looking down into the darkness. Within a bright rectangle in the middle of that darkness, Sylvester Stallone strode across the night in the costume of a young labour leader from the 1930s. Again Arnie had that feeling of living in some marvellous dream that might at any moment skew off into nightmare . . . perhaps it had already begun to happen.
She was too close to the edge - he took her arm and pulled her gently backward. The ground up here was dry and crumbly. There was no fence or guardrail. If the earth at the edge let go, Leigh would be gone; she would land somewhere in the suburban development loosely scattered around the Liberty Hill Drive-In.
The Embankment had been the local lovers' lane since time out of mind. It was at the end of Stanson Road, a long, meandering stretch of two-lane blacktop that first curved out of town and then hooked back toward it, dead-ending on Libertyville Heights, where there had once been a farm.
It was November 4, and the rain that had begun earlier that Saturday night had turned to a light sleet. They had the Embankment and the free (if silent) view of the drive-in to themselves. He got her back into the car - she came willingly enough - thinking it was sleet on her cheeks. It was only inside, by the ghostly green glow of the dashboard lights, that he saw for sure she was crying.
'What's the matter?' he asked. 'What's wrong?'
She shook her head and cried harder.
'Did I . . . was it something you didn't want to do?' He swallowed and made himself say it. 'Touch me like that?'
She shook her head again, but he wasn't sure what that meant. Arnie held her, clumsy and worried. And in the back of his mind he was thinking about the sleet, the trip back down, and the fact that he had no snow tyres on Christine as yet.
'I never did that for any boy,' she said against his shoulder. 'That's the first time I ever touched . . . you know. I did it because I wanted to. Because I wanted to, that's all.'
'Then what is it?'
'I can't . . . here.' The words came out slowly and painfully, one at a time, with an almost awful reluctance.
'The Embankment?' Arnie said. gazing around, thinking stupidly that maybe she thought he had really brought them up here so they would watch F.I.S.T free.
'In this car!' she shouted at him suddenly. 'I can't make love to you in this car!'
'Huh?' He stared at her, thunderstruck. 'What are you talking about? Why not?'
'Because . because . . . I don't know!' She struggled to say something else and then burst into fresh tears. Arnie held her again until she quieted.
'It's just that I don't know which you love more,' Leigh said when she was able.
'Is it?' she asked, searching his face. 'Which of us do you spend more time with? Me . . . or her?'
'You mean Christine?' He looked around him, smiling that puzzled smile that she could find either lovely and lovable or horridly hateful - sometimes both at once.
'Yes,' she said tonelessly. 'I do.' She looked down at her hands, lying lifelessly on her blue woollen slacks. 'I suppose it's stupid.'
'I spend a lot more time with you,' Arnie said. He shook his head. 'This is crazy. Or maybe it's normal - maybe it just seems crazy to me because I never had a girl before.' He reached out and touched the fall of her hair where it spilled over one shoulder of her open coat. The T-shirt beneath read GIVE ME LIBERTYVILLE OR GIVE ME DEATH, and her nipples poked at the thin cotton cloth in a sexy way that made Arnie feel a little delirious.
'I thought girls were supposed to be jealous of other girls. Not cars.'
Leigh laughed shortly. 'You're right. It must be because you've never had a girl before. Cars are girls. Didn't you know that?'
'Oh, come, on - '
'Then why don't you call this Christopher?' And she suddenly slammed her open palm down on the seat, hard. Arnie winced.
'Come on, Leigh. Don't.'
'Don't like me slapping your girl? she asked with sudden and unexpected venom. Then she saw the hurt look in his eyes. 'Arnie, I'm sorry.'
'Are you?' he asked, looking at her expressionlessly. 'Seems like nobody likes my car these days - you, my