Free Justice by Faye Kellerman Page B

like me ?
    Violin in hand, I walked over to Daniel. “It won’t work unless you put it together.”
    Slowly he turned, amazed that I was talking to him.
    “You’ve got to put the pieces together.” I smiled briefly. “Then you’ve got to blow.”
    I walked away.
    He followed.
    Daniel was wonderful in his simplicity. He was sweet, and gentle, and didn’t expect a thing sexually. So anything I gave him was met with unbridled excitement. He gave me back my sense of self, and because of that, I wanted our senior prom together to be extra-special.
    With my tutoring money, I could have afforded almost any dress I wanted. But store-bought wasn’t good enough. I wanted something unique—handmade.
    Which meant made by me. Every day after school, I rummaged through fashion magazines. Once I settled on the design, I started my hunt in the fabric stores. I found a bolt of teal-blue taffeta woven with gold thread that cost a fraction of its original price.
    I cut, I snipped, I sewed. I adjusted and pinned until my eyes gave out. But when I was done, I had my one of a kind—a backless and strapless bodice attached to a form-fitting miniskirt that gave my body a sexy embrace.
    But something was missing.
    It needed trim. It needed a bow. But not just any bow. A monster-sized bow that I tacked on just below the waistline. It swayed when I moved. It gave me kinetics. With the rest of the fabric, I made a matching stole. I accented the entire outfit with a black lace bag, matching lace gloves cut off at the fingers, and black garters and stockings. I kept my jewelry simple—a cross around my neck and Chris’s pearl earrings—a nice, ironic touch.
    On prom night, I felt as desirable as a courtesan. Yet inside, I was pure…well, maybe not totally pure. But at least I came away from high school still a virgin.
    Daniel was speechless. His hands shook as he pinned a corsage onto my bodice. I took his arm as we walked to his car. He had wanted to rent a limo, but I told him not to waste the money. His six-year-old Volvo would do just fine. I felt cocky as I made my entrance into the gym.
    I could feel the eyes on me—male and female. The girls looking at my dress, the boys eyeing what was inside. I could hear a buzz as Daniel and I walked over to the picture line. I kept my expression genteel but inside I was flying.
    All these years of keeping a low profile. But not tonight. Tonight was my turn.
    Casually, I glanced around the room.
    I saw him before he saw me. He was absolutely gorgeous—completely at ease in formal wear. I figured he must have attended a lot of weddings in his day. He was talking to his friends, Cheryl at his side. But there was a distance between them. No body contact.
    Then she took his arm. He stiffened. She looked upset.
    I felt bad.
    He turned and looked in my direction.
    I caught his eye.
    Abruptly, his face turned into something inanimate—cold and emotionless with the eyes of a dead fish. I looked away and moved closer to Daniel. When I glanced up again, he was gone.
    I pretended the interchange never happened. I danced, I laughed, I flirted, I drank punch and ate cucumber sandwiches. Midway through the affair, I saw him again, moving through the crowd, heading for the side door.
    Without a nod to rational thought, I excused myself from Daniel and gave chase. I found him alone under a tree, knees up against his chest—same position I’d modeled for his sketches. I sat next to him, hugging myself because I was cold.
    “Stuffy in there,” I said.
    He didn’t answer.
    “Like my earrings?”
    He didn’t move.
    “Look, Chris…” I tried again. “I’m sorry it ended so badly. I’m sorry that things got so messed up. You were a very important person in my life. I feel very deeply about you and—”
    “Are you wearing garters or panty hose?” he asked me.
    I waited a beat. “What?”
    He looked at me for the first time. His voice was calm. “I asked if you were wearing garters or panty