Julian

III. March, Ch. 36

     Once she was inside, he handed her the bag and closed the door.

     Bruce got in the car, turned the key in the ignition, and drove his car into the empty streets. "Where to?"

     She gave him directions, sliding her hands under her thighs.

     "You hungry?" he asked.

     Shelley shook her head.

     He looked at her like he didn't believe her. "Alright, talk to me. What is it you need?"

     Need? Did she really need anything? What was once an evil-genius plan to get back at Douglas seemed impossible to convey in words. "It's nothing."

     Bruce smirked. "Would it have anything to do with Douglas?"

     That name launched her usual flustered reaction. "Douglas? Why Douglas? Did he say anything?"

     "I've been approached about him before, but just because he's family doesn't mean I know him. Or even like him."

     For days, she questioned whether her suspicions of Bruce loathing Douglas were unfounded. Not anymore. "You don't like your cousin?"

     "Let's just say he's my least favorite part about Julian."

     The two were quiet once more.

     "Anyway," said Bruce. "I can't set you up with him. His taste in girls changes too often for me to keep up with."

     Shelley's sickness kicked in again.

     "I will give you credit for landing the role you needed to get close to him. You're on the right track."

     "I don't want to get close to him."

     He looked at her. "You don't?"

     Shelley stared off into the night. "No. I want to get back at him."

     Bruce sped up.

     She tensed at the change in speed. "And I need your help."

     He paused, but it was only a prologue to a chuckle. "Are you hearing yourself?"

     For the first time, she did. She didn't sound as crazy as she expected.

     "What do you suppose would be the best form of revenge?" he asked.

     "I was hoping you could help me with that."

     "And why would I help you?"

     "Because you don't like him either."

     Bruce bit the inside of his lip. "He's still my blood."

     "Then why do you hate him? What did he do to you?"

     He turned the corner on her block and said nothing.

     Shelley wondered what a weakling like Douglas could do to an intimidating figure like Bruce. Part of her didn't want to know.

     "You want my advice? Move on. Douglas isn't as powerful as you think he is. If you want revenge, show him what he missed out on with you. But don't try to hurt him. You wouldn't be good at it."

     Shelley pouted at the unexpected lecture. Deep down she knew all of this, but hearing it from someone like Bruce was almost insulting.

     She recognized her neighborhood and guided Bruce to her house. As she expected, her father's car wasn't in the driveway and she invited Bruce to fill the vacancy.

     Bruce pulled in and shut off the engine.

     So, what does this mean? Are we friends? She didn't want to ask, not tonight. "Thanks for the ride."

     "Don't mention it. And don't take the bus downtown anymore."

     She enlarged her eyes at Bruce's caring aggression. "I don't have a choice."

     He looked down at the mat beneath his feet. He dug up a pen with one hand and grabbed her left palm with the other.

     Shelley gasped at his strong grip.

     Bruce wrote a phone number on her skin. "If Margaret or Uncle George pick up, tell them who you are and I'll get on. I'll give you a ride if you need one. Capisce?"

     "Huh?"

     He released her hand. "Just say 'Okay, Bruce'."

     She looked at her palm like she held the answer to every unsolved mystery in town. How was it possible that she now felt indebted to him? "Okay."

     Shelley grabbed the door handle and pulled.

     "Wooah, what are you doing?" said Bruce "Let go."

     She pulled her hand away from the million-dollar handle.

     Bruce got out of the car and opened Shelley's door from the outside.

     What is it with this guy?

     She was stepping out of the car when she noticed her father's Buick flash its headlights in their direction.

     Shelley gasped. Her skin flushed so profusely, it was almost a light blue. She pushed Bruce towards the driver's side. "You should leave. Thanks again."

     Bruce looked surprised, but amused. "What's wrong?"

     Shelley kept pushing, but Bruce's hard body wasn't moving an inch. "My dad's home."

     "Your dad's home? Groovy. I want to meet him."

     Shelley groaned at his persistence. She looked over her shoulder and saw the car park in front of the house. "No, no. He's really strict. Please, just leave."

     "That's ok. I'm good with dads."

     She almost laughed at the absurdity.

     Before Shelley could push Bruce further, Mr. Stone got out of the car and walked in their direction. "Good evening," he called out.

     Shelley's stomach contracted in fear, but she turned regardless. "Daddy?"

     He looked at Bruce. "Who's your friend, sweetheart?"

     Bruce stepped in. His demeanor was confident and reassuring. "You must be Shelley's father. I'm Bruce Cassles. I'm a Senior at Julian."

     Mr. Stone paused for a second before he shook the hand Bruce offered. "Edwin Stone."

     "I hope you don't mind me taking Shelley home. There was a robbery near the theater and we didn't feel comfortable letting her take the bus."

     "We?" said Shelley and Mr. Stone simultaneously.

     "The production team. I'm the assistant stage manager."

     Mr. Stone seemed more relieved. He tried to smile at Bruce, but his car caught his attention first. "Is that a Miura?"

     "Sure is," said Bruce "V12 engine and all."

     Mr. Stone gave an impressed whistle. "You must have worked your fingers to the bone to buy this car, son."

     Bruce chuckled. "Something like that."

     He pulled the car keys out of his jacket pocket. "Wait until you see the interior."

     Mr. Stone raised an eyebrow.

     Shelley groaned, nearly invisible at this point. Oh, brother.