Here - Chapter 37
Sunday, 27-Aug-00 06:56:17

165.76.24.143 writes:
Here - Chapter 37


Sonny, staring at the road, says in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, "Turn right at the next light."

Carly frowns and asks, "The interstate?"

He nods, "Yeah." After a brief pause, he adds, "That way you'll stop stripping my gears."

She rolls her eyes, "I am not stripping your gears."

He turns to her, maintaining his serious face, but with a hint of a smile on his lips. He rubs his chin with a hand and asks, "Who did you say taught you to drive again? Luke? Or Lucas?"

"Ha. Ha," she retorts bitterly, taking the ramp onto the freeway.

He sits back again, relaxing into the leather, "This is pretty nice."

She sneaks a glance at him, her foot pressing down on the gas pedal, "What's pretty nice?" Then she slams on the clutch and shifts into fifth.

"Whoa, whoa," he warns halfheartedly, "Easy on the clutch..."

She purses her lips, then says, "If you're going to be like this the entire time, I think I'll just turn around and go home." She pouts, "This isn't making me feel any better."

"Sorry," he replies. Then he answers her previous question, "I meant that it's nice being a passenger in this car. This is the first time for me."

"Really?" she asks, surprised. She turns her head slightly to look at him, feeling a smile sneaking to her mouth. She questions, "You mean you've never let anybody else drive this car?"

He looks over at her, meeting her eyes, and shakes his head, "Nope."

She goes on, "And you know I don't have my license with me, right? My purse was stolen too..."

Then he points in front of him, "Keep your eyes on the road, Carly. Or this will be the last time I'm a passenger with you driving."

She turns her eyes back to the freeway, no longer hiding the smile.

They ride silently for a while, floating smoothly and quietly down the road. And Carly is loving every minute. She has such a feeling of power and control. Driving the Jaguar is like being a lion-tamer in a circus. The animal may be 'trained,' but the strength and savagery that could be unleashed at any moment is fearsome.

She is so lost watching the miles evaporate in front of her, feeling the motor humming, the miraculously slight vibrations beneath her when they hit the inevitable bumps in the road, that it takes a while before she notices that the scenery around them is familiar. She realizes suddenly that this is the same route they took on their last ride in this vehicle. Carly feels her face heat and she shifts slightly in her seat when she remembers how that ride ended.

"You all right?" he asks, noticing her sudden nervousness.

She nods, but can not bring herself to say anything.

"Take the next exit," he tells her.

She looks at the sign and sees that they are taking the same exit as the last time. She clears her throat, "Um, Sonny...?"

"Yeah?" he answers.

Her voice is tinged with fear, and a little anger, when she finishes her question, "Where are we going?"

"I want to show you something," he says vaguely.

She snaps, furious at what she considers his presumption, "Well, I've already seen it."

He shakes his head, "I don't think so."

"Yes. I have. Don't you remember?" Her heart is beating a little faster now; she feels insulted. She mutters under her breath, "Unless you just bring every female out here..."

He ignores her, "The exit's coming up here on your right."

She hisses, "I've seen everything you've got."

He smiles then, "I think I still have a few surprises..."

With a huff, she takes the exit. Why not?

Again, he directs her through winding roads of carefully manicured lawns and exquisitely-detailed architecture. The neighborhood, especially during the day, is like a different world to Carly.

For Carly, the way the sunlight hits the white stucco of one house, the light grey brick on the next, the reddish stone walls and black wrought iron gates of yet another manse, is absolutely stunning; as if she is driving through a giant jewelry box stuffed with exquisite, sparkling gems. She is driving slowly now, taking in every sight, smell, and noise she can, unsure when she will ever have a reason to be here again.

After a short while, he says suddenly, "Third house on the left..." and pulls a remote control out of the glove compartment.

Carly snaps out of her daydreams, confused, and utters, "What about it?"

"Turn into the driveway," he provides as they approach the house.

She is suspicious, but starts her turn, "Why?"

He presses a button on the small remote, and she is shocked to watch the brass gates across the cement driveway swing open in front of them. After only the briefest hesitation, Carly continues through the gate and into the property. The driveway is short, buttressed on either side by an immaculately green field of grass.

Directly in front of them stands a pinkish-hued stucco house. By the neighborhood's standards, the house is small, but it is no less beautiful. It is Mediterranean in style, with the look and feel of an Italian beach villa.

She sees as they near the structure that it is longer than it appears at first glance. The roof is low, covered in burgundy tile, and pitched at a slight angle. A two-car garage is attached discreetly to the far end of the house.

Carly pulls the car up to the front cement steps, painted a surprisingly elegant blue. The steps lead to an arched front door, comprised of thick, vertical slabs of dark brown wood. There is no doorknob, only a black iron ring set on an antique-looking square lockset, also of black iron.

"Now what?" Carly asks, for some reason finding herself speaking in a whisper. Then, looking around again, she sees a muscled man approaching them from the side of the house. She ventures with a gulp, "Are we allowed to be here?"

The man nods to Sonny. Then Sonny opens his door, climbs out of the car, and stretches leisurely.

After a minute, she gets out too, then leans against the roof of the car. She gives the stranger a half-smile and says through gritted teeth, "What is this place, Sonny?"

"You like it?" Sonny asks. Without waiting for her answer, he jogs up the blue steps and jerks his head toward the door, "Come on in." He pushes the heavy door open with nudge and waits for Carly.

She takes her time getting to the door, noting the strange juxtaposition of blue hydrangeas against the pink stucco. Finally, she climbs the steps, which are steeper than they look from the driveway. She looks over her shoulder at the bulky man, who has now turned his back to them and is walking back toward the side of the house.

"You coming?" Sonny asks impatiently.

She nods, then steps past him into the house.

Her eyes are pleasantly overwhelmed by the deep goldish-red hue seemingly pouring out of the rough plaster walls of the living room. It is the color of a particularly warm sunset over mountains.

The room is comfortably furnished with an overstuffed sofa upholstered in a subtle blue-on-blue chenille and two club chairs covered in a dull mustard-brown leather. The seats are centered by an over-sized round ottoman, skirted in a surprisingly bright blue, yellow, and rose plaid.

The limestone floor is covered by a soft, earth-toned Turkish wool rug that looks at least one hundred years old.

One wall is dominated by an ornately mantled fireplace and a collection of shockingly bright Caribbean-style artwork. The wall opposite the front door is dominated by three pairs of tall French doors that lead out to a spacious terrace. Beyond the intricate black iron fence of the terrace, Carly can see the rippling dark water of the lake.

All of the wood, including the frames of the French doors, is stained a dark mahogany, contrasting dramatically with the walls and giving the room a rustic, timeless feel.

"Wow," is all Carly can manage.

Sonny closes the door behind them and walks over to the bar, deftly hidden behind folding wood doors. He asks, "Want something to drink?"

Carly shakes her head.

"Have a seat," he urges, pouring himself a tall glass of iced tea.

She ignores him and walks through the room to the French doors. She looks out at the terrace, which is floored with a complicated starburst pattern of rust-colored clay tiles and worn red brick.

She tries the door, finds it unlocked, and swings it opens. She can smell the fresh scent of the sun-dappled lake, a light breeze blows into her face. She steps up to the fence and leans her hands on it, bending toward the water.

Sonny follows her outside, his iced tea in his hand, and takes a seat on one of the cast iron chairs pulled up to a long, rectangular glass-topped table. He places his iced tea on the table, turns his chair sideways so that he is facing Carly's back and the lake, and clasps his hands in front him, leaning his elbows on his knees.

They are quiet for a long time, with only the distant lapping of water to keep them company.

Carly is tense, her shoulders are stiff, but she tries not to let Sonny see how nervous she is.

She need not have bothered.

Sonny, just as tense, finally sighs, "So, what's going on, Carly?"

She feels her eyes begin to sting, but she blinks against it. She asks, "Is this your place?"

"Yeah," he answers softly.

She nods, "It's beautiful."

He lets his eyes examine her loose blonde hair, her squared shoulders, clad in a T-shirt, her narrow waist and hips in her jeans. The wind is rustling her hair slightly. The image is striking against the lake. He presses, already knowing the answer but wanting her to tell him herself, "Why didn't you call me back?"

Carly rolls her eyes, then turns to face him, leaning back on the fence. She looks into his eyes, but his face is too bare for her to stare at for long. It is like looking straight into the sun. She looks away and replies, "I don't want to play this game anymore, Sonny."

"What game?"

She bites her lip, focussing on the wall behind him. Then she looks at him, her eyes rimmed with proud tears, and says with more conviction than she knew she felt, "I deserve to be more than a plaything."

He blinks, then asks in a quiet voice, "Is that how I treat you?"

She looks at him incredulously, "Don't play stupid with me, Sonny. I saw you with that woman."

He shakes his head slowly, "There's nobody else, Carly."

She wants to believe him so badly, but she is afraid. She insists, "I saw you, Sonny! The brunette at your penthouse?"

"That was business. I told you I had a meeting with an associate. I had a meeting with an associate," he says flatly. Then he goes on, "A meeting you interrupted! You nearly cost me an important deal, Carly."

She scoffs, "Do all of your associates kick off their shoes???" She shakes her head at him, "Please, Sonny. Don't treat me like a fool."

He sighs, "I'm telling you the truth, Carly. I don't know what else to say."

She watches his face. With a rush, she can see that he is not lying. At first, she wants to jump right back in, fly into his lap and go back to where they were. But she holds herself back.

She thinks for a moment, then she takes a deep breath and tells him, "You know, I want more out of a relationship, Sonny." She smiles sadly, shaking her head, "I mean, it took a while, but I finally learned my lesson...and I don't want to settle. Not anymore. I deserve more than that."

He studies her, surprised by her composure, impressed by her earnestness. He tries a smile, "What? Are we talking 'hearts-and-flowers' here, Carly?"

Immediately believing that he is mocking her, she folds her arms against her chest and says defensively, "No!" Then she reconsiders and pulls herself up straighter, "I mean, Yeah! 'Hearts-and-flowers'? Why the hell not??"

Her voice becomes quiet, as she is speaking her thoughts more to herself than to Sonny. She says in a small state of wonder, the truth of her words hitting her hard and fast and unexpectedly, "You know what? I want somebody to hold my hand...and not to drag me somewhere, but because they just want to hold my hand. I want to have someone who trusts me...and I want to trust somebody without worrying they're going to break my heart the next minute...and, yeah, I want flowers and candy and candles and presents..."

Then, brought back to her surroundings, she points an accusing finger at him, "What are you staring at?? You don't think I deserve hearts and flowers and all that crap??"

He raises his brows at her indignation, then he laughs, not at what she means, but how she says it.

She sets her jaw, peeved, "Oh yeah, I forgot. This is Carly we're talking about...and Carly isn't good enough for hearts and flowers, right?"

His smile fades and he sighs. He stares at her for a few seconds without moving, making certain before he says anything that this is what he really wants. Making absolutely sure that he wants to take the risk.

Then he turns serious and says in a meaningful tone, "No, no, Carly. You do deserve that."

She meets his eyes, caught off-guard by his response. Her eyes widen when he stands and walks slowly toward her.

He places a hand on his chest, his eyes burning into hers. His voice is deep and barely above a whisper, "I'm all right, but I'm not that good at hearts and flowers..."

She feels the tingle start in her cheeks, then spike down to her chest. He is standing just inches from her and her stomach does a flip when he speaks again.

He says somewhat tensely, feeling as if he is leaving himself unprotected, "I was just thinking that maybe you could have...whatever it is you want...you know, with me."

Never breaking eye contact, her mouth opens slightly in shock. She can not believe he is serious, but she can tell that he is. Dead serious. She swallows. She feels so lightheaded and out-of-her-body that she wants to burst into tears of amazement and joy.

He leans forward and brushes his lips against hers gently.

She closes her eyes and allows herself to enjoy the kiss, which slowly becomes deeper and more intense, yet still soft and tentative. His hands cup her face, and he traces the small scratches on her nose and cheeks with his fingers. He takes another step, erasing any space between their bodies and kisses her again.

Suddenly, he backs away and asks, "You want to see the rest of the house?"

Confused, tears in her eyes, she laughs and stutters, "Um...sure...I guess"

He takes her hand then, watching her eyes to make sure she understands he is not dragging anywhere.

She blinks slowly, takes a deep breath, and laces her fingers through his.