"I'm with a few friends," he replied. "You're welcome to join us. That is, if Billy doesn't mind." "Don't say his name like that," Carrie objected. "Billy is a great guy." Howie shrugged. "I suppose. If you go for the rock-and-roll, Adonis, s.e.x-G.o.d type, that is. Though I, personally, think that the cerebral, sincere, devoted-love-slave type is infinitely preferable." Carrie laughed.

Howie really was nice, and funny. "I don't see you as anyone's love slave, Howie," she told him. "You have too much self-esteem." The band began to play again and it became impossible to talk. With a forlorn wave, Howie returned to his table of friends.

Flirting with Danger was even hotter than they'd been at the concert. The smaller venue lent their performance a thrilling edge of intimacy. By the middle of the song, the crowd was gyrating, stomping, clapping, and shouting in a near-frenzy. When their drummer, Si, slammed down the final note, the audience began chanting, "More! More! More!" The band obliged with another four songs before they insisted that the house lights be turned up. Billy was sweating but exuberant as he joined Carrie. He grabbed her around the waist. "Let's get out of here. We're playing again tomorrow, so we don't have to break it down."

"Great," she said. "I have Graham's Jag." They ran to the parking lot and hopped into the car. "Where are we going?" she asked, pulling out into the road.

"The end of Heron Road," he told her. As they drove, Carrie raved about the performance. She had been truly impressed, but remembering Sam's advice, she poured on the compliments without restraint.

"You're so lucky to work for Graham," he said, leaning back hi the front seat of the car. "I mean, look at this car you get to drive. It's a beauty. I've always wanted a car like this." "Oh, I have one at home," Carrie lied. She wasnt sure why she'd said that. Maybe it was because next to him she felt so young and uninteresting. A Jaguar might jazz up her image.

"You do? Wow." he said, sounding unenthusi-astic despite his words. "Turn here,"

he directed her. She turned the car into an unlit dirt road along which big houses loomed close together, nearly hidden behind high hedges.

"I've never been up this way before," she commented.

"This is where the families who have money and live year-round on the isIand kind of cl.u.s.ter together," he said. "This is it." Carrie's heart flip-flopped when she saw the name on the open gate at the end of the drive.

Powell.

"Is this Kristy's house?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, seeming to think nothing of it.

Swell, Carrie thought darkly as she drove up the driveway. I have to fight the enemy on her own turf. Carrie reminded herself that she was Billy's date. He was taking her to Kristy's house.

That meant he wasn't interested in Kristy. And that, in itself, was good news.

Unless he's trying to make her jealous for some reason, Carrie worried. Pushing that thought from her mind, Carrie got out of the car and followed Billy around the side of the large house.

As they came around to the back patio, Carrie saw that the party was already in full swing down on the beach below. "Billy! You made it!" cried Kristy in a voice slightly more boisterous than her usual throaty tones. She had just stepped out of the house with a tray of hamburgers and hot dogs. She was wrapped in a brightly colored bandeau bikini top with matching sarong skirt, slit all the way to her waist on one side. "h.e.l.lo, Carrie," she added as an obvious afterthought.

"Hi," said Carrie, determined to seem confident and unaffected by Kristy's coolness.

Billy took the tray from Kristy as she led them down to the beach. "Daddy's not here this weekend," Kristy said. "So the sky's the limit. Let yourself go."

"Hey, Kristy," called a handsome guy. Carrie recognized him as someone Sam had once dated; his name was Kip. He wore surfing jams, and he had a cooler propped on his shoulder. "Where do you want me to put these sodas and beers?" "Duty calls," she said to Billy, running a long fingernail along his collarbone. "See you in a bit." Thank goodness she's gone, thought Carrie, looking at the party scene before her. It was a setting right out of the movies. The moon lit the surf as it crashed against the sh.o.r.e. Strings of colored lights hung from poles, and rock music spilled forth from an excellent stereo system hidden somewhere.

It was a jazzy, bluesy kind of rock and roll. The air was filled with the sweet, smoky smell of food grilling on three different barbecues.

There was another, more pungent smell in the air, too.

Pot, Carrie realized. She'd smelled it before at parties, though she'd never tried it. The dumb, dazed look on people who smoked it was always enough to dissuade her.

Carrie glanced over at where Kristy stood directing Kip. Her eyes glistened and she moved in a sort of sultry slow-motion. Very s.e.xy, but somehow off. Suddenly Carrie understood why Kristy's voice had seemed louder than usual. She's stoned!

The sound of a pop-top fizzing open caught her attention. "Want one?" Billy asked, handing her a beer.

She was about to decline, but quickly changed her mind. "Sure," she said, taking the beer from him. "I'll take a rest from the hard stuff tonight." "Good idea,"

said Billy with a smile. "Are you okay with the fact that there's pot here?" In high school Carrie and Josh had had a policy about parties where there were drugs. They'd simply left. They'd learned that inevitably the parties just weren't fun.-Either everyone stopped talking and just got into their own thoughts, which was incredibly dull, or Carrie and Josh would wind up taking care of someone who couldn't cope with the drug and got sick or depressed or otherwise upset. It wasn't worth it. You're not in high school and this isn't Josh, Carrie told herself. "Oh, sure," she answered Billy dismissively. "That's hardly a problem for me." Looking around, Carrie saw that all the girls were wearing bathing suits. So were some of the guys, though some wore jeans and no shirts. Pres joined them. He was wearing a pair of long, brightly colored trunks. "Hey, you two," he said. "Suit up. Get with the party." Billy pulled off his shirt and Carrie unb.u.t.toned her shirt and stepped out of her jeans. Billy eyed her and let out a low wolf whistle. "Nice suit," he said.

"Thanks," said Carrie, "Look out ahead, dangerous curves," agreed Pres.

Billy shoved him jokingly. "Hey, go get your own date. She's with me." To bring home his point, Billy put his arm around Carrie. "Let's get something to eat,"

he said. "I'm starved." They joined a group of people who were serving themselves barbecued chicken and corn on the cob. They sat and talked with the group as they ate.

Billy was the center of attention. Everyone wanted to know how the demo was coming along. People began asking both of them what Graham Perry was really like. Carrie was in heaven. She had never felt so hip in her life. Here she was, looking like a fox, next to the most attractive guy at the party, and speaking knowledgeably about a rock superstar. Perfect.

Out of the corner of her eye, Carrie saw a few familiar faces. Frank and the two other band members, Don and Si, were there. To her surprise, Carrie saw Diana De Witt and Emma's old date, Trent Hayden-Bishop. Flash Hathaway was there, always hovering near Kristy. She made a great show of fussing over Flash-who looked overdressed, as ever, in striped silk bathing trunks with a matching short-sleeved jacket and too much gold jewelry-but Carrie knew that Kristy still had her eye on Billy.

"Let's dance," Carrie told Billy, pulling him to his feet. The music was slower than it had been at the recording-studio party. During one very slow number, Carrie pressed herself close to Billy. The feel of his warm hand on her bare back, of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s crushed against his hard chest, made her sigh quietly with longing.

He seemed to feel the same way. He held her tight at the small of her back, gently pressing his body against hers. When the music ended, he gently ran his hand through her hair. She looked up at him and the next thing she knew, they were kissing.

Carrie felt as if she would melt away into nothingness as she gave herself over to the sheer pleasure of his kiss. She was only slightly aware of the next song as it began to waft through the night air.

But suddenly, abruptly, the music changed. Pulsing, frenetic drums throbbed through the air.

Billy broke off the kiss and looked at Carrie with laughing eyes. "That was sure a quick mood change," he joked.

"Too bad," she said softly. She noticed that everyone seemed to be gathering in a circle to watch something. "What's going on?" she wondered aloud.

"Let's go see," said Billy, moving her toward the crowd.

There at the center of the crowd was Kristy doing a wild, almost ritualistic dance. Her hips gyrated at incredible speed. Her arms were extended and the many colorful bracelets she wore rattled as she danced. Kristy whipped her head around as though she were possessed by a spirit of total abandon. "Kristy took native-dance lessons last time she was in Hawaii," a girl in front of them said.

Just my luck, Carrie said to herself. Grudgingly, she had to admit that Kristy was good. She might not be able to dance with a partner, but alone she was spectacular.

She wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but the smell of pot seemed stronger.

It was probably because everyone was standing closer together as they watched Kristy. Around her she saw people pa.s.sing joints. One came her way. For a quick moment she considered it, then she pa.s.sed the joint to Billy. He didn't even stop to think, but pa.s.sed the joint right along to the girl in front of him.

Even though she hadn't smoked, Carrie had the feeling she was getting high just from the smoke in the air. Or maybe it was the beer, or just the headiness of the music and being with Billy.

She wasn't alone, either. There was definitely a feeling in the air. She sensed somehow that the party was about to turn wild in some way. She could see it in the expressions of the faces around her. It was in the air.

And then it happened. Kristy tore off the cotton sarong skirt she wore around her hips. Under it was only the skimpiest G-string bikini bottom. She shook the sarong around herself as she danced and then tossed it into the air. "Take it off!" the boy named Kip yelled in a slurred voice.

Kristy cast the group a bold look, and, still dancing, undid the front clasp that held her bikini top closed. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s looked very white against her deep golden tan.

Carrie couldn't believe it. Casting a quick glance at Billy, she saw that his eyes were glued to Kristy. What was he thinking? Did he like Kristy's wildness?

He must. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Time to go skinny-dipping!" Kristy cried as she tossed her top high in the air.

In the next second she had stepped out of her bikini bottom and was running toward the water.

The idea caught on like wildfire. On all sides of her, boys and girls wriggled out of their suits and headed for the water. The white outlines of their bathing suits seemed to shine in the moonlight, highlighted against their tanned skin.

"Come on, I don't think this is your kind of scene," Billy said. "We can go."

Sure, Carrie thought. You can drop me home and then come back and be with s.e.xy Kristy. Just like the last time. Well, not a chance. Carrie tucked her chin and attempted the seductive look Sam had taught her a few days earlier. "I can handle this scene just fine," she said. Then she hooked her thumbs into the straps of her bathing suit and pulled it to her waist.

"Carrie, I don't think this is for you," he said again.

"Well, you don't really know me," she said, meeting his eyes as she removed the rest of her bathing suit. Something in his look made her suddenly feel overcome with nervousness.

"I'll race you to the water," she said, hoping to quell her jittery conscience by a brave show of bold words. Without waiting for an answer, she took off toward the water. What a strange feeling this was, to be running naked under the moonlight! For a moment she reveled in it. If she had been alone, or on the beach alone with Billy, she might have adored it completely.

But on all sides, naked people frolicked in the water or splashed one another in the surf. Being among fifty other naked people made the whole thing seem bizarre. It had the eerie feeling of a s.e.xy dream that had turned nightmarish.

Panting, she stopped in the surf. With the water frothing up around her, she regained some of her confidence. Being less exposed made her feel more relaxed.

She wondered if Billy was still watching her. When she turned, she couldn't see Billy anywhere. He seemed to have disappeared completely. "Billy!" she called.

Flash Hathaway neared her and looked her over with unconcealed l.u.s.t. "Come on in, doll," he said, running a slippery hand up her arm. "Come all the way in."

Without apology she pushed his hand away. Something had caught her eye. Up by the house, she saw flashing red lights. Then six men with high-beam flashlights came around the side of the house and headed down to the beach.

From behind her someone spat out a curse.

"Police!" someone else yelled.

Total panic seized the group. Some of the guests ran out of the water toward their clothing. Others tried to swim off down the sh.o.r.e. A piercing whistle cut through the air. An officer with a booming voice spoke to the group. "Clothe yourselves and report to the patio. This is a police directive. Anyone not complying will be arrested." Carrie was frantic. She couldn't let this happen.

Suddenly she felt completely ashamed. Desperate to escape, she started running down the sh.o.r.e. The glare of a powerful flashlight made her freeze.

Covering herself as best she could with her arms, she stared into the blinding light. More than anything, she felt like the deer back at home, which were sometimes stunned by headlights and seemed unable to run out of the car's way.

A deep, official-sounding voice boomed out at her. "Miss, please come up here and find your clothes, or we will take you to the station as is." Carrie had never felt more humiliated in her life. She sat in the back of the police van tugging at the too-small white towel wrapped around her body. Just moments earlier she'd daringly stripped for all the world to see. Now she wanted desperately to cover every inch of herself. More than that, she wanted to disappear completely.

On all sides of her were other guests in various stages of undress. Like Carrie, most of them had been unable to find all their clothing. Some of the girls had wrapped towels around their bottoms, but wore their T-shirts. Or it was the other way around and they were wearing jeans but only towels on top. Some of the guys, too, wore only towels, or whatever they'd been able to grab.

Across the way, on the other side of the van, Billy sat on another bench. He was in his jeans and T-shirt. His eyes were closed and he sat slouched with his arms crossed tightly on his chest. She wished she could catch his eye, but he wouldn't look at her. The expression on his face told her it might be better not to talk to him at that moment.

The police van drove them down to the station on the bay side of the island. It was a small station, and once the two vanloads of partygoers were inside it was packed.

The reactions of the guests varied widely. In one corner she noticed Pres and Frank, both wrapped in towels and smoking cigarettes. They seemed to be having the time of their lives, smoking and making ironic cracks about almost everything. Flash Hathaway looked ridiculous wearing all his gold jewelry but only a towel. Diana De Witt kept tugging on a long T-shirt as she imperiously demanded to call her lawyer. Trent Hayden-Bishop, on the other hand, looked as though he couldn't care less.

Kristy, who had begun it all, leaned up against the wall, her sarong skirt wrapped around her entire body. She looked dazed and completely out of it. Billy had found himself a chair and remained slumped with his eyes closed and his arms crossed. He seemed determined to make believe that this whole awful event simply was not happening.

Everyone was waiting for one of two phones to call a parent or guardian or friend to come pick them up. That was the only condition under which the police would release them. Up at the front desk Carrie saw one of the officers who had been on the beach. He handed a plastic bag full of half-smoked joints to the desk sergeant. Another officer brought in a large clear garbage bag full of beer cans.

Another officer came in holding a large pile of clothing. "Here are the rest of your clothes, kids," he said in an annoyed voice. "I'm going to hold up each item. Claim the item if it's yours- and only if it's yours." Tops were easy to identify and Carrie's T-shirt was one of the first to be held up. Happily she took it from the officer and slipped it over her head, still keeping her towel wrapped tightly around her. The jeans presented some problem since many of them were similar. Several heated arguments broke out as guys and girls argued over them.

Carrie was sure she saw her jeans, but Diana De Witt called out for them. Diana had been wearing^ white pants, Carrie remembered. "Those are mine!" Carrie shouted as Diana was about to take the jeans from the officer.

"They are not," shouted Diana.

"That's it," said the officer, at the end of his patience. "I'm keeping the rest of this stuff as evidence." "Evidence!" Diana cried, horrified. "Just exactly what are we being charged with, Officer? We were on private property attending a private function. My father is Evanston De Witt the fifth, a partner with the firm of De Witt, De Witt, Pinkston, Harvey, and Rutherford, and I do believe you have an illegal-arrest suit on your local-yokel hands. Not to mention illegal search and seizure and . . . oh, I don't know . . . hara.s.sment." The officer spoke to Diana in a monotone, completely unimpressed by her threats. "Young lady, you and your friends are being charged with disorderly conduct, lewd conduct, indecent exposure, narcotics possession, a violation of the state statute prohibiting the consumption of alcohol by minors, and violation of a local ordinance against bathing on public beaches-you were on a public beach-after sunset. And if you don't pipe down, I might just add littering to the list." Diana opened her mouth but thought better of it. Instead, she turned on Carrie. "Now look what you've done. Thanks to you I can't get my jeans back."

"Me!" Carrie cried in disbelief. "Your jeans!" It was no use. Carrie turned her back on Diana and went back to waiting on line for the phone.

A quick glance at the station-house clock told Carrie it was two-fifteen. Sam had surely left by now. The children were all alone. When her turn came, she'd have no choice but to call and leave a message on the phone machine. Graham and Claudia might not even listen to it until late the next morning.

A shiver ran up Carrie's back. She didn't know which was worse: the thought of spending the entire night at the station house wrapped in a towel, or the thought of Graham and Claudia coming to the station to get her.

Finally, after a long wait, Carrie got to use the phone. As she'd expected, the phone machine picked up. "Um, hi," she said in a small, quivery voice that surprised her. "It's me, Carrie. . . . As you may have guessed by now, I'm not home. I'm . . . it's kind of a long story ..." "Make it short, miss," insisted the officer at the desk.

"I'm at the police station and I need you to come and get me. I'm really sorry.

Bye. Oh, and please bring some clothes when you come. Thanks," she added in a rush. That was probably one of the weirder messages they've ever received, she thought ironically as she hung up.

In about a half-hour, Ken Miner, the owner of the Play Cafe, came to get the guys from Flirting with Danger. Pres patted Carrie's arm before he walked to the door. "Just think of it as another chapter in your memoirs," he said kindly.

"You mean my police file, don't you?" Carrie replied glumly.

"Police file, memoirs, what's the difference?" quipped Frank glibly as he pa.s.sed by them. "Come on, Pres," he added. "Let's go throw ourselves on Ken's mercy."

Billy got up and joined the others. He spoke to Ken, who quickly glanced over at Carrie. Ken shook his head, then went off to confer with two police officers.

"Farewell, fellow youthful offenders." Pres waved to the group as he left with Ken and the other band members.

"Get him out of here," snapped the desk sergeant. "If any of you other kids think this is funny, think again. These are serious charges." Carrie was surprised to see Billy return to his seat. He sat hunched over with his hands on his chin. It was time she spoke to him. "Why didn't you go with the others?" she asked, coming up beside him.

"Because my mother raised me to be a first-cla.s.s jerk, that's why," he muttered.

"What?" she asked.

"Ken is taking responsibility for all of the band members, but I said I would wait here until somebody came for you." "You tried to get him to take me out, too, didn't you?" Carrie surmised.

"Yep," he replied tersely. "But Ken is smarter than me. He said he's not getting involved with any dizzy broads he doesn't know." "You don't have to take care of me," she snapped, her pride wounded by his words. "Besides, none of this is my fault." "Oh, yeah?" He looked up at her angrily. "I asked you to leave. I would have been history, except I waited around for a few minutes to see if you'd change your mind. The police grabbed me at the side of the house as I was leaving." "Well, go home, please. Don't stay on my account," she said.

At that moment an excited buzz swept through the station house. Graham and Claudia had just come in, still dressed as they had been for the evening. Graham was immediately mobbed for autographs. He patiently signed them while Claudia made her way to the front desk. "I'm here to pick up Carrie Alden," she announced to the desk sergeant.

"Here I am," Carrie said, coming up to the desk. .

In all her life, Carrie had never felt so embarra.s.sed, guilty, and ashamed as when she met Claudia's eyes. "What on earth?" asked Claudia, handing Carrie a sundress and a pair of sandals. "What happened?" Before Carrie could answer, the sergeant handed Claudia a form and a photocopied sheet of paper. "This is a list of all the charges. Please fill out the form and return it to me before you leave. You will be notified of further proceedings." Claudia's eyes ran down the list. "Lewd conduct and indecent expo-" She glanced around the station house. "I can certainly see that something wild went on." The desk sergeant cleared his throat. "You rock-and-roll types might think this is a big hoot, but let me a.s.sure you that those of us who live on this island don't find pot-smoking, beer-guzzling, s.e.x-crazed teenagers amusing." "Believe me," Claudia said to the sergeant forcefully, "we do not find this amusing either." Turning back to Graham, Claudia realized that his presence wasn't helping things. In the tiny station house, he was practically being mobbed. "Let's get out of here while Graham is still in one piece," she said. "You can tell us the whole story in the car. Go get dressed." Carrie ducked into the ladies' room and put on her dress and sandals. On her way to rejoin Claudia, she pa.s.sed Billy. "You can go home now," she said curtly. "Thank you for waiting." "You're welcome," he replied, turning away from her.

Graham had some difficulty breaking away from his fans, but soon they were driving home in the Mercedes. "You know what bothers me the most?" Claudia began after almost five minutes of torturous silence. "It's the fact that you would leave Ian and Chloe all alone. How could you do that?" "My friend Sam was there." "I didn't see anyone when I got home," said Claudia.

"She had to leave at one-thirty, and I was planning to be back by then." Carrie hung her head. "Of course, I didn't plan to be arrested." "No, I imagine you didn't," said Claudia. "Care to tell us how you accomplished that?" Graham spoke up. "Look, it's late. We're all in a bad mood. Let's just go to bed and talk in the morning." "Am I fired?" Carrie dared to ask meekly.

"We'll talk in the morning," Graham insisted wearily.