly enjoying his attentions. He found himself wondering that age-old question that was like a bucket of cold water: is she a virgin?
He was willing to bet his inheritance that her sister wasn't. But Elizabeth… hmm. And it was a dreadfully awkward question to ask.
He suddenly found himself glad they had skipped the drive-in. There was only so far one could go in an indoor theatre (in theory, anyway). The wide bench seats and privacy in the automobile would have been far too tempting.
As it was, he had both hands behind her, toying with the catch on her brassiere; she looked up at him, eyes glittering in the dark, and nodded silently. He slipped the tiny hooks free and quickly moved a hand forward to cradle a sweet, firm breast, thumb lightly brushing over a pebbled nipple. He could feel her moan softly beneath his lips, felt his own body respond to her arousal.
As it was, she had become curious on her own. She tweaked open first one button, then another, until his shirt lay completely open. She lightly raked her fingernails over the ribbing of his undershirt, making him shiver with pleasure. She moved to pull the fabric from his slacks; when she hesitated, he whispered, "Oh, yes—please," and she tugged the fabric free, sliding her hand up, combing through the hair and lightly toying with the equally stiff nipples on his chest.
As it was, neither of them noticed until they left hours later that they had misread the listing and had just sat through a Billy Wilder night of Some Like it Hot, Love in the Afternoon and Sabrina.
8
