Chapter 4

With the increased intimacy between Amanda and myself came other changes. Picking up on what my sister had confided in me, I set up a little surprise for her during the middle of summer vacation. Amanda had developed an interest in theater during her freshman year of college, so when I found out that the National Shakespeare Touring Company would be passing through our area, I made my plans. Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I knew I would be pushing her down a path she already wanted to explore. And I could never have guessed where that path would end up leading both of us.

Now that we were both out of school, we had the house to ourselves during the week while our parents were at work. We were alone together in the living room, just listening to music on the entertainment center's CD changer. This was the other dimension of our new relationship - the non-sexual part. Over the months since our first couplings, we had developed a series of mutual likes that we shared. My sister had introduced me to progressive jazz. I had introduced her to modern folk and - God help me - rock-a-billy. Although our tastes in music remained distinctly different, we had managed to find a common ground of works that we both enjoyed.

That day it had been her turn to choose the music, and the album d'jeur was by Miles Davis. I found that I liked it quite a bit, although not nearly as much as my sister did. I could watch the music wash over her and carry her away. Indeed, half the fun of our listening sessions was watching her response to the music - a visceral response that displayed almost as much intensity as her sexual ones when in the throes of passion.

Amanda turned to me during a particularly complex interplay of instruments and said "Don't you just love the counterpoint during this part - the way it and the melody accent each other? It's almost like two lovers flirting back and forth with each other."

"You have quite an imagination there, Sis." I answered. "All I can hear is music. Not that the music isn't nice, but I think I'm more oriented toward lyrics. I need words to move me."

"Words operate on a different part of your brain," she countered. "You have to think about them. Pure music works on a deeper level. You need to open yourself up to new experiences Kenneth - learn to let your feelings go." Amanda admonished me with the voice of authority, "Not everything can be put into words."

I grunted, "Yeah, I've learned that." Stepping into the opening she had given me, I continued, "Speaking of new experiences, you're due for one of your own. I've been saving a little surprise for you."

"A surprise?" she responded inquisitively. "What kind of surprise?"

"The good kind, I hope." I said, smiling. "Just stay right there. I'll be back in a minute."

I left her gaping at me as I headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. It was a short trip to my bedroom to retrieve my prize from the drawer of my desk. Bounding back down the stairs, I returned to her holding an elongated envelope in my hand.

"I think you'll like this." I said, pressing the envelope into her palm.

She turned it over in her hand, examining it carefully. She had no problem knowing what the envelope must contain. The "Ticket Master" logo was prominently printed across the envelope. Amanda lifted the envelope's flap and looked inside.

"Oh my God... " she exclaimed as she looked at the contents - two tickets fourth row center to the National Shakespeare Company's production of "Othello". "I don't believe this! I love Shakespeare! How did you ever know?"

I answered with a slight laugh. "Do you think that the only time I pay attention to what you're saying is when you're in the middle of an orgasm? You've been talking about theatre ever since you got involved with that little theatre group at your college."

"But there's two tickets here," she said, pointing out the obvious. "I didn't know you liked Shakespeare."

"You're right about that." I acknowledged. "'Best Little Whorehouse In Texas' is more my speed."

She looked at me, confusion on her face. "But if the second ticket isn't for you, who IS it for?"

"Cindy Hartwell." I replied simply.

Amanda looked at me very strangely. "Cindy Hartwell? But we don't hang together. You know that."

"I also know you told me that you wished that you and she were friends. This is your chance, if you play it right. I'm sure she'd enjoy the play. I've been doing a little strategic reconnaissance lately. Cindy is home from college for the summer and I've managed to do a little eavesdropping on her and her friends. In fact, she was the one who mentioned to her companions that the National Shakespeare Company would be in town and how much she would love to see them."

"So why doesn't she just go with her friends?"

"Because," I stated - as if explaining the facts of life to her - "as you once told me, she's one of six kids being raised by a widowed mother. Not everybody in the world has the cash to spare for seventy-five dollar theatre tickets."

"You spent seventy-five dollars for these tickets?" Amanda asked, stunned.

"Seventy-five dollars EACH." I corrected.

"God Ken! You shouldn't have gotten me these. You can't afford that kind of money."

"Not as a routine expense, I can't," I responded, lightly. "It really wasn't that bad. I knew this was important to you."

If my sister only knew. I had spent the spring working odd jobs to save up enough to cover the cost of car repairs on my shitbox Ford Escort. Now it would be at least another three months before I'd be able to earn enough money to put new rear tires on my car. My poor bank account had taken a SEVERE hit buying those tickets.

"Well, I still don't know. What if Cindy doesn't accept? It's not like she knows me."

"Then I'll be out the cost of the second ticket," I responded, casually. "I assume you'd still want to go. But I don't think that's going to happen. I know you. You know how to turn on the charm when you want something."

I could see the battle going on in her mind. Amanda had never had to worry about being accepted. But this was different. This involved some real risk. She would be inviting an outsider into her world - or ever riskier, she would asking to enter another person's world. She wasn't sure of the rules of THIS game.

"Do you really think she might accept?" she asked sheepishly.

I knew then that she wanted to do it and that I had been right to push the issue. "Why wouldn't she?" I replied. "At worse, she'll find out that you're not her cup of tea. She'll still get to see a play she wouldn't otherwise be able to. I think she'll take the chance."

"Well, I hope you're right."

"So, why don't you find out? Give her a call."

"You mean right now?" she said, nervously.

"No time like the present. I just happen to know her phone number."

My sister gave me a questioning look. "You plotted all this, didn't you?"

"Guilty on all counts." I confirmed, with a grin. Then I continued more seriously, "This isn't some kind of prank, Amanda. I did it for you. You told me how you wished you had approached Cindy. Well, I don't want you to have to live with regrets of what might have been. Maybe it will work out, or maybe it won't, but you'll never know if you don't try. So dial the number."

"Alright." she said. "I'll do it. Just stay with me for moral support. I'm not as certain as you are that this is a good idea."

"I'll be right here with you. Why don't you use the speakerphone? That way I'll know what's being said."

"Okay, we'll do that." she agreed.

"Come on," I said and headed toward our parent's bedroom with Amanda tagging along behind me. We crossed the bedroom into Dad's den on the other side. I waited for my sister to take the chair at the desk, and then seated myself in the recliner by the window.

"Well, here goes nothing" my sister said, obviously nervous. She flipped the switch on the speakerphone, bringing it the life. The soft insistent sound of the dial tone could be heard. I gave her the number, which she dialed, the tones audible over the phone's speaker. The telephone on the other end began to ring.

I sure hoped that someone was home. Having pushed Amanda this far, I didn't know if I'd be able to convince her to risk making the trip a second time. I needn't have worried. The call was answered on the fourth ring by a soft feminine voice.

"Good morning, Hartwell residence. Can I help you?"

"Ah... yes," Amanda said hesitantly. "Could you tell me if Cindy is there?"

"This is Cindy."

"Oh... ah, hi. This is Amanda Carson. You may not remember me, but we were seniors together two years ago in high school. Anyway, I happen to have been given two tickets for the National Shakespeare Company's production of 'Othello', and I was just wondering if you might... ah... you know... ah... want to go to see it with me?"

There was a long pause from the other end of the line before Cindy responded, "Are you sure you want to ask ME?"

"Absolutely certain," Amanda replied, without hesitation.

"Why? Why me? We're not friends or anything. We've never hung with the same crowds. I don't understand."

Amanda tried to ease her confusion. "I want to go with someone who can appreciate what we'll be seeing. I discovered theatre last year in college and just fell in love with it. I want to share the experience with someone who'll enjoy it as much as I will. That's why I thought of you."

You could hear the lack of comprehension - the doubt - in Cindy's voice. "But why would you think of me? I still don't understand."

"Because we had senior English together. You sat in the front of the room and were so smart. I was near the back and, I hate to say, wasn't as involved. But I remember when we had to read 'MacBeth'. I could tell then that you were into Shakespeare, so that's how I knew that you might be interested in seeing 'Othello'. So what do you say? Would you like to attend a show with me? You're invited if you want to come."

"Well," Cindy stammered nervously, "I don't know..."

"Please?" Amanda continued. "What have you got to lose? At worse we'll find we don't hit it off. You'll still get a nice evening out of it and you WILL get to see the play."

Even I could hear the uncertainty, the fear of being the outsider in Cindy's answer. "Well, are you sure you want me with you? I don't think I'll fit in very well."

Amanda could feel her chance to reach out to Cindy slipping through her fingers. She must have made up her mind to go for broke, because when she answered she didn't hold anything back.

"Cindy, please. I really want this. I know how you must feel. You think I may be setting you up for some cruel joke. I can't blame you for that. Some of the girls I used to hang with in high school would do just that sort of thing. They wouldn't think twice about trying to get you into some sort of embarrassing situation and hurting your feelings just so they could feel superior to you. But I'm not like that, Cindy. I want to be your friend. I really do. Do you think you could believe that?"