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ONCE AGAIN, FOR THE third Monday in a row, Juliette stood in front of her mirror sizing herself up. Tonight, she didn't look like a duck. That she could say in all confidence. Tonight she looked like a thirty-three-year-old trying to look twenty. She wore a new pair of jeans, one she'd bought months ago to motivate herself to lose ten pounds. They weren't very comfortable, but only because they were a style she wasn't accustomed to wearing. They sat low on her hips making her feel like she constantly needed to pull them up, but when she did, she ended up with a wedgie. She wisely put them on the instant she came home from work; it took an hour to make up her mind whether or not she could tolerate them the rest of the night. They did look good, she admitted, turning around to look at her backside, pleasantly surprised.
She wore a sheer, black and turquoise blouse over a black tank top, and with her hair down, she looked a little wild, a little mysterious, like she could handle a night of loud music and greasy pizza, and come out in one piece when it was all over, eardrums intact.
The boots made the outfit. Gia brought them by work at lunchtime. "You're going to need these," she grinned mischievously. "I can't tell you why, but wear jeans, not your work pants." She wouldn't divulge anything else.
Juliette had seen Gia with them on before, usually paired with leggings and some kind of funky skirt, and she liked them on her little sister. But they didn't belong in her wardrobe. Black, loaded with buckles running up the outside of each calf, the soles were thick and deeply treaded. She pulled her jeans down over the top of them, but the buckles bulged oddly under the denim, making her legs look deformed. She tucked her pant-legs inside the boots instead, re-buckled everything, and decided that was the way to wear them. If you've got buckles, flaunt 'em. She grinned at the sound of a loud motorcycle driving by.
"I'm wearing biker boots," she mused. Those were words she never thought she'd utter in her entire life. "With buckles!"
Juliette didn't think ducks wore biker boots. With or without buckles.
There was a knock at the door. Either he was way early, or one of her sisters was here to stress her out.
She peered through the peephole. He was early. He had his back to the door as he peeled off a pair of fingerless gloves. He wore a leather jacket over a pair of tight blue jeans, and beyond him, parked on the street in front of her house, was a Harley.
"Oh, Gia!" she cried, in a sheer panic now. "You didn't!" She glared down at the boots that should have been a red flag.
Maybe she could duck out the back. Or she could say she was in the shower, and didn't hear him knocking. That would teach him to come early.
No, she was ready, he was here, and besides, if she bailed, she'd never be able to face Gia. Well, at least there were no flowers this time. They seemed to be a harbinger of doom when they accompanied men on her front stoop. She pulled open the door.
"Hi." Her voice shook a little as he turned around, then splintered off into silence when she recognized him.
"I'm Trevor. You must be Juliette." Tucking his gloves into a back pocket, he thrust his other hand toward her. When she didn't immediately reciprocate, he chuckled. "If you're feeling half as awkward as I am about tonight, then we might just survive this."
She finally put her hand in his, and he shook it confidently. "I know I'm a little early. Sorry about that. I had to make a stop by my cousin's on my way over, and it didn't take as long as I thought it would. I figured if you were ready, maybe you'd like to start out the night with a little spin on the bike. It's perfect weather for it." He turned and glanced proudly at the Harley on the street, then back at her again. "What do you say? You ever been on one before?"
His voice sounded just the same when he spoke, throaty and rhythmic, and she tried to gather her discombobulated thoughts enough to answer him intelligibly.
"Um." So far, not so good.
"Okay. I think I'm doing this all wrong. Let me start over. Hi. I'm Trevor Zander." He held out his hand again. Juliette smiled back. If the man who wooed a whole crowd last night was feeling flustered, too, then she was in good company. She thought she could do better than 'um' this time. She shook his hand a second time.
"And I'm Juliette Gustafson. Nice to meet you. I, um, I saw you sing last night." Ugh. An 'um' and a bit of gushing groupie. Stop talking, Jules.
"You were there? Wasn't it a great night? Did you feel it, too?" His eyes lit up as he spoke, his nervousness evaporated in the fire of his passionate response. Juliette nodded. She'd certainly felt something moving through that room. She hadn't been the only one in tears.
"I'm so glad you're a believer, Juliette. I was having a hard time with this whole blind date thing, but wow. God works out the details, doesn't He?" Trevor turned and pointed at the bike. "What do you say? It really is a beautiful time of day for it. We can watch the sun setting over the hills if we go now."
She eyed the bike dubiously, but before she could say anything, he continued. "I have to admit, I'm still a little high from last night, and I don't know exactly what we're going to do tonight, but I just figured I'd let God direct things for us. So what do you say? Shall we ride off a little of this nervous tension? I brought an extra helmet."
The man was so alive, so exuberant, and expressive. He was like a tamed wild man, and Juliette was trying not to be overwhelmed by him.
"You look amazing, by the way. Great boots." He tapped her toe with his own booted foot. "Do you have a jacket? Maybe some gloves?"
Juliette made up her mind. "Okay," she said decisively. "I'm game. I do have a jacket. And gloves. Hold on." She yanked open her tiny coat closet and grabbed an old leather bomber jacket that had been her dad's. She rarely wore it, but she took it out periodically, and put it on like a hug, or just buried her face in it and breathed deeply. Even after all these years, it still smelled like him, and she smiled as she imagined what he would say about her climbing on the back of a big, black motorcycle with a complete stranger.
Trevor stepped forward and took it from her, then held it as she slid her arms into it. "Nice jacket. Looks really old."
"Thanks." She nodded, smiling. "It was my father's."
"Nice," he said again. "Speaking of fathers, let's start this night out right. Can I pray for us?" He took her hand in both of his, and bowed his head without waiting for her answer.
"Father, You already have a plan for us tonight, and even though we don't know exactly why You brought us together, we do know that You're in charge. You've already gone ahead of us, preparing the table for us, and now we invite You to join us. Let everything we say and do tonight be honorable to You. I want to make You proud, Father. Amen." He let go of her hand and grinned at her. "Ready?"
Juliette's head was spinning and she stared blankly at him, at a complete loss. He was so different from Thera-Paul or Frisky-Frank. Or Mike. He was so different from anything she'd seen on television or in the movies. How could God not be proud of a man like this?
"Is there something wrong?"
She shook her head, feeling a blush color her cheeks. "No. Sorry. I'm just..." she faltered. "I'm just trying to figure out a purse for tonight."
He laughed. "I don't carry a purse, so I'm cool if you don't. Just tuck your license and keys into a pocket in your jacket. Your hair, though; you should tie it back. Otherwise the wind will tangle it so badly you'll hate me."
She grabbed an elastic band from a little ceramic knick-knack dish on one of the book shelves and quickly braided her long hair.
"Perfect," he approved.
She followed him down the walk to his bike, but the closer she got, the larger it looked, and the more trepidation she felt. "I...I've never been this close to a motorcycle before. This one is really big. Are you sure it's safe?"
Trevor laughed. "Safe?" he asked, spinning around so he was walking backwards in front of her. "Nah. But then again, nothing is safe in this world, is it? That's why it's so great to know this world isn't all there is. I don't want safe. Then I wouldn't long for Heaven." He chuckled at the look on her face. "Relax. I am a pretty safe driver, for what it's worth." He unclipped a helmet from the back seat and handed it to her. "It's my cousin's—that was the stop I made on my way over. It fits Gia. Hopefully it fits you, too."
After she had it on, he reached out and gripped it with both hands, moving it around on her head. "Does it feel like there's extra room in there, or is it snug? You don't want it too tight or you'll have a headache in minutes, but it can't be loose, or it's almost more dangerous than going without." He gave her chin strap a little tug.
"It's fine," she said, not even sure what it was supposed to feel like. She tried to keep her voice from trembling. "I guess Gia and I have the same size head. Has she ridden with you?" She tried to imagine her shy little sister throwing a leg over the back of this monstrous machine. How did Gia even know this guy?
"First time a few weeks ago. It took some convincing, but I could tell she really wanted to." He winked at her. "She said you'd like it, too, if you'd just give it a chance."
At first Juliette tried not to think about Trevor and Gia discussing her, but then she got curious. He seemed like a face-value kind of guy.
"Can I ask you something?" Her voice was a little muffled and Trevor reached over and pushed up her face guard.
"Absolutely. Ask me anything." He waited attentively for her question.
"What exactly did my sister say to you about tonight?"
Trevor slid his own helmet over his head and buckled the chin strap snugly before answering her. "It was the strangest conversation, really. I think that's why I agreed to it. Your sister is good friends with my cousin Ricky. Do you know him?"
"Ricky Nolan? Yes. Huh. Small world." So this was Ricky's helmet. He was in on this, too.
"Yep. Well, they come by sometimes just to hang out. She's a good girl, your sister. And she's a good friend to Ricky, too. I keep thinking the two of them might get serious one of these days, but he assures me they're just friends. Anyway, one day we were talking about plans for the future, and your sister mentioned you. She said you were really good at planning things, but something had happened recently that had changed everything for you." When he noticed her frown, he reached over and tugged on her chin strap again. "She totally respected your privacy, don't worry. But what she did say touched a chord with me. She said that it seemed like you were just learning to swim even though you'd already been in the water for so long everyone assumed you knew how already. I asked her if I could use the concept in a song, and she agreed, but only if I would meet you. I was totally up for that."
"Meeting me is one thing. Taking me out on a date is another thing altogether."
"Yeah, well, I don't know what happened to you, but I do know what it feels like to have the earth ripped out from under my feet. That whole swimming metaphor summed up some stuff I went through a few years back, too. It took a while for me to learn to swim on my own, and I guess I just felt the Lord nudging me to bear witness to you."
"What does that mean? Bear witness?" She tried not to sound belligerent but this Jesus jargon, as Sharon called it, bugged her.
"Yeah, that's one of those Christianese phrases," he replied, as though he'd read her mind. "Sorry. To me, it means to be living proof of what God can do and does do in our lives." He looked down the road in anticipation. "It wasn't about a date, Juliette, no matter what we call it. Dating to me is purposely choosing to pursue a relationship with someone. This may be even bigger than that. Call it a divine appointment if you need a label, but if I turned down the opportunity to speak a little hope into your life, then I'd be walking in disobedience. I've tried that before and it doesn't work, not for very long anyway." He stopped talking a moment, letting her mull that over.
"I see," she said, more to fill the silence than because things were suddenly clearer.
"So, Juliette Gustafson." he grinned, settling onto the bike. "Here we are. Are you game to spend an evening with me? I'm the guy you saw last night. That's the real me, on stage, off stage; I live it every day."
This was the most confusing night of her life. Here was a man who believed the way her best friend did, who spoke like a religious zealot, who dressed like a rebel, and sang like an angel. And he wanted to take her to the edge of town to see what kind of sunset God had up His sleeve. She was way out of her league. And scared. And intrigued.
"I'm game," she said again, her voice as shaky as her confidence.
He flipped down the foot pegs for her and showed her where to put her feet. With one hand on his shoulder, she awkwardly got her leg up over the back, and sat behind him. He turned so he could see her. "You'll have to trust me, okay? Lean with me when we take the corners, not against me, and hands around my waist, but not too tightly. I'm ticklish." He grabbed at his belt and wiggled it. "You can hold on to my belt. It's not going anywhere."
Juliette could feel her cheeks warm inside the helmet, glad he couldn't see her blush. He was refreshingly candid about everything. She nodded and tentatively rested her hands at his waist, her fingers curling slightly around the wide black leather belt threaded through the loops on his jeans. He glanced down at them, grinned at her like he knew something she didn't, then continued.
"When you're a little more comfortable, you can lean back against your backrest, but you still need to keep your hands on my waist at all times. Don't let your feet drag; keep them on the pegs. When we stop, I'll support the bike. You keep your feet off the ground, okay? The bike heats up and certain parts will sizzle your skin right through your clothing, so be very careful, especially of the mufflers. Can you remember all that?" She nodded, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. "Think of it this way. Riding on the back of a motorcycle is a bit like being in a relationship with God. It could be the ride of your life, if you'll just trust Him."
She nodded again, not quite sure how to respond to that, bumping her helmet against the back of his. "Sorry!"
He just grinned. "Feet up, windscreen down, Juliette. Let's go!"
The rumble of the bike as it came to life beneath her both terrified and exhilarated her. She let out a little squeal as he revved the engine a few times, and threw her arms around him, abandoning all traces of dignity.
"Not too tightly, remember," he called out. She tried to relax her grip, but she closed her eyes as they pulled away from the curb.
At first the intimacy of being wrapped around a stranger, and the adrenaline rush of flying down the road with no protective metal framework around her, made her so tense she forgot to move with him, and he had to remind her several times. Once she even put her foot down at a stop light. He reached back and patted her knee. She returned the errant appendage to the peg with another shouted apology.
Ten minutes later, she was one with the bike, one with Trevor, one with the world. She leaned back into the padding behind her and felt her toes uncurl in her boots. It was one of the most freeing experiences she'd ever had.
It was even better than shredding wedding invitations.
