Lunch on the weekends is usually around one, but I can’t muster up the courage to head to the kitchen knowing Ali Hart is there. A part of me wants to run and absorb everything I can about her, but my inner wallflower holds me back. Who is Ali Hart? Val mentioned that she’s a famous singer, and something in the back of my mind tells me I know her name. How does Renee know her? Not that I expect Renee to consult me on the camp’s daily activities, but a heads-up when a beautiful woman is expected sure would be nice.
I decide on an apple and a yogurt for lunch that I scavenge from my tiny refrigerator and head out to the porch. I really need to work on my book. Book four in my murder-mystery series is due at the end of summer, and I haven’t given it the love and attention it needs. I’ve also been working on something new that I find therapeutic, but it too requires serious time and effort. I’m not a great oral communicator, but I can write. When I’m angry, I write. When I’m lonely, I write. When I’m hurt, I write. My editor, Tom, read some of my gibberish and asked that I continue sending him chapters. So now I’m committed to two separate works. One is fiction, the other I wish was. As hard as I try, I can’t stop my mind from drifting back to Ali and our first meeting. I groan with embarrassment. Why was I so tongue-tied around her? Why didn’t I say something clever? I’m that girl who always thinks of the perfect thing to say several hours later, when the dust has settled and nobody is around to hear. I head back inside and fire up my laptop to Google her. I’m not proud of my blatant stalking.
After reading about her very public life and staring at photos for about ten minutes, I can feel my eyes burn. I need to sleep. I haven’t slept since yesterday morning, and I’m going to need some rest before the kids show up tomorrow. Some nights I keep writing until the words stop. I don’t mind though. It’s my way of life. I close my laptop and slide it on the coffee table. I’m asleep in about ten seconds.
My cell phone startles me awake, and I hold it in my hand for a second until I get my bearings. “Hello?” I mumble, knowing I sound like hell, but sleep is heaven, and whoever’s calling better have a very good reason for waking me up.
“Will you be joining us for dinner?” Renee asks.
“What time is it?” I’m slurring my words.
“Do you mean dinner or what time is it now?” Renee used to be a schoolteacher and is forever correcting all of us. I have a degree in English from Northwestern University and feel like I’m still in grade school around her.
“Yes.” She knows what I mean and I know what she means.
“Dinner is at seven thirty. In roughly twenty-five minutes. Can we expect you? And how are you feeling? Val told us about your fall,” she said.
“Did she mention that she pushed me, too?” I ask, my ten-year-old self shoving past the adult in me. I shake my head and quickly change the subject. “Who all will be there for dinner?”
“The gang. And our guest, Ali. So can we expect you?” she asks again.
A part of me wants to race around and get ready, while the other part wants to stay hidden on this couch. I know what I have to do though.
“I’ll be there. Need anything?” I ask out of respect.
“Just your beautiful self. See you in a bit,” she says.
I snort in response and hang up. Before total panic sets in, I mentally race to the closet and pick out something nice, but not too nice. It always takes a few seconds for my body to catch up to my mind. By the time I’m actually standing at the closet, I’m down to twenty minutes. I don’t have time to wash my hair, but I do have time for a quick shower to wash the sleep and dust off. I grab a pair of white linen shorts and a light-green sleeveless blouse and head for the bathroom. I’m very much a girly girl. I wear jeans only when absolutely necessary. My wardrobe is all skirts, blouses, slacks, and heels or sandals, and I’m pretty confident that I’m the only one at camp who wears Victoria’s Secret thongs. When I’m down in the dumps, a nice outfit always cheers me up.
I decide to keep my hair down instead of throwing it up in a ponytail or a bun. I have surfer-white hair, even though I don’t surf, and light-green eyes, thanks to my Danish and Irish heritage. Renee’s granddaughter thinks I’m a mermaid, and, when nobody’s around us, I pretend that I am. She’s in awe of me. I’d like to keep it that way for a few more years. I forgo any makeup because spending the last week in the sun has given me a nice glow. I know we aren’t supposed to be in the sun anymore because of skin cancer, but I live in Chicago and hide in a high-rise ten months out of the year. Feeling the sun warm my skin is incredible, and I just can’t give that up yet. Plus with a tan, I don’t have to mess with makeup, and that’s fine with me.
I head to the main cabin, eager to be around Ali again, but excited, too. From my online searching I learned that Ali is from the East Coast, comes from a large family, and has a girlfriend. The girlfriend part bums me out, but it doesn’t surprise me.
“Look who decided to join us!” I hear Rob, the camp’s head counselor, say as I open the screen door to Renee’s kitchen. He holds his wineglass high up in the air to toast me and winks. Several other counselors cheer so I bow playfully to my audience. I see Ali and Renee off in one corner. I steal a glance at Ali and smile. She really is beautiful. She’s wearing a long silky skirt that almost reaches the floor and a white short-sleeved blouse. Her hair is down like mine, but hers is several inches longer. She looks more like a mermaid than I do. I glance around to find somebody to talk to before she realizes that I’m staring.
“Sorry, I fell asleep,” I explain to everybody as they gaze at me expectantly. Apparently, somebody said something to me that I didn’t hear. I’m sure I’ve said the right thing, but Ali’s presence momentarily distracted me so I’m not sure.
“We were worried that maybe you had a concussion,” Rob says. “Heard you had quite the spill.”
I know he’s joking, but I’m still embarrassed. I can feel the color heat my cheeks and I shake my head, recalling my afternoon.
“It wasn’t a big deal. Val accidentally pushed me. I’m fine, but I’m sure I owe her a bruise or two.” I glare at Val. She blows me a kiss and tilts her wineglass at me. I sit next to Rob when I suddenly feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand tall. Without turning, I know that Ali is sitting directly behind me on the bar stool.
“Hello.” Her voice is quiet and warm.
I turn around shyly, hoping she doesn’t see the chill bumps across my bare arms. I’m amazed my physical reaction toward her. I’ve never been a sexual person. I never thought the explosive passionate interludes in books or movies were real. Yes, I’ve felt passion, but not to the point where I forget about my surroundings. This is why I’m completely thrown off by Ali. I’ve said what, three words to her, and I can’t seem to get ahold of myself. My stomach is quivering, and when I look at her, I want to touch her. I want to know if her body is as smooth as it looks. I want to feel her curves and run my hands down her tiny waist and skim over her flaring hips. Again, I’m suddenly aware of how quiet the room is, and I know I need to say something because in less than a second, it’ll become uncomfortable.
“Hi.” I smile at her, and she smiles back. My smile gets bigger and I mentally scold myself. I feel like a total groupie and I don’t even know her music yet.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“More embarrassed than anything. I’m fine though. Thanks for stopping to check on me. Are you settled in?” I wasn’t about to tell her about the two rather large bruises I found on my backside in the shower. I want to change the subject anyway.
“This is a really great camp,” she tells everybody.
“How long are you going to be here?” Val asks.
“I have the entire week off from my tour, so as long as Renee wants me here, I’m yours.”
If only she was saying that to me. I think about my online stalking again and mentally frown at my misfortune.
Renee announces that dinner is ready and it’s buffet style. I hang back a bit to distance myself from Ali. It’s exciting to be near her, but I need to stay away so I don’t start crushing on somebody who has a girlfriend. That’s the logical side of my brain. The creative side is already scoping her out. I notice her long fingers and the grace of her hands. Even though they seem delicate, they must be powerful and strong. She wears a silver ring on her thumb and another silver ring on the ring finger of her left hand. My heart sinks because that means she’s not available. I call on Ms. Dickinson and Mr. Frost for support. Emily feels my pain, but Bob is no help. He’s encouraging me to pursue her, knowing full well I shouldn’t. I’m going to have to ditch him and hang out with Em for a bit tonight. She’s more reasonable. She knows the power of mentally stalking someone while remaining completely passive and quiet. Tonight, we decide to talk about being nobodies in a sea of people. I prefer it that way and she agrees.
From what I can gather, the dinner conversation is going well. I’m able to tune out everybody except Ali. Maybe it’s because I’m not familiar with her voice, or maybe it’s because I want to hear it. It’s lilting. That’s a word I don’t think I’ve ever used before, but it fits Ali. Even if I didn’t know she’s a singer, I’m sure I’d have figured it out. Sometimes when she speaks, it sounds as if she’s already singing. Rob and Sandy, Val’s girlfriend, are telling Ali what to expect during the week with the kids. I turn my attention back to my meal and continue my discussion with Emily. We’ve moved on to one of her favorite topics: God. I save those conversations for when I really need to tune out the world because she’s pretty intense about Him.
“Why are you so quiet tonight, Beth?” I hear Rob say my name and am forced to press rewind and recall the entire question. I’m flustered, but I collect myself and answer.
“I’m just working out my story in my head,” I lamely explain. They don’t need to know the truth.
“Are you almost done?” He continues to prod me, then turns to Ali. “Bethy is a writer. She hangs out here every summer and works on her books.” My cheeks heat up again. I see Ali’s brow lift slightly and know he’s piqued her interest. I quickly look away, not wanting this conversation to take place. I like my anonymity here at camp.
“I love to read. What do you write?” Ali asks me. There’s no way around it. I’m going to have to make eye contact. We do, and there it is again. The jolt. My eyes widen at the intensity of her look, but I do my best to stay calm. I take a deep breath and answer.
“Mostly mysteries. Some poetry. Just whatever needs to get out of my head,” and my heart, I add silently. I never talk about my work. I’m very protective about it. Especially my new book. I still have mixed feelings about having it published, but Tom assures me it’s brilliant and really will help others. I think he just loves a good soap opera.
“Well, we’re proud of Beth and will leave her alone until she finishes it, won’t we, Rob?” Renee says, understanding my discomfort. The table laughs at her scolding, and he hangs his head in shame. The conversation turns back to Ali.
“Will you play us something after dinner?” Sandy asks Ali. She smiles and nods. She strikes me as the type of artist who loves to play for small groups.
“I think we have time for a few songs. Just let me run next door and grab my guitar.” She jumps up from the table and waves off everybody who’s objecting, promising it isn’t an imposition at all and she wants to do it.
“I like her already,” Renee says, sounding completely at ease with Ali.
“I’m surprised you didn’t mention her to us,” I say.
“Surprise! I really wasn’t expecting her to answer my email. When she agreed to come here, I was so excited. Her music is great and the kids will love her.”
As if on cue, Ali returns with a well-used Martin guitar and one of her killer smiles. Val and Rob move the furniture around to make room while the rest of us quickly clear the dishes away. Ali sits on a stool and strums her guitar for a bit, tuning it. I’m tense and make myself relax. I’ve always fantasized about a relationship with a musician. The minute Ali breaks into song, I’m enthralled. Something inside me opens up, and a rush of warmth and excitement dances in my veins. I shudder at the intensity of it. I’d chalk this up to my normal infatuation with rock stars, but this is something more. I want to look away, but I can’t. I want Ali to look at me, but I don’t. I’ve never heard Ali’s music before today and honestly don’t know that I can handle it. My body is tense again and an electricity surrounds me. I glance around to see if others in the room feel it too, but they’re all sitting back and smiling, oblivious to the combustible force I’m fighting. Ali finally makes eye contact with me and I gasp. The heat returns and my body swells. I have to leave. I can’t stay here a minute longer. As soon as she finishes her song, I jump up, do a quick wave to everybody, and bolt out the door. Every strum of her guitar follows me back to my cabin, and I can’t close the door fast enough. She’s fantastic. I have to stay away from her. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at relationships. I’m not good at pretending everything’s fine. I’m sure as hell not good at heartache.