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Teen-Age Tramp ....(105k)    by William Johnston

SECOND BRIDE

"I'm a woman now," Bobbie murmured. "A real woman, and you did it, Dan darling." He kissed her gently. Then, holding her away from him, he gazed at her in wonder. Actually, she was not yet a woman, no matter what she thought. She was half child, half woman. And that's the way he wanted her because she made him feel young, made his forty-year-old blood leap through his veins. Suddenly, as he took her in his arms again, the door swung open and his wife stood in the doorway. "I knew it," Kate said sickly. "I knew it but I didn't want to believe it." There was nothing Dan could say, no excuse he could give. Kate was his wife, yes; but Bobbie was his life, and he had no intention of giving her up.

AUTHOR'S PROFILE

William Johnston was born in Lincoln, Illinois, and worked at various times as an actor, a radio newscaster and disc jockey, and a publicist before becoming the owner of an advertising agency. During World War II he was a gunner in the Naval Air Corps and saw action in Asia. He is the author of a previous novel entitled THE MARRIAGE CAGE.

1

Dan Morgan was a big man-tall, thick through the chest, solid in the thighs-and so the cast on his leg, which caused him to hobble as he crossed the living room toward the front door of the apartment, made him appear more disabled than he actually was. He had broken the leg a few months earlier in a tumble down the marble stairs at Holymount, the girls' school where he was assistant professor of history. The leg was healed now and the cast was due to be removed this very day.

When he reached the door, Dan opened the peephole and squinted anxiously down the corridor toward the apartment at the far end. Behind him, a light breeze through the half-open window rustled a page of the Times on the coffee table. Startled, he whipped around, thinking he had been caught peeping. Then, finding himself still alone in the living room, his face colored guiltily.

Angry at himself, Dan turned from the door. "Kate!" he yelled. "Kate! You'll miss your train."

His wife's response, from the rear of the apartment, was edgy. "All right. I'm putting on my face. It takes time these days."

Dan squirmed his shoulders at his wife's inference that creeping old age was delaying her at the make-up mirror. He took it as a barb at himself, even though he knew it was not meant that way.

Dan Morgan had become supersensitive to all reference to age. He was thirty-nine, just a step away from forty, and, to his own mind, his life was a sorry failure. Thirty-nine was not old for a man who had achieved something even if it were only personal financial security. But to be nearly forty and not have a single scalp on your belt-there was no point to the past, no hope for the future. Life was nothing but existence.

Frustrated, Dan pounded a fist into a palm. Damned if he would die a failure. Somehow, he would make a mark for himself.

He listened for Kate's footsteps in the hallway, and heard nothing. Surreptitiously, he opened the peephole again and peered out. Still there was no sign of Bobbie. Apparently he had missed her. And it was his wife's fault for dawdling in the bathroom.

Dan closed the peephole. "Kate!" he called out irritably.

"All right, all right."

Dan pressed his hands to his face, rubbing the overnight stubble. He still had a firm jawline, and that pleased him. He knew that he was still handsome; perhaps more so now than when he was younger, for there was a touch of gray at his temples to add dignity. So, it certainly wasn't a lack of looks that had kept him from finding his place in life. It was something beyond his comprehension. Dan shook his head perplexedly and slumped back across the room to the couch and dropped down and listlessly picked up the Times.

Kate came wandering into the living room, yawning, dangling her purse from slender fingers, trying to squash a pillbox hat onto her dark curls. She was wearing a light-blue linen suit and dark-blue slippers. Kate had kept her looks, too. Her body was still slim and hard and boyish. She wore her hair short, and, because of the curls that seemed to have a mind of their own, it always looked a bit mussed. But her elfin face and large dark eyes kept the observer from noticing.

"Don't forget," Kate said, "you're due at the doctor's at one."

"I'm fully aware of that. Hadn't you better run?" Kate fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her purse. "Are you trying to shoo me? What goes on here while I'm in the city slaving? Orgies? How do you manage it in that plaster legging?" She began searching in the havoc of her purse for her lighter. "God knows you haven't been able to manage any orgies with me," she added sourly.

Dan's eyes narrowed. "Next you'll accuse me of breaking my leg on purpose to avoid sex."

Kate studied him, lighting her cigarette. "No," she said. "No more than I would accuse you of feigning all those backaches before you broke your leg."

"All right, fine, that's settled then-you don't suspect me of subterfuge."

Kate dropped her lighter back into her purse. "Yes, I suppose that was what I was trying to say."

Dan tapped the crystal of his watch. "It's ten after."

Kate still made no move to go. "I had a crazy dream last night," she said. "I dreamed the doctor took the cast off your leg and it was still broken. Do you suppose that's Freudian?"

"What kind of a roundabout crack is that?"

"Just playing amateur analyst. I'm hoping for a vast change in our relationship when that cast comes off. Perhaps my subconscious is preparing me for a disappointment."

"Do you have to be prepared for that? Aren't you used to being disappointed in me? Anyone as capable and talented as you would be bound to be disappointed in an ordinary man."

Kate arched an eyebrow. "Man?"

Dan's hands tightened into fists, crumpling the edges of the newspaper.

"I'm sorry," Kate said, irritated at herself. She went to the coffee table and put out her cigarette in the ash tray. "It slipped out. You know how bitchy we bitches are when we're sexually frustrated."

Dan folded the paper. "Are you going to insist on missing your train?" he asked, sharply.

"You used to laugh when I called myself a bitch."

"That was before you were a successful lady editor."

"I'm still not quite that."

"All right, so I don't know how to not quite laugh. Let's drop it, shall we?" He tossed the newspaper onto the coffee table, and sat, glowering.

Kate sighed. She turned and headed for the door. "Don't forget about the coming-out party for your leg. I'll pick up the champagne."

"We can't afford champagne."

Kate opened the door and faced back toward him. "Maybe you can't afford it, but I can," she said. "And try to pull yourself up out of the grumps, for Lord's sake. I think Jake is coming out."

"With his luggage, I presume."

"His what?"

"Isn't he moving in with us this trip?"

"Dan, it's been a month-a month at least-since Jake was here last. You like Jake. Why do you say things like that?"

"Is that why we have him underfoot all the time, because I like him? Sorry, I thought it was because you can't bear to put out an old flame."

Anger sparked in Kate's dark eyes. "Dan, Jake is my friend and my boss. That's a pretty darned fortunate combination. If it weren't for Jake, we wouldn't-"

"We wouldn't live as well as we do," Dan finished for her, biting off the words. "That's what you were going to say, isn't it? Go on, tell me I'm living off Jake Dennis."

Kate's whole body slumped wearily. "See you this evening," she murmured.

The instant the door closed behind her, Dan shoved himself eagerly to his feet and stumped across the room. At the peephole again, he peered out excitedly, his heart pounding. He saw Kate step aboard the elevator, and the pressure was relieved a bit. One obstacle was out of the way. Now, if he were only just a mite lucky.

A few seconds later, Bobbie Cass emerged from the apartment at the far end of the corridor. Dan grinned, his pulse raced. He had not missed her after all.

Bobbie was wearing the pale yellow cotton that pressed so intimately to her figure. As always when he saw her this way, for the first time in the day, Dan experienced a deep, disturbing hunger for her.

He let her reach the elevator before he opened his own door and stepped out and hobbled toward her. She smiled and waited, holding open the elevator door. This was the timing that Dan strived for each morning. It was the way it had begun.

Now Dan recalled that first meeting. He had come out of his apartment-the first day he was allowed out on his injured leg-and Bobbie had been at the elevator, about to enter, and she had waited for him. He observed her only superficially at first. She was merely another teen-ager; no longer a child, not quite a woman.

Then, in the elevator, standing across from her, he inspected her more closely, noting the honey-yellow hair that fell softly to her shoulders, her solemn expression, the teasing pout of her lips, the tininess of her waist that made her girl's breasts seem almost a woman's.

The relationship might have ended there if she had not spoken to him, after giving him a swift, calculating look of appraisal.

"I could never fall in love with a man who was shorter than me," she said, smiling wistfully, as if it were a real problem.

Dan decided that she was at least half-serious, and that amused him. "You probably won't be required to," he replied. "As far as I know, there's no law on it yet."

"I meant Josephine and Napoleon," she explained. "We're studying Napoleon. Not Josephine, though. I found out about her in a comic book. You're the history professor at Holymount, aren't you?"

"Assistant professor. How did you know?"

"The super told me. He likes to tell me things. He didn't much like telling me about you, though. He thinks I have a crush on you."

Dan felt his face grow warm. "The super doesn't sound like the sort you ought to be associating with," he said.

"You're right. He's always wanting me to sit on his lap. I guess he thinks I'm dumb."

It was quite apparent to Dan by then why the super wanted her to sit on his lap. There was a sensuous eagerness about her; the way she stood, tensing slightly forward, the moistness of her just barely parted lips.

They left the building together and Bobbie walked along beside him, jabbering. Dan learned that she was a high school junior, intended to become an airline hostess when the kooky school authorities eventually let her out of the dungeon, and that history was her most gawd-awful subject.

They traveled three blocks together, to the bus stop, then Bobbie halted and Dan went on. He left her with the vague offer to help her with her history if she ever felt in dire need of assistance; although he admitted to her that he found history, as taught in the public schools, somewhat gawd-awful himself.

Dan had expected her to stop by the apartment that very day after school. It seemed completely reasonable to him that the super was correct, that she did have a crush on him. He amused himself a number of times during the day by visioning himself warding off her precocious advances. In these reveries he sometimes cast himself as the understanding and sympathetic father, and sometimes as the worldly, jaded older man.

Dan had still not had the opportunity to play either role. She did not stop by that first day, and she had yet to enter his apartment, even though their relationship had grown progressively more intimate.

Since that first meeting, Dan had escorted her each morning to the bus stop. They had begun to hold hands in the elevator. Once, when he had said something amusing, she had pressed his hand between her breasts as she laughed. And when she stopped laughing, she kept the-hand there for another moment, smiling teasingly at him.

Their conversations on the way to the bus stop became more personal. They talked no more about history, or school or her future-only about themselves and the present.

"I dreamed about you last night," Bobbie said, one morning.

"Again? Has it happened before?"

"Lots. Do you dream about me?"

"I daydream."

"I night-dream. It's night in my dreams, I mean. Do you know what we do?"

Dan grinned. "No, what do we do?"

Bobbie tossed her head, smiling impishly. "Someday I'll tell you. Do you sleep in the raw?"

"Sometimes."

"I do. I feel free that way. I like to stretch out, all naked. It's great. Especially when you first get in bed. You feel like you want to just root around and do things. Does your wife sleep raw?"

"No. As a matter-of-fact, no."

"I would, if I were her. I might even spend the whole day naked, if I were her. Would you like that-if I were her?"

Dan laughed. But only to cover up a trembling, not because he thought it was funny. "I would insist on it," he said.

There was pain as well as pleasure in the relationship, however. As Dan drew nearer to Bobbie he sensed that the already existing gap between himself and Kate was growing wider. He began to be pinched by guilt. Each morning when he returned from walking Bobbie to the bus stop, he would swear that it was the last time. But finally he came to realize that he could not resist the temptation of Bobbie.

And in self-defense, he convinced himself that he was not deserting Kate, that she was driving' him away by her constant belittling of him. After that it was easy to push guilt aside.

Bobbie held out a hand now as Dan approached her. "I was late," she said. "But you were late, too."

"Some business about a party tonight," Dan replied, taking the hand. "A coming-out party for my leg. The cast comes off today."

They stepped into the elevator and the door closed and the car began descending.

"A big party?"

"No. Just my wife and a friend. A friend of my wife's, that is. He's the editor of her magazine. The top editor."

"Are they secretly in love?" This thought seemed to especially delight her and she squeezed his hand.

"I wouldn't know," Dan said drily. "We don't discuss love, Kate and I. We do, a hell of a lot of gabbing about the manifestations of love, but very little about the actual subject itself."

"I suppose that means something."

"It's complicated," Dan replied. He had had enough of the matter for one day. "How long until school is out?"

"Couple of days."

The elevator halted and Bobbie took her hand away. As they moved through the lobby, she asked, "Why don't you invite me to "your party?"

"Because you wouldn't enjoy it. I'm not myself with-" he changed the thought, "-with anyone but you." They stepped out into the sunlight. "And Jake Dennis-that's Kate's friend-Jake's a bore. He's a roaring success. And you know what they're like."

"No. I don't know any," Bobbie replied. "I could talk to your wife."

"About editing? Kate's single topic these days is the magazine. You may not be aware of it, but the continued existence of civilization depends on whether or not Chic magazine increases its circulation."

Bobbie giggled and hugged Dan's arm. "I'd rather talk about you," she said. "I think you're the most gorgeous man I ever met. You could be in the movies if you wanted to, I'll bet."

Dan laughed. "Tab Hunter's stand-in?"

Bobbie pouted. "Why do you always laugh? Do you think I'm a child or something?"

"No," Dan replied seriously. "I don't think of you as a child at all, Bobbie. I once did. But not any more. I think of you as a woman."

"I guess that's good," Bobbie replied, not so certain. "I feel like a woman when I'm with you. Not completely yet, but maybe someday completely. Only I never see you except in the morning like this. Why don't you invite me to the party?"

"Bobbie, dear, I can't. But, look, you've never been to my place. Why don't you stop in today after school? We could have a party of our own. Will you do that?"

"Maybe. Would you-" Bobbie suddenly leaned forward and peered past Dan toward the street. She tightened her hold on his arm.

Dan glanced that way curiously, and saw a green, late model Chevrolet sedan crawling along the curb beside them. Hanging out the window on the driver's side was a boy about Bobbie's age. He was brawny and pug-faced and sneering.

"Hey, broad," the boy called out to Bobbie. "Hop in. I'm going your way."

Dan halted. Anger flared up in him.

"No, Dan, don't," Bobbie pleaded. "I know him. That's Eddie. He-" She sought a further means of identifying him. "He plays football. At school."

Dan's anger subsided now that he knew the boy was a friend of Bobbie's. He smiled, trying to be pleasant.

The car stopped. Eddie grinned snottily. "You taking your granddaddy for a walk?"

"Go on. I'm busy," Bobbie snapped.

Eddie cupped an ear. "You say you're dizzy?" He cackled loudly at his own joke.

Dan and Bobbie moved forward again, and the car crept along beside them.

"Don't pay any attention," Bobbie urged, gripping Dan's arm fiercely. "Just keep looking ahead."

"Why don't you love him up?" Eddie hooted from the car.

Dan forced his temper down. It would not do to become involved in a brawl with a schoolboy.

"Give him a smooch," Eddie called mockingly.

"Maybe I will!" Bobbie lashed back at him.

Suddenly the engine of the car roared and the Chevrolet shot ahead, belching exhaust, and went screaming around the corner.

"What a jerk," Bobbie grumbled.

Dan was still tense. "Who is he?" he asked.

"Eddie Norris. You know the Norrises. They run all those stores where you get stuff cheap."

"Discount stores?"

"Sure. They've got them all over. They're rich, I guess. Though I don't know how. When you sell stuff cheap, how do you get rich?"

"Volume," Dan smiled. "Is Eddie your boy friend? He acts as if he were."

"I've been out with him. But that's no big deal, so has every other girl in school. He's a big shot. You know, he has a car and all the money he wants and that football stuff. All the girls go out with him because they think they can get him to go steady."

"But he resists, of course."

"Sure. Why not? He doesn't have to. The only reason to go steady is if you can't get a lot of dates. Eddie gets a date whenever he wants. He gets anything he wants-or he takes it."

"He takes what?"

Bobbie shrugged. "Anything. He takes cars, for one thing. Isn't that crazy? He's got a car of his own, but he takes other people's. He takes them and drives them around. It's crazy."

"There's also a law against it."

"Sure, but Eddie's dad gets it fixed up. It's easy, I guess. On account of football. Eddie was All-State last year. When he gets caught, it gets fixed up. That's why all the girls want to go steady with him. How many kids can steal cars and get away with it?"

Dan sighed. "The hero image has changed considerably since I was your age," he said.

Bobbie stopped and Dan realized that they had reached the bus stop.

"You won't forget-after school?" He smiled.

"I won't forget." Then, all of a sudden, she reached up and pulled his face down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I promise," she whispered.

Dan had a compelling urge to slip his arms around her.

But, at the same moment, he became aware of the other youngsters at the bus stop, and the fat, middle-aged man at the near-by newsstand.

"Bobbie," Dan began huskily. He was interrupted by a jolt from behind, and was thrown forward against Bobbie.

"Hey, gimp, get off your roller skates," a young, taunting, male voice said from behind.

"Eddie, don't," Bobbie scolded.

Dan righted himself and turned to face the boy. He saw now why Eddie would be adept at football. He was tall and big-boned, and looked as broad as a tank. He was dressed in an orange sport shirt, yellow corduroys and yellow buckskins, and was flexing his heavy shoulders, as if setting himself for an attack.

"Shaky in the knees." Eddie grinned nastily.

Dan planted himself. He knew it would not do to turn his back on this boy.

The other youngsters began to form the walls of an arena. The fat man, who had been at the newsstand, now stood at the outer rim of the circle.

"Shove off, gimp," Eddie slurred, "before I break your leg."

That got a howl from the gallery.

Eddie raised ham-like fists. "I told you, gimp-shove. Bobbie's my broad, got that?"

"I'm not!" Bobbie spat.

Now Dan understood. Eddie had to destroy the competition, and to his simple mind that meant destroying the competitor. But understanding did not help. Dan could not turn tail, even though he knew it would be wise to do so. He could not run because he felt like a boy himself, responding to basic emotions. He had to make a stand, for Bobbie's sake.

Eddie advanced a step. "You keep away from my broad, granddaddy. You come waltzing around here again, and you'll get double what you're going to get now.

The gallery whooped.

Dan stepped back and felt an iron pole against his spine, the post of a no-parking sign. He cautioned himself not to panic. Eddie was as big as he was. And Dan's leg was a handicap. Easy.

Eddie's open hand shot out suddenly and caught Dan sharply across the cheek. Eddie danced back, grinning. "Bite, granddaddy? Did it bite?"

The sting went deeper than Dan's cheek. It sparked fire in his abdomen. He hurled himself forward, lashing out, and felt his fists dig into solid meat. But the cast was a drag on him, and, as Eddie retreated, Dan stumbled, and then he could do no more than hang on. And Eddie had his turn.

He hammered at Dan's back, at his neck. Dan flipped over and sprawled, face up, on the sidewalk. The gallery cheered. Eddie kicked out. Dan rolled away. A kick landed in Dan's ribs and a corkscrew of pain twisted through him. A buckskin came stamping down toward his face. Dan threw up his arms. But the shoe did not land.

Dan heard Eddie shriek. He looked up and saw Bobbie flailing at the boy, cutting at him with her nails. Now Eddie had to use his arms for protection. But that was a mistake. Bobbie's teeth sank into the flesh of his forearm.

Then a young voice sounded an alarm. "Cops!"

Dan raised up, and, almost a block away, saw a patrolman running toward them. But, closer, he saw the bus.

Eddie dragged himself loose from Bobbie and went scurrying off, headed, Dan supposed, for his car.

Bobbie bent down to Dan. "After school," she whispered.

The door of the bus wheezed open. The gallery, Bobbie now a part of it, swept aboard the bus, elbowing, shoving. The door wheezed shut and the bus roared away.

The patrolman came trotting up, aware that he was too late. "What happened?" he demanded, helping Dan up.

"Nothing, nothing," Dan assured him. "A little accident. One of the boys tripped me. He didn't mean it."

The fat man, now back at the newsstand, laughed.

"You know the kid's name?" the patrolman asked, suspiciously.

Dan busied himself with brushing his clothes. "I don't even know what he looked like," he answered. "I didn't see him. There were a number of youngsters. It might have been any one of them."

"What do you mean, any one of them? You said it was a boy."

"All right, any one of the boys."

The patrolman went over to the fat man. "What do you know about this?" he asked testily.

"If the victim don't know, how should I know?" Dan heard the fat man reply.

"You were laughing. What was that about?"

"It a funny world," the fat man replied.

The patrolman snorted and returned to Dan. "You all right?"

"Fine, fine," Dan told him.

"You still don't know who did it?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"Yeah? Okay, the hell with it." The patrolman moved on down the street, obviously dissatisfied.

Dan hobbled off in the other direction. He felt the eyes of the fat man on him. He wished there were a convenient corner to turn, or that he had a coat collar to turn up.

2

Eddie Norris was waiting at the entrance of Cornwall High School when the bus arrived and the students piled out. He sauntered up to Bobbie and took her elbow and strolled along beside her. "What the hell was the idea of the bit with the fangs?" he demanded.

"I don't like my friends getting beat up, that's the idea."

"So? I don't like my dames messing around." They headed up the mountain of cement steps. "I'm not your dame," Bobbie snapped. "Listen, baby, you're my dame till I tell you it's quits."

"How come you don't act like it unless I go out with somebody else? You think I'm just going to hang around, waiting for you to wag your little finger at me?"

"You got it," Eddie replied. "That's exactly what I think. I like what you got, baby. And when I want it, I want it. Eddie Norris don't get in line."

"Maybe it'd do you good for a change."

"I don't intend to find out. You got it straight about granddaddy? No more."

Bobbie tossed her head, smiling. "He's having a party tonight."

"You're not going."

"Yeah? What am I supposed to do with a dead night then?"

Eddie slapped her playfully on the buttocks. "It won't be dead, baby. I'll pick you up."

They reached the top of the steps and entered the building.

"I'll think about it," Bobbie said.

"You better think hard. Because when I come by, if you're not there, I'm going looking for you."

"Where are we going?"

"Around."

"Boy, same old grind. Why don't you ever take me to a place? Like a night club or someplace."

"Maybe I will. Why not?" He slipped an arm around her waist. "Come on down to my locker, where we can have a little shelter," he said, his fingers caressing her hip.

Bobbie frowned. "Just for a minute. I got to get to class. What night club are we going to?"

"We'll figure it out later," Eddie grinned as they moved on down the corridor.

When Dan returned to the apartment he poured himself a second cup of coffee and settled down on the couch. Now began the hours of waiting.

The broken leg had saved him from the necessity of conducting his classes over the past few months; Dr. Jamison, the head of the History Department at Holymount, had brought in a substitute to finish out the term.

At first, Dan had had something to occupy him, his book on the German dramatist, Karl Leberecht Immermann. In the first month of freedom from teaching, he had completed the manuscript and sent it off to a publisher. Since then he had waited, watching the mails for some response. But none had yet been forthcoming. And the longer the publisher held the manuscript, the greater became Dan's doubts.

Over the rim of the coffee sup, Dan contemplated the room he was occupying. It was his sanctuary. On the far wall, framing the doorway, were the bookcases. Even from the distance of some twenty feet, he could distinguish the backs of his favorite volumes. Side by side were Roper's Sir Thomas More and Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson.

On the next shelf down began the works of Andre Maurois, Lytton Strachey and Gamaliel Bradford. It was Dan's dream that the shelves would someday contain a number of Daniel Morgans. The study of Karl Immermann was to be the first. But now he wondered if that dream would ever flower.

Dan was comforted, however, as his gaze moved on and he viewed the quiet hues of the room. There was value in the Tiess Magsino furniture, the Andorra rugs, the Andree Ruellan and Sigmund Menkes paintings. Not merely financial value-though they were expensive enough-but the value that exudes from design and workmanship and genius that have withstood the shellings of time and the caprice of fashion.

Kate would have preferred copies to originals-and a healthier bank account. It was unfortunate that they could not have both-the originals and more money in the bank. But Dan's salary as an assistant professor was unimpressive, and Kate's, at Chic, was not a great deal larger.

Prospects? Yes, there were prospects of better times. But they depended on Kate. It was un-likely that Dan would ever be more than an assistant professor. Kate could very well climb high into the executive rigging at Chic. And so, in a sense, the prospects were dependent on keeping Jake Dennis' good will.

Jake Dennis and Chic. Dan pronounced the names aloud and they tasted bitter. The magazine was now a fabulous success. A few years earlier it had been slipping, falling toward oblivion. Then Jake Dennis had been brought in as editor. Jake Dennis, the wonder boy. Younger than Dan by two or three years.

Jake's formula was giant type, color photography and articles that were splashed yellow with sensationalism (Can A Woman Love Her Rapist?). Jake and the circulation of Chic rose together. Up, up, up. And where Jake went, Kate went. He brought her into the magazine with him when he took over. She had been a writer on a woman's fashion trade magazine. He made her an assistant articles editor at Chic. And now she was crowding the articles editor, and Jake was right behind her, urging her on.

Was Jake in love with Kate? Bobbie had asked, and Dan hadn't known for sure. Possibly. Jake knew Kate before Dan ever met her. In fact, it had been assumed by their friends that they would marry. Then Dan came along.

Dan was an assistant professor at New York University at the time. A friend had invited him to tag along to a party in the Village. Dan went, not knowing whose party it was or the purpose of it. He had been there only a few minutes when he spotted the girl with the mussed curls and the large, dark eyes. She was standing with two others, laughing, and Dan wedged himself into the conversation. Then there were just Dan and Kate. They talked, and laughed at everything they said. And Dan saw wonders in Kate's dark eyes.

"Why don't we go someplace," he suggested.

"Why not?"

They went to a bar, a quiet place, and talked more and found every thought hilarious. Then they walked, ambling along the by then silent streets of the Village.

"Whose party was that?" Dan asked.

"Mine."

Dan stopped and stared at her. "And your apartment?"

"My birthday and my apartment."

They howled and held each other, rocking with laughter. Three weeks later they were married. Jake Dennis had not seemed important then. Now Jake was back.

Don got up and took his coffee cup to the kitchen and put it in the sink. Thirty-nine and still an assistant professor. And he would have risen no further in education at forty or forty-five or fifty. Because his place was not in education. What was his place?

Dan knew the one place he did not belong: here, in Cornwall, Connecticut, spoon-feeding pablum history to the daughters of the rich. But what else was there for him? Waiting. Waiting for a decision on the manuscript. Waiting for Jake Dennis to make Kate a success.

Waiting for Bobbie.

Dan was at the doctor's on schedule at one, and finally got to see him at two. The doctor was a harried man in his sixties. He glanced up as Dan entered the examining room and asked him how his liver was behaving. Dan tapped the cast on his leg in reply.

The breaking-out was soon over with, and Dan walked back toward the apartment building. His leg was stiff and it itched. When he put his foot down he had the sensation that it would not reach the ground. But he much preferred the itch to the cast. His whole body felt better.

Dan stopped at the mailbox in the lobby. When he opened the small metal door he found a notice from the mailman that there was a package in the office for him. He hurried to the super's quarters and presented the slip to the girl who was in charge of rentals. She found his package among a stack of others. In the upper left-hand corner was the name of the publisher to whom Dan had sent the manuscript on Karl Immermann.

Back in the apartment, Dan clawed the tape from the ends of the package. Then the manuscript was in his hands-and the letter from the publisher. It was a form letter, with space at the bottom for a signature, but no signature. It began with "We regret...." Dan crumpled the letter and threw it angrily away. He dropped down on the couch and drew an arm across his forehead, wiping off the sweat of anticipation and disappointment. His leg began to throb. He kicked out at the coffee table. Frustration boiled and bubbled in him. Where was his escape?

After a while, Dan got up and went to the kitchen and poured himself a shot of Scotch. It left an iodine coating in his mouth.

Bobbie.

He needed Bobbie now. Perhaps she wouldn't come. The hallway kept ringing with false footsteps. There would be the click of heels or the shuffle of slippers and he would dash to the peephole. But it was never Bobbie. He went back to the kitchen for another bracer of Scotch. As he was pouring, the doorbell rang.

Bobbie was standing there, smiling her teasing smile, when he opened the door. She tossed her head and the honey waves swayed with the movement. Dan stepped back, grinning foolishly.

"You're not hurt?" she said, entering. The yellow cotton was not so fresh now and it clung more tenaciously to her thighs and breasts.

"Hurt? Oh, that business at the bus stop." He shook his head. "No, I wasn't hurt. I made a bad show of it, though, didn't I? My leg got in the way."

"You did fine. Eddie is very strong. And quick, too." She glanced around the room. "What about the party?"

"Oh ... yes." Dan pulled at his chin. "I'm afraid I haven't made any elaborate preparations. I went to the doctor to get my cast removed." He lifted his leg. "See?"

She looked. "Is it all healed and everything now?"

"It aches a bit, but otherwise it's all right." He gestured into the living room. "Sit down. I'll see what I can rustle up. I think we have some Cokes."

"I don't want any Cokes," Bobbie said, moving to a chair. "Cokes aren't a party." She sat down and crossed her legs and her skirt slipped up so that Dan could see the creamy white underside of her long, slender legs. "I want some gin."

Dan raised an eyebrow. "Gin? You mean ... like a martini?"

"Is that the same?"

"Approximately. The way I make them, anyway."

"Okay, that."

Dan could see the story in the papers: Professor plies teen-ager with gin, girl's parents charge rape. Silly thought. He went to the kitchen to prepare the drinks.

"Do you write, too?" Bobbie called out, evidently seeing the rejected manuscript on the coffee table.

"I just finished a book."

"About love?"

"About Karl Immermann, a German dramatist. He had a dandy time for himself satirizing the decadence of his age."

There was silence for a few minutes after that. Dan measured out the vermouth.

"Are these real pictures?" Bobbie asked.

"Real? Originals, you mean? Yes. Which one are you looking at?"

"The two guys. An old guy and a young guy."

"That's the Ruellan. An American. A New Yorker, as a matter-of-fact." He dropped ice cubes into the pitcher and stirred gently, then poured and returned to the living room carrying the drinks.

Bobbie was standing before the Sigmund Menkes painting. She took the drink that Dan offered her without looking at him.

"Menkes," Dan said. "He was born in Poland, but he considered himself an American painter."

"Why do painters always paint fruit?"

Dan chuckled. "Fascination with food. Stems from hungry days, I suppose." He tasted his drink and found it pleasing. "That fuss at the bus stop," he said. "What was that all about?"

Bobbie sipped and peered at him. "Eddie's jealous," she said. "He's got ideas about us, you and me."

"You've told him different, I hope."

"No." She moved away and trailed her fingers along the edge of the long table that was against one wall. "Maybe he's right, in a way. Do dreams count?"

Dan stared after her, at her narrow girl's shoulders, down to her small waist, at the gentle, summoning movement of her hips. "Yes," he murmured dimly, "dreams count sometimes."

Bobbie came to a stop at the window and stood looking out, sipping again at her drink. "You're crazy wild in my dreams," she said.

Dan came up behind her. "Did you stop at your apartment?" he asked. "On your way here, I mean. Do your parents know you're here?"

"I haven't got two full parents. Just a parent and a half. Fred's my stepfather."

"But do they know?"

"My mother doesn't know anything. Nothing but what she sees at the bottom of her bottles. Fred's away. He travels. He sells something. I don't know what any more. He gets jobs and loses them and gets them and loses them." She faced toward Dan. "Do you care if they know I'm here or not?"

"They might get the wrong idea."

Bobbie grinned. "Sure. They might. That would make them crazy mad. If they didn't get to watch, anyway." She tossed her head in the manner that had become so familiar. "You've got a jazzy place," she said, moving around and away from Dan. "Let's see the rest of it." She put her drink down on the long table and turned into the hallway that led to the back of the apartment.

Dan followed her leisurely, carrying his martini. "Fabulous hallway," he smiled. "Genuine walls, floor and ceiling. Pay particular attention to the light switches. Installed by nonunion electricians. You don't see much of that sort of thing any more."

Bobbie entered the bedroom.

Dan paused at the doorway. "The barracks," he announced brightly. "Spartan, isn't it? We're not much for doodads in the bedchamber."

Bobbie stopped at the bed. "Which side is hers?" she asked.

"The other side."

Bobbie circled the foot of the bed and lay down on Kate's side, with her arms at her sides and her eyes closed. "Come here," she murmured.

Dan hesitated. He knew that if he went to the bed he was lost. But he was lost anyway. And there was the feeling that by losing himself in Bobbie he might find himself.

Her small breasts were standing up firmly against the cotton dress. The skirt was limp between her thighs. Dan put his drink down on the night table. He lay down beside Bobbie and her hand slipped into his. Dan felt his whole body grow warm with desire. But he must not make the first move; he must know that she wanted him.

"Talk to me," Bobbie whispered huskily. "What do I do to you? Tell me?"

Dan started to turn to her, but a sudden pressure of her hand stopped him.

"No, talk to me." Her eyes were still closed. Her hips began to squirm in a slow, building rhythm. "Talk to me," she insisted. "About you and me."

"I need you, Bobbie. There's something missing in my life. I need you."

"No," she said, sharply. "Not that stuff. Talk about ... you know."

Emotion choked up in Dan and closed his throat.

Then Bobbie gently placed his hand on her and slowly began moving it along the silk-smooth flesh of her thigh. "Tell me about that," she breathed, excitedly. The increasing rhythm of her hips flowed through the hand to Dan and set him afire with its passion.

"Let me love you," he pleaded.

She released her hold on his hand and placed her own hands at her sides and slowly inched her skirt up toward her waist. "Do you really want me?" she whispered, teasingly.

"Bobbie ... Bobbie." Dan clutched the bedspread, forcing himself to wait for permission. It had to be that way.

"Here ... here," Bobbie moaned, taking his hand again and placing it on her. "Oh ... Dan ... do it ... please."

He ministered to her and she moaned and writhed "It's good ... good." Her hips began to rise and fall, synchronized with the pressure of his hand. "Do me ... do me. Dan ... sweet Dan," Wildly, she squirmed her hips, as if an agony had possessed her. Her words became groans. And Dan ached for her.

Then she suddenly gasped and lay still.

Dan tried to take her in his arms.

"No."

"You can't leave me this way."

"What do you want?" She said it teasingly.

"You're not a child any more, Bobbie. Don't act like one."

She looked at him coldly. "No, I'm not a child any more. Do you know who first put his hand on me? Fred. My loving stepfather, Fred. I was twelve." .

"I'm not him. And you're not twelve."

"I scratched his face," she said. "It was bleeding." Then she smiled softly. "But I didn't always scratch their faces."

Dan had suddenly had enough. Rage rose up in him. He yanked Bobbie to him and crushed his mouth down on her lips. She did not fight him. Holding her with one arm, so fiercely that she could hardly breathe, mauling her mouth, he tore at her clothes. Bobbie wrenched her head to the side. "Yes!" she gasped.

A frenzy took hold of Dan. He bit and gnawed at her, driven to an animal ferociousness by his desire.

"Bounce me!" Bobbie shrilled.

They flailed in the bed, locked together.

Then suddenly she twisted away, out from under him. His arms were empty and she was standing beside the bed. She whipped down her skirt and stood gloating at him. He grabbed for her, but she leaped nimbly away.

"Not today," she whispered throatily, her eyes flashing, mocking.

Then she ran.

Dan leaped up. He flew down the hallway. The front door slammed. He reached it and whipped it open. And came face to face with the super.

"Hey! What's going on here?" He was a toad of a man, and he stared at Dan with a nasty half-leer, half-snarl.

Beyond the super, Dan saw Bobbie reach the door of her apartment and disappear inside.

"Listen, what is this?" the super demanded.

Dan glared at him hard. "None of your damn business."

The super squinted, backing down.

Dan slammed the door in his face.

3

Dan was on the couch, slumped and dejected, holding a tumbler of Scotch and staring at the rejected maunscript on the coffee table when Kate came in with Jake Dennis. Jake was tall and lean, the build of a man who could and did wear Brooks Brothers clothes. He looked as if he had been created on Madison Avenue rather than born to a human mother. He had high cheekbones and hollow cheeks, and an easy, loose-limbed manner. Dan suspected that neither Jake's carefully brushed dark hair nor his temper had ever been ruffled.

But then Jake was sure of himself. Everything he had ever touched had turned to success, from the moment he took over the home furnishings section of the trade magazine on which he and Kate had previously worked, through his tour of duty with the Luce publications, to the struggle to massage life into the ailing Chic. Success sought Jake like a lover.

Jake spread his arms. "Chap! You're back in the kicking business."

Dan eyed him sourly.

Kate ran to Dan and lifted his trouser leg. "I like it," she announced. "We'll paint it green and hang it over the mantel."

Jake came up behind her and, slipping an arm around her waist, peered over her shoulder at the leg. "Doesn't look quite done," he said. "Pop it back into the oven for a few days, that's my advice."

Dan observed them drearily.

Kate straightened up and Jake's arm fell away from her. She lifted a bottle of champagne from the paper bag she was hugging. "A christening, that's what we'll have," she said, gaily. She waved the bottle at Dan. "Mumm's."

"I read labels," Dan replied, sharply.

"Don't worry about it. Jake bought it."

"How convenient to have a rich friend." Dan got up and took the bottle from Kate. "Shall we crack it? I've been on Scotch. Champagne ought to set me up just right. Either that or knock me out. Then you two can really have a party. Either way, you win." He glanced at Jake. "You're used to that, though, aren't you? I don't suppose it's any incentive any more."

Jake smiled. "Me senseth thou hast had a bad day. Leg?"

"No. I think it was the martini I had before the Scotches."

"Tell him," Kate said to Jake.

Jake shook his head. "Not until he breaks open that wine. I refuse to be the bearer of good tidings on an empty stomach."

Kate made shooing motions at Dan. "Hurry. He has good news for you."

"Sure," Dan said. "Dramatize it. Make it look big." He moved on toward the kitchen. "Make the news look big and the receiver look small."

"Grouch," Jake called after him, amiably.

Dan heard Kate go toward the rear of the apartment while he was in the kitchen. He got down the delicate-stemmed glasses and popped the champagne cork and poured.

Kate had not yet returned when he carried the drinks into the living room.

Jake lifted a glass from the tray and put it to his lips, then halted. "Have to wait for Kate."

"Here I am." She had combed her hair, but the curls were already beginning to twist themselves at odd angles. "To the unveiling or to the future?" Kate asked, taking a glass.

"Better make it to the leg," Dan said. "That's about as far into the future as I care to look."

"Not so," Kate smiled. She turned to Jake. "Tell him."

Jake dropped down into one of the chairs. He leaned a bit forward. "It's nothing definite, you understand, chap. But it might work out. At least, it's a lead." He adjusted himself on the edge of the seat. "There's a new magazine starting up. For history buffs. You know, the kind who dote on all that background guff-Pickett ... the Seven Days' Battles ... the whole bloody blah-blah works. Some biographical pieces, too, I understand. That's what made me think of you. Chap I know is putting the book together. In the dummy stage now. I told him you'd ring him up. Weininger is his name. Sam Weininger. Hell of a nice fellow."

Dan sat down at the end of the couch. He looked down into his drink. "Maybe I'll look into it," he said finally. "Maybe?" Kate squealed.

Jake laughed uneasily. "Apparently my tidings weren't as glad as I thought."

"Dan, this is exactly what you've wanted," Kate said. "It's a chance to eventually get out of teaching, to ... to...."

"Make a buck?" Dan suggested acidly.

"No, to do something that interests you. That's why you wrote your book, isn't it-to get out of teaching?"

Dan reached forward and picked up the rejected manuscript and let it drop again with a loud plop on the table. The meaning was plain enough.

"It came back," Kate groaned.

"Any ... uh, encouragement?" Jake asked.

"Oh, yes, sure. There was a nice note. It said, Dan Morgan, you're an ass if you think you have any talent. It said, we didn't even bother to take your manuscript out of the envelope, we could smell it through the wrapping. It said, if you do any more writing, please deliver it directly to the incinerator and eliminate the middle man."

"Form rejection, eh?"

"I think that's the term."

"Well, the publishing houses are all rather busy these days. Actually, one rejection doesn't mean ... an awful lot. Send it around some more, I say."

"I'll take it to your friend, Weininger, as an example of my talent."

"Dan," Kate soothed, "all writers are rejected. Especially your kind."

"Thank you. You put that quite well."

"You know what I mean. I mean biographers. I mean it's just not popular ... not in a ... well ... oh, hell you know what I mean."

"I'm sure it doesn't sell as well as, say, "Can A Woman Love Her Rapist?"

Kate went to the window, turning her back to the men. She was silent for a moment, then said, "I could use some more of this. The first one didn't seem to have any bubbles."

Dan took her glass and went to the kitchen.

"As a matter-of-fact," Jake mused, "that rapist story wasn't at all popular. And damned if I know why."

"Not enough women could identify with it," Kate said.

"I saw the first photos on the teen-age series today. That, I think, will sell for us. The photographer has a positive talent for lewdness. He's posed those kids so they're practically provocative, some of them. You know, the bit with the skirt pulled up, doing a ... what is it? A curtsy?"

In the kitchen, Dan's jaw tightened. He tipped the bottle and began pouring into Kate's glass.

"It's amazing," Jake went on, "the animal sex some of those kids project. Nabokov knew what he was writing about, I suppose. No, Lolita wasn't a teen-ager, was she? Same idea, though."

Dan put the bottle down and gripped the counter. If he kept his hands locked down, he wouldn't be able to smash Jake.

"Why are females so damned attractive when they're budding?" Jake wondered. "Do you suppose it's man's longing for purity? Some psychological business about cleansing himself with a virgin?"

"My guess is that it's a hell of a lot simpler," Kate replied. "Probably man's longing for a first-time lay."

"A fellow would have to be just a shade unbalanced to actually go through with a thing like that, don't you think?" Jake said. "Myself, I'll take the real thing."

Dan stomped out of the kitchen, past Kate and Jake, and stormed back to the bedroom. He got a jacket from the closet and slipped it on. He heard Kate call him.

He came back to the living room, raging.

"Dan, where are you going?" Kate's voice trembled.

"Out!" He headed for the door.

"Dan!"

He whipped open the door and turned back a second. "Out!-O-u-t-out, out, out!"

Kate stared, shocked, as the door slammed behind Dan. Then her hands went to her face and she began to sob.

Jake took her in his arms and held her tightly, stroking her hair. "That's right, cry," he said, softly. "Wash it out with tears."

The pain of all the months rose up in Kate. She remembered all the wounds that Dan had inflicted on her with his indifference, his moods when he would pace the apartment, scowling darkly, refusing to respond to her worried questions. That was the worst of it-his silences. She could not find out why he was so morose. Was it something she had done? How could she ever know if he refused to confide in her?

As Kate's mind grasped frantically for an answer, and found none, her sobs gradually subsided. She became aware of Jake's arms holding her, of his hand stroking her. She knew it was wrong to be held by him, even for comfort. But it had been so long since had felt a man against her, since she had been held securely, as a woman needs to be held. Just another moment, she thought, snuggling deeper into the nest of Jake's arms, just another moment.

"Better?" Jake asked.

"Some." Kate took in a deep breath. Her throat ached from the sobs. She shuddered and held tightly to Jake for another second, then forced herself away. "Where's my drink?" she asked.

Jake headed for the kitchen. "Danny boy was getting you a fresh one."

Kate lit a cigarette. "I'm sorry you had to get mixed up in this," she said.

"I didn't just get mixed up in it," Jake replied, returning with her drink. "I've been mixed up in it a long time. Ever since the first day I met you. You may have dropped me when you met Dan, but I kept bouncing. Hoping you'd snatch me up again, I suppose."

Kate shook her head. "No, Jake, don't. It's too easy. Scorned woman, another man's arms-it's all too-too much like Chic fiction."

"Don't knock it," Jake smiled. "It sells." He sat down. "What's bugging our boy?" he asked. "The minute I walked in I got the feeling he wanted to take a swing at me."

"It's not you. I don't know what it is. Perhaps me. This thing has been festering for almost a year. He's edgy, gloomy, gets into spells where he won't even speak to me." She sighed. "We haven't laughed together in all that time. We used to laugh at everything."

"That could be a bit tiresome, too, I'd think."

"It was fun. I thought he would be elated about your news tonight. Part of the trouble is his unhappiness with his work. He feels so useless, teaching sterilized history to those girls, who couldn't possibly care less."

"Ever occur to you that perhap he's afraid to tackle anything more challenging?"

"No, it hasn't occurred to me. And I don't believe it."

Jake shrugged. "Yes, I'm sure you see him as a very talented chap. That's the duty of wives. But maybe Dan has a better view of himself. A lot of men, you know, find themselves mired down in mediocre jobs, and wriggle to get out, and discover that they're not capable of anything better. Demoralizing, I would suspect." He pointed to the rejected manuscript. "Evidence like that mires a man deeper. And it is that-evidence. It's all well and good to make excuses, but a form rejection does have meaning-perhaps the meaning that Dan gave it."

Kate shook her head. "I can't believe it."

"Can't you? Dan believes it. He probably thinks you believe it. Are you sure you don't?"

Kate put her drink down. "Let's get out of here," she said, tightly. "Let's go out. O-u-t-out."

Colored lights, red, blues, yellows, blinked off and on in Dan's mind. A woman's husky, fuzzy voice pleaded with him: Don't smoke in bed. There were other sights and sounds. People, heads and shoulders, staring in the window at him. They were drinking. What were they doing outside the window drinking? And staring. Talking about him. They were outside, but their voices were inside. And the lights. Red, blue, yellow, blinking.

Then a swath of white wiped out all the other colors.

"You all right, buddy? You look like you're gonna drown."

Dan found the face at the pinnacle of the white swath. He remembered. The bartender. "You sick?"

Dan shook his head. Now it made sense. He had charged into this neighborhood bar after leaving the apartment. Drinking fast. Yes. He had wanted to numb his mind. "What am I drinking?" Dan asked, grimly.

"Scotch, straight."

"Another."

"You sure? You look sick."

"Another."

"Okay. That's what I'm here for, ain't I?" The bartender seemed sorry that this was his duty. He moved away and the window with the people staring in came back. And the lights blinking. Now Dan understood. Not a window. A mirror. And the people looking in, the reflection of his fellow barflies. The lights, the glancing images of neon sparkles on the bottles behind the bar. The woman's husky voice, of course, was from the juke box. Now she was a man, asking him how deep was the ocean. Deep, deep, deep, he thought. Bottomless.

The bartender put the fresh drink before him. He asked for payment.

Dan thought: I look like a man who might not be able to pay. I'm on the way down, and he knows it. Dan paid.

"In case you get sick," the bartender said, "is there anybody I ought to call?"

"The embalmer."

The bartender moved away again, and Dan was left with the mirror. He closed his eyes.

He began running down a long, endless corridor. His leg began to ache. Each time he came down on it, a blade of pain stabbed up through him. Why was he running? He was chasing something, someone.

Bobbie.

He caught a glimpse of her up ahead. A flash of yellow. Her yellow cotton dress. She disappeared. But he kept running. She was somewhere up ahead. Somewhere. He would die if he didn't catch her. He had to hold her. It was the only thing that would save him from death.

Again, the darting, lithe figure in yellow. Now laughter floating back to him in broken waves. Laughter and Not today, Dan darling! Dan ran faster. His lungs began to pain. He sucked for air.

Laughter behind him. He whirled. There she was. Endless corridor in that direction, too. And Bobbie-naked now, waiting. Hollow, high-pitched laughter split the emptiness, scraping the walls, dancing off the floor and ceiling.

Run.

She waited, standing, slim legs apart, mocking. He grabbed for her. She turned to gin and flowed away.

"Look, guy, you've had it. You go home now-okay?"

The bartender was mopping up the drink that Dan had knocked over.

"Where's your telephone?"

"Over in the corner there. You want I should call for you?"

Dan shook his head. He lurched off the bar stool and stumbled across to the phone booth. He dragged the phone book out of its holder and opened it ... Casper. Casparelli. Cass, Cass, Alvin P. Cass, Charles W. Cass, Fred.

He returned the book to its niche, then maneuvered himself into the booth. He found a dime and dropped it into the slot and dialed. The buzzes began. Again and again and again. Insistent. Nagging.

Then a hollow click and a woman's voice, thick-tongued.

Dan asked for Bobbie.

"Who wants her? Whozis?" Muddy voice.

"A friend. Let me speak to Bobbie."

"Sh'ain't here. Whozis?"

Dan listened a moment, dumbly, as the voice repeated, like a drunken parrot. Then he hung up. He rested his head against the wall of the booth and closed his eyes.

The door of the booth opened. The white swath of bartender. "You okay, Mac?"

Dan stumbled out.

The bartender steered him toward the door. "You go home now. Sleep. Tomorrow, everything'll be roses again. Okay?"

Dan was outside.

Go home. Why not? Where else? Jake would be gone. Kate would be worried. Kate. Why did she belittle him? Scheming with Jake. Setting him up for Jake to knock him down.

Dan weaved into the lobby of the apartment building. The elevator was so far away. The elevator door was so heavy. Up. Down the corridor. Door. Key.

Dark.

"Kate!"

Silence. Lamp. Where was the lamp? Kate had moved it-another trick. There. Light.

Dan struggled down the hallway, hands flat on the walls, holding himself up. Sick. The taste of bile in his mouth. He found the bedroom light switch. Kate. No Kate. He began to fall, floating. How deep is the ocean? Bottomless. He landed, softly, and rested, unable to move, rested on the deep, black bottom of the sea.

Cornwall High School's athletic field was lighted so dimly that it might as well not have been lighted at all. The illumination came from one-hundred-watt bulbs, unshaded, undirected, atop high iron poles at each end of the field. Between the poles, and outside the high steel fence that enclosed the field, all was darkness.

Two cars were parked now along the fence, one abreast of the fifty-yard line, the other near the twenty. In the rear seat of the green Chevrolet, the car at the mid-stripe, Bobbie tugged at the hand Eddie was trying to force up under her thin cotton dress. She was wedged into a corner of the seat and Eddie's mouth was clamped savagely on hers.

Eddie suddenly broke away, frustrated, and slapped Bobbie sharply across the face.

She made no sound, not even a whimper; she was used to being slapped.

Eddie muttered and slumped back. He lit a cigarette.

Bobbie pushed herself up. "Some night club," she complained. "The same old routine. Boy, I should have known I couldn't trust you."

"Shut up."

Eddie smoked the cigarette halfway down, then flicked it out the open window. "Okay, what's the gimmick? How come you're all of a sudden a teaser? You never stopped me before."

"Maybe I can do better."

"That crumb I worked over? He didn't look to me like he could get out of bed, let alone get in."

"Maybe there's something else. Just because you've got that on your mind all the time, doesn't mean everybody has."

Eddie made a face. "No kidding? What's he got on his mind? Don't tell me you two haven't been playing in the hay."

"Take me home," Bobbie said, angrily. "From now on, that's all I want from you, just a ride home."

Eddie's eyes hardened. "You're going to get more than that, baby. A hell of a lot more." He grabbed her around the waist and yanked her to him and smashed his mouth down viciously against her lips.

Bobbie squirmed and got her arms in between them, trying to dig her way out. But Eddie's strength was too much for her. He held her, one arm around her neck, and snaked a hand up under her skirt. Bobbie kicked at him. She twisted out of his grip. "Damn! Bitch!"

He grabbed Bobbie by the ankles and tried to stretch her out on the seat.

She got a hold on the door handle and flipped herself over on her stomach.

"Cut that crap!" Eddie raged, prying her fingers loose. He forced her over on her back again.

Bobbie locked her legs together.

Eddie dug a knee in between her thighs and her legs suddenly parted. But she flipped over again, and this time clutched the seat. Eddie struggled with her.

"Bitch!" he screamed.

Bobbie held on. Then her hold slipped. She went to the floor and Eddie came crashing on top of her.

He shoved himself up, crouching over her on his knees. He began whipping her face with an open hand, cursing her.

Bobbie threw up her arms to protect her face. She whimpered as each blow fell, but did not cry out.

Eddie fell away, exhausted by his rage. "Don't you ever...." he gasped. "Don't you ever ... let that old guy ... near you. You hear?"

Only silence from Bobbie.

"Now ... now, you going to ... to treat me right?"

"Bastard!" Bobbie half-snarled, half-whimpered.

Eddie raised his hand again to strike her. But he knew it would be pointless. His arm dropped to his side. He struggled up, and, hunched over Bobbie, opened the car door. Then, falling back, he kicked out at her.

Bobbie scrambled out of the way of the flying buckskin, slithering out the-door. She landed on the cinders and rolled away. She heard the car door slam.

The Chevrolet's lights flashed on, illuminating a black foreign car a few yards away.

Bobbie was just getting to her feet when the engine of the Chevrolet coughed to life. She stood and watched it roar away. Hatred lit her eyes. She watched, resigned, until the car disappeared in the darkness. Then she brushed herself off and started walking in the opposite direction.

Jake squinted out the window of his black Jaguar after the green sedan that had just gunned past. "Great Hanover!" he grumbled. "I thought he was going to clip us."

Kate, in the seat beside him, giggled. "That's what you get for parking on a race track."

Jake pulled in his head. "I said to myself, 'Where could there be more privacy than in a school yard?' That's the way it was when I was a kid, anyway-after dark, that is. Well, times change. Where were we?"

Kate rested her head back against the seat. "God, I don't know-where were we? I've had too much to drink, Jake. We should have gone to a restaurant instead of a bar. My head's spinning. I don't know ... something about Dan."

"I was saying, damn it, that marrying Dan was a mistake. It happened too fast, Kate. You were in love with me, then-" he snapped his fingers-"you had a birthday and him, bam, boom, you marry the guy."

"The birthday didn't have anything to do with it. And I never said I loved you, Jake."

"You didn't have to say it. Christ, I know people. I can tell when a woman's in love. You loved me, damn it. Maybe part of your trouble with Dan is that you still love me."

Kate closed her eyes. He might be right. He was right about so many things. Perhaps she had loved him once, and loved him still. How could she tell? She thought she loved Dan. But now she wasn't sure. If she could be certain about the one, certain when she married Dan that she loved him, and now not sure, how could...? It was all a muddle. Dan? Jake?

Kate felt Jake's hand at the back of her head, caressing her hair again. I've had too much to drink, she thought. I should stop him. I'm a married woman. Love, honor and cherish. Am I married? I share an apartment with a man, but am I married to him? In bed he turns his back on me. That's part of marriage, too. Without all the parts there is no whole.

"Kate, how about this? Why don't you try living away from him for a while? A few months of separation might clear it up."

"He needs me."

"Are you sure? He has a strange way of showing it. Maybe you're fooling yourself to believe that. Perhaps you don't want to fail. You're a natural winner, Kate. You're like me in that way. If the marriage broke up, you'd consider it a personal failure. And you don't like failures. So you stick, making believe it's because he needs you." His arm circled Kate's shoulders. "That's no good, Kate. You'd be better off without it. It wouldn't be your failure, it would be Dan's."

Kate turned into his arms, hiding her face against his chest. "Everything sounds right, everything sounds wrong," she murmured. "I don't know."

Jake kissed the top of her head. "Kate, I'm the one who needs you. You belong to me, not Dan. You were mine at the first, you'll always be mine."

Kate thought: When he lost me, it was a failure for him. Does he really want me, or does he simply want to wipe out a failure?

She refused to think about it any more. She was being held in a man's arms, and that was what she desired most. To be held. To be made love to.

"Kate ... Kate, I adore you."

"Don't talk. Hold me."

Jake lifted her face. Gently, he pressed his lips to hers. The smoldering coals of Kate's passion caught fire. She mashed her lips against Jake's and her tongue darted like a fang. Jake's hands moving on her told her she was a woman. She had been so long in doubt.

Kate's fingers tore at her buttons and in an instant her blouse was open. Her tongue kept working feverishly. Jake's hands moved eagerly on her. She arched her back and unfastened her bra. Jake slipped the blouse down over her shoulders and buried his face between her hard-tipped naked breasts.

Kate's head lolled back, moans escaped from her throat. She felt herself slipping down, as if caught in quicksand, and she realized that she was offering herself to Jake. His hand found the nerve end of her long neglected passion and she trembled and groaned. Then the tension eased and she began twisting madly to Jake's touch.

Kate heard the car door open. Jake was turning her in the seat. She opened her eyes and saw the ceiling of the car.

"Help me, honey," Jake breathed.

She reached for him. The touch of him startled her. Her eyes opened wider, then the ceiling was closed off by Jake's form above her. She thought: I'm a married woman, in a parked car with a man who isn't my husband. I'm no better than a slut.

"Honey," Jake pleaded.

"No!" Kate screamed. She beat her fists againt Jake's chest. "No, Jake, no!" She began to sob hysterically.

Jake hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he left her.

Kate lay weeping alone for long minutes.

Jake stood outside the car, smoking.

Finally, Kate raised herself up and fastened her buttons and pulled down her skirt. She felt drained, as if she had just emerged from a long, arduous swim. She asked Jake for a cigarette. She didn't really want one; it was a peace gesture. He lit it and handed it to her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It was all wrong."

"It wasn't wrong. It was just too fast. You're not ready yet. But it ought to prove something to you. You're in love with me, not Dan."

"I don't know. You're so sure. I'm not."

Jake got in behind the wheel. "We'll work it out," he said. "We're natural-born winners, you and I, Kate." He started the engine and wheeled easily out of the school grounds. "Do you suppose Dan is home?"

"I don't know. You better not come up."

When Kate opened the door of the apartment and saw the light burning, she knew Dan had returned. She tiptoed back to the bedroom and found him sprawled across the bed, face down, still dressed. She touched him and he muttered incoherently.

The air in the bedroom was heavy with the odor of liquor. Kate sniffed Dan's breath and made a sour face. She went to the window and opened it wide, then returned to the bed and stood watching Dan breathe. He, at least, had only got drunk, she thought to herself. Consider how much greater her own transgression-or how much greater it might have been, anyway. Or was the intent equal to the deed?

Kate shook Dan. He groaned and turned over on his back. With considerable effort he forced his eyes open. "Morning?" he asked, fuzzily.

"No. It's still night. The night of your coming-out party, remember?"

Dan remembered. His eyes closed.

Kate shook him again. "Bedtime," she said. "Get out of your clothes, Dan."

""kay, 'kay."

Kate went into the bathroom and undressed and took a shower. How differently she had planned the evening. Dan, with his leg out of the cast, with no more excuse for avoiding her. She would find out for sure whether it was the cast or revulsion for her that kept him away.

And what had she found out? That Jake Dennis was still in love with her-or claimed to be, anyway. And that she so desired to be a woman to a man again that she had almost succumbed to the first opportunity.

Horrible, degrading night.

Kate put on the tops of her pajamas. She started to put on the shorts, but changed her mind. Carrying them, she returned to the bedroom.

Dan had not moved. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Dan."

He sighed. "Okay." He shoved himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, bleary-eyed, blind.

"Why don't you take a shower. You'll feel better."

"Yeah, okay." Dan got up and stumbled toward the bathroom. He had not even looked at her.

After a second or so, Kate heard the shower running. She went around to her side of the bed and dropped the shorts of her pajamas on a chair, then lay down on the bed with her hands locked behind her head, waiting.

Her thoughts returned to the episode in Jake's car. Had it happened because she had had too much to drink, or would it have happened even if she had been cold sober? It was easy to, blame it on alcohol. Jake was so sure she loved him. She admired him, she had to admit that. She could depend on Jake. He knew where he was going, and he would get there. And she could follow him there without ever having to worry about the possibility of defeat. But did she love him? She didn't know.

In the bathroom, Dan turned off the shower and got out and began drying himself. He thought about Kate in the bedroom. This was to be the night when he was to become a husband to her again. That was her idea, anyway. It did not occur to her that it was her own fault that he had not been a man to her for so long a time.

Well, damn it, he would be a man to her. If the bed were the only measurement she had for a man, then he would perform on her terms and measure up.

Dan dropped the towel and threw open the bathroom door into the bedroom.

Kate looked up, startled out of her reverie. She saw the determined set of Dan's jaw and she swelled suddenly with anticipation.

Dan fell across the bed and his arms went around Kate, dragging her to him. He began kissing her fiercely, and Kate responded passionately, clamping herself to him.

Kate thought: This is real, this is the way it was meant to be.

But different thoughts began to churn in Dan's mind. He remembered the form letter from the publisher, and the opening phrase, We regret ... A mocking voice began to whisper to him: Thirty-nine and still an assistant professor ... Snatches of earlier conversations with Kate: We can't afford champagne ... Maybe you can't, but I can.

He remembered past failures when he had tried to force himself to make love to Kate. He remembered the disappointment in her eyes.

Dan's hold on Kate began to loosen. His kisses became dry and indifferent.

Desperately, Kate ground her body against his. Frantically, she seized the initiative, sensing that she was losing him. "Dan ... please," she begged. She ripped open her pajama tops and pressed his lips to a breast. "Dan ... please try."

Dan thrashed loose and rolled away. He lay back. His mind grasped for an excuse. "Where were you tonight?" he snarled. "I can smell Jake on you."

Stunned, Kate clasped a hand to her mouth to smother a sob of guilt.

"Did he turn you down?" Dan rasped. "Is that why you're here?"

Kate turned over and pressed her face into her pillow.

"You've never loved me," Dan shouted. "It's always been Jake. I got Jake's leavings. That's right, isn't it?"

"No!" Kate screamed into the pillow.

Dan leaped out of bed and went to the chest and got out his pajamas. He put them on, then grabbed the spread from the bed and dragged it with him to the living room. There, on the couch, he smoked and stared into the darkness. He thought: She deserved to be punished. Look what she's done to me. I may never be a man again.

4

When Dan awakened the next morning he was surprised to find himself on the couch. Then he remembered and shuddered. He sat up and shook his head vigorously, clearing the mustiness from his brain. He ached all over. After a moment he got up and went to the bathroom. There were tissues with lipstick prints in the bowl, evidence that Kate had left for work.

In the kitchen there were more signs; a cereal bowl with corn flakes clinging to the rim, and the electric coffee maker still plugged in. Dan poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the dining table. Bobbie.

It was as if she had been hiding behind a corner of his mind and had suddenly stepped forward.

He had to see her again. There was no question about it, no weighing of pros and cons. He jumped up and ran to the door-but stopped, realizing suddenly that it was too late to intercept her on the way to school. He looked at his watch. It was a little after, ten. She would be in school by now. A whole day lost.

The telephone caught Dan's eye. He would phone her at school, say he was her stepfather, have her summoned to the phone, ask her to stop at the apartment on her way home.

Dan looked up the number of the high school and dialed it. It rang a number of times, too many times. Then a gruff male voice answered. Dan said he was Bobbie's stepfather, he had to speak to her right away.

"Isn't she home?"

"If she were home, would I be calling?"

"No school today. She should be home. Graduation and prom tonight. You better look into it, mister. No school today."

Dan dropped the phone into its cradle. She was lost to him. She was only a few yards away, probably, in her own apartment, but as good as lost to him. He couldn't call her apartment. He remembered making the call the night before, and talking to the suspicious, drunken-voiced woman.

He would have to wait. He would watch at the peephole until he saw her come out. He picked up his coffee cup and carried it to the door. The vigil began.

The tall, slim man who stepped off the elevator and became immediately framed in the peephole seemed familiar to Dan. He couldn't be sure because his vision had become blurred after nearly an hour and a half of off-and-on peering into the corridor.

The man moved briskly toward Dan's apartment, checking the numbers of the other doors as he made his way. Dan observed the proper walk, the Homburg, and realized that the man was Dr. Jamison, head of the history department at Holymount. He could now make out the rimless spectacles, the severe line of Jamison's lips.

Dan stepped back from the door and inspected himself. He was wearing slacks and a T-shirt and loafers. It was hardly the garb to greet Dr. Jamison in, but there was no time to change. And the professor should have phoned first.

The bell rang. Dan hesitated a second, then opened the door.

"Daniel, good morning," the professor said, stiffly. Dan stepped back. "Good morning, Doctor. I didn't expect you."

"No. I was in the neighborhood and I wanted to talk to you."

Dan waved the professor into the living room "I haven't picked up yet this morning," he apologized.

"Well, I won't keep you," Jamison said, easing into a chair. "I simply wanted to-ah, there, you have the cast off, eh?"

"Yesterday. Would' you like some coffee?"

"No, no thank you. No aftereffects? The leg, I mean."

"It itches a bit. Otherwise it's about as good as new."

"Fine. Well, I stopped by to confirm your intention to remain with us next year."

Why shouldn't I? Dan thought What other alternative do I have?

"I hadn't thought about making a decision right this minute," Dan said, looking away.

"Oh? I assume that it's been on your mind, though. The point is, Daniel, your substitute has worked out rather well. If you don't intend to sign up again, I would like to approach him."

Dan dropped into the chair facing Jamison. But he kept his eyes averted. "The fact is," he said, "I've had a number of offers. I don't want to make a snap decision."

Jamison smiled. "We have some competition for you, eh? Well, that's natural. There is a shortage."

And that would be the only reason anyone else would want me, wouldn't it? Dan thought. "The schools aren't exactly fighting over me," he said. "But there's a magazine after me to do some pieces. And I've just finished a book."

"I wasn't aware of that. Still the time is approaching to get the matter settled. We must sign up someone, either you or your substitute."

"I can't make a decision right now," Dan said, defensively. "I have to consider all the offers."

"That's only good sense, I suppose," Jamison replied, a bit irritably. "It doesn't take my problem into consideration, though. I have to get someone signed. I have to know now that when fall comes I will have an assistant. You're not considering me in this, Daniel."

Dan thought: Damn it, I'm the one who's not being considered. He got up, jamming his hands into his pockets. "I'll have to let you know," he said, sharply.

Jamison arose, too. "Since I am, in a way, technically obligated to sign you before I approach your substitute," he said, coldly, "I have to accept your terms. I'll give you a month, Daniel, to make your decision. I'm afraid that's as lenient as I can be."

"All right. I'll know by then."

Dr. Jamison went to the door. "I had hoped this would be a pleasant reunion," he said, opening it. Then, "My heavens !"

Dan saw Bobbie standing in the opening. She had evidently been about to ring the bell. She was dressed in brief shorts and a halter, and Dan could tell by Jamison's sudden stiffness that he did not approve.

Dan hurried up to them. "Doctor," he said, "this is a neighbor girl. Bobbie, this is Dr. Jamison, the head of our history department."

"How do you do," Jamison said, crisply.

Bobbie smiled.

"Bobbie stops by occasionally to ... to ask about my leg," Dan said.

"I see. Well, that's your business, of course."

"Yes," Dan said, tightly, "it is."

"Though I might suggest that caution is called for." He looked coolly at Bobbie. "For Daniel's sake," he said, "perhaps you ought to dress a bit more completely the next time you visit him. People naturally assume when they see...." He let the thought die.

"Sure," Bobbie smiled.

"For God's sake," Dan thundered. "What do you think is going on here, anyway?"

"It's not what I think that matters," Dr. Jamison replied. "It's what others might think. You must keep in mind, Daniel, that you are associated with Holymount. Holymount is a girls' school. The implication is clear enough, I believe."

Dan said to Bobbie, "Come in. Dr. Jamison is leaving."

Jamison's eyes opened wide. He stared steadily at Dan for an instant, then abruptly turned and stalked off down the corridor.

Dan shut the door and turned to face Bobbie. "Hi," she grinned.

She was teasing him again. Dan had had enough of it. He felt his body grow taut. Then he reached out for Bobbie and pulled her savagely into his arms. She gasped in surprise, but she did not fight. Dan felt her pressing herself to him. His fingers began working at the tie of her halter.

But then, playfully, she wrenched away, and, turning her back to Dan, moved on into the living room.

Dan stared after her, bewitched by the tantalyzing motion of her hips. "No more ... no more teasing," he breathed huskily.

"You didn't expect me back, did you?"

"Frankly, no."

She halted in the middle of the room and turned to face him. Her eyes were suddenly cloudy and heavy-lidded, her lips glistened with moistness. "I'm going to do whatever you want," she said. The sounds came from deep in her throat. "With you, and with nobody else any more."

She reached behind her back and an instant later the halter dropped to the floor. She arched her back and her breasts stood out firm, the nipples like hard, pink buds.

Dan's mouth had become dry. His heartbeats had quickened and he almost believed he could hear the staccato pounding. He moved toward her slowly, step by hesitant step, as if in a trance.

Bobbie unsnapped her shorts. She began wriggling them down. Her hips, then her thighs, creamy white, came into view, then the shorts were on the floor with the halter. She kicked off her slippers.

Dan was almost upon her.

"Get naked," she whispered, urgently.

Dan's fingers trembled on his belt buckle. She watched him, her tongue playing along her lips, as he stripped. She cupped her breasts and began massaging them rhythmically, and, to the same tempo, began revolving her luscious hips.

Then they came together in a wild, grasping embrace. Bobbie's tongue plunged ... plunged ... plunged. As one, they sank to the rug. Bobbie clutched Dan at the back of the neck and directed his mouth to a hard, young mound of flesh.

"Dan ... Dan, my love," she moaned.

Their lips met again, strongly, savagely. Bobbie's slim legs wrapped around Dan's waist. Dan's hands moved fiercely and frantically on her and as he touched the seats of passion she writhed and groaned.

Then Dan lost all awareness of reality. He was inhabiting a sweet dream. He was conscious only of a steady, pulsating rhythm, and blissful thrusts of sensuous pleasure.

He was a man, being a man.

Bobbie moaned with a violent rapture, telling him he was pleasing her as he answered the abandoned urges of her young body.

"Oh ... yes. Oh, Dan ... Dan, love ... love me!"

Then the tempo suddenly increased. The beat was the beat of an automatic hammer. Their bodies rammed together with frenzied violence, bringing them to an explosive, ecstatic peak of sensation that blotted out all thoughts of the world around them.

After a long, tense, blinding moment, Bobbie gasped and went limp in his arms. They lay exhausted, then, savoring the remembered pleasure of their love-making, Bobbie's arms locked around Dan's chest, one of her legs resting between his legs.

"It was just like in my dreams," she cooed. "It was the wildest."

Dan's fingers were caught in the honey gold of her hair. He kissed the soft, silky strands.

"I'm floating," Bobbie sighed, breathlessly.

Dan's body swelled with pride. His virility was no longer in doubt. He had not hesitated in making love to Bobbie, and he had satisfied her spectacularly. Now he was sure it had not been his fault when he failed with Kate. The blame was hers. If she had treated him like a man, he would have been a man to her.

Dan suddenly realized that Bobbie was talking to him. "What?" he asked.

She cuddled warmly against him. "I just said I'm going to the prom tonight."

"No." The word was said before he realized it, but he did not want it back. He did not want some child holding Bobbie in his arms. She belonged to him now.

"I'd rather be with you," she said. "Will you take me out?"

Dan wondered if he could. Suppose they were seen together?

"If you don't, I'll go to the prom ... with Eddie."

"No. I don't want you to see him again."

"How can I help it? I have to go out. I can't sit around that kooky apartment, in that gin stink. And I've got all summer. He's around. How can I help it?"

"All right, I'll take you out tonight."

She wriggled up on top of him. "Will you take me to a night club in the city?" she coaxed, excitedly.

"We'll have to go into the city. We can't be seen together around here." His arms went around her. "But we can't go to a night club. You're not old enough.

She squirmed against him. "Take that back."

"Not old enough to drink ... in a night club," Dan amended. His fingers drifted along the backs of her lovely legs, over her firm buttocks, across the small of her back. His touch set off a trembling in her.

Bobbie's mouth, wet and wanton, came down upon him. Her tongue speared between his teeth. Dan felt his sense of maleness surging again.

"Do me, love ... do me," she pleaded.

He rolled her over and again he was a man, a giant, a monarch.

Later, after the cooling off, they made themselves get up and shower. A while later they had lunch together in the apartment and made plans for the evening. They would meet at the train station at seven.

When Bobbie left, early in the afternoon, Dan watched her through the peephole as she moved down the corridor toward her own apartment. He felt that all that was important to him was going with her. He would not be alive again until he was with her once more.

5

Kate usually arrived home around six. That would leave Dan almost an hour with her before he was to meet Bobbie at the station, and meant that he would have to have a reason for going out.

He invented a number of excuses and tested them on himself for credibility. But none seemed plausible. In the end, he decided to leave the apartment before Kate arrived. He had little faith in his ability to lie to her. Even the thought of it made him nervous.

He dressed and left a little after five-thirty, leaving a brief note for Kate, saying simply that he was going out and would probably be late getting in. At least, that was the truth.

Dan went directly to the station. He sat in the waiting room, watching the trains to and from the city arrive and depart. After a while he became emeshed in the game of commuter-watching, and so he was startled when he suddenly realized that the female crossing the platform was his own wife.

Hidden from Kate's view in the waiting room, Dan observed her as she moved away from the station. In a few minutes she would be reading his note. He felt a sudden wave of sympathy for her. She deserved better than this. She had remained faithful to him, even though it was obvious that her respect for him had long ago disappeared.

Dan felt an urge to follow her, to catch up with her and take her hand and tell her that everything would be different from now on. But even as the impulse flared, it began to subside. Dan realized that it took more than intention to create change. There had to be will and hope. And these elements were missing.

As Kate moved further and further away, she also blurred in Dan's thoughts, and Bobbie moved in to take her place. His lips, drawn thin as he watched Kate, now curved upward at the corners. With Kate there was pain, with Bobbie there was only pleasure.

The object of Dan's thoughts arrived exactly on time. Dan saw her coming when she was a few yards away from the station. She was dressed in a simple white linen suit and hose and white pumps, and looked startlingly adult.

Dan met her at the door and took her hands and stepped back, inspecting her admiringly. She glowed under his appreciation.

"Good heavens, you're a woman!"

"I have been, since this afternoon."

"No regrets?"

"Only one. That it took so long to happen."

Dan purchased the tickets, then they went to the bench and sat down. They were the only ones in the waiting room, so they held hands.

"What did you tell your parents?" Dan asked.

"Nothing. Fred's out on a trip. I guess my mother thinks I'm going to the prom. She didn't ask." She squeezed his hand. "Did you pick out a night club?"

"No, not yet." He smiled. "But I don't think we'll have any trouble finding one."

"Don't you have to make a reservation of something?"

"Not this late in the season. Cafe society is on its way to Newport-or wherever it goes."

Bobbie seemed disappointed. "Won't we see anybody? Anybody famous, I mean?"

"There might be a stray starlet left over," Dan smiled. "But you'll have to do the pointing out. The last starlet I recall was Anne Sheridan. And I suppose she's progressed by now." Dan cocked an ear. "Train," he said.

They went out onto the platform and the train came hissing in. As they climbed aboard, Dan had the sudden, apprehensive feeling of being watched. He glanced back, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, and no one he recognized. Nevertheless, he urged Bobbie on, prodded by the sense of being observed.

Then, as they moved down the aisle, Dan saw, approaching from the opposite direction, the familar starched figure of Dr. Jamison. Jamison had not seen them, he was involved in choosing a seat.

Terror-stricken, Dan grabbed Bobbie's hand and wheeled her about and tugged her the other way, fleeing the car.

"Hey!" she squealed.

Dan towed her to the very end of the train, to the last seat in the last car. '

"What was all that about?" she demanded, irritably.

"Jamison," Dan whispered. "The man you met at the apartment today. The head of my department."

"Oh." She didn't seem to understand why that should upset him so. "Is he that important?"

"He might fire me if he got the wrong idea about you and me."

Bobbie giggled. "The truth, you mean?"

The reply was a shock to Dan. She was right. It was no longer a matter of people getting the wrong idea. Now he had to guard against their discovering the truth. He could no longer use innocence as a self-righteous shield. His involvement with Bobbie had become an actuality without his being intellectually aware of it. He had experienced it only physically. Now it was a total fact. He and Bobbie were lovers. She was a teen-ager, he was an older man. He could no longer tell himself, or anyone else, that his intentions were honorable and pretend that it was the truth.

Dan felt himself tremble with apprehension. This was the way it would be from now on. He would have the feeling of being constantly watched. He would have to be ever ready to run.

He had entered into Hell.

At that moment, Bobbie touched him, seeking his attention. He turned to her. She was smiling softly, concerned about his sudden pensiveness. The late sunlight through the window played on her golden hair, creating a fuzzy yellow haze to frame her lovely face.

II this be Hell, Dan thought, then spare me Heaven.

When the train arrived at Grand Central, Dan allowed Dr. Jamison time to depart before he and Bobbie got off. Then they made their way up to the street, and strolled uptown a few blocks and found a French restaurant. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but Bobbie was fascinated by the place. She giggled delightedly when Dan, showing off for her, ordered in French.

When the coq au vin was served, Bobbie stared at it for a moment, bug-eyed. "I guess that beats hot dogs," she murmured.

Dan laughed. "I would say so."

"That's what I get at home. My mother knows two meals-hot dogs hot and hot dogs cold."

"Doesn't your stepfather object to that?" Dan asked as they began to eat.

"Like I said, he's not around much. And when he is, he's mostly loaded."

"It must be pretty miserable for you."

Bobbie shrugged. "It's better that way. When they're sober, him and her, they're at each other. The only peace I get is when they pass out."

"Where is your father?" Dan asked.

"Who knows? I never saw him. I asked my mother once and she whacked me. I don't know, maybe she doesn't know who he is. She has guys. When Fred's on the road, sometimes I wake up in the morning and find guys hanging around I never saw before. That's the way she gets her gin."

"That's horrible!" Dan scowled.

"It don't bother me. What bugs me is when Fred gets all tanked up and starts knocking me around. Most of the time I stay out of his way. But sometimes he comes in in the middle of the night and wakes me up and starts whaling me."

"Why, for Lord's sake?"

"Well ... because of what I did to him when he tried to fool around. He won't forget it."

Dan touched her hand. "I wish there were something I could do."

"You've done something already," Bobbie smiled. "It's easier, just living. The bad stuff isn't so bad if there's some good, too."

"We're good for each other."

"We're great. We were great this afternoon. You know, after, I went back and lay on the couch and thought about it and I got worked up all over again. I wished you were there." She squirmed in her seat. "Thinking about it now starts it again." She glanced around. "I wish you could do something. Under the table or something."

"Easy," Dan cautioned. "We're liable to find ourselves out on the street." He grinned. "Eat your chicken."

"Chicken? Is this chicken? With that French name? I thought it was something crazy."

Dan laughed. "Consider it crazy chicken," he said. "Come on now, eat, if you want to get to that night club tonight."

Bobbie turned her attention back to her food, but with considerably less enthusiasm.

Kate began to worry about Dan the moment she found his terse note. He had never gone out before without telling her exactly where he was going. She wondered if she were the cause of his leaving.

After a skimpy meal, Kate got out the work she had brought home with her. She gritted her teeth and dug in. The work was particularly important. That afternoon when she and Lou Zimmerman, another assistant editor, had been taking a coffee break in Kate's office, Jake had dropped in and tossed a manuscript on her desk.

"This has some holes in it," he said. "Look it over for me, will you?"

Kate picked up the manuscript and noticed that it did not have the initials of Phil Ketch, the articles editor. "Phil hasn't seen it yet," she said.

"I don't suppose that's too disastrous," Jake replied. "He just initials and then passes stuff on to you to do the work, doesn't he? But if you really think initials are important, put your own on it."

"Phil is touchy about seeing things first," Lou Zimmerman put in.

"Agreed," Jake said, "Phil is touchy. It's his one talent." He turned back to Kate. "We're running a magazine, not an ego-massaging parlor for editors. Forget about Phil. I want that article to have a top job of editing. If you're the one who can do it, then do it." He winked at Zimmerman. "Right, chap?"

"Sure," Lou murmured.

"As soon as possible," Jake said to Kate, departing.

Lou Zimmerman left immediately, too, and Kate knew that he was on his way to Phil Ketch's office. She also knew that it had not been mere chance that had brought Jake to her cubbyhole while Lou was present. For several weeks, Jake had been privately expressing his dissatisfaction with Phil to Kate. He had now made the first move toward forcing Phil out.

Jake liked his editors to appreciate his genius. When his opinions were questioned he considered the questioning an expression of doubt in his ability. Phil Ketch constantly questioned-not, Kate realized, to irritate Jake, but because he was a conscientious worker and could not rest until all the answers were on the table.

But Kate had not defended Phil Ketch. She knew that Jake had already made up his mind to get rid of him. He could not fire him because Ketch had a contract. But he could irritate him into resigning, for Ketch had a low boiling point.

Jake's plan, undoubtedly, was to have the article edited by Kate, then run it in the magazine without Ketch ever having seen it. And he had tipped his hand in front of Lou Zimmerman, knowing that Lou would run to Ketch with the information.

Kate felt ashamed of her part in the plot against Phil Ketch. She should have refused to accept the article from Jake without Ketch's initials. But what would that have accomplished? Nothing except to alienate Jake. And if she did not co-operate with him, he would find someone else to. Kate tried to persuade herself that this was her reason for going along with the plot.

But in the back of her mind she knew that she had joined the conspiracy because of hints that Jake had dropped that she would be the one to replace Phil Ketch. She unconsciously ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, contemplating this possibility. Then, fiercely, she applied herself to the task of editing the article, trying to close Phil Ketch out of her mind.

When Dan and Bobbie entered the Candle Club, a portly, gently smiling man in a dark suit stepped forward to greet them. "Reservation?" he asked.

Dan shook his head. "We thought we'd take a chance."

"Certainly."

The man led them into the main room, which was lit exclusively by candles. As they followed him through the dimness, Bobbie took Dan's hand. He could feel her excitement.

The club was fairly crowded and the man seated them near the rear of the long, narrow room. The orchestra was playing a languorous melody, and the tiny dance floor was packed with swaying, drifting couples.

"Would you like a menu?" the man asked. "No. I'll have Scotch on the rocks, and-" He smiled at Bobbie. "Gin."

The man and Dan winced in unison.

"For the young lady, I will have to have some certificate of age," the man said.

"She's old enough," Dan replied, defensively.

"I am sure. But it is necessary."

"You'll have to take my word for it."

The man's smile remained constant. He turned to Bobbie. "Perhaps some ginger ale?"

Bobbie eyed him sullenly. "Just don't bring me nothing, then."

The man-bowed and departed. "I'm sorry," Dan said. "But I warned you."

"Let's dance," Bobbie pouted. "We can do that, anyway, can't we?"

"I don't see why not."

They went to the dance floor and Bobbie slipped easily into Dan's arms. She rested her head against his chest and they became part of the tightly packed mass. Bobbie clung to him and the pressure of her young body excited him. He held her possessively.

They danced in silence for a long while, drifting dreamily, then Bobbie whispered, "Do you feel like I do?"

"How is that?" Dan asked, speaking the words against the softness of her golden hair.

"Like there's nobody here but us."

"Exactly like that."

"Can it be like this always?"

Dan did not reply. He didn't want to lie to her, and he did not feel that he could commit himself to always. He felt sudden perspiration on his forehead. He began to notice the other couples. A woman smiled at him amusedly. He felt his face grow suddenly warm. He sensed that she knew about him and Bobbie. Now all the eyes seemed to be watching him.

"Maybe we'd better go back to the table," Dan said.

"Whatever you say."

When they reached the table, Dan's drink was waiting. He tasted it, then smiled apologetically at Bobbie. "I've had better," he said. "You're not missing much."

She was pouting again. "I can't just sit here like a bump," she said. "Let's go somewhere else."

"It will be the same wherever we go. These people have to be careful. They could lose their license if they served a minor."

"Then let's get a bottle," Bobbie said. Dan laughed. "And squat in a doorway?"

"No. We could go to Central Park. It's not far from here."

Dan hesitated. "That's risky," he said. "They patrol the park."

"Not every inch. We could go someplace dark. Please, Dan."

He gave in to her. They left the night club. And as they did, Dan again experienced the frightening sensation of being followed, observed. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of color that evoked an unpleasant memory. He looked around, but there was no one familiar in sight. He supposed it was his guilt working on him again.

They found a liquor store in the next block and Dan purchased a pint of Scotch. When he came out, Bobbie slipped her arm into his and hugged him delightedly. "Now we can do what we want," she said.

Her eagerness affected him. He had been leery of going to the park, but now he began to anticipate being alone with Bobbie again, holding her in his arms, for he knew that the bottle was only a prop, that they were going to the park to make love.

They came to Fifth Avenue, and as they waited for the traffic light to change, Dan bent down and kissed the crown of Bobbie's golden hair. She turned her face up to him and he kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Do I make you happy?" she asked.

"Happier than I've ever been."

"I'll do anything for you, Dan. Whatever you want."

The light changed and they hurried across the avenue and into the park. There were other strollers and a few watchers on the benches. Dan and Bobbie ambled down toward the lagoon. They walked hand in hand beside the water, then came to a playground. Soon they entered an area of dark, ghostly, grassy slopes.

"Here," Dan said. He guided Bobbie off the path and they made their way in among the trees and bushes. When they were clear of the light from the path, Dan stopped, and, without a word, took Bobbie into his arms. Their lips met in a desperate kiss. Her tongue began to dart in and out.

Abruptly she broke away. "Where's the bottle?" she whispered throatily.

His hands trembling, Dan got the pint of Scotch from his back pocket and broke the seal. He unscrewed the cap and handed the bottle to Bobbie. She drank quickly, and then, gasping, handed the bottle to Dan.

The liquor burned his throat. It also fed the fire in his . blood.

"One more," Bobbie whispered, retrieving the bottle. She drank deeply, and when she lowered the bottle, Dan could feel the heat of the liquor exuding from her.

Dan capped the bottle and dropped it lightly to the grass. Then Bobbie was in his arms again and he was tasting the sweetness of her lips. His hands moved, wildly, pressing, caressing.

"Touch me," Bobbie moaned. "Dan, dear ... touch me ... everywhere."

She began to squirm insanely in his arms. Every breath was a low, passionate groan. Dan's fingers picked at the buttons of her jacket, then of her blouse. Then in the darkness his lips found the hard-tipped, soft young mounds of her breasts.

"Now," Bobbie pleaded. "Do it now, Dan."

He started to lower her to the grass, but she stopped him. "My suit," she whispered hoarsely.

Dan understood. She did not want her white suit to become grass-stained. He wriggled out of his own jacket and spread it on the ground. In an instant, Bobbie was on it and he was pressing her back.

"Now, now," she begged, desperately. "I can't wait, Dan."

At the same moment, Dan heard a soft sound behind him. Then his head exploded in pain. Stunned, he fell away from Bobbie. Lying on his back, groggy, his mind struggling to retain consciousness, he could just barely make out a tall, broad, hulking figure in the darkness. He heard Bobbie squeal with fear.

The figure moved in on Dan, bringing up a club. Dan was transfixed, terror-striken. The club came crashing down. Dan suddenly regained the power of his muscles. He twisted frantically out of the way, kicking, and felt his foot strike home.

Tripped up by Dan's kick, the man went sprawling backward. In a stray ray of moonlight, Dan saw a flesh of yellow. Now he knew the identity of the attacker. He knew that his mind had not been tricking him when he had thought that he and Bobbie were being followed. The attacker was Eddie. He had been at the train station and on the train and outside the night club.

Dan leaped up. Eddie was on his knees now. Dan hurled himself forward and as the full force of his body struck Eddie, the club went flying.

They rolled, wrestling, hammering at each other, in the grass. Then Eddie got an arm free and a granite fist pounded down and caught Dan at the side of the head.

Dan's vision fuzzed. He grabbed out blindly, unable to find Eddie. A knee jabbed into his belly and the wind went out of him. He heard Eddie's cursing breath near him. Then steel hands clutched Dan's throat. He clawed wildly, trying for Eddie's face. But his nails cut only air. He could scarcely breathe now.

Eddie began to beat Dan's head against the ground. Dan found Eddie's wrists, tried to loosen their hold on his throat, but he was too weak. He felt consciousness slipping away.

Then, as suddenly as the attack had come, it was over. Eddie groaned. His hands fell away from Dan's throat. He went limp and toppled over.

Dan lay staring up into the darkness, unable to move. He blinked, clearing his vision. Finally, he made out Bobbie standing above him. At her side was the club that Eddie had brought as a weapon.

Dan raised himself on an elbow. "Bobbie ... are you all right?"

He heard her sob.

Dan struggled to his feet. He took Bobbie into his arms and held her, comforting her. The club dropped to the grass. "It's all right," he told her, "it's all right."

She wept uncontrollably. Dan told her it was all over, they were all right now. After a while, the sobs became dry gasps, then muffled whimpers.

"He's dead," Bobbie murmured.

"No, no," Dan soothed. "He's only stunned."

"He's dead."

This possibility had not occurred to Dan. Even now he could not believe it. "No, he's all right. I'll show you."

He knelt down beside Eddie's body and took his wrist and felt for a pulse beat. It was a full minute before he was able to admit the truth to himself. Bobbie was right. He was dead.

Dan raised up, trembling. "Your clothes," he said sharply to Bobbie. "Button your blouse and jacket."

Her fingers flew at the buttons. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"Yes." Dan did not recognize his own voice. It was thin and pinched.

Bobbie began to weep again. "I killed him," she sobbed. "What will we do?"

"I don't know. But we have to get out of here." He took her hand and led her back toward the path. "Stop crying," he snapped.

They reached the path and headed toward the exit, then Dan suddenly stopped.

Bobbie looked up at him, frightened. "What is it?"

"The club. Our fingerprints are all over it." He wheeled her around and began running, pulling her after him.

Dan cut off across the grassy slopes. A second later they came upon the body. Dan found the club. He got out his handkerchief and wiped it clean. "There," he breathed in relief, "Safe."

"Hurry," Bobbie pleaded.

Then, as if to mock Dan's certainty that they were now safe, there was a sound of movement off in the trees, the snap of a twig.

"Dan!" Bobbie squealed.

Dan dropped the club and stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. He grabbed Bobbie's hand.

A light danced among the tree branches. Dan ran, dragging Bobbie behind him. They plunged into the bushes. Suddenly the light played ahead of them. Dan looked back. High up he could make out the glare of a flashlight.

"A mounted patrolman," he whispered huskily to Bobbie. "We'll have to run for it. Hold on."

Then for an instant they were caught in the yellow glare of the light.

"Halt!" a voice called.

Dan threw himself forward, yanking Bobbie along. He charged on blindly. The branches of the bushes whipped his face and body.

Dan and Bobbie came to a clearing and struck out across it. A shot barked in the stillness, and sod sprayed up ahead of them. Dan realized that they were an easy target in the open. He cut sharply back toward the trees. As they reached the shelter again, a second shot rang out and bark splintered off a tree trunk.

Behind them, the patrolman kept shouting. Pain suddenly stabbed up through Dan's leg. He fell, sprawling, as the leg collapsed under him, and Bobbie came crashing down on top of him. Dan rolled her off and they scrambled up. There was another shot, and a bullet tore through the leaves. The light picked them up again. Dan and Bobbie speared forward.

Now every jarring step was torture for Dan. The pains were like steady, unrelenting charges of electric shock. The patrolman was now gaining. He was held back because he was on horseback in a woods that was not meant even for walking. But even so he was beginning to make better time than Dan and Bobbie because Dan could now only limp.

Bobbie wormed ahead and took the lead. As she towed Dan after her, he gritted his teeth and hung on. His leg became numb, a stump. He wanted to rest, wanted to fall to the ground and never rise again.

Then suddenly they were out of the woods. Cars rolled by. The sounds of the city were with them again. They had come out on Fifth Avenue.

They halted, weary and panting. Dan looked back and saw the beam of light bobbing in the branches.

"There!" Bobbie gasped.

Dan looked in the direction she was pointing and saw, a few yards ahead, a bus that had paused at the curb to take on passengers. The doors were open, the last passenger was boarding.

Bobbie ran ahead, shouting, and Dan stumped after her. His blood pounded in his veins.

Just as Bobbie reached the rear of the bus, the doors closed. Dan felt as if his heart had stopped. Bobbie beat on the side of the bus.

The bus engine roared. Dan stopped and hope flowed out of him, leaving him almost too weak to stand. Then the roar settled to a purr. The doors opened. Bobbie leaped up on the step. Bracing the door open, she beckoned to Dan, and ran, fighting back panic, flinching against the pain. He reached the door and pulled himself aboard. There was a hiss as the doors closed. The engine growled and the bus pulled away from the curb.

"Take it easy," the driver grumbled. "This ain't the only bus in town."

How little he knew, Dan thought.

"Get a seat," Dan said to Bobbie.

She moved toward the rear. Dan fished in his pocket for change, then dropped coins into the box.

Bobbie was in a rear seat. Dan dropped down, exhausted, beside her.

"I saw him," she whispered. "Out the back window. He came out on the street and was looking around. I was afraid he would come after us."

"He'll figure it out," Dan replied. "We can't stay on this bus long." He took her hand. "I couldn't have made it without you," he told her.

She pressed against him, trembling. "It will be that way from now on, Dan, darling. We'll take care of each other. We have to."

Yes, Dan thought, now we have something in common-another person's death.

Bobbie's fingers touched Dan's face. "You're all scratched," she said.

"Thank God that's the worst of it."

The bus rolled on down the avenue. "We have to get out of the city," Dan whispered. "There will be an alarm out for us soon."

She nodded, fearfully.

At Forty-second Street, they got off the bus and hurried east to Grand Central. At the information counter, Dan picked up a train schedule and scanned it, then looked up at the clock. "There's a train right now," he said. "If we're lucky we can get it."

They hurried, as fast as Dan's leg would allow, to the Cornwall track, but as they arrived the trainman was just closing the gate. "Sorry-just pulled out."

Dan peered anxiously through the gate. The train was slowly moving away. With his leg still paining, he would never be able to run fast enough to catch it. Turning away, he looked at the train schedule again. "Not another one until four in the morning," he sighed. "We're stuck, Bobbie."

"They'll be looking for us."

"Yes."

He pulled nervously at his chin, thinking. "They'll be looking for a man and a girl together. We'll have to split up until train time. And we'll have to stay out of sight."

"We could go to an all-night movie."

"Good. But not together. You go over to Broadway, to a movie. I'll head in the other direction. I'll go over to the river. Then we'll meet here at train time."

They went up to the street. Dan gave Bobbie money, they held hands tightly for a moment, then Dan watched Bobbie move away. She held her head high, being determinedly brave, and her golden hair swayed with her movements. Soon she was lost in the crowd. Dan felt miserable alone. He turned and moved east, toward the river. He shuddered. Perhaps he would find the answer in the river.

6

Kate, on the couch, trying to work, looked at her watch again. It was only three minutes later than when she had last looked, but it seemed like almost an hour. The manuscript slipped from her hands and fell to the floor. Kate closed her eyes and sighed deeply. It was pointless trying to work, she decided. Nothing she read made sense. But it was not the fault of the manuscript. Dan kept intruding on her thoughts, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

Where could he be? It was early morning. He had never stayed out like this before. Why hadn't he told her where he was going? It was as if he were trying to punish her.

Kate felt herself tense. Punish her? She recalled Dan's words of the night before: I can smell Jake on you. Did he somehow know what had happened in Jake's car? He couldn't know. Yet he had turned away from her just when it seemed that his desire for her had returned. Had he sensed how near she had come to being unfaithful to him? Was her guilt so strong that it had an odor?

She pressed her hands to her eyes, trying desperately to shut out the thoughts. But they persisted, invading the darkness. She wondered now if it were her fault that Dan had cooled to her. It had been so easy to blame it all on him. But it had not been easy to understand. Had he felt that she wanted Jake rather than him? It wasn't true. Or was it?

She looked at her watch again. Only another few minutes had passed. She began to wonder if Dan's absence were connected with his suspicion that she had been unfaithful. He had been so moody lately, he might.

Kate suddenly sat up, horror-stricken. What might he do? If his anguish had driven him far enough, he might destroy himself.

"No!" she gasped.

But the fear would not be turned away. She had a sudden vision of dark, silent water, and Dan sinking below the surface. He was holding out a hand to her. Instinctively, she Stretched toward him. But he disappeared. The dark water suddenly foamed and then became calm again and he was gone.

Kate leaped up. She ran to the telephone and snatched it up and dialed Information. When the operator came on, Kate begged her frantically, "The police ... give me the police, please ... hurry."

Bobbie was waiting at the gate to the Cornwall track when Dan arrived at the station. He spotted her from a few yards away. She was glancing idly around, smiling. She no longer seemed disturbed.

Dan could not say the same for himself. As he had stood staring down into the river, he had felt himself strongly drawn to it. And for a moment, when he had closed his eyes, he had imagined himself drowning, and reaching frantically for a hand that was being held out to him, and failing to grasp it. For the moment, the fantasy had been real. And it had seemed like the perfect answer. Once below the surface of the river, his problems would be all solved. It would be quiet and restful on the bed of the river. But when he opened his eyes the problems were still with him.

Bobbie grinned kittenishly as Dan came up to her. "I thought you must have jumped," she said.

"You weren't far wrong," he replied, taking her hand.

They went down the ramp and climbed aboard the first car they came to. A number of others had arrived before them, so they walked forward. The second car back from the engine was empty and they took a seat.

Bobbie hugged Dan's arm. "I saw The Monster from Outer Space," she said, excitedly. "Part of it, anyway. It was real nutty. Then when it was over, I just walked around." She giggled. "I almost got picked up."

Dan turned to her, alarmed. "The police?"

"No, crazy. A sailor. I was in this place where they have all the pinball machines and everything. I was working this crane thing that picks up prizes. And he helped me. He was good at it. Only we didn't get anything."

Dan glared at her. "The idea was to stay out of sight," he scolded, "not to find the most public place in the city."

"I read someplace where if the police are looking for you the best place to hide is out in the open. I mean, they don't think to look there, see?"

Dan nodded grimly. "I see."

The train lurched forward, and then began slowly rolling out of the station. Dan sighed with relief. Safety was only a few miles away.

"What about your mother?" he asked. "Will she be worried?"

"How could she? She'll be passed out."

Dan sank down in the seat and rested his head wearily against the back of it. He thought to himself: It's all over and done with now. There will be no guilt because we killed in self-defense.

Bobbie cuddled up to him, her lips brushing his cheek. "You owe me something," she whispered.

Dan smiled. "I owe you a lot."

"Something special, I mean. What we didn't do in the park."

Dan's blood warmed.

"I was ready. I was almost past ready." She frowned. "That damned Eddie. If we'd just had a couple more minutes."

"Bobbie, let's forget Eddie. Eddie never existed."

"Okay."

It seemed too easy.

"Dan, when are we going to see each other again?"

"I don't know, darling. For a while, perhaps we ought to-" He changed his mind. "Soon," he said.

Bobbie scooted down in the seat. Her skirt moved up her thighs as she did so, and she took Dan's hand and placed it high up on her leg. "It makes me feel good," she murmured huskily.

They kissed, down below the back of the seat.

Dan broke away. "Not here. The conductor will be coming through. We can't afford to attract attention."

Bobbie pouted.

"After tonight," Dan said, "we won't have to worry. Just another hour and we'll be safe." He sat up, erect, in the seat.

Bobbie remained scooched down, with her skirt still up around her thighs. Dan forced himself to keep his hands off her. There would be time later. Endless time.

After a while, Bobbie straightened and pulled her skirt down. "I was thinking," she said. "I saved your life, didn't I. When I hit Eddie, I mean."

"We're going to forget about Eddie, remember?"

"Sure. But I did, didn't I?"

Dan nodded.

Bobbie smiled. "Then your life belongs to me, doesn't it?"

Dan stared at her, appalled by this childish logic. But he knew it was true. He was now the possession of a teen-age girl, a charm for her bracelet.

Dawn was spreading its red and yellows in the sky when the train pulled into Cornwall. But the beauty was wasted on Dan and Bobbie. As they hurried toward the apartment building, Dan, preoccupied, saw nothing, and Bobbie, chattering, saw only Dan. There was a slight chill in the air. Dan shivered as if the chill were a freeze. He had thought he would feel safe once he was back in Cornwall. But now he unaccountably sensed disaster hovering.

They reached the entrance of the building. Dan took Bobbie's arm and guided her across the lobby. Just as they reached the elevator, the door opened, and a uniformed policeman stepped out. He held the door for them, staring hard at Dan.

Dan hurried Bobbie aboard. The policeman, a large, round-faced man, whose belly had gone to pot, still held the door open, continuing to study Dan. Then, uncertainly, he asked, "Are you Daniel Morgan, fella?"

Dan considered lying, but he knew it would only delay the inevitable. "Yes," he sighed.

The policeman beamed and stepped into the elevator with them. "You've given us quite a chase," he said as the door closed. He punched the button for Dan's floor and the elevator began to rise. "I thought I recognized you," he said. "The description was pretty good."

Dan suddenly felt as if his weight had doubled. His arms hung heavily at his sides, his shoulders slumped. He looked at Bobbie. Her lower lip was trembling. Dan was baffled.

How had the police traced them so quickly? It was fantastic. But it was equally unimportant now. What was done was done. He stood listening to the whir of the rising elevator and to Bobbie's quickening breathing.

The policeman led the way toward the door of Dan's apartment. "I figured all along we'd find you," he said, amiably. "We get a lot of these cases. Most of the time we find the fellas."

"I'm glad I haven't spoiled your record," Dan replied drearily.

The policeman laughed.

They reached the door of the apartment and Dan stepped forward and opened it.

Across the room, Kate leaped up from the couch. She ran to Dan, her arms wide, and then hugged him hungrily, possessively.

"I found them coming in, ma'am," the policeman said, smiling. He seemed satisfied, as if this reunion were the climax of something.

Then Dan noticed for the first time that he was a local man, and he understood. The policeman knew nothing about the killing. Kate had reported him missing and this man had brought him home to her. As far as the policeman was concerned, his assignment was finished.

"Dan, where were you?" Kate wept. Her fingers touched his face. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing happened," Dan said, sharply. His eyes were on Bobbie. She was glaring sullenly at Kate.

Then Kate, following Dan's eyes, became aware of Bobbie, too. She took in a deep, shocked breath. "Who is this?"

"They were together, ma'am," the policeman reported dutifully, "I found them coming in."

Kate stepped back from Dan. For a second she and Bobbie faced each other defiantly.

Then Dan stepped between them. To Bobbie he said, "I suppose this is confusing to you, Miss Cass. You see, I left the apartment early tonight, and apparently my wife became worried about me when I didn't return and phoned the police to look for me. That's all it is."

Slowly the realization reached Bobbie. She began to smile. "Oh," she murmured, softly. Then, dimly, she said, "Well, I kind of thought it was something like that."

Dan turned to Kate. Bewilderment clouded her expression. "I think you owe Miss Cass an apology for what you were thinking," he said. "Miss Cass lives down the hall. I met her in the lobby as I was coming in. I suppose-" he turned, smiling, back to Bobbie-"she's been out on a date."

Bobbie nodded, smiling confidently now. "I was at the prom," she told Kate. "I just got in. And I met Mr. Morgan at the door. Gee, I'm sorry you had such a terrible worry."

"Sure."

The policeman edged toward the door. "I better report in. I can give you an escort home, Miss," he said to Bobbie, "as long as you live right here in the building."

Bobbie giggled. Then, to Dan, she said, "I hope everything works out all right for you."

"I'm sure it will."

"You, too," Bobbie said to Kate.

"Thank you."

Bobbie moved on out through the doorway and the policeman followed her. The door closed behind them.

Kate sighed. "I made a bit of a fool of myself, didn't I?"

"You did that."

"Where have you been?" she asked. "Out." Dan headed for the bedroom. "I think I have a right to know," Kate said, following him.

"All right, if you insist. I went to a couple of movies."

"Till now?"

"I was in the city. I missed the last night train and had to wait till morning." Dan began undressing.

"What happened to your face?" Kate asked. "How did you get those scratches?"

"My leg buckled under me. I fell down and scraped my face on the sidewalk."

Dan had his shirt off. Kate put a hand on his bare shoulder. "Dan," she pleaded, "can't you understand? I was worried about you. You've never done anything like this before. I had all kinds of insane thoughts."

"Sorry. I'm tired, my leg hurts, I want to get some sleep." He went to the chest for his pajamas.

"I'm tired, too, Dan. I'm tired of this constant tension. What's happened to us?"

"Is something wrong? I thought everything was Jake."

Kate drew in a sharp breath. Then she suddenly turned and strode angrily out of the room.

Dan kicked the drawer of the chest closed. He put on his pajamas and fell across the bed, exhausted. His leg was still throbbing. He closed his eyes and tried to force sleep. But it was hours before he finally dropped off. He could not get Eddie out of his mind. He could not shut out the sight of the boy's lifeless body. And Bobbie's words on the train kept floating in and out of his mind: Your life belongs to me.

In the living room, Kate lay on the couch and smoked a cigarette. When the policeman brought Dan home she had been so certain that it was Dan and only Dan whom she loved. But then he had mentioned Jake and all the certainty had suddenly washed away. Perhaps it was because of her guilt. Or it might be because she was in love with Jake.

If only Dan would take her in his arms. If only he would tell her he loved her. That would settle it-perhaps. She wondered if it would do any good to go to him. Then she remembered all the times in the past few months that she had made the advances and had been repelled. She could not do it again. The next move would have to be Dan's. She was just too weary of trying.

It was early afternoon when Dan awakened the next day. His whole body ached, but he struggled up out of bed. He went into the living room, looking for Kate. There was no sign of her, so he decided that she must have gone to work in spite of the little sleep she had had.

The Times was on the coffee table. Dan snatched it up and looked through it, page by page, headline by headline, until it suddenly occurred to him that the edition of the paper he had was printed at about the time he and Bobbie were entering the park the night before, so the story of the killing could not possibly be there.

He was famished, but he decided to go to the corner newsstand for the late papers before he ate. As he hurriedly put on his clothes he wondered why he had not yet heard from Bobbie.

He had expected her to be at the apartment early. He wondered if her mother had been waiting up for her and had seen the policeman escorting her to the door. Bobbie had insisted that her mother was totally uninterested in her whereabouts, but Dan was not sure he could believe it. Even now, Mrs. Cass might be haranguing Bobbie, nagging the story of the killing from her. Dan shuddered involuntarily.

Limping, he left the apartment. He took his time reaching the elevator, hoping that Bobbie was watching for him and would come to meet him. But her door remained closed. Disappointedly, he boarded the car.

At the newsstand, Dan bought copies of all three of the afternoon Manhattan papers. Hobbling back to the building, he opened the Post, the paper he thought would be most likely to feature a story of a killing. His guess was right. There was a brief story on page three.

The police had discovered Eddie's identity. There was a history of the petty crimes he had committed and a paragraph on his family. The weapon had been found, and the patrolman had described the suspects as a man and a woman. Dan felt a good deal relieved. The police would not be looking for a teen-age girl, so there would be no way of connecting Dan with the killing.

His spirits began to lift as he made his way along. His leg no longer pained so severely. It appeared that he had been correct in thinking that he and Bobbie would be safe once they got out of the city, back to Cornwall.

Dan folded the Post and slipped it under his arm with the other papers. He moved more quickly, smiling to himself. The next thing he had to do was contact Bobbie and reassure her.

But Dan's buoyant feeling of well-being was short-lived. When he was a few yards from the entrance to the apartment building, he saw a New York City police car pull up to the curb ahead of him. His heart sank, the uncertainty returned. He became suddenly weak, and the throb returned to his leg, slowing his pace.

A plain-clothes policeman got out of the car, leaving the uniformed driver at the wheel. He was a tall, round-shouldered, ruddy-faced man who looked to be in his late forties. He entered the building, and when Dan reached the entrance he saw him standing at the registry, scanning the alphabetical listing of tenants.

Dan moved past him, heading for the elevator. Then he heard footsteps behind him, hurrying. Dan stopped, expecting to feel the detective's hand on his shoulder. But the detective passed him, opened the elevator door and held it for Dan.

"Going up?" the detective smiled.

Dan nodded tensely, hoping that the detective's interest in him was only due to the fact that he was limping. He got aboard the elevator and stood with his back against the wall.

The detective followed him in. He punched the button for Dan's floor, then held his finger poised at the panel. "Where to?" he asked.

Dan gave him the number of the floor above his. The detective punched it and the elevator began to rise.

"Quite a reader, eh?" the detective smiled, noting the three newspapers under Dan's arm.

"Yes." He indicated his leg. "I've been laid up with a broken leg. Just had the cast removed. So I've had plenty of time to read."

The detective smiled sympathetically. "I see." He turned his head, trying to read the front page of the Post. "What's new?"

"I haven't really had a chance to find out. I just got them at the newsstand."

The detective straightened up. He continued to smile amiably. Then the elevator reached Dan's floor and the detective got out. "Good luck with the leg," he said.

"Thanks."

The elevator began to rise again. When it stopped at the next floor, Dan hurried out and stumped to the stairway, then hobbled down the steps to his own floor. He peeked out, expecting to see the detective at his door. But there was no one in sight. He breathed easier again.

Dan left the stairway and moved cautiously down the corridor. He had opened his door and entered the apartment, when, as he was closing it behind him, the fear struck him again. Why hadn't he thought of it? The detective had gone to Bobbie's apartment! He was there now, questioning her. Dan whipped around and opened the peephole. The empty corridor and Bobbie's closed door seemed ominous, threatening.

Then the door to Bobbie's apartment opened and the detective stood in the opening, speaking to someone inside. Dan thought he caught a glimpse of Bobbie. Then the detective moved away, the door closed,, and the detective was striding in Dan's direction.

Dan snapped the peephole closed and backed away from the door, panic-stricken. He had to hide. He ran down the hallway to the bedroom. But when he got there, there was no place further to run to. He decided he would pretend not to be home. When the doorbell rang, he would ignore it. The door was locked, the detective had no means of entering.

He stood in the bedroom, quaking, listening for the sound of the bell. It would come any second now. It would be like an explosion. But he was safe as long as he did not answer it. Safe, yes, but for how long? The detective would return.

As these thoughts tumbled about in Dan's mind, he gradually became aware of the fact that he had been hiding for several minutes and still the bell had not rung. It would have taken the detective only seconds to reach his door. Slowly, Dan's terror subsided. The bell was not going to ring.

He made his way back to the door and opened the peephole. The corridor was empty. Warm relief flooded through him. Weakly, he stumbled into the living room and dropped into a chair. He was safe, after all. But he wondered how many episodes of doubt and danger he could survive.

Dan rested a few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling of relief. Then he got up and went to the kitchen and prepared breakfast. He felt hungry again now. He broiled bacon and scrambled eggs and made coffee, drawing still more strength from the odors.

As he sat eating, Dan wondered why Bobbie did not phone him or come to see him. Quite obviously, the police suspected that she was somehow connected with the killing. What other reason would the detective have for questioning her? But, just as plainly, they could not prove anything. If they could, the detective would have taken her in.

He had to talk to Bobbie, to find out just exactly how much the police knew. But he couldn't go to her apartment, not with her mother there. All he could do was sit tight and wait.

As Dan carried his dishes to the sink, the phone rang. He knew it was Bobbie calling. He put the dishes down and hurried to answer it.

"Dan? Dan, is that you?" It was Bobbie's voice, sharp and irritable. "Yes, of course."

"Dan, I have to see you. Right now. You have to come here."

"There? Isn't your mother home?"

"Dan, right away."

Her command made no sense. "Bobbie, is it about the police? I saw the detective."

"Yes, about that. I can't talk. Just come down here."

"Do they know? Do they know about Eddie ... about us?"

"Dan ... please."

"Bobbie, I don't think it's-" The phone went dead.

Dan dropped the receiver back into its cradle. He sighed heavily. He had no choice, he had to go to Bobbie's apartment.

He went to the bathroom and doused his face with cold water. He stared at himself in the mirror, at the water dripping from his face. He needed a shave, but what was the point in shaving? What was the point in anything?

Dan left his apartment and went slowly down the corridor. At Bobbie's door he paused a moment and squared himself, then rang the bell.

. The door was opened by a tall, pale, bleary-eyed woman, dressed in a ratty blue bathrobe. She touched her fingers to her tangled blond hair and tried to smile cordially, but the smile was a failure.

"Mr. Morgan, I guess," she said, thickly. "Come on in." There was the odor of gin on her breath.

Dan stepped inside. At the far end of the living room, Bobbie was seated on a couch, her legs tucked up under her. She smiled a thin smile when she saw Dan and lifted her eyes ceiling-ward as a sign of mixed resignation and disgust. Dan didn't know how he should react. He didn't know how much Bobbie's mother knew. So he just nodded.

"I'm Marge Cass," Bobbie's mother said, coming up behind Dan. "I guess you might as well park it. How about a drink?" , Dan shook his head. He glanced around the room. The couch upon which Bobbie was seated was frayed at the arms and its cushions were filthy and marked with large grease spots. The furnishings were rudimentary. There was an overstuffed chair which appeared to be relatively new but which was already grimy at the arms and back. There was also a rocker with a broken cross brace, and a flimsy coffee table in front of the couch. There were no pictures on the walls, no draperies to cover the Venetian blinds that were provided by the management of the building, no rug on the floor.

"Go on, park it," Marge Cass encouraged.

Dan chose the overstuffed chair. He rested his hands on the arms and felt a clamminess. The atmosphere of the apartment was dank with the sweet odor of gin. It was like a mist in the air.

Marge dropped down beside Bobbie. Her bathrobe came open at the top, revealing the beginning rises of breasts that Dan suspected must now be withered and full of sag.

"Bobbie called you on account of me," Marge said. "I told her to."

Dan felt sorry for Marge Cass. She had probably been quite attractive before gin had become her obsession. He made no reply except to smile wanly, still not sure how much she knew, not wanting to commit himself in any way.

"I like to know the fellas Bobbie goes around with," Marge said, still trying to be amiable, still unable to hide the malevolence in her tone. "Bobbie's daddy and me worry about her sometimes, the fellas she goes out with."

"He's not my father!" Bobbie snapped.

Marge reached out and patted her on the leg. "He's like your daddy, honey, the way he worries about you."

Bobby snorted derisively.

"If Fred-that's Bobbie's stepdaddy-if he knew the cops was nosing around about her, he'd just go out of his mind," Marge said to Dan. "You understand that."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

"No telling what he might do," Marge went on. "So I figured I ought to meet you before Fred got wind of it." She grinned. "And I'm glad I did. You look like a nice fella to me. I'm glad I lied to the cops-to keep you out of trouble. You're the kind, I bet, that appreciates that kind of thing being done for him."

"No one's in trouble," Bobbie flared.

"No matter what she says, trouble is trouble," Marge continued. "There was a cop up here today nosing around about Bobbie, Mr. Morgan. He says one of Bobbie's kid friends was murdered last night. Well, Bobbie, she told him she was home all night. And, her being my little girl, I couldn't call her a liar right to a cop's face. So I said sure."

Dan smiled. "That settles it then, doesn't it?"

"Not exactly, all told. I mean, you and me, we know she wasn't home at all last night. Not till practically morning. I knew that all along, while I was telling that cop she was here. So after the cop left, I asked her to tell me where she was."

Bobbie laughed bitterly. "Asked? She almost killed me."

"Kids exaggerate," Marge smiled. "Anyway, she told me where she was, out with you. Then I really got worried. I mean, out with a married man, like she said you was, that's serious. Girls get in trouble that way. Fellas, too."

"Yes, that's quite true," Dan replied, amused. He was considerably relieved. Apparently Bobbie had told her mother that she had a date with him, but no more.

"So I figure I ought to know what your intentions are," Marge said. "Fred, he'll want to know. He thinks about Bobbie like she's still a baby and he's very particular about her companions. You know how daddies are."

Bobbie groaned.

Dan realized now that all that Bobbie had told him about her mother and stepfather was true, that they cared little or nothing about her. "My intentions are completely honorable," he replied. "Bobbie mentioned having some trouble with her schoolwork. I'm a teacher, and I offered to help her."

"Yeah," Marge said, doubtfully. She turned to Bobbie. "Honey," she said, "you go for a walk. Me and Mr. Morgan want to talk private."

"Nuts."

Marge's open palm arced around and caught Bobbie across the cheek. The slap was like a shot. Dan felt it as if he himself had been struck. Bobbie rubbed her cheek and tears began to moisten her eyes.

"Kids got to be kept in line," Marge explained to Dan. Then, to Bobbie, "You git."

Bobbie arose and moved reluctantly toward the door. She looked at Dan disappointedly, as if she had expected him to defend her.

Dan looked away. He didn't feel that he could antagonize Marge Cass. She obviously had something specific on her mind. He had to find out what it was before he made his move.

"I'll see you later, at your place," Bobbie said. It was, in a way, a question. "All right."

"Take a long walk," Marge Cass said to her daughter.

Bobbie glared at her. Rebellion flared again for an instant, then the memory of the slap smothered it. She strode angrily on out the door.

"You don't know what trouble it is with a kid like that," Marge Cass said. "She don't have no respect for me, or her daddy." She sighed wearily. "I guess I could stand it if it wasn't for my complaint. But when you've got a condition, a kid like that, that don't have no respect, she wears you down. You sure you don't want a drink?"

"No, no drink. Thank you."

"Well, I got to have one," Marge said, rising. She went to the kitchen. "It's on account of my condition," she said. "I'm kind of a guinea pig. The doctors got me on gin, I mean. I've got a very rare kind of condition that they can't figure out, so they're trying gin. Like an experiment. I guess they're not so dumb. It helps. But I got to take a lot of it. If it turns out to be a cure, I guess I'll be wrote up."

"How long has the experiment been going on?" Dan asked.

Marge returned, carrying a water tumbler of gin. "Long time," she replied. "I lose track." She went to the couch again and eased herself down, taking a long pull on the gin.

Dan watched her edgily, wishing she would get on with it.

"You know," Marge said, smiling again, "it's not safe, married men getting mixed up with kids like Bobbie. I mean, kids got no brains." She crossed her legs and her bathrobe fell open, exposing her thighs. "You know?"

Dan looked away. Her legs, with their heavy, protuding veins, did not quite entice him. "That doesn't exactly apply in my case," he said. "Helping a girl with her schoolwork can hardly be termed getting mixed up with her."

"School's out," Marge said.

"I was thinking of next year."

"Yeah, you ought to think about that. Girls-girls like Bobbie-they're careless. I mean, they don't take precautions, you know? It's not like a woman, who knows what she's doing."

"It still doesn't apply."

"Who said it did?" Marge got up, leaving her gin on the coffee table and moved to Dan's chair and sat down on the arm. "The point is," she said, "I don't want to have to spill this to Fred or your wife or nobody. So I figure you and me ought to talk it over some, often like, so it would all be understood."

"It is understood," Dan said sharply.

"You're right, honey, it is." She crossed her legs again, teetering on the arm of the chair,,and again the robe fell away.

Dan shoved himself up and stood with his back to her. "Is that all you had in mind?"

"It don't interest you, huh?" Marge said nastily. "You think that young stuff's better, I guess."

Dan crossed to the window. "You can forget about going to my wife," he said. "She understands that I'm interested only in tutoring Bobbie."

"Is that the teacher's word for it?"

"Unless you have something else to say-"

"Oh, I got plenty, buster. And I don't need no fancy words to say it. Don't figure you can crap me with that junk about schoolwork. I know what guys like you want. I ought to, I've had enough guys after mine. And there'll be plenty more, don't think there won't."

"I'm sure," Dan said, coldly.

"And don't think I don't know when I got the high cards, either. Maybe your wife don't care, but that don't say Fred don't. We got our rights, Fred and me. You can't go playing around with our kid without we get our backs up. What do you think we are, some kind of damn fools?"

Dan turned from the window and headed toward the door. "Until now, I hadn't given it any thought," he said.

"Just hold it, buster. I just might call the cops back."

Dan stopped warily, with his hand on the door knob.

"There's a law about guys like you and kids."

He relaxed again. He had thought for a second that she suspected him and Bobbie of being involved in the killing and was threatening to inform the police of that.

"Listen," Marge said, less vehemently, "don't think I want to make it tough on you and tell Fred or the cops. I mean, it's just that you don't act right about it. And me, with my condition, I guess I'm a little cranky, too."

"Yes?"

"Well, the problem is, Fred don't leave me enough money for my medicine. I mean, he don't understand about science, see?"

"You want money?"

"Listen, what do you take me for? I just need medicine, that's all. About a pint a day ought to help, with what Fred allows me."

Dan studied her for amoment. It suddenly occurred to him that she was offering to sell her child for a pint of gin a day and disgust swelled up in him.

"No," he grated.

Then he threw open the door and hurried down the corridor toward his own apartment.

"You cheap, lousy bastard!" The shrill scream followed Dan down the corridor. "Fred'll take care of you!"

Dan charged into the sanctuary of his apartment and the door slammed closed behind him. He dropped into a chair and sat staring blankly, horrified, back at the door, as if he could still see the wretched figure of Marge Cass railing at him.

He felt trapped. Behind him was the death of Eddie and the possibility that the police might eventually track him down. Facing him was the possibility of Fred Cass' wrath.

And at the heart of his trouble was Bobbie. He had met a young girl in an elevator and now suddenly his whole world was falling apart. It was preposterous. But true.

There was only one possible solution. He had to stop seeing Bobbie. He would explain to her that further contact would only mire them deeper in difficulty. If she cared for him at all, she would understand.

Then what? Then he would start a new life. He would break out of the tedium of teaching, find a job that satisfied him. He would submerge himself in work, and the horror of the past few hours would be forgotten.

Dan remembered the lead that Jake Dennis had given him to the new history magazine. Excitedly, he went to the phone and dialed the Chic number.

The switchboard connected him with Jake's secretary. There was a brief wait, then Jake came on. "Dan, chap, that you?"

"Yes," Dan replied, feeling himself tighten. Even Jake's voice made him uncomfortable. "First off," he said, "I want to apologize for the way I acted the other night, running out on you."

"Quite all right. I understand. I'd probably be cranky, too, if I'd been laid up as long as you have. As a matter-of-fact-" He paused, then said, "Just a moment, Dan, your lovely wife just popped in."

"Sure."

Dan could make out Kate's voice in the background, but he could not hear what she was saying. Then Jake replied to her, "Well, damn it, is it absolutely necessary to be on speaking terms with him? If you have to communicate, write him memos. That's what memos are for, so people who aren't speaking can comunicate."

Dan could tell by the tone of Kate's reply that she was angry.

Then Jake returned his attention to Dan. "Kate and her editor aren't getting on," he explained amusedly. "It's not Kate's fault. He's a cantankerous bastard. Where were we, Dan?"

"I was apologizing."

"Right. Accepted. That all?"

"No. One other thing. The man you mentioned the other night, the editor of the new history book. I thought I might give him a call if you have his number."

"Delighted. His name is Sam Weininger. Damn decent chap. You two will hit it off. Hang on, I'll look him up."

There was a short wait while Jake got the telephone number from Dan. He gave it to him and added, "Good luck."

Dan held the phone button down for an instant, then released it and began dialing Weininger's number. But his hand suddenly began to tremble and he put down the receiver. Suppose Sam Weininger was not interested in talking to him? The fact that Jake had mentioned Dan to him meant nothing at all. People were always recommending people to other people, and the other people were always replying politely that they would be glad to talk to them. But they seldom meant it.

Dan looked at his watch. It was getting late. Perhaps Weininger would be gone for the day. Maybe it would be better to phone him in the morning. Delay. Put it off. As long as there was no decision, there was hope.

Dan began pacing the room. He wondered about his inten-tions. He had made up his mind to break free of Bobbie, to escape from teaching. Then why was he hesitating? Was it simply a lack of confidence, or did he really want to rebuild his life?

Suddenly angry with himself, Dan strode to the telephone, snatched up the receiver, and dialed the number Jake had given him. He might fail, but not without trying.

The switchboard operator connected Dan directly with Sam Weininger. Nervously, Dan explained to the editor that Jake Dennis had told him about the new magazine and had suggested that Dan phone Weininger.

Weininger's manner was pleasant. He recalled that Jake had mentioned Dan to him. "Jake thinks you might be able to write for me," he said. "He says you're a good man."

Dan was surprised. He could not conceive of that being Jake's true opinion of him.

"I understand you're not happy in teaching," the editor continued."

"I'm bored to the teeth," Dan replied. "It's not history; it's bare bones, no meat."

"Good. I'm looking for writers who are sick of the surface stuff. I need diggers. Look, what's your schedule, when are you free?"

"Any time."

"Tomorrow? I'd like to sit down with you. Do you have any copy you could bring along?"

Dan's heart sank. "I've got a rejected book manuscript."

Weininger laughed. "Fine. I've got two or three of those myself. Bring it in and we'll match rejection slips."

Dan brightened. "What time?"

"Oh, any time. Tomorrow morning? Any time between nine and one. I'll be free."

"I appreciate this," Dan said. "It's important to me."

"Not half so important as it is to me," Weininger replied. "I've yet to find a way to put out a magazine without writers."

Dan was exultant when he hung up. Weininger had seemed eager to see him. It was a new, wonderful sensation, being wanted. And Weininger did want him. Dan could feel it. The editor wanted him to turn out to be the writer he was looking for. If only Dan didn't disappoint him.

He sat daydreaming of the possibilities the new job would open up, and had lost all track of time when the doorbell rang. He had a premonition that it was Bobbie. But he was not disturbed. The brief discussion with Sam Weininger had injected him with a new confidence.

As Dan had guessed, Bobbie was standing there when he opened the door. She was dressed as she had been when he saw her earlier in her apartment, in the thin, green cotton. She was frowning.

"Hello again," Dan smiled.

"Hi." Bobbie hurried past him into the apartment, then turned as he was closing the door. "What did she say?"

"Your mother?" Dan frowned. "She said a lot of things. A lot of threats. She said she was going to your stepfather, to the police, to Kate--about us." He smiled grimly. "She offered a couple alternatives. One was that I provide her with a pint of gin a day."

Bobbie snorted. "I guess I know what the other one was," she said. She seemed relieved. She sat down on the couch and Dan followed her into the living room. "I figured it might be worse," Bobbie said. "I thought maybe she guessed about that thing in the park."

"That didn't seem to occur to her."

"Then we're okay," Bobbie said, suddenly smiling. "She might tell Fred, but a fat lot of good that'd do her. What does he care? I don't think she'd go to the cops or your wife. Not unless she could figure out some way to get gin out of it." She shrugged and tossed her head. "So we're okay."

"On that score, apparently so," Dan replied. "But what about the police? What did that detective want?"

"Don't worry. It was just routine stuff. He came in and he told me the whole thing about Eddie being killed in the park. He said he was checking around among Eddie's friends, trying to find out if anybody had any information or anything. I just happened to be the first one he checked on. I guess maybe somebody told him I was Eddie's girl. I told him baloney, I wasn't."

"Did he seem suspicious?"

Bobbie shook her head. "He was a nice guy. He asked me where I was last night and I told him I was home and my mother said sure, that was right. After that, he didn't seem to even be paying attention when I answered his questions. You know, bored."

Dan grinned. "I worry too easily," he said. He told her about seeing the detective enter the building as he was returning from the newsstand and riding up in the elevator with him and his hiding on the stairway.

Bobbie laughed. She went to him and put her arms around his neck. "I guess we're crazy," she said.

Dan's hands settled on her waist. He knew he should resist, that he should sit her down and explain to her that they must not see each other again. But the pressure of her young body against him drove the good intentions from his mind. He knew that he still needed her, that the talk with Sam Weininger had not entirely destroyed his self-doubts. Tomorrow, when he met with the editor, Weininger might find him wanting.

Their lips met. Desire flamed up in Dan. His hands left Bobbie's waist, moving downward, then slowly began inching up the backs of her slim legs. He discovered that the thin cotton dress was all that covered her.

Bobbie writhed sensuously in response to his touch. "Dan, darling," she breathed, rapturously. "Do me, Dan."

He pressed her back to the couch. Then, as he was bending down to her, a familiar sound suddenly alerted him. He snapped upright.

"Dan," Bobbie pleaded, squirming her hips, wanting him.

"Kate!" he stage-whispered. The sound he had recognized was the tap, tap, tap of Kate's heels in the corridor. And now they were almost at the door.

Dan yanked Bobbie to her feet. He dragged her across the room to the doorway and she followed, dumbly.

They reached the door just as it opened. Kate halted and stared.

"Oh, hi, there." Dan smiled, summoning a calmness that he had not known he possessed. "You know Miss Cass." Kate nodded. "Yes ... last night."

"Hi," Bobbie said, confusedly.

"She just stopped by to see how my leg was coming along," Dan explained to Kate. "I was limping last night when I met her in the lobby."

"Oh ... yes." Kate seemed uncertain. Suspicion flickered across her face.

"She was just leaving," Dan said.

Bobbie took the cue. "I was just going," she said, unnecessarily. She edged through the doorway. "I'm glad you're better," she said to Dan. She turned to Kate. "Nice to see you again, too."

"Uh ... what? Oh, yes. Yes, nice to see you."

Bobbie moved down the corridor, with lithe, graceful steps.

Kate held the door open a moment more, watching Bobbie. Then, slowly,. puzzledly, she allowed it to close, and turned to face Dan.

"You're a little early," he said.

"Yes. Jake told me that you called him to get Sam Weininger's number. I wanted to find out how it worked out, so I ... came home a little early." She spoke haltingly, not quite sure yet. what to believe about finding Dan and the girl alone in the apartment. "She's attractive, isn't she?"

"Who's that?" Dan moved into the living room. Kate's eyes narrowed. "Who do you suppose I'm talking about?"

"Oh, the ... uh, girl. Yes, I imagine so. It's hard to tell with kids that age. They ... uh, change."

"I'm not talking about ten years from now. I mean she's attractive today."

"All right, granted, she's attractive." Dan dropped down on the couch and looked back across the room at Kate. Her suspicion was almost visible. She obviously wanted him to enlarge on his explanation of Bobbie's presence. He knew that if he attempted to, he would not be able to stop with the lie; he would get himself in deeper and deeper until the truth finally emerged. "I did call Weininger," Dan said, to change the subject. "It looks fairly good. I have an appointment with him tomorrow."

The play was effective. Kate brightened. "What did he say?" she asked. "Anything specific?"

"Just talk-talk," Dan replied. "I got the impression that he's interested, though. I told him how sick I am of that fatuous junk I have to teach at Holymount. He understood. I got the idea that he wants just the opposite-depth."

"Holymount presents a problem, doesn't it?" Kate said, slipping into a chair. Dan frowned. "How?"

"They expect you back, don't they? I don't see how you can develop any kind of secure relationship with Weininger in the short time before the new semester starts. If he's really interested, he'll probably want you to try an article. That will take time. And even if the first one suits him, that doesn't mean the next one will. And you can't live on one magazine. You'll have to write for others, too. So it looks like back to Holymount. Temporarily, anyway."

Dan shoved himself up and began prowling the room. "You want to keep me tied to that stupid job, don't you? I've got a chance to break out now, and you can't stand it. You're afraid I'll slip out from under your thumb."

"Dan, that's not fair. I want you to be happy in your work. No one wants it any more than I do-not even you. When you're miserable, I'm miserable. But you can't just go soaring off and forget about reality."

"You mean it's all right if I fly as long as I keep my feet on the ground."

"Yes, if you want to put it that way. What would you do if it weren't for my income? Would you go flying then? This apartment costs money, Dan. Food costs money. For Lord's sake, these days it costs money just to keep breathing. Fine, soar if you want to, but don't forget that once a month you have to come back to earth and pay the bills. Either that or depend on me to do it. And if I do it, I expect to be considered when you're making your grand and glorious plans."

Dan halted and faced her, seething. "But you don't want to dominate me. That's the furthest thing from your mind, isn't it? All you want is the final say-so on anything I think, do or dream."

"Dan," Kate pleaded, "I just want to be considered. I'm your wife. Your life is my life. What you do affects me, Dan. Can't you understand that? You're not single any more. You're married. There are two of us. You have to think for two."

Dan threw up his hands in exasperation. "Great God! what a fantastic capacity for self-delusion!" he exploded. He advanced on Kate, fuming. "Do you honestly believe that that's your motive-sharing the responsibility, for Christ's sake? You want one thing, damn it. You want to keep me down. I don't know what satisfaction you get out of it. But whatever it is, you're a glutton for it. What is it? Some-" his rage clogged in his throat-"some inadequacy in you? Something that drives you to destroy me? Kate, for God's sake, get off my back!"

Kate was pressed back in the chair, staring at Dan, in a state of shock. Then, as his attack ceased, she shuddered convulsively and collapsed in tears. Her hands covered her face, violent sobs shook her body.

Dan wanted to reach out to her. He wanted to comfort her. But pride and his still smoldering rage kept him rooted. Then, unable to witness her anguish any longer, he stomped off to the kitchen and got down the Scotch.

A moment later, Dan heard Kate run toward the bedroom. He flinched in sympathy for her. But he could not make himself go to her. His only hope for escape from her domination was to crush her as she had crushed him, to hammer her down to his level, then struggle up himself and rise above her. He would never be a complete man until she deferred to him.

Dan killed off a shot of Scotch, shuddering, then capped the bottle and put it away. He yanked open the door of the refrigerator and foraged for dinner. He found cold frankfurters and beans and took them to the table, then returned to the refrigerator and got out a carton of milk. With a glass from the cupboard he went back to the table and sat down.

The sounds of Kate's weeping no longer reached him. Perhaps, he thought, she had closed the bedroom door. Or maybe she was crying silently, deep inside herself. Dan began to eat. The food was tasteless. He shoved it away and got up and lit a cigarette and slumped down on the couch.

It had all gone so wrong. The plan had seemed perfect: break with Bobbie, unite with Kate. But in the presence of Bobbie he had been totally unable to resist her. A few minutes with Kate and they were at each other's throats. What next? Part three of the plan, establishing himself with Sam Weininger. What would happen to-that?"

Dan sat alone for nearly an hour, brooding, asking himself questions, getting no answers, wondering if he should go to Kate, forcing himself not to, smoking cigarette after cigarette. Then the phone rang, startling him. He leaped up and went to it, wary of answering it, afraid not to.

"Hello." Dan's voice sounded strange to him.

"What are you doing?" It was Bobbie's melodious purr.

"What is it? What do you want?" Dan whispered, irritably.

"I want you, Dan, darling. Can you?"

Dan peered down the hallway to see if the bedroom door was closed. It was too dark in the hallway to tell. He kept his voice at a whisper. "I can't talk now. Tomorrow."

"Nobody's here but me, Dan. She's out. I want to see you, Dan. I need you."

"Please...."

"Sneak away. Dan, I'm all excited. I need you bad."

"Damn it, I can't. We almost got caught." Dan suddenly sensed that he was being observed. He looked up and saw Kate standing in the dimness of the hallway, watching him curiously. "Look," Dan said brusquely into the phone, "if you'll contact me tomorrow, I'll be better able to discuss it. Tomorrow, understand?"

There was a hollow click and the phone went dead.

Dan put the receiver down. "An insurance salesman," he said to Kate.

"We can't afford any more insurance." She stepped into the light. Her face was streaked, there was a hardness about her lips.

"I'm not planning on getting any more," Dan said.

"You told him to call you back tomorrow."

"To get rid of him. I don't feel like-" He tensed. "Don't start it again, Kate. I've had all I can take."

She shrugged, indifferently. "All right." She went into the kitchen. "Have you had enough to eat?" she asked.

"I'm not hungry." Dan lit another cigarette. It tasted bad in his mouth and he rubbed it out and went to the chair and dropped down wearily into it. "Jake said you're having a feud with Phil Ketch," he said. "What's that about?"

"Jake's doing," Kate replied, carrying a plate of cold food to the dining table. "He wants to nudge Phil out and he's using me to do it."

Dan's sympathy for the schemed-against flared. "And you're letting him?"

"What should I do? Storm out indignantly? It wouldn't help Phil. All it would do is get me fired."

"That's Jake's brand of reasoning if I ever heard it," Dan snarled. "Do you have to think like him to keep your job?"

"I don't have to, I choose to," Kate replied. "You might try it yourself. Maybe you could better afford your dreams if you did."

Dan clenched his fists, fighting his temper. But he felt himself losing the struggle.

Kate faced him. "Any other topics you want to discuss?" she asked, acidly.

Dan thrust himself up out of the chair and strode angrily down the hallway to the bedroom. Fuming, he undressed and took a shower. Gradually, his rage subsided.

Dan dried himself and returned to the bedroom and donned his pajamas. Then he turned out the light and stretched out on the bed. He lay in the darkness for what seemed like hours, with sleep teasing him, remaining just out of reach. Then he heard Kate come into the bedroom. She did not turn on the light.

She went to the closet and got down a blanket and got her pajamas from the drawer. He was relieved, knowing that she intended to sleep on the couch. If she had gotten into the bed with him and lay beside him, he would not have been able to sleep all night. For Kate had become the living symbol of his failures.

7

When Dan awakened the next morning, he heard sounds of Kate in the kitchen. He remained in bed, listening. A few minutes later, he heard her in the bathroom, then she came into the bedroom. Dan feigned sleep while she dressed. He did not open his eyes again until he heard the front door close and knew that she had left to catch her train.

After Dan had eaten breakfast, he shaved and dressed for the visit to Weininger. Before leaving the apartment, he paused at the phone and considered calling Bobbie. She had hung up the night before, she might be angry. But he would have to explain why he hadn't talked to her, and why he didn't go to her, and that would take time. So he decided to hold off calling her until he returned from the city.

At Grand Central, Dan hustled through the station and got a cab on Forty-second Street. Sam Weininger's office was on Fifty-seventh, just off Fifth Avenue. When Dan reached the building, he took the elevator up and stepped out at Weininger's floor into a small reception area. The girl at the reception desk phoned in to Weininger, and a few seconds later Dan was seated across from him in his office. Sam Weininger looked to be in his sixties. He was a kindly-appearing man, with a broad forehead and a narrow, pointed chin, and smiling eyes. Dan felt immediately comfortable in his presence. As soon as Dan was seated, Weininger tipped back in his swivel chair, hiked his feet up to the desk top, and locked his hands behind his head, as if he were prepared to spend the rest of his day with Dan if it were necessary.

"Jake says you must be a good writer," Weininger smiled. "He says that when you suffer you put everything you've got into it."

Dan could imagine Jake saying that. It was the kind of superficial summing-up that slipped easily from his lips. "Jake oversimplifies," he replied.

"True. But it's an asset in his particular field. His readers want quick, easy answers. When they finish a piece in Chic, they want to know that the question it explored has been settled, for once and all."

"I can't go along with the instant answers he manufactures," Dan frowned.

"No one expects you to. Jake certainly doesn't. He's not putting out Chic for you. He's aiming at those people who want to have their prejudices confirmed. If he challenged them, he'd lose them. He wouldn't change them."

"It's pandering," Dan replied.

"If supplying a want is pandering, then it's pandering," Weininger said. "And all business is pandering. Jake's in business." He studied Dan for a second, then said, "He's not only in business, he's in a fantastically competitive business. He's got to hold on to his customers, and steal a few, here and there, from his competitors. If he doesn't, he'll go down."

"I'd let the other magazines have them," Dan smiled.

"So would I," Weininger replied. "But we're not Jake. Jake thrives on the struggle. As a matter-of-fact, my guess is that if there's no turmoil around he stirs some up. But he doesn't do it to be malicious. He can't help it. He feeds on ferment. And he's a hungry fellow." Weininger shrugged. "But it's not important, is it? We're not here to analyze Jake." He nodded toward the envelope Dan was carrying. "Is that your manuscript?"

"Yes." Dan handed it across the desk to him.

Weininger put the envelope aside. "I'll look it over later," he said. "It's not as important as you might think-as far as I'm concerned anyway. I'm interested more in what goes into an article than in writing style. Not that style isn't important. But with basic intelligence, style can be developed. The curiosity and perseverance it takes to dig, and then keep digging to get every last fact-that can't be acquired. It has to be there. And to suit me, it has to be tortured till it bleeds." He smiled. "That's what I feed on," he said.

"I can't promise anything," Dan replied. "I've never tested myself in that way."

"Promises I can get anywhere," Weininger said. "Performance-that's what I want." He shifted his weight a bit, then said, "Let me tell you a bit about the magazine. I don't have a name for it yet. I just call it 'It.' At the moment it needs material more than it needs a name."

Weininger dropped his feet to the floor and scooted his chair up to the desk and leaned on his elbows. "It won't be entered in the same circulation battle that Chic fights in," he said. "It will have a very specialized market, the serious history buffs. No one else caters-" he smiled broadly-"panders to them," he said. "They won't be satisfied with the surface stuff. They know it all, and more. What will interest them is what they don't know. Our readers will want to be informed, stimulated, even angered. If we don't get a good number of denunciations on every article we print, I'll know we're failing. History isn't cut and dried, Morgan. Every question has a dozen answers, each one of them both the truth and a lie. I want to serve our readers the full course."

"It sounds exciting." Dan smiled. He was already caught up in Weininger's enthusiasm. "But that sort of thing takes time."

The editor sighed. "You will undoubtedly be distressed to learn that we have more time than money. The magazine will be a quarterly. It would be economically impossible to put out the kind of publication we want more often than that. In fact, even a quarterly may be unfeasible. We expect to be in the red for quite a while.

"We'll carry advertising, but the advertisers will never court us, or even flirt with us. We're too specialized. At our cost-per-thousand, only an idiot would put money into our pages." He grinned. "So far, we've found two prospective idiots. Our income will be exclusively from sales-at least at first. So ... our writers will have to work more for love than money."

Dan frowned. "Money is important," he said.

"We expect to pay," Weininger replied. "I'm only explaining that we can't pay as high as, say, Jake."

Dan smiled again, relieved. "I was afraid there for a minute that you were going to charge me for writing for you."

"Not at first. After we've been in the red a year or so, then I might consider it." He tipped back in his chair again. "I won't ask you what you think so far," he said. "It wouldn't matter. I'll give you an assignment. If you come up with what I want, I don't care what you think. What do you know about Bob LaFollette?"

Dan shrugged. "Senior, you mean, I suppose. Not much. Senator from Wisconsin. Ran for President on one of the off-brand tickets. He was a heller as I recall. I think there was an attempt to expel him from the Senate."

Weininger nodded. "It almost succeeded," he said. "And you're right, he was a heller and a paradox. He was the kind of meat I want to go through our grinder. Find out about him-everything. You'll have to go to Wisconsin, talk to the people who knew him. When you get that far along in the project, if you do, I'll advance expenses. All right?"

"Right."

"Don't write anything," Weininger said. "Just give me an outline. I want to know what disturbs you about the man. Questions, questions. I want to know the answers you're going to look for." He straightened up in his chair. "Do you have any questions of your own-on the project?"

"Not at the moment," Dan replied, rising. "I think I'm clear on what you want. If anything occurs to me, I'll phone you."

"Do," Weininger said, "any time you feel like it." He got up and offered a hand. "I hope it works out," he smiled. "I need you, Morgan."

They shook hands. "I need you even more," Dan said. "You may turn out to be my savior."

Weininger walked to the elevator with Dan and they shook hands again. When Dan reached the street he crossed to a corner where he could get a cab headed downtown, planning to go directly to the library for books on LaFollette. He noticed as he was crossing the street that passers-by were staring at him, and he realized that he was wearing a silly, delirious grin. He straightened his face, selfconsciously, but the inner delight would not be contained. Weininger and his idea and the opportunity to work with him enchanted Dan. He felt driven to please the editor, to turn out the kind of demanding work that Weininger wanted. He was excited by the anticipation of digging for facts, questioning. He hoped that he had at last found the occupation he had been seeking.

As Dan was hailing a cab to go to the library, Kate was entering Jake Dennis' office. She was fuming. "Great idea of yours-communicate by memo," she raged, rattling a sheet of paper at Jake. "What do I do now? He won't read my memos."

Jake tipped back in his chair and threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Kate wadded the memo into a ball and hurled it at him. Jake ducked and came up still shaking with merriment.

"Jake, it's not funny. How can I work?"

"What did he do?" Jake asked, his laughter gradually subsiding.

"Just turned back my memo, that's all. I sent it in, and a few minutes later his secretary brought it back and said he refused to read it."

"He was in here a bit earlier," Jake said. "He demanded that I fire you."

Kate frowned. "What did you say?"

"I told him I wasn't going to get involved in office politics." Jake chuckled. "You've got him on the run, Kate. You get more like me every day. Good girl."

Kate shook a finger at him. "Don't put this on me," she said. "It's your doing, not mine." Then suddenly she sighed and her shoulders fell and she dropped into a chair. "Let me out, Jake," she asked. "I'm not cut out for this sort of thing. It's making a nervous wreck out of me, this and all the tension at home."

"You're running scared, Kate. You'll only knock yourself off that way. Buck up. You've got the power on your side. I'm with you. Relax. All you have to do it outwait Phil."

Kate shuddered. "He must hate me."

"Good. The more he hates you, the faster he'll drive himself out. The pressure will build, day by day, minute by minute. He'll hate you and there won't be one damn thing he can do about it-because I'll protect you. The frustration will build, then, eventually-boom! He'll explode. Then good-by Phil. It's as simple as that."

"It's dirty," Kate muttered.

"A year from now, when you're sitting in his seat, and you look back on it, you won't think it's dirty. You'll think it was smart. And you'll be right-it is."

Jake got up and went to Kate and took her hands and pulled her up. They stood facing each other, Jake smiling, Kate looking worried. "Politics takes patience," Jake said. "You'll have to learn that if you want to move up with me."

"I'm not so sure I want that."

"Then why are you helping me hang Phil? You don't enjoy it, that's fairly obvious."

"I don't know why I'm doing it."

"Then let me tell you. You want to be on top. You want to be the boss. You need it as much as I do." He grinned. "Once you get into Phil's spot, I'm going to start watching out for my own job. You've probably got ideas about it."

Kate scowled. "That's ridiculous."

"We'll see. It doesn't worry me. I'm pretty sure I can handle you. But I'll keep my guard up, nevertheless."

Jake put his hands on Kate's waist and she tightened. He urged her gently toward him. She moved away, out of his grip. "Not here," she said, hiding her face from him.

"Okay. Not here-but somewhere, Kate." He moved back to his desk. "You'll have to admit it someday, Kate. What you and I want is the same. Here at the office, and everywhere. You want to ride high, and so do I. I want you, and you want me."

Kate didn't reply for a second. Then, feebly, she shook her head. She moved slowly toward the door.

"Patience," Jake counseled. "Let Phil wear himself out."

Kate nodded. She left Jake's office and returned to her cubbyhole.

Kate began to wonder about herself. Last night, Dan had accused her of wanting to dominate him. Today, Jake had told her she wanted to be boss. Was it true? If it weren't, why was she co-operating in the plot against Phil Ketch? Was it simply because she wanted his job? Or was there some larger compulsion involved? Did she want to destroy men? Was it her fault that Dan had changed so much? Was he really only protecting himself against her?

She put her head down on her arms and the tears began to flow. In a moment she was shaking convusively with sobs.

Dan's enthusiasm was still soaring when he stepped off the train in Cornwall. There were four books on LaFollette resting in the crook of his arm. He moved along the street toward the apartment building, stepping lively, as if he had never in his life had any trouble with his leg.

By the time he reached the lobby, Dan was whistling. In the elevator, on the way up, he hefted the books affectionately. In a few seconds, he would open them and begin digging.

When he reached his floor, Dan hurried out of the elevator and down the corridor. Then, from behind, he heard the soft padding of slippers. He turned and saw Bobbie running after him.

He stopped and she caught up with him. She was wearing the light-yellow cotton. Her golden hair swayed enchantingly as she moved, and her breasts bounced gently. "Is it safe?" she whispered.

Dan smiled. "She's at work."

"Where have you been?" Bobbie asked, taking his arm. "I called you again."

"In the city, to see a man about a job. Then to the library."

Bobbie glanced at the books. "Anything good?"

"Everything great," Dan grinned. "But they probably wouldn't interest you. They're all about one man, a Senator."

"Creeps."

Dan got out his key and opened the door and Bobbie went on ahead of him into the apartment. Closing the door, Dan observed her preceding him into the living room. He bit his lip. He wanted to get at the books. "Did you want something-something special?" he asked.

She turned, standing at the coffee table. She tossed her head prettily and smiled. "Everything's special these days," she said. "That's the way I feel, anyway."

"What I actually meant was," Dan said, "I intended to curl up with these books. This job I mentioned-it has to do with the books, and it's important."

Bobbie frowned. "You've got one job, haven't you? What's so important about another one? You can't do both at once."

Dan laughed. "Well, it's involved," he said. "But take my word for it, the new one is important to me. So ... if I want it, I have to ... well, for a starter, read these books." Dan moved toward her. "Bobbie, please, just accept it."

"Sure. Whatever you say."

"We could both read," Dan suggested, drawing closer. "I'll find a book for you, and-" Bobbie giggled.

Dan was only a step away and the heady scent of her youthfulness teased him. The tip of her tongue peeked provokingly from between her lips.

The books slipped from Dan's arm and thudded to the floor, then Bobbie was in his arms.

Their mouths crushed together. Dan tasted the bitter-sweetness of her. Her arms went around his waist, gripping him frantically, and her hips began the fierce, wanton grinding motion against his pelvis. Fire swept Dan's body. Nothing else mattered. Only Bobbie was important.

Their lips parted. Bobbie gasped, as if released from some great pressure. She laid her head against his chest. "Remember the park? It was all spoiled. Don't spoil it again, Dan."

"Never," Dan promised. His fingers found the buttons of her dress.

"Dan, hurry."

He slipped the dress up over her head. She was naked beneath it.

Dan stripped off his jacket.

"Let me," Bobbie whispered. Her fingers tore at his belt.

Then they came together again, their bodies pressing hungrily, their hands seeking and caressing and stimulating. He kissed her lips and throat and breasts, lingering playfully on the soft, pink-tipped mounds of flesh until she stiffened and arched against him.

"I'm ready," Bobbie breathed. "Dan, I'm ready."

They sank to the floor. Dan's shoe touched something hard. The books. He kicked out, blindly, sending them scattering out of the way.

"Oh ... Dan, Dan ... now."

He covered her with himself. AH other thoughts evaporated. This was what he wanted. This was what he needed. Passion flamed, lit the room with its glow, then flashed and exploded, consuming them.

The books lay ignored the rest of the afternoon.

8

The next few weeks were a mosaic of exultations, pressures, despairs, delights, frustrations and satisfactions for Dan. It was a whirlwind of time which often whipped him to the peaks of intellectual stimulation and sensual gratification, and occasionally dipped him to the very bedrock of guilt and remorse.

The highest pinnacles were reached in his work. After he had read and reread the books on LaFollette, he began making daily journeys to the newspaper morgues and interviewing people in the New York area who had known the Senator.

A fabric of questions began to take shape; simple, complex, enigmatic questions-questions with answers, with no answers, questions that gave birth to new questions. How had a man who was born into political life as a Republican become such a fire-blooded independent liberal? How could a fire-blooded liberal break with the Wilson administration because of its sympathy for the Allies? How could a man so dedicated to peace oppose the League of Nations and the World Court?

A few days after Dan had been to Sam Weininger's office, his manuscript on Karl Immermann came back to him in the mail. With it was a brief note, saying that Dan's writing was excellent and that Weininger could not understand why the manuscript had been rejected.

By this time, Dan knew the answer to that. He had been more interested in having a Daniel Morgan on the library shelves than in doing a thorough study of Immermann. His manuscript was no more than a reworking of a previous book on the man. Sam Weininger would have no way of knowing that unless he had read the other book. Dan had not realized it himself until he began to dig into the life of LaFollette and question every accepted fact. He had not done so in the case of the work on Immermann.

The discords during this period were supplied chiefly by Kate. She began staying late at the magazine. The first time, she explained simply that she was working. After that she offered no explanation. Dan wondered if she were seeing Jake after hours.

He asked her candidly one evening when she came in late if she had been with him.

"Of course," she replied. "I work with Jake. When I work late, it's usually with him."

"Are you sure you're working?"

"I'm not sure of anything any more. I haven't been for quite some time."

"You ought to know if you're working or not."

"Yes, I'm working. I find it necessary to work. I find it necessary to work overtime occasionally. I want to keep my job. I have to support my husband's dreams. Is that answer enough for you?"

Dan withdrew sullenly. He did not question her about her late hours again. He decided that Kate had probably loved Jake all the time. And if that was so, the problem would eventually work itself out; she would divorce him.

Then what?

Dan had to admit that if it were not for Kate's salary he could not devote his time to making a place for himself with Weininger. Kate was right in saying that it would be a while before he could support himself on his writing. He had to remain dependent on Kate in order eventually to escape her domination. These thoughts drove him into dark depression. Only when he was sheltered in Bobbie's arms or involved in his research was he free of them.

And so Bobbie and his work became his obsessions? But they created problems, too. The deeper he probed into the life of the Senator and the more fascinated he became with the man, the more Bobbie demanded of him, as if she considered his work a rival.

Bobbie was with him almost constantly during the day when he was trying to work. She would babble distracting inanities, anything that popped into her head, anything to draw his attention. When talk failed to distract him, she would curl herself around him and begin making love to him. That never failed.

Gradually, Bobbie began to take Dan more and more away from his work. He was a man with two loves, each pulling him in a different direction, each contending for his full attention. He realized that he had to strike a balance. If he did not, one love would destroy the other.

One afternoon when he was engaged in plumbing a particularly engrossing facet of LaFollette's character, and Bobbie was trying to tease him away, he irritably handed her some money and asked her to go to a movie. Instead of being angry, she was delighted. And she hurried away.

As the weeks passed, Dan depended more and more on bribery to find time for his work. Bobbie caught on quickly. She began mentioning things she wanted-clothes, trinkets, costume jewelry. Then her needs became more expensive. She had to have a transistor radio. She couldn't live another moment unless she had a record player. Then records, by the armload.

Dan began to make withdrawals from the savings account. He knew he was buying his own time, but it was necessary. He had to keep Bobbie happy. He needed to have her when he wanted her, she was his strength. He knew, too, that her desire for trinkets would end when he could give her more of his time. But he needed work time in order to gain play time. He was on a treadmill, running miles to gain an inch. The goal was always in sight, but never within reach.

One afternoon when Bobbie had returned to the apartment with a purchase, a bikini, and was in the bedroom putting it on to model it for Dan, the doorbell rang. Dan guessed that it was a salesman, but he was far wrong. When he opened the door, Dr. Jamison, forbidding and austere, stood in the doorway.

"Good afternoon, Daniel," the professor nodded, stepping into the foyer.

Dan was at first speechless, thinking of Bobbie in the bedroom. Then he smiled broadly, and nearly shouted, "Good afternoon, Dr. Jamison," hoping to warn Bobbie.

Jamison frowned. "You've been cooped up too long," he said. "You're beginning to shout."

Dan laughed nervously. "I was just glad to see you," he said. "I guess my enthusiasm got the best of me. Sorry."

Jamison softened. "Well, I'm glad that you're glad to see me," he said, moving into the living room. "The last time I was here, I got the impression that you ... uh, weren't sure you wanted anything more to do with either me or Holymount." He started to sit down.

"Listen," Dan said, quickly, "I was just on my way out for coffee. There's a little place down the block. Why don't we go there?"

Jamison settled in the chair. "No, thank you. I have only a minute. I have some other stops to make. I just wanted to get your signature on the new contract. I brought it along."

"Oh ... that," Dan frowned. "Well...."

Jamison looked up, surprised. "Have you accepted one of the other offers? I expected you to let me know if you did. I assumed, from your silence, that you were coming back with us."

"I haven't exactly accepted anything yet," Dan replied, moving into the room. "That is, no decision has been made."

Dan now recognized a new dilemma. If he turned down Jamison's offer and then did not succeed with Sam Weininger, he would be entirely without income, or the prospect of it.

"But the month has passed," Jamison protested. "You said you would know for sure in a month. I believe I made myself clear the last time I was here, Daniel. It is absolutely necessary that I have-"

Jamison halted abruptly, staring past Dan with a stunned look.

Dan whipped his head around, and saw Bobbie standing just inside the room. She was wearing the bikini and smiling delightedly. The two pieces of cloth were no more than strips. Her young breasts pressed to be free. The lower half of the bikini dipped so low and was so tightly cinched that every nuance of her nubile flesh was out-lined.

"Great heavens!" Jamison shrilled.

Bobbie took the exclamation as a compliment. She giggled happily and performed a pirouette, arms high above her head, so that her breasts seemed certain to break free.

"Bobbie!" Dan snapped.

Her arms fell to her sides and her joy melted. She stared questioningly at Dan, puzzled by his sudden show of anger. "Don't you like it?"

"It's fine. But not ... not for here," Dan said abruptly.

"It's not fine," Jamison put in. "It's indecent, young lady."

Bobbie turned beseechingly to Dan. "Is it?"

"Please," Dan said. "Just change, will you?"

Bobbie shrugged. "Sure." She retreated toward the rear of the apartment.

"I'll have to have some explanation for this," Jamison said frigidly to Dan.

Dan dropped wearily into the chair across from him. "She's a neighbor girl," he said. "I told you that the last time you were here."

"That's not an explanation, that's an evasion."

"She's ... like a daughter," Dan said. "Her parents-she's not happy at home. She drops in here occasionally."

"Is that all?"

Dan tensed. "I'm crowding forty, Doctor," he said. "I don't have to explain my actions any more."

"I'm afraid you'll never reach the age where you don't have to explain having naked adolescents in your apartment."

"Damn it, she wasn't naked. She bought a new suit, she wanted to show it off. What's wrong with that?"

Jamison studied Dan for a moment, then asked, "Morgan, are you in some sort of trouble?"

"What the hell kind of a question is that?" Dan flared.

"A very pertinent question, judging from what I've seen today." Jamison peered piercingly at Dan. "Morgan, a New York detective came to my home a few days ago. He asked a number of questions about you."

Dan felt clammy sweat suddenly break out all over his body. He stared at Jamison dumbly.

"I didn't think much about it until now," Jamison continued. "The detective said it was just routine. Now I recall that he asked me if you had ever been involved with any of the girls at the school. I told him no. Now ... now, I'm not so sure." He gestured toward the rear of the apartment. "Considering this."

"What else did he ask?" Dan's voice was pinched with fear.

"Morgan, you are in trouble, aren't you?"

Dan leaped up. "No, damn it," he shouted. "And the only thing wrong here is in your dirty mind. Get out, Jamison! Get out!"

Jamison arose. He hunched his shoulders defensively. "This ends our association, Morgan," he said. "I can't have a man of your character on my staff. You'd better take inventory of yourself, Morgan. You're in a very bad way."

"Out!" Dan screamed.

Bobbie, attracted by the yelling, appeared in the hallway. She was still clad in the bikini.

Jamison eyed her, shook his head disgustedly, then headed for the door.

Bobbie, frightened, ran to Dan.

Just as she reached him, Jamison turned and viewed them scornfully. "I have no choice, Morgan," he said. "I'll have to report this to the police."

"Jamison, no!"

"It's my duty," Jamison replied. Then he went on out the door and it slammed behind him.

A desperate moan broke from Dan's throat. "They know," he groaned. "The police, they know about Eddie."

"No," Bobbie insisted. "No, Dan, they don't know. They couldn't know."

"They talked to Jamison about me," Dan told her. "Why, unless they know?"

Bobbie held him tightly, as if realizing that she was his only strength. "They're just snooping," she said. "They couldn't know."

"If they don't now, they will. He'll tell them about us. It will all add up-you, me, Eddie."

"They can't prove anything about us," Bobbie said. "Just because that old pill says I was here? What does that prove? My mother, she'll say there's nothing to it, Dan. If she said there was, the police would be after her, too. For letting it go on. It's all right, Dan, darling. We're safe."

Dan wanted to believe her. He battled panic and finally drove it back. Bobbie was right, he told himself. The police were probably only snooping, checking out every possibility. And even if they believed Jamison's story about Dan's and Bobbie's relationship, there was no way of proving it. Dan's fears retreated. They remained alive and armed, however, ready for another attack.

Dan became suddenly aware of Bobbie in his arms. His fingers tingled to the sensation of her flesh. Here was shelter from the fears. They could not find him when he was hiding in her arms. Dan undid the strip of cloth that bound her breasts. He kissed her, then slid his lips down to the proud pink flowers of her breasts and she began to squirm in his arms. The strip of fabric about her loins fell to the floor. "Oh, Dan, Dan, I love you."

He lifted her and carried her toward the bedroom. She clung to him, her arms around his neck, the ripeness of her lips against his lips. They reached the bed and fell across it.

In a frenzy, with Bobbie's kisses challenging and stirring him, he stripped. Then the cloak of their passion fell upon them, shutting out the world and the world's people. He heard only Bobbie's sensuous breathing, felt only her body, urging him on to ever greater heights of passion. Nothing else existed.

By the next day, all thoughts of Dr. Jamison had been driven out of Dan's mind. That morning, Bobbie arrived at the apartment soon after Kate left for work, and in the half-consciousness of awakening, she and Dan had made love.

Now it was early afternoon. Dan had given Bobbie money and she was out scattering it among her new friends, the neighborhood merchants. Dan had the portable typewriter on the coffee table, and, seated on the couch, was pecking away at a draft of the outline he would submit to Sam Weininger.

Dan was pleased with what he had accomplished. There was a thoroughness about the work that exhilarated him, and as it took on a roundness, a solidity, he felt himself becoming more whole.

It was late afternoon before Dan noticed how long Bobbie had been gone. He went to the peephole and peered out. There was no one in sight. He shrugged off the concern and returned to his work. Then, a few minutes later, the doorbell rang and he got up and answered it and Bobbie was standing there looking strangely distracted arid apprehensive.

"What is it?" Dan asked, worried.

Bobbie hurried in. Dan closed the door and followed her.

"What happened?" he demanded.

She stopped in the center of the living room and turned to face him. "That detective," she replied, her voice trembling."

"He came back. And Fred is home."

Dan went to her and took her roughly by the shoulders. "Did he ask about me?"

"Who?"

"The detective, damn it."

Bobbie shook her head. "No," she said. Then she changed it to, "Yes. In a way, he did. Not exactly."

"What did he say? Tell me right from the beginning."

Bobbie shruddered. "It was Fred being there that shook me up," she said. "The way he kept looking at me, every time I spoke. He gave me the creeps. He didn't believe a thing, not anything."

"From the beginning," Dan insisted. "Let's have it all, so we can decide what we have to do."

"I should have come here instead of there," Bobbie groaned. "I bought a sweater and I wanted to try it with my brown skirt, and I went home to get the skirt so I could bring it down here and try it on, and the detective and Fred were there, waiting for me. Boy, I almost dropped off the world."

"He questioned you-right?"

She nodded. "About how close I was to Eddie. I guess some of the kids must have told him we were kind of ... very friendly. And he found out about the fight at the bus stop. The kids told him that, too, I guess. Only they didn't know you. So he wanted to know who the man was."

"You didn't tell him?"

"I said I didn't know. I said it was all a crazy mistake. I said I met this guy on the way to the bus, just a friendly guy, and we walked along together, and Eddie got the wrong idea."

"Did he believe you?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. He nodded like he did, but he kept pushing it, like asking me if I'd ever seen the guy again, maybe on the street or somewhere, or could I describe him, and like that."

"What did you say?"

"I said no to everything. I said he was just kind of an average guy, I didn't notice because it wasn't important. So he let up. I don't know if he believed it or not, though. He didn't seem satisfied."

"That's all right," Dan decided. "As long as none of the others know me, he's at a dead end." He took Bobbie's hand and held it tightly. "Now, you're certain he didn't say anything about Jamison?"

"Nothing. He didn't even hint at anything like that."

"Then perhaps Jamison reconsidered. Maybe he thought about Holymount. If there were any kind of scandal about me, the school would be brought into it-in the papers, anyway. He probably backed off. I think we can forget about him."

"We can't forget about Fred," Bobbie said.

"All right, let's tackle that. What exactly happened?"

"He didn't believe anything. All the time the detective was questioning me, Fred was ... like a salesman-you know, courteous and all that, trying to help the guy think of questions, all gooey sweet. But then after the detective left, he got like he always is-a real bastard. He started raving about me getting him in trouble-boy, him in trouble!"

"What did he mean by that?"

"Talk. You know, outraged and all that stuff. I mean, saying he tried to bring me up right, and here the cops are coming around, and I'm probably a murderess or something."

"He said that?"

Bobbie nodded. "That's what scares me. Nobody else mentioned any murder or anything. I mean, the cop didn't say anything like that. Just Fred. Somehow, he's got the idea, all on his own, with no help."

Dan shrugged. "Well, it won't be of much help to him. The police have been digging at this for over a month and they haven't been able to prove anything. Do you think he'll look into it?"

"No. He's a talker. You know, he yells and threatens, but he wouldn't actually put himself out."

"Then we're still safe."

"I don't know. After the cop left, Fred kept picking at me, digging. He worries me."

"How long will he be around? He'll be leaving again soon, won't he?"

"Maybe. I guess."

Dan got up and began pacing the room. Bobbie watched him speculatively. "What do you think?" she asked, finally. Dan halted. "I think we're all right," he replied. "If Jamison were going to report us, he would have done it by now. So we're safe on that score. Your stepfather will probably go out on the road again in a few days. He'll forget about it. As for the police, they haven't even been to see me. If they had anything, they certainly would have been around to question me. I think we're safe."

"I wish I could be sure."

Dan went to her and took her in his arms.

"Believe," he said. "I've learned a lot about the power of believing in the past few weeks. I've learned to believe in myself. It's changed me, given me a new strength. Just try to believe."

Bobbie relaxed a bit.

Dan rocked her gently in his arms. He kissed her face. "I know about your strength," Bobbie whispered. "I feel it."

Dan kissed her throat, her cheeks, and while he kissed her, removed her clothes, then his lips pressed against a rosebud of a breast.

"That's good ... so good," Bobbie breathed rapturously.

Dan kissed the soft curves of her hips, and she arched her body passionately as his kisses inflamed her.

"Love me ... love me there," she moaned .

Dan's hand caressed her. His mouth found her lips again, their tongues darted. Under Dan's touch, Bobbie's hips began to twist and squirm frenziedly. Then she wrenched her head to the side and her lips found his ear and she began to whisper heatedly what she wanted him to do to her.

Frantically, Dan lifted her up and, stumbling blindly, carried her toward the bedroom.

"Hurry, hurry," she begged, tearing at the buttons of his shirt.

And then they fell together in a tangle on the bed. A wave of fiery emotion rolled over them, as they drowned in the depths of their passion.

Later, when Dan was so weak that he felt it would be impossible even to lift a finger, Bobbie lay against him, kissing his naked chest and breathing soft love sounds.

"This was the best ever," Bobbie told him, adoringly. "I went crazy, didn't you?"

Dan could only moan in reply.

"I'm not afraid any more," Bobbie said. "If I can be with 100 you, like this, I won't ever be afraid again. I couldn't live without you, Dan."

He felt a bubble of pride begin to swell in him, and gradually his physical strength began to return. He reached out and stroked Bobbie's golden hair, felt his fingers glide on the silken smoothness.

"I'm a woman now," Bobbie murmured. "A real, altogether woman, full up. You did it, Dan, darling."

Dan kissed her gently. Then, holding her away from him, he gazed at her in wonder. She was not yet a woman, no matter what she thought. But he was pleased. He didn't want her to be a woman. As she was, still half a child, she made him feel young. He took her in his arms again, felt the softness of her breasts against his chest, kissed her hair.

Then, from the front of the apartment, Dan heard a disturbingly familiar sound. A click. For a dim second, he tried to identify it, then abruptly he leaped up, throwing Bobbie aside. He grabbed his trousers and began tugging them on.

"What is it?" Bobbie rasped as his panic was communicated to her.

"The door," Dan whispered. "It may be-"

Then Kate was standing in the bedroom doorway. Dan was just pulling his trousers up, and Bobbie was sitting, crouched, naked, on the bed. Kate stopped dead and stared dumbly.

For a second, there was no sound, no movement. Then a small, half-choked sob escaped Kate.

Dan stood, with his hands clasping his belt, mesmerized.

"I knew it," Kate murmured, sickly. "I didn't want to believe it. But I knew it."

There was nothing Dan could say. There was no excuse he could give, no apology that would be anything but an obvious lie. He just stood.

Kate took in a deep breath, strengthening herself. She went to the closet and got down a bag. Slowly she began stuffing clothes into it.

Dan and Bobbie watched her, frozen. Bobbie made no move to cover herself. It was as if she were paralyzed.

Kate closed the bag and snapped the lock. Then, without seeing them, she strode out of the bedroom, down the hallway. A second later there was the sound of the front door closing.

Dan's arms, fell limply to his sides. He dropped to the edge of the bed, and sat, hunched over, stupefied. The image of Kate's horror remained fixed in his mind. Whatever had been between them had died before his eyes. It had crumbled as if it had been a shell of dust struck suddenly by a hammer.

Dan felt Bobbie's touch on his bare shoulder. Then her breasts pressed against his back and her arms circled him.

"You don't need her," she whispered. "You have me, Dan. It's best this way, Dan. It's over. Now it will be you and me and we won't have to worry about her catching us. You're mine for good now."

Dan buried his face in the cup of his hands. He began to weep, softly. And Bobbie comforted him, telling him over and over again that he belonged to her now.

9

When Dan awakened the next morning, Bobbie was cuddled in the curve of his arm and the arm was numb. Groggily, he remembered. He remembered Kate finding them together, Kate packing the bag and leaving, Bobbie comforting him, the sickening realization that life with Kate was ended, taking shelter again in Bobbie's arms, and spending the night there.

Bobbie stirred and opened her eyes. She smiled and kissed Dan's face, then hugged him tightly. "I never woke up like this before," she murmured, her voice smokily wistful. "I like it."

"You shouldn't have stayed," Dan said, worriedly. "What will your parents think?"

"Who cares?"

"It's dangerous. You said your stepfather was suspicious. Where will he think you were?" Bobbie shrugged.

"Have you ever been out all night before?"

"No."

"You better get right home. I don't want them calling the police to look for you."

"I'm coming back," Bobbie said. "Of course."

"For good."

Dan was silent for a moment, pondering this pronouncement He thought to himself that if he compiled a list of the most insane acts he could commit at this time, at its top would be having Bobbie move in with him. It would confirm every suspicion anyone might have. If the police, sent around by Dr. Jamison, found her living with him, it would mean arrest. But the dangers were of no avail against his need for her. They merely floated in and out of his mind, recognized but unheeded.

"I want to wake up like this every morning," Bobbie purred, stroking his shoulder.

"It may not be for long," Dan said. "When my wife walked out of here yesterday, my income went with her. There's only the savings account-something over a thousand dollars. That won't last long. And I've cut myself off from Holymount."

"What about your work, all that stuff you do all day? Don't you get paid for that?"

"Eventually, I hope. But nothing right at the moment."

Bobbie sat up. "What kind of a crazy job is that?"

Dan smiled. He cupped a lovely breast and kissed it gently. "Never mind. We'll work something out." He rolled out of bed. "Shower," he said, "then breakfast, then home for you. Show up there, anyway."

"Sure, okay. I'll get my stuff and bring it down. My records and stuff."

"And clothes."

Bobbie giggled. "I didn't think I'd wear any any more."

"In case we have guests," Dan grinned. He went on into the bathroom and got into the shower. He thought to himself that he would have to hurry with his work. He would devote the full day to it. It was necessary to finish now and perhaps get an advance from Weininger. Money had suddenly become important to him.

Then the shower curtain was pulled back and Bobbie peeked in, impishly. She got in with him and they made love under the spray. The flame built up and the water could not drown it. Finally, they ran, dripping, back to the bedroom. After that they had to take showers again.

Breakfast consisted of coffee and toast. When it was finished, Bobbie kissed Dan lovingly, then left the apartment, assuring him she would hurry right back. Dan put the coffee cups in the sink, then got out his typewriter and notes and the outline he was preparing for Weininger.

The work moved along swiftly and well from the beginning. Dan was totally engrossed. Later, when the doorbell rang, he was annoyed at the interruption. He assumed it was Bobbie returning and he told himself he would have to get her a key.

Getting up, he glanced at his watch and was surprised to find that she had been gone over an hour. He wondered idly what had kept her so long.

The moment Dan opened the door he knew what had delayed Bobbie. She was not alone. Behind her was a big, beefy man with a florid complexion and a pock-marked face. He was dressed in a sport shirt and slacks. Dan knew instantly that the man was Fred Cass.

Bobbie's stepfather shoved her through the doorway and followed her in. Dan saw a bruise on Bobbie's left cheek. He closed the door and turned to face the two of them.

"He hit me," Bobbie whimpered. "He hit me and made me tell."

Dan grew bowstring taut with rage. His hands hardened into fists.

"You're damn right I made her tell," Fred Cass roared. His voice had a whisky croak to it.

Dan moved toward him, blindly, his fists like rocks.

"Just hold it, Morgan," Cass warned. "Don't get fancy with me or you'll find yourself hauled in."

Dan halted. "What does he know?" he asked Bobbie.

"All about it," she wept.

"She didn't skip nothing," Cass leered. "So you just take it easy, Morgan."

Dan's fists loosened. His rage, stifled, began subsiding, and in its place alarm began to build.

Bobbie dropped into a chair and began rubbing her cheek, pouting and sniffing.

"You're in pretty hot water. You better think about that, Morgan," Fred Cass snarled. "Messing around with a kid Bobbie's age. You can get sent up for a hell of a stretch on a thing like that." He made grumbling sounds, then said, "And, by God, it's my duty to see that you get what's coming to you. Behind me and her mother's back, sneaking her off here and turning her wrong. You ought to be locked up, Morgan."

Dan sensed compromise.

"When a man can't leave his daughter alone and go out and make a living for her in a high-class place like this, by God, something's wrong," Cass blustered on. "What's happened to morals, that's what I want to know, when a fella like you takes up with kids? Her sleeping here all night. Don't tell me you was teaching her schoolwork, like you told her mother. I been around, Morgan. I know the score." He shook a fat finger at Dan. "And I know what they do to guys like you. They'll stick you away so you can't bother no other man's kids."

Somehow Cass was not too convincing in his wrath. Boldly, Dan nodded toward the phone. "You better call the police," he said.

"I'm going to have my say first," Cass snarled. "I'm the one that's been wronged here. What are people going to say when this gets out? Are they going to blame you or this damn hot-pants kid? No sir, by God, they're going to say it's all Fred Cass' fault. Fred Cass didn't keep a watch on her, they'll say. Off selling, they'll say, when he ought to have been home raising the kid. Everybody knows her mother's no good. They'll put the blame square on Fred Cass."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"And that ain't all," Cass boomed. "I haven't even got to the rest. What about that kid that was killed in the park? What about that, Morgan?"

Dan felt drained, dry, empty. He merely stared at Cass blankly.

"I guess you're damn lucky I understand about human nature," Cass said.

Dan knew then that, finally, they were going to get down to business. "Yes?" he murmured.

"I mean, I know how it is," Cass said, sympathetically. "Hell, I'm a man, I know how a guy thinks. I understand how a guy could get mixed up with a looker like Bobbie."

Dan moved into the living room, sluggishly, past Fred Cass, and slumped on the couch. He looked at Bobbie. She had stopped crying. Her eyes were hard now and fixed on her stepfather.

Cass dug his hands into his pockets. "Hell," he said, "it's human nature. Not that that excuses it-specially about that Eddie kid. But it sort of waters it down-see?"

"Sure."

"The fact is, the way Bobbie tells it, Eddie probably had it coming. I sure can't blame you for that. The only trouble is, I'm not the judge."

"What do you want?" Dan asked drearily.

"Want? I don't want anything. Except maybe to protect us all. Like I said, if it got out about you and Bobbie, I'd be sure to be blamed. Then this Eddie business, and you and Bobbie, everything all together, you'd be sure to get ten or fifteen years. Hell, I don't want to see any of that happen."

"You're a thoughtful fellow," Dan said.

"But then, too, I've got my duty. And think of it this way: if it ever got out, I'd be in a jam for withholding evidence, or whatever they call it." He shook his head sadly. "That would just about do me under," he said. "Things ain't so hot in the selling line. I'd lose my job. In case a thing like that happened, I ought to have some security."

"How much?"

"Thousand dollars."

Dan shook his head. "I haven't got it."

"You can get it. There ain't nobody who can't rake up a grand these days. You got credit, ain't you?"

"I could give you two or three hundred," Dan said.

"Hell, what would I do with that? I couldn't even get a glow on." His facial muscles twitched. "Look, Morgan, I didn't come over here to bargain. I came to make it right about Bobbie. Now if you can't come across with a grand, as far as I'm concerned, it's over and done with. I'll just have to call in the cops. You can't make it right to a kid like Bobbie for a couple hundred, for crissakes."

Dan felt his hands yearn eagerly to become fists again. But he managed to control them. He had to. Fred Cass had the power to destroy him and Bobbie, and Cass, he knew, would do it. "I'll need some time," Dan said.

"You got till this time tomorrow."

Dan nodded resignedly. "I'll bring it to you."

"No," Cass said, "I'll come here. There's no sense in everybody nosing in on this. You can't trust Marge. And it's none of her business. She bleeds me enough as it is, the goddamn bitch." He turned and went to the door. "Just one thing, Morgan. You try any lousy tricks on me and you'll sweat it out in the can the rest of your life. Tomorrow, right here, same time. Understand?"

"Yes."

"If you're not here-with the cash-that's it." He yanked open the door and moved out into the corridor and the door slammed shut behind him.

Dan looked dully at Bobbie. "It will take most of the money," he murmured.

"You can't pay him," she replied, desperately. "He'll want more." She got up and went to Dan and sat beside him, looking fiercely angry. "He won't ever stop," she said.

"He can't get more than I have," Dan replied.

"Then he'll turn us in. He's mean, Dan. You don't know how mean he can get. You have to do something, Dan."

Dan sighed heavily. "What can I do?"

"You have to do something. He won't ever let up. He'll be after you all the time for money."

Dan put his head back and closed his eyes, trying to shut everything out. But there was the pressure of Bobbie's hold on his arm to keep him conscious of disaster. Now not even her arms could give shelter, for her touch had become a reminder.

"You have to do something," she said again.

What? Do what? What would stop Fred Cass? Only death. Dan shuddered. He tried to close his mind to the thought. But it remained, taunting him.

After work that evening, Jake escorted Kate to the hotel where she had taken a room the night before. When they entered the lobby, he steered her toward the bank of elevators, but she held back.

"You can't come up, Jake," she said.

"What? We're big kids now."

"No, I mean it. You know what happened the last time we were alone together. I can't let it happen again ... not now."

"Okay." He gestured toward the chairs in the lobby. "Let's sit a minute. I want to find out what happened."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Come on." Jake led her across the lobby to the chairs. "Kate, take a leave of absence," he said as they sat down.

"Fly out to Reno and get it over with. You've tortured yourself long enough. Get a divorce, then marry me."

Kate bit her lip. "I can't do it so quickly," she said. "I'm confused now, Jake. Something happened that I knew was going to happen, but I still can't believe it. My marriage means a lot to me. It's surely worth a little time and thought."

"But it's over."

"Maybe it is. I suppose it is. But why? I have to know why."

"Because Dan failed you, that's why."

"That's the quick and easy answer. But I'm not sure it's entirely true. That's what I have to decide first. Maybe it's not all Dan's fault." Kate put a hand on Jake's arm. "That leave of absence," she said, "could I have it for another reason?"

Jake frowned. "For instance?"

"To go away somewhere for a week or two, to think. I can't think and work too. They get all mixed up together."

"Well ... I suppose."

"I want to go tonight. Can you get along without me?"

"No, but I will. Where are you going?"

"I'm not sure. But I wouldn't tell you if I knew. I want to get away from everything familiar, Jake, from all the pressures. I want to clear my mind, empty it of everything but the problem of my marriage. Then maybe I can make a decision."

"Promise me one thing," Jake smiled. "When you come around to admitting that you and Dan are through, I get first call on you."

Kate returned the smile. "I promise."

Jake rose. Then he bent down and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Good luck with your cogitation."

"Thank you, Jake. Thank you very much."

"Purely selfish," he grinned. Then he turned and moved away.

Kate kept her eyes on him until he passed through the revolving door. Then she got up and went to the Travel Information desk, wondering if she were doing the right thing. She did not believe in running away, but it seemed to her that she had no choice; for if she remained, surrounded by familiar things, she would be devoured by the sorrows they brought constantly to mind.

10

Dan awakened before Bobbie the next morning. He got up without disturbing her, put on coffee, then showered, shaved and dressed.

As soon as he had had his coffee, he went out to the bank. He withdrew the entire balance of fourteen hundred dollars from the savings account and returned to the apartment. Bobbie was up, having coffee, sleepy-eyed. Dan dropped the money on the table. It was in fives and tens and looked more impressive than it actually was. Bobbie's eyes widened. "I've never seen so much for real before," she said. "Take a good look," Dan said. "That's all there is, and it goes fast."

"I want some."

"Bobbie, we have to stretch this. After I give your stepfather the thousand dollars, there will be only four hundred left. God only knows how long it will be before I earn any more. We'll have to budget this very closely."

Bobbie reached out and took a five. "Just a little one," she begged. "I won't spend it. I'll just keep it. To have it-you know?"

"All right. But hang onto it."

Dan poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down at the table across from Bobbie. "You can go tell your stepfather to come get his money," he said. "I want to get it over with."

Bobbie scowled. "Look at all he gets, and I just get a little one. You shouldn't give him anything."

"Let's not go through that again. I don't have any choice. It's for you, too, you know. Do you want to be sent to some institution for wayward girls?"

Bobbie shook her head. "I don't want to give him that thousand dollars, either. Especially when I know it won't do any good. He won't stop. I don't know why you won't believe me."

"I have to risk it," Dan said. "There's no other solution-except going to the police ourselves."

Bobbie lowered her eyes. "There's one other way," she said. "The same as Eddie."

"Don't even think that," Dan said, curtly.

"Why not?" she pouted. "That's what he'd do if it was the other way around. Boy, he'd do it just like that. He's no good, anyway."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"All he knows is slapping people around. Boy, I'm sick of that."

"He won't beat you any more. You'll be with me."

"You think that'll stop him? Not if he feels like it. He'll just come down here and slap us both around. What'll you do? You didn't do anything yesterday."

"Drop it."

"If somebody killed him, they ought to get a medal."

"Bobbie, please. Will you please drop it? Now go get him."

"Sure." She got up and left the apartment. Dan finished his coffee. His work was on the coffee table. He went to it, and, sitting on the couch, read back over what he had done the day before. He picked up where he had left off, and had almost finished another point in the outline when the doorbell rang.

Dan got up and answered it and found Fred Cass standing there. He was bleary-eyed and Dan could smell liquor on his breath.

"The kid said you've got the stuff," Cass said.

"Come on in."

Dan led Cass to the table and counted out the thousand dollars for him and put it in his hand. "This is the end of it, isn't it?"

"Sure." Cass eyed the rest of the money. "You shouldn't leave cash laying around," he said.

"That's all there is," Dan said. "I wanted you to see it. That is the end. No more. Understand?"

"That's all there is here maybe." Cass grinned. "How do I know how much there is someplace else?"

"You might as well make up your mind to it," Dan said. "There is no more. There is no more available anywhere."

Cass folded the bills and pocketed them. "Bobbie moving in here for good?" he asked.

"Perhaps."

"Okay, good riddance. You better watch her, Morgan. Take that as a friendly tip. She's not so damned innocent like she seems. I've had my troubles with her. Don't think you're the first guy she ever sacked up with either."

"You have your money. You can go."

"Okay. Just don't say I didn't tell you. You think you've got yourself a sweet little kid. Wait'll things don't go her way."

"Out!" Dan snapped.

"Okay, okay," Cass grumbled, moving toward the door. "Just mind what I say. I've had my troubles with her. Sweet little kid, my ass."

When the door closed behind Fred Cass, Dan sighed in relief. Then he returned to his work. He had difficulty concentrating now. He got up and lit a cigarette and began pacing. Suppose Fred Cass did demand more money? There was no place to get more-not until he could get an advance from Weininger. And he wasn't even sure about that. Weininger hadn't mentioned any details of payment. He hadn't mentioned price.

The doorbell rang again and when Dan opened the door, Bobbie struggled in with an armload of possessions. "I have to get my record player and records yet," she said.

Dan released the lock on the door. "I'll leave it open," he said.

"Okay." Bobbie headed back toward the bedroom.

Dan scowled after her. There was a finality about the scene that disturbed him. He wondered if it were wise, her moving in with him. Then he laughed bitterly to himself. Of course it wasn't wise. It was idiocy. But there was really nothing he could do to stop it. And, on top of that, he didn't want to stop it.

Bobbie made two more trips, then dropped exhaustedly onto the couch next to Dan. "I'm pooped," she sighed. "I didn't know I had so much stuff."

Dan, involved in his work, nodded abstractedly.

Bobbie slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. "Isn't this great? I'm not ever going back to that dump."

"Fine," Dan murmured.

Bobbie got up and went into the foyer and peered studiously at one of the paintings. "What did you say about this guy? I ought to know in case somebody asks me."

"Uh-huh."

"What?"

Dan looked up. ."What? What is it?"

"I said, what about this guy. In case somebody asks."

"There's a book around here somewhere that tells about all of them," Dan said. "On the third shelf up from the bottom. One-two-three-fourth book from the end, with the black binding."

"I don't want to read about it. Tell me."

"Bobbie, I have to work."

She groaned. "Is that the way it's going to be all the time, for Lord's sake? Boy, I might as well be back in that other crumby dump."

"Bobbie, I have to work to earn money." Dan sat back, frowning. "We're running low on groceries," he said. "Why don't you see what we need and make out a list and do the shopping?"

Bobbie made a sour face. "There's a picnic for you."

"It has to be done."

"Maybe later. I don't feel like it."

"We need something for lunch."

"We'll go out."

"Bobbie, we can't afford it. We have to watch the pennies from now on."

Bobbie rolled her eyes ceilingward disgustedly. "Cripes."

"All right then," Dan sighed. "What do you want to do?"

She shrugged. "I don't know." Then inspiration suddenly brightened her eyes. "Where did I put that five?" She dug into a pocket of her skirt. "Here it is," she said, holding it up. "I'll go get something. Maybe some records or something."

"All right, do that then."

Bobbie went to Dan and kissed him perfunctorily, then skipped to the door. "I may listen a while," she said. "So if you get hungry, go on and eat."

Dan laughed. "All right, I will. I don't know what, but I will."

The door closed behind her. Dan returned to his work. In the back of his mind he knew he would have to devise some method of keeping Bobbie amused if he were ever to complete the outline on LaFollette; some other way than simply feeding money to her.

Noon came. Dan paused, hungry. He made some toast and reheated the coffee. He was sitting at the table with it when the doorbell rang. He got up, shaking his head, assuming that Bobbie had forgotten that he had left the door unlocked.

But it was not Bobbie at the door. Dan found himself facing the detective he had seen earlier in the elevator and who had been questioning Bobbie. He felt his hand suddenly grow slick on the doorknob as the perspiration of fear popped out on his body.

The detective flashed his identification, smiling. "Mr. Morgan?" he asked.

"Yes," Dan replied shakily.

"May I come in?"

"What is it?"

"A few questions."

Dan wondered for an instant if he could take the risk of declining. But he quickly discarded the thought. That would only throw further suspicion on him. "Yes ... yes, come on in," he said. Calm, calm, calm, he repeated to himself.

"My name is Cafritz," the detective said, entering. "I always have to tell people. Nobody ever reads those identification cards. Jack Cafritz. Mind if I sit down?"

"No, of course not, please do."

Dan followed him into the living room. "You're with the New York Police, aren't you?"

"Right. Haven't we met before?"

"I don't believe so."

"Maybe I've seen you around here. I've been here a couple of times." He smiled amiably. "This will take a couple of minutes," he said. "You might as well sit down."

"Yes, all right," Dan replied dimly.

"I understand you're acquainted with the little Cass girl down the hall," Cafritz said as Dan lowered himself into the chair across from the detective.

Dan gestured vaguely. "I know her. The blond girl, you mean."

"Yeah. A little over a month ago, one of her friends was killed. In the city, in Central Park. He got it from behind with a club."

"Do you think she had something to do with it?" Dan frowned.

"I don't think anything," Cafritz smiled. "I just ask questions. I talked to her about it. She said she was home that night. Her mother said so, too."

"I think she did mention that to me," Dan said. "I see her occasionally-in the halls, the elevator."

"Yeah. I'm going to level with you, Morgan. I got a call from Dr. Jamison at your school yesterday. He had a story about you and the Cass kid. I'd talked to him before about you, because when I was nosing around, the super told me you and the kid are pretty friendly."

Dan remained silent. It suddenly occurred to him that Bobbie would be returning soon. His fingers began to drum nervously on the arm of the chair.

"Anyway, Jamison called me. Since I've met him, I didn't put a hell of a lot of stock in what he said. But I check everything out."

"Yes, of course. I can imagine what Jamison said. Bobbie was here. She had something she wanted to show me-a dress or something. Jamison made nasty remarks and I threw him out. But that was days ago. I can't understand why ... why he...."

"I got the idea he had to push himself to tell me," Cafritz smiled. "He kept saying he didn't want the school mixed up in anything. I don't know whether he called the local cops or not. Probably not. He probably figured he'd done his duty." Cafritz leaned back in his chair. "What I'm here for," he said, "I wondered if you might have some idea of the girl's whereabouts on the night of the killing. Has she said anything to you about it?"

"Yes, she did mention it-that you had been by to question her. And I know that what she told you was the truth, she was home."

"You're sure of that? How do you know?"

"I saw her ... around the building."

"I see. According to a report the local cops have for that night, Morgan, you weren't home. A Missing Persons was filed on you. By your wife. It says you were away from early in the evening till late the next morning. But you saw the Cass girl around the building, you say?"

"Yes. Yes, you see-well, my wife and I have been having a little trouble. I stormed out of here that evening. The Missing Persons thing was all settled. I wasn't missing. I went to a movie or two ... in the neighborhood. And several times-between movies-I came back to the building."

"The report doesn't say anything about that. It says you were missing."

"Yes, that's right. I came back to the building, but I didn't come to the apartment. You know how it is-pride, I guess. I wanted to have it out with my wife, but I couldn't bring myself to actually face her. So, I was in and out of the building several times. I would come up to the floor, but I just couldn't get myself to the apartment. That's when I saw Bobbie. On the elevator once, I believe. And then, on her way to the incinerator."

"Did you know Eddie Norris?"

"Who?"

"Eddie Norris. He's the kid who was killed in the park."

"No. I don't know any of Bobbie's friends." Cafritz suddenly straightened up and snapped his fingers. "The leg," he said.

Dan stared at him blankly.

"I was trying to remember where I saw you before. I just remembered. In the elevator the first time I came here. You had a broken leg." He smiled. "You'd just had the cast removed." Cafritz leaned forward. "Tell me about your relationship with this Bobbie again," he said.

Dan felt himself pushing against the back of the chair. His palms were wet again. "It's ... casual, that's all there is to it," he replied. He kept his ear cocked for the sound of Bobbie's footsteps in the corridor. "I helped her with her schoolwork once or twice. We-my wife and I, that is-feel sorry for her. Her home life isn't exactly ideal."

Cafritz nodded. "I understand from some of Bobbie's friends that during the last few weeks of school there was an older man who came to the bus stop with her every morning. He had a cast on his leg."

"Yes. I usually went out for a walk about that time. Doctor's orders. I would walk to the bus stop with her occasionally."

"You never met Eddie Norris, you say?"

"Not that I recall."

"The day before the Norris kid was killed he had a fight with a man at the bus stop. It was over Bobbie. The man was the same one who had been showing up with her every morning."

"Are you sure it was the same man?"

"That's what the kids say."

"But they could be mistaken, couldn't they?"

"Anything is possible," Cafritz said. "But they seemed pretty sure."

"Well, it certainly wasn't me," Dan said. "I admit that I sometimes walked to the bus stop with Bobbie. But there was never any trouble. I'm sure I would remember a thing like that. Did you ask Bobbie who the man was?"

"She said it was just some guy who happened to be walking the same way-a stranger."

Dan smiled. "Well, there's your answer. The youngsters were used to seeing me with Bobbie. They probably didn't pay too much attention and confused me with the stranger-or the stranger with me, however you want to put it."

"The night you were missing, you say you went to a number of movies-what movies?"

"Their names? I'm afraid I can't answer that. It was over a month ago, and, frankly, I was so distraught that night that I don't think I could have told you the names of the movies the next morning. My mind was on my troubles, not what was going on on the screen."

"You didn't save your ticket stubs?"

"A month ... really, Cafritz." Dan stood up. "I was just going out when you came to the door," he said. "Is that all?"

The detective rose, too. "Your wife is acquainted with Bobbie, you say. You and her, you feel sorry for the kid-right?"

"Yes."

"I'd like to talk to your wife."

"She works."

"When will she be home?"

"Oh ... well, not for several days. She's out of town ... family business."

Cafritz nodded. "Okay." He pulled out his wallet and extracted a card and handed it to Dan. "When she comes back, would you ask her to phone me? How long did you say she'll be gone?"

"It depends. Days, weeks perhaps. It's a bit complicated ... and personal."

"You'll have her call me?"

"Of course."

Cafritz opened the door. "The leg okay now?"

"Yes, fine."

Dan whipped open the peephole. As he watched Cafritz, he saw him go directly to the Cass apartment. The peephole shield rattled in Dan's fingers.

Cafritz rang the Cass bell and a moment later, Marge Cass appeared. The detective spoke with her for a moment. Dan guessed that he was asking for Bobbie. Then Marge closed the door and Cafritz ambled on back toward the elevator. Dan breathed easier.

But the feeling of relief was short-lived. Just as Cafritz reached the elevator, Bobbie stepped out. She was carrying records, her loot for the day. Cafritz stood talking to her, his body slouched, concentrating on her answers.

They talked for what seemed to Dan like hours. But eventually they parted. Bobbie headed down the corridor toward her own apartment. Cafritz stepped aboard the elevator. Then, a second later, after the elevator door closed and Dan knew it must be descending, Bobbie whipped around and ran toward Dan's apartment.

Dan held the door open for her and she dashed in. "What did he ask you?"

Bobbie stopped short. "Was he here?"

Dan closed the door. "Yes. What did he ask you?"

"About you. He wanted to know if it was you who had the fight with Eddie. I told him no again. And he wanted to know if I knew your wife. What does he know?"

"It's all right," Dan said. He took Bobbie into his arms and held her tightly. "He suspects, but he has no proof. If he had anything definite, he would have taken me in. He's guessing."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. He won't give up easily, but there's no way of his proving that we were involved unless one of us tells."

"Or Fred."

"Yes, or Fred. He'll be able to dig up a lot of circumstantial evidence, but nothing a prosecutor would go to court with. As long as we stick to our story, we're safe." He released Bobbie. "I have to phone Kate," he said. "He wanted to talk to her, about you. I told him she's out of town. But he may track her down."

"Dan, that was crazy. She'll tell him."

Dan went to the phone. "I'll ask her not to. I think she'll do it for me."

"She won't," Bobbie said, fearfully. "She hates you now."

"No, she doesn't hate me," Dan replied, picking up the phone and dialing. "Kate doesn't hate."

Bobbie began to pout. "I'd hate you, if you did it to me." She eyed Dan suspiciously. "Do you still love her?"

Dan peered at her, listening to the buzz of the telephone.

He didn't know the answer to her question. He was saved from having to reply by the Chic operator. She came on and Dan asked for Kate.

The operator told him that Kate was away and not expected back for at least a week. Puzzled, Dan asked to speak to Jake.

"Dennis here."

"Jake, this is Dan Morgan."

"Dan, chap. What's this business with you and Kate? She wouldn't tell me a thing."

"Jake, where is she? The switchboard didn't seem to know."

"Off. I haven't the faintest idea where, chap."

"Jake, it's important. I have to know."

"Sorry, I can't tell you. Would if I could, but I just don't know. She asked for a leave and I gave it to her. Wants to think it out, about you and her, she said. Dan, are you and Kate definitely through?"

"When do you expect her back?"

"Week, two weeks-I'm not sure."

"Jake, when she does return, I want you to tell her something. She has to talk to me before she talks to anyone else. It's extremely important."

"I'll tell her."

Dan sighed. "Thanks."

"I understand you had a talk-talk with Sam Weininger. He says you strike him as a natural-born digger, the sort he's looking for."

"Yes, I'm outlining a piece for him."

"Coming along?"

"Yes, it's shaping up well."

"I'm glad, Dan. I've had the feeling all along that you could make a showing if you just got into the right race. Good luck."

"Well ... thanks again. And you'll remember to tell Kate?"

"Of course."

When Dan hung up, he turned smiling to Bobbie. "She's out of town," he said. "I was telling Cafritz the truth and didn't know it."

"That just puts it off," Bobbie said. "She'll be back. I'm worried, Dan."

"Easy ... take it easy." He went to her and took her in his arms. "Even if Kate does tell them about us, it won't be much help to them. They still would have to be able to prove that we were in the park when-when it happened. Otherwise, they don't have a case."

"All right," Bobbie murmured, doubtfully. "But I can't help feeling scary about it."

Dan kissed her face and held her close and her fears seemed to diminish. He wished it were as easy to convince himself that they were safe. But, no matter what he told Bobbie, he could not get over the feeling that doom was standing behind him, peeking maliciously over his shoulder.

After a few minutes, Bobbie was reminded of the new records she had purchased. She took them and her record player back to the bedroom, and Dan continued his work in the living room. But because of the blare of music Dan could not concentrate. So, finally, he put the work aside and went out to shop for food. He splurged, knowing he shouldn't, and bought two thick steaks.

When Dan had returned to the apartment and was preparing dinner, Bobbie came in from the bedroom and stood watching him, fascinated.

"How come you know how to cook?" she asked.

"Broiling steaks isn't exactly cooking. Anyone who can light an oven can do it."

"No kidding? Steaks are great. I'd think it would be hard."

"Didn't your mother ever teach you anything about cooking?"

"Hah! She bought out, at the delly."

"Everything?"

"Except for some canned stuff, and hot dogs."

"That doesn't sound very healthy."

Bobbie grinned. "Don't you think I'm healthy?" She moved up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist.

Dan laughed and turned in her arms and kissed her lightly on top of the head. "How about a green salad with the steaks?"

"That's not what guys usually ask me."

"Honey, the steaks are on ... and I'm hungry."

Bobbie released her hold on him. "Boy, you must be."

"There is something else besides-"

The doorbell rang, interrupting Dan. "Who the hell!" he grumbled. Then to Bobbie, he said, "You better go to the bedroom. It might be Cafritz again."

"Boy, he don't give up, does he?" Bobbie muttered. But she headed on back toward the bedroom.

The bell rang again.

Dan made sure that Bobbie was out of sight, then went to the door. Fred Cass stood in the opening. "Yes?" Dan said, coldly. Cass shoved past him. "Where's the kid?"

"What do you want with her?"

"I don't want her, I just wondered. I want you." He moved on into the living room.

Dan closed the door. "Bobbie," he called out. "It's all right." Then, to Cass, he said, "what exactly do you want?"

"That cop came around again today," Cass said. "He was asking about Bobbie."

"I know. He came here first. Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

Bobbie entered the room. She glared at her stepfather.

"I was just passing it along," Cass said to Dan. "What I come about is business." He squirmed his shoulders, defensively. "I had a bad run of cards," he said.

"See!" Bobbie shrieked. "I told you he'd be back."

"Shut up, you bitch!" Cass snarled at her.

"Cass, I don't have any more money," Dan growled.

"Don't give me that. I saw."

"I've got just barely enough to live on for a very short time."

"Crap. You've probably got the stuff stashed all over the joint." He turned to Bobbie. "Where's he keep it?"

"Go take a flying."

"Bitchy kid!" Cass faced Dan again. "Look, Morgan, that cop's hot on you. You rake up more of the stuff or he's going to get your number-from me. You got that?"

"Can't you get it through your thick skull? There is no more."

"The world is full of dough, Morgan. You can get it. You got friends? Hit them for a loan." Dan shook his head.

"I ain't going to argue it," Cass snarled. "I need a refill, that's it. You get me another grand."

Dan sniffed the air. "Bobbie, take the steaks off," he said.

"How?"

"Never mind." Dan went into the kitchen, pulled out the broiler cord from the wall outlet. He saw as he straightened up that Cass had followed him.

"I don't eat like that," Cass said. "I guess you can whistle up a grand."

Dan got a platter and removed the steaks from the broiler. "I can give you a couple of hundred," he said. "That's the limit. And that will be the end of it. Take it or leave it."

"Morgan, you don't know me. When I say a grand, I mean a grand. Now you get it, buddy."

Calmly, Dan put the platter down on the counter. "No."

Cass's hand suddenly shot out. The platter and steaks went flying. Dan stared at him, dumfounded. Cass' face was a mottled red with fury.

"You get it, Morgan!" he spat. "You get it, and you get it fast, see? You got till tomorrow."

Then Cass wheeled and strode off. Dan heard the front door slam closed. He looked down defeatedly at the steaks and the broken platter on the floor.

Bobbie appeared in the entranceway to the kitchen. She, too, stared at the steaks.

They were both silent for a moment, then Bobbie said, matter-of-factly, "We have to kill him."

Dan lifted his eyes, shocked. He shook his head.

"It won't ever end," Bobbie murmured. "He'll be back and back and back."

"I'll go to Weininger," Dan said, more to himself than to Bobbie. "I'll get an advance."

"Nothing will stop him, nothing but killing," Bobbie said.

"I have to try. I have to try once more."

Bobbie turned away, and Dan's eyes followed her.

"We'll go out and eat," Dan said.

Bobbie shrugged indifferently. "I thought this would be fun," she said. "It's no fun at all."

"It will be. It will all work out."

Bobbie shook her head. "Nothing will be all right as long as Fred has us this way."

Dan bent down and began picking up the chips of shattered platter. He knew she was right.

He tried to drive the knowledge from his mind. He thought about Weininger. He would have to work tonight and finish up the outline so he could take it to the editor the first thing the next morning. That would mean keeping away from Bobbie again. She was right; it was no fun at all any more.

11

Dan worked steadily until after three in the morning getting the outline in shape to present to Weininger. He was completely exhausted, physically and mentally, when he finally dragged himself off to the bedroom. Bobbie was stretched out on the bed, naked, face down. He stared glassily at her lovely form as he undressed He hoped she would not awaken, for he had strength enough left only to crawl into bed.

Dan's last act before falling asleep was to set the alarm for eight in the morning. When it went off, it seemed to him that he had not been asleep at all. He reached out blindly and after a clumsy pantomime strangled its jangling. Beside him, Bobbie stirred. Dan lay back with his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling.

"Time's it?" Bobbie muttered. Dan kept silent.

She moaned, then her breathing became even again.

Dan slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen and put on coffee, then he showered and dressed. Between sips of coffee, he wrote a note to Bobbie, telling her he was going into the city to see Weininger about money. Then he put the outline into a manila envelope and left the apartment.

On the train Bobbie's statement, "We have to kill him," kept forcing its way into his thoughts. He could hardly believe that she had said it. He knew that he would not have been able to shape the words. He would have used some euphemism. He was incapable of saying the word "kill" seriously.

When he arrived in the city, Dan walked to Weininger's building, because he no longer felt that he could afford cab fare. He was perspiring heavily when he arrived in Weininger's reception room.

As soon as he was announced, the editor came out and escorted Dan into his office. "I sense accomplishment," he smiled. "Am I right?"

"I've got an outline," Dan replied. "Whether it's an accomplishment or just a typing exercise, I'm not sure."

Weininger waved him into a chair, then seated himself behind his desk. "I saw Jake the other day," he said. "He asked me what I thought of you. I told him you struck me as a man who."

"Man who? Man who what?"

Weininger smiled. "I didn't know what. I won't know until I see your work."

Dan passed the manila envelope across the desk to him. "Now is the time to decide," he said.

Weininger took the envelope. "I'll look it over tonight," he said. "I do my best judging at home."

Dan felt as if a great weight had suddenly been dropped on him. "I thought I could get an answer today," he said.

"Now? Well...." Weininger studied him a moment and saw the near despair in his eyes. "Well, all right. You take a walk around the block ... around several blocks. Give me a half-hour."

Dan rose. "I wouldn't ask this if it weren't very important," he said.

"I understand."

Dan left Weininger's office and went down to the street. He didn't want to spend any money, not even for a cup of coffee, so he literally followed Weininger's suggestion and took a walk around the block, several times.

As the time passed, doubts began to gnaw at him. It had all seemed so simple before. He would submit the outline to Weininger, the editor would look it over, congratulate him on a job well done, then give him an advance. He had not even considered delay. Now he could think of nothing else. Weininger might want further work on it before he made a decision. He might not like it at all. He might tell Dan to start again from scratch.

Dan began going over the outline in his mind. He found weaknesses. The questions he had developed on the Senator's resistance to arming merchant ships prior to the outbreak of war-they seemed superficial now as he viewed them with what he conceived would be Weininger's passion for depth. Suddenly the whole outline seemed worthless.

Dan wanted to run. He imagined the editor being coolly polite to him. He could hear his words: "I regret...." Dan leaned against a building. His pulse was racing. He clenched his hands into fists. He had been running too long. Now he had to stand and fight. Or, at least, face up to the possibility of defeat. He looked at his watch. The time was up. He moved hurriedly, fearfully, back toward Weininger's building.

The editor arose, grinning broadly, as Dan entered his office. "Excellent," he said.

Dan was so flooded with relief and with pride that he could not speak for a moment.

"I found a couple bugs," Weininger said. "You'll find some notes in the margins. But, on the whole, it's even better than I expected, Morgan. And I expected a lot from you. I hope you can keep at this."

"Yes ... yes, of course."

Weininger passed the manila envelope back to him. "You're off and running," he said. "Let's have some answers to those questions now."

Despair dropped on Dan again. "I need money," he heard himself plead.

J'What?"

"I was expecting an advance."

"Oh. Well, of course, you can have an advance. But I want to see what you do with the questions first." He saw the color drain from Dan's face. "Questions don't make an article," he explained.

Dejectedly, Dan turned away. "Yes ... I see."

"You're still going to follow up, aren't you?"

Dan didn't hear the question. Bobbie's voice, saying, "We have to kill him," drowned it out.

"Morgan."

Dan turned, staring dumbly.

"Morgan, I can't give you an advance on the article. But if you need travel money, perhaps I can manage that."

"Yes," Dan murmured.

"You'll have to get out to Wisconsin to dig up the answers to some of those questions," Weininger said. "You'll need cash for that."

Dan moved back toward the desk.

"I'll give you a check," Weininger said. He opened his drawer and took out a checkbook. "Will five hundred do it?"

Dan knew he should refuse the money. He had no intention of going to Wisconsin. But perhaps five hundred would help. Perhaps Fred Cass would listen to reason if there were five hundred dollars to tempt him.

"This is a personal check," Weininger said. "I'll get it back from the company later."

Dan realized that Weininger was advancing him his own money. He had sensed the desperation in Dan.

Weininger slipped the check into Dan's hand. "A little success is sometimes a hell of a load to carry," he said. "You've made good, but not quite good enough to make it pay. Well, you're not the first one who's tangled with that problem, Morgan. But I think you'll beat it."

Dan nodded, not really listening.

"Go on, get at it," Weininger smiled.

Dan found himself suddenly in the elevator, going down, without remembering having left Weininger's office. He thought the car would never stop sinking, that it would take him all the way to Hell, where he belonged.

At an upstate resort hotel, Kate stood looking out the window of her third-floor room at the vacationers who were streaming across the broad lawn toward the beach, the tennis courts, the stables. The younger ones were holding hands and laughing and running.

Kate turned away from the scene, tears beginning to moisten her eyes. She had been at the hotel for almost a full day and had not left her room except to eat.

She remembered when she and Dan were first married, how happy they had been. There were no sorrows at all then. It had seemed that there would never be. What had happened?

First they had stopped laughing. Everything became dreadfully serious. Dan wanted things, the original paintings, the expensive furniture. Why? When they had next to nothing, they had been content. It was only when they began to acquire things that happiness had begun to slip away. But that wasn't the reason, it was only a symptom. The mere possession of paintings and furnishings couldn't destroy happiness. It was the need, the overwhelming need, for the things, not the things themselves. It was as if Dan would shrink away if he didn't have them. They were a substitute for something. But for what?

Kate lay down across her bed and stared up at the overhead light fixture. The young girl, Bobbie. She was able to give Dan something that Kate could not give him. It was more than just sex, she knew that. What else could a woman give a man?

Confidence? Perhaps. Kate remembered that as the years had passed she had begun to wonder if Dan would ever be anything more than an assistant professor. It hadn't mattered when they were first married. But gradually it became a matter of concern to her that he was not progressing.

When was it that she had begun to doubt Dan? And why? It was certainly no disgrace to be an assistant professor. Why did she want him to be more?

Was it when Jake began to rise in his profession? Yes. She had compared Dan to Jake and had found Dan inadequate. She had wanted him to be Jake. But he wasn't Jake. He never had been and never would be. She had known when she married him that he was of a different breed. Then, she had wanted him that way. If she had wanted a Jake, why hadn't she married Jake? Because, she answered, she was in love with Dan.

Kate pushed herself up. She was still in love with Dan. She had somehow got out of the habit of loving him, but the love had never died, it had simply been shouldered aside. She ran to the closet and got out her bag. She opened it on the bed, then went to the chest and began snatching clothes from the drawers.

She had failed Dan, she realized that now. The girl, Bobbie, had been able to give him what he needed, belief in himself as a man. Kate had offered him nothing but doubt.

It might not be too late-if she could make Dan understand that their love was not dead. He had to believe her. Nothing else mattered. It was not important that he was less successful than Jake. The only thing of importance was that he was her man and she loved him.

Kate snapped her bag shut and ran out of the room and down the hallway toward the elevator. She wondered if she could get immediate transportation back to the city. If there were not a train or a bus, she would hire a cab. Haste was so important now, so many hours had been lost.

It was a little after noon when Dan returned to the apartment. He had cashed the check that Sam Weininger had given him and his wallet was thick with bills. He could feel the bulge pressing against his chest.

As he stepped off the elevator, the twangy squawk of a rock 'n' roll record assaulted his senses. The braying of a teen-age singer filled the corridor. Dan saw that the door of his apartment was open. He hurried down the corridor and found Bobbie stretched out on the couch, in shorts and halter, with the record player beside her on the coffee table. She smiled languorously when she saw him.

Angrily, Dan slammed the door. He stalked across the room and snatched the playing arm off the record. "For God's sake," he scolded, "do you want to have the super up here?"

Bobbie's lower lip pushed out. "It was stuffy," she said.

"You could have opened a window."

Bobbie sighed disgustedly. "Boy, everything I do is wrong. I thought I was getting away from that kind of junk. What kind of fun is this if I can't do anything?"

Dan sat down beside her on the couch. "Bobbie, please try to understand. For a while, we have to be very careful. We must not attract attention."

"Why don't we just go live in a cave or something? We might as well. I can't spend any money, I can't play my records, I can't do anything."

"We have to get ourselves out of this mess first."

"That wouldn't be so hard if you'd do something. But you just let him push you around. He won't ever quit that. We won't ever be out of the mess." She turned her face away from Dan. "Everything stinks," she muttered.

Dan put a hand on her shoulder and bent down to kiss her. But she twisted away and got up off the couch. "I don't feel like it," she pouted.

Dan stiffened. The feeling of inadequacy began to press in on him again. "Get your stepfather," he said, shortly. "I have some money for him."

"Get him yourself."

Bobbie went back toward the bedroom.

Dan sat for a second, staring gloomily into space. Then he sighed heavily and got up and went to the phone. He called the Cass apartment and Fred Cass answered. Dan told him he had some money for him and Cass said he would be right down.

He arrived a few seconds later.

Dan handed him the bills. "It's five hundred," he said. "It was all I could get."

Cass' face contorted menacingly. "Don't kid around with me, Morgan. I said a grand."

"This is all."

"Is this what you had the other day?"

"No, this is new. And it's the end of it."

"Give me what was left over the other day."

"Cass, I have to live. My rent will be coming due in a few days. I have to buy food."

"Then get more. You can get it, Morgan. Don't give me that crap about the end. You got friends. Where'd you get this? Get some more from the same place. I want a grand."

Dan turned away. "Get out."

A hand clutched Dan's shoulder and spun him around. He threw up an arm and knocked Cass' hand away. The two men stood glaring at each other.

"You better get this straight, Morgan," Cass hissed. "I don't like your guts, fella. Maybe I'd just as soon see you put away as have the dough. You got that?"

Dan fought himself to keep from smashing Cass' beet-red face. "Get out of here and stay out!"

"I'm getting. I'm getting, Morgan. But I'll be back. I'll be back tomorrow. And you better have the rest of the grand. Because if you don't fella, I'm gonna get on the horn to the cops. You understand?"

Rage closed Dan's throat.

Cass wheeled around and stormed toward the door. He wrenched it open, and then it slammed behind him.

Bobbie entered the room and stood watching Dan. "Now do you believe me? He'll never quit."

"Yes ... yes, I believe you."

"We have to stop him."

"Yes." There was no longer any doubt in Dan's mind, no hope that he could escape the inevitable. It was disclosure by Fred Cass or death for Fred Cass.

"I know how," Bobbie said, thickly, coming up to him. "I've been thinking about it."

Dan listened to her plan. She had given it careful thought.

Bobbie said that Fred went out drinking every night and did not return until early morning. When he left, Dan and Bobbie would go to the Cass apartment and get Marge Cass drunk. Marge would pass out, as was her habit.

When Fred returned, Dan and Bobbie would be waiting for him in the darkness. They would use a broken gin bottle as a weapon, then, when Fred was dead, leave the bottle in Marge's hand. Marge would be blamed. But she would probably be acquitted if she were charged with murder, for it was well known in the building that Fred often beat her. She could claim that she killed him in self-defense. She would probably believe it herself, for the desire was undoubtedly present, and when she was drunk she lost contact with reality.

As Dan listened, he felt himself sicken. Bobbie spoke excitedly, as if she were describing a fascinating new game. She showed no compassion for the intended victims. Dan supposed he knew why. These two, Marge and Fred Cass, had become her hated enemies. Now she had the opportunity to get revenge. And she had a reason, a valid motive: she was defending Dan and herself against a blackmailer.

"It's the only way," Bobbie said.

He turned away. "Let me think."

She followed him, made him look at her. "Dan, you're a man. I believe you're a man. This is the man's way. You have to do it."

Bobbie's arms went around his neck and pulled his head down. Their lips pressed together. Dan felt a sudden strength surge back into him. This was the moment when he had to decide, and he knew now that the decision would go against Fred Cass. Murder had been brewing for days, ever since Fred first stepped into the apartment. Now it was coming to a boil, bubbling up.

Dan felt Bobbie squirming eagerly in his arms as she sensed that his decision had been made. His hands moved down her and discovered that she had been twisting out of her shorts. His fingers set off a spark and then a flame.

"We'll be safe," Bobbie whispered. "We'll be together forever."

"Yes."

Dans fingers untied her halter and it fell to the floor. He held her away from him and gorged himself on her youthful beauty, the uptilted breasts pleading for him, the gentle, luscious curves of her hips, the summoning of her thighs.

"Love me, Dan."

His arms enclosed her again. They fell to the floor and she tore at his clothes.

Then he was conscious only of sweet pleasure and the distant sound of her voice as she repeated over and over again, to the rhythm of their passion: " ... love ... love ... love ... love, love, lo-"

Bobbie's hips were suddenly thrust upward in an explosion of carnal release, then, slowly, slowly, they sank together to the rug.

Dan went out early that evening and bought two fifths of gin. While he was gone, Bobbie kept a lookout on the Cass apartment, waiting for Fred to leave. When Dan returned, he and Bobbie took turns at the peephole.

A little after eight, Bobbie saw Fred go out. They waited another half-hour, to be sure he had not just stepped out on an errand, then took the gin and went to the Cass apartment.

Marge was startled to see them, but delighted when she found that they had brought gin and intended to say.

"This is nice," she simpered. "We ought to do this all the time. It's like family."

She went to the bedroom and combed her hair and put on a housedress to replace her robe, then came out and got glasses from the kitchen.

Dan and Bobbie wanted only a taste of the gin, and that pleased Marge, too. "This is just like Christmas," she beamed.

Marge sat in the overstuffed chair and Dan and Bobbie settled down on the couch. Dan felt his nerves gradually tightening. Bobbie industriously chipped away at her fingernail polish, keeping her eyes averted.

"Fred ought to be here," Marge said, mellowing. "He'd like this, having family in." She had one of the fifths of gin on the table beside her chair. Now she filled her glass again. "The hell with Fred," she decided after another swallow. "He's getting money somewhere these days and he keeps it all to himself. He won't even get me any medicine. If it wasn't for you kids, I'd probably just curl up and die."

"He's not good enough for you," Bobbie said. "You never should have married him."

"You're right about that," Marge sniffed. "He's ruined my life. I had plenty of chances, but I sure made the wrong pick." She turned to Dan. "Bobbie'll tell you how he treats me. Everybody'll tell you. He comes in drunk, the bastard, and beats me. The neighbors'll tell you that. A lot of times they tell me they don't know how I stand it. He beats me and they call the cops. If I didn't have friends, I'd be dead by now."

"He's not good enough for you," Bobbie repeated. She kept picking at her nail polish. "You ought to leave him, that would show him."

"You're dead right. I ought to clear out. I've had chances at that, too. I would've if I didn't have my little girl to raise. A little girl oughta have a daddy."

Marge refilled her glass and saw that most of the first fifth was gone. "I better get the other one," she muttered, dimly. She struggled to her feet and staggered off to the kitchen.

"Say something," Bobbie hissed at Dan. "Get her mad at Fred, so she'll think she did it."

"You're doing all right," Dan said, gruffly. "Help out."

Marge returned, carrying the second fifth by the neck. She unscrewed the cap and sat it beside the first one, then she fell into the chair again. Her eyes were glassy and she was having difficulty focusing. She seemed to be staring between Dan and Bobbie rather than at either one of them. "I think my pain is going away," she mumbled. "I don't feel nothing any more."

"Have some more medicine," Bobbie urged. "I feel pretty good now."

"Fred might come back," Dan said. "He might drink up the rest of your medicine."

Marge looked outraged. She finished off what was left in her glass and then filled it again from the second bottle and drank again. "That goddamn Fred," she muttered.

"You'll show him one of these days," Bobbie said. "You've always said you would, and you will."

"I had plenty of chances," Marge murmured. She had slipped down in the chair like a rag doll. "I just wasted my life on that bum and that damn kid." She seemed suddenly unaware that Dan and Bobbie were present. "I shouldn't've ever had a kid anyhow. When you got a kid all you can get to marry you is some bum." She reached out blindly for her drink and her hand came to rest on the empty gin bottle. She put it to her lips and tipped it up and got nothing.

She hurled it across the room and it struck the wall and shattered, showering fragments of glass.

Dan started to go to her, but Bobbie put a hand on his arm and stopped him. "She's going," she whispered. "Leave her alone."

Marge twisted in the chair, reaching for the liquor. She fell to her knees on the floor. The bottle was an inch too far away. She struggled for it, but her knees slipped on the slickness of the rugless floor. Without traction, she gradually fell further and further away from the bottle. She began to moan and weep with frustration. Then she lost her hold completely on the chair and fell in a heap on the floor.

"She'll get up again," he heard Bobbie murmur.

Dan was horrified, yet fascinated. He looked back. As he did, Marge got to her hands and knees and then began to crawl, hand over hand, up the chair until she was within reach of the bottle. She pulled it down to the floor with her and began to slobber it into her mouth. It ran down her chin and neck. Then it suddenly slipped out of her grip and crashed to the floor.

Marge grasped for the bottle. She couldn't find it. She apparently got the notion that it had run away, for she now lurched to her feet. She staggered backward and fell into the rocker and it collapsed beneath her. She lay tangled in the wreckage.

Dan watched her, hypnotized, as if he were observing a shadow play. Her face was contorted, her eyes watery and dim. She had no awareness of him or Bobbie whatsoever.

Marge wrestled herself up. She wavered on her feet, then dived forward, having spotted the fifth of gin again. But she stumbled over her own feet and piled into the table. She and it crashed together to the floor.

Marge did not move.

"That's it," Bobbie said throatily.

Gin was pouring out of the bottle. Dan jumped up and got it. "Will she stay out?" he asked.

"I think so." Bobbie pushed herself up. "Let's get her out of sight. We can take her to the bedroom."

Dan took the bottle to the kitchen and put it on the sink, then returned to the living room. He lifted Marge's shoulders and Bobbie took her legs and they carried her down the hallway to the bedroom and dumped her on the bed.

As they were leaving, the chime of the doorbell sounded at the front of the apartment.

They halted, startled.

"Who's that?" Dan hissed.

"I don't know. It's not Fred. He has a key."

Dan hurried, toptoeing, down the hallway, listening. Bobbie followed at his heels.

The bell rang again. Then there was a rapping at the door and a hard, masculine voice called out, "Police."

Dan whipped around to face Bobbie, fear-stricken. "They know!"

"No, no, we haven't done anything." She urged him forward. "Answer it."

"I don't belong here."

"God, yes, that's right."

Bobbie edged around him and headed for the door.

The bell rang again, accompanied by an insistent knocking. Dan retreated into the dimness of the hallway. He heard Bobbie opening the door, then a brusque male voice asking, "What's going on here? We're getting complaints."

"We had an accident," Bobbie replied. Her voice sounded calm.

"What's all this mess?"

"My mother got a little high," Bobbie replied. "She was stumbling around."

The policeman laughed. "Yeah, she sure was. Well, listen, keep it down."

"She's all right now," Bobbie told him. "And I'm leaving the apartment in a few minutes. There won't be any noise."

"Okay. But if I have to come back, I'll haul her in. Tell her to take it easy."

"She's fine now, really."

"You tell her."

"Sure."

Dan heard the door close. Then Bobbie reappeared in the hallway. "It's all right," she whispered. "He's gone."

"He'll make a report," Dan said. "He'll know you were home. When they start investigating they'll find out you were in the apartment."

"Didn't you hear me? I told him I was leaving. Let him make his report. It'll be for the good."

"God," Dan sighed, "I hope so."

"We have to go through with it. It's too late to stop now. Come on."

Dan followed her into the living room.

Bobbie picked up the bottle that her mother had hurled against the wall. "This is just right," she said, holding it up.

Dan saw the jagged edges. He was suddenly nauseated.

"Turn out the lights," Bobbie ordered. "We'll wait in the dark, right inside the door. We have to take him by surprise. He'll be drunk, but he's strong as a bull."

The light switch was just inside the doorway. Dan darkened the apartment. He felt Bobbie beside him. She took his hand and pressed the neck of the bottle into it. He gripped it and crouched down, because his legs were suddenly too weak to hold him up. He felt Bobbie's arm circle his shoulders and hold him fiercely.

"It will all be over soon," she whispered. "We have to be quiet now."

The warning was unnecessary. Dan could not have forced a sound past the obstruction of mingled fear and self-revulsion in his throat if he had tried to.

12

As Kate stepped off the elevator, she almost ran into the policeman who was waiting to board. He smiled and held the door open for her exit. Kate smiled wanly in return, then hurried down the corridor toward her apartment. She wondered idly what the policeman was doing in the building, but her mind was too filled with other matters to ponder the question for more than a second or two.

She was relieved, in a way, to find the apartment empty. She had feared that she would find Dan and the girl together again. She turned on a lamp, and saw Bobbie's record player on the coffee table. She forced herself not to be disturbed by it. She took her bag to the bedroom. There, she saw Bobbie's clothes in the closet. She felt a quickening of her senses. She had not expected that they would be living together. Kate looked at the bed and almost imagined that she could see them together there again. She dropped her bag and ran back to the living room.

The longer Kate waited, the more unsure of herself she became. She chain-smoked until her mouth was hot and dry. She got up and mixed herself a drink and brought it back to the chair. She began to doubt that Dan would understand. She could explain to him that she still loved him, that she wanted him as he was, but would he understand it and accept it? Perhaps he no longer wanted to.

Kate thought about Jake. She would have to break with him. That would prove to Dan that she loved him and only him. Suddenly it became imperative that she sever her relations with Jake immediately. She went to the phone and dialed his home number.

"Kate!" he boomed the instant he heard her voice. "Where are you? Is it all over?"

"Jake, I'm at home."

"Kate, great news. Phil Ketch walked out. The issue with the article he hadn't seen came out and that did it. Clear sailing ahead."

"Oh ... that's fine ... I guess."

"What kind of a reaction is that? You're supposed to do kickups. You know what it means, don't you?"

"Yes ... , Jake there's something-we'll talk about it later."

"Later? This is what you've been angling for. What's the matter, Kate? Didn't you come to a decision?"

"Yes, in a way. But-Jake, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Is that why you called, to tell me you'd talk to me tomorrow?"

"No, I had something else on my mind. But now ... please, tomorrow."

"Okay. I'll have Phil's stuff moved out of his office-your office. You can go on a decorating spree."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"Kate, about us. Is that settled?"

"Please, Jake."

"Okay."

The phone went dead. Kate hung up her receiver. She wondered what had happened. She hadn't really changed her mind. She was still going to quit the magazine.

But, then, was that absolutely necessary? She and Dan would still need an income. And especially if Dan wanted to write. It would be some time before he was earning enough to support them-if ever.

Perhaps she ought to discuss it with Dan. He would understand. She had worked hard for this opportunity. And there would be a raise in salary. Dan would understand that they needed the money. She would explain it to him. And if he didn't understand, he could just-No, no, that wasn't the right attitude.

Kate lit another cigarette. It tasted like straw. She put it out and began pacing the apartment, wondering where Dan was, when he would return.

The tendons of Dan's right wrist ached from gripping the neck of the bottle so fiercely for so long. His thighs and calves pained from crouching.

"What time is it?" Bobbie whispered.

"I can't see my watch."

"It must be long after midnight."

Then there was a sound from the rear of the apartment; a soft sound, as if someone had bumped something solid. "Your mother!"

They listened. For a moment there was silence again, then a brushing sound as they heard Marge Cass stumbling toward them along the hallway. Suddenly the hall light flashed on and Marge stood staring blearily, blinking into the living room. "Where's everybody?" she muttered.

Then Bobbie was no longer beside Dan. He saw her hurry across the room, saw her take Marge by the shoulders and turn her around. The hall light went out. There was the shuffling sound in the hallway again, as Bobbie steered her mother toward the bedroom.

Dan's shoulders fell. But the relief lasted only a second. There was a scraping sound outside the door, followed by the grating of metal on metal, and Dan realized that Fred Cass had inserted his key in the lock.

Dan's grip was suddenly slick on the neck of the bottle. Perspiration fogged his eyes. He dragged himself upright, and cocked his arm back, with the jagged edge of the broken bottle ready to slash down at Fred Cass.

The door opened. A dim light from the corridor fell across the foyer. Fred Cass stepped just inside the entrance, trying to get his key out of the lock, muttering drunkenly. Dan waited. He could not strike until the door was closed.

At that instant, Bobbie returned to the room, stepping in from the hallway. She spotted her stepfather and emitted a soft, surprised gasp. Cass cocked his head, then saw her in the dimness. He reached over and switched on the living room light. Then he saw Dan and the upraised bottle. He stared, mouth open, flabbergasted, but rooted by his drunkenness.

"Now!" Bobbie shrieked.

But Dan's arm was frozen. It had no feeling. It was as if it were not a part of him. It remained poised, locked in position. Dan realized that he was incapable of committing murder. He would never be able to strike.

"Now, Dan, now!" Bobbie screamed.

Dan saw Fred Cass' hand become a fist. He could only stare, transfixed. He saw the fist come hurtling at his face. He could not move. The fist smashed into him. There was a sudden, numbing pain. Dan staggered backward. He felt himself falling. His head struck the bare floor. The room became fuzzy. The bottle was no longer in his hand. The room began to dip and turn and twist. Then total darkness....

Dan became conscious of sounds again. He opened his eyes to a blur. Then in a momentary flash of clarity he saw Bobbie and Fred Cass. Cass was backed against a wall, and Bobbie, with the bottle raised, was closing in on him.

Dan mouthed a protest. But no sound came from his throat. Bobbie and Fred became smoky, protoplasmic shapes. Then there was a scream of pain. Dan heard the splintering of wood. He forced himself up on an elbow and blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision.

Bobbie was against the wall where Cass had been. She still had the weapon. Her face was twisted in hatred and savagery. Cass was still on his feet, he was backing away from Bobbie, backing toward Dan. Then Cass was upon him, stumbling and thrashing to keep his balance. But he fell, tangling with Dan. Bobbie darted after him, the bottle upraised like a knife.

Dan twisted out from under Cass. He caught a glimpse of Bobbie diving at her stepfather. There was another wild shriek of pain. Dan whipped himself over and saw Bobbie astraddle Cass, riding his bloated belly, and saw blood gushing in fountains from Cass' face.

Bobbie brought the bottle up again. It went whistling down toward Cass. But he caught her wrist in mid-strike and twisted it viciously. Bobbie whined and rolled away, but she still held the weapon.

Dan tried to get to his feet. His legs were tangled in a light cord. He lunged forward and was brought down again by the cord. He saw Cass land on top of Bobbie. But Cass' knees slipped on the slick floor and Bobbie was able to squirm out from under him.

Frantically, Dan clawed at the lamp cord. He saw Cass start to rise, then Bobbie thud against him in a flying leap. Cass' head struck the floor, with a hollow, dead sound. He went limp. Bobbie raised the bottle and plunged it at his chest. Blood spurted.

Dan hurled himself at Bobbie, dragging the cord and the lamp with him. His body struck her and she crashed beneath him. The bottle flew out of her hand and skidded across the floor. Bobbie flailed at him, her fists lashing his chest. He lay across her, a weight she could not escape. Then slowly her struggles ceased. She began to weep hysterically. Dan lay staring at the bottle. Then a slipper appeared beside it. Dan raised his eyes and saw Marge Cass in the hallway, leaning against the wall. Dan wondered how long she had been there. She was no longer drunk, she was in a state of shock.

There was a sound at the door. Dan rolled away from Bobbie and looked toward the foyer. He saw a uniformed policeman. His hand was on the key that Fred Cass had left in the lock. The policeman stared, stunned, for an instant. Then he went to Fred Cass. He lifted Cass' wrist and held it.

Bobbie's weeping was now like animal bleats, mournful yet piercing. Dan could not move. He saw the policeman rise and go to the telephone, heard him call for an ambulance. Then the policeman lifted first Bobbie, then Dan, to their feet and steered them to the couch. They sat together, not touching, Bobbie with her face in her hands, Dan staring blankly. The policeman sat Marge down in the chair.

Young men in white hospital uniforms arrived and carried Fred Cass out. Then more policemen, in uniform and in plain clothes. There were questions. But no answers. The policeman led them all away.

The residents of the floor had gathered in the corridor. As he was led to the elevator, Dan saw Kate in the crowd of faces. She was staring at him in disbelief. He looked back at her pleadingly, begging her to help him, and to understand. But he knew it was useless. He knew it was not Kate at all. It was part of the dream. He closed his eyes and kept them closed until he was out of the building and in the police car being driven away.

When the elevator door closed behind the policeman and Dan, Kate turned and ran, crying, down the corridor to her apartment. She burst inside and threw herself on the couch and sobs began to shudder through her body. It was almost an hour before the crying ceased and she could think again. She saw the face of the girl, contorted in hatred. She saw the eyes of the older woman, blinded by shock. She saw Dan's eyes, pleading with her.

And she had failed him again. She had held back, ashamed of him, when he needed her. She remembered the utter despair in his eyes in the instant he closed them, shutting her out. It was a look she recalled from some time before. There had been another time-or many times?-when he had needed her and she had held back. What was it he wanted? Understanding? Belief? The word rang and resounded in her brain. He simply wanted her to believe in him.

Kate struggled up. A hard determination lit her eyes. She ran to the phone and dialed. And in a moment there was the sleepy sound of Jake's voice. Kate had no trouble telling him now that she would not be back to the magazine. But Jake had trouble understanding. He reminded her of what was waiting for her.

"It isn't important any more," she told him. "Nothing is important to me but Dan. He's in trouble, Jake, and I have to go to him and be with him. There won't be time for anything else."

Jake finally accepted defeat. "What kind of trouble?" he asked. "Can I help?"

"I don't know. I have to go to him now, Jake."

"If I can help, let me know."

"Yes."

Kate hung up. She ran to the door and opened it and saw a policeman at the far end of the corridor, guarding the door of the Cass apartment. She hurried toward him.

13

From his cell, Dan could hear the sounds of traffic outside. He welcomed them. They kept him in touch with the world. People could not do that, for when they entered his cell they became as detached from the real world as he was.

He had been viewing life from behind bars for almost two weeks now. It was a dreary, monotonous existence. There were daily visits by Kate, but the police would not let her stay long. There were the sessions with the District Attorney's men, and with his own lawyer, Robert Martin. But these were almost as boring as loneliness.

The D.A.'s men would listen to him repeat his story over and over again, and they would pick at it, trying to find weaknesses. But they never did, because Dan told them the complete truth. The rest of the hours were spent in waiting, staring at the gray walls, waiting for Fred Cass to live or die.

Now there was the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside the cells, then the guard appeared with Dan's lawyer. Robert Martin was an amiable, soft-spoken man. He had a hesitant way about him, but, in spite of this, Dan had full confidence in him.

The guard opened the cell door and let Martin in, then departed. The lawyer sat down on the bunk across from Dan. "I finally have some good news," he said. "The Cass fellow is going to live."

Dan straightened. He had been so certain of the worst that the best startled him.

"He'll live, and apparently the only permanent damage will be a few scars," Martin said.

"I'm very glad," Dan breathed.

"I've asked that you be released on bail," Martin said. "The hearing will be tomorrow. If Cass had died, we wouldn't have had much of a chance. But now-well, I understand that the District Attorney will not object to bail. So the chances are good that you'll be out of here tomorrow."

"And what about tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow?"

"I'm not altogether certain about that, Morgan. It's a strange case. There are ... almost too many elements. As for that business in the park, I believe the District Attorney is going to call it manslaughter. That means he knows he hasn't a chance of calling it murder and making it stick."

"There's still the other."

"Yes, the Cass thing. We have a good deal in our favor. There's the fact that Cass was blackmailing you, and Mrs. Cass' testimony that you didn't wield the weapon. Still, of course, you are deeply involved. And there was intent to murder, even if, in the end, you were unable to pull it off."

"What will it all come to?"

"I see no way of avoiding imprisonment. If we're fortunate, not for too many years. I'm optimistic."

Dan was silent for a few moments, then he said, "What about Bobbie?"

"She was taken over by the juvenile authorities. I don't think she will fare too badly. Having those monsters for parents will weigh heavily in her favor." Martin arose. "I'll be able to give more definitive opinions as we get nearer the trial," he said. "In the meantime, I suggest that you try to resign yourself to the worst and hope for the best." He signaled for the guard. "The hearing on bail is set for ten tomorrow," he said. "I'll see you again before then."

When Martin had gone, Dan got up and began walking the cell, making a circle. Now that there was the possibility of a brief freedom, he was anxious to be out.

He wondered why Kate had not been to visit him yet today. He wanted to tell her the good news. But perhaps she already knew it. It was she who had arranged for Martin to defend him, and she had been in constant contact with the lawyer. Then why wasn't she here?

He began to wonder if Kate had really meant all she had said in the past few days. She seemed sincere when she insisted that it was him she loved, not Jake. He had believed her when she had said she realized it was she who had sent him into Bobbie's arms. But perhaps she was saying all those things because she felt she had to be loyal to him.

When he was sentenced to prison, would she still mean them? Or would she drift back to Jake? And when he was eventually released and had no future, would she again smother him with her success?

Dan stopped pacing and stood at the bars. He listened for some sound of Kate. Why wasn't she here now, when he needed her to reassure him?

The next morning in the courtroom, Dan only half-listened as Robert Martin presented the plea for release on bail. His mind was on Kate, who was seated at the rear of the room. She had seemed anxious and nervous. He wondered if she really wanted him to be free.

The judge decided in Dan's favor. The District Attorney offered only a halfhearted objection. The bail was set and a bondsman stepped forward to the desk.

Robert Martin talked with Dan for a moment, setting up an appointment with him for the next day, then he sent Dan to Kate. She was waiting for him at the doorway. He walked down the aisle between the rows of benches. She took his arm and they left the courtroom and went down the winding staircase, out into the sunlight.

"I have a car," Kate said. "I didn't think you'd want to ride the train. Your picture has been in the papers."

The car was at the curb. They got in, Kate behind the wheel. "Where did you get it?" Dan asked.

Kate started the engine. "I rented it."

"Where did you get the money?"

"From Jake."

"For the bondsman, too?"

"Yes."

It has already begun, Dan thought. Already she is turning back to Jake.

"Where were you yesterday?" he asked. "I expected you?"

"I went to see Sam Weininger," Kate replied.

"Did you tell him what I did with his money?"

"Yes. He wasn't much concerned about the money. He says he will apply it against the payment for your piece on LaFollette."

Dan laughed bitterly. "It will be years before I can get to that again."

"He understands that. He's willing to wait." She smiled. "He said it isn't often he finds a writer who can meet his standards. He has a lot of faith in you."

"I wonder how long it will last?" Dan said, gloomily.

"Until you disappoint him, I suppose. He wants to believe in you."

Dan remained silent during the rest of the trip.

When they reached the apartment, Kate opened the door with her key, then stepped back for Dan to enter. "Home," she smiled.

Although he had been away for only two weeks, the apartment seemed strange to Dan. He saw Bobbie's record player on the coffee table. "We ought to do something with that," he said, tightly.

"I'll keep it for her. I'll keep all her things."

Dan faced her, bewildered.

"It doesn't hurt any more," Kate said. "I can't hate her. It happened, and...." She shrugged. "It happened. Now that I understand why, I can't blame anyone. It wasn't her fault or yours or mine. The blame belongs to all of us."

"Still ... being reminded every day."

"I won't be. I'll store her things, along with some of ours. I'll have to. I won't be able to stay here."

Dan frowned. "Why?"

"Too expensive. I got my old job back. It doesn't pay as much as Chic."

"You didn't tell me that. What about Jake?"

"I don't want the same things Jake wants, Dan. And I don't want Jake. I told you that."

Dan went to the window and stood looking out. "You told me that, yes. But you took money from him."

"He offered it as a friend. He knows that there can never be anything between us but friendship. He's not so bad, Dan. He just likes to stir things up."

"Weininger said that about him."

"Weininger told me something about you, too, Dan. He said I ought to put up large signs around the house saying that I love you."

Dan turned, scowling. "What?"

"He said that's the only way you would keep believing it, if it were said constantly, loud and clear." Dan shrugged embarrassedly. "Well...."

"Dan, I talked to Robert Martin about ... : He says you will probably be sent away for a few years. I won't be with you to tell you I love you and believe in you, Dan."

"Will it last?" he asked.

"As long as you want it to. I don't understand why I love you, Dan. I mean, I can't analyze it. But I know that I do, and accept it, without an explanation. You'll have to do the same. You'll have to accept it blindly. I won't be there to remind you, to prove it to you. Can you do that? Can you accept it and believe it? Can you keep it up for years? If you can, I'll be waiting for you."

Suddenly, Dan felt all the doubt melt away. He knew he would be able to believe in Kate's love, and keep believing in it. Because he loved her in the same way, without knowing why, but with all his heart.

They ran to each other, and Dan enfolded her in his arms. He held her desperately for a second, then their lips met. Dan knew in that instant that he had never ceased loving Kate. She was more dear to him than his own life. She was the one woman he wanted forever. Their lips parted. Dan pressed feverish kisses upon her face, her throat.

"Dan, my darling," she breathed, molding herself to him.

Dan's hands moved hungrily on her body. He wanted her now, wanted her with all his being.

"Now," Kate moaned. "My darling, darling, now."

Dan lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom. They fell to the bed. And in a moment there were no sounds in the room but the sounds of love.

THE END
Teen-Age Tramp ....(105k)    by William Johnston




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