The Lake

At the top of a rise, the road leveled out. Ahead was a wide, moonlit clearing—the parking area for the outdoor theater. When they’d been here last month for a production of Othello, the lot had been packed with cars.

Now it was deserted.

“Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves,” Allan

said.

“I figured we might.”

Allan drove to the far end of the lot. He stopped at its edge near the start of the footpath leading through the trees to the theater. He turned off the engine. “Well, here we are,” he said, sounding a little nervous himself. He killed the headlights. Darkness closed over the car. He took the key from the ignition, pushed the key case into a front pocket of his corduroy pants, and rubbed his hands on his legs. Twisting around, he reached between the seat backs and brought the blanket through the gap.

Outside, the night breeze chilled Deana’s legs and seeped like cool water through her sweater. Shivering, she gritted her teeth. She wrapped her arms across her chest. Allan joined her in front of the car. “Cold?” he asked.

“A little.”

He fluttered open the blanket and draped it over her shoulders like a cape.

“There’s room for two,” she said, holding out one side.

He huddled in close against her, drawing the blanket across his back and slipping an arm around her. They walked slowly toward the path. The blanket felt warm and good. So did his hand stroking her side. They were just a few steps along the path before his hand found its way beneath her sweater. She moaned as it moved over her bare skin. It roamed higher.

“Hmmm?” A surprised, questioning sound.

“Fooled you,” she said.

“You were wearing one at dinner.”

“My last stop in the john before we left. It went in the hamper.”

With a sigh, he reached and caressed her breast.

“God,” he whispered. He drew her around to face him. She lost her end of the blanket, but let it fall as Allan hugged her tightly, both hands now under her sweater and rubbing her back, his mouth open and urgent against hers. Breathless, Deana tugged out his shirttails. She sucked his tongue. She stroked his bare back. His hardness was a stiff bulge against her belly, the feel of it stirring a warm, moist tremor deep inside her.

He eased Deana away and lifted her sweater. Her skin, bare to the night breeze, crawled with goose bumps. Her nipples, already erect, grew so hard they ached, and then his hands were on them. Warm. Enclosing her breasts. Squeezing. The heat in her breasts was almost like pain, and she threw back her head, squirming.

His hands loosened as if he feared he might be hurting her.

“Toss anything else in the hamper?” he asked in a husky voice.

“Could be.”

He reached for Deana’s hips, but she danced backward, out of range. She pulled her sweater down. “Not here,” she said.

“Where?”

She shrugged. “We’re too close to the parking lot.” She waved a hand in that direction. She could see moonlight on the windshield of Allan’s Mustang. “Let’s go in farther.”

“Over by the theater?”

“Yeah.”

“How about on the stage?”

She flung out her arms. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely—”

“Props,” Allan put in.

“The bard you’re not.”

“Can you see it? There we are, right in the middle of the theater, surrounded on every side…”

“You’re being redundant.”

“Surrounded by all those high rows of seats, empty seats, while we…”

“Make the beast with two backs.”

“Screw our heads off,” he said, curling a hand over the back of Deana’s neck.

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“And as we lie there,” he whispered, “our naked bodies sweaty and tangled…”

“Gleaming in the moonlight…”

“…from off in the distance, high up in the seats, comes…” He took his hand off Deana’s neck and slowly clapped.

She stared through the darkness at him. He kept on clapping. “Christ,” she muttered.

He clapped again and again.

“Cut it out, you’re scaring me.”

He stopped. He laughed softly.

“Let’s go back to the car,” Deana said.

“You’re kidding.”

“No I’m not.”

“Deana, it was a joke.”

She turned away. He caught her from behind and wrapped his arms around her belly. She settled back against his warmth.

“I want to get out of here, Allan. It was a rotten idea in the first place.”

“Man, that’s the last time I’ll tell you a story.”

“Yeah, well, somebody could be around here. How do we know?”

“We don’t.” His hands moved up to her breasts.

She stroked the backs of his hands as they caressed her through the sweater. “We’ll go someplace else, okay?”

“Like where?”

“Someplace that isn’t…” Allan gently pinched her nipple, and she caught a ragged breath. “…isn’t so dark,” she said in a shaky voice. “A street near home.”

“In the backseat?” She nodded.

“Wouldn’t it be better…” His voice stopped. His fingers spread out, hands still holding her breasts but motionless.

“Allan?”

“Shhh.”

“What?”

Then Deana heard it, too. “It’s just the wind,” she whispered.

“It’s a car.”

Deana’s insides went soft and loose. She tightened herself.

If it was a car, where were its headlights? Allan took a hand off her breast. The warmth went away. He pointed. At first, Deana saw only strips of moonlit parking lot in the spaces between the trees. Then a dark shape crossed one of the strips. More like a chunk of shadow than a car.

“It’s probably someone like us,” Allan whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“A couple. You know. Looking for a good place to mess around.”

“God, I hope so.”

“Let’s get back to the car.” He picked up the blanket. Deana stayed close to his side as he walked along the path. She still heard the car, but she couldn’t see it. Just before the end of the path, Allan crossed to a tree. She followed. Ducking behind its trunk, they looked out at the parking area.

The Mustang was only a few yards away. The other car was directly behind it, motionless near the middle of the lot. Its headlights were off. Its engine idled. The glare of the moonlight on the windshield prevented Deana from seeing inside.