The Letter - Chapter 43

The first thing I heard was the key turning in the lock.  The bedroom door opened with barely a sound.  As I started to wake up, the feather tick felt luxurious.  I snuggled down into the bedding, suddenly aware that I wasn’t in my bed in my house.  The memories of the past evening came rushing back.  The Sweetheart Dance, Jeff, that slow dance, gazing up into his eyes expectantly.  And the kiss that never happened because my mother dragged me from his arms and made me a virtual prisoner behind the stone walls and iron gate of this compound.  I looked around, but couldn’t see anything beyond the drawn curtains of the bed’s canopy.  I lifted my arm and felt the soft material of the pajamas they had laid out for me last evening.  I heard stirring nearby.

“Hello?  Who’s there?  Mother?”

A hand drew the curtain aside.  “No, Miss.  It’s just me doing a bit of tidying up.”

I looked at the young woman.  Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun.  Her brown eyes looked me over, unsure of whom she was looking at or why I was here.  I guessed her to be a few years older than me.  She was wearing a uniform. 

“And who are you?” I asked, sitting up in bed.

“I’m Minerva, Miss.  I’m the housemaid here at the estate.”

“Minerva?  Seriously?”

“My mother was a big fan of Roman mythology.  Would you like me to pull the curtains aside and open the blinds to let in the light of the day?”

“Sure.”  I didn’t know how I should act with a servant.  “Which goddess was Minerva?”

“She was the Roman goddess of wisdom and war.”

“Well, I sure could use some wisdom, and I feel like I’m in the middle of a war.”

“Miss?”

“Uh, never mind.  I’m Jennifer, by the way.”  I wasn’t sure how far I could trust Minerva.  I extended my hand, but she declined to shake it.  Protocol?  “So, how many servants are there in this house?”

“There are just three of us – well, four if you count Henry the chauffeur, which I suppose you should.  There’s Mr. Hughes the butler, Mrs. Tomlinson the cook and me.  My mum says that’s the minimum for a house this size.  But I think it’s not enough.  We’re kept very busy.”

I threw the covers aside and sat on the edge of the bed.  “Do you live here?”

“No, Miss.  This house doesn’t have servant’s quarters.  We all go to our separate homes at the end of the workday.  My schedule is 6:30 to 3:00 most days.  Mr. Hughes and Mrs. Tomlinson start later and stay later to cover the dinner hour.  And Henry works whenever they need him.   I’m usually not here during the weekends.  None of us are, unless something special is happening.  But I guess your being here is special, since we’re all here on a Sunday.”

“So, am I supposed to let you dress me?”

“No.  I’m a housemaid, not a lady’s maid.  Do you know the difference?”

“Sure.  I’m a big fan of Downton Abbey.  I detect a slight accent, though your English is perfect.  Were you born outside the United States?”

“Yes.  My parents came to this country as refugees from Syria.  They run a small restaurant.  In Coraopolis.  Here are the clothes Madame has picked out for you.”  Minerva pointed to a neatly folded set of clothes on the bench in front of a vanity.  I have more work to do.  Would you like me to turn on the fireplace before I leave?”

“No thank you.  I’m plenty warm.”

“There are soaps, shampoos and other things you might need in your bathroom.  I’ve also laid out fresh towels for you.”

I looked at the door leading to my private bathroom.  I hadn’t noticed the private bath during the whirlwind tour Mother had given me last week. 

“Thank you, Minerva.  It was nice talking to you.  Maybe I’ll see you again.  I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.”

“I hope it will be for a while.  It’s nice having someone close to my age to talk to.”  She grasped the door handle and pulled a key from her apron pocket.  “Oh, I’m sorry Miss, but Madame insisted that I lock you in.  For your safety.”  Minerva exited my room and I heard the lock click shut.

I stood there on the plush rug considering my situation.  How long is my mother going to keep me locked up in this room?  At this point I have no way to communicate with the outside world.  Minerva could be a valuable friend.  She leaves this place every day.  Perhaps she could get a message to Dad.  I looked at the clothes.  They were far more fashionable than the clothes I normally wear.  At least they were the correct size.   On the vanity was a full array of beauty products.  My mother must have done some research on popular brands among teens and young women.  Too bad I never use makeup – well maybe a little on special occasions like a semi-formal dance.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  My tears on the ride here last night had pretty much wiped out the little I had put on last evening.  I looked toward the bathroom.  A hot shower would feel good.  I walked to the bathroom door and looked at the neat stack of soft towels on the sink.  Then I saw the Jacuzzi tub.  Well, if I’m going to be a prisoner, I might as well enjoy the available perks.  I filled the tub with hot water, climbed in and turned on the jets. 

The Letter - Chapter 42

The home phone was ringing.  I glanced at the clock in the kitchen as I ran to see who it was.  I had left messages everywhere trying to see what I could do to get Jennifer back.  I looked at the screen.  Issaquah, Washington?  I picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hello, George?  This is Ellie Kosko.”

I hesitated.  “Uh, hi Ellie,” I responded flatly.

“Uh, is everything all right?  Maybe this is a bad time.  Am I interrupting something??”

“No, I’m sorry, Ellie.  I wasn't very friendly when I answered the phone.  I didn’t sleep last night, so I’m a little cranky.  Look, I really appreciate the call, but I’ve got sort of a crisis here.”

“Good Lord.  I read some of those comments to your article.  Did one of those people do something?”

“No Ellie.  I haven’t even gone online yet to look at my article or the comments.”  I took a breath. “My daughter was kidnapped last night.”

“Oh, my God!  I am so sorry.  What . .?”  She seemed at a loss for words.

“Ellie.  Thank you for your concern.  It’s not quite as serious as it sounds.  I know where she is, and I am relatively sure she’s safe.  My ex-wife has taken her.  We’re in the midst of a custody fight.  For now, my daughter is supposed to be here with me.  My wife has filed court papers to try to change that, but nothing has happened yet in the case to change the status quo.” 

“Does she know what she’s done is wrong?  Illegal even?”

“I’m sure she does.  Her husband is a lawyer.  My biggest problem today is getting information.  I can’t get in touch with Jennifer.  Her cell phone is here.  My ex refuses to answer my calls.  I’ve left messages for her husband at his office and for my attorney, but it’s Sunday, so I don’t know if they’ve picked them up.  I thought one of them might be calling me back when your call came in."

“So I should hang up in case one of them is trying to reach you.”

“Actually, they would be calling my cell phone.  That’s the number I left with my messages.”

George, I wish I could do something.  This is horrible.  You must be worried sick.  Have you considered calling the police?”

“Yes.  I called the local police early this morning.  When I told them, it was my wife that kidnapped her, they asked where she lived.  When I told them Sewickley Heights, they told me that was outside their jurisdiction and recommended that I call the police there.  So I called the Sewickley Heights police.  When I described the situation, they told me it sounded like a domestic matter, and they didn’t get involved in those unless I had some proof that my daughter was in danger.  Then when I gave them my wife’s name and address, the officer on the phone became insistent that there was nothing they could do – almost hostile.”

“What? Why would they have that attitude?”

“Ellie, you have to understand.  Sewickley Heights is a small, very wealthy community.  My wife’s husband is very well known and very influential.  In fact, he’s running for Congress.”

“Well, he wouldn’t get my vote.  Hell’s bells!  Just because a person is rich doesn’t mean he should be able to flaunt the law.”

“I agree, Ellie.  But the fact that he’s running for Congress . . ..  Well, it really makes me wonder what his part is in this.”

Anyway, George, I don’t want to hold you up.  I was going to send you a message that I enjoyed the article, but when I read those comments, I decided I had to call because I was worried about you.”

“It was kind of you to call, Ellie.  And I would have enjoyed talking to you longer under other circumstances.  That reminds me, I owe you a cup of coffee – at least.  Maybe you’ll let me take you to dinner the next time you’re in Pittsburgh.  Send me a letter when you make plans to visit.”

“I think I’m done with letters, George.  Now I have your phone number.”

“Oh, let me give you my cell phone number.  I mostly tend to ignore the land line unless I’m expecting a call.”  I gave it to her and she gave me her number.

“Great,” said Ellie.  It’s still a mystery to me that you never received my second letter.”

“Yes, I don’t know what could have happened to it.”

“And the response that someone sent in your name.  God, it still creeps me out when I think of it.”

“Response?  What response?”

“Didn’t your daughter tell you about it?  My friend Beverly called and talked to her about it yesterday.  The letter was very insulting, and it quite upset me.  Beverly is such a dear friend and was determined to figure out who sent it.  She said she called your home number which she found on the Internet, and had a conversation with your daughter.  I’m surprised that she didn’t mention it.  Anyway, Beverly seemed convinced that it was someone other than your daughter.”

“Jennifer never would have done something like that.  Now, my ex.  I could believe she would send a letter like that.  But how . . .?”

“Well, look George.  I’ve really enjoyed finally getting a chance to talk to you.  I wasn’t sure if you even remembered me from high school.  It’s been so long.  But it’s been real nice to connect again.  I really wish I could help you in some way with this custody problem, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do from Seattle.”

“No, Ellie, but I really appreciate the call.  It’s helped calm down my anxiety about this.  Don’t worry, I’ll get this figured out.  I’ll get hold of my lawyer tomorrow at the latest, and he’ll help me get this sorted.  And I do remember you.  You were the cute blonde girl that sat in the row next to me in Mr. Bennett’s English class.”

Ellie laughed.  “So long ago.  Anyway, good luck, George.  And please let me know what happens."  She paused for a second.  "And George – be careful.  Those comments still concern me.”

“I’ll be fine on that score.”

“I hope so.  Just don’t stand in front of any windows.”

“Good advice, Ellie.  Thanks for calling.”  I ended the call.  A nasty letter?  How could Melissa have even gotten Ellie’s address, or even have known she existed?  But who else would have sent something like that?  I figured I’d mention it to Joe McKay when I reached him, but I don’t see how it could have been her.

 

So what now?  Sunday morning.  No one available.  Driving back to Melissa’s house would be fruitless.  I felt helpless but decided there wasn’t anything I could do until tomorrow.  I decided to go look at some of the comments that had concerned Ellie.  It was really nice of her to call.  Why hadn’t I gotten to know her better in high school?  Well, too late to do anything about that.  I walked into my study and switched on my computer.

The Letter - Chapter 41

I woke up around 7:30.  There was a chill in the air. I wrapped myself in my bathrobe and turned up the furnace a notch.  I walked into the kitchen and looked out the window.  Cloudy, but at least it wasn’t raining.  Coffee or tea?  It felt like a coffee morning.  I made a small pot.  While the coffee was brewing, I decided to make myself oatmeal as a treat.  I just couldn’t face a bowl of cold cereal and milk on a chilly morning like this.  I added butter, a little milk and some maple syrup to the warm cereal, poured a steaming cup of coffee and sat down to eat my breakfast. 

I considered skipping church, but knew that my absence would likely worry Beverly.  Still, it was early.  I didn’t need to start getting ready for another hour.  I finished my breakfast and walked to the front door to look for the Sunday paper.  I glanced at the front page and then pulled out the editorial section.  That reminded me that George’s editorial was due to be published in Pittsburgh’s paper today.  I considered leaving the paper and going to my computer to search for his story, but decided I’d wait till after church.  It would be nice to send him a message after I saw it. Pittsburgh is three hours ahead of the time here. I pictured George and his daughter discussing his article while enjoying a late breakfast.  Or maybe by now he’s at church, receiving compliments on the article from members of his congregation.  I found that to be a pleasant thought.  I hoped he was a church member, though I had no reason to believe he was.

I poured myself another cup of coffee and continued to read the newspaper.  There was continued conflict in the Middle East.  The North Korean dictator had made a bellicose speech threatening to build more missiles and bombs.  Locally, there was a shooting downtown – two dead and four hospitalized.  The shooter was in custody.  George, I thought, the country needs more people like you to speak out against this kind of senseless violence. 

I poured the last of the coffee into my mug and checked the clock.  Time to get ready for church.  I carried the mug of coffee into the bathroom and turned on the shower.  The hot water felt good.  I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around myself and picked up my mug.  I finished the last few sips and carried it into my bedroom and got dressed for church.

The Gospel reading was from Matthew – Jesus preaching the Sermon on the Mount.  The passage that stuck with me was when Jesus said, ‘[L]et your light shine among others, so that they may see your good works.’  I thought about George’s article and the good work he was doing.  After the service, I met up with Beverly at coffee hour.

“Good morning, Ellie,” said Beverly, setting down her coffee and a plate of cookies.  “You need to have some of these.  They’re delish.”

“Thank you.”  I picked up one of the cookies and took a bite.

“So how are things with you and George?  Has he popped the question yet?”

“Sheesh, Beverly.  We’ve only just begun to message each other.”

Beverly started singing, “We’ve only just begun . . . to message . . . each o-other.”  She cleared her throat.  “That’s going to need a little work.”

I laughed.  “Not quite Karen Carpenter, but I’ll bet they could use you in the choir here.”

“You think they have room for a female baritone?”  Beverly dug into her purse.  “Here.  I’m returning the nasty letter that George didn’t write.  I’m pretty sure his daughter didn’t write it either.  Yes, I talked to her.  No thanks required.  Anyway, I’m at a loss as to who could have done such a thing.  I would probably have to travel to Pittsburgh to figure it out.  And as much as I enjoy traveling, I have to admit that Pittsburgh is not on my bucket list.”

“It’s actually quite nice.  So many people still have the outdated image of Pittsburgh as a smoky industrial city.”

“No matter.  I’m turning the case over to you.  Any plans for this afternoon?”

“Not really.  George got an article published in the Pittsburgh paper.  I’m going to go online when I get home to read it.”

“Really, do you know what it’s about?” 

“Yes, it’s about the gun violence across this country and the lack of political will to do anything about it. He posted the article on his blog and then submitted it to the newspaper.  So actually, I’ve already read at least a version of it.  But it will be neat to see it published by the Post-Gazette.

“Good for George.  I’ll have to look for it. The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, you say?”

“Yes, that’s it. So after I see it, I’ll probably send him a congratulatory note on Facebook.  Beyond that, I’m not sure what else I’ll do.  It’s such a dreary day.  I’ll probably curl up on the couch with some tea and try to finish Gilead.”

“The Marilynne Robinson book?”

“Yes.  I’ve really enjoyed it so far.”

“Perhaps I’ll borrow it from you when you’re finished.  Well, I’m ready to go home.  What about you?”

I nodded.  We got up, tossed our waste in the trash can and walked together to the parking lot. 

“I’ve got nothing big planned all week,” said Beverly.  “Give me a call if you’d like to do something together.”

“Will do,” I waved as we got into our cars to drive home.

I arrived back home at just past noon.  I fixed myself a bowl of soup and a half sandwich.  When I finished lunch, I decided it was time to search for George’s article.  I found it easily enough on the newspaper’s website.  I was pleased to see that the paper hadn’t done much editing.  The article was close to the way it had appeared on George’s blog.  There was a blurb following the article which said that George was a retired lawyer living in Bethel Park and gave his email address.  There also was a place where readers could write comments on the article.  I started to read some of the comments.

The first few were complimentary. ‘Good article,’  ‘Nicely written,’  ‘Let’s hope your article motivates our politicians to responsible action.’  Then they got darker.  ‘I’ll never give up my constitutional rights or my guns, despite the efforts of people like you to take them.’  And there were a few that were downright scary.  ‘Aren’t you the guy that punched someone who was supporting the second amendment?  I know where you live George.’  I shivered at some of the creepy insults some of the commenters posted.

I went to Facebook to see if George had posted anything about the article.  There was nothing – not even a link.  I thought about sending him a message, but those comments made me want to tell him my concerns.  I realized I didn’t have a phone number for George.  Then I remembered that Beverly had said she had telephoned George’s daughter.  I telephoned my friend.

“Hello Beverly?”

“Hi Ellie.  I like your friend’s article.”

“Yes.  So do I.  But did you look at the comments section below the article?  Some pretty hateful stuff.”

“Really?  I can’t say I’m surprised.  Some of those gun people are crazy.”

“That’s what worries me.  I want to call him, but I realized I don’t have his number.  I thought I might search the internet, but then I remembered you saying you had called and talked to his daughter.”

“That’s right.  I have their land line number.”

She gave it to me.  “Thanks Beverly.”

“You’re welcome.  Give me a call if you reach him.  This will be the first time you’ll actually hear each other’s voices – at least since high school.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.  Okay, I give you a call later.”  I put down my phone and took a few moments to gather my composure.  Then I dialed George’s number.

The Letter - Part 3, Chapter 40

I sat in my robe and pajamas watching the local news.  The doorbell rang.  “What happened, Jennifer?  Did you forget your key?” I called as I headed toward the door

I opened the door.  There stood Jeff looking quite disheveled.  He was flanked by Liz and Mikey.  I stared at the three of them trying to understand the situation.  “Where’s Jennifer?”

“It’s sort of complicated,” Jeff started to say.

“What the hell are you talking about?  Young man, where in heaven’s name is my daughter?”

“Calm down, Mr. Leskovic,” said Liz.  “She’s fine.  Can we come in?  We’ll tell you everything we know.”

Jennifer’s three friends explained how Melissa had come into the dance and practically dragged Jennifer to the limousine.

 “Yeah, Jeff slugged the guy.  Didn’t even faze that damned bruiser.  Oh, sorry.” Mikey covered his mouth with his hand.  “Then security threw Jeff out of the dance.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure what to do,” said Jeff. “I didn’t have your phone number, and it wouldn’t have done any good to call Jen’s phone.”

“It was still in her purse on our table.”  Liz explained, handing Jennifer’s purse to me.

“I thought about trying to follow them or driving back here to tell you what had happened,” said Jeff. “But I knew the dance was almost over and I was responsible for getting Liz and Mikey back to Liz’s place, so I just sat in the car waiting.”

“Mikey and I tried to leave right away, but security stopped us to ask questions about what we had seen,” said Liz.  “But as soon as they let us go, we gathered up our things and left, hoping Jeff was waiting for us, which he was,” Liz added.

“Jeff, you did the right thing,” I told him.  “Though I’m not so sure hitting the guy was a good choice.”

“I guess I took a tip from you,” Jeff gave a wan smile.

“I suppose it will be a while before I live down that punch.  I think all of Pittsburgh saw it.”

“That’s what happens when you’re caught on film,” said Mikey.  “They replayed it over and over.  My dad says it made you the poster boy for the gun control movement.”

“If that didn’t, your article in tomorrow’s paper will,” said Liz.

“I wish we could have stopped them, but after security grabbed me, I wasn’t sure what else I could do.  At least they didn’t call in the township police.  They just gave me a stern warning and escorted me out.  My parents will probably ground me when they hear about this.”

“Well, they won’t hear about it from me,” I assured Jeff.

“Thanks, but I’m going to tell them anyway.  It’s better that they hear about this directly from me.”  Jeff paused, gathering his thoughts.  “You know, their grabbing Jen.  It almost seemed like a kidnapping.”

“That’s exactly what it was from a legal standpoint.  I’ll need to sort this out with my lawyer unless I can’t get my ex to voluntarily return Jennifer ASAP.  But that’s my concern, not yours.  You kids better get home.  It’s getting late.  I don’t want your parents to worry.”

The three of them stood up and started walking toward the door.  

“We’re so sorry this happened, Mr. Leskovic,” said Liz.

“Thank you, Liz.  We’ll get her back.”  I watched them walk to Jeff’s car and closed the door.

Immediately, I pulled my cell phone out of the pocket of my robe and dialed Melissa’s number.  Of course, she didn’t answer.  After listening to her message prompt, I said, “Listen, Melissa, you had no legal right to do what you did tonight.  You better bring Jennifer home, immediately.  In fact, I’m driving out to your place directly and you need to let her come home with me!”  I terminated the call and ran up to my bedroom to change into my clothes.

It was 11:30 PM by the time I got into my car.  It was a forty minute drive to Richard and Melissa’s estate.  I pulled up to the gate and parked.  There was a call button next to the gate, and I pushed it.  A few minutes later, a pack of guard dogs came running toward the gate. No doubt they were sent to discourage any thoughts I might have had about scaling the gate and pounding on their front door.  With the dogs barking viciously at me, I continued to push the call button, but after about 20 minutes it was clear that they were prepared to wait me out. 

There was nothing I could do for now.  I climbed back into my car and drove home.  It was close to 1:30 when I let myself in.  I called for Jennifer hoping Melissa had come to her senses and had brought her back.  But it was a vain hope; I checked her bedroom and it was empty. 

I changed back into my pajamas and poured myself a whiskey.  I sat in the dark sipping it, thinking through options.  I finished the whiskey and thought about pouring another.  I decided against it.  I’ll need a clear head in the morning.

The Letter - Chapter 39

The underclassmen had done a marvelous job decorating the gym for the annual Sweetheart Dance.  Red hearts and white lace were everywhere.  Centerpieces of pink and white pom poms graced each table along with bowls of heart shaped candy.  Three other couples joined Liz, me and our dates at our table.  I counted ten other tables of couples and a few tables for the students that came alone.  I noticed my tormenter-in-chief, Terry Morrison, among the group of boys that came stag.  As we were standing in the buffet line, I heard him remark from across the room.

“Whoo Hoo, Look!  Jenny Leskovic’s got a date.  Hey, Jen, what’s the deal?  Bethel guys not good enough for you?”

“Who’s that, Jen?” Jeff whispered.

“Just ignore him.  He’s always trying to get a rise out of me.  But I’m determined to not let him bother me tonight.”

Terry snickered and led his group of miscreants to the drinks table.  “This dance is lame.  There’s not even a punchbowl to spike,” I heard him say to the glee of his posse.

While we were eating, a DJ was setting up his equipment in one corner of the gym.  He played soft dinner music during the meal.  Then, when we had finished eating, they dimmed the lights and the DJ started playing dance tunes.

“C’mon, let’s dance.”  Liz said, grabbing Mikey by the hand and dragging him onto the dance floor.

Jeff looked at me.  “Would you like to dance?”

“Sure,” I said, getting up from my chair. Jeff led me to the dance floor.  The DJ played a good mix of contemporary dance tunes with a little hip hop thrown in.  Jeff showed some great dance moves and I tried my best to keep up with him.  We were both sweating despite the cold outside when we decided to take a break.  He walked me back to our table and offered to get us drinks.  He got us a couple of sodas and as he turned to come back to our table, I watched in horror as Terry Morrison walked up to him and started talking.  My horror turned to shock as Jeff’s face broke into a smile.  To my complete surprise, he shook Terry’s hand and then returned to our table.  Jeff smiled and shook his head as he sat down beside me with our drinks.

“What was that all about?” I asked.  At first, I thought you were going to slug him.”

“What would make you think I have a violent streak, Ms. Leskovic?  I have to admit after his comments earlier, I was concerned that he might try to pick a fight with me.  He called me ‘Stretch’ which put me a bit on edge.  So he says, ‘Yo Stretch.’ I turn around to face him and he says.  ‘You got some sweet moves on the dance floor.’  So I’m thinking, what’s this guy’s angle?  But I stand there listening politely, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.  Then he says, ‘Your date, Jennifer Leskovic.  I tease her a lot, but I don’t mean anything bad.  What can I say, she’s smart, she’s pretty.  She’s damn near perfect, but don’t ever tell her I said that.  I’ll deny it till the ends of the earth.  But you’re one lucky dude, Stretch.  You’re one lucky dude.’” 

“He really said that?”

“Yeah, then he shook my hand.  I think he has kind of a crush on you.  He really didn’t strike me as a bad sort, and he’s right about one thing – no actually two.”

“Two?  What are they?”

“I’ve got some sweet moves on the dance floor, and I am one lucky dude.”

I felt myself blush and took a sip of my soda.  “I feel pretty lucky myself, tonight, Jeff.”

Jeff smiled and took a big gulp of soda.  “All that dancing makes a man thirsty.”

Liz and Mikey came back to the table.  Liz fanned herself.  “Is it warm in here or what?” she said.  “Looks like you guys are having fun.”   We continued to talk as the DJ took a break.  He returned about fifteen minutes later.  I looked at the clock.  It was 9:30. 

“Hey, you schoolboys and schoolgirls,” the DJ started.  “Only an hour left till your coaches turn into pumpkins, so get up and dance.  I’m especially talking to you guys that came without dates.  There are plenty of single ladies waiting for you to ask them to dance.  Or ready to ask you to dance.  Go girls!  He played Beyonce’s Single Ladies.  That got everyone up on the dance floor. 

He played another couple of dance tunes and then said, “We’re going to slow things down a bit, so grab your partner and hold on tight.”

Jeff looked at me and smiled.  He extended his arms.  I walked toward him and he embraced me and we swayed to the tune.  I put my head on his shoulder and felt him hold me tighter.  The song ended.  Jeff took a step back, still holding my hands in both of his.

“Now here’s a tune that goes way back,” the DJ said.  This is one your parents listened to as they slow danced and fell in love with visions of you dancing in their heads.  Pittsburgh’s own Jimmy Beaumont with the Skyliners singing, Since I Don’t Have You.”

“Do you know this one, Jeff?”

“I’m not sure.”  We stood silently, unsure whether to dance or sit this one out.  Then the song started.  “Oh, now I recognize it.  My mom practically goes into a swoon when she hears it.  Let’s dance to this one, Jen.”

I don't have plans and schemes
And I don't have hopes and dreams
I, I, I don't have anything
Since I don't have you

The song continued and we swayed to the music.  I felt Jeff’s hand on my back, holding me tight.  We were barely moving as other dancers slow danced around us.  I felt the song build toward its ending.

Since . . . I doh on't . . . have
You, you, you, you
You, you, you, you
You, you, you, you,
Oo, oo, oo, oo, oo, oo, oo, oooo.

“That was so nice, Jen.  Thank you.”  He bent down to kiss me, but before our lips could meet, I saw my mother standing ten feet away, scowling, with her arms crossed.  Henry the chauffeur was standing next to her.

“Jennifer, say goodnight to your gentleman friend.  I’m taking you home.  Come along quickly.”

“Mother!  What is this?”

“You’re coming to my home and your new life.  Say goodbye to Bethel Park.  Henry, bring her along.” 

Henry grabbed my arm and started dragging me across the dance floor.  “Let me go!” I screamed trying to wrench my arm from his iron grip.

“Let’s not make a scene, my dear.”

I looked at my mother standing there with a smug look on her face.  I was so angry I couldn’t think straight.  So I said the first thing that popped into my mind.

“Did you send that nasty letter?”

“What on earth are you talking about, dear?”

Jeff ran forward and threw a punch hitting Henry squarely on the jaw.  Two security guards came running forward and tackled Jeff.  As they restrained him, Henry rubbed his jaw and smiled at Jeff.   “Lucky for you, Mrs Zingerman alerted security.  Otherwise, they would be loading you into an ambulance, punk.” 

Henry continued pulling me out of the gym and outside the school to the limousine.  He roughly shoved me into the backseat.  My mother got in beside me, Henry got behind the wheel and I heard the locks click.  I gave the door a defiant shove.

“At least let me go back and get my purse and phone.”

“I’ll get you a new purse and phone, Jennifer.  Home, Henry.” 

The limousine pulled away from the school and onto the road.  Henry switched on the radio and hummed along with the song as I looked out the window, feeling alone and miserable.

End of Part 2