At Dorset High School, the word "high" was packed with many meanings.
The trouble started when the gang wanted drugs to get high on, and went looking for a source.
It got rougher when the wild kids shifted their hot rods into high, playing "chicken" on a highway that was not quite deserted.
But the whole town rocked when 15-year-old Patty Neilson-with the body of a mature woman and no morals at all-decided to scale the heights of sex, and make things really hot....
ONE
At fifteen, Patty Neilson was obviously all female. Now, as she stepped out of the Dorset High School gym building into the late afternoon sunlight of the athletic field, wearing short-shorts and a tight, scoop-necked blouse, all eyes turned to her. Track men stopped running, the weight-throwers dropped their shots, the jumpers turned away from the pits. A chorus of wolf-whistles filled the air.
Patty smiled out at the field, at all the handsome, well-built boys. She was fond of boys. Very fond. And she knew most of the whistlers, all fellow students at Dorset. She tried not to display her satisfaction with the reaction she had caused, afraid it would interfere with the job Lenny Gordon had given her.
She glanced surreptitiously along the length of the gym building. He was still there, Artie Hillstrom, that funny little grind who seemed always to have his bespectacled eyes buried in a book. She smiled to herself. She'd get Artie's eyes to look elsewhere. At her body.
She moved toward Artie, seated in the shade against the gym wall, studying. She walked with a sensuous undulating swing, hips swaying, belly thrusting, breasts jiggling. "Hi, Artie!"
She stood in front of him, legs astride, smiling, breathing deeply, knowing what she looked like to the boy seated in front of her and reveling in it.
He glanced up, breaking his concentration, eyes blinking. He was a thin boy with long straight blond hair and sallow skin. He seemed to squint perpetually, as if light hurt his eyes. Recognizing Patty, he tried to scramble to his feet gracefully, but didn't make it. Instead, he slipped on the gravel and fell back against the wall. He blushed when Patty laughed.
"I guess I'm pretty clumsy," he said, trying to rise again, this time more slowly.
Patty knelt in front of him, and touching his shoulder, stopped him. She knelt on the ground, leaned forward, letting the neck of her blouse fall forward, watching Artie's eyes look down the deep valley between her breasts. She made sure he had a good look before she straightened up.
"What are you doing here all alone, Artie?"
He cleared his throat and forced his eyes back to her face. He wondered if she had seen him look. He hoped not. A vague sense of guilt flooded through him, reminding him of the time he had passed his mother's bedroom and had seen her naked through the partially open door. Every time he remembered that scene he grew hot with shame and fear, afraid of the thoughts that came to mind. Patty made him feel the same way.
"I was studying," he said. "Well, not really. Just reading something. Dostoevsky."
"Who's he?"
"A Russian novelist. One of the greatest writers ever." Patty made a face, then quickly smiled. She ran a finger lightly along Artie's bony jaw. "You read too much, Artie. Think too much. Don't you ever have any fun?"
He blushed. "Sure, I do. Besides, I like to read."
"Don't you ever do other things?"
"Like what?"
"Like go out with girls. I never see you with a girl."
He shrugged. "I'll have time for girls later, after I finish my education."
She stood up, a knowing look on her nymph-like face, eyes partially lidded, mouth open. She held her hands out to him. "There's no reason you can't take a little time out from your reading now, is there?"
He hesitated, took her hands, and stood up. "I don't know what you mean."
She swayed close to him. "Do you like me, Artie?"
"Sure."
"I mean, the way I look?"
"Sure."
"The way I'm built? Do you like girls with breasts like mine? Big ones, I mean?"
He swallowed hard and nodded, fighting not to look down the front of her blouse.
"Would you like to touch them? I mean, underneath the blouse? I'm not wearing a bra. I don't need one."
He grew flustered, and a bead of sweat rolled along his spine into the hollow of his back. He wet his lips, now hot and dry, struggling to clear his mind, hoping she wouldn't notice what had happened to him.
She reached for his hand. "Come on, Artie. I know a place where we can be alone for a few minutes."
"I better not...."
She laughed. "Don't be a jerk. I won't hurt you."
They walked along, to the casual onlooker a pair of innocent teen-agers holding hands at the close of a school day in a typical surburban community. For that's what Dorset seemed to be, a typical upper middle-class town on the south shore of Long Island, within commuting distance of New York City. A national magazine had published a story with pictures only a year before describing Dorset as a model community, and so it appeared to be, laced with expensive homes with well-kept lawns, a suitable number of churches, a neat shopping district and the usual quota of gleaming station wagons. The story had even included a photograph of Patty Neilson in her brief majorette uniform, noting that it was her ambition to win the national title for twirling.
"Where are we going?" Artie asked timidly, as they neared the corner of the gym building.
"Inside, sweetie." She smiled encouragingly. "I'll show you."
At the door, he pulled back. "Maybe we'd better not. I really have to do some studying. I should be getting home."
She leaned against him and he felt her great young breasts flatten softly against his chest. The curve of her belly pressed into his middle, exciting him, frightening him, confusing him.
"You can go home anytime, sweetie," she husked. "This won't take long. You'll see."
It was dark by contrast inside, and he found it difficult to see, stumbling as they entered the corridor. She took his hand again.
"Don't make any noise. We don't want anybody to see us."
They went past the entrance to the large gym, the one where the varsity played its basketball games, past the girls' locker room, turning down a narrow corridor.
"Say," Artie protested. "This leads to the teachers' lockers. We better not go there."
"Be quiet, sweetie. It also leads to the wrestling room."
"The wrestling room!"
"Sure. Nobody goes there this time of day. We can be alone."
They hurried past the teachers' locker room and stopped before an oak door. He hesitated.
"Listen, Patty. I think we'd better not go in there. I mean it."
"Don't be a dope." She turned the knob, pushed the door open, and entered the room. He followed.
"Hiya, Artie-baby." It was Lenny Gordon who spoke the words, to the amusement of the three other boys backing him. They all began to laugh. "You oughta see the expression on your face, Artie. Boy, what a look!"
"You thought you were gonna get some of that, didn't you, Artie?" one of the boys leered, gesturing at Patty. "T.S."
Patty was laughing too. "Did I disappoint you, sweetie? Well, win some, lose some." She giggled, pleased with herself. "He kept saying he'd better not. He wanted to read or study or something."
All of them laughed at that, and Artie stood there, uncertain and for some reason frightened. His thin face grew paler.
"I better go." He turned to the door, but the boy who had spoken moved quickly to block his path. "Stick around, genius."
"I want to talk to you, Artie." Artie turned to face Lenny Gordon. All at once he knew why he had been lured here, knew that it was no accident that found Lenny present. He shook his head.
"No, Lenny," he said. "I told you I wouldn't do it. I still won't."
Nobody was laughing now. The small gym, thick with the fetid odor of accumulated perspiration, was quiet and suddenly ominous. Lenny moved slowly toward one wall, a tall boy, handsome, his face fleshy, eyes flat and cold, mouth petulant, moving with the grace of a tiger, his sloping shoulders bespeaking growing power, his aristocratic features set angrily. Suddenly he lashed out, hitting hard at the mats hanging from hooks on the wall. The impact made a clean, though muffled, sound, the sound of a punishing blow. He swung around.
"You're sweating, Artie," he said humorlessly. "I guess it's hot in here. I guess Patty makes you hot. Patty is enough girl to make anybody hot." He stepped forward, and Artie retreated a step. "Listen, kid, just tell me that you'll do what I asked you, and me and the boys will leave you alone here with Patty. Look at her, the way she's stacked. Wouldn't you like to have a little of that?" He cocked his head to one side. "Patty could really show you a thing or two. Now be smart. Just say you'll do it."
Artie wet his lips, then shook his head quickly.
Lenny moved forward, hands spread. "Don't be a fool. You're a smart kid. Wise up. What have you got to lose? Your old man's a doctor. All you got to do is pinch some of his prescription blanks. A pad of them, maybe. Half a pad. He'll never know the difference."
"What do you want them for?" Artie managed to say, stalling.
"You know what for," Lenny shot back. "To buy some bennies. Benzedrine. And some dexedrine. Pep pills, Artie. So we can get the stuff whenever we want it."
"I don't understand why you have to use that junk."
"Square," Patty snapped out.
"She's right, Artie," Lenny said, coming closer. "You are a square. A four-cornered square. The pills are for kicks, Artie, for kicks. Now, are you going to do it or not?"
Artie glanced around at the faces of the others. None of them showed any sympathy. Suddenly he threw himself toward the door, struggling to shove aside the boy guarding it and escape at the same time. It was no use. He felt himself being thrust backwards by one strong hand. He almost fell. Righting himself, he turned to face the oncoming Lenny Gordon.
"Go outside, Patty," Lenny said.
She moaned a protest. "I want to watch."
"Stand guard. You see anybody coming, give us the word." She went out without another word. Lenny smiled coldly at Artie. "Last chance, Artie."
Artie's lips tightened. He felt his bowels grow tense and a faint trembling began in his knees, reached upward. "No," he said tightly. "I won't do it."
Lenny never hesitated, driving his right fist into the smaller boy's middle. Artie groaned and doubled up, falling to the floor. Lenny motioned to one of his cronies.
"Pick him up." He waited till Artie had regained his breath. "Well, changed your mind yet?" Artie shook his head. Lenny filled his lungs with air. "Hold him up. The doctor's boy has to be convinced."
Lenny shuffled forward, fists swinging.
TWO
Ted Harrison finished reading a book report written by one of his students. He reflected briefly on what he had read, then scrawled a grade at the top of the first page. He sighed heavily, disappointed at the quality of the reports turned in by his English Lit classes. Too many of his students, if not actually illiterate, showed no interest in reading and writing, no sense of appreciation for the beauty inherent in the English language, a beauty that Ted Harrison constantly tried to place before them.
He leaned back in his chair, blue eyes focused on some middle-distance in space, thinking of his many students. A few of them, very few, cared enough to work, to make an effort to learn, to expand their horizons, to enlarge the areas of life from which they might extract pleasure. Students like Arthur Hillstrom were a source of constant pleasure and satisfaction. Working with a boy like Arthur was an adventure, never knowing what would happen next, his mind a storehouse of surprises, of intellectual seeking. Arthur made teaching worthwhile.
But there were other boys who turned each day into a long series of frustrations for Ted Harrison. Lenny Gordon, for example. Ted knew that Lenny possessed a fine mind, active and quick, and, when he wanted to allow himself, he could be perceptive and probing. But more often, Ted knew, Lenny took scant interest in his schoolwork, doing only enough to get grades. And get grades he did, always turning in a well-written paper, or a test with few errors. But there was no real interest, no curiosity, no desire to expand and grow.
Ted suspected that Lenny's papers were frequently written for him by other students, a suspicion he hoarded, unable to prove it. Nor could he prove that Lenny cheated on tests. The boy was too shrewd ever to get caught, yet his examinations had the stilted, pat phraseology of stolen answers rewritten.
Ted gathered up the papers, slid them into his briefcase, and left the empty classroom, heading for the parking lot adjoining the athletic field. He decided to go through the gym building, saving a few steps. As he walked he wondered if perhaps he had somehow failed such boys as Lenny Gordon, failed to give them all that they required from a teacher. He decided to have a talk with Lenny, as well as with the other students in his classes who showed promise.
Ted descended the stairs to the street level, heels loud on the metal stairs, warning Patty Neilson that someone was approaching. She tried to squeeze herself into a shadowed corner of the corridor outside the wrestling room so as not to be seen, wishing she had worn dark clothes, wishing for the moment that she could shrink her breasts, make herself smaller. It was a futile effort.
She saw Mr. Harrison come out of the stairwell, head down, walking slowly, lost in thought. He went past the corridor and she exhaled, relieved that he hadn't seen her. She wished Lenny and the others would hurry up and finish with Artie Hillstrom. This whole business made her queasy. Not that she had any love for Artie, that square. But roughing up another kid could get them all in trouble, though Lenny was sure he could handle a grind like Artie.
She smiled to herself at the thought of Lenny Gordon, so big and strong, his black hair long and wavy, his skin smooth and tawny, as handsome as a movie star, and one of the smoothest kids at school. Lenny Gordon knew who he was and where he was going. When he was graduated in June, Patty knew, Lenny had been promised a summer in Europe by his father, first class all the way. And in the fall he would enter Princeton. Nothing but the best for Lenny. Then when he got his degree, Lenny would probably go to work in his father's advertising agency. Patty sighed. The girl that got Lenny Gordon would certainly get a winner. Right now, Lenny belonged to Betty Crowell, but that didn't bother Patty. There were ways of getting a boy like Lenny to change his mind.
"Hello, there! Is something wrong?"
An icy finger raced along Patty's youthful spine. It was Mr. Harrison! He had come back, was standing at the far end of the corridor, talking to her. Instinctively, she turned so her face was hidden from him, her mind whirling in near panic.
"Is something wrong?" Ted Harrison said again. A flash of white in the dim corridor had caught his eye as he had passed on his way out, but it had taken a moment or two for it to register, to pierce his preoccupation. Now he had returned to verify his impression and had seen the girl leaning against the wall, her appearance tense and apprehensive.
"Do I know you?" he said, peering at her, trying to see her face. "Are you one of my students?"
Without warning, the girl pushed open the door to the wrestling room. "Beat it!" she cried. "There's a teacher out here!" She turned and ran down the corridor away from Harrison. Surprised, he called to her, even as four boys bolted out of the room, tore after her. A familiar image floated to Ted's mind, a hint of recognition. He started after the fleeing boys instinctively, only to be stopped by a moan coming from the wrestling room. He pushed the door open and saw a boy huddled on the floor.
"What happened?" he said, hurrying forward.
Artie clutched at his sore belly, fighting to catch his breath.
"Arthur! Who were those boys? Why were you fighting with them?"
Artie felt some of the tension drain away from his middle as his diaphragm began to function normally again. He started to rise, fell back, his legs wobbly and weak. He grinned half-heartedly at Ted Harrison.
"Boy, am I glad to see you, Mr. Harrison," he managed to say.
Harrison placed an arm around the boy, helped him to his feet, supporting him. "As soon as you can walk, we'll get you to a doctor."
Artie managed a small laugh. "You forget my father's a doctor, Mr. Harrison. I give him all my business."
Ted felt slightly relieved at the boy's display of ironic humor. Apparently he wasn't hurt so badly that he couldn't laugh at his own dilemma. Ted sighed loudly.
"I think we'd better go up to Dr. Littleton's office. He'll want to know all about this."
Artie shook his head, a stubborn set to his mouth. He didn't want to visit the principal's office. There was nothing to tell him. "I'm all right, Mr. Harrison. Honest. So I had a little fight. So what? All kids fight now and then."
"With four boys at one time?" Harrison peeerd closely at Axtie, who had retrieved his glasses from the floor and was now wiping them clean with his handkerchief. "That was no fight, Artie. Those boys were beating you up, ganging up on you. Why?"
Artie shrugged, adjusted the glasses on his nose. "It was only a fight. Nothing else." He looked up at the tall teacher, his face studiously blank, his eyes empty.
Harrison had seen that expression before many times. It seemed every one of his students was capable of assuming it, a look of exaggerated innocence, a look that conveyed nothing except rejection of an older person's prying, a way of playing it cool, of repelling the enemy, the generation that was in command, running things. Authority.
Harrison stared down at the boy, his lean face pale, his full ascetic mouth grim, his brow furrowed. He ran long bony fingers through his thick, wavy brown hair, a reflexive gesture when he was frustrated, a gesture that had become famous to professional football fans when he had played split end for the Redskins. Every time he failed to catch a pass or missed a block he'd tear off his helmet, drop-kick it half the length of the field, then sheepishly retrieve it, combing his hair with his fingers along the way.
Looking down at Artie Hillstrom now, Ted felt that same sense of frustration, as if a perfectly thrown pass had been batted down by a fine defensive play. There was little he could do. In so many ways, teaching was tougher than playing pro football. He didn't mind getting belted by a 230-pound linebacker now and then, and he'd still be playing the game if his speed hadn't disappeared when the cartilege was removed from his right knee.
Well, he thought wryly, all that was behind him now. He looped an arm across Artie's shoulders. "C'mon, Artie.
Let's get out of here. I've had my fill of gymnasia and locker rooms. I never did like the smell."
On the athletic field, boys were still working out, the air rent by coaches' instructions In the grandstand, a baker's dozen coeds cheered on their favorites. It was a peaceful scene, healthy, a promising omen for the community, the nation, the world. But Ted Harrison knew that it was just the surface of life at Dorset High, where a subterranean world existed, a world that had just resulted in Artie Hillstrom being assaulted, for a reason that no adult might ever learn. They stopped walking and watched a boy pole-vaulting. He cleared twelve feet easily.
"He's good," Ted said.
"Yes," Artie agreed, wondering when the soreness would leave his belly.
"With practice, dedication, and proper coaching, he might become great." He turned to face the boy next to him. "You want to become a novelist, Artie. I think you, too, can become great. It's up to you. I want to help you do it. Don't get involved in anything that will ruin your life."
Artie nodded. "I better be going."
"I think I recognized one of those boys, Artie. I can't let this thing pass. I intend to look into it further, with or without your assistance. Will you give me the names?"
"No." There was no mistaking the stubborn set of Artie's jaw.
Ted sighed. "Very well, I'll find out for myself. I'm pretty certain I recognized Lenny Gordon. There are ways to get to the bottom of this affair. That was no fight, it was a beating. I want to know why. Goodbye, Arthur."
Artie watched Ted Harrison move off across the ath letic field, his long, lean frame giving no hint of the outstanding athlete he had once been, the narrow shoulders offering no suggestion of the power lodged there, or of the strength in his wiry arms. But Artie was thinking of other matters, for Ted Harrison was going to cause him even more difficulty if he tried to get Lenny to admit he was behind the trouble in the wrestling room. He would never be able to prove it, and in the end it would mean only further beatings for Artie. He knew what he had to do.
Later that night, he phoned Lenny's home. "This is Artie," he began.
There was a moment of silence, then, "Change your mind, kid?"
"No, Lenny. And I'm not going to."
"We'll see about that. A couple of more sessions like this afternoon, sessions that won't be interrupted, and...."
"That's what I'm calling about, Lenny. That was Mr. Harrison who came by. He knows that someone beat me up."
"So what? There's nothing he can do about it." There was a heavy silence. "You didn't tell him anything, did you?"
"No, but I didn't have to. He thought he recognized you. He mentioned your name."
"Damn! Did you squeal?"
"I told you no."
Lenny's laughter had a metallic ring over the phone. "Okay, so let him think he saw me. What can he prove? Nothing. I appreciate your telling me this, kid. Now if you get me those prescription blanks we'll be square again. Otherwise...."
"Otherwise you'll beat me up again?"
"I'm glad you understand, Artie."
Artie hung up. He knew that Lenny was as good as his word. There would be other confrontations, other beatings. Somehow he had to find a way out of this, a way that would leave him unscarred in body and soul.
He sat down to think.
THREE
Ted Harrison was doing some thinking too, driving slowly through Dorset to Dr. Edgar Littleton's house, where he was expected for dinner. Not only was Dr. Littleton Ted's principal, he was his future father-in-law, for Ted was engaged to his beautiful daughter, Carol. Under the circumstances, Ted's relationship with Dr. Littleton was considerably altered from the normal teacher-principal situation. In every move he made, Ted was forced to consider Carol, and the fact that he was dealing with her father. It made Ted's position difficult, for he realized that with the passage of time he held Dr. Littleton in less and less esteem.
The thought troubled him. He wanted to be able to respect his principal, respect his father-in-law, but it seemed impossible Dr. Littleton displayed himself as a man interested only in maintaining the status quo, of not rocking the boat, of protecting his executive position, never of caring about educating the young people in his care.
What made the matter so much worse, for Ted, at least, was the swelling suspicion that the parents of most students cared little whether or not their children received a proper education. Other factors seemed more important-grades, for example, which did not actually reflect knowledge gained or imagination developed. There was more interest in attending a status college or university than in becoming an educated man or woman. A degree from the right school was looked upon as a symbol equal to a new Cadillac or a mink coat. It was not a condition to encourage a dedicated teacher to greater heights. No wonder, Ted thought bitterly, so many of his colleagues quit the profession in disgust, taking higher-paying jobs in industry, or else they simply went through the motions, challenging the students not at all, inspiring them never. A flood of sudden anger washed through Ted and he stomped down on the accelerator, the convertible leaping ahead. Five minutes later he turned into the driveway of the Littleton home, determined to have a long talk with the principal.
Carol Littleton greeted Ted at the door, offering her smooth, soft cheek to his kiss. She leaned back to appraise him with cool green eyes that didn't smile, as her mouth, a crimson creation, turned up at the corners exposing teeth made perfect by braces long since discarded.
"You're late, darling."
He nodded, feeling only slight guilt. "Sorry. I was driving around, thinking."
She took his hand and led him into the living room, where her father sat waiting. The two men shook hands.
"Some sherry, darling?" Carol said, pouring the amber liquid into glasses. They toasted each other silently, and then Ted sat on the French Provincial sofa, Carol next to him, looking at Dr. Littleton, who gazed idly at his sherry.
"You seem troubled, darling," Carol said. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance. "Now we'll have none of that tonight. My fiances aren't allowed to worry. No frowns. No problems. No fretting."
He smiled a small smile. "Just fun and games, Carol?"
She gazed at him humorlessly. "Why not? Life is too short for anything else."
Ted turned to Dr. Littleton. "Do you agree with Carol, Doctor? Is that what life is all about? Fun and games, I mean. Or does it have a meaning and purpose beyond that?"
Dr. Littleton almost smiled, his oval face placid, his mouth soft and somehow feminine, his eyes unblinking. He placed his glass on the table alongside his chair and made a steeple with his fingers. He looks, Ted told himself, like a man just come from a barber, perfectly groomed, everything in place, serene, ordered, a man at peace with himself. It was this serenity that bothered Ted. He had a vague idea that the principal of a high school should not be serene but in fact searching, intense, curious.
"You're very young, Ted," Dr. Littleton began, his voice sonorous. "Idealistic. As you get older you'll learn to stop tilting at windmills, to enjoy the span of time allotted to you, to enjoy the good things in this life."
He lifted the glass of sherry and smiled-a little sadly, Ted thought.
"Perhaps you're right, Doctor," he said. "In any case, there's something I must discuss with you."
"A problem at school, I take it," Dr. Littleton said. "Yes."
"Oh, Teddy," Carol said. "Can't you talk to Daddy in his office tomorrow? Tonight belongs to me."
"I'm sorry, Carol. I don't think this will wait." She leaned back with an audible sigh. "Very well. Get it off your chest, then we'll have dinner. I don't want my meal spoiled."
Ted repressed an angry retort and turned to Dr. Littleton. "I came across something at school this afternoon which troubles me."
Dr. Littleton nodded. "I come across such things every day, my boy. But do go on."
"A boy was beaten up today."
Carol sat up suddenly. "You mean, he was physically assaulted?" Ted nodded.
"On the school grounds?" Dr. Littleton asked uneasily.
"In the wrestling room. By four other boys."
"Not students at Dorset, of course," the principal said.
"I think they were some of our students," Ted replied softly. "There was a girl with them, though I didn't see her face."
Dr. Littleton finished his sherry. "Then you don't know who they were?"
"The boy who was beaten, Arthur Hillstrom, refused to name his assailants, but I think I recognized at least one of them."
Dr. Littleton stood up. "Do you know why the Hillstrom boy was beaten?"
"No, I don't. He wouldn't tell me anything. I know only that he was beaten. If I hadn't happened to come along just at that moment, he might have been seriously injured."
"This is very distressing," Dr. Littleton said. "We have an excellent record at Dorset. No rowdyism. A low absentee rate. Eighty-five percent of our students go on to college, most of them to the best schools. This is a model community, good people, solid citizens. People who are the foundation of the nation. Important people. We don't have juvenile delinquents at Dorset High School."
"What would you call those kids I saw this afternoon?"
Dr. Littleton spread his hands, a patient expression on his bland face. "Boys do have fights occasionally, Ted. You know that."
"Of course. I had more than my share of them when I was a kid. But four on one! That's hardly a fair fight. No, Doctor, this was no fight between two kids, it was a calculated beating of one boy by a gang for some hidden reason."
"What do you want me to do about it? If we knew who the boys were...?"
"I told you that I thought I recognized one of them."
"Very well, I'll talk to him. Who was it?"
"The Gordon boy."
"Leonard Gordon? Henry Gordon's son?"
"Yes."
Carol put her hand on Ted's arm. "You must be mistaken, darling. It couldn't be Henry Gordon's boy."
"I think it was."
"You think it was?" Dr. Littleton said meaningfully. "This is not the sort of thing to think about, Ted. You've got to be certain. To accuse a boy falsely could do irreparable damage."
Ted felt the anger begin to rise up in his gut, spreading under his skin. "I tell you, I saw him. It was Gordon."
Dr. Littleton refilled his glass and resumed his seat. "Do you know anything about Henry Gordon, Ted? Who he is? What he is?"
"I don't see what difference that makes. If the boy did...."
Dr. Littleton's voice was hard and low as he interrupted, his eyes turned inward. "Henry Gordon is not a man to offend, Harrison. He is president of his own advertising agency, a wealthy, successful businessman with extensive contacts in all walks of life. He is also the most influential member of the Dorset Town Council, which controls the finances of the county school system. In the final analysis, the Town Council is responsible for the hiring and firing of everyone in the school system, including you and me." Dr. Littleton sipped his sherry and leaned back in his chair. "You will agree, I am certain, that it hardly pays to offend such a man."
Ted sat staring at the older man, stunned by the implication of his words. "But something must be done. A boy was beaten up on the school grounds."
"Did the Hillstrom boy make a complaint?"
"Well ... no."
"There you are. Let's forget all about it, shall we?"
"Daddy's right, darling," Carol said, rising. "There's nothing more to talk about. Don't bother yourself about such unpleasant matters."
Dr. Littleton stood up,' smiling broadly, pleased with himself. "Carol's right. Leave that sort of thing to me, Ted. I've had experience with all sorts of little problems. They don't bother me at all."
"Now," Carol said, "shall we have dinner?"
Slowly, Ted got up. He was confused, even a little frightened, by what had passed between himself and the Littletons. Either they were right, and nothing should be done, or they were wrong, immorally, sinfully, destructively wrong. At that moment, his mind refused to function, refused to give him an answer. He allowed himself to be led to the dining table and a sumptuous meal, accompanied by a suitable wine with each course.
At the Littleton's, life proceeded in high style.
FOUR
Henry Gordon sat on the edge of the round bed in which he and his wife slept and watched her come out of the bathroom. She was still a good-looking woman, he reminded himself, studying her as she slipped on her dress. Maybe she didn't have the slim figure of some of those models he shacked up with in town, but she still was damned exciting to look at. He got up and walked over to her.
She smiled over her shoulder at him. "Zip me up, Henry."
His arms went around her, hands on her breasts. "You feel pretty great to me, Serena."
She pushed his hands away. "You're a sex fiend, Henry. Now zip me up. We're late already."
He reached for the zipper. "When we get home...." He let it hang.
"We'll see. Maybe if you don't drink too much and I feel like it."
She turned around, straightening her dress. "Sometimes," he said, a threatening undertone in his voice, "I think you must have a lover." He cocked his head to one side. "Do you, Serena? Are you shacking up with someone on the side?"
She walked past him to her dressing table, studying her face in the glass. "That's for you to figure out." Satisfied, she turned. "How do I look?"
"Okay."
"Then let's go."
"You didn't answer my question."
She giggled. "Oh, Henry, for such a smart man you're an awful fool. Playing the indignant husband doesn't become you. Especially since I know you play around like crazy."
"That's not true!"
"Isn't it? I hear that before any model gets hired for the TV commercials your agency produces she has to have a personal interview with you. Alone in your office. After six. Isn't that the way it is, Henry? Now stop being childish and let's go to the Blakes'. We're late already."
Lenny Gordon waited for his parents to come downstairs. "Boy, don't you two look snazzy. Bet that's going to be some party."
Serena glanced into the living room, where half a dozen of Lenny's friends had already collected. "Are you expecting many more people, Leonard?"
"Just a few."
"Don't tear up the place, son," Henry said, winking.
"I won't, Dad. By the way, is it all right for us to use the beer in the fridge?"
"Oh, Lenny, don't you think you boys are too young to be drinking beer?"
"I'm eighteen, Mom."
She sighed and glanced at her husband. "All right, but no beer for anyone under eighteen."
"You're the boss."
He kissed his mother and watched them leave, then joined his friends. "Okay, cats, it's bash time at the Gordons'. The brew is in the fridge. Help yourselves."
Within the next thirty minutes, a dozen more of Lenny's teen-age friends arrived, boys and girls alike. The beer flowed freely, and couples began dancing.
Patty Neilson spied Lenny talking to another boy and made her way across the room to his side. She saw him pop a pill into his mouth and wash it down by chug-alugging beer.
"Bennies?" she said, eyes gleaming. "Let me have one."
"You're too young," the other boy, whose name was Bruce, said.
"I'm old enough for other things," Patty said meaningfully.
Lenny laughed. "Give her one."
A moment later, Patty giggled, handing the beer mug back to Bruce. "Oh, man, I'm about to take off. Watch out for low-flying planes." She spread her arms, thrusting her middle toward Lenny. "Dance with the lady, mister."
"Fish?"
"Fish," she agreed, slowly wetting her lips, shuffling forward until their bodies made contact, hips swaying in time to the music, middles rubbing tight against each other in slow, sensuous circles, swaying back and forth.
"Mmm," she sighed. "You're great, Lenny."
"So are you. You must have been practicing plenty."
She giggled, revolving her pelvis against him. "All for you, baby, all for you."
"Maybe, later, maybe...."
"... why not now?"
He grinned. "Suffer a little. It makes everything better."
"Is that what you do with Betty Crowell, make her suffer?"
He stopped moving. "What's she got to do with this?"
Patty shrugged. "Isn't she your steady? I don't see her here. How come?"
He laughed and cupped Patty's chin in his hand. "Because she doesn't belong, that's how come. She's got nothing to do with us tonight. Okay?"
"Okay, Lenny."
He nodded at another couple doing the Fish, at the same time locked in a long kiss.
"Go, man, go!" Lenny called out, moving toward the couple. The others stopped dancing and formed a circle around them, urging them on.
"The trouble with them is they're wearing too many clothes."
"Yeah, let's see a little flesh."
"Take it off."
Patty leaped behind the girl and unzipped her dress. Never removing her lips from her partner, the girl disentangled her arms and allowed Patty to slide the dress down over her hips. Another girl reached forward and pulled off the half-slip.
"Hey," Lenny said admiringly. "She's all right. Who is that?"
"Her name's Cathy. She's a junior at school. Really built, isn't she?"
Now a beardless boy kneeled behind Cathy, hands tugging at her black panties, easing them slowly down her long shapely legs. As if on cue, she stepped out of them, then thrust herself back against her partner, whose gyrations never ceased.
"The bra," someone cried, and a quartet of hands reached out, fumbling with hooks, casting it aside.
"Come on, get with it."
"All the way home, baby."
"Ride her, cowboy."
Cathy sank slowly to the floor, her lips still tight against the boy's, hands fumbling with his belt. The onlookers crowded in closer, cheering, urging, offering suggestions, making critical comments.
"Seconds!" a boy cried.
"Thirds."
All at once half-a-dozen youths -lined up.
Patty stared up at Lenny, gulping beer. "What about you, Lenny? Aren't you part of that team?"
He grinned at her. "With me it's first or never. Come on, I've had enough of this." He stood up. "Hey, whataya say gang! Let's hit the road! This is a bore. Let's find us some action!"
"What about them?" someone asked, pointing to the couple on the floor, now still, breathing deeply.
"Let 'em alone," Lenny said. "Anyone wants to stay with them, okay. I'm for the road!"
Three of the boys on the line-up rolled Cathy's sleeping partner to one side. One boy put his hands on her breasts.
"Wait a minute," Cathy, looking up through sleepy eyes, managed to say. "I don't know you."
"Shut up, baby," another of the trio said, grabbing her ankles. "Just shut up and enjoy it."
Lenny laughed and, taking Patty by the hand, led the way out of the house toward the cars parked outside. A moment later he was leading a convoy of souped-up cars along the main highway at 80 miles per hour.
"Don't wait up for me, daddy."
Carol Littleton kissed her father on the cheek, then joined Ted Harrison at the front door.
"Don't keep her out late, Ted. Remember, tomorrow's a. school day."
Ted wheeled his convertible out of the Littleton driveway and into the light stream of traffic. The top was down and the soft spring air caressed their faces as they cruised along.
"It's a lovely night, isn't it, darling?" Carol said.
"Yes, it is. Where would you like to go?"
"Any place. It doesn't matter."
He turned toward the shore. "Let's go down to the beach. It'll be nice there now."
Ted pulled the car up to the edge of the beach, at that point no more than twenty-five yards wide. He lit cigarettes for them both and they sat silently looking at the ocean. The moon was almost full, the night cloudless, and they could see phosphorescent foam bubbling atop the breakers. A streak of reflected moonlight reached like a silver knife toward the horizon, where the running lights of a ship could be seen.
"It's beautiful," Carol sighed. She snuggled next to Ted and he put an arm about her. "I'm so glad you didn't continue arguing with Daddy about that little unpleasantness at school today."
He flipped his cigarette, the glowing ash describing a long arc in the darkness before it splattered on the sand.
"Little unpleasantness! It was much more than that."
"Darling, you worry too much."
"Perhaps. But someone has to worry about those kids. Maybe if their parents were more concerned the teachers wouldn't have to be."
"That isn't your problem. You aren't their parent, you are only their teacher."
He shifted his position so as to face her, his expression grim in the moonlight. "Carol, you and your father are both wrong about all this. Why won't you understand that it is absolutely immoral to allow a Lenny Gordon to continue getting away scot-free every time he does anything?"
She straightened up, her dress sliding higher on her thigh. Ted couldn't help but notice the long shapely curve of her leg. She tugged her skirt down.
"Aren't you exaggerating all this? All that happened was a little fight between two boys. It happens all the time."
Ted fought to control his temper. "I told you that it wasn't merely a fight. There were four boys in the wrestling room with young Hillstrom. It wasn't a fair fight." ' She turned and stared out at the ocean. "You're making too much of this. Listen to my father. Why start something with a man as powerful and influential as Henry Gordon? Leave well enough alone, Ted." She swung back to him. "I know that Daddy intends to make you head of the English department next year when old Dr. Telfer retires. In a few years you could become assistant principal, and when my father retires...."
The implication was plain. Don't rock the boat, Harrison. Don't make waves, and someday you can take Dr. Littleton's place. Why not, Ted thought bitterly. He would be marrying Littleton's daughter shortly. Why not aim for his job as well? He searched for an answer.
"Did it ever occur to you, Carol, that I might not want to be a department head, or a principal? Did it ever occur to you that I'm doing now exactly what I want to do?"
"I don't understand. I know you're an ambitious man, that you want to get ahead."
He lit another cigarette. "My ambitions are in only one area, Carol. To become a better teacher, wiser, more competent, able to teach my students more efficiently."
"But surely you wouldn't turn down a promotion?"
"Perhaps I would. I don't know. You know, Carol, when I stopped playing football I had offers to coach. A college offered me an assistant's spot, and two high schools in the Midwest wanted me for head coach. I turned them both down because all my life I wanted to teach, not games, but literature, to give to these kids some of the sense of beauty and truth of life that my teachers in school gave to me. There's real excitement in watching the mind of a young person open up, blossom like a flower, knowing that all of the rewards of the world stretch out before him. I want to continue teaching. It's all I really do want to do."
She studied his profile in the moonlight. She had made up her mind to marry Ted Harrison the first time she had met him at a faculty tea, just after he had come to Dorset. She had set out to win his love, to make him propose, to become his wife. She intended to let nothing change that now when her wedding was only a few months off.
All this thinking, this talk of problems at school, it wasn't her affair. She was no teacher. That was her father's province, and Ted's. Let them settle it between them. Later, after they were married, she was sure she would be able to make Ted stop concerning himself with such matters, stop projecting himself into a vulnerable position. They could have a good life together here in Dorset. A principal received an excellent salary and was accepted in the best homes and at the best clubs. Then, there were those long summer vacations, when they could tour Europe; she dreamed of fashionably lazy days on the Riviera, of touring the continent in a Mercedes-Benz, of seeing Rome and Paris. It would be a fine life, rich and pleasant, and she intended to have it, no matter what the cost. Ted would give it to her. She'd see to that.
"Darling," she breathed, gently taking the cigarette out of his hand, tossing it to the sand. He turned to her and she moved forward, watching his eyes drop to her legs as her skirt again climbed higher. She knew that he could see the bare flesh above the line of her stockings, the narrow straps of her garters reaching under the dress. Perhaps, she told herself, it was time to dangle a slightly larger carrot before his nose, to increase his ardor. She held her face up, lips parted to be kissed.
He pulled her toward him hungrily, his mouth coming down hard on hers, tongue probing tentatively, for she had stopped him so many times before, indicated her displeasure. But now there was no withdrawal. Instead her mouth opened wider and her tongue darted out to meet his. He moaned and tightened his hold on her firm body. One hand slid upwards toward her breasts, hesitated, started to withdraw. He felt her hand take his, guide it onto her breast, on to the flesh at the neckline, gently guiding beneath her bra. His fingers explored the firm warm mound, the thrusting nipple. He forced her backward on the seat, his body writhing anxiously on hers.
"Darling, please."
"Oh, I want to, my love. But I'm afraid."
"I won't hurt you. I promise."
"We've waited this long...."
Anxious hands were exploring hot flesh, damp inner thighs, tingling at the hint of delicate lace. "No! Now stop it, Ted!"
"I thought you wanted me to."
They sat up, adjusted their clothing, not looking at each other.
"Give me a cigarette, darling," she said finally.
He lit one for each of them. "I don't understand you, Carol. You encourage me to make love to you, then you turn it off like a light switch." He felt used and dirty, confused by her mercurial changes of emotion.
"I do want you to make love to me, darling. But like a man loving his wife, not like some animal in an automobile."
"Is that what I am, an animal? I thought I was acting in a proper fashion toward the girl that I love."
"If you love me, you'll do what I want."
He threw the car into gear, backed out onto the highway. "I don't understand you, Carol."
"Don't try, darling. Just keep wanting me, and after we're married I'll prove that it was worth waiting for."
In the darkness, she smiled smugly at his figure hunched over the wheel. Next time perhaps she'd not stop him so quickly. She wondered if she had been a little too abrupt. She didn't want to ruin things now, with the wedding so close. When they got home, she decided, if her father was asleep, she'd soothe his ruffled feelings, send him home happy.
Ted squinted at the road ahead. He thought he saw a car cutting through the night towards him, but couldn't be sure. The moonlight played tricks with his vision, and he could see no headlights. He tried to clear his mind, to strip away his emotional confusion, to concentrate on his driving. This shore road had been the site of many accidents over the last year and it was an open secret in Dorset that it was used by teen-agers for drag races and for playing "chicken" at night.
Suddenly, out of the darkness, a car appeared, rushing head-on toward him, halfway across the center line. Ted wrenched the steering wheel and the other car whooshed past. In rapid succession, another appeared and then another. Fully a dozen cars went zipping past at exorbitant speeds. Ted pulled over to the side, swearing, his palms damp.
"Kids!" he spat out, glaring at Carol, who sat shaken and pale. "Those were your kids out for a good time and not caring who they might kill. Did you see them? And do you know who the one in the first car was? It was Lenny Gordon!"
"How can you be sure?"
He put fire to a cigarette. "I'm not sure, dammit! That's the trouble. But it certainly looked like him. That young man and I are going to have a little talk-and soon."
FIVE
Looking back over his shoulder, Lenny Gordon began to laugh loudly and almost uncontrollably at the sight of the car he had forced off the road.
"Almost got that sucker," he boasted to Patty Neilson, huddled at his side.
Her response was simply to giggle.
"Give me another brew," he commanded, reaching into his pocket and extracting another pep pill. He held it under his tongue while Patty extracted a can of beer from the six-pack on the seat and opened it. The car swerved as he washed the pill down with beer.
"Hey!" Patty crowed, "try that again!"
They both laughed. "You got a goof ball for me?" she asked.
"Nope. Just one left and I'm hanging on to it. They're becoming tougher to get. I had to go into the city to buy these. If that fink Hillstrom would come through everything would be okay."
"He'll do what you want."
"He better," Lenny snarled. He stepped down harder on the accelerator. The car shot ahead, the speedometer climbing rapidly past one hundred.
"Hi yo, Silver," Patty yelled. "Awaaaay!"
"I got an idea."
"What?"
"You'll see."
Behind Lenny, the convoy stretched out, some of the cars unable to keep up. He paid no attention, turning off the shore road, heading back toward Dorset.
"Hey, Lenny, that's the school up ahead."
Lenny hunched over the wheel and said nothing, peering grimly into the darkness. He wheeled his car around a corner, jumped the curb and bounced across the south corner of the campus. At the end of the school building, the land sloped sharply down, the parking lot to the left, the athletic field to the right. Lenny hit the slope without slowing, bouncing onto the field with a wrenching crash. He wheeled the car onto the running track and slammed on the brakes. They skidded to a stop on the cinders.
"Oh, man, what a crazy ride!" Patty said, opening another beer, heaving the empties away. "You can really wheel a rig." She leaned toward Lenny, placing a hand on his thigh. "Are we going to make it here-on the campus, I mean? What a kick that'll be!"
He pushed her hand away. "Forget it. I'm just waiting for the others to catch up."
"You said you were going to be nice to me," she pouted. "I did what you wanted. I got Artie into the wrestling room for you." Her eyes flashed in the dark. "It's that Crowell dame, isn't it? What do you want with her, anyway?"
"Shut up," he said, swallowing beer.
"You promised you'd be nice." She moved closer to him, pressing her huge young breasts against his arm, running a finger lightly over his cheek. "I'll be good to you, baby," she cooed. "Better than anyone ever was. I know things...."
"... And you learned 'em from just about every stud on campus."
"Agh, that stinks!" she said, drawing back, wanting to get angry, to strike out, not daring to, however, for fear he would order her out of the car. She wet her lips. Somehow she had to get him, she had decided. Her body ached for him, but even more, she couldn't think of any other way to force him to care about her. What a coup it would be if she could get to go steady with him, Lenny Gordon, the biggest man on campus, the number one boy. Well, she told herself resignedly, she'd simply have to try harder. A wry smile crossed her pouting mouth. She couldn't imagine any other boy who would hold her off for a moment, let alone reject her completely. But that made Lenny all the more attractive.
The remainder of the convoy came bouncing onto the athletic field, lining up abreast of Lenny's car like runners on their starting blocks. Lenny waited till they had all stopped, motors off. He stood up.
"Listen, guys, what say to a little dragging on the running track? Three, four cars at a time. Then maybe we'll run a speed race."
Moments later, it began. Four cars shooting forward from a standing start, hitting top speeds in a matter of yards, wheels spinning on the loosely packed cinders, tearing deep ruts in the running track.
Harvey White was a dash man on the Dorset High track team. He intended to practice some starts before classes that morning, aware that unless he got off the blocks quicker he would never be a winner. He strolled, head down, trying to analyze the weaknesses in his starting form, spikes in hand, until he reached the edge of the track. It was then that he saw it for the first time. He stood there, shocked and immobile, mouth hanging open at the sight, for the track looked as if someone had plowed it up prior to spring planting, deep furrows marking the straightaways like black scars.
Harvey gazed at the configurations of the ruts with interest. "Tire marks," he breathed. Suddenly Harvey was afraid, not for himself, not for his own safety, but afraid of the forces in people that directed them to such an act. He couldn't understand anyone destroying school property that way, property that belonged to them all, to all the kids who lived in Dorset. He knew that some of his schoolmates belonged to car clubs-there was the Road Barons Club, for example, and the Clutch Busters. Often these clubs went out dragging, generally on the shore road, but never on the school grounds. He backed away from the track, then broke into a run. Someone, he assured himself, had to do something.
Ted Harrison heard about the condition of the track during his first class. All the students were buzzing with the news, and they seemed to be divided into two camps in reference to it; those who found the vandalizing of school property amusing, even satisfying, and those who were offended and angered. When he realized that a certain substantial portion of his class looked with tolerance on such activities, he was shocked. Where, he wondered, have we adults failed them? What values have we not imbued in them? Why do they resent us and our institutions, their institutions? He didn't like the answers he found.
By noon, Ted could wait no longer, feeling he would break open if he did not tell someone what he knew, if he did not learn what steps were being taken to find and punish the perpetrators. He dismissed his class in Shake speare twenty minutes early and headed for Dr. Littleton's office.
Joan Majors, the principal's secretary smiled wanly when Ted entered the reception room.
"I suppose by now you've heard," she said.
He nodded. "I wanted to talk to Dr. Littleton about it."
"He's got Parker in with him now." Parker was the school custodian. "Is it important?"
"I think I may have some information about who did this thing."
Without a word, she flipped a lever on her intercom. Dr. Littleton's voice sounded metallically. "Yes, Joan, what is it?"
"Mr. Harrison is here. He has some information about the running track."
"Send him in."
Dr. Littleton sat comfortably behind his oak desk, fingers forming a steeple, a small, benign smile on his placid face. Parker, the custodian, a lanky man with large hands and big red knuckles stood awkwardly in front of him. He nodded when Ted entered.
"Terrible thing, isn't it, Mr. Harrison?" he said.
"Yes, it is, Parker." Ted turned to Dr. Littleton. "Last night Carol and I were driving along the shore road-I was taking her home-when a convoy of speeding cars crowded me off the highway. They must have been going ninety miles an hour. And with their headlights turned off."
"You think those are the cars that did this?" Dr. Littleton said. "I do."
The principal shook his head sadly. "Too bad you didn't recognize any of the drivers."
Ted stepped closer to the desk. "That's just it, I did. I'm pretty sure I know who one of them was."
Dr. Littleton held a hand aloft, like a traffic officer. "Parker, I imagine you'll want to get started repairing the damage. Get on it at once."
"I'll have to hire extra men and order some black cinder."
"Ask the school employment office for help. Some of our less fortunate students might like to earn some extra money. Minimum rates, of course."
"Yes sir."
Dr. Littleton waited till Parker had left in that peculiar shambling gait of his, then he motioned Ted to a chair.
"This is a shocking thing, Ted. I must admit I never thought such a thing could happen here in Dorset. In some big city slum, yes, but in a fine, progressive town like Dorset...." He rocked his head from one side to the other.
"Doctor," Ted said with no unkindness, "these things are happening all over the country in towns just like Dorset. There's been a nationwide outbreak of violence and vandalism."
"Outsiders, I suppose," Dr. Littleton remarked. "Not persons who are part of the community."
Ted fought back an angry retort. "Doctor, this was done by some of our students."
"Oh, come now, Ted, you couldn't possibly know that."
"I told you I thought I could identify one of them."
Dr. Littleton tugged nervously at the sagging skin of his neck. His eyes darted about anxiously. He sighed. "I loathe this sort of thing. The police were here earlier. They heard what had happened and came to investigate. They said the destruction of public property was a criminal matter and I'm to inform them if I learn anything about who did it. That would mean an arrest, a trial. Publicity. Bad publicity. We don't want that, do we, Ted?"
Ted felt a surge of compassion for Dr. Littleton. He was a man caught up in events he didn't understand, couldn't really cope with. "This time it was just the running track, Doctor. Next time it may be something else, someone's home, perhaps. These kids have no respect for property." He leaned forward. "They almost caused me to have an accident. How would you feel if Carol had been injured?"
"Please, Ted." He tugged harder at his neck. "Don't you think I know all this? There's more to it than you realize. The police told me that cutting up the track was not all that was done."
"What else?"
"About a hundred headstones were overturned at the cemetery outside of town. And the concrete markers that divide traffic lanes on some of the streets in town-mushrooms, I believe they're called-were removed and thrown onto peoples' lawns. There was other vandalism as well."
"Something has to be done."
Dr. Littleton nodded, head bobbing up and down in rapid fashion. "I agree. And I am going to do something." He stood up, rubbing his soft hands together briskly. "I am going to call a special assembly, talk to the students, make them understand that none of them are to engage in any such anti-social activities."
Ted gazed helplessly at the older man. "Aren't you even interested in who it was I saw in that car last night?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Who was it?"
"Lenny Gordon."
Dr. Littleton stared at Ted, and he stared back unblinking, until the principal averted his eyes. He busied himself with some papers on his desk. "You seem to have developed some sort of fixation about the Gordon boy, Ted. I suggest you get over it."
"Won't you even talk to him?"
"About what? Accuse him of doing this? The son of Henry Gordon? Even if it were true, and I'm certain it isn't, all he'd have to do is deny it. Then where would we be? Your word against his." Dr. Littleton sighed. "That's the trouble with some of you impulsive young men today, you don't think things through. Now you just leave this in my hands. I know how to dispose of this matter."
"But...."
"No arguments, Harrison," Dr. Littleton said, businesslike. He glanced at his watch. "Time you were getting back to your classroom, don't you think? Good afternoon."
The rest of the day passed slowly and laboriously for Ted Harrison. It grew increasingly difficult for him to concentrate on the work at hand as his mind wandered, troubled by his conversation with Dr. Littleton. Twice during the day he felt himself lose control of classes, watched discipline evaporate, until he had to make a conscious effort to re-establish his authority.
Then, in his last class, he came face-to-face with the embodiment of his problem, as he knew he must, for Lenny Gordon was a member of that class. Somehow, Ted managed to fumble his way through the period to the final bell.
"Just a moment," he called. "Leonard Gordon. I'd like to see you for a few moments after the others leave."
An excited, and Ted suspected knowledgeable, buzz went through the class as they filed out. He waited until he and Lenny were alone.
"You wanted to talk to me, Mr. Harrison?" Lenny said confidently. "I can't stay long. I've got something important to take care of."
Ted measured the youth. He was extremely attractive, handsome by any standard, his manner easy yet alert, if somewhat condescending. Ted knew that Lenny had a fine potential, if only he cared to fulfill it.
"What I have to say to you is important too, Leonard. Perhaps more important than any plans you have for the rest of the afternoon."
The boy shrugged and said nothing. Ted wondered how he could reach him, pierce the obvious defense of insolence and disinterest which he wore a cloak.
"Why did you beat up Artie Hillstrom?"
If Ted believed that the direct approach would shake Lenny, he was mistaken. His question resulted only in a cocked eyebrow and a cynical smile.
"I heard Artie got worked over by somebody. But it wasn't me, Mr. Harrison. Heck, why would I want to beat up a quiet little guy like Artie Hillstrom?"
Ted gazed levelly at him. "You tell me why." He spoke quietly, without emphasis.
Lenny smiled, and it was difficult not to smile with him. "I didn't hit Artie. I wouldn't do a terrible thing like that. I can't understand anybody who would. For that matter, Mr. Harrison, I can't understand where you got the idea that it was me who did it."
"I was there, Leonard. I saw you running out with those other boys and that girl."
"Saw me, Mr. Harrison! You've got to be kidding."
"This is no joke, Leonard."
"Can you prove it?" There was no mistaking the challenge in Lenny's voice. "I mean, why don't you turn me into the police if you really believe I beat somebody up?" His smile was taunting. "You really don't have any proof, do you?"
"No I don't."
"Then why are you picking on me?"
"Where were you last night, Leonard?"
The handsome young face gathered up in a frown. "Say, what is this, some kind of third degree? Am I on trial for something?"
"You know what happened to the running track, I'm sure."
"I know. What's it got to do with me?"
"Everything, I think. You were driving along the shore road last night. Speeding. And you crowded at least one car off the road. My car."
Lenny stood up, his eyes glowering. "Listen, I don't know what you're raving about. I wasn't on the shore road, last night or any other night recently. I never drove anybody off the road. I see what you're getting at. Next thing you're going to accuse me of tearing up the track." He leaned across Ted's desk. His soft face was open, a confused, hurt look etched on the smooth skin. "Why are you doing this, Mr. Harrison? What have you got against me?"
"I've got nothing against you, Leonard. I simply want to get at the truth."
"The truth is that I'm innocent of these terrible things you seem to think I did."
For a moment, Ted almost believed him. It was hard not to. His entire manner was so open, so seemingly honest. Then Ted remembered Artie Hillstrom's battered face, and how close he and Carol had come to being seriously injured the night before. He knew Leonard was lying.
"Leonard, why do you act this way? You have a fine future, if you work to fulfill it. What are you trying to accomplish? Who are you angry at?"
The boy laughed. "Looks to me as if you're the one who's angry, Mr. Harrison. Angry at me for some reason. Well, you're all wrong about this stuff. All wrong."
Ted rose and walked over to the window. It was a bright, warm spring day. Below, on the athletic field, work had already begun on restoring the track. Groups of students had assembled and were watching. Ted didn't want to believe that many of them condoned the vandalism, or would contribute to it. He felt a responsibility to them, a responsibility that was part of being an adult and a teacher, and went far beyond, for it was a responsibility that he would never voice, a feeling he possessed about the community, about the country, about people everywhere. He swung around to Lenny, who stood watching him, expressionless.
"Come on," he said. "Walk down to the parking lot with me."
"Okay."
They walked in silence until they came out on the athletic field. They stopped briefly, as if by common consent, to appraise the damage done, then moved on.
"You're a senior, Leonard," Ted said finally. "You are to be graduated in June."
"That's right."
"What then?"
Lenny shrugged. "Princeton."
"A fine school. You've been accepted already?"
"Yes. Assuming I don't foul up my grades this semester. And I'm sure that won't happen."
"Then what? After Princeton, I mean."
"I don't know. Get married, I guess. I been running around with Betty Crowell. She comes from a good family, lots of loot and social position. Her old man's in Wall Street."
Ted lit a cigarette. "What about your work? Have you decided on a career?"
Lenny grinned confidently. "Sure. I'm going into advertising, like my old man. Probably take over his business."
Ted considered his words carefully. "You've been in four of my classes over the last couple of years, Leonard. English Lit, composition, and now a year of senior English. You've shown no particular talent or aptitude for using the language. Do you think advertising is really the proper field for you?"
The boy laughed. "Oh, come on, Mr. Harrison. You're too hip to ask me that. You think talent or intellectual considerations matter? Well, they don't. What matters is who you know. And how well you can snow people. With my father's connections, plus the people Betty's old man knows, I'll be in like Flynn."
Ted stopped and faced Lenny. "You've got it all figured out. An Ivy League college. A marriage based on economic advantages rather than love. Social position. Contacts. Those are your keys to a successful life."
"Sure, what else?"
"Somewhere, Leonard, we've all failed you. Your teachers. Your parents. All of us."
. Lenny made a gesture of annoyance. "Oh, don't be square."
"See how square this is-you are failing my English course. Not merely getting a bad grade. Failing! If you do fail you will not graduate in June, and one failure on your record will keep you out of Princeton or any other topflight college."
"You're joking, Mr. Harrison. You wouldn't flunk me!
Ted strode away, toward his car. He got in, started the motor as Lenny came alongside. "You are kidding, aren't you?"
"I've never been more serious. Your classroom work is totally unsatisfactory."
"But I passed all the exams you gave."
"Barely. And, frankly, I suspect you've been cheating.
In any case, you now have a failing average, and I can see no hope of your improving your work enough to raise it . substantially."
Lenny stepped back, his face dark with anger. "Why are you picking on me, Mr. Harrison? First you accuse me of doing all kinds of terrible things and now you threaten to fail me. Why?"
"Move away from the car, Leonard."
"Why? Please, Mr. Harrison. I must graduate in June. I must go to Princeton. My folks expect me to. You'll ruin everything."
Ted felt a burst of sympathy for the boy, aware of the obvious as well as subtle pressures to which he was subject. He was expected to produce at an intellectual level beyond his capabilities, attend schools whose curriculum was designed for superior minds, for soaring and curious intellects. He exhaled heavily. There was little he could do.
"You've got to improve your work if you expect to pass, Leonard. It's up to you."
He eased the car into motion and rolled slowly toward the parking lot exit, unaware of the words softly crossing Lenny's lips.
"I'll fix you for this. I'll get you. I'll get you good."
SIX
As always, the school cafeteria was crowded. From 11:30 to 2:30, the students and teachers took their lunch periods in shifts, trying to alleviate the pressure on the cafeteria staff, though it did little good. Every table seemed to be filled.
Ted Harrison took his change from the cashier at the end of the serving line, lifted his tray, and searched for an empty seat. The babble of conversation echoed about him as he searched for a place to eat. At last he spied an available seat and made his way to it.
"Mind if I join you?" he began.
"Not at all."
Then he recognized Edith Sail, an art teacher who had been at Dorset less than a year.
"Oh, hello, Miss Sail. This place is really jumping, isn't it?"
She smiled warmly. "It certainly is."
He began to pick at his food. "I envy the married men who bring their own lunches. I suppose that's what I should do."
"Bring your own lunch?"
"Get married, I mean."
They both laughed and Ted noticed how Edith Sail's face seemed to light up. A remarkably pretty woman, he thought, taking notice for the first time of her short black hair and dark, lively eyes.
"I don't see you around very much," he said. "Why is that?"
"Well, I don't spend too much time around the school when I'm not teaching. You see, I like to do my own painting, and this area has some beautiful spots. I particularly like the beaches and I spend a lot of time there doing seascapes."
"I imagine you're pretty good. I'd like to see some of your work sometime."
She sipped her coffee, glancing at him over the rim of the cup. "Whenever you like," she said at last.
A shadow fell across the table, and Ted looked up. It was a student wearing the armband which indicated he was on duty as an office messenger.
"Mr. Harrison," the student said.
"Yes."
"You're wanted in Mr. Littleton's office."
"Very well. As soon as I finish my lunch."
The messenger seemed ill-at-ease. "Mr. Littleton said right away. He made a point of saying right away."
Ted and Edith Sail exchanged puzzled looks, and he stood up. "My master's voice," he said easily, his manner concealing a sudden apprehension which came to life in his middle. "See you again," he said to Edith. "I meant it about those paintings of yours."
"So did I," she murmured to herself, after he had left.
Joan Majors looked up from her typing when he entered the office, a frown on her generally happy face.
"Go right in," she said. "He wants to see you right away."
"What's it all about?"
She glanced at the messenger, now seated on the ready bench, engrossed in a text book.
"Leonard Gordon is in there," she whispered hoarsely, "with his father."
"Trouble?" Ted asked.
She nodded and gestured toward Dr. Littleton's door. "Better not keep him waiting, not now."
He knocked, then, not waiting for a response, entered. His appearance cut short the conversation between Dr. Littleton and Mr. Gordon. From their expressions, he knew that this was to be an unpleasant session. Dr. Littleton's face was disapproving, prim, while Mr. Gordon, a big, handsome man in his mid-forties, looked angry and tough. He reminded Ted of a linebacker about to red-dog an enemy quarterback; they always wore that determined, fierce expression. Lenny Gordon was another matter. He stood to one side of his father, eyes dancing, almost smirking, enjoying the situation, reveling in what he assumed was Ted's discomfort.
"Come in, Harrison," Dr. Littleton said. "This is Henry Gordon, Leonard's father. I believe I told you that Mr. Gordon is our most influential member of the Town Council."
Ted extended his hand, but Gordon ignored it.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Gordon," Ted said, his tone lightly sarcastic.
Gordon ignored the sarcasm as readily as he did Ted's proffered hand. "This is no social call, Harrison. I had to cancel two business meetings in the city today in order to be here, and frankly, time to me is money. Now let's get to it. I understand you've got some kind of a grudge against my boy, Lenny."
"There's no grudge, Mr. Gordon."
Gordon bit the end off a cigar and lit it. Clouds of gray smoke billowed around his head. They waited for him to speak. "Leonard tells me you accused him of beating up another boy."
"Ted, I warned you about that," Dr. Littleton said.
Mr. Gordon held up his meaty hand. "Now, hold it, Dr. Littleton. Let me speak my piece. Did you make that accusation, Harrison? Yes or no?"
Ted gazed calmly at Gordon, all nervousness gone now. He almost smiled at a thought that came to mind. This was so much like a football game: the tension prior to the kickoff, then the remarkable calmness and clarity that always took over once the action started.
"I questioned Leonard about that," Ted said. "I told him I believed I recognized him leaving the wrestling room."
Gordon snorted disdainfully and dragged on the cigar. "But you got no evidence. No corroborating witness."
"No witness."
"Now what about this other business, of driving you off the road last night?"
"I recognized...."
"You recognized nothing, Harrison," Mr. Gordon burst in." And I'll tell you why. Because Lenny was home with a bunch of his friends last night. Having a party. He's got a couple of dozen kids can vouch for him. What do you think of that?"
Ted said nothing, looking at Dr. Littleton, whose face gave no hint as to what he was thinking.
"Okay," Mr. Gordon snapped out. "Now we've disposed of that garbage. I'm prepared to forget, not make a stink, about you going around accusing my kid of criminal activity. You know, Harrison, I could make you try to prove it, and you can't. I could bring this up before the Town Council, but I don't want to."
Dr. Littleton made a steeple with his fingers and smiled his placid smile. "That's very nice of Mr. Gordon, isn't it, Ted?" Ted's expression never changed.
"I expect you've got something else to say, Mr. Gordon."
"You're damn right I have. Lenny tells me you're threatening to flunk him, to hold up his graduation."
"I'm not threatening him with anything, Mr. Gordon."
Gordon bounced to his feet, face crimson with anger. "You told him he was going to flunk. Do you deny that?"
"I deny only that I threatened him. There was no threat, only a warning of where his failure to do suitable work was leading him. Grades are a reflection of the work a student does, nothing more."
Gordon swung around to Dr. Littleton. "There you are! I rest my case. Now I ask you, doesn't it look to you as if this joker has got it in for my son?"
"Mr. Gordon makes a rather strong case, Ted," Dr. Littleton said hesitantly. "You do seem to be obsessed with Leonard, beyond any other student."
"Now you got it," Gordon said, lowering himself into the chair and puffing on his cigar. "Straighten him out, Littleton."
"Well," Dr. Littleton said, trying to sound bright and cheerful, as he came out from behind his desk. "All this can be settled amicably, I'm certain. I took the trouble, Ted, to check Leonard's record, and I must admit he is a fringe student."
"He's doing unsatisfactory classroom work, Dr. Littleton. That is my professional opinion."
"Yes, yes. Still, it does seem a little premature to talk of failure, particularly for a senior soon to be graduated. I'm certain that Leonard is going to work harder from now on and that there won't be any more talk of failure."
"Can I depend on that, Harrison?" Mr. Gordon asked bluntly. "I don't want to hear anything else about the kid flunking English."
Ted chose his words carefully. "Leonard will pass my course if he does passing work, otherwise not. It is up to him."
"Now, Ted, you listen to me...." Dr. Littleton began.
Gordon leaped to his feet. "Listen, teacher. You know who I am. I swing a lot of weight around here. Now hear me good-either Lenny passes or you won't be working here next year, nor will you get a recommendation from Littleton. Now I kid you not. You've heard the word loud and clear."
"Ted," Dr. Littleton said, a pleading tone in his voice. "Please. Your entire career is at stake."
Ted looked from face to face. "Doesn't, anyone care about Leonard? About teaching him the value of earning his rewards, of working for what he gets, of becoming a responsible citizen. Somebody's got to show him the limits of his freedom, show him that the world doesn't belong to him alone."
"Well, you aren't the one who's going to do it, teacher," Mr. Gordon snarled. "You're going to pass him and that's all there is to it."
Ted turned toward Lenny. "Don't you understand that I'm really trying to help you, Leonard? Can't you see that?"
Lenny smiled a small smile. "I'm sorry, but I just don't understand you, Mr. Harrison. I never did anything to you. Why do you keep picking on me?"
For a long moment Lenny stood eye to eye with Ted Harrison, then he blinked and his gaze faltered. Ted pivoted on his heel and went to the door, stopped.
"In my classes, passing work earns a passing grade. Nothing less. Leonard will be marked accordingly." He closed the door quietly behind him as he left.
That evening Ted had a date with Carol Littleton, but he had no desire to see her father, to listen to him pontificate about what had happened. He knew Dr. Littleton would simply repeat everything said before, all of which added up to one sentence-Don't Make Anybody Angry.
But Ted was angry, angry at Lenny Gordon for being a sneak and a coward, afraid to face up to his responsibilities, angry with his father for indulging him, for fighting his battles, for being crude and insensitive with no respect for a way of life other than his own, for not understanding how he was ruining his son's life, diminishing his manhood, and lastly he was angry at Dr. Littleton for being a milksop of a man, too timid to assert himself as an educator, less concerned with shaping the minds and hearts of his students than he was with not offending their parents.
Ted was also angry with himself for not handling this situation differently. He castigated himself for not being smarter, more subtle in his approach, more skilled and adaptable to the political infighting of academic life. He knew that in order to survive he would have to learn, or submit to such men as Littleton and Gordon.
He thought about Carol, and considered breaking his date with her. It seemed like a good move, and so he dialed her number.
"I'm not going to be able to make it tonight," he began.
Her voice was warm and concerned. "Aren't you feeling well, darling?"
"It isn't that. I suppose your father told you about this afternoon."
"Yes."
"Well, you can understand that I don't want to discuss it with him any more."
"I do understand. And you'd rather not come over here and see Daddy. Is that it?"
"I guess so."
There was a brief silence. "Why don't I come over to your place, darling? We could spend a quiet evening together. Would you like that?"
"Yes, I would, Carol. Very much."
She laughed brightly. "Give me a half an hour. See you."
He spent the time straightening up, retrieving clothes that had lain about for a week, and hanging them in the closet, dusting table tops. He reminded himself to see about hiring a cleaning woman in the morning. Perhaps Edith Sail, at school, might know of someone reliable. He made a mental note to inquire.
The bell rang. It was Carol.
"That was quick," he said.
"I suddenly wanted to see you very much," she said. "Very much."
Her arms circled his waist, and she lifted her mouth to be kissed. At first it was their usual kiss of greeting, cool and proper, then Carol's lips spread under his own, growing soft and hot, and her tongue moved slowly into his mouth. He felt his passion quickly rise to the occasion and he pressed himself tightly against her, half expecting her to move away, as usual.
Instead, she held him tighter, her thighs against his, her belly swaying slowly against his loins, a distant moan sounding in her throat. His hands caressed the small of her back, slid along her sides onto the swelling rise of her hips, onto her round little buttocks, pulling her closer.
"No," she muttered into his mouth. "Don't, darling."
He tried to ignore her protest, but suddenly she slipped out of his arms, stood a stride way, eyeing him reproachfully.
"Sometimes you get very naughty."
Anger flared in him like a quick flame.
"Damn! Don't talk to me as if I were an infant who had done something wrong. I'm a man who wants to make love to his fiance. There's nothing wrong with that."
He saw resentment cloud her face, saw her make a conscious effort to suppress it, push it aside. A smile took its place.
"I'm sorry, dearest. But I just walked in. You sweep me off my feet," she laughed. "I'm not going any place. There's plenty of time." She sat down on the couch, crossing her legs, making no attempt to adjust the skirt which rested halfway up her shapely thighs. "You might offer a lady a drink."
Ted poured a sherry for Carol and a Scotch for himself, sat down next to her. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth.
"What's that for?"
"For the drink, silly."
He studied her briefly. "What's going on, Carol? What do you want?"
"Do I have to want something?"
"But you do...."
She smiled enigmatically. "Only you, darling."
"I'm not used to all this passion."
"I know. I've been thinking about that. I really haven't been fair with you. After all, you are a man, a very attractive man...."
He put his glass down. "Do you intend to try and influence me about Lenny Gordon? Did your father ask...?"
She interrupted by placing a finger across his lips.
"Darling, Daddy did ask me to talk to you. And I'm going to say one thing, only one thing. All right?" He nodded. "All right."
"Couldn't you be less stubborn? I know how you feel about your responsibilities as a teacher. But if this boy's father doesn't care whether or not he learns anything, why should you?"
"Because it's a teacher's job to care."
She placed her glass on the coffee table, moved closer to him. He became very much aware of her nearness, of the long, nylon-sheathed legs stretching out from under her skirt, of her breasts, small but perfectly formed, brushing against his arm, of the thick, female smell of her. There was a lightness in his head and he felt the pulse at his temple throbbing powerfully.
"And I'm your financee," she was saying. "It's my job to care about you. About us. I don't want anything to happen which might upset our lives."
"I'm competent to take care of our lives."
"Of course you are, darling. But I can't stand by and say nothing when someone might hurt you."
"You mean Henry Gordon? He doesn't frighten me."
"Won't you change your mind, darling? Just this once?"
She saw his mouth tighten, his eyes go flat and cold, and she was afraid she might have pressed too hard. She smiled to herself. Well, she thought, it was time to soften him up, to allow him another taste of the carrot. Afterward....
Her hands went to his cheeks, turning his face, and she began to kiss him lightly, his ears, his eyes, the corners of his mouth. She could feel his muscles slacken as the tenseness drained away. Her tongue flicked at his lips, wet them, forced them apart, playing on his teeth, darting into his hungry mouth.
She led one of his strong hands to her breasts, enjoying his caresses, not caring when his fingers fumbled with the buttons of the blouse, shifting around so it would be easier for him to reach under her bra. Her nipples thrust proudly in response to the manipulations, and she felt the passion grow and spread within her.
Oh, God, she thought, I've held back so long, teased Ted so much, used sex as a lure so long, that I'd forgotten what it was like. With a small animal cry, she heaved herself closer to him, hands fumbling with his trousers, urging him on, not waiting to undress, pulling him down, her middle reaching up to claim his maleness, to surround it, to draw it in....
Later, they lay on the couch, Ted smoking and gazing sleepily at the ceiling, Carol half atop him, eyes closed, but her mind racing.
"Darling," she said.
"Hmm."
"Will you do me a favor?"
"Anything."
"About Leonard Gordon." She felt his body stiffen under her. She hurried on. "Just don't do anything hasty. Consider everything. The life we can have here in Dorset if Leonard's father is on your side, if he becomes your friend the way he is Daddy's. I'm not asking you to do anything that goes against your conscience, only to reconsider, to think about it. Will you do that for me?"
He sat up, snubbed out his cigarette, lit another.
"Will you, darling? Just think about it."
He nodded quickly. "I'll think about it. Now I'd better take you home."
At her door, she kissed him on the mouth, pressing her middle against him, moving suggestively.
"Maybe," she murmured insinuatingly, "I'll visit you again tomorrow night. That is, if you're a good boy."
In spite of himself, he responded to her presence, to the touch of her body. He nodded and hurried back to his car. Driving home he felt used and weary, annoyed with himself, almost angry. It took him a long time to fall asleep, and when he did it was to dream of Carol, of Carol teasing him, of Carol slowly stripping off her clothes, displaying a little of herself at a time, finally leading him by the hand to bed, instructing him in the mechanics of love-making. Then suddenly another figure appeared in the dream. It was Lenny Gordon, and he was laughing uproariously, though no sound came out of his gaping mouth as he calmly searched Ted's discarded clothing, pocketing his watch, his money.
Ted struggled to get at Lenny, to protect his valuables, but he couldn't move, entwined in Carol's demanding limbs.
He woke up in a cold sweat, and sobbing.
SEVEN
Edith Sall weaved past crowded tables in the school cafeteria, aiming at a seat in one corner. She hoped she would reach it before some speedy student got there. Someone jostled her elbow and she almost dropped her tray. "Oh!"
"Can I give you a hand, Miss Sall?" It was Lenny Gordon who asked the question. He had been seated with a large group of students, had been watching the young, shapely teacher as she searched for a place to have her lunch. He took the tray out of her hands. "Over here?" he said, indicating the empty chair, not far from where he was seated.
"Thank you, Leonard," she sighed. The tray had been heavy. She followed the boy to the table, watched him put the tray down. He swung around to face her, his eyes lidded, a half-smile on his handsome, indolent face.
"Too bad you have to eat alone," he said without expression.
She tried to pierce the veil he had lowered in front of his face, tried to perceive his meaning. Suddenly she felt uncomfortable, as if she were standing there exposed, naked, object of the collective attention of the student body, as if they were all watching her and Lenny Gordon.
"Thank you for your help," she said, dismissing him.
"Any time."
His eyes dropped from her face to her bust, and she wished she hadn't worn the yellow cashmere sweater, wished it didn't cling to her breasts, wished at that moment that she was plain and shapeless instead of pretty with a full, rounded figure that always bounced and jiggled no matter how she sought to control it.
She sat down and spread the napkin in her lap, aware of Lenny resuming his own seat nearby, certain he knew that he disturbed her, certain that he did so deliberately. Someone, she told herself, should straighten that young man out, someone with a heavy hand.
She turned to her food, closing out all thoughts of Lenny, considering instead her next class, wondering if she had been pushing them too hard, demanding too much from students who were not essentially artists. She thought not, assuring herself that their sense of form and color and structure in art would be that much greater for her teachings. There was so much beauty to be found in life, and she wanted to share it with them.
"Mr. Harrison."
She glanced up. One of the students at the next table, one of Lenny Gordon's friends, had spoken. All eyes watched Ted Harrison make his way across the lunchroom floor toward her serving line.
"There's your friend, Lenny," someone said.
He snorted. "Some friend. I hate his guts."
The boy who had spoken laughed raucously. "I would, too, if he told me he was going to flunk me."
"Very funny," Lenny snapped. "My old man really chewed me out about that. Swore he'd bust my duff if I failed, said I'd better crack the books."
"That's why you're in school, Lenny," another boy said pompously.
"The hell you say. I'm not here to waste my time studying. That's okay for some square like Artie Hillstrom."
"Say, what "about him?" the other boy said. "Has he come across yet?"
Lenny glanced around. "Shut your trap, dummy. I don't want to talk about that here."
"Afraid Mr. Harrison will hear?"
"He doesn't scare me at all," Lenny answered. "I'd like to belt him around a little."
A couple of boys started to laugh. "He may be skinny," one of them said, "but I saw him play football once. He's tough."
"He doesn't bother me," Lenny said.
"Well," spoke up a redheaded girl, "he bothers me plenty, I don't mind admitting."
"Me too," another echoed. "I think he's cute."
"He can park his shoes under my bed any time," the redhead added.
"An old guy like that?" a boy snorted disdainfully. "He could be your father."
"He could be something else, if he wanted," the redhead shot back. "Anything he wanted."
Patty Neilson, silent up to now, eyes measuring Lenny Gordon, spoke up. "I think Teddy, I mean, Mr. Harrison, is a real doll."
"Oh, knock it off, Patty," Lenny said.
She leaned across the table. "I will not. If you're lucky, you'll become half the man he is some day. I don't think you'll make it."
"How would you know what kind of a man Ted Harrison is?" the redhead asked bitingly.
Patty grinned wisely. "Mr. Harrison is not as square as he makes out. As a matter-of-fact, that's what he does, make out. But good!"
"How would you know?" the redhead insisted.
All at once the others at the table fell silent, eyes on Patty Neilson. At her table, Edith Sail pretended to be eating, but her ears strained to hear Patty's answer.
"All right, Patty," Lenny said. "Spill it out. How do you know so much about Harrison?"
Patty wet her lips. "The only way I could know."
"What way is that?"
"I was there."
Her answer drew a raucous reaction, mixed with admiration and disbelief.
Lenny pounded the table for quiet. "You really mean it, Patty?"
"Sure," she said defiantly. "He's a real man. A real man."
Edith Sail could stand no more. She knew that the smart thing was to ignore what she had overheard, say nothing to anyone, but she also knew she couldn't do that. She stood up and faced the other table.
"That will be just about enough of that kind of talk!" She bit the words off angrily, no doubt of her feelings. A thick silence descended on the group of students. "Patty, you should be ashamed of yourself, talking about Mr. Harrison that way, talking about yourself that way. Haven't you any pride? Any shame? If I ever hear of anything like this happening again, I'll turn you all in to Dr. Littleton."
She whirled and stomped away, somehow shamed by what she had heard, as if they had been discussing her. She wished she had never met Ted Harrison, never seen him, wished that he were not so damned attractive that the sight of him triggered a thick lusting flood through her body. At that moment she hated Patty Neilson, hated her for what she had said, hated her for lying, hated her for the remote possibility that what she had implied was true, hated her because Edith herself ached with desire for Ted Harrison.
"Wow," the redhead said after Edith Sail stormed away. "She really was sore."
"Yeah. That's bad. We gotta be careful what we say around here. Those finky teachers are everywhere."
"It's all Patty's fault. Lying like that."
"I was not lying."
A burst of derisive laughter greeted her remark.
"Maybe she wasn't lying," Lenny said quietly. "Take a good look at Patty, everybody. There's a really good-looking girl, and stacked, too. I can understand Mr. Harrison moving in on her."
Patty's face opened up. "Can you, Lenny?"
"Sure. C'mon, I'll walk you to your next class."
She trailed him out of the lunchroom and they climbed silently to the third floor. When they reached the landing, Lenny glanced around and saw that they were alone.
"Listen, baby," he whispered. "Level with me, it's important. You really didn't make it with Mr. Harrison, did you?"
"Oh, Lenny, I don't want to talk about that."
He gripped her arm tightly. "I said it was important."
"You're hurting me."
"Then tell me the truth."
She wrenched loose. "All right," she said sulkily, "so I was putting those kids on. I never made it with Mr. Harrison. He never even looked at me. Tell you the truth, I wish he would try something. I dig him." Lenny smiled secretly.
"That's nothing to laugh at," she said hotly. "At least he treats me better than you. I keep doing favors for you and you keep promising to date me, but you never come through. You're just all talk and no poetry."
He reached out and ran one finger down her graceful young neck, onto her collarbone, along the V-neck of her white blouse, into the cleavage that loomed like a valley of pleasure from under the blouse. She brushed his hand away, but it was a half-hearted gesture.
"You're pretty fresh."
"Tonight," he murmured. "You and me tonight. We'll drive out to the beach. I'll show you how much of a man I am."
She sighed, smiled weakly.
"All right." Then she remembered something. "I thought you said you had a date with Betty Crowell for tonight."
He grinned. "Don't worry about it. I can handle her. I'll pick you up at the corner of Surf and Bay Road at ten o'clock."
"So late? My folks won't like it if I stay out too late in the middle of the week."
"If you'd rather not...."
"I'll be there."
He handed her a five-dollar bill. "Pick up a pint of Scotch. You look like you're not jailbait, but they won't sell it to me. I look too young."
"Okay. Ten o'clock. Don't be late, Lenny." She wore a wistful expression.
He patted her deliriously curved fanny. "I won't be."
Ted Harrison was correcting papers. He had given each of his senior English classes a surprise quiz that day, and he wanted to get them marked and back to the students before the end of the week so that they might discuss them. He was deeply engrossed in Artie Hillstrom's lengthy answer to one question-a profound and imaginative response that displayed his literary instincts-when the doorbell rang, jarring him.
Surprised, for he was expecting no one, Ted opened the door. His surprise increased at the sight of Edith Sail standing there, an uncertain look on her face.
"Edith! How nice to see you. What are you doing here? Won't you come in?"
He stood aside and waited for her to enter. She glanced around nervously.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you."
He ran his fingers through his thick hair. "Far from it. I was just correcting some papers. It can wait. How nice of you to drop by."
"I just happened to be in the neighborhood...." she caught herself and blushed. "That isn't so at all. I live on the other side of town. I wanted to see you, to talk to you."
"Of course," he said, helping her off with her coat. "Can I get you something?"
"No, nothing. I'll only stay a moment."
"Well, you can sit down." He motioned her to the couch, waited till she was settled, then sat in the deep chair opposite. She refused his offer of a cigarette and watched as he lit his own. "Now," he said. "What did you want to talk about?"
A sheepish look came over her face, and she ducked her head. It gave Ted an opportunity to study her. He liked what he saw. In her middle twenties, she still possessed a girlish appearance accentuated by the short cut of her black hair. Adding to it was the delicacy of her features, a short, straight nose, dark eyes set wide apart with perfectly arched brows, a broad, high forehead and high cheekbones, dropping away past almost hollow cheeks to a rounded jaw. Her mouth was soft and warm, the lips full and sensuous.
She was wearing a soft tweed suit, heather-toned with a faint underplaid that highlighted her stark coloring. The bulky material somehow failed to disguise the full thrust of her proud breasts, or the flaring curve of her hips, or her thighs pressed firmly against the fabric as if anxious to find freedom. Ted 'noticed that her ankles were strong and slender.
She glanced up and he suspected she had seen him appraising her. He felt himself go suddenly warm.
"There's something I feel you should know, Ted." Her voice was soft, controlled, with a hint of laughter in it.
"Then tell me," he said, smiling.
"In the lunchroom today. I overheard a group of students gossiping. They were talking about you."
"That's bound to happen, isn't it? Kids always talk about their teachers."
"Perhaps. But I felt this was 'way out of line."
"What did they say?"
Edith wet her lips. The unconscious gesture caused a quiver of excitement to ripple along Ted's spine. "They were appraising you."
"Is that all? I imagine I fall far short of expectations with some of them."
"They were appraising you as a man, as a lover, as a bed partner."
"Oh."
"One of the girls implied that you were a very good lover, suggesting that she knew from experience." Ted felt himself grow cold. He was well acquainted with juvenile fantasizing, but this sort of thing could only lead to trouble, the kind of trouble he didn't want, and couldn't afford. A teacher is never able to afford certain kinds of gossip, he knew, there being too many people ready and anxious to believe the worst.
"The girl who said these things-"
He broke in. "Don't tell me her name. I'd rather not know."
Edith frowned. "Aren't you going to do anything about it?"
"What did you do when you heard her?"
"Why, I became angry and lost my temper, I'm afraid. I scolded her, all of them. I suppose I made a fool of myself."
Ted shrugged. "What more could I do? Warn the girl not to make up stories? Go to her parents? Report her to Dr. Littleton? None of those seem like an ideal solution."
"But that sort of thing is dangerous. I heard about the trouble you're having with Leonard Gordon. A thing like this might add to it."
"The Gordon boy is a spoiled, insolent overgrown brat. But I don't see what connection he has with this girl and her fantasies "
Edith shifted her position, crossed her legs, and tugged at her skirt, attempting to cover her slender knees. It was a futile effort.
"He was there," she said. "He seemed extremely interested in what the girl was saying about you. He left with her, just the two of them."
A worm of concern gnawed at Ted's insides. He agreed with Edith Sall that something should be done. But he couldn't think of what action he could take that wouldn't worsen an already bad situation. He forced himself to smile confidently.
"Maybe all that talk inspired Leonard," Ted said.
"Perhaps he believed her and decided that if it was good enough for me it was good enough for him." A crimson flush colored Edith's face. "I'm sorry. I've embarrassed you."
"It doesn't matter." She stood up. "Then you aren't going to do anything?"
"There's nothing I can do. At least, nothing I can think of. They're just children letting their imaginations roam. They don't mean any harm. Your talkative student will undoubtedly grow up to be a fine mother and wife."
He helped Edith on with her coat.
"I hope you're right," she said, at the door.
"I'm sure I am." He gazed down into her face and suddenly wanted very much to kiss her. The thought that she wouldn't object raced through his mind until he shoved it aside. "You must come again," he said politely.
"Good night."
The door closed quietly behind her and Ted stood there, overwhelmed by a strange emptiness, a sense of something lost, or worse, something never possessed.
EIGHT
Violet, the Gordon's maid, served the ice cream and coffee, then withdrew into the kitchen. She hoped the family would finish quickly so she could do the dishes and leave. She was tired and her feet hurt; she yearned for a hot bath.
"How you doing at school, Lenny?" Henry Gordon asked. "Okay."
"I mean with that Harrison creep. Is he giving you a hard time still?"
Lenny grinned broadly at his father. "Everything's fine, Dad. He hasn't said a word to me. I guess you straightened him out."
"You're going to get a good mark in that English course, I hope."
"Oh, sure, Dad. He was just sounding off. He hasn't got the guts to flunk me, not after what you told him."
Henry Gordon grunted and filled his mouth with ice cream. Chocolate! His favorite. He busied himself eating.
"I do wish you would spend more time studying, Leonard," his mother said.
"Your mother's right. What the hell are you going to school for, anyway? Stop fooling around and learn something."
"How much schooling have you got, Dad?" Lenny waited for the explosion he knew that would bring. He didn't have long to wait.
"Listen, you young snot! Don't come on with me that way. I'm not one of your buddies. I'm your father. Remember that."
"Yes, sir."
"Besides, I had what you never had-drive, a bellyful of ambition. I wanted to make good more than anything, and I would have, any place I turned. It just so happens that I got into advertising."
"So I don't have to break my back, do I? The business is there and I'll go into it."
"It's a lot more complicated now than when I started. You have to know a lot more. You better wise up. I want you to graduate this June and go on to Princeton in the fall. I told everybody around the club you'd be going there. Don't make me look bad."
Lenny swallowed the last of his coffee and rose. "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything." He crossed quickly to where his mother sat and kissed her lightly, waving at his father as he headed out.
"You didn't finish your ice cream," his mother said.
"Where you rushing off to?"
"I've got a date."
"With Betty?" Mrs. Gordon asked. Lenny laughed over his shoulder, "First, then comes the real action." They heard the front door slam as he left. "What does he mean by that?" Mrs. Gordon said. "He's got two dates," Henry said, chuckling. "I guess first he'll see Betty, then he's going to get rid of her and meet some floozy and have himself some laughs."
"Why, that's revolting."
Henry laughed smugly. "Just a chip off the old block."
His wife gazed coldly at him. "I wouldn't be surprised."
Lenny hit the brakes of the gleaming red Corvette at the last minute, skidding to a stop in front of Betty Crowell's house. He hit his horn three times in rapid succession, then lit a cigarette and waited. A few moments later the front door opened and Betty came out, strode down the path toward him. He watched her come, a tall girl with an easy stride and an athletic figure. Her tawny blonde hair was pulled straight back off her forehead, drawn together and held by a simple clip, then falling loosely down her long neck. Her slender, almost patrician face, had a kind of archaic beauty, like something off a Greek frieze. She stopped at the side of the Corvette.
"You might at least open the door for me." It was said without emotion, simply calling one of Lenny's shortcomings to his attention. Betty Crowell accepted Lenny for what he was, and was neither especially pleased nor displeased by it. They were right for each other, she knew, and eventually they would marry and raise a family and live right here in Dorset. It was an inevitable conclusion and she could imagine nothing that would alter the situation. If Lenny did less than raise her to heights of joy, she did not wish to be so raised. Rather she preferred that her life proceed on an even keel, everything fore-ordained, nothing new or different altering the status quo. She knew that Lenny was a little wild, a little unbridled, with a tendency to shoot off in areas not really acceptable to her. But this troubled her not at all. Later, when they were married, he would settle down, his wild oats already sown, or at least he would be wise and discreet enough not to permit his peccadilloes to interfere with their married life. It was an attitude she had learned from her mother.
She settled down next to him, offered her cheek for a kiss, adjusted her skirt, then stared straight ahead as the car zoomed forward.
"I thought we'd go for a little drive."
"Oh," she said flatly. "There's a picture playing I wanted to see."
Lenny wheeled the Corvette into the stream of traffic on the shore road.
"Not tonight, baby," he said easily. "I want to get home early and do some studying."
She glanced over at him, at the perfect, if somewhat petulant, profile. She had meant to talk to him about school. She knew about his trouble with Mr. Harrison, knew that he might not pass English Eight, knew that it could very well keep him out of Princeton. She decided that this was a good time to talk to him.
"Why don't you park somewhere?"
He looked at her, a quizzical expression on his mouth. "Are you getting sexy, baby?"
"Stop being childish," she said, "and don't call me baby. You know I don't like it."
He shrugged and concentrated on his driving. Ten minutes later, he pulled into a side road that led down to the shore, cruising past some piney woods, then out into the open on a rock bluff above the beach. He stopped the car and gazed out at the ocean. The sun had already fallen below the horizon, and it was dark, but the distant sky was a potpourri of color, of hot reds and pinks and deep purples and blues and greens. He had planned to bring Patty Neilson here later. It was a pretty spot, not one that many of the kids used for making out. Most of them went farther out of town to Pirate's Cove, the automobiles crowded together like a used-car lot. Well, he thought, there was no reason why he couldn't come back later.
"How are you doing with Mr. Harrison?" Betty said without preliminary.
He slapped his forehead in mock agony. "Oh, not you, too!"
"Well, I know you're having trouble with him, and I'm interested. After all, I am your steady girlfriend. Don't you want me to care?"
"Oh, sure. Sure." He lit a cigarette. "I'm doing fine."
"I hope so. For your sake."
"Well, I am, I told you."
"It would be a pretty terrible thing if you didn't get to go to Princeton after all the planning. I mean, so many people are depending on you. I know I am." For the first time that night her face showed some animation. "You have no idea, Lenny, how I'm looking forward to those football weekends at Princeton. Daddy promised me a new Jag when I graduate, and I'll drive down from Bennington. I'm certain some other girls will be going to Princeton, too, so I'll have company. Oh, Lenny, it'll be so much fun."
Lenny stared at her blankly, his expression giving no hint of the quick flash of anger that had been ignited in his bowels. He didn't know why he felt hostile toward her, but he did. He wanted to strike out, to hit her, or somebody. Anybody.
"For crying out loud," he exploded. "Will you stop talking about Princeton as if the only reason for my going there is so you can have a fancy weekend?"
She looked at him uncomprehendingly. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing," he muttered, the anger draining away, to be replaced by confusion and even fear. "How the hell do I know what I meant?" He puffed on his cigarette.
"Sometimes, Lenny, I just don't understand you. I really don't."
"Boy, that's a fact."
"Now what do you mean by that?"
"Is that how we're going to spend the evening, with you asking me what I mean every time I say something?"
She stared unblinking at him. "I simply do not understand you."
He made an unintelligible sound in his throat and reached out for her, drawing her to him, kissing her hard on the mouth. She was stunned by the suddenness of it all. Always before he had approached her without any particular display of masculinity, his attentions tender, almost casually disinterested. But this was different. His lips bruised hers and his hand reached roughly for her breasts, so small that she seldom wore a bra.
"You're hurting me," she gasped into his mouth.
"Here," he said, taking her hand. "Hold me."
She tore her hand away and reached back to slap him. He laughed and easily caught her wrist, stopping the blow before it landed.
"What's the matter? Did I shake you up, baby?"
"Take me home. At once. And don't call me baby." She spat the words out like bullets.
He said no more, putting the Corvette into reverse and backing onto the road. A moment later they were cruising back to town.
"Look," he said, as she climbed out of the car at her home. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm upset about something."
"I'm certain you are, but that's no reason to take it out on me, Leonard." She slammed the door. "My parents expect you for dinner on Saturday. At eight o'clock. Try to be on time, please."
He watched her stride loosely up the path, wondering why he didn't feel anything; love, hate, anger, resentment, something. She left him only with a blankness, a dark, empty pit that seemed to have no bottom. He eased the Corvette forward and the hollowness evaporated. The car, he told himself, was real. That mattered, made him feel important, powerful. A man could go places in a smooth car. He pressed down heavily on the accelerator, smiling smugly at the thought of Patty Neilson waiting for him. Boy, he'd really give her something tonight, something great-make her know it, make her fly, make her do anything for him.
Anything.
It amused Lenny to return with Patty Neilson to the same spot on the beach where he had been with Betty only a short time before. Somehow it heightened both experiences, adding a bit of forbidden spice to the moment, a sense of illegitimacy to the proceedings.
"You buy the hootch?" Lenny said.
"Here." She extracted a plain brown paper bag from her purse and handed it to him. It contained a pint of Scotch.
"Have any trouble?" he said, crumpling the bag and heaving it onto the sand. He began to open the pint.
"No. No trouble. The guy who sold it to me tried to date me."
"I bet he did." He took a stiff swallow, the liquor sliding smoothly down his throat. He thrust the bottle at Patty. "Have a drink." She took a short one. "Good, eh?"
"I wish we had some goofballs."
"Me too. I'm all out. I guess it's time for another little talk with Artie. That little rat better come through for me."
Patty took another drink and returned the bottle to him. He up-ended it and gulped as much as he could without breathing.
"Boy, you really can put it away!" Patty said, in admiration.
He grinned and capped the bottle, placing it on the floor at his feet. "C'mere," he muttered.
She slid toward him willingly, hiking her skirt higher so it would not inhibit her movements. She had looked forward to this moment for a long time, plotted and worked to bring it about, and she intended to make it pay off in every way. At home, while waiting for ten o'clock to roll around, she had carefully prepared herself, bathing, shaving her long, shapely legs, perfuming herself carefully, doing her hair.
She had stood before her bedroom mirror naked, gazing at her own body admiringly. She could see why boys flocked around her. Her face had the almost sullen, sexual look that served as an invitation to members of the opposite sex, and her ample figure simply sharpened their desire. She ran her hands slowly up her thighs, across her gently protruding belly, admiring the neat triangle of her femininity, onto her rib cage, lifting her huge young breasts, caressing the nipples so that they jutted straight out. A tingle of anticipation skipped along her nerves. She longed for Lenny to touch her that way, for him to touch her elsewhere, everywhere, to do more than touch her. She had hungered for him for a long time, knowing that her chances of getting him were slight, knowing he had pinned Betty Crowell, knowing that she and Lenny came from, and belonged in, two different worlds.
His parents were rich and very social, while hers made their living operating a laundromat in the factory district.
Still, she lived with hope, overlooking no opportunity to spend time with Lenny, to make her self attractive to him. When he began asking her to do favors for him she was overjoyed, anxious to please in any way. She interpreted his remarks as promises of even greater attention, only to be repeatedly disappointed.
But this night was different. This night he had cut short his date with Betty to be with her. And now they were together, in his Corvette, drinking out of the same bottle, in the privacy of this darkened beach rendezvous.
She moved toward him anxiously, her mouth gone slack, her eyes lidded, arms reaching. Instead of embracing her, as she expected, he held her off, began undoing the buttons of her blouse. She wet her lips, suddenly nervous.
"Don't you want to kiss me?"
"I'll let you know when I'm ready."
There was a peculiar lopsided grin on his face, a wild light in his dark eyes. He pulled back the now open blouse and his grin widened.
"No bra."
"I wanted to make it easy for you."
"You really are put together, baby. Greatest pair I ever saw."
"You like me?"
He bent and kissed her breast, suddenly gentle, his mouth searching hungrily, finding the thrusting peaks, demanding. She clutched his head tightly.
"Oh, baby, you're great."
His hands went under the skirt, reaching along her strong, tapered thighs above the stockings on the hot, moist flesh. She was wearing no underwear! The image of what she must look like flashed to mind and aroused him to a fever pitch. He struggled to push her skirt higher.
She was moaning now, writhing in the restricted confines of the car. Her hands went out to him, fumbling with his belt, with his trousers, searching, finding. Their bodies were entwined in a tangle of flesh, driving, thumping, throbbing, demanding.
"Oh, baby," she moaned.
"Here."
"Oh, yes."
"I want...."
"Oh, yes, let me."
"Here ... and here."
"Baby."
"Yes...."
"Oh, baby...."
"Yes...."
"Give ... it ... to ... meeeee...."
* * *
They lay back on the leather seats, each lost in his own thoughts, the pounding surf an orchestration of symphonic violence. He lit a cigarette.
"Can I have one?"
He gave it to her and lit another.
"Did you get what you wanted?"
"Oh, baby, yes."
"You approve of me?"
"Oh, baby, yes."
"You'd like to do this again?"
"Now...."
"And other times?"
"Oh, yes, whenever you want. Any time."
"You're going to have to earn it."
She sat up slowly, gazing at him in wonder. Then a taunting smile curled her mouth. "I don't have much money."
"Will you do things for me?"
"Yes."
"Anything?"
"Just try me, baby."
"Will you steal for me?"
She bit her lip nervously, suddenly afraid, yet unable to refuse him. She nodded. "Yes."
"Cheat?"
"Yes."
"If I tell you to go with another man...?"
"Oh, Lenny, please...."
"I thought you said anything."
Her eyes closed and her expression grew melancholy. "I'll do it."
"Will you he for me?" She nodded. "Anything."
He reached for the bottle at his feet, took a long drink. "There is something I want you to do, something very important to me. Do it, and there's no telling how far you and I can go together."
She touched his hand lightly. "Tell me, just tell me."
"I will but first I'm going to give you an encore, so you'll remember what it's like to be with Lenny Gordon."
"Oh, yes," she murmured, positioning herself, barely able to wait.
NINE
Ted Harrison glanced at his watch. The period was almost over. He sighed. The time went so quickly. His eyes roamed over his students, the faces of some attentive, alert, waiting for the doors of knowledge to be opened for them, while others simply used school as a place to pass the day, bored, uninterested, exhibiting no desire to learn, to improve. "Leonard Gordon," Ted said.
Lenny's head rose and his eyes surveyed the teacher coolly. His mind was elsewhere, thinking about the man he was supposed to meet that afternoon, a supplier who was going to sell him some Mary Jane-marijuana. Then later that night there was a party planned at Ross White's house, a pot party.
"I want to see you, after class," Ted Harrison said.
Lenny nodded insolently. "Sure, teacher. Anything you say. There are a few things I've been wanting to say to you."
The rest of the class laughed, and Ted felt himself flush. The bell sounded before he could reply, and there was the sudden babble of chattering students on the move. Ted waited till they had all gone, then motioned Lenny to approach his desk. The boy did so, swaggering to show his contempt. Ted almost laughed at the childishly contrived display. He handed Lenny a paper.
"What's this?" the boy said, not looking at it.
"The literary quiz I gave the class the other day. That's your paper."
Lenny's eyes, slowly, reluctantly, travelled to the paper, to the grade scrawled in red crayon in the upper left-hand corner. He exhaled audibly.
"You flunked me," he said, accusingly.
"I gave you a 'D'. That's not a failing mark, but it hardly shows much promise."
Lenny gazed expressionlessly at the older man. "You really intend to fail me, don't you?"
Ted shook his head. "You're going to fail yourself, Leonard. Why won't you listen to what I tell you? This paper is an example of what I mean. It shows an appalling lack of knowledge, a paucity of skill in the use of language, a minimum of writing talent. You talk of going into advertising as a career, yet you show no evidence of the skills required."
"You're really going to flunk me." It was said as a statement of fact, an irrevocable truth of life. His head bobbed up and down in ominous comprehension. "Okay, Mr. Harrison. Okay. It's no more than I figured."
"I don't want to fail you, Leonard. And I won't, if you work harder. There's still time for you to raise your average."
"To what? A big fat 'C? Even that may keep me out of Princeton."
"I'll work with you, if you like. Give you special coaching at night. You have a good mind, if you'd be willing to use it, to work."
Lenny fixed Ted with a look of burning anger. "Can I go now, teacher? Or do I have to stand here listening to you sound off some more? I got more important things to do."
Ted held back his angry retort. "You may go," he said. He waited till the boy was gone, gathered up his papers, stuffed them into his briefcase and walked out of the classroom, his teaching day over. Now he had only to return to his small apartment, correct the essays submitted by one class and the book reports of another, then prepare the next day's lessons. Otherwise, his time was his own. He felt a touch of depression, due, he supposed, to Leonard's recalcitrant attitude, plus his own inability to reach the boy. It was at times like this that he wondered why he continued to teach.
"Oh, Mr. Harrison!"
He stopped and turned at the sound of his name, saw Patty Neilson struggling to get through the crowd of students in the corridor. Her manner was animated and she kept repeating his name, as if fearful he might not hear her. Other students looked on with amusement, a few making barbed remarks as she shoved past them.
"Oh, Mr. Harrison," she said, smiling and panting, "I was afraid I might miss you. There's something I wanted to ask you."
"Oh, well, I was just leaving for home. Let's go back into the classroom."
She smiled up at him, and he admired her youthful beauty, wishing she didn't wear quite so much make-up. "We don't have to do that. I just want to see you alone for a second." She glanced around, smiled at a passing schoolmate. "Couldn't I walk out with you?"
"Sure. Be my pleasure." They began to make their way through the diminishing crowd toward the stairway. "What's on your mind, Patty?"
They began descending the steps. "Well, you remember what you said in class about regional writers, novelists who write about the sections of the country they know best?"
They were on the landing between floors when Ted stopped and looked at the girl with sudden interest and surprise. Patty stood on the lowest step, so that her remarkably large and lovely eyes were on a level with his. This marked the first time she had shown any academic interest, the first time she had ever talked to him out of class, except to greet him. Perhaps he had finally broken through to her, caused some heretofore dormant germ of curiosity to spring to life. He felt the flame of excitement burn within himself. This, he thought, is why I am a teacher.
"What is it you want to know?"
"Well, I once read a book about the South, by Erskine Caldwell."
"What about it?"
Two girls started down the steps, saw Ted with Patty, hesitated, then came on. Patty made room for them.
"It was pretty wild," she said. "Sexy."
The two girls glanced quickly over their shoulders, giggled, and disappeared.
"Who was the author?"
"Caldwell."
Ted nodded, and continued down the steps, Patty at his side. "Sex is a part of life, Patty, and to some writers it is a symbol of the attainments and failures of their characters. If you look for sexy books, then, of course, you'll find them everywhere." He fell silent, thinking, then: "You've begun reading a Southern writer. Why don't you continue along the same lines. Read some of Truman Capote's short stories. They're excellent. And William Faulkner.
He's one of the truly great ones. Many of our finest writers have come out of the South and continue to write about it. The school library has a fine selection of Faulkner's work."
"I'll get one of his books," Patty said. "I'll start reading it right away. Thanks a lot for helping."
"After you've finished whatever book you choose, I'll be happy to discuss it with you."
Now they stood on the main floor. Patty stepped close to him, impulsively placed her hand on his arm. "Gee, Mr. Harrison," she said sincerely, "you're okay. I mean, really okay, to waste your time with me. Hi there, Johnny!"
Ted turned to see a boy flipping his hand, hurrying on. He smiled at Patty.
"Talk to me whenever you're ready."
It was not until the following Monday that Ted saw Patty Neilson alone again. She was in one of his classes, but she seldom took part in classroom discussions or volunteered information. He wondered if she had begun reading Faulkner, wondered if he had underestimated her capabilities, wondered if there were others in his classes who, if properly motivated, would expand and develop their minds. Unfortunately, the classes were too large for him to provide individual instruction to each pupil. With overcrowding a problem even here in Dorset, a wealthy, surburban community, he marveled at the work done by teachers in the crammed classrooms in big cities everywhere. It saddened him to think of all the potentially fine students who were lost because they got trampled in the academic logjam.
That, he told himself as he walked toward his car in the school parking lot, was the really pressing problem of American education, a burgeoning population and a school system that didn't keep pace. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't see Patty Neilson until she was almost at his side. "Mr. Harrison!"
He looked up. "Oh! Oh, hello, Patty. How are you?"
"Pretty good." She smiled up at him. "How about
"Just fine," he said, opening the car door. "Did you get started on Faulkner?"
"Yes, I did," she said. "And I wanted to talk to you about it."
"Oh, well I was just on my way home."
She smiled slowly. "You go through town?"
He nodded. To reach his apartment, he drove through the main shopping district of Dorset.
"Could you give me a lift? I was on my way downtown anyway."
"Why not? Hop in."
He maneuvered the car carefully out of the crowded lot. As they bounced across the sidewalk into the avenue, Patty leaned out of the window and called a greeting to a group of students collected nearby. Ted spotted Lenny Gordon among them.
"How far have you gotten with Faulkner?" Ted asked.
"Well," Patty began, "not very, I'm afraid. He kind of confuses me."
"Why?"
Patty started explaining, her discourse wordy and disjointed. Ted realized that she had actually done very little reading and was talking around the book rather than about it. They had reached the outskirts of the shopping district when he spied Edith Sail coming out of a drugstore. He waved to her.
She glanced up, started to wave back, then the smile froze on her pretty face when she saw Ted's companion. Ted drove on.
"That's where I get off," Patty said, pointing. Ted pulled over to the curb. "Thanks for the ride."
"Patty," Ted said. "Are you really serious about studying the regional writers?"
"Well, sure."
"Then you'd better get with it. You've actually done very little reading of Faulkner to date. I can tell from what you said about the book, and from what you haven't said."
A sheepish look came onto Patty's face. She leaned toward him, hand touching his shoulder. "Maybe I don't care about reading. Maybe I just want to spend some time with you."
She pulled back as if propelled by the look in his eyes. "We can do very nicely without that kind of talk. If you want "to learn, I'll help you. Otherwise, there's nothing for us to discuss."
Her expression sobered rapidly. "I do want to learn. Just tell me what to do."
Deciding she was serious, Ted thought quickly. "I'm going to give your class a reading assignment and have them do papers on the author's reason for writing, his theme and the symbolism of the work. Why don't you take the Faulkner book as your assignment? Begin outlining your paper."
"If I have trouble, will you help me?"
He nodded quickly. "Whenever you want me to."
A bright, rising laugh broke across her sensuous lips. She slid out of the car. "See you soon," she said, waving.
As he pulled away from the curb, Ted noticed Patty talking to a middle-aged woman. Her mother, he supposed. Then he put the girl out of his mind.
A few mornings later, Ted was on his way to the teachers' lounge for coffee and a smoke, when he met Edith Sall. He greeted her effusively, genuinely glad to see her.
"I'm after a cup of coffee," he said. "Join me?"
"I can't," she said, her manner distant. "I have to do some research in the library."
"Another time, perhaps."
"Perhaps."
He reached out for her arm as she started to leave. "Is something wrong, Edith? You act as if you're angry with me.
Her expression grew guarded, almost wary, then suddenly softened. "That girl, Patty Neilson."
"What about her?"
"Do you think it's wise of you to be seen around with her, knowing the things she's been saying about you?"
He felt himself stiffen with anger. "I haven't been seen around with her, as you put it. She's one of my students and I gave her a lift. Nothing more. She's trying to improve herself, to learn. And as a teacher it's my function to help her all I can."
"I'm sorry," Edith said. "Please forgive me."
Ted nodded, but his goodbye held no warmth in it. He ducked into the teachers' lounge and lit a cigarette. An icy fear slithered along his guts, a fear of what Edith's attitude indicated, a fear of the suddenness with which people tend to seek out and find evil. He read disapproval in her accusatory tone and manner; he shuddered to think of what response his being with Patty Neilson might evoke in someone less sympathetic toward him. He warned himself that Edith was right, that it wasn't wise for him to be seen with Patty considering her public pronouncements about him. Survival, he told himself, as he sipped the scalding coffee, was the first rule of life.
It was three nights Mter that Ted's sense of survival came into sharp conflict with his dedication as a teacher; it was a conflict slated to test both.
He had spoken to Carol an hour before on the phone, agreed to come to dinner on Friday a half-hour earlier than originally planned. Then he broiled a steak and dined leisurely, lingered over his coffee, taking a second cup while luxuriating in a long, warm tub. Now, comfortable in pajamas and a robe, he settled down to a quiet and solitary evening of uninterrupted reading.
The tentative knock at the door startled him. He was expecting no one. He snubbed out the cigarette he was smoking and went to the door. Standing there was Mrs. McMillan, his landlady, and behind her, eyes wide, looking ravishingly desirable in a scoop-necked print blouse and a short, tight black skirt, was Patty Neilson.
"This young woman," said Mrs. McMillan suspiciously, "rang my bell by mistake. She says she's one of your students, Mr. Harrison."
"That's right, Mrs. McMillan. She is."
"I've got to see you, Mr. Harrison," Patty said, a note of urgency in her voice.
He combed his hair with his fingers. "It's all right, Mrs. McMillan. Sorry you were bothered."
"No harm done, sir. No harm done."
She trundled toward her own apartment, throwing a searching glance at the young girl, shaking her head in a puzzled and condemnatory manner.
Ted motioned Patty inside. He shut the door and strode back to his chair, lit a cigarette and crossed his legs, studied the girl standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. Her face had been carefully made up, eyes out-lined and shadowed, hair done in a sophisticated upsweep, her mouth wetly rouged. Ted couldn't help but admire her firm young body, so teasingly displayed in the clinging blouse and tight skirt. Her legs were strong and shapely, and Ted wondered what she would look like in a bikini. He imagined it would be quite a sight. He shrugged the picture away.
"Why did you say that you had to see me, Patty?" he began testily, his lean face hard, mouth set, eyes flinty. "Just what is so pressing that you had to come to my apartment, that you couldn't wait until you saw me in school tomorrow?"
She wet her lips nervously and tried to smile. "Well, I did it again, I guess."
"Did what?"
"Oh, I always dramatize things. My mother tells me I should become an actress, the way I exaggerate things. I was working on the paper earlier and I got stuck, so I decided to go for a walk. Then I decided to call you and I looked up your telephone number and there was your address and I saw that I wasn't far away, so I came over. That's all."
The explanation sounded weak and unconvincing to Ted, yet there was nothing he could point to with surety as a falsehood. Perhaps it was as she had said.
Patty reached into her purse and brought out a couple of sheets of paper. "There's something I don't understand-about Faulkner, I mean. Maybe you can help me."
"Let me see your notes," Ted said. Help was the one thing he could give the girl, help with her reading, with her writing, with her understanding of literature. To help, he thought, unfolding the crumpled sheets, that was the true function of every teacher. He began to read.
It was nearly eleven o'clock when Ted noticed the time. "Hey, we've been going at this thing for more than three hours. That's enough for tonight. Your folks will be worried about you." He stood up and tightened the belt of his robe, glancing down at Patty sprawled comfortably on the couch, skirt riding halfway up her thigh, eyes lidded in the soft light, her mouth wet and inviting. How young she looked! How desirable! He felt a quick throb of passion course through his loins. "You'd better get home right away."
"There's no rush."
"You'd better go," he said softly, aware all at once that she was more woman than many older females he had known.
"My folks are out," she said. "They're out all the time. It doesn't matter what time I get home. Or if I get there at all."
"I still think you should leave. And now."
A slow smile turned her lips. She pushed herself languidly erect, making no effort to adjust her skirt, leaning forward as she rose so that the blouse gaped open at the neck, providing Ted with an unobstructed view of her high, huge breasts. She took a single step and stood close to him now, the scent of her thickly feminine, her face a blur, her smile somehow taunting and caressing at once.
"Y'know, Mr. Harrison," she said breathily. "I don't have to go. Not anywhere. You think I'm a kid, but I've been around." He felt hypnotized, trapped into immobility, encased in the mist of her lush sensuality. "Around school, all the girls think you're a dream. You'd be surprised what some of them would like you to do, what they'd like to do, what Vd like to do to you."
Her words conjured up an image of Edith Sail's face, and the memory of her warning: "Do you think it's wise of you to be seen around with her, knowing the things she's been saying about you?" Ted thought of Mrs. McMillan, and the conclusions that that prim and proper lady undoubtedly had reached concerning Patty's visit. The fog of indecision lifted and Ted took hold of Patty's elbow. He steered her to the door, and opened it.
"You are never to come here again," he said, making his voice harsh and severe. "I mean never. Whatever questions you have to ask can wait for school. Is that clear?"
Her smile was guileless. "Yes sir. Sorry. I won't do it again. Maybe now I won't have to."
He watched her flounce lightly down the stairs and out the front door, wondering if Mrs. McMillan had taken note from her front window of the girl's departure. Mrs. McMillan, he knew, missed very little that went on in the building.
Ted found it very difficult to sleep that night.
TEN
The day started routinely enough. Ted awoke to the sound of his clock-radio playing a Rodgers and Hart song. It was seven o'clock. He had an hour and fifteen minutes until his first class. He shaved, then showered quickly, the warm water loosening his sleep-tightened muscles. Then he busied himself making breakfast. Finished eating, he dressed, fired his first cigarette, took a final approving look at himself in the bedroom mirror, and left.
It was a lovely day, nothing about it foreboding, no omen of what was to come. Already the sun was warm, a promise of approaching summer. The leaves were coming out in a splash of new color, and birds perched on the ends of branches and sang songs that seemed to Ted to be a joyful affirmation of life.
Ted's first class was a Shakespeare study group. He had planned on exploring the relationship between Hamlet and his mother but on that bright morning that seemed too sordid to him.
"On a fine day such as this," he addressed the class, "it would be criminal to do anything which might make it gloomy and sad. So, we will turn to something light-the comic characters of William Shakespeare. Let's begin by discussing that big clown, Falstaff...."
It was during the third period of the morning that the messenger entered the classroom. Ted halted the student who was speaking and beckoned the messenger closer.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Dr. Littleton would like to see you in his office," the boy said. "Right away."
Now what? Ted asked himself. He wished Littleton would confine his summonses to those hours when there were no classes. He frowned. Surely this didn't mean a rehash of his relationship with Lenny Gordon. Then he remembered the time of year. Of course, that was it! Spring training for the football squad was about to start, and the coach had undoubtedly requested Littleton to prevail upon Ted to help out. Well, he'd just have to refuse again; he wanted to teach English, not football. He smiled at the messenger.
"Tell Dr. Littleton I'm on my way." The boy left and Ted turned back to his class. "I've got to see the principal," he said. "So we'll end this class now. Next time we'll continue where we left off."
The corridors of Dorset High were deserted as Ted strode along. His heels clicked briskly on the floor, the sound strangely distant and ominous. Joan Majors nodded solemnly when he appeared and motioned for him to wait. She rose and went into Dr. Littleton's office, to return a moment later. She held the door ajar.
"He'll see you now."
He smiled. "Thanks, Joan."
She made no response, shutting the door behind him. "Come in, Harrison," Dr. Littleton said, not looking up from a paper on his desk. "Sit down."
Ted sat in the seat indicated, at one corner of the desk. He waited for his prospective father-in-law to speak. Finally, the older man looked up. Ted was shocked at how drawn and tired he looked; gray patches --rimmed his eyes and his mouth was tight and anxious. His fingers beat a nervous tattoo on the desk.
"Aren't you feeling well, Dr. Littleton?" Ted asked.
"Never mind that," came the brusque retort. "My health is not an issue here."
All at once, apprehension washed over Ted like an icy wave. A vision of Joan Majors' solemn face floated to mind. Add to this the air of doom that hung thickly in this office and Ted felt his skin prickle as if he were being subjected to the rigors of a pressure chamber.
"Is something wrong, doctor?" He asked the question easily, but he could feel himself growing increasingly tense with each passing second. He combed his hair with his fingers.
"It would be best, Harrison," Dr. Littleton said crisply, "if I asked the questions."
"As you wish."
"Thank you," Dr. Littleton said, a little wearily, Ted thought. He glanced at the sheet of paper on the desk. "To begin, where were you three nights ago?"
"Three nights ago? That would be Tuesday." Ted reflected. "Why, I was at home. I spent a quiet evening reading and went to sleep early. Why do you ask, doctor?"
"Are you certain you were alone?"
The memory slammed into Ted with the force of a speeding train, jolting him, completely destroying his composure. His face turned to putty, seemed to lose its shape, the expression growing soft and plastic like dripping paint.
"Patty Neilson," he murmured.
For a long moment there was silence in the room as the two men tried not to look at each other, to turn their individual attentions inward, to explore themselves and what had passed and what now must occur.
"May I smoke?" Ted said, after a while.
"Of course." Dr. Littleton heaved a sigh. "Was the Neilson girl with you Tuesday evening?"
Ted dragged deeply on the cigarette, the hot smoke scorching his lungs. He nodded. "Will you tell me exactly what it is you're getting at? A pupil visited me. All right. Where is the crime in that? There's an inquisitorial atmosphere in this office, Doctor, and frankly, I don't care for it."
Dr. Littleton filled his lungs with air. When he spoke he gazed at some middle-point. "Patty Neilson is fifteen years old. She claims that you and she...."
Ted felt himself go death-cold. He shook his head slowly from side to side. "No," he muttered. "It isn't so."
"She told her mother that you made love to her that night, that you had intercourse with her, that you promised her good grades in all your classes in return, that you threatened to fail her otherwise."
"That isn't true! I never touched her. Nothing of that nature happened. Not that night or any other."
Dr. Littleton continued droning on, face stiff and pale. "The student's mother came to me this morning with the story. She pointed out, and rightly so, that Patty is only fifteen. That even if she gave her consent, it would still be statutory rape. Mrs. Neilson was talking about going to the police, but I prevailed upon her to wait, to let me talk to you first."
"It never happened."
"Frankly, I don't see how I can keep this thing quiet. And I don't know that I want to. What you did is a horrible thing, a betrayal of your trust as a teacher, and what you should be as a man."
Ted sprang up as if propelled. His strong, slender hand slammed down on the desk with earsplitting force. His voice, when he spoke, was edged with steel, low and piercing.
"It ... never ... happened. The girl is lying and that's the truth of it."
"Sit down, please. This is not simply a case of an accusation and a denial. I would ignore it if so. It is considerably more ominous." Ted sank back into his seat. Every one of his nerve ends was ajangle. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. A pulse leaped wildly at his temple. "You have been seen spending time with Patty. For example, you were seen walking through the school corridors with her."
"Well, dammit!" Ted exploded. "I'm a teacher. There's nothing wrong with that."
"Not in itself. But when taken with other incidents...."
"What incidents?" Ted asked, knowing even as he spoke that Dr. Littleton would have a handy list of replies. He was right.
"You were discovered talking softly with Patty on the landing between floors on the south staircase by two female students who heard snatches of your conversation. They report you were discussing sex with Patty."
"Sex! It never happened." Then Ted remembered. He wet his lips. "Patty said she wanted to do some reading of regional writers. She said she had read some of Erskine Caldwell and commented that it was sexy. I pointed out the place of sex in literature when it is used by the author as a natural outgrowth of character and incident. We were discussing books, not sex. I told her to do some more reading, Capote and Faulkner."
Dr. Littleton sighed. "It seems reasonable enough."
"That was the way it happened."
Dr. Littleton glanced at the paper on the desk again. "A boy saw you standing with her on the main floor on another occasion, your manner intimate, touching each other."
Ted tried to clear his mind of the emotional cloud which inhibited it, struggled to think clearly, to remember. He and Patty had been about to part when she had placed her hand on his arm, an impulsive gesture of gratitude, he had thought at the time. There would be no point in denying that anything salacious had existed in that moment. There would be no point in protesting his innocence, not item by item, not when there were obviously witnesses prepared to testify, however mistakenly, to what they imagined they had seen.
"What else, doctor?" he said slowly. "Surely there must be more."
"There is quite a body of evidence. You were seen driving away from school with Patty."
"By Leonard Gordon," Ted injected.
"And others, including one of our teachers."
Edith Sail! A wry smile touched Ted's lips. Even his friends would be forced into bearing witness against him. Dr. Littleton was still talking.
"Patty's mother saw her getting out of your car, which first gave birth to her suspicions. Then, of course, there was her visit to your apartment. You know that your landlady, a Mrs. McMillan, admitted her. And Mrs. McMillan just happened to be looking out of her front windows when Patty left. It was rather late. And finally, there is Patty herself."
"You mean she claims that I had intercourse with her?"
"Yes."
"This is ridiculous! That girl knows it isn't true." Dr. Littleton gazed coldly at Ted. "Then why," he said without expression, "would she make such an accusation? What could she hope to gain from it? And how do you account for all the evidence which indicates your unprofessional interest in her?"
Ted snubbed out his cigarette and lit another. "I can't account for any of this. For some obscure reason, she wants to get me into trouble. I wish I did know why."
Dr. Littleton pushed himself heavily erect, looked out of his window at the campus below. "This is the second time you have been accused of threatening a student. First there was Leonard Gordon, now this. Except that this time you seem to have done much more than merely threaten...."
"I tell you none of it is true!"
"I have prevailed upon Mrs. Neilson to wait before going to the police. I am going to make a thorough investigation myself first, for the sake of the girl and the school."
"And what about me?"
Dr. Littleton turned back into the office. His expression was unyielding, his eyes flinty. "Your interests will best be served by my investigation. If you are innocent, I will discover it. If you are guilty, I will make no effort to dissuade Mrs. Neilson from going to the police." He cleared his throat. "Until my investigation is completed, you are suspended. You will teach no more classes and in fact you will avoid appearing at the school until notified. That is all."
Ted rose, started to protest, realized that it would do no good, and walked to the door. He swung back. "I am innocent."
"We'll see," Dr. Littleton said, and Ted knew that he had already been judged and found guilty.
ELEVEN
Ted Harrson moved through a thick mist, dazed and confused by his fate. The morning after his meeting with Dr. Littleton, he received a letter, official notification of his suspension, and warning him to stay away from any of the principals in the case. Clearly, Ted was not to be allowed to seek the truth on his own.
An encompassing sense of futility formed up within him, a sense of helplessness, of weakness. There was no one to whom he could turn for help, no way in which to help himself. His mind refused to function, to sift through the facts in an intelligent manner, to decide what had happened, how it came about, and what to do about it. Instead, he spent the next two days alone in his apartment, seeing no one, not answering his phone, drinking constantly, hoping for the soft forgetfulness that alcohol could induce. It never came. The whiskey seemed only to sharpen his senses, heighten his awareness of the danger of this situation, to outline his stupidity and vulnerability.
It was the morning of the third day when someone knocked at his door. He was sprawled out on the couch, clothes rumpled and dirty, unchanged in more than fortyeight hours, his hollow cheeks a dark stubble, his eyes beady and laced with blooded hairlines. He staggered to the door.
"Who's there?" he grated.
"I want to see you, Ted." The voice was familiar, he thought clumsily, waiting for recognition to come. Carol. He unlocked the door.
"What do you want?"
She brushed past him and walked into the living room. "This place is a mess."
He shut the door and took a step forward, his right knee almost giving way beneath him. He caught himself. 'I suppose your dear father has told you all the facts?"
Her look was haughty and distant. "I will never understand how a man of your background could do such a thing."
That drew a bitter laugh from him. He lunged to the table where the bottle of Scotch stood, upended it and swallowed long. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"That's pretty great, coming from you. You've all judged me guilty. No question about it."
"There doesn't seem to be."
"Well, I didn't do it. But it may be expecting too much to ask my fiancee and her father to accept that until my guilt is proven."
"All the evidence is to the contrary."
He sat down, suddenly weary. "I know. That's the hell of it."
"I've been trying to phone you, Ted, but you never answered."
"I didn't feel like talking."
She was standing in front of him now, her body stiff and unyielding. He gazed up into her face. She held one hand out toward him.
"I think you'd better take this."
He blinked in puzzlement. "Take what?"
"Your ring."
The import of her words slowly pierced the thick fog of confusion in which he had cloaked himself. "Ring? What do you mean? I gave it to you. It's our engagement ring. I don't want it back."
She turned, placed the ring on the coffee table, and walked to the door.
"I'm sorry, Ted," she said quietly. "I believe we might have had a good marriage, a good life together. I had such great plans for us."
"You're breaking our engagement?"
"I have no choice."
"When I need you most, you're walking out on me."
"I live in this town. I must continue to live here. What do you expect me to do?" Her voice grew shrill. "What do you expect when you take young girls to bed! How many have there been? Five? Ten? Every girl in your classes is under suspicion now, if she passed with a good grade. Did you know that? It's the new guessing game around town, trying to figure out which of your students has slept with you. How could I stay engaged to you? How can I face my friends? I hate you for what you've done to me!"
She ran out, and Ted heard her hurrying down the carpeted stairs. It was an effort for him to stand, walk to ,the door and close it.
Somehow, Carol's visit, and her scathing denouncement, jarred Ted enough to make him care how he looked. He shaved and showered, donned a pair of gray flannel slacks and a navy blue sports shirt. Then he went downstairs to collect his mail. There was quite a bit of it, the accumulation of three days. Back in his apartment, he discarded the junk mail, the circulars and solicitations. There were a couple of magazines which he tossed onto the coffee table before scanning the return addresses on the envelopes of what was left. First he opened the one from Ethel Smithton, president of the Dorset Ladies' Book Discussion Group.
It proved to be short and to the point. Ted's scheduled appearance before the group for the following week had been cancelled. No reason was given; none had to be. Ted had no doubt as to the cause.
The next letter was from Frank Ettinger, editor of the Dorset Times, the local newspaper for which Ted occasionally wrote book reviews. Ettinger, too, wasted no words on explanation, simply informing Ted that his services as a book critic were no longer required.
Ted sat there holding the letter in his fingers for a long time, dimly aware that his world had crumpled about him with shattering suddenness, numbed by it all. The idea came to him from afar, like a car appearing without warning on a deserted highway, suddenly present as if it had always been. He knew that his life in Dorset was over. There was nothing left for him, nothing to do but move on, to build a new existence. Where he would go or what he would do when he got there were unanswered questions at the moment.
The jangling of the phone interrupted his ruminations. He dropped the letter, watching it float down to the floor, reminding him of a dying duck fluttering to earth. He wondered who would be phoning him now. Absently, he reached for the instrument.
"Ted Harrison," came a high-pitched female voice.
"Yes."
"Monster," cried the voice. "What? What's that?"
"Cradle-snatcher. You better get out of town. We don't want your kind around here."
The words shocked him out of his lethargy. "Who is this?"
"That doesn't matter. I'm speaking for a lot of mothers. You're not welcome in Dorset, raping children. If you know what's good for you, you'll get out, and soon, too."
Click.
"Hello, hello." He jiggled the phone. It was dead. He hung up. He looked with wonder at his strong bony hand, a hand powerful enough to steal passes away from the top defenders in professional football, a hand quick and healthy with sound reflexes. It was trembling uncontrollably.
He made a dash for the whiskey, swallowed a long drink, then another, waiting for his nerves to settle, for the fear to drain away. The phone rang again.
He stared at it as if it were a strange and dangerous beast intent on harming him. Would this be another threatening call? Or another of his erstwhile friends phoning to cancel a lecture, or a dinner, or a date to go bowling? He didn't want to answer it and yet something compelled him to. He picked it up tentatively, half expecting it to scorch his flesh.
"Yes," he said reluctantly. "What do you want?"
"Ted? Is that you?"
The voice was vaguely familiar.
"Who is this?"
"It's Edith, Ted. Are you all right?"
"Yes," he said slowly. "I'm all right. What do you want?"
He heard her sigh. "Thank God. I was worried. I've been trying to call you for days, ever since I heard about your suspension. Ted, are you alone now?"
"Yes."
"Stay there," she said, voice crisp and authoritative. "I'll be over in a few minutes. I must talk to you. Will you wait till I get there?"
He considered the request. It seemed reasonable enough. "Yes. I'll wait for you."
Twenty minutes later, Edith Sail walked into the apartment, wearing a hip-hugging yellow wool sheath that out-lined her breasts, a colorful contrast to her black hair and intense eyes.
"You look better than I expected," was her opening line.
"You should have seen me a little while ago with a three-day growth of beard."
"How are you feeling?"
"Pretty rocky. My mind won't function as well as it might. I guess I'm pretty well shook up by all this. Confused and frightened."
"You have a right to be. May I sit down?"
"Of course, I'm sorry."
She sat on the couch and he settled across from her.
"I know you didn't do it," she said calmly. "We have to prove your innocence."
He gave her a cigarette and took one himself. "Fat chance of that. I'm hooked and I know it. I wish I could figure out why, but I can't."
"Perhaps I can help."
He looked warmly at her. A comparative stranger, she was the first one to show any interest, any faith, the first one to offer hope of a way out of the bind in which he found himself.
"I don't see how."
"Why should Patty Neilson accuse you of sleeping with her if it isn't true?"
"I don't know."
"Have you asked her?"
There was a bitter curl to his mouth. "Dr. Littleton warned me to stay away from all persons involved in the case."
"And you're going to do what he said?"
He shrugged. "What choice do I have?"
"Every choice. I'm disappointed in you. I thought you were more a man than that, a fighter. If you don't prove yourself innocent of these charges you'll never teach anywhere again. Have you thought of that?"
"Where do I start?"
"By putting an end to your hiding, to your self-indulgence, to feeling sorry for yourself."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it? Well what are you doing then? Sitting around on your behind and doing nothing. Dr. Littleton ordered you...." She snorted disdainfully "Does he control your life, your future? You've got to defend yourself, survive."
He felt a stirring in his bowels. "Do you have any ideas?"
She nodded vigorously. "Lenny Gordon."
The name flashed deep into Ted's brain like a lightning bolt. "Of course! He's behind it!"
Edith shifted forward, excitedly, the dress sliding up her leg. He couldn't help but admire the curve of her knees.
"I think so, too," she said. "He was the only one you've had any trouble with. He's the only one who stands to gain by your suspension, by your disappearance from school and from town."
Ted grew solemn. "Surely he wouldn't go this far. I know he's a selfish, spoiled boy, but to ruin a man's career, even more, to have him jailed for statutory rape, I can't believe Lenny would do that."
"I can," she replied. "I don't think you know much about young Mr. Gordon. You know, teaching presents certain problems to a young woman, especially one who is fairly well endowed." She smiled sheepishly. "My breasts have been large ever since I was thirteen years old. I try not to wear clothes which accentuate their size at school, but nothing does much good."
Ted smiled insinuatingly. "It would be a shame to hide them altogether."
She suppressed a grin. "Do you know what it means for me to walk through the corridors at a class break? You know how crowded it gets. More than once I've felt a hand patting my fanny, or sliding along my thigh. And every now and then some boy will come charging into me, making sure that his hands find my breasts." She adjusted her skirt modestly, eyes downcast. "I'm a normal woman, Ted. I like men. And I like affection, to be made love to, to be touched. But I don't want to be mauled by fresh kids in school corridors."
"Haven't you been able to catch any of them at it?"
"I could never prove it. But one thing I'm sure of, Lenny Gordon is one of the worst offenders. Nine times out of ten when that sort of thing happens he's right there, grinning insolently at me. Oh, I know all this is circumstantial, but I'm convinced that he's behind your trouble, that somehow he got Patty Neilson to frame you."
Ted considered that possibility. Knowing Lenny Gordon, his personality, his character, or lack of it, made everything Edith said logical. Rapidly, he went over the
"evidence" listed by Dr. Littleton, certain it was a combination of contrived acts on the part of Patty Neilson coupled with the mystical hand of coincidence. A devastating pairing.
"I think you're right," he said to Edith. "The question is what do I do about it now?"
"Whatever is necessary!" she shot back. "These children, these teen-agers, they've imposed a virtual rule of tyranny on such communities as Dorset. Let them do something wrong and a massive conspiracy swings into action to shield and protect them. Pressure is applied, bribes are paid, threats are made. Well, I believe someone must stand against this tyranny. Someone must enforce discipline on these reckless children. They need it and I am certain that they really want it. Everywhere they see adults giving Up service to the rules of life which have made civilization, but only lip service. It is up to us to do more than that. To act in a fashion which enforces the standards which we expect people to live by, to set examples by our actions, to triumph over the irresponsible children who test our laws, written and unwritten. It is up to people like you and me, Ted, to triumph in this war. It is our responsibility."
They sat silent for a long minute before Ted looked up. Their eyes met, and something unspoken and profound passed between them. He wanted very much to go to her, to embrace her, to feel her mouth under his own. He restrained himself.
"You'd better go now," he said. "It wouldn't do for you to be found here with me."
She smiled easily as she stood. "That doesn't bother me. But I will go. You have things to do, I'm sure." She scribbled her address on a piece of paper. "This is where I live.
If there's anything I can ever do. Any time of day or night...."
They were at the door. He opened it.
"Thank you, Edith."
"Good luck."
He was going to need more than luck.
TWELVE
Ted went looking for Lenny Gordon, and found him, easily enough, shooting craps in the boys' locker room in the gym building. With him were half a dozen other boys, all of whom eyed Ted Harrison with suspicion and open hostility. The game stopped as Ted hove into sight. He wasted no breath on small talk.
"I want to talk to you, Leonard."
Slowly, Lenny straightened up, an insolent grin slanting across his handsome face. He rattled the dice in his hand as he coolly measured Ted.
"You surprise me, teacher," he drawled. "Never expected to see you around here. Figured you'd be too ashamed. A grown man like you going around taking little girls to bed." He shook his head in mock concern.
"I want to talk to you," Ted said without expression. "Alone."
Lenny blew on the dice. "But I don't want to talk to you." He turned his back. Ted never hesitated. One hand shot out, swung Lenny around, pulled him close, grasping his shirt front. Only an inch or two shorter than Ted, Lenny found himself suspended helplessly in his grip, toes barely touching the floor.
"I said let's talk," Ted said. "Now."
He released his hold on the boy, surprised at how solid he was, much stronger than he appeared. Lenny stepped back, his eyes flat and cold. His upraised hand stopped his friends, who had moved forward as a group.
"Slow, men. So the teacher wants to talk. There's no reason I shouldn't talk to him. Maybe I'll learn something."
Ted moved a few yards away, the boy ambling after him. "This is good enough," Ted said, taking a cigarette.
"You're breaking the rules, teacher," Lenny grinned.
Ted took a long drag. "Why, Leonard? Why are you doing this?"
The handsome face opened up, the eyes wide and innocent. "Doing what, teacher? I'm not doing anything."
"You're behind all of it. I'm certain of that. You know why Patty Neilson accused me of something that isn't true."
"You mean you didn't make it with her?" Lenny asked. He shook his head and clucked pityingly. "That's too bad, because she's pretty wild. You would have liked it."
Ted felt the tension growing inside him. His lips tightened. "Leonard, this is more important than your passing or failing a class. You're playing with my career, and my life."
Suddenly the handsome face went ugly, pulled back in a snarl. "What do I care about you! You were going to louse me up. Well, now who's loused up? You got troubles, teacher, get out of 'em by yourself. Don't bug me!"
Lenny turned to go but Ted grabbed him again, slamming him back against the wall with such force that the breath whooshed audibly out of him. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this, sonny," he said tightly. "You aren't going to pull it off. One way or another, I'll find out the truth. You won't stop me."
He released his hold on Lenny, who had turned pale at the rough handling. Slowly, step by step, he backed off, eyes fixed on Ted, saying nothing, face closed, mouth slack.
Ted felt his hatred leap across the void like a current. He knew he would get no admission from Lenny, though his actions served as confirmation of his suspicions. He pivoted on his heel and left, certain there was nothing more to be gained there.
"You gonna take that?" one of Lenny's friends said as Ted disappeared.
Lenny stared at the doorway through which Ted had passed. "Oh, man," he breathed softly. "Oh, man, oh, man. That guy. I am going to see that guy again. He is nothing but trouble for me. Only trouble." He made a motion with his hand and a short, wiry youth stepped forward, his ferret face eager. "Choo-choo, follow that man. I want to know where he goes and who he talks to. Keep in touch with me."
"Where'llyoube?"
"Back at my house. With a few of the boys. You check in regularly."
"Will do."
Choo-choo hurried after Ted Harrison, who had decided that Betty Crowell might be helpful. He knew that she and Lenny had been going together and he hoped that she might reveal something pertinent. He found her at home.
"Gee, Mr. Harrison," she said, ushering him into a formal living room furnished with antique English furniture. "I never expected you to show up here."
"You and Leonard Gordon have been seeing each other?"
"Yes," she said hesitantly.
He sighed. "Betty, I am convinced that Leonard is behind all this trouble. This business with Patty Neilson, well, it just isn't true. It never happened the way people say it did."
Betty twisted her hands nervously. "What do you want from me?"
"I was hoping you might remember something, something Leonard might have told you, some clue that might help me clear myself."
"Oh, Mr. Harrison, I can't believe Lenny would do a terrible thing like this. I know he's wild, but he isn't really bad or vicious."
Ted continued to probe, but his questions uncovered nothing he didn't already know. He got up to go.
"Oh, Mr. Harrison."
He turned at the door.
"Once," Betty murmured. "Lenny was mad at you. You gave him a low grade or something."
"Yes, Betty...."
"He was only talking. He was very angry. He swore he was going to get you, get rid of you, he said. But that was just talk. It didn't mean anything."
Ted smiled a small grim smile. "Obviously it was more than just talk. He seems to have made good his threat."
Betty spent the rest of that afternoon in her room stretched across her bed, crying.
When Ted came out of her house, he didn't notice Choo-choo slumped down in the front seat of his car. He didn't notice anything, being too concerned with his next move. Instinct told him to find Patty Neilson, confront her, demand that she admit her story was a fabric of lies. But that same instinct told him that she would admit nothing, that such a meeting would do no good. A feeling of helplessness overcame him, and defeat loomed near, and permanent.
That's when he thought of Edith Sail. He hurried to his car and drove until he found a telephone, dialed her number, holding his breath until she answered.
"Edith, I've got to see you right away."
"I just got home from school," she said. "I was about to shower when you called. How long will it take you to get here?"
"Ten minutes," he guessed. "No more."
"All right. I'll be out of the shower by then."
There was no answer the first time he rang her bell. He pushed the button again. This time the buzzer sounded. He went in.
She was wrapped in a blue terrycloth robe a couple of sizes too large for her, and her hair was piled on top of her head accentuating her gamin look. She smiled at him, but her eyes were serious.
"You made it fast," she said. "I barely had time to dry off."
"Sorry."
"It doesn't matter." She sat down, the robe falling open enough so he could see the outside of one trim leg. She was too preoccupied to notice. "Have you found out anything new?"
He shook his head sadly. "Not a thing. I spoke to Leonard and his girl friend. He wouldn't talk, and she didn't know anything, except that he had threatened to get me."
"Well, that's something."
"I don't see what."
"It verifies our suspicions. At least now you know you're on the right track."
His shoulders slumped. "That's not much. I can't figure out where to turn next. It seems that I'm not much of a detective."
She lit a couple of cigarettes and handed him one. As she reached out, the robe parted at her throat, falling open so that Ted could see the soft swell of her lovely breasts, the deep valley of her cleavage. He tried not to look, not to let her femininity intrude on the task at hand. It was difficult.
"The reason you're not thinking clearly," she said, oblivious to her exposed flesh, "is that you are so self-involved, and understandably so. You spoke to Lenny and his girl friend. Well, there isn't much you could expect to get there. You're going to have to work on Patty Neilson. She's the weak link in this chain of conspiracy."
"How do you mean?"
"Obviously she didn't plan all this on her own. Lenny Gordon must have plotted it all, talked her into going along with him. If he can talk her into it, you should be able to convince her to admit it all."
"You flatter me."
She looked at him peculiarly. "Do I? Perhaps. But you have no choice now, do you? Either you get Patty to admit the falsehood of her charges or you have had it, my friend."
He stood up and paced the small room. "How do I get her to talk? What pressures can I use?"
"What pressures do you think Lenny used?"
"I-don't know."
"I think I do. Sex is the only thing Patty really understands."
Ted stopped pacing. "Sex!" He found it almost im possible to avert his glance from the parted neckline of the robe, from the sight of her lusious breasts. He wet his lips. "What are you suggesting?"
"Remember what I overheard Patty saying about you? That she would like to make love to you."
"I couldn't."
"Why not?" She stood up and strode forward, the movement loosening the robe even more, the gap reaching to just beneath her navel, a long, narrowing swath of pink flesh revealed. She saw his eyes travel slowly downward and all at once knew that her robe was open, knew what he could see, knew that she was exposed. And she didn't mind. "Lenny Gordon didn't let any fine moral considerations stop him."
"I don't understand."
"I'm saying that he probably made love to her, promised her all sorts of pleasures and rewards in return for one small favor-framing you. No it's up to you to fight fire with fire, to go him one better, to prove you're a better man to Patty Neilson, to get her to recant her story, to tell the truth."
"She's only a child," Ted protested. "Only fifteen."
"Physically she's a woman, more than most, and if it's her mental and emotional maturity you're worried about, forget it. You can't help her, but you must save yourself." She stepped close to him now, looking up into his face, the clean, sweet smell of her drifting into his nostrils, her expression open and inviting. "You must save yourself, Ted," she whispered. "If not for yourself, then do it for me."
His hands went to her waist, sliding under the robe without preliminary, finding the soft flesh, even as his mouth came down on hers. Her lips were alive under his, her tongue a fiery probe in his mouth. His hands moved onto the soft rise of her bottom, cupping, caressing, pulling her closer until her lush body was tightly joined with his own from knee to shoulder.
Her passion amazed him. Small moans sounded deep in her throat and her hands clutched at his arms and shoulders. Her belly writhed insistently against him, exciting him beyond recall. A weak trembling began in his knees, travelled quickly upwards even as he felt her begin to sink beneath him. As one, they collapsed to the floor.
Now the robe was fully parted; his hand went to her breast, a deliciously warm mound, firm and high, topped by a sweet, thrusting red crown. Mouth agape, he came down on her, sobbing his passion. She moaned loudly at the first touch of his lips, at the insistent stabbing of his tongue, twisting and rising to the demands of his flesh.
She raised herself to her elbows, gazed down at him with eyes barely open, the sight rousing her to new and greater frenzy.
"Darling," she breathed, falling back. "Darling, darling, darling."
A flood of desire washed over her and she felt herself lifted and twirled as if being tossed about by a giant juggler, spinning off into speckled darkness, floating at last to a cushiony rest in warm, moist mist of satisfaction.
Later, much later, she pecked him on the mouth as they stood in front of the apartment door. She wrinkled her nose at him and laughed. He smiled back, reluctant to leave. She read his mind.
"You must go, darling. It's the only chance you have. Find Patty. Do whatever you must to get at the truth."
He gazed at her admiringly. "You're a remarkable woman, Edith. Very few women would suggest what you're suggesting to a man they just loved."
"When it's over," she said quietly, "you'll come back to me. I know that now. What happened between us was only a beginning. Patty Neilson will never change that." She pushed him toward the door. "Now get out of here, before I change my mind."
THIRTEEN
Ted decided to use the direct approach with Patty Neilson.
"This is Ted Harrison," he began, over the phone.
"Oh." There was a momentary pause. "What is it?"
"I wanted to see you, Patty."
"What for?" she said suspiciously.
He laughed reassuringly. "Listen, Patty. There's no hard feelings, at least not on my part. You did what you did because you had to, I guess. But that's over now. I'm finished at the school and I'll be leaving town soon. There's nothing for me here. But I remembered you once said you kind of liked me and I decided there was no reason for me to leave with any unfinished business. I was hoping you and I could go somewhere and have a couple of drinks. You do drink?"
"Sure, I drink." He could almost hear her thinking. "How do I know you're on the level?"
"What have you got to lose? You can always cut out."
There was a smile in her voice when she answered. "That's right. Okay. I'll meet you. Where?"
He mentioned an intersection. "Will twenty minutes be time enough?"
"I'll be there."
He hung up and exhaled. It was done. He glanced at his watch. He decided to drive over to the rendezvous and wait there. He didn't want to take a chance on missing her. He left the phone booth and walked to his car. He didn't see Choo-choo scrounged down in his car a hundred yards away, hidden in the dark shadows of a large oak tree. Nor did he notice when the other car slid into motion and trailed after him, lights extinguished. He was too involved in thinking ahead, planning what he would do, what he would say.
Patty showed up five minutes early. She climbed into the front seat next to Ted and smiled tentatively, her eyes wary.
"I'm still not sure about you," she began. He smiled with what he hoped was reassurance. "Stop worrying. I really wanted to see you. No tricks."
"I wish I could believe that."
Ted took a deep breath, leaned toward her and kissed her firmly on the mouth. Her lips were tense beneath his own, her body stiff to his touch. He pushed his tongue between her lips, forced her teeth apart, probed her sweet young mouth. He felt the lips go soft, the body curve toward him, her tongue come throbbingly alive. He slid one hand onto her bosom. She wore no bra and yet her breasts stood firm and hard, the largest he had ever known. What a magnificent animal she was, he thought, removing his mouth from hers.
"I know a roadhouse on the other side of town," he said. "How would you like a couple of drinks?"
She nodded happily. "Will they give us a hard time, about me being too young?"
He started the car. "Don't worry about it. Not at this place."
The roadhouse was virtually unoccupied. A couple of men were drinking beer at the bar and a middle-aged couple were in a booth. Ted steered Patty toward the last booth against the far wall, a dim cubicle that offered a maximum amount of security.
"What would you like?" he asked.
"Scotch."
He ordered, toasted her silently, and threw off his drink. He ordered two more and began to make small talk. This was the hard part, he decided. Ingratiating himself, making her relax, trust him. He reached back for every sophomoric joke and story of his college days. Soon she was giggling like the schoolgirl she was, her eyes showing the effects of the Scotch.
"I like you, Teddy," she said finally, leaning across the table. "You're cute. Real cute."
"How would you like to be alone with me? Now?"
Her smile widened and he noticed that she had a dimple in each cheek. In the soft yellow light, the harshness of her make-up was softened, and she seemed like nothing more than a remarkably appealing girl with provocative eyes and a sensual mouth.
"I'd like that." Her voice was low and husky. She rolled her tongue slowly around her open mouth and Ted watched, fascinated.
"Come on," he said, rising, suddenly anxious to be alone with her, anxious to taste her again, to feel her young body against his own.
Back in the car, she curled up beside him, head resting on his shoulder.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
He looked at her blankly. "I don't know," he said. "I hadn't thought about it."
She giggled and squeezed his thigh. "Let's go to the beach. That's where all the kids go. It'll be nice there now."
"The beach it is."
He wheeled the car onto the highway and stepped down on the gas pedal. He concentrated on his driving, aware of a lightness in his head, a swirling alcoholic mist. He knew he should plan his attack, know exactly what he was going to say, phrase every question so as to insure the desired response. But it was no use. His mind refused to function, except for one overriding idea, to again embrace Patty Neilson, to experience her warm softness, to enjoy her flesh, her passion.
Patty directed him to the same secluded spot on the beach that she had shared with Lenny, sure that no one would bother them there. He braked the car to a stop.
"I guess you've been here before," he said pointedly.
She laughed. "A couple of times. Are you jealous, Teddy? Do you mind if I call you Teddy?" . He reached for her. "Under the circumstances, I guess you can call me anything."
She went limp in his grasp. He gazed down at her face, guileless and expectantly waiting. In the darkness he could hear her breathing, a passionate counterpoint to the pounding surf.
"I've had it for you for a long time, Teddy," she murmured. "Every time I'd see you around school I'd wonder what it would be like to be with you."
He struggled to remember why he was there, why he was holding this child in his arms, why he was about to make love to her. His brain refused to function clearly. He was aware of her hands, one on his hip, gently kneading his flesh, the other at his neck, fingering the shaggy hairline. She shifted position, her knee under his thigh, moving higher in hope of making contact.
"Teddy," she sighed. "Yes."
"Don't make me wait...."
He came down on her mouth hard, tongue stabbing hotly, pulling her close, forcing her backwards on the seat, body thumping against body. She was wild under him, a groaning, writhing mass of flesh, fingers digging deeply into his back. His hand went to her breasts, those huge, proud, lusty twin mounds, searching beneath the flimsy fabric of her blouse, skin tingling at the touch of burning young flesh, at the erect nipples jutting skyward. His mouth worked along her cheek, down her arched neck, onto one breast, finding the peak.
"Oh, baby, that's wonderful."
His hands had a mind of their own, searching under her skirt, above the stockings onto the warm, moist flesh, higher to the delicate lace of her panties, the fingers probing underneath.
"Listen, lover," Patty whispered. "It's so crowded. Let's go out on the beach. All right?"
Ted looked up, for a moment not aware of where he was. He fought to catch his breath, swallowed hard. "Yes," he said. "All right."
There was a blanket on the back seat. He carried it with him as he left the car, clambered down the short, steep bluff to the beach itself. The moon was low over the ocean casting its silver reflection across the swelling sea, lighting their way.
"Over here," Patty said, going first. "Behind these dunes."
The night air was cool on Ted's face and the few yards of sand they crossed gave his head time to clear. He peered ahead through the darkness at Patty's voluptuous form, wondering if he could go through with it now. He was afraid that to do so would be a cross he would bear all the rest of his life; already he was ashamed of his earlier lust. Yet the very thought of Patty's lush body sent a shiver of desire coursing through his loins; the effects of the alcohol had diminished, but his passion was no less.
"Here," she was saying. "Spread the blanket here."
A moment later, she flopped down, reaching for his hand, pulling him to her side.
"Patty," he began, "there's something I want to ask you...."
Her mouth was on his own, open and demanding. "Not now," she murmured. "Ask me later."
He felt her pulling him down, moving so that he was squarely on top of her, rotating her belly against him. He tried not to succumb, to withstand her appeal, to inhibit his response. It was no use. He felt himself sinking into a maw of raw lust, being drawn deeper and deeper into the pit of her precocious passion.
There was nothing between them now, as somehow all clothing seemed to be shoved aside, or pulled up, or dragged down. Now there was only scorching flesh against flesh, hands seeking and finding, exploring, rousing, guiding.
"Oh, daddy, baby. Go, go, go."
Suddenly all tension and maleness drained away. He felt limp and unfulfilled, weak, betrayed, useless. Ashamed. Half a man. They fell apart.
It took a little while before either of them became conscious of the cool night air on their skin.
"I'm cold," she said, not unkindly.
They sat up, adjusted their clothing. He lit a couple of cigarettes. They sat, not touching, clutching their own knees, smoking, each lost in private thoughts.
"You're pretty special," Patty murmured, at last, face averted, an unaccustomed note of shyness in her voice. "There'll be other times."
Ted said nothing. Was this, he wondered bitterly, part of the enlightened teacher-student relationship? He asked himself with sudden insight who was the teacher in this situation, and who was the student.
"Patty...."
"You don't have to say anything to me. I don't expect you to say anything. This was a terrific experience for me. No kidding. Really terrific." She laughed, and a shudder passed along his spine. "Before. Before we started, you said you wanted to ask me something. What was it?"
Ted dragged deeply, watching the coal glow in the dark. There was no point in wasting any more time. "I'm in terrible trouble, Patty."
"Trouble?"
"The charges you and your mother have brought against me."
She giggled. "You almost made them come true. Just relax. We've got plenty of time."
"Why did you lie about me?"
She turned her back to him. "I don't want to talk about it. Okay. I just don't want to talk about it."
He reached for her but she shrugged his hand away. "That night you came to my apartment, you rang Mrs. McMillan's bell deliberately, didn't you?"
Her voice was harsh and icy. "What if I did?"
"And all that talk about reading ... that was just talk, nothing more."
"That's right. I don't give a damn about reading your lousy books."
"And that day those boys were beating up Artie Hillstrom. That was Lenny Gordon, wasn't it? And that was you standing guard for them."
She leaped to her feet. "I want to go back! Take me back now. I don't want to talk to you any more."
"Lenny Gordon put you up to this, didn't he?"
She flipped her cigarette straight at him. It bounced off his ear. He stood up slowly, seeing the hate in her face, hearing it in her voice.
"You brought me here to pump me, didn't you?" She spat out the words. "You tried to work on me, only you're not man enough to do it right. You couldn't even follow through. Lenny never has that trouble. Lenny always finishes what he starts. He's twice the man you are."
He stepped toward her, grasped her arm roughly. "Tell me the truth. Gordon put you up to this. Admit it."
"Yes!" she screamed. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. But it won't do you any good!" She yanked herself free of him, backing off, face contorted, body bent as if in pain. "I'll never admit it to anyone. Never. You're going to go to jail. You're going to pay for this. Yes, Lenny planned it all, but it'll never do you any good to know it."
"She's right, teacher," came a new voice. Ted whirled to see Lenny Gordon advancing toward him across the sand, a length of 2x4 in one hand. And he was not alone. Already three of his friends had circled around to cut off Ted's only avenues of escape, coming at him from four converging points. "How was she, teacher? Not a bad lay! I know. So does just about every other swinger at school. Patty's sort of a mascot." Lenny stopped no more than ten feet away. "You shouldn't have gone to work on Patty, teacher. That's not cricket. And you got her to talk. That's not good either."
"I'd never admit it to anyone else, Lenny. It won't do him any good to know." There was genuine fear in her rising tones.
"You can't get away with this, Gordon," Ted said, his mind turning over rapidly.
Lenny laughed. "Hear what the teacher says, boys? We can't get away with it, he says. Well, I say we can. I say there's going to be nobody around to know who finished you off, teacher, except Patty, and we'll make certain she won't talk either."
"Lenny, nooo!" the girl wailed, sinking to her knees.
"Are you ready, teacher?" Lenny said between gritted teeth. "Because this is where you get it-and good!"
Lenny's words inspired a moment of pinpoint clarity in Ted's thinking, and he understood all the whys and the hows of what passed, understood, too, that the boy intended to murder him, intended also to murder Patty. There would be no evidence to point to him, for none of his cronies would squeal; instead, the crime would be blamed upon person or persons unknown and Ted's imaginged guilt would be perpetuated for all time. Only Edith would know the truth, and even she might not be certain.
Ted glanced around quickly. Each of the four youths was advancing deliberately. Lenny had his 2x4 cocked, ready to deliver a stunning blow; another boy held a deadly switchblade knife; the other two came empty-handed.
Ted stood rooted to the sand, unable to retreat, with no place to hide, seeking a way out. The boy with the knife, Choo-choo, was closest now, no more than five feet away, crouching low, a toothy grin on his ferret face, knife reaching. The time for thinking was past.
In one motion, Ted pivoted, hurling himself forward, hands open, fingers poised to grab. The would-be knifer flinched at the sudden charge, then snarled and came on again. It was too late. That instant of hesitation, of fear, cost him. The blade nicked out, slashing at Ted's lean middle, a gleam of steel in the moonlight.
The tall teacher danced to one side on his toes much as a torero sidesteps a bull, then with no lost motion his left arm slashed downward, the side of his open hand, stiff and hard, struck sharply against the boy's wrist, deflecting the knife thrust. As if triggered by that defensive blow, Ted's right hand arched through the night, a deadly judo chop that landed just under the left ear of the knifer. He dropped without a sound to the sand, an inert lump.
Ted allowed his momentum to carry him forward in the direction in which he was moving, and three long strides carried him out of the square of danger Lenny and his friends had thrown up.
"Stop him! Don't let him get away!" It was Lenny who shrilled out the warning, but he might have saved his breath, for even as the words burst out of his mouth Ted had hooked back to face his assailants, began advancing toward them.
"You've seen what I can do," Ted rasped, his voice tight and piercing, all warmth and softness gone. "With only three of you left, the edge is all mine. So I tell you what I'll do-I'll accept your surrender now before any of you get hurt."
Lenny cursed. "Don't listen to him! It's all talk. Let's get him this time."
Ted's back was to the ocean now. For a moment he thought of abandoning this sandy battlefield, of plunging into the surf and swimming for the horizon. He knew from experience that few people could keep pace with him on a long-distance swim; surely these boys wouldn't be able to. Then, later, when he returned, he could seek them out, one by one. But the sight of Patty sobbing on the sand ended that idea; he couldn't abandon her to Lenny's savage instincts.
The three boys were moving toward him in a line, some five yards separating each of them. Ted took one step forward, pointed dramatically at the boy on one flank.
"You! You're the next one! Are you ready?"
The boy, a husky with a thick neck and bulky shoulders, hesitated, glanced at his companions. "Lenny...?" he muttered uncertainly.
"Don't pay attention to him. He was lucky before. This time we'll get him. We've got to finish him off!"
Ted recognized the husky boy as a defensive tackle on the Dorset High football team. He was a bull of a man with fantastic strength. If he ever got a hold on Ted it would be over. He filled his lungs with air and charged directly at the big boy.
"Don't let him get away!" Lenny cried. "Get him!"
Ted saw the tackle crouch low instinctively, arms outspread, poised as if to launch himself at an enemy ball carrier. This was a game Ted knew well, knew its strengths and weaknesses. It would have been easy to avoid the boy, his solidly planted feet limiting his mobility. That wasn't what Ted wanted. Instead, he kept coming, saw the boy lower his head, drive forward blindly, the way he might charge through another team. At that moment, Ted put on the brakes and with no lost motion swung his right foot in a long, deadly kick. The point of his heavy brogue caught the big tackle on the point of his jaw. The crack of bone splintered the night; another of Lenny's pals was finished.
But the momentum of the tackle's charge carried him into Ted, bowled him over, sent him spinning on the sand even as the boy lay moaning in pain himself.
"Now!" Lenny screamed. "Let's get him now!"
Ted continued his roll, turning until one knee hit the sand and he was able to push off, come erect, feet under him. He came up as Lenny swung the 2x4, catching a glimpse of it, twisting so that the blow glanced off his left shoulder. A bolt of pain tore through his arm. He grunted and thrust himself forward, tossing a looping right-hand punch which caught Lenny on the ear, sent him reeling backward in the darkness. Then something hit Ted from behind and down he went.
He landed on his shoulder and rolled, the only thing that saved him from the vicious kick swung at his head by the fourth boy. Ted scrambled backwards as the boy advanced, swearing. Again the foot lashed out and this time Ted's hands caught it, twisted hard, tossing the boy. Ted was at him, hand flashing twice. The boy went limp.
He looked up. Lenny stood ten yards away, arms hanging loosely at his side.
"Look what I've got, teacher."
The knife reflected moonlight.
"Drop it, Lenny."
"I'm going to kill you, teacher."
Ted came off the sand slowly, waiting for the charge he knew would come. Lenny began to circle slowly to his right, the knife poised to strike. From the way he held it, Ted knew that his thrust would start low, swinging up toward his guts. He decided not to wait for Lenny to make his move, instead advancing toward him.
They were no more than six feet apart when Lenny charged, the blade flashing forward. Ted raised his left arm, hoping to deflect the knife. Lenny outsmarted him. Suddenly, he changed directions, sidestepped, hooked the blade in a vicious sidearm slash. There was no avoiding the stabbing point. Ted felt the blade find its mark, dig in, scrape ribs, drag up along his side.
He sprang back, aware of the warm dampness spreading across his middle. He wondered how deeply the knife had cut.
"How did that feel, teacher?" Lenny spat out. "Now I'm going to finish you once and for all. You'll cause me no more trouble."
For a suspended moment they faced each other on the sand, the breakers pounding, shadows shifting weirdly as cloud formations drifted across the yellow moon, two thinking animals intent only upon each other, survival their solitary thought.
Lenny shot forward with a snarl, knife extended. Ted sidestepped, thrust out a foot. Lenny went tumbling, came up spitting sand and curses, the knife still in his hand. Even as Ted charged, Lenny, crouched low, came on to meet him, steel-first. The blade flashed a split second after Ted launched his kick. Lenny's scream of agony sundered the night air, the sound of manhood crushed, of a battle lost, of hate unfulfilled. Patty, still sobbing, looked up.
It was over.
FOURTEEN
The intern appraised the bandage of Ted Harrison's ribs with frank admiration. He wished the chief-of-staff at the hospital could see it, see" how efficient he was under pressure. He sighed. No sense in daydreaming, he told himself; somehow his best work was always done on ambulance service, away from the coldly appraising eyes of his superiors.
"You're okay now, mister," he said, straightening up.
"Thanks," Ted said, slipping on his blood-stained shirt.
The intern started out. "You ought to check in at the hospital tomorrow or the next day. Have that looked at."
"I'll do that."
The intern nodded and left. The police sergeant watched him go with no change of exprssion. "Did it hurt when you got cut?" he asked Ted with mild professional interest.
Ted smiled thinly. "Some." He put on his jacket. "Any reason for me to hang around here any longer?"
The sergeant raised his thick brows in surprise. "The chief said for you to wait. He wants to talk to you."
Ted sat down and lit a cigarette. He wanted very much to stretch out and close his eyes. He felt weak and weary. The door to the small room opened and a burly man in a black raincoat and a black felt hat entered, his jowly face glum. Behind him came Dr. Littleton and Henry Gordon, Leonard's father. Ted closed his eyes and sought to summon up an extra measure of strength for what he was certain would come.
"Scram," the chief snarled to the sergeant, who left without a murmur. The chief pulled up a chair and straddled it, resting his jutting jaw on his hands. He studied Ted with relish.
"How'd you do it?" he said suddenly. "You don't look like you got meat enough on your bones to manhandle anybody, let alone four husky high school kids."
"Is there any reason why I have to remain here now?" Ted replied.
"Yeah," the chief said. "Because I ain't finished with you yet. When I tell you, you can go you can go. Not until." He extracted a huge square of flaming red cotton from his pocket and blew his nose noisily. "I'm getting a cold, dammit. It'll last two weeks, fourteen days, not a minute less. I hate colds." He stuffed the red square away. "Tell me again what happened."
"Again?"
"Again."
"I was on the beach with the girl, trying to get her to tell the truth about me...."
"Making love to her, you mean," Henry Gordon broke in angrily.
"Mr. Gordon," the chief wheezed. "Please. This is my investigation."
"Did you see what he did to my son?" The chief turned back to Ted. "Go on."
"These boys came out of the darkness. I don't know how they knew I was there."
"One of them had been following you all evening, the little ratty-looking one, waiting for a chance to jump you. He kept phoning in until you settled down on the beach. You made it easy for them."
Ted shrugged. "That's all there is to it. They came at me, said they were going to kill me and the girl. I fought back."
"It's all a lie," Henry Gordon shouted. "My boy denies it all. I'll get the best lawyers...."
The chief twisted around in his seat. "Mr. Gordon, you are an important man in this town and I'd accommodate you if I could. But the charge is attempted murder." He stood up, his huge bulk imposing and implacable. "That's an unsquashable charge. Now either shut up or get out! Go on, Mr. Harrison."
"That's all, really. I sent the girl to call the police while I stood guard over them. The rest you know."
The chief nodded, his jowls jiggling. "WelL you can-go home if you want. Drop by tomorrow morning so we can get you to sign a statement. The district attorney will want to talk to you, I'm sure." He waddled to the door. "Come on, Mr. Gordon. There's nothing for you here." Reluctantly, Gordon followed, shoulders slumped, a worried, puzzled look on his handsome face.
Ted could sense his confusion. He couldn't comprehend the sequence of events that had brought them all together in this place in such a fashion. Where, the father was asking himself, had his son gone wrong? Hadn't they given him everything he wanted? The best of everything? He would search his own life, his own frame of reference, and though the answer existed there, would fail to find it, for he measured life in terms of things, tangible items that could be touched and seen, and Lenny had had them all.
His mind was encased in a dense, impenetrable fog that refused to allow him to recognize the truth.
Ted waited until the chief closed the door behind him before speaking to Dr. Littleton. "Excuse me for not rising," he began, "but I'm not feeling as strong as I might."
"Of course." The principal sat in the chair vacated by the police chief. For a moment neither of them spoke, then Dr. Littleton cleared his throat. "I owe you an apology, Ted. I should have known better than to suspect you of statutory rape. The girl's admitted the truth, that it never happened, that she lied to please Leonard."
Ted reached back to recapture the feeling he had had on the beach, the excitement of his mouth on Patty's mouth, his hand on her firm, young flesh, the desire in his loins. He knew that he had wanted to continue making love to her, to fully possess her in every way possible for a man to possess a woman. What then had stopped him? The difference in their ages? Perhaps. His position as her teacher? Again perhaps. He wanted to believe that it was some ingrained sense of decency, of propriety, that had caused his body to make it impossible for them to consummate what had been started. A wry smile touched his mouth. Perhaps his body was smarter than his head.
"It's all over, doctor," he said mildly. "There's nothing more to talk about."
"Your class will be waiting for you at school when you feel strong enough to return," Dr. Littleton said.
"I won't be returning," Ted said. "Not to Dorset High. It's all over for me here. I'll be moving on."
Dr. Littleton stood up. "Don't do anything foolish, my boy. Carol asked me to tell you that she was sorry, that she wanted you to phone her right away. She would have come here herself, but we both agreed that a police station...."
Ted rose. "I understand, doctor. I won't be phoning Carol. That, too, is finished."
Dr. Littleton paled and his mouth tightened. Silently, the two men moved out of the room, past the front desk of the station house and out into the cool night air.
"Can I drop you someplace?" Dr. Littleton said.
"Thank you, no, I have my car."
The principal stopped. "These charges, Ted. Against those boys. Since you insist on leaving Dorset anyway, why press them? Why not let things ride? I believe these youngsters have learned their lesson. What is the point in sending them to prison, or reform school? Why bring adverse publicity and scandal on the town and on the school? If you were to refuse to sign a complaint...."
There was no mistaking the implication of Dr. Littleton's words. Ted gazed levelly at the older man. He wanted to get away from him, to relax, have a drink, rest, yet he felt a powerful compulsion to answer, to explain his position.
"You and Henry Gordon," Ted began carefully. "What do you mean?"
"The two of you represent to me all the forces at work to make kids like Leonard and Patty and the others act as they do."
"Are you holding me responsible?" Dr. Littleton's voice was larded with indignation. "How dare you!"
"Look at you. Both of you. Prepared to excuse or ignore whatever those, young savages do. All you and Henry Gordon care about is not rocking the boat. You threaten and wheedle and promise and bribe. Between the two of you, not a single strand of morality exists. No wonder the youth are no better. You preach pompous sermons at them, telling them how to act, but you bear living testimony with your every act to the hypocrisy of your words. Protect the reputation of the town! Protect the school! For what? So it can give sanctuary to a generation without morals, without standards, with a sure instinct for feeding its own hungers at the expense of others? Not me, doctor. We pay for everything in this world. For everything. And these boys have to learn the limits of their freedom. We all deserve to be punished for our wrongdoings. It's the very least we deserve. It's what those kids want. How else will they know we care about them, and that we're worthy of their respect?"
Dr. Littleton watched the younger man climb into his car, drive off into the night, frightened by the picture of himself he had just been forced to look at. Tomorrow, he told himself, tomorrow he would think about it. But not tonight.
Edith had been waiting anxiously for some news, yet when Ted arrived she admitted him without a word. She saw the blood on his shirt, but made no comment. She saw the deep ruts slicing from the corners of his mouth, the dark hollows supporting his eyes, the slump of his shoulders. She went to the sideboard and filled a shot glass with Scotch, handed it to him. He thanked her silently, threw it off. She motioned to the couch.
"Stretch out. I'll get you another drink."
He removed his jacket before lying down, kicked off his shoes, dropped his head back and exhaled audibly.
"Is it all over now?" She sat next to him, holding the glass, waiting for him to request the drink.
"All over."
"Everything all right? For you, I mean."
His eyes rolled open, and though weary, there was a hint of a smile in them. She saw them flicker down from her face, aware that the short, nylon negligee hid none of her charms, seeing his eyes linger at her breasts, travel downward past her gently protruding belly, to the dark shadow that was indeed the gateway of life. She felt warm and beautiful under his perusal.
He reached for the glass, downed the liquor, opened his arms to her. She went forward, careful to hold her full weight off his wound. The first kiss was gentle.
"You're weak," she murmured into his mouth. "In the morning...."
"Now. Right now."
His head was buried between her breasts, the soft swelling flesh muffling his words.
"Oh, yes, darling," she said, knowing she could not wait either. All at once a clear, cold question pierced the warm mist of her passion. "That girl," she said, with forced calmness. "Patty Neilson. I suppose you had to make love to her. What was it like for you? Did you enjoy her? Was she good for you?"
He remembered vividly the feel of Patty, comparing her flesh with Edith's, her breasts with Edith's, the driving tempo of her needs, the musky smell of her, the bottomless well of her passion. His mouth was at the pink peak of Edith's breast.
"There's never been another woman like you."
"Tell me about her."
His hands searched between her thighs. "There's nothing to tell. Nothing happened. Nothing ever could happen. It was you I kept thinking about, all the time. You I wanted. You I'll always want."
A smile flickered across her face and her mouth sought his, her lips demandingly active, her tongue darting about like a moist serpent. He felt himself respond, rise to her womanliness, her beauty; yet a far corner of his brain was alive with a vivid image of Patty Neilson, an exciting, lusty memory.
