Like lustful lemmings bound for the mass mating at the edge of the passion sea, the college kids gathered in a resort town gone mad with lust! Meeting, boozing, fighting, sinning, they paired off in knots of frantic desire, cramming into the short mid-session vacation every pent-up hunger of the long-tensed winter. The coed tramps were there in flesh-filled bikinis. The would-be wanton novices were there, looking for the shame-games they were afraid to play. The crewcut studs were right on tap to greet them, to show them the way into a sin paradise of shame. And when the undergrad sophistication they'd brought with them seemed like it might reach its limits, there were always older, wiser sin instructors to lead them on-lust vultures who waited for these passion-packed days to sate their shameful appetites. Then the lid really blew off the clean white city by the sea, and the corruption bubbling there came belching forth like a wail of degradation!
CHAPTER ONE
It was snowing in Wisconsin on that April day. Not an unusual thing for Wisconsin. Light, fluffy flakes that spattered the Chrysler's windshield, skittered in a blurring streak along its glistening hood. A snow that swirled and shifted on the highway, that left a minor blizzard behind, the careening automobile. A snow that would melt before the day was out.
It had been a long, hard winter in Wisconsin. One of the worst in ten years. As evidence, irritant and diehard, were the small spurs and ridges of ice along the roadside, remnants of what had once been ten foot drifts.
But it wasn't snowing in Florida. Not for six hundred years now. And Florida was where Bernie Quale and his big, red, Chrysler was headed. Florida was where his companions, Dell McLaren and Hal Falter were going. Florida was where the fun and excitement were. Where all the action was.
Florida was where the steamy, sexed-up coeds were.
Bernie stared fixedly into the snow, watched the black, wet highway unwind. He saw the barren, ugly landscape on both sides, the bleak, bare trees looking like protesting, pleading arms raised to the merciless heavens. He sighed gratefully. A whole week away from this frigid hell. Then he thought about other things, and a cynical smile curved his lips.
The perpetual contemplation-
The smile turned to a leer, and finally to a coarse, boastful chuckle. Now a vulgar, singsong chant was begun: "Quale wants tail, Quale wants tail. Florida's got tail. Quale gets tail, Quale gets tail...."
"Knock it off, Bernie," Dell McLaren snapped. "Enough's enough. Don't run it into the ground." And when Bernie's voice trailed off, he added, "I wonder about you sometimes, Bernie. That space between your ears must be filled with jelly beans. Your brain's sub-navel. In between your legs. And I mean all the time."
Quale smiled smugly, much pleased with himself. "You know it, chum," he said, "you know it."
"Well, jeez, man," Hal Falter interjected, "don't act psycho about it. The way you wave the stuff, like a flag, it's a wonder you ever make out."
Bernie grinned mockingly. "That right, buddy? How many campus cuties you tumbled so far this year? You'd be surprised how they dig the direct approach. Nowadays a gal does half of it for you. They figure they're square if they're not hip on their wedding night. Man, that is a real fox pass. How's poor hubby gonna live a thing like that down? Imagine, a wife who's a virgin."
"And you're doing your little bit," Hal winced, "to help prevent embarrassing situations like that."
"You're damn right," Bernie said. "Granted, it's like carrying water to the sea in a pail, but I figure every little bit helps." He snickered. "I ain't shirking my duty like some people I know...." He looked directly at Dell McLaren. "How about that, buddy boy?"
"Don't start on that again," Dell shot. "Just because I don't see things your way...."
"Then why you tagging along this time?"
McLaren chose sarcasm as a weapon. "Maybe I figure I'll learn something if I string along with you."
Bernie sneered wolfishly. "Maybe you will at that." He shot his cuffs, gave Dell a supercilious look. "But watch close. Because it might be all over before you get your notebook out. Imagine ... any guy who'll play dead just because a broad says 'no.' Just because the Jill turns on the waterworks. Man, that's when you should really bear down."
"I said drop it, Bernie," Dell McLaren threatened, his bluster failing to camouflage his embarrassment. "I'm sorry I ever mentioned it."
"I'll bet you are," Quale said, slowing the Chrysler for a tight curve. His mood grew reminiscent. "Let me tell you about that Lisa Normand witch I had out last Wednesday."
"You mean the doll," Hal interrupted, "who walks about like she's had it gold plated? Did you make out with her?"
"Let me finish, will you?" He regarded Dell coldly. "Here's prime example of direct approach, pal. We took in a movie, see. Then afterward had a sandwich and coffee downtown. It's still early, and I didn't want to dump her at her house yet. Besides ... we hadn't got anywhere near basics."
"So I suggested that we drive out toward Mendota see if the ice had broken up yet. Maybe watch for submarines, get in a little heavy necking. The dumb bag giggles, thinks I'm kidding. But she's curious. So out we go.
"Only you know me-Bernie Z. Hound-I wasn't kidding. We find a nice dark place off the road, and I barrel it to her. She never knew what hit her. You dig? I said we were going to neck, and she went along with it, thinking I was kidding. But when we got there and I turned it on, what could she do? I'd warned her straight out, and she'd sort of committed herself. Even then she still thought it was going to be just necking.
"She made a big production out of it when I started opening buttons and stuff, really moaned and sobbed when I got my hand inside her brassiere. A regular confetti of 'don'ts' and 'pleases' and 'stops.' But it was all go after awhile, everything programming perfectly.
"By the time I was pulling her in the back seat she was helping me out of my clothes. Talk about wildcats!"
"And was she...?" Hal asked.
"Talk about virgin! Wow! She really yelled up a storm." Bernie chuckled lewdly. "But she wouldn't let up for a minute. Her philosophy was 'when it's gotta go, it's gotta go,' I guess. Lord-ee, but she tore me up."
"And?" Hal said.
"So it's been little Lisa every night since. She's talking about wedding bells already. Hell, let her talk When I get my fill, I'll dump her. But fast. Just like those other tramps I've been balling...."
Dell McLaren felt his stomach twist convulsively. "God, Bernie," he said, "sometimes you make me despair for the future of the whole human race. Is that all any of them mean to you?"
"Hell, sonny," he sneered, "what do you want me to do with them? Have them mounted or something? I should marry the tramps? When there's free stuff falling out of the trees? Judas ... talk about kooks...."
"But it isn't right," Dell searched for words, . .it just isn't human. Those girls believe you, they think they love you, that you love them. It's rotten to...."
"Bat dung!" Quale snorted. "If they're that dumb, they deserve to be shafted. Don't kid yourselves they think they're in love. They love stuff. They love the backseat calisthenics old Bernie dishes out. They're burning out repressions before they get tied down to one dull, harping jerk of a husband, that's what they're doing!"
Dell McLaren lapsed into silence, appalled by Quale's brutal philosophy, firmly convinced that Quale actually believed the words he spouted. It seemed incredible to him that any human being could be so callous, so single-minded. And yet it was so. To Bernie Quale, women were only warm, vibrant flesh: vegetables, mindless and devoid of feelings, put on earth only for his pleasure, vehicles to be ridden until they became tiresome, developed aggravating rattles and squeaks. At which time they were ready to be scrapped.
The young man so involved with these over-moral thoughts, considering them in the light of his own experience and philosophy, Dell McLaren, was approaching his twenty-first birthday, would graduate from the University of Wisconsin this summer. He was a handsome specimen, his complexion smooth and unblemished, a faded tan conferring an attractive darkness, his body trim and well-muscled from constant exercise, prerequisite to membership on the University's track and swimming teams. His hair was blond, worn in modified crew-cut, a styling which gave his face a squareish, masculine jut and strength. The latter serving to counteract the almost effeminate blueness of his crystalline eyes, the sensual fullness of his lips.
He was easily the biggest man in the car, standing an even six feet, weighing one-eighty. And yet, because of his philosophical incertitude, because of recent problems nagging him, he was the least ready to assert himself. Certainly he was the most naive of the trio. Especially when compared to Bernie Quale.
Glancing at the driver, assessing the cocky arrogance in his expression, the sharkish bravado of his smile, as he continued torrid description of his sessions with the once-aloof Lisa Normand, Dell felt a skin prickling shudder sweep him, and he found himself remembering Ruth Allender.
In the gloom of the day he could clearly see vision of her tortured, upturned face before his mind's eye, hear her protests again, her pleading sobbings. Angrily he shook his head, turned his full attention on Bernie.
Bernie Quale was a dark-haired boy, a senior like Dell, his skin somehow coarse, pocked with greyish freckles. He was short, slight, standing only five-seven. Not what anyone could call handsome by any violation of the word. And yet there was something about him, an inexplicable something-an animal magnetism and cock-sureness that made him irresistible to women. At any rate, to most of the women he'd run onto thus far.
There was a commanding, blase light in his eyes, an aura of ennui about him that made girls wilt. His stare, scathing and cold, could wither, could demand that his date of the evening get with it. I'm a man, you're a woman the look said. And kiddo, you know what men and women do together. So don't give me a scow of guff. Let's make the scene, dolly.
And rather than brand themselves squares and kooks, the girls would surrender to their rampaging emotions, slip out of their panties with a minimum of fuss. Enjoy it to the utmost. Come back, beg for seconds and thirds.
Bernie Quale was one hell of an operator.
Of course, there were other things going for him, too. One being the fact that he had an almost inexhaustible supply of cash to do with as he liked. The other his gleaming, flashy Chrysler, spanking new every year. Girls, even grown women, are impressed by minor details like that.
It was all part of Bernie's makeup, part of his fatal attraction. An attraction which, obviously-considering his limitless allowance and flashy cars-his mother could not resist either. A widow upon whom her husband had invested too much money, she could well afford to outrageously pamper her only son. Besides the endless procession of stray tomcats who'd slipped in and out of her bed since her husband's demise, it was the only pleasure life now held for her. Thus she indulged herself greedily in both remaining comforts.
Which backsliding Bernie was aware of, had often boasted about to Dell. He was actually proud of the fact that his mother was degrading herself. It was the way the scene should go. Small wonder, Dell often thought, Bernie's standards were so warped.
Like mother, like son.
One would think that eventually Bernie Quale's notoriety would become public domain, that in time he'd run out of gullible females. But it wasn't so. For on a campus as large as that of the University of Wisconsin, there was always some girl who hadn't heard of Bernie Quale, there was always a new batch of innocents in the freshman ranks. Not to mention those sexually-inclined coeds, even older women, teachers on sabbatical, taking graduate work, who had heard about Bernie Quale, and gathered around, knowing full well what to expect.
And no matter how assiduously Bernie labored in the vineyards of defloration, there was, seemingly, an eternal crop of vestals to be thinned out.
It became raison d'etre to him.
But it was a concept Dell McLaren could never fully accept. To have intercourse with a woman, to steal her virginity in the name of love, or because of overpowering emotions neither participant could control, was one thing. But the cold-blooded game-hunting Bernie Quale indulged in was quite another.
Often, when Bernie became overly clinical in describing his latest conquest, Dell had come close to nausea.
Now again, he broke from his introspective trance, looked out at the desolate, winter landscape. And shook his head angrily, disbelieving. If this wholesale seduction revulsed him so, what was he doing there, in this car with Bernie and Hal, headed for the annual spring vacation Saturnalia in Daytona Beach, Florida? The guys and gals gathered like lemmings, the main purpose of the mass migration being to make out-why was he lending himself to such ammoral purpose?
God, Dell, he castigated himself. What in hell do you think you're doing?
Then his reverie was aborted for good as Hal, the skinny, gawky red-headed clown, the butt of their every fraternity joke, an amiable, happy-go-lucky lad, leaned over the seat and addressed Bernie:
"These dolls, Bernie," he said, "You're sure they'll show? You're sure this bash'll swing?"
"Unlax, amigo," Bernie assured. "You're in like Henry Miller. This is my fourth year. Fort Lauderdale two years, then Daytona last spring. Lauderdale got to be a drag after that guy wrote that book about it. Cops jugged you for picking your nose. And since Dayton's closer, and wide open, why not?"
Hal's open, friendly face twisted into a happy, expectant smile. "And the gals? You're positive they'll put out?"
"Put out? They eat little boys like you for breakfast. You, chum, come under the heading of hors d' oeuvres to gals like Vicki and Sara. Talk about your vacuum cleaner types...."
Despite himself Dell felt evil excitement build up inside his chest. There had been several girls before. Even if they'd left him with nagging guilt feelings. But never girls like these Bernie promised. The nymphette trio had been at Daytona last year; Quale and two others had broken them in, taught them why boys and girls are built different. And this spring he was bringing two new buddies-the three musketeers-to take up where things had left off.
"You don't have to worry about them," Bernie continued. "Put out? God, just save up, so you don't go disappointing them. You'd better not embarrass me, Hal boy."
"You called 'em?" Hal persisted. "Like I told you?"
Bernie giggled, winked at Dell. "Listen to the kid stew. Bet it's the first time he's ever wet his whistle. Yes, Hally," he said condescendingly, "I called the gals. They're looking forward to meeting you guys. They're from Virginia. They believe all this Paul Bunyan stuff. And you two guys being natives of Wisconsin ... are you in for it-"
"Hot dog!" Hal breathed, on the verge of slathering, "I'll sure's hell give it the old college try...." He paused. "I sure hope my dough holds out-"
"Dough," Bernie sniffed. "I told you it was my treat. I wired the old lady just before we left. She slipped me a whole gee." He nudged Dell. "Think that'll hold us?"
"I don't want to mooch anything off you," Dell said. "I got a hundred-fifty saved up."
"Mooch, smooch!" Quale turned him off. "Well cross that bridge when we get to it."
"But you said we'd chip in on gas and motel..
Hal protested.
"My treat," Quale laughed. "I wanna get you guys broken in right. That's my crazy brand of altruism." He fumbled with the radio, drove up the volume on a rock and roll number. "Quale wants tail, Quale wants tail," he was muttering again.
And Dell found himself rocked with incredulity once more. I asked for this?
Another doubt closed down on Dell as he realized the true inconsistency of his attitudes. That despite the fact that Bernie Quale's heartless, ugly outlook revulsed him, he still-underneath it all-envied the boy, envied his hardboiled, mercenary philosophy toward life. And toward women.
For it was hardboiled, conscienceless types like Bernie who would go places in this cut-throat, primitive world of ours. Who would claw their way through the business jungle, slicing their best friends up the back if need be, using the boudoir as well as the business office to their advantage. Give Bernie Quale ten years and he'd be on top of the pile. There'd be no stopping this venal, opportunistic animal once he got started.
It was the way Dell McLaren wanted to be also. If he could learn to blunt his conscience, to sharpen his claws. Success in the business world meant everything to him. It had been exalted to an almost godly status in his mind. He had to be "King of the Hill," too. He'd sat at second table all his life, and he was sick to the teeth of it. He wanted to be up there with people like Bernie Quale. He wanted to learn every dirty, in-fighting trick there was.
Perhaps this was explanation as to why he'd consented to accompany Bernie and Hal to the Daytona blowout. Perhaps he'd truly learn something basic from Bernie, perhaps he'd prove himself, put his gutless past behind him.
Perhaps what had happened between him and Ruth Allender less than a week ago was all mixed up in it somewhere. Maybe his brutality that night at her aunt's apartment had been his first attempt to break with his bourgeois morality. It had been his way of proving himself equal to Bernie Quale and all the Bernie Quales the world over.
Ruth had thought herself In love with him-of that he'd been reasonably positive-but it had never reached that point with him. Ruth was a pretty enough girl, clean, neat, an honor student. There was a fastidious prissiness about her which irritated him, an inferred correctness and superiority. Often he envisioned himself married to Ruth, saw her as the harping, bossing, culture-dedicated wife. The image rankled.
He had dated her for perhaps three months, partly because there was nothing better to do, partly because it gave him a flush of pride to be seen with so beautiful a woman. Also, of course, because there did exist an undeniable sexual attraction.
But beyond kissing her good night, holding her hand as he walked her home from the movies, the lectures they attended at the Student Union, there'd been no other overt overtures. Ruth had been quite capable of cooling any outbursts of ardor, almost before they began.
Ruth was an Appleton girl, living with her aunt in Madison, in an apartment a mile or so from the campus, going home to visit with her parents on holidays and occasional weekends. Otherwise she was always near at hand.
It had happened only last Wednesday night as they'd returned home from a required lecture, Ruth strangely compliant and affectionate, holding his hand tightly as they walked, letting herself lurch against him often, seemingly borrowing warmth on that chill March night. She was more vivacious, more demonstrative than Dell had ever seen her before.
Thus it had come as a great surprise, when upon reaching the apartment building, Ruth had asked him up for awhile.
"What about your aunt?" Dell had asked. "Isn't she asleep? Won't we be disturbing her?"
"No," Ruth had hurriedly assured him, flushing as the words spilled out, "she's out tonight. Gone to a hen party. She won't be home until after midnight." She'd averted her eyes. "Won't you come up, Dell? I'll make some coffee...."
But there had been no coffee that night. For as they'd come into the apartment, before Ruth had time to click on the lights, his resolve had suddenly hardened. It was though his mentality, his standards had been temporarily short-circuited. He wanted her; he was going to have her. And he justified himself by saying that it was Ruth's doing; she had presented the opportunity herself. Hadn't she all but dared him when she'd announced her aunt's absence?
"Naughty boy," Ruth had simpered as he'd drawn her to him in the darkness, ground his lips hungrily into hers, held the for what seemed an interminable time.
The primness in her tone had been further goad. "You shouldn't, Dell. Kiss me like that, I mean."
But he had kissed her like that. Again. And again. "Why?" he whispered, holding her painfully tight. "If I love you, Lean kiss you anyway I want."
It was the first time he'd ever used the words with her, and Ruth had stiffened in his grasp, expelled a quick gasp. "Dell., .do you mean it? Did you say it?"
"Yes, darling," he breathed, the resolve desperate in him now. All the way, baby, he'd thought. Tonight it happens. "I did say it. I do love you."
She went limp, became heavy in his arms. "Oh, Dell," she'd said, "If only you know how long I've wanted you lo tell me. Dell, I love you...." And eagerly she'd offered her mouth, pressed her coat-bundled body closer.
"Naughty, naughty," she sighed when they parted this time, her voice quaking. "But so nice. Oh, Dell, I love you."
Then he'd taken her toward the davenport, pushed her down, kissed her again. Then gravely, carefully, he'd begun unbuttoning her coat, the small intimacy engendering even greater wildness within him. Preview of things to come. And Ruth had shivered, plunged herself to him anew, her hardbound breasts squirming into his chest.
The kissing had gone on and on. Until they had both lost control. And Ruth found herself pushed far back onto the davenport, stretched full length on the cushions. "My shoes," she'd murmured. "They'll get the cushions dirty."
Whereupon Dell had sat upright, had removed her pumps, dropped them to the floor. But had forgotten to come back to Ruth. Had, instead, begun to rub her nylon smooth ankles. Had let his hands wander up to her calves. Ruth had come up instantly, tried to forestall him. "No. Dell, don't!" she'd called. "Stop that now."
"Let me," he'd said, the words more demand than pleas. "They're so beautiful, they're so smooth. That's all I want. I promise."
"Please, Dell," she'd said lamely, the tremors that swept her legs betraying her, "it's wrong."
Dell's hands had tenderly stroked her legs. Back and forth. Up and down. "It's not wrong," he'd whispered. Your legs are lovely. So lovely." And in a few moments Ruth had relaxed, fallen back into the pillows.
"It does feel nice," she'd said dreamily.
"I love you," Dell had intoned, sensing that total capitulation was only moments off. "I love you, darling."
And remembering some of Bernie's coaching, he'd slid his body upward, half-laying on Ruth, his lips groping for hers. Then their mouths had met, and a devastating kiss resulted. During which Dell's hand had slid upon her silken knee, snaked beneath her skirt.
For long moments she lay in trance-like stillness, not feeling his hands for the lethargy the kiss had produced. But then as his hand had closed on the bare flesh of her thighs, begun to tenderly rub in a small, circular motion, she had erupted. "No, Dell," she'd cried, unlocking their kiss. "Please, stop now."
"Darling," he'd keened. "I love you, don't you understand? It's all right if I love you, isn't it?"
Still she'd struggled to avoid his touch, his smothering kisses. While Dell's hand went crazy beneath her skirt. Her breath came in stacatto, sibilant puffs, the desire a deranging thing within her. Even so she might have still rebuffed Dell if she hadn't made that one fatal mistake.
"Dell," she strained, trying to pull his wrist, to withdraw his hand from where it was stroking her girdle-trapped belly, "please don't spoil things. Wait, darling. Wait until we're married. It'll be better then. Please, Dell, wait, wait."
It was her arrogant confidence that they would be married that triggered the final violence. And he'd recalled a diatribe of Bernie's, an oft-repeated creed of hatred. "God, just because they've got something a man hasn't got, they think they can trade on it, barter it, use it to get whatever they want. They break down once, give it to you, because they're wild to have it themselves. Then they expect you to pay for it the rest of your life. To pay and never stop paying. They think they're little silver goddesses. When all the time they're animals, just like we are. Pigs, tramps, whores-all of them. Marry 'em? I should live so long!"
And Dell had seen himself being led through life by this prissy woman, a ring through his nose, emasculated, permitted access to that sacred body only as reward, not because of honest love and self-sacrifice. The image had infuriated him. He'd thought of how Bernie would treat a woman at such a time. Vengefully his hand had closed on the soft delta of Ruth's body.
"Where's your bedroom?" he'd rasped.
"No, Dell, please," she'd pleaded. "Please, TD scream, I'll call for help. Please, stop. You're out of your mind."
"Where's your bedroom?" he'd repeated, his other hand finding her breasts, beginning to squeeze and rile them.
Ruth had begun to sob, had become incoherent. Until he'd raised her to her feet, taken her toward the room he imagined was hers.
She'd lain in trembling, sobbing docility as he'd stripped down her stockings, her girdle and panties. Then, wild to humiliate her, he'd unzipped her skirt, unbuttoned her blouse. Then he'd crudely worked her slip up over her head, pulled at her brassiere until the snaps popped. His own clothes had come off with frenzied haste.
Finally he'd come to Ruth, who-though still crying-seemed more reconciled now. "What time is it?" she asked repeatedly.
"Eleven-ten," Dell had said.
Her breath had sliced the air in a sibilant hiss as his lips closed on her nipples, as his knee came between hers, prepared tolerance for his free hand. "No, Dell," she moaned. "No, please. I'll forgive you, but stop now ... before it's too late."
For a moment Dell had wavered, her cries flaying his conscience. But then, remembering Bernie, projecting him into this situation, he became vengeful again. Bernie would laugh in Ruth's face. And plunge himself cruelly into her body. Get the worst of it over. So they could both enjoy it.
Ruth had been a virgin, there'd been no doubt about it. She'd screamed hoarsely, fought desperately to repel him. But in the end, out of his mind with desire, with the sick need to hurt and humiliate, Dell had prevailed, had forced his brutal union.
His consummation had been hasty, totally unsatisfactory. While Ruth had achieved nothing at all. It had been animal ravishment and nothing more.
How could it have happened? Dell had pondered, standing beside the bed, hurriedly dressing. What came over me? It was like I was outside myself. A savage, mindless beast.
"Dell," Ruth had whimpered, "what's going to happen to us? Why, why?" A sob had nearly choked her. "You're going to marry me, aren't you?"
Dell's voice had been dull, deliberately cold. Filled with a transcending hatred. Hatred for Ruth, hatred for himself, hatred for the whole world. "No," he'd taunted. "I'm not going to marry you. I'm not going to anything with you. So far as I'm concerned I never want to see you again." He'd turned, "stalked from the apartment.
"Dell," Ruth had howled pitifully, at a loss to understand what bestiality had changed her life so suddenly this night. "Don't go! Stay...."
He hadn't seen her since.
For quite some time he thought about it. As if he were in a fog.
He may never really know if he had done the right thing or not, doing what he thought Bernie would have done.
Under the circumstances....
Slowly, emerging from his thoughts, Dell shook his head. He couldn't understand, even now. He couldn't understand what had happened that night. Or what was happening to him now.
You louse, he charged, what are you trying to prove?
At that moment the car jerked savagely, and Dell found himself thrown up against Bernie Quale, as the Chrysler was recklessly threaded between a semi and three other passenger cars.
"Not so fast, damn you!" Dell cursed. "You'll wreck us. What're you trying to do?"
"Do, man?" Bernie laughed in high-pitched glee. "Do. Why, buddy, I'm aiming to get there before it's all used up."
CHAPTER TWO
BY ten o'clock that Friday night, taking turns behind the Chrysler's wheel, the three college, boys had reached Birmingham, Alabama. Bernie Quale was all for going on, driving straight through, but Dell and Hal had had a bellyful of driving for the day, and insisted on taking a motel for the night. It took both of them to pull the reluctant Quale from behind the driver's seat when they'd finally turned into a motel on the city's southernmost outskirts.
"I can drive, guys," he'd argued. "I'm still fresh, I tell you. If we keep barreling this baby all night we'll be in Daytona by seven tomorrow morning."
"So?" Hal countered. "What for? So we can sack out for the next twenty-four? I'm beat, Bernie. I crave to carve logs the worst way."
"So sleep. Crawl in back. Take a slug of that Scotch under the seat. That'll put you out. I'll drive the rest of the way. I'm wide awake-honest I am."
Dell all but lifted him from the seat of the Chrysler. "Like hell you are. You nearly climbed over that Buick's rear ten miles back. And what about that thing on the overpass outside of Athens?" He grimly took the keys from the ignition, aimed Quale toward the motel office. "You have had it, pal. We have just run out of gas."
"Damn," Bernie grumbled. "Of all the hard-nosed...."
Interstate 31, through Alabama was a dream. When they'd planned the trip both Hal and Dell had argued the reasonableness of going that far west to reach Florida. But since it was Bernie's car, since he'd traveled the route before and guaranteed it as the fastest going available, they'd deferred to his wishes. Much to their joy. For it was a straightaway highway, new and wide open.
They were on the road again by seven the next morning, and as they rammed the Chrysler southward at a steady seventy-five per, Dell felt the excitement, tinged with uncertainty, rise within him. Barring mishaps, they'd make Daytona Beach by five or six that afternoon without any sweat at all.
Bernie had the route down pat, and jubilantly crowed his elation at the time they made. "Let those other hayseeds take the short route. Wait'll they hit those mountains. Wait'll they get jammed up behind a million pickups on those hillbilly roads. Time, man-we're making time!"
31 to Montgomery, 231 to Dotham, 84 to Thomasville, 19 and 27 south and east to Ocala, 40 and 18 into Daytona Beach.
On the Chrysler careened, cutting its way into the Deep South, every mile taking them farther and farther from the frigid wasteland of the north, the trees beginning to turn green: buds in northern Alabama, leaves in central, thick, lush foliage in southern. It was Dell's first spring migration into the South, and he was amazed and delighted at the rapid change. It seemed they were racing out to meet spring.
And by the time they came into Florida, they were deep into summer. It gave them special glee in one Florida city, as they gassed up, to watch Bernie make great show of dumping their topcoats and jackets into the Chrysler's trunk. By then the top was down, they were all in shirtsleeves, enjoying the balmiest of weather.
Still they piled south, the weather getting warmer, the vegetation more verdant, the stands of azalea more profuse, more stunningly brilliant. It seemed every tree was ablaze with some different and exotic flower. As they came into the orange groves, the sweetish smell of the orange blossoms was overpowering.
Now they began to see other manifestations of the spring vacation migration to Florida, began to pass car after car loaded with guys and gals-all college stuff, all headed toward Daytona Beach. License plates from Iowa, Indiana, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Tennessee, Alabama-every seaboard, southern and midwestern state was represented.
It was a merry, boisterous cavalcade, with every car honking a greeting, sending waves of catcalls and whistles as Bernie's Chrysler hurtled past. The girls especially, seeing the gleaming red monster, set up an ecstatic squeal. Squeals which Bernie acknowledged by leaning on the horn, waving and yelling back, "Later, baby, later. You'll get yours...." At the same time forming his fingers in a particularly crude gesture.
Which, strangely enough, made the dolls scream all the more delightedly.
"Oh, baby," Bernie gritted, "will you get yours."
And the nearer they came to Daytona Beach, the more concentrated became the glut of college students, packed almost bumper to bumper. Dell found it hard to believe that this many students had heard about the spring whingding, had severe misgivings about the ability of the city to accommodate them. "All these kids?" he questioned. "Where'n hell they gonna put them?"
"Don't you worry your little head about that, Dell," Bernie grinned. "They'll put 'em. Those money-hungry jerks in Daytona are ready and waiting for this plague. They been working toward it all year. They'll find a place, never fear. They'll jam these kids five and six to a motel room, and boost the rates besides."
"How many you think will be here?" Hal asked, his brow furrowed. "You sure we got a place?"
"They had around fifteen thousand last year. Should go twenty or more this time. Unless the rich witches en masse it for Bermuda. That's getting to be a big thing."
"Quit stewing, will you? Yes, I got the reservations. Two regulars and a day-bed. At The Blue Marlin." His tone became stagey. "Will that be satisfactory, gentlemen? Or does modesty dictate otherwise?"
But there was no answer, for at that moment they caught their first sight of the Atlantic Ocean, a deep azure expanse, rolling and tumbling, brilliant contrast to the white, endless beach, forming beautiful background for the fiesta-colored roofs, towers, buildings of Daytona Beach itself. It seemed that suddenly the caravan slowed, as if every car were on the same conveyor belt, as every occupant paused, gawked, and was awed.
"Thar she lies!" Bernie hooted. "Daytona Beach, funland by the sea." He nudged Dell McLaren. "Mother-lode, Dell, baby. This is where they invented it."
While behind them, the driver of a '46 Plymouth convertible, loaded with six shrilly screaming girls, began to lean on her horn. "Move that tomato cart," one of the coeds taunted. The driver gave a steady beep-beep.
Bernie was more than equal to the occasion. He wheeled, fixed the driver, a honey-tanned blonde, with a malevolent stare. "Hey, honey!" he bellowed in a voice that carried ten car-lengths beyond. "C'mon up here and blow on this for awhile!"
The blonde went twelve different shades of red, jerked her hand off the horn button as if it were white hot.
Then the collegiate caravan was in motion again, and they started into Daytona Beach. That last, Dell couldn't help but muse, was quite an appropriate introduction to the frantic Daytona carnival. Quite fitting indeed.
Tired, dusty and windblown as they were, they still did not go directly to their motel. Instead they followed Volusia Avenue straight in, turned right on Beach Street, crossed the Halifax River on South Bridge. Then they were on the peninsula itself, and Bernie was excitedly pointing out landmarks as they proceeded south on Peninsula Drive. As they neared Port Orange, he cut over until he hit Adantic Avenue, made a left, headed north again.
And there before them, stretching as far as the eye could see was Daytona's fabulous white sand beach, fronted with a garish phalam, pseudo Moorish, Spanish, California, Moderne buildings--homes, business buildings, hotels, motels, and resort complexes of every hue and description.
"Man," Bernie grunted. "Isn't that a gas? Looks like something out of a midnight horror movie. Talk about monstrosities...."
But more exciting to Dell was the milling mass of adolescent humanity that was crowding the beach at that moment. It reminded him of Seal Rock during mating season, every square inch covered with teeming, seething, slithering bodies. "My Lord," he breathed. "You mean all those kids...."
"Yep," Bernie said. "All those kids. Down here to ball, to raise some polite hell. Down here to make out anyway they can." He pulled into one of the turnoffs that led onto the beach proper. "Just like us, huh, boys?"
"Are you allowed to drive down on the beach?"
"Sure, it's one of the attractions. You've heard of ,the Daytona Five-Hundred, haven't you? Well go down and take a looksee. I wanna see some of those broads close up."
Gingerly the Chrysler felt its way down the incline, came onto the hard-packed sand at the beach's outer limit. Again Dell felt an evil thrill pierce him as he saw the way some of the girls, impressed by the car, stared at them-their eyes predatory, scheming, assessing. It was so, he conceded, just like Bernie said. The whole lousy town was on the make.
It was the dinner hour and the crowd was thinning somewhat. Nevertheless, there was still a swarming mass of guys and dolls on hand, stretching far into the distance. The noise from a thousand tinny transistor radios drifted above the crowd noises, above the rumble of the surf. It seemed to Dell that every guitar, ukulele and banjo player in America had convened here at the beach.
In one clot of college kids a buxom, bronze-bodied cherry-top was enthusiastically doing "the limbo," the cheers loud and long as the fish pole kept coming down.
There was a brisk onshore wind, and though the sun was still high, it was nonetheless chilly. A few brave girls, poured into the skimpiest swimsuits imaginable-some more adventurous ones in bold, provocative Bikinis-were brazening it out, sunning themselves on towels and blankets. While the rest were wrapped in their towels, or had pulled on sweaters and sweatshirts.
Now Dell's attention was directed to a long-limbed amazon, a magnificently built brunette with bursting, sharp-pointed breasts, her hips and buttocks a symphony of beauty, who sat on a blanket in the sand. Her head was thrown back in abandon, her breasts all but squeezing themselves out of her skinny, Bikini bra.
Bernie stopped the car abruptly. "Now there," he said, his voice thick, "is a gal who's got it, who knows she's got it, and is proud she's got it." And he half-leaned out of the car, sent a hungry growl in her direction.
The gypsy-haired virago slowly turned, sent a sultry half-smile in the Chrysler's direction. Very slowly, very deliberately she sucked in a deep breath, let her breasts blossom to full glory. They appeared to vibrate from within.
"How about it, honey?" Bernie leered. "What say you and me compare measurements?"
Her glance was scathing. "Broom off, sonny! You got nothing at all that could possibly interest me." Insolently she rolled over, displayed the clefted mounds of her buttocks. Insult that wasn't insult.
"Man, I'd like to build a swing on that back porch," Quale said, undaunted.
The girl looked over her shoulder contemptuously. "Buddy, even if there was one there, you'd fall through the slats. Scram will you? You're blocking the sun."
The brush off broke Hal up. "Bernie, old pal, consider yourself royally told off."
"Up yours," Bernie spat. Slowly the Chrysler moved on.
Still the sea of college kids, a swelling, swarming, ever-agitated thing, went on and on. A mass of humans almost too large to assimilate. Running, lying, doing beach acrobatics, throwing balls, wrestling-constantly writhing and pulsing with restless energy. And here and there, to the music from the brassy radios, the omnipresent dancers-twisters mostly, but with an occasional rockabilly holdover-gyrated in hedonistic frenzy, engaging in timeless eroticism. Invitation to a dance of another kind. A cotton cotillion.
Perhaps, Dell thought, watching one particularly carried away couple who twisted only inches away from each other, their bellies almost touching, the girl's nipples brushing the boy's chest from time to time, that's why the twist had caught on so fast. It got down to real basics in one damned hurry.
Every fifty feet or so along the beach there were devotees, in pairs, quartets, octets, barefooted in a sandy arena, trunks grinding, elbows pumping, the girls' breasts jiggling shamelessly, while an admiring audience called loud, sometimes suggestive encouragement.
Then, of course, there was a slower, more hypnotic activity taking place here and there along the beach. The operators who'd already latched onto a likely playmate, were cuddling on blankets, kissing and hugging, applying themselves aggressively to outdoor overtures. All the commotion here was muted, sub rosa, the real explosion bubbling, fermenting beneath the surface.
Until, in a little while-
A car would drive off to find a more private beach hideaway. Or the couple would ankle off the beach arm in arm, either to his motel or hers-the choice depending on which digs were the more likely to be deserted at that moment.
Oh, yes-there were all kinds of things to be seen along the beach. And it was quite obvious that the scene would get wilder before the night was out. Not to mention the upcoming week.
The hot dog vendors were doing a land-office business. As were the soft drink caddies. Otherwise there were picnic lunches scattered all over the sand, girls and girls, guys and girls digging in. A real domestic touch.
But while the girls were laying off the beer, at least for the moment, it seemed to be trademark of masculinity that practically every boy on the beach was clutching or sucking away at a can of brew. The sun glistened on hundreds upon hundreds of winking, glittering, silver eyes the length and breadth of the littoral.
Again Dell remembered Bernie's words about the Daytona gougers. Somebody's really coining it, he thought.
Weird hats and costumes seemed to be the order of the day: sombreros, raveled raffia, sun hats, beanies, flower-pot imitations with eyes cut in them. And of course there were numberless pith helmets, hackneyed refrain to one of the leads in Where the Boys Are. In the distance, Dell even saw one string-bean character dressed in white shorts and a transparent, plastic space helmet, his vision almost obscured by the red haze of lip imprints that compliant, zany coeds had bombarded the contraption with.
Then there were the sweat shirts, sporting slogans of every conceivable sort. College seals from practically every school in the country. Even one with UNIVERSITY OF NOME emblazoned across the front. Then there were the Bach, Beethoven and Brahms jobs. One innovator sported one upon which he'd carefully painted Mitch Miller's picture. There was the usual sprinkling of Alfred J. Neumans and "I go Pogos."
"THE AMERICAN BROAD JUMPING TEAM." "LOVERS, INCORPORATED." Others announced: "PROPERTY OF DAYTONA BEACH JAIL" and "HELP STAMP OUT VIRGINITY."
The latter drew a real laugh from Hal Falter. "Get a load of that, will you? The girls oughta get one that says, 'No, please. It hurts that way.'"
"There you go again," Bernie chuckled. "A mind steeped in subterranean lore...." He turned to Dell. "Enough, chum? Give you an idea of what we've got to cope with here? Wanna cut out? Take in the motel?"
Dell was preoccupied by as dizzy a scene as he ever hoped to see. Wherein a coed and her date were tossing an ice cube back and forth. While around them a circle of rooters chanted, "Three thousand thirty-three, three-thousand and thirty-four...."
"What?" he said, breaking from his trance.
"I said do we skip the sand box, and look up our pad?"
Dell blinked, looked at him in confusion. Then it registered. "Oh. Yeah, sure. Let's go." And as they came off the beach, hit Atlantic Avenue again, he was still murmuring, "Quite a deal. What a scene...."
The Blue Marlin was a modern, double-decker motel located on Madison Avenue, tastefully painted in aqua and white, boasting a large swimming pool, a large court bordered with princess palms. There were thirty units in all, sparkling and clean in every detail.
As the manager, a fat, triple-chinned little man, showed them their room on the second level, he warned them, "Now I know you boys are in town for the doings, and you want to have a little fun. But fun goes just so far, understand? I don't want you trying to sneak any extra guys in here. And, of course," he hemmed, "no girls...."
"Yes, sir," Bernie said, smiling broadly, affecting an overdone respectfulness. "You'll get no trouble from us. By the way, are there many other college people staying here?"
"Oh, yes," the man smiled. "We're full up. There's a party from Pennsylvania next door to you. Four boys. And one door past them there are four young ladies from North Carolina. Yes, we have quite a crowd of young people. I know you'll all enjoy yourselves."
"Yes," Bernie said dryly, "I'm sure we will."
"Hey," Hal questioned as the motel owner departed, "how come you picked a place so far from the main drag? We're all left out of things way out here."
"Are we?" Quale mocked. "Ever hear of a little thing called privacy? Or are you the kind of guy who likes to do it in the middle of a hotel lobby?"
"Oh," Hal was mollified. "Yeah. I get you, Bernie."
Bernie rubbed his hands. "You guys get your showers and stuff. Get changed and well go out and eat. In the meantime...." He headed for the phone. "I've got some arrangements to make. You guys wanna tangle already tonight, don't you?"
Dell's jaw dropped. "You mean just like that? We score right away tonight?"
"Hell, man," Bernie said disgustedly. "What do you expect? We've only got a week. You want banns announced yet?"
"No...." Dell said lamely. And he felt an unknown, cold fear settle in the depths of his bowels.
They had drunk two or three Scotches on the rocks before they'd left The Blue Marlin, and so by the time they entered Martino's, an ultra supper club on Beach Street, none of the boys was feeling any pain. Hal and Dell were chary about the elite place, watch-dogging their money, and protested. But Bernie insisted. "You guys pay what you want on the check," he said. "Or nothing at all. Makes no diff to me. I'll treat. It's only money, remember?"
Bernie ostentatiously ordered a lavish steak dinner all around, cutting off their protests with: "We can all go on the hamburger kick tomorrow if that's the way you peons want to live. But tonight we eat. We gotta get in condition for later."
"It's all set?" Hal said eagerly. "The girls?"
"Not quite. I gotta call back around eight, nail down details. But never fear. You're gonna get keel-hauled tonight. They're real go-go girls. Rrowfl" He fixed Dell with a curious stare. "I think I'll sic Kim on you, baby."
When Bernie tried to slip an order for three martinis over on the waiter, he was politely turned down. "Sorry, sir," the man said softly, "but minors are not allowed...."
"Skip it," Bernie brushed him. Turning back to his friends, he said, "we've got the best part of that fifth left. We'll pick up some ice and some glasses somewhere along the line. I imagine that the gals'll dig something besides beer for a change. Real jet fuel, that Johnny Walker."
The steaks came and were eaten with great gusto, Bernie chattering non-stop about what they could expect before the night was over. It was while they waited for dessert that Quale left the table to try calling the girls' motel again.
Bernie had barely left the room when an unnerving thing happened to Dell McLaren. In the person of a lovely, slight coed, raven-haired, olive skinned, who at that instant entered the restaurant, stood hesitantly at the door, looking for a vacant table. Dell barely noticed the perky, confident blonde who was with her; he had eyes only for the slim, small-breasted girl in the red, velvet sheath.
There was look of unmistakable ingenue about her. And yet-incongruously-a latent sophistication also. An aloofness that was definitely disconcerting. Try as he might, Dell couldn't take his eyes off her. Once, as she waited for the maitre a", her eyes met Dell's. Immediately she looked away, unreasonable agitation registering on her features.
Dell was suffused with a peculiar longing, an extraordinary feeling that something was missing from his life, had been missing for too long. He looked to the girl again and again, damning himself for a fool.
Her brows were heavy, arching beautifully over dark, liquid eyes of piercing, haunting intensity. Her nose was thin, Romanesque, her lips gleaming with a lush shimmer that no makeup could enhance. The red dress, cut square in front, with wide shoulder straps over bony, prominent shoulders, complimented her tawny coloring, the doe-like grace of her slender throat. Her legs were thin, perfectly formed; her feet small, clad in red, satin pumps.
As her eyes fell on Dell once more, he forced his gaze elsewhere, vowed he wouldn't look at her again. And yet, the vision of her quiet, reticent beauty shimmered before his eyes. The compulsion to stare was an unearthly thing. But still, he managed to keep his vow.
In this the brash Bernie Quale was helpful. For as he returned, his smile was wide, arrogant. "It's all set, gents," he said, sitting, attacking his dessert. "They'll meet us at a place called The Barn. It's a beer joint down the line." He smirked. "They're looking forward to meeting you guys. And get this, men. Endurance is the password for tonight. Judging from the way Vicki talked, they ... are ... hot to go." Bernie's voice did strange things with the word hot.
Then the meal was finished, and they were leaving Martino's. Now, at last, Dell broke his promise, let his eyes rove the room, looking for the smoky-eyed girl once more. He would have liked to have stayed, to have stared at her for a long, long time. But since he'd never see her again once he left the club, since she'd be swallowed up in the collegiate mob over-running Daytona, lost to him forever, he might as well indulge himself one last time.
Their eyes met briefly, and he thought the girl smiled slightly. A wistful, sad smile. It seemed a monumental tragedy that a waiter passed between them at that moment, cutting the lovely wraith from his view.
Then they were out in the cool night. The first segment of their Daytona Beach adventure could commence.
But suddenly, strangely, Dell couldn't have cared less.
CHAPTER THREE
It took Bernie ten minutes to reach The Barn, another ten to find a parking place. The bar and dance-hall was everything its name implied: big, rangy, ugly rundown. A barn in every respect. Still, because it was a teen-ager joint, serving only beer, it was really jumping. This was an attraction ugliness could not dim. There was a big parking lot, hopelessly jammed by nine-thirty, and Bernie left the Chrysler two blocks away.
"Man," Hal breathed, "talk about crowded. They're standing on the sidewalk."
"A mere detail," Bernie snorted. "There's always room if you know how to make it."
Thus Quale, Falter and McLaren elbowed their way through the door, receiving angry glances from every side as they did so. Inside it was absolute bedlam, the lengthy barroom packed from one end to the other, the shouts and laughter seemingly closing down, suffocating them. The bar was lined six deep with prospective customers, all fighting to have their orders filled.
"God," Dell said, "some place your queens picked."
"So?" Bernie snapped. "Is one place different from another during spring vacation?" He turned on Hal, pinched his nose. "I dub thee Sir Hal, Bearer of the Beer. Go to it, pal. Well be waiting for you in the ballroom. I'll keep your chick luke warm for you."
There was a ballroom-at any rate, if one was to believe the raucous wail of twist music emanating from the gloomy opening at the end of the bar. As Dell and Bernie entered, they found it was somewhat less congested than the bar. Maybe because some of the males were more preoccupied with drinking than dancing.
It was a spacious, barny room, the reddish-stained rafters exposed, haphazardly decorated with faded, stained crepe paper streamers, remnants-from the looks of it-of the V-J Day celebration. On a cramped stage in one corner of the room, a five-piece combo fought each other for elbow room, playing a ragged, full-volume twist number. Drowning out the vocalist who was valiantly bleating something about "The twist we did last summer."
Along every wall bordering the dance floor were rustic, weather-beaten booths, scarred and carved beyond redemption. In which sat guys and guys, gals and gals, gals and guys. Every booth was taken, crowded to capacity. Those unoccupied were staked out with bottles of beer, purses, hats, scarves and the like.
"Ouch!" Bernie said. "This is worse than I thought. The only thing that'll save this dump is a good fire."
What was going on on the dance floor should have been outlawed. Momentarily Dell was reminded of a bunch of "holy roller" revivalists caught in the throes of a religious fit, standing stock upright in their places, ecstatic, trembling convulsively. Not moving. Because there was no place to move. It was not the twist. It was the twitch.
"Lord," Dell breathed. "Well never find those girls in a place like this."
"You are the damndest pessimist," Hal growled. "C'mon, we'll make the grand circuit." He chuckled, put his hands to his mouth. "Chloeee...." he yelled exaggeratedly.
They found the girls in one of The Barn's darkest and most hid away booths at the hall's farthest end.
"Bernie!" the girl with the melon-sized breasts broke from the booth, threw her arms around Quale, then kissed him hungrily. "Oh, baby. Long time, no see." She kissed him again. "Too damned long."
The onlookers broke into high pitched howls and barks.
In the general commotion Dell had time enough to appraise the trio, and immediately liked what he saw, felt his pulse begin to hammer in his forehead. These beautiful girls? The way Bernie had described their alley cat morals, he'd expected pigs of the first water.
But these were no pigs. They were all gorgeous dolls, clean, well groomed, expensively dressed. But how? he wondered, how could lovely, desirable women like these give themselves over to bold, outright promiscuity? Certainly there must be someone back home who loved them, who wanted to marry them.
Two of them, Vicki and the one introduced as Kim Walsh, were blondes, very platinum, and very much from the bottle, but nice just the same. The other was an ivory-complexioned redhead, a saucy, mischievous little pixie who'd already had more than her quota of beer. Her name was Sara Hatch.
These were experienced, worldly, wise girls. And yet, girls who knew how to handle themselves, who'd been able thus far, to keep their shady past, their sexual insatiability from bleeding through, from announcing their true character to the world. They would marry well, become pillars of society. But until then-why not use it, keep it from getting rusty?
It was a guess, Dell knew, an intuitive analysis. But when all was said and done, he'd bet he'd come damned close to figuring the hellbent trio the first time out.
They were of good family, had carefully sublimated their southern accents, wore their clothes well. Tonight they were dressed in simple, dark dresses, Vicki being the only girl sporting a plunging decolletage. Basic outfits, chic and flattering.
Introductions made, Bernie addressed Vicki. "Well, babe, how have you sliced it? Who goes with what?"
"You said there was another guy," Vicki said. "A redhead as I remember."
"He's getting us some beer."
"Please, Vicki," Dell heard Sara Hatch murmur.
"You promised." She grinned at Dell. "I've always wanted ... it ... with another redhead."
"That does it then, Bernie," Vicki said. "Of course I'll take you. I dig your style. That leaves Kim and your handsome friend Dell here...."
Kim half-rose, pulled Dell down beside her. "That suits me just fine," she purred. "I like athletic types. Vicki said you were on the swimming and track teams at Wisconsin. Is that right?"
Dell was amazed. Never in his life had he seen women as open and aboveboard about their wants as this threesome. There was no artificial modesty, no tedious sparring. It was a cut and dried thing. Me Jane. You Tarzan. Let's tangle. "Yeah," he murmured clumsily. "That's right."
"Oh," she said admiringly, "you must be awful strong. I just love the big, tough ones." She touched his arm. "But you aren't too tough, are you? Not mean, like some guys, are you?"
"No," Dell said wonderingly. "I'm not mean."
"Mmmm, that's good. I think we're gonna get along just swell." Her fingers found his beneath the table, twined eagerly.
Just about that time Hal Falter found them, began to studiously unload an armload of beer bottles. "Well done, Sir Hal," Bernie spoofed. "Now, pally, here's some people yon should meet." And he went around the circle. "Vicki Carlyle, Kim Walsh, this freckled baboon's Hal Falter." He feigned dismay "Oh yeah, Hal-this adorable little item here's yours. Meet Sara Hatch."
"Ah.. " Hal flushed crimson, "pleased to know you, Miss Hatch...."
"Sara, you silly...." she beamed. "C'mon, honey, y'all. Come sit by me." Sara was well underway. "Here, let me have that little old beer."
"Sara," Vicki reprimanded, "cut it out. You sound like a damned Arkie."
"Sorry, honey." Sara giggled, wrinkled her nose at Hal. "Vicki has to watch out for me. Sometimes I drink too much. Then I get sick. You won't let me get sick will you, honey?" Now it was Hal's turn to be thrown for a ten yard loss.
There was a brief pause wherein bedlam settled down to mere riot, the musicians leaving the stage for a short break. For that brief interval they could collect their wits, converse in somewhat normal tones, get to know each other better. It was during this pause that Dell was able to further consolidate his thoughts concerning this man-hungry trio.
"Well," Vicki said tartly, her eyes boring into Dell's. "Shouldn't we talk? Run on at the mouth and try to impress each other with how intelligent we are? Work the emancipated woman bit into the ground?"
Kim giggled nervously. "Vicki, there you go again. You wanna scare these poor boys off?"
Vicki's eyes narrowed. "They don't look like they'll scare so easy." She drummed the table nervously. "Well, what's it going to be? We're supposed to be the new intelligensia. Maybe we'd better act the part. Shall we discuss politics, the atom, Simone Beauvoir or what? How about Lord of the Flies? Or the pessimism of Phil Roth? Maybe the eroticism of John Cleland. The New Wave. The symbolism of Berman? The emergence of John Updike? Any of you read, Rabbit, Run yet?"
"Vicki," Kim groaned, "for God's sake, cut it out. Who you trying to impress? We're here for fun, not a seminar. Do you always have to put us on?"
Vicki looked suddenly tired. She sniffed softly, fixed Bernie with a mischievous look. "It's just that I hate to love and run."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Bernie said.
"Figure it out for yourself. God, where's that damned band? If we can't talk, we can at least dance."
"Talk?" Bernie bristled. "What kind of a way is this to start off? We went round this same barn last year. And what did it all boil down to? Vicki Carlyle's feeling sorry for herself again. Now knock it off, damn you. Drink your beer. Hal and Dell and I are Business Ad majors. We don't know beans about that arty stuff. All we know is how to make money. You know? That green stuff that buys you gals mink coats and diamond necklaces, and expensive girdles to hold in the fat bottoms you develop when you get old and start pitying yourselves. The world needs guys like us, don't you ever forget that."
Vicki laughed, clapped exaggeratedly. "Bravo, Bernie. That's telling 'em. You should get yourself a soapbox." She put her arm around his neck, drew him close. "You're right-I am in a witchy mood. I'm sorry. I guess I'm tired or something. I feel like an old woman at twenty."
"Some old woman," Bernie joshed her, turning her lips up, kissing her fervently. "The world should be full of old ladies like you."
Sara looked up muzzily. "Hal, honey, what's going on? I don't follow those nuts at all."
"Skip it," he said, his confidence growing. And he put his arm around her, drew her close. "Don't you let it worry you for a minute."
"You want to kiss me, Hal?" she blurred. "You can kiss me if you like." And Hal did just that.
Whereupon Kim looked at Dell. Dell pulled her into his arms, kissed her fervently. Emboldened by the Scotch and beer he'd drunk, by the gloom of the corner in which they huddled, by their very annonymity in the midst of the milling crowd, he drove his tongue into Kim's mouth, held her even tighter. While simultaneously his free hand slid between their bodies, closed on one vibrant breast. His fingers plucked at the nipple, and he felt it harden beneath her brassiere.
She made no move whatsoever to reject him. Instead her hard, pointed tongue sparred eagerly with his, she began to hum pleasurably, the sound coming from deep in her throat.
Summarily the moment of rapport was shattered, as the combo on the stage broke into another mutilation of the twist. Immediately Kim darted up, pulled Dell to his feet. "C'mon, baby," she coaxed. "Let's see whether you're with it or not."
As they moved onto the crowded dance floor, Dell glanced back, saw Bernie unscrewing the top from a small, silver hip flask, offering it to Vicki. "Here, honey," he said, "this is medicine for what ails you." Surreptitiously Vicki took a healthy swallow, perking up all of a sudden. Moments later she was out on the dance floor, twisting with frenzied abandon.
Dell had a rudimentary knowledge of the twist. One of the girls at Madison he'd gone with before Ruth Allen-der had encouraged him to learn. It was pure, unadulterated exhibitionism so far as he was concerned. One's partner didn't care whether the other did the dance well or not. If Kim was enjoying herself, throwing her hips around like that, causing her spicy, firm breasts to bounce and roll, then he, in his own way, could enjoy the dance also.
An unsettling thing happened. For as the Mayhem Boys revved into high, and the floor became gradually more crowded, dancing room was at a premium. And he and Kim were forced to twist closer and closer together. Until their bodies were almost touching.
At that moment he looked up, caught glimpse of an aboriginal something in her eyes. And glanced around at the other dancers, saw the primordial frenzy spreading through the whole room. As the writhing, self-enraptured bodies came together, parted, came together again. In this shacky barn of a dance hall, a love rite of the most primitive kind was being enacted. As body was offered to body.
The mood was infectious, and Dell found himself, sadly drugged by overdose of liquor in a system unused to the potent depressant, straining to acquire the animal rhythm, to contort his limbs still further.
Until, in the gloom, lost in the heedless crowd, he and Kim were touching completely-her sharp, firm breasts slithering against his chest, her stomach purposely thumping against his, straining for even more intimate contact.
"Dell," Kim was moaning. "Baby Go, go, go...." And Dell was going. Any more and it would have proved disastrous. Still Kim pressed herself closer, slid her legs against his, worked her breasts into his chest.
Looking into her eyes Dell saw a wild animal lurking there. He began to tremble uncontrollably.
Then the dance ended, and the pagan trance was broken. The hall suddenly became brighter, the lights stopped reeling and blurring before his eyes. Dell was surprised to find himself sweating profusely. He smiled sheepishly. "Wow! Talk about trances."
"You weren't bad at all, doll," she said huskily, slidr ing into his arms as the combo began to torture Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. "You'll just have to get used to yourself a little more. Let yourself go, forget those nasty inhibitions." Her arm tightened about his back, and she deliberately drilled her swollen breasts into him. "You stick with Kim," she cooed, backsliding to her previous eroticism, "she'll teach you to enjoy things." Then her spine was arching beneath his hand, she was driving her belly to his in appalling carnality, rubbing and rolling herself abandonedly.
"All kinds of things," she whispered, darting her tongue into his ear.
Dell's hand slid down her back, and in the packed crowd no one saw him stroke circles on her buttocks, sliding silk on silk, no one heard Kim's delighted sighs.
A final part of the love ritual was yet to be concluded. And a dazzled, aroused Dell McLaren looked forward to that ceremony as he'd never looked forward to anything before in his whole life.
"Tighter," Kim was moaning. "Hold me tighter."
CHAPTER FOUR
They were approximately fifteen miles south of Daytona Beach on U. S. I, still heading further south, having just left Harbor Oaks behind them. It was near midnight, and the wild, prolonged dancing at The Barn, the extra beers they'd consumed, had taken their toll. Everybody was looped, especially Hal and Sara. It was for this reason, being well-acquainted with night-prowling habits of the police in a "party" town, that Bernie had insisted they flee Daytona Beach.
"That stretch down by Ponce," he'd answered when Vicki had questioned their destination. "Where we went last year, dolly. Remember?"
Vicki plastered herself all the tighter to him, shivered with expectation, her right hand snaking its way inside Quale's shirt. "Remember, lover?" she slurred. "Do you think I could ever forget? That was a swinger, man...."
The bottle of Scotch was going around again, the girls scorning the offered glasses and ice, taking their jolts straight from the bottle. "Brother," Kim shivered, handing the J. Walker to Dell, "that is real panther juice."
And while Dell tipped the bottle to his lips, felt the scorching liquid course down his throat, he felt something else besides. Kim sliding her hand feverishly along his leg in sweeping movements. Until she reached dead end, and there was nowhere else to go. Where she lingered, her touch bold and pagan. Shuddered, held herself even tighter to Dell.
"Sweetheart," she said thickly, "you are ready, aren't you?" Her hand became hurting. "God, when'll we get there? It'll happen right here in the car.. hold me, Dell."
Gravely, focusing his senses to savor and remember the moment forever, Dell passed the bottle to Hal, who was all wound up next to him in the seat with Sara, his hand already lost in the dark, rustling runnel beneath her skirts. "No more, pal," Hal protested. "Sara 'n I 'ave had too much already."
"Not me," Sara chirruped. "Gimme 'nother drink, honey. Please, jus' one more...?"
"Sara...." Vicki intoned menacingly from the front.
"Oh, all right," Sara snapped. "Party pooper."
Dell screwed the cap on the bottle, set it carefully on the floor. Then was immediately brought back to urgencies at hand. As Kim bore down cruelly. "Owl" he hissed, "Be careful will you!"
"Do what I said," Kim giggled. And guided Dell's hand herself. To the top of her gown, where the buttons had been opened, where a black slip and brassiere glowed starkly against her white flesh. Her lips came up, her tongue hot and searching, as Dell's hand slid inside the slip, balanced the heavy, nylon-bound breast.
"You devil," she sighed liquidly, "you sweet devil."
Faintly, almost as if coming from another planet, Vicki Carlyle's voice carried from the front seat. " ... this tenor who was going to get married, and didn't know how to take care of things on his wedding night...."
"Listen," Kim giggled to Dell. "This is a good one."
"So he goes to see his buddy," Vicki continued, "to check on procedures. The buddy was real understanding, gives him the lowdown. 'It's gotta be love,' the buddy says. 'Gals do anything if they think it's for love. So whatever you do, make her believe you love her. Tell her over and over, understand?'
"The buddy goes on. 'Get her in bed, see, peel her out of her nightie. Keep telling her you love her. Then start kissing her. Her eyes, her nose, her lips, her ears. Keep telling her you love her. Then slide down, kiss her shoulders, then her breasts. Keep it up, get her all warmed up. But don't forget, tell her you love her."
"'What then?" the tenor asks. 'What happens then?' The buddy laughs. 'You go that far, son, and everything will take care of itself from then on in.' So the tenor thanks his friend, starts rehearsing the bit.
"Comes the wedding night, here's the tenor and his wife in bed, going at it like mad. The tenor takes off her nightie. T love you.' Then he begins to kiss her like his buddy says. Her eyes, her ears, lips-the whole bit. 'I love you, I love you.' Then he kisses her throat, starts sliding down in the bed. 'I love you.' Then he's kissing her breasts, his hands all over her, really working her up. 'I love you, darling,' he goes, I love you ... '
"By then the wife's so excited she can hardly wait. And still he's kissing, driving her nuts. And always, 'I love you, I love you.' So finally she gets carried away. 'Lower,' she sighs. 'Please, darling, lower ... '"
At this moment Vicki intruded on the story, forcing her voice to the deepest bass she was capable of. " 'I love you,' the guy said. 'I love you, I love you.'"
Bernie broke into a happy howl, while in the back seat Sara went into hysterics. Dell and Kim were shaking in each other's arms, their chuckles choking gasps. "Oh, Vicki," Sara shrieked. "That's priceless! You never told me that one before...."
Vicki beamed pleasurably. "Hey, you guys. Any of that booze left back there? Let me wet my whistle, will you?" Instantly Dell ceased his pleasant activities, handed the bottle up front. But was as suddenly jerked back by Kim, found her greedy lips waiting for his. Her evil, playful tongue darting immediately into his mouth.
"Delly," she murmured, "I'm gonna love being with you. Love it, love it. I go for big boys, really big boys. Like you."
Bernie overheard the exchange. "Don't get too worked up there, Kim, honey. He's a big boy all right, but a green one. I'm willing to lay odds he's never balled his first one yet. Not from the way he talks. To him, girls are things you put up on a pedestal. Don't count on too much, baby. He's a slow fuse."
Dell went stiff, almost lunged at Bernie. Then he caught himself, shrugged it off. "Nuts to you, Bernie," he snapped. "You don't know from nothing."
Instantly Kim was on him, her lips pressed close to his ear. "Is that the truth, Dell?" she breathed secretly. "Is he right? You've never loved a girl before?"
Dell was too miffed to even answer. He hunched his shoulders, turned his head away. But Kim clawed his arm, pulled him back. "Is it true, honey?" she persisted. "It doesn't matter, honest it doesn't..
"Well then why you getting so bothered?" he snapped. "If it doesn't matter?"
"I just want to know. It would make it something special, that's all. Tell me, Dell Please...."
And despite the alcohol in his system, he was suffused with a nagging anger. What a turnabout, he raged. A world that regards chastity, virginity as a freakish thing. Well, hell, if that's what she wanted to believe, if that's what made her happy, let her believe it.
"Tell me, darling," she was whispering. "I'm waiting."
His answer was postponed, for at that moment Bernie let the Chrysler heel over, and they were leaving the highway, rattling down a sandy, wash-board road Heading toward the ocean. Bernie's voice dropped refexively and he dimmed his lights. "Keep it quiet, gang," he warned "There's a few cottages in here, people who don't like the beach used for an outdoor cathouse Once we get past we're in the clear." And he slowed the car to a crawl.
"Isn't this exciting?" Sara squealed in the back seat.
"Not as exciting as it's gonna be," Hal chuckled.
"Hal!" she giggled in mock protest. "You naughty thing, you. What are you doing?"
"Knock it off, you two," Vicki ordered. "Keep it quiet!"
Then finally, the Chrysler emerged from the tree-overhung lane, came in view of the ocean. And there, deserted and shimmering, lay an endless stretch of beach. "If we get off to the left," Bernie said, "we can raise all the hell we want and nobody'll hear us."
There was a concrete runway for boat launching; near the water the sand was hard-packed, would hold an auto. "Careful," Sara shrieked. "You'll go right inna ocean!"
Quale turned left, picked up speed. "I'll ocean ya," he growled, "ya noisy witch."
"Bernie...." Sara protested.
A half mile down the beach they stopped, found themselves in an entirely deserted area, the stretch of sand bounded on one side by the ocean, on the other by a dense stand of water oaks, cabbage palm and palmetto.
"Shangri-la...." Vicki breathed excitedly as Bernie killed the engine.
There was a sudden, deadening stillness, only the distant rumble of the ocean heard at that moment. Now they were here, the time at hand, everybody was suddenly embarrassed.
But not for long. "All out for the egg ron," Bernie announced.
"That's a new name for it," Kim smiled.
There was no moon. Even so, in the cloudless, balmy night, the sand seemed to glisten with ghostly translucence. Seemed to beckon and invite.
"Who's for a swim?" Sara said, stumbling out of the car, brushing her wrinkled skirt down in front.
"I forgot to bring my suit along," Hal said, falling back against the Chrysler, the extent of his intoxication obvious to all.
"Since when did we bother with details like that?" Vicki answered. "Nude, that's the best way."
"Who wants to swim?" Kim sniffed. "I've got other things to take care of."
"Like what?" Bernie said.
"Ask Vicki, smarty."
Suddenly Dell found himself trembling, the coolish breeze outside the car cutting into his alcoholic and sexual torpor. Here's where it would happen. In a few minutes now-would he be able to acquit himself in good style? Or would Kim be disappointed?
Vicki was taking inventory. "Well that kills that," she said. "Nobody wants to go swimming." She glanced at the sky. "Breeze is coming up anyway." She raised the bottle. "Who's for booze?" But before she relinquished it, she took one more drag at it. "Woweel That has tingling tartness...."
Hal and Sara were bypassed, but everyone else took one more swig. Leaving the fifth one-half dead. The effects of the combination of Scotch and beer on near-adolescents was disastrous. Now everyone talked with slurred, deliberate care, fighting to appear blase, and perhaps, achieving some degree of success, for there was no sober party present with whom they could compare themselves.
Momentarily things bogged down again, and there was a glut of smart talk, deliberate innuendo and petting. Until Vicki finally took charge. "So, Bernie, what now?" she said.
He went to the back of the Chrysler, opened the trunk. "My little survival kit," he laughed, hauling out some blankets. "Never go anywhere without 'em." He looked rueful. "Haven't had much chance to use 'em lately in Wisconsin. Mostly inside stuff. They might be dusty."
"Who needs blankets?" Hal blurted. "We can do it right in the sand, can't we?"
"Oh, Chri," Kim said disgustedly, "who brought this Boy Scout?"
"Well?" Hal challenged. "What's wrong with that?"
"The sand...." Kim said unevenly, " ... gets ... into ... everything. Dig, pal? Or do I have to draw pictures?"
"Oh," Hal smiled embarrassedly. "I dig." He recovered quickly however. "Gimme a blanket, Bernie. Then little Sara 'n me are off onna Safari." He hugged the petite nymph close, patted her rear. "Ain' so, dolly? Gonna find a deserted native village ... go na ... tive ourselves." He shook open the blanket, draped it around both their shoulders. They began weaving their way southward along the beach.
Polluted Sara Hatch might have been-but imprudent, no. From a distance her voice carried back to the quartet at the car: "You brought some equipment along, didn't you, Hal? Some raincoats?"
Kim and Vicki broke up at that. But obviously Sara's fears were dispelled in very tangible manner, for the last they saw of them they were going around a bend, their voices blending in a wavery version of, "I Am A Happy Wanderer...."
Vicki's eyes were dark coals in her face as she helped Bernie wrap a blanket around their shoulders. She looked at Dell and Kim. "Walk us a-ways? Or are you two going to camp out here?"
They walked a-ways. Until Vicki had decided they'd put enough distance between themselves and Sara. They stumbled to a stop, and Vicki extended her arm stagily, making a cloak of the blanket. "I claim this land for Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain," she pronounced. Then she whipped the blanket out on the sand, fell helter-skelter into it, her dress riding high, exposing the mysterious whiteness of her upper thighs. She looked at Dell and Kim, smiled kittenishly. "Byeee, you all...."
They walked on, Dell's arm tight about Kim's waist his hand sliding on the silky sheen of her jerking buttocks. In the silence he could hear her deep, excited breathing. Soon she was trembling uncontrollably. Once he looked back to where Vicki and Bernie lay in full view on the beach, saw them sprawled on the blanket, still dressed, arms and legs in a crazy tangle, writhing and rolling together. Kim stopped, stood beside him, her eyes aglow with a feral light.
"Brother," she said, "you could broil steaks by that blaze." And her desire was desperately stoked. "Hurry, Dell, will you? I need you something awful."
And she tried to run, but her high heels yawed and twisted in the sand, and she almost fell. Dell held her upright. "Easy does it," he sighed. "We've got all the time in the world. No dorm curfew tonight."
"These damned shoes...." Kim cursed.
"Never mind," Dell soothed. "They'll come off in a bit now. Along with everything else."
"You bastard," Kim gritted Wearily. "Just the way you talk sets me on fire. God, I'm bubbling inside. Isn't this far enough? Nobody'll see us here." She whirled, pasted herself to Dell, her lips seeking his. "Not that I'd really care if anybody did."
It was far enough. And steadying Kim, Dell opened the blanket, spread it on the sand. Strangely enough, the liquor's final result was to dull the urgency of his sexual need, to imbue him with a feeling of almost total detachment. He was determined to prolong things, to work Kim to a splendid, incredible frenzy.
Instantly Kim fell to her knees on the dark square, clung to Dell's legs, dragging him down beside her. "Dell," she breathed, "hold me, kiss me. Do anything you want to me. I'm yours, all yours...." It seemed to Dell there was promise of ultimate pagan excess in her gasped words. Something beyond the bounds of normality.
He looked about him one last time, not surrendering immediately. They were hidden on the northernmost side of a small promontory, a curve of trees concealing them from the rest of the beach. To all intents and purposes, the world belonged to them. Dell looked out at the ocean, saw the slow-moving running lights of a cruiser skimming the dark expanse.
Now he turned back to Kim, saw her stretched in graceful disarray, her feet bare, the offending pumps kicked off, lying at the bottom of the blanket. Even as he looked she clawed anew for him to come beside her.
"You're beautiful, Kim," he said softly, holding her at bay a moment longer, "so beautiful...."
She all but purred. "I like that, Dell. Tell me. Again. Tell me you want me....
"Dear God, baby," he shivered, his desire impaling him, "I can't put it into words. I think you're gorgeous ... all woman ... all tigress. I want you so bad I'm all twisted up inside."
"Then come, baby. Come take me." She writhed in a wrenching spasm. "I'll do anything you want."
"But I don't want it to end so soon, be over just like that. I want it to last and last."
She arched herself as if in actual pain. "God, Dell, don't make me beg like this. Do it, do something. Only don't just sit there. I need you, need you...." She began to pull at her dress like it was suffocating her.
"Here," Dell said softly. "Let me do that."
Kim lay in trembling submissiveness as Dell worked over her, gently undoing the buttons, running the necessary zippers. Then he was pulling the green gown over her head, loosening her hair, leaving it in lovely dishevelment.
Instantly Kim's hands gripped the black slip, began wrenching at it. "No," Dell snapped. "I'll take care of it, baby. All of it."
He balanced her quivering body in his arms, against one knee, sitting her upright, making ritual of peeling the slip upward. Then he tilted her head backward on his knee, slowly brought his lips down to hers. As if famished she brought up her hands, dragged his head down, let her tongue wildly slide back and forth on his lips.
The kiss went on and on, until Dell thought he'd explode from the pressure building within him While his hand lifted and roiled the satiny surface of her brassiere, his fingers manipulated the nipples, found them rivet-circled, stone-hard.
There was breathless awe in Kim's voice as they ended the kiss, as she looked up with glazed eyes into his face. "It's true, isn't it, Dell? You are a virgin? I am the first girl you've ever done this with?"
The crazy refrain returned. II that's what she wants to believe-hell, let her. He bobbed his head, feigning embarrassment. "Does it make so much difference?"
"No, darling," she sighed, "not at all. I'm glad. Grateful almost. To think that I'll be your first. It'll be something special. I'll make it so good for you. I've always ... wanted a ... virgin." Her breath snagged. "Girls ... want it that way ... almost more than boys do."
She clung to his leg. "Baby, I'll make it so good for you, I swear." She trembled more desperately. "Oh-undress me, Dell! Take me!" Her voice broke. "God, I wish I was still a virgin ... just for you. Hurry, please."
"No," Dell said. "I won't hurry. I want to remember this always. This ... this first time."
She went limp in his arms. "Oh, Dell, I'm sorry. Yes, yes, anyway you want. Anything you want to do. Please, sweetheart, enjoy me all you want...."
She was sweetly yielding as he laid her back on the blanket, crouched above her, staring down on her lovely semi-nakedness, revelling in the way the night haloed her white flesh, in the exotic accent her black nylon lingerie gave her voluptuous curves.
Kim lay full length, her legs primly crossed, her breasts and stomach heaving rapidly as her lust became unbearable. Still she luxuriated in the adoration shining in her lover's eyes, in the way his gaze traveled reverent-ly up and down her body. "Touch me," she said raggedly. "Please, baby, touch me. I'm no statue, I'm flesh and blood."
As if in a trance, he leaned closer, began to run his hands up and down her silky body, lingering on her legs, following the satin line of her garter straps, both hands stroking and pressing on the exquisite softness of her belly. Then they moved upward, each one taking a breast, attending it with ceremonial adoration. Until Kim's breath was breaking from her throat in agonized, rapid pants. "Please," she called viscously, out of her head with desire, "please, Dell! Soon! I can't wait!"
But he ignored her, caught up in orgy of worship. As his hands slid downward on her body again, made agonizing traceries on her belly. Hysterically, wanting everything, Kim offered her most secret self. He should adore that also.
And she moaned audibly when he found her, cupped and held her. Her legs stiffened, her body ached from the delight his hands conferred.
She arched her body eagerly as his hands twined in the elastic of her panties, began drawing them down. She lifted her nylon-glazed legs, waved them accommodatingly as he stripped the garment away.
He fumbled with her garter belt. "No," she hissed, pulling at his hands. "There isn't time, baby. Leave them on."
She melted in his arms as he raised her, began to un-snap her brassiere in the back. Then the wispy torment was withdrawn, and she was naked before him. "Undress, Dell. Oh, hurry! Come to me."
Blatantly Dell rose, stood over her, looking down at the agitated wanton beneath him, exulting in the lines of her garter belt, the darkness of her hosiery. Then, with no embarrassment whatsoever, he stripped, showed himself completely to Kim. Felt welling pride fill him as her eyes widened, as her face became a famished grimace.
"You're beautiful, Dell," she intoned, "so beautiful. There's never been a man like you...." A plaintive sob escaped her. "A man, a man-come to me, baby."
He fell on his knees beside her, let his arms form columns on each side of her. Then he leaned to her, let his mouth, his caressing lips flit from breast to breast, from nipple to nipple. It was incredible how hard they became, how the aureoled bumps grew so rigid. How, when he kissed them, they became expanded poppies. To convolute almost instantly as soon as his lips deserted them.
He knew further delight as Kim began to moan coarsely, to beg and plead with him, to use locker-room vulgarities he'd never dreamed a woman even knew. As her hands roved his body, searching, searching. Until she found the treasure she sought, clung and clawed avidly.
Then at long last, when Kim's shrieks had become incoherent, when she called in aberrated sing-song, "What do you want, baby? What do you want?" Dell could wait no more. The unholy pain, the blistering heat had become too great.
Kim sighed thickly, raggedly, a grateful, satisfied sigh that would ring down the corridors of his memory forever, as she welcomed him, as he allowed her to guide him to her. As he enfolded himself to her with one slow, deliberate movement. "Darling!" she groaned. "You darling lover...." And her hands came up under his arms, locked in the small of his back, her silky legs rose, slid on the backs of his thighs frenziedly, then locked behind him, trapping him, holding him.
Then it was Dell's turn to sigh and moan, as the exquisitely precisioned body began to move with him, as the legs, the arms adjusted, frenetically seeking sublime, total contact, total gratification. Now Bernie Quale's words returned to haunt him. "One of your vacuum cleaner girls...."
He shuddered involuntarily. It fit Kim to a tee.
"Darling, darling," she was screaming, her nails raking his back as she tried to coax him even deeper into her, "it's magnificent, magnificent. I feel like you're going right through me. Don't stop, never stop. It feels like...." Then she shrilled a guttural cry, announced the first of her climaxes. "God," she groaned, her body clamping him like steel bars. "Oh, God...."
Then she was charging him anew; "Again. Oh, lover, make it happen again...."
And Dell answered with all his strength and juvenile finesse, almost sensing there was a coxwain somewhere counting cadence. A beat that came faster and faster. Until Dell's brain was spinning, was turning over and over like a glutinous lump caught in a tornado. Deranged with passion, not hearing Kim's repeated, ecstatic screams.
Once, twice, three times more-
Then the coxswain went berserk, his count impossible. And when Dell couldn't comply, he began to call gibberish, to curse and groan, the melange of sounds like a shrieking mistral.
And he came awake to the realization that the screams were coming from his own throat. As somewhere the earth was cleaved and faulted. And Florida was shifted some five degrees off longitude.
"Baby, baby," Kim was sobbing when he finally became clearheaded enough to know what had happened. "Again. Can you make it happen again? It was the greatest, the absolute greatest." Her silken legs twined in his, drew tight. "Please, Dell. I want you so much...."
He chuckled softly, shook his head. "Yes," he murmured. "I'll try. But first give me a breather."
He fell back on the blanket, felt too weak to move. While Kim hovered over him, kissing him, her hands everywhere on his body, encouraging, coaxing. The greedy whimpers never stopped coming.
Then far off in the distance they heard a prolonged, choking scream. A victorious, ecstatic outburst. Kim paused in her labors, laughed softly. "Vicki," she said. "Bernie must be working on number two."
And not more than ten minutes later, as Kim's ministrations proved effective, they were once more prone on the blanket, Dell striving for his second typhoon of release, Kim straining every muscle in her body to see that he achieved it. And if she gathered dividends along the way, who was to begrudge her?
Vicki and Bernie were waiting for them as they reached the car, both fully dressed again, Vicki fixing both Dell and Kim with a sly smile as they came up. "Wow, baby," she addressed Kim, "you look like you had your grate shaken once and for all...."
"You ain't just talking, Vicki," Kim said, her drowsy smile moving testament to the transfiguring deliverance she and Dell had just extorted from each other. "I don't think Dell's gonna ask for his money back either. Are you, honey?"
Dell smiled sheepishly.
Bernie leered. "So little old Delly finally found out what it's all about, did he? Well, it's about time."
Kim glanced about anxiously. "Where're Sara and Hal?"
"They must really be trying to wear it out," Bernie said, looking down the beach. "I think that's them coming now. Somebody's hanging mightly low."
It was a tearful, bitterly complaining Sara Hatch who broke into the circle first. "It was awful," she complained. "He couldn't make anything happen. No matter how 'hard we tried."
At that moment Hal came up, a hangdog, sick expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Sara," he alibied. "I tried, but I jus' couldn't. I'm more sorry about it than you are. I just had too much to drink, I guess. Next time I'll...."
"Next time?" she choked. "There won't be no next time, understand?"
"I'm sorry," a thoroughly miserable Hal pleaded. "I couldn't help it...." Then all at once he was gagging, running away from the group, toward a copse of palmettos. Where he was loudly and repeatedly sick.
"Poor guy," Vicki said, turning her back to him.
"Poor guy nothing," Bernie said, a smug grin on his face. "Leaving poor little Sara in the lurch like that." He whipped his blanket off the Chrysler's hood. "I can't let a thing like that happen. C'mon, Sara. You go with old Bernie. Hell take care of you in fine style."
"Honest?" Sara exulted. "You mean ft?"
"There's only one way to find out," he said, going away with a loping stride. "Come see for yourself."
"You darling!" Sara shrilled, and went running drunkenly after him, falling, picking herself up again.
Suddenly Vicki dug her nails into Dell's wrist, jerked the blanket from him. "Well, since it's round-robin tonight, I might as well take you. I've been dying to see what a big stud like you's got anyway." She began haul-ng him into the darkness. "C'mon, you! Vicki wants her ashes hauled now."
"Hey!" Kim protested, stunned by the rapidity of the exchange. "What about me? You can't leave me here with this puking slob. Please, you guys...."
"Can't we?" Vicki snickered. "Ta-ta. Absent thee from felicity awhile."
Then she and Dell were far down the beach, tumbled pell-mell onto the blanket. Where Dell tried to unzip her dress, unclip her stockings.
At which Vicki snarled, twisted away. "I can't wait, you horny stallion. Just rip off my pants, damn you! Hurry, will you? Hurry, hurry...."
Mechanically Dell's hands snaked beneath her skirt, twisted in the elastic, began to pull and haul.
CHAPTER FIVE
"You'd think," Deli, intoned menacingly, his voice loud enough for the sand-splashing underclassman with the volleyball to hear, "that some guys would leave their muscles at home when they come on vacation."
Instantly the lad-barely eighteen, a freshman at best-whirled, ready to take offense. But when he saw the baleful look in Dell McLaren's eyes, when he saw the size of his heckler, he immediately swallowed his belligerance. "Sorry, pal," he gulped. And took his little white ball and sand pail and went elsewhere.
"Relax, will you?" Hal Falter said in muffled tones, his head ducked in his arms, seemingly trying to burrow his way into the sand. "Aren't things bad enough without you trying to pick a fight with every muscle-head that comes along?" He raised his head briefly, winced, ducked down again. "Oh, God, it's awful. Feels like they're dropping depth charges in there."
It was two o'clock, and after spending the best part of the morning in bed in vain effort to recuperate from last night's drunken orgy, they'd deserted The Blue Mar-Jin, had come down to the beach. Where they'd spread blankets, the very same blankets they'd used last night, on the sand, had let the sun take a crack at healing their raw nerves and throbbing heads.
Now, looking about him at the swarming, busy, collegiate ant colony, looking down the way at the blaring, maddeningly gay amusement park, Dell felt suddenly worse. He wondered if he dared dig a hole in the sand, heave his guts out into it. But the nausea passed; he was all right again. 'All right' as he'd be until time had done its benevolent work.
The grinning, wise-cracking Bernie Quale had brought them down, had dropped them off. Then had mysteriously disappeared. But not before he'd dropped one last taunt: "Maybe you kiddies would like old Bernie to spread your blankets out for you, too. You look like you ain't gonna make it."
Even at twenty Bernie was bottle-seasoned, had undeniable advantage over Dell and Hal. Another factor accounting for his good spirits: he was already, at two o'clock in the afternoon, half jagged again.
He'd tried to get Dell and Hal to join him shortly after they woke up this morning, but the mere sight of the brown, finger-streaked bottle had caused their stomachs to lurch violently, and they'd hidden in their pillows.
"C'mon, you overgrown refugees from a nursery, take a good swig. It's the best medicine in the world. You can shove all your aspirins, Bromos, tomato juices. Hair of the dog that bit you ... that's the only way." He'd shoved the open bottle under Dell's nose, and Dell had darted for the bathroom. Where he'd stood over the John, waiting, his chest heaving, for a bilious stream that didn't come.
"Sure, that first drag's murder, but once you got it down, you're in top shape again. All ready for more ding-ding." And when he'd lovingly taken a second slug of Scotch, made great show of the delicious taste, Dell's stomach had finally rebelled.
"The least you could do is close the door," Hal had moaned agonizedly.
There had been more. Bernie Quale had been merciless in his denunciation. Especially with Hal Falter. "God, what a bunch of hot house flowers you two turned out to be. Dell, I coulda cried in shame when Kim came on again, when she wanted to drag you in the weeds one last time." His tone had been perfect mimicry. "'Oh, please, Kim, no. I can't, I just can't. Not again...."
Bernie had snorted. "And here I told them I had a couple of real addicts in tow. God, Hal, I'd hate to be you the next time Sara gets her claws into you. That little mink was superb; she all but turned me inside out. And you flunk out. Throwing up all over the place. That wasn't bad enough. Then you've got to pass out." He held his head in mock anguish. "Kids!"
"Let me alone," Hal bad howled in deepest misery. "Can't you see I'm dying?"
Bernie had sniffed disdainfully, had changed into his trunks, gone out for a dip in the motel pool.
Abruptly Dell was brought back to the present. Someone, twenty feet down, was cranking up a radio. The inevitable dancers were beginning their dizzy gyrations. In the distance he saw the ferris wheel, the octopus, going round and round. To his left, some nut was walking on his hands. Dell's head swam, and he twisted his knuckles into his eyes.
The day was hot, practically calm. The sun bore down with kneading, toasting fingers, the heat causing him to sweat, and, for all his premonitions of death, reviving him. If he could just rest-
But the ugly pictures unreeling in his mind-Kim, Vicki and Sara, the things he'd done with those vampires-kept on coming. Without stop. And when the reel was over, someone re-threaded it. The self-damning, mind-rotting thing began all over again.
And in the hot, oppressive sun Dell felt goose bumps surf board down his shoulder blades, skim down the valley of his spine. He began to shudder.
My God, he raged. Was that me? Actually me? Me with Kim, with Vicki? And finally with Sara? Was that me begging off when Kim came on again that last time?
Scum, the word formed in his brain, incandescent, neon-colored, a yard high. Filthy scum. How could I have gone along with it the way I did? How could I have been so wild for it? Said the things to Kim that I said? Repeated, used the words she taught me?
The tremors were back. Sweet Lord, to think-
Some poor sucker's going to marry that. Some innocent, nose-to-the-grindstone pile will be proud to call her his wife. He'll live with her all his life and never know the truth about her. Never know his wife is an unprincipled tramp.
A cold, harrowing hollowness filled him. It went both ways. Three ways. A hundred ways. What about the girl he'd eventually marry? She'd never know. Just like he'd never really know the truth about her. The real truth. The deepest, most basic truth.
Suddenly his head was throbbing again, his depression seemed to gather strength, to crush him. Drive him to an even greater frenzy. God, are we all strangers? Are we doomed to walk through life without ever once getting close to another human being? Never really knowing anybody?
Even a man's mm wife?
A line from Bertolt Brecht came home to roost then: "II you crammed a ship full of human bodies till it burst, the loneliness inside it would be so great that they would turn to ice-"
And angrily, seeing that he was dissolving to a self-pitying trance, Dell turned over, came up on his elbows. Faced the world squarely, fought to shut out the morbid thoughts. God, that booze has affected your mind, hasn't it?
And the constant, teeming mob before him blurred-he saw nothing at all. As he tried to relate his actions last night to his goals, to what he wanted to make of life. Again he found himself wishing he could be as hard and venal as Bernie Quale. Wishing he could learn to take, take, take. And never think to give in return.
After all the orgy with the UV girls last night was something that had been entirely out of his hands. He'd been more victim than instigator. Bernie had planned, had arranged everything; the girls themselves had seen to it that his plans had been executed to the letter-had barraged their callow victims with a Blitzkreig of sex.
He thought of the way Kim had ground her body into his while they danced at The Barn last night. That had been good for a fifty mile advance, make no mistake.
But this was defeatist thinking, he countered, angry that his purpose was so confused in his mind. Why had he come to Daytona in the first place? Certainly not to twist, to drink, to loll on the beach. He had come to alter his prissy standards, to tough up, to emulate Bernie Quale in every way possible. So that one day he might stand in the ranks of those conscienceless, brutal men who would rule the economic destiny of America. So that he could climb, reach mercenary pinnacle of success, attain that superhuman power only money could give.
And tonight? If Kim or Vicki or Sara wanted a playmate again?
What else? He knew he'd go along with their ugly little games. It was all part of the battle conditioning course.
At that moment Dell was pulled from his embittered reverie. As Hal had abruptly come to life beside him. "Hey, Dell," he whispered urgently, "hey, hey. Get a load of this. Quick, look."
And Dell focused his vision, followed Hal's stare. To where a lovely brunette, her hips and breasts at zenith of development, was gingerly crawling on all fours toward them. Patiently fleeing the blizzard of sand the beach Charles Atlases were throwing up. A prettily perturbed-and preoccupied-girl who was out for sun, had loosened the straps of her one-piecer in back. The straps were hanging down from the top of her bra, dragging in the sand.
Then the inevitable happened: one of her knees came down on a lagging strap, gave a sudden tug.
The white, ponderous melons exploded into the open, hung heavily, swaying idly, as the girl froze, panicked. Then instantly she recovered, kneeled upright, slammed the brassiere over herself. Looked around, her face crimson.
It was comic relief of that most supreme kind, and Hal and Dell, though they wanted to hold back, burst into high-pitched, choking laughter. An infectious laughter which all the other breathless onlookers echoed.
Which bothered the brunette not at all. Calmly, the embarrassment fading, she arranged her towel, flopped belly down on it. She fixed Hal and Dell with a mildly contemptuous glare. "If that's the first time you youngsters have seen a woman's boobs, then all I've got to say is that it's about time. I consider it a public service." And she laid her cheek on her towel, closed her eyes, a smug, self-satisfied smile on her face.
Which put every sniggering observer in his place.
But Hal wouldn't leave it alone. "Lordee," he called, "if only I'd had my Brownie along today. Life woulda paid me five thou for that shot."
Briefly the girl looked up, fixed Hal with a contemptuous look. "Your clothes are open, sonny."
Reflexively Hal glanced down, found nothing, turned red as the crowd broke into delighted hoots. Hal flushed, tamed on his stomach. He was outmatched and he knew it.
It was then that Dell felt a shadow fall on his back, remain. Irritatedly he looked up at the newcomers. And actually felt his jaw drop, felt his heart stop in mid-beat.
"This looks like as good a place as any," the vivacious blonde said, glancing around, addressing her dark-haired companion. "Sounds like merriment unconfined around here."
The coed who'd just had her coming out party looked up, sarcasm rampant. "Unrefined," she corrected.
A par-boiled blond lad to the right laid down a long, appreciative whistle. "Bow-wow, bow wow," he yipped in staccato excitement. "Honey, over here. You can share my blanket."
The standing brunette-the same girl Dell had been so smitten with at Martino's last night-gave the tyro wolf a scathing look, turned away. While her girl friend quipped, "If you're willing to forget you're alive, honey, I am."
"Aw, y'r mother's chin strap," the boy retorted.
They chose a vacant space not more than five feet from Dell and Hal. Carefully arranged their long, gaily printed beach towels. It was as the brunette kneeled on her towel, prepared to spread out, that she saw Dell. For the briefest instant she paused, froze in mid-motion. Her eyes flickered, a secret recognition behind them.
"Hey...." Dell breathed, unable to conceal his excitement. "Didn't I see you at a place called Martino's last night?"
"No magazines, brushes, cosmetics," the blonde said briskly, her brush-off motions almost mechanical. "All vendors please use the rear door..
Instantly Hal was tuning in. If there was anything he liked it was a wise-cracking chick. He thought of his most recent adversary. Just so long as they didn't hit below the belt. "Say, honey, you peddle a good line...."
Blondie stiffened. "What makes you think it's a line?"
While the dark-haired doll, decked out in a very uncharacteristic yellow Bikini which did magnificent things for her honey-toned body, curled her legs under her, began unscrewing the cap from a bottle of sun-tan oil. She didn't look at Dell again.
But he persisted. "You were wearing a red dress, red satin shoes. We were just finishing up when you came in." His words died. "Maybe you don't remember me....
The thin, feline creature languorously slid her hands on her arms, worked in the lotion. "I don't," she said softly.
It took the wind out of Dell's sails. "Nice place," he said. "Not crowded like other dumps in Daytona."
"Nice expensive place." Her hands kept sliding, sliding, her eyes never once meeting his.
Almost abjectly Dell pressed on. "You and your friend come down alone?"
The brunette stopped, looked at him straight on. "You're not alone if you're with someone, are you?"
Dell squirmed. "No ... I guess not."
He turned to Hal, who shot him a rakish, forced smile. "Brrr," he said. "The doll's from Antarctica U. Talk about cold shoulders." The blonde giggled.
Now the lovely brunette was slowly, deliberately working the sun-tan oil into her thin, exciting legs. The lure was Irresistible. "Dell McLaren," he said in a burred, hopeful voice. "I don't suppose you want to...."
"Robin Decicco," she interrupted, smiling briefly, letting her hands go still on her legs. Her eyes met his, held, an insubstantial bond established.
Dell blurted the first thing that came to his head. "Where you from, Robin?"
"Purdue. And you?"
"Wisconsin."
"Oh?" Mischief glittered in her dark eyes. "We sure clobbered you in football last year."
"And we sure clobbered you in basketball. Senior?"
"No, a junior. Jane's a senior."
"Jane?" Dell prompted.
"Jane Kerr." She turned to her girl friend, who was looking at her with an expression best indexed as mild astonishment. "Jane Kerr meet Dell McLaren. Good clean-cut Polack boy."
"Robin...." Jane started, then stopped. "Glad to meet you, Dell."
"My name's Hal Falter," the remaining outsider intruded.
"Nobody asked you," Jane snapped, smiling just the same.
"Just try it," Hal rejoined. "If at the end of sixty days you are not thoroughly satisfied, you...."
"Does he always go on like this?" Jane asked.
"No, only when he's hungover."
"Don't remind me," Hal said. "Jane here almost made me forget."
"One of those guys, huh?" Jane ribbed.
"Is there another kind?" Hal said.
Dell ignored their sparring, turned back to Robin. "What's with Purdue?"
She was busy with the lotion again. "What do you mean-what's with Purdue?"
"Your major." He sat up, moved closer to Robin. "Here, I'll help you with that if you like."
"I don't like. Jane'll do my back. I'm an ed major. I'm going to be a teacher. Omit flowers."
"I didn't say a word. I'm in biz ad."
"You're going to be one of those tycoons, huh?" She wrinkled her nose, indication of her low regard of the business school. "Make money, money, money...."
"Is that a stigma or something?"
"No, no. It's just that I went with a biz ad once. Turned out to be a real creep. Hadn't read anything oe-sides a textbook in years. He talked about speculative stocks all night."
"I get you." Dell pretended to be checking a list. "Don't discuss business." He liked this taciturn girl, he liked her straightforward way, he liked her low pressure attitude. Even the way she'd turned down his brash offer to rub lotion on her back. Some girls would have made a coy, giggling production out of it, made real jerks of themselves. Briefly vision of Sara returned. "What do we talk about then?"
"I don't recall that there were any beach ordinances that we discuss anything."
"Hey," he joshed, "that's no attitude. What if everybody froze up like that. Think of what a bust our little hell week down here would be."
"So far's I'm concerned it's a bust already."
"That sounds bad, Robin. How come?"
"I've been down here three days now and not a single pleasant or exciting thing's happened. Nothing but a bunch of leering, whistling, hot-handed sex fiends around. Nobody a person can communicate with."
"Why'd you come down then? You knew it was just guys and dolls."
It seemed to Dell that at that instant a sudden shudder careened down Robin's back, her arms were goose-pimpled, and she went tense. She took a long time answering. "I don't know. I guess I came just to humor Jane."
Jane caught the tail end of ft, gave her a smug, knowing smile. "Don't do me no favors, sweetie."
Then Dell found his pulse pounding murderously in his throat. "May ... be ... I could take a crack at trying to make Daytona Beach a better place to be. I'll try-if you'll let me. I promise, no stock market."
"Is this your way of asking me for a date?"
"I'd thought it was."
"Well," she flicked a glance to Jane, "there are other parties involved."
"No sweat there." Dell turned to Hal. "Buddy, how would you like to take Jane out tonight? Show her the bright lights of Daytona?"
A quick warning fled across Hal's features, faded. "But Bernie," he murmured weakly, "how about...."
Dell ignored him. "It's all set," he said to Robin, suddenly feeling very light headed, very expansive. "Set the time and the place." He paused. "One little detail. We walk. The car she's not run so good."
Robin laughed. "At least you're honest It's all right, I've got a car. We'll pick you up. Where you staying?"
"Out on Madison. Place called The Blue Martin."
"How shall we dress?" Jane interrupted. "I mean...." her brows shot up. "Are you gonna feed us?"
Go for broke, Dell thought. "Of course. Dinner by all means. How about Martinos again?" He was surprised that his hands were trembling so hard.
Robin wrinkled her nose. "No, we'll go easy on you. We'll pick a different joint. Martino's was kinda stuffy anyway. Is eight too late?"
"Eight o'clock is just fine." Dell moved closer to Robin. "Tell me," he parodied a confidence, "just what kind of books do these ideal men of yours have to read, anyway?"
Robin giggled delightedly. "Kind? I don't care, just so long as they aren't full of statistics and tables." And then, almost trustingly, she proffered the sun-tan lotion. "Here, Dell, I guess it's all right if you do my back."
Jane and Robin were gone by the time Bernie came down the line, blowing the Chrysler's horn noisily. "Where you been?" Hal asked as they piled in, "I'm baked to a turn."
"Been?" Bernie smirked. "Where do you think? Vicki and I squeezed a matinee into her busy schedule. And what a cute little schedule that witch's got!"
He turned on Dell. "You guys all ready to roll? I got 'The Terrible Three' all primed and ready to go tonight. And, brother, is that Kim sold on you, Dell baby? What did you do to her, anyway? She can hardly wait."
They came off the beach, hit Atlantic Avenue. Dell's voice was flat, expressionless as he spoke. "I'm sorry, Bernie, you'll have to cancel us out. We've got another date for tonight."
Bernie's face went livid. "Another date? What're you talking about? I got the girls all booked up. They're so hot they squeak. And you got another date? You mean you're gonna pass up stuff like this for an unknown quantity? What is the girl?"
"Girls?" Dell prompted. "Both me and Hal. We met 'em on the beach this afternoon."
Bernie shook his head in disbelief. "I shoulda known. That fresh air'll do it every time." He tried another track. "Switch your dates, see these prunes in the daytime. You guys only got a week. You gonna waste it on some bags who won't put out? Some squeamish, pale little virgins? When gals like Vicki, Kim and Sara are screaming for it?"
"We're gonna keep the dates," Dell said firmly.
"What about you, Hal?" Bernie tried dividing them.
"I made a date. I keep it."
Quale's face registered complete bewilderment. "Well I'll be dipped. I'll just have to find some stand-ins for tonight." His voice was acid-etched. "But by God, you better not have dates for tomorrow night, understand?"
They drove the rest of the way to the motel in complete and ominous silence.
Dinner was a sprightly, pleasant affair, with the foursome hitting things off well. Especially Hal and Jane, who slammed and insulted each other all through the meal, both reveling in the exchange of razor-sharp wit. While Dell and Robin sat on the sidelines, taking it in, acting as seconds when the necessity arose. By the time they deserted the raucous hubbub of the crowded cafe, it seemed they had been old friends for much longer than seven hours.
It was a somewhat recuperated Hal and Dell who contended with the pair that night, for as soon as they'd reached the motel, they'd both sacked out for two hours. The memory of last night's debauch burned with a low flame by then. While on the front burner-
They went to a beer-bar Dell had heard some of the other collegians at the motel discussing. A place called Tropic Nights, still off the beaten path, which the "fun week" crowd hadn't discovered as yet. The information, of course, was erroneous, and the two couples found themselves jammed into a postage stamp sized booth, drinking hard-to-get beers, watching a writhing, jammed crowd of twisters.
He was reminded of a Calypso song he'd once heard, its catchy refrain going: "Belly to belly, and back to back, at the zombie jamboree...." It seemed terrifically apropos.
The beers they drank brightened Robin's mood considerably, and she laughed more easily, even permitted Jane to narrate a few mildly off-color stories. Even so, Dell couldn't help but feel that there was something forced in her newfound gaiety. As for Dell, he couldn't remember when he'd been as happy. This despite the wonder and awe he felt at being with Robin Deccico in the first place. There was something magic about her, something that excited and attracted him tremendously.
Several times they danced, Dell once even coaxing Robin to attempt the twist with him. "I'm sorry, Dell," she'd apologized, "but it's just not my style. I guess I must have had Puritan ancestors. Just watching it makes me kind of sick." It was an aversion not shared by Jane Kerr, and she and Hal were on the floor almost constant-
When some iconoclast had plugged the juke box with a few standards, and Robin did consent to dance, she was stiff and distant. She danced well, but was apparently afraid of a close contact. When Dell tried pulling her near, her back became rigid as a ramrod. And yet, several times, it had seemed she was on the verge of melting. Only at the last moment, strange conflict registering on her features, she'd pulled away again.
This was a weird one, Dell mused. But weird or not, a fascinating woman. She wore the same red gown she'd worn the night before, the same red slippers. Her hair was done in a semi-beehive, accenting her exotic, almost Indian features. Dell's arms twitched from wanting to pull her close, wanting to kiss those smooth, voluptuous lips.
But it was a waiting game, and he knew it. High stakes. There was no sense in blowing the bit the first night out.
As they drank their third beer, and Robin became delightfully tipsy, letting her shoulders touch his more and more often, her hands brushing his, Dell's longing to hold her, to protect her became an obsessive thing. She was a little girl, charming, cute and he wanted her for his very own.
The girls refused a fourth beer. The boys did not. Thus, at midnight, as they deserted the slam-bang racket still a buildlng in the Tropic Nights, they all found themselves the least bit wobbly. The girls especially. And Dell let his affection for Robin, an affection verging on the physical, mounting within him. She was so lovely-he liked her so very much.
"It's too nice a night to go back to the motel," Jane said, sitting in the back with Hal. "Let's go for a ride. Let's go south and never stop."
Much to Dell's surprise Robin agreed. "Yes," she said. "I'd like that. You drive, Dell. You must know some pretty spots."
The excitement compounded upon itself, became a voodoo drumbeat in Dell's head. Did Robin actually mean-? It couldn't be. Not on their first night.
Don't race your motor, chum, he cautioned himself.
They headed south, Dell remembering an interesting turnoff south of Port Orange. A cutoff he'd seen only last night. There would be isolation of sorts there.
In an alcoholic haze, Robin admired the night, the murky vistas of the ocean that U.S. I afforded them. Dell's heart hung suspended as Robin slid closer to him on the seat, allowed him to put his arm around her bare shoulder. Her skin was incredibly smooth and warm. Her subtle fragrance carried up to him, setting his nerves atingle.
Carried away as he was, he almost went past the jungle-shrouded turnoff. In time he saw it, pumped the '60 Chevy to a stop. Turned left.
"Oooh," Jane intoned. "Spooky...."
The lane was deserted, again obviously a state instituted public boat landing. As they came down to the beach they saw one dark car-on the tide flats, far to the south. Dell stopped the Chev, dimmed the lights.
"Do we park?" he said laughingly.
"I suppose," Robin said coldly, suddenly going tense beside him. "It seems to be a ritualized part of the American scene. Integral and ingrained to the standard mating procedures."
"Robin, honey," Jane scolded from the back seat. "Don't act like such a square. The man's asking in a polite way."
Robin's laugh was brittle, too quick. "Yes, by all means."
Dell killed the engine, doused the lights. There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Robin. "Leave the radio. We should have some romantic music, n'est-ce pas?"
Then both Dell and Hal were stunned as Jane spoke up with bright off-handedness, said "Maybe we should split up. Let's you and me go for a walk, Hal? Along the beach? Certain things we should discuss."
Then they were out of the car. Jane tripped in the sand. "Damn, maybe I should leave these spikes here."
"There might be glass," Hal said. "Crabs maybe."
"Shoes then." She straightened.
The sound of their voices, their soft laughter faded slowly. Dell and Robin sat in silence, neither moving. "Well?" she said finally, further startling Dell. "Do we or don't we?"
The cold, clinical tone in her voice took Dell by surprise. God, what is this? he questioned. Talk about mercurial. Of all the mixed-up kids I've run across, this one takes the cake. "You make it sound like some kind of a chore," he said.
"Maybe you can make it otherwise," she said. And became very small in his arms.
And despite the eerie uncertainty gripping him, Dell held her close, felt dismay replaced with desire. She was so small, so lovely. Tenderly he lifted her chin, let his lips drift slowly to hers.
A spasm of incredible delight took him as the lips touched, adjusted, seated themselves. As the warmth swam upward in his body, simmered his brain, made his ears hum. And when Robin's bare shoulders began to tremble beneath his hand, an ungovernable madness was generated.
The kiss became more impassioned, and gradually Robin lost some of her reticence, seemed to answer the kiss, seemed to enjoy the intimate contact, seemed to grasp the promise that the kiss offered.
"Baby," he groaned as they withdrew. "You're so lovely, so small and soft.."
"Don't talk, Dell. Just kiss me."
Again their lips locked, and Robin's hands came up clutched Dell's head, refused to release it. A soft sighing issued from her throat. As she became caught up in the urgency of love. And when Dell tried to break the kiss, still she clung to him.
A hurricane of disbelief whistled in Dell's ears. It was going to happen! In just a few minutes now, when things went all haywire inside for Robin, when she'd want him so badly she couldn't say no-
They'd leave the car, find a secret hollow of their own.
The kissing went on and on.
And still Dell couldn't believe in the devastating rapidity with which things were happening. On their very first date. As Robin squirmed and clung to him it almost seemed she was putting herself to a mystic test.
He grew bolder, more reckless. Let one of his hands slide from her waist, begin the whispering climb upward. Over her agitated diaphragm, up to the small, but firm cones of her breasts. Then his hand cupped the breast, began to move it in slow, rhythmic circles.
And Robin's breathing became more shallow, her lips punishing in their desire to get even closer to him. His tongue took tentative flick at her lips. Instantly her mouth opened, admitted him. Her body began to writhe and twist more frantically. As his hand slid from breast to breast.
"Dell," she moaned, breaking the kiss for an instant. Nothing more. Just Dell. Said in that strange way.
His hands, his fingers went more wild. He massaged her nipples to rigidity beneath the stiff nylon, seemed to feel them pulse with insane life of their own. Then finally, not content with this minor ecstasy, he became greedy. Let his hand drift down to her knees. Let the offender creep beneath her skirt, play on the elegant, rounded silkiness of her knees. Let it start upward, slowly, tremblingly. Gliding, gliding-
Until it came upon her bare thighs.
Whereupon Robin arched her body desperately, put her hands in his face, pushed him away with all her strength. "No, Dell," she grated. "No! I don't want that! Stop, do you hear? Stop."
Dell's rage was a ripping, blood red thing. "You teaser," he spat. "You rotten little teaser! Why'd you let me get so far if you didn't want me? Why didn't you stop me right away? What in hell do you want, anyway?"
Her voice was a papery wail. "I don't know. T don't know why I didn't stop you. I don't know what I want." Her anger took charge, broke her voice. "Only I know I don't want this filthy pawing! It's ugly, animal! You're all the same. A girl lets you kiss them, and you think it means all the way." She broke into a muffled sob. "And you keep at it and keep at it. Until we don't know what we're doing."
He came toward her again, sorry, feeling corroding sense of loss all at once. If only he'd been more patient, more understanding. "Please, Robin, darling."
"No, Delli I'm warning you. Stay awayl"
He withdrew from her, looked at her with an intense, puzzled state. It took a long time before his hands stopped trembling, before his breathing evened out. "I don't understand, Robin. I don't understand at all."
"Neither do I," she said tiredly. "Don't ... don't let's talk about it"
An even longer silence developed.
"Is this it, Robin?" he said finally. "Won't you give me another chance? Won't you let me understand? I'm sorry I lost my head, honest I am. You mean too much to me to have it end like this." His voice cracked. "Give me another chance."
"I don't know," she wailed. "I just don't know. Call me tomorrow. I've got to think about it."
They waited almost an hour for Hal and Jane to return. When they did flop into the back seat their chatter was forced and nervous. Dell saw that Jane had missed a button and the top of her dress was gee-hawed.
A red hot iron was touched to his brain, male ego affronted. To think-I could have been with Kim tonight. I traded that for this frightened prude.
While on that same beach, less than ten miles further south:
Vicki and Bernie were naked in the water, only their head and shoulders showing. Standing, on bottom, their arms tight about each other. With locked bodies. Vicki moaned, lurched, made a splash. "It's good, baby," she keened. "The most. I've never had it like this. Bernie! Go, go!"
Bernie paused, snuffed as another cry drifted out from shore. A triumphant shrillness. They could hear Kim's every word, every coarse exhortation, as it carried clearly over the water, "Dick!" she chanted. "Oh, Dick!"
Bernie chuckled, bent Vicki further back in the water.
CHAPTER SIX
Perhaps it was charity on the scantily dressed hostess' part that she admitted them to the kooky club called The Torn Shade, ushered them to a table. Maybe she chose to wink at the fact that the three couples were underage; she'd been young herself once.
Perhaps it was the fact that the boys, Bernie, Dell and Hal, wore conservative suits and ties, that the girls had artfully dressed and made themselves up p they appeared older than their nineteen and twenty years. Besides, wasn't it definitely murky within the confines of the shady, off-street dive?
Or more realistically: Wasn't it the ten-spot Bernie poked into the woman's palm that turned the trick?
At any rate, on that Monday night the six of them found themselves safely ensconced in a curving, padded booth, forcing themselves to be circumspect while the nearly-nude waitress took their order, gazing about carefully, taking in the scene with feigned ennui.
As if they'd been visiting strip joints all their lives.
There was a small stage providing operating room for the ecdysiasts, for the lethargic three man combo at the extreme left, for the tiresome fag emcee who was now holding forth, taking his time, allowing the floor girls to push drinks for all they were worth.
For good reason the hostess had put them in the booths, farthest from the stage, up on an elevated level. In the sunken area beneath them were close-packed tables where the "grownups" could really close in on the action. Hal smiled wryly, looked over the table onto the other patrons with owlish concentration. "Are you watching closely, Dr. Casey?" he said, his creaky voice perfect imitation of Dr. Zorba. The girls giggled loudly, then subsided before Quale's warning glare.
On each table there was a small Capri light, the candle flame trapped behind a wall of almost opaque, blue-green glass. The candle cast harsh shadows, did its bit to make the girls look older. "Gosh," Sara said flippantly, "this makes me feel like first Communion."
"You're being sacrilegious," Vicki snapped.By and large they ignored the emcee, too taken up with themselves to bother. It was the usual tedious lingo in which he baited the club patrons, asking the women if they had a chest cold, the snapper being: "You look like it. Your chest's all swollen." Or the men returning from the rest room: "Did you wash your hands? Both of 'em? Wow, what a man I"
"Knock it off," Bernie shushed him. "You want people to notice us? Well be out on our rear before the first cutie's even taken out her chewing gum. I shoulda never gave you that swig on the way over. Don't tell me you're gonna get blotto again tonight. Before the main event...."
Instantly Hal was mortified. "Please, Bernie. There are ladies present. No, I'm not going to get blotto tonight." He turned to Sara. "I've got lots of making up to do with Sara here. Ain't so, baby?"
She laughed delightedly, squeezed his knee. "See that you remember that, sport."
There had been a few snorts on the way over, Quale miraculously producing another fifth of Scotch, his source of supply seemingly inexhaustible, and the liquor had had most telling effect on Hal. Booze just seemed to set him off. He became zanily irresponsible. An irrepresible clown. But this only up to a point. One drink too many, and the party was over. It was thus that they zealously watched Hal, Sara especially, waiting for first inkling that he'd had enough.
The darkness in the booth Invited sexual hanky-panky, and out of sight of the rest of the club patrons, Bernie was quick to take advantage of it. In the deepest curve of the booth he was kissing Vicki unrestrainedly. And she was lapping it up, sighing and humming nonstop.
Abruptly her voice became sharp. "Careful, Bernie. You'll run my stockings." The hiss died as abruptly was replaced by a delighted, deep sigh. She relaxed, leaned back into the upholstered cushions.
Hal broke into muffled peals of laughter as Vicki said muzzily, "You know, Bernie? You're oversexed." She adjusted her hips. "I like that quality in a person."
The waitress returned shortly, hustled them into a second drink. The girls were on daquiris; Bernie had ordered martinis for the men. Coming as rapidly as they were, the drinks were fast taking charge. "Man," Hal made a satisfied aah, "that is it. That's the way to go. A babe in one hand, a martini in the other."
Sara's eyes went dark, worried. "Take it easy, Hal. You're no camel. You know."
"I c'n try, can't I?" he slurred. "I c'n try."
"Chri," Bernie said, concerned. "How much did you guzzle out of that bottle anyway?"
"Enough," Hal smiled with a drunken slyness.
"No more for you," Vicki said.
Kim had been withdrawn all through dinner and was, only now, thawing out. Seeing Vicki and Bernie necking so uninhibitedly moved her to spit out the resentment stuck in her craw. Snidely she turned on Dell. "I hope you had a good time on your date last night. Was she as good as I was? I hope you drew a blank. Would serve you right."
Dell forced a bland smile. "No comment."
"No comment," Kim mocked. "Well, I don't care, really, I had fun. I got mine." Her voice thickened. "Boy, did I get mine."
Dell wanted to hurt her for some strange reason. "Yeah, queenie," he smirked. "I'll just bet you did."
Kim stiffened, glared defiantly at him. "Hey, are you trying to..
"Can it, you two," Vicki shhhed, "the dolls are on."
The lights in the club dimmed even further, the baby spots on the lip of the stage flared to life. Moments later, to a spattering of applause, a statuesque redhead the emcee identified as Debby LaShay, slithered from behind the spangled curtains, began to bang her breasts and fanny around in time to the excited music.
She was not a particularly beautiful woman; her day had come and gone. Her body was going to fat, her routine lacked zest. Yet to the college kids, no connoisseurs, she was special, and they all became attentive.
As doughy Debby revolved and gyrated, peeled away the red flora-dora gown, to reveal herself in a scarlet, ribbed corset, clouds of ruffled lace and net at bodice and hem, black garters, black stockings, and red, needle-toed pumps. A sexy thing, the corset, and undoubtedly serving practical purpose also.
But it didn't remain long, for Debby made great show of heeling off the pumps, peeling the stockings, and finally the shimmering corset. To reveal herself in sheer panties and brassiere, both doing their best to give her lumpy body allure, and failing miserably.
The panties were kicked away, the bra skittered down her arm, and now she gyrated and ground her hips, she bounced and massaged her breasts, only the spangles on her nipples, a paper rose at the end of her belly, keeping her from the cold, dark night.
Debby was a charity case. Which the collegiate sextet could not know. A warm up for better things to come.
A sprinkling of applause followed her when she left.
But Hal was rhapsodic. "Wasn't that something?
Wasn't that a gasser? She was beautiful, wasn't she?"
"Hal," Bernie sneered. "You're drunk."
"No, I'm not. She was beautiful. She was."
But he was definitively stilled when, moments later, a petite blonde in a flesh-colored leotard appeared. A younger woman with a lush, bursting body, her breasts jutting, the ovals of her fanny doing a twitching, hoppy dance all their own. Her name was Bunny Baer, and when she left the stage, she was as close to bare as the law would allow. She left to a tumult of applause.
Bernie turned to Hal. "Well?" he mocked.
Hal said nothing. Only kept his eyes glued onstage
The third flesh artiste was called Ronni Flame, and she was the best so far, dressed in a shimmering, beaded gown, the skirt long, silk braid that wound in her legs, which clung to her legs. A trick gown, the bodice of which came apart in pieces, each piece resembling a licking, ragged flame. Which, when totally removed, revealed Ronni with bared bosom, her proud, uptilted breasts capped with the plastic "cheaters." Upon which were cunningly fastened miniature flames, shiny plastic, catching the hard light, reflecting back into the eyes of the aroused, shouting audience. She did a lazy pirouette, the string skirt stood away from her, revealing hazy outline of her legs and belly.
"Hot dog!" Bernie gritted. "How about that, Hal? Now that is the real merchandise." He turned to the right, where Hal had been sitting on the end of the curved seat. "Hey!" he gasped. "Where's Hal?"
The question was instantly answered by a ground-swell of mutterings and laughter from the floor of the club. Vicki grabbed his arm. "Bernie! He's on the stage with that girl!"
"Get him outta there!" someone on the floor yelled. In the gloom they saw a burly, simian man move stage-ward.
But Ronnie Flame wasn't a trouper by fluke. She knew how to make the most of any situation. And seeing the gawky, thin redhead staggering across the stage toward her, she laughed loudly, went to meet him. A ripple of laughter swept the crowd; the bouncer stopped, leaned against the wall. Took a wait-and-see stance.
As the stripper and the drunk began to waltz around the stage. Hal's face was dazed, beatific, and the sense of buffoon within him was piqued as never before. When Ronnie Flame moved away, went into the next segment of her act, Hal was beside her, aping her movements almost perfectly, affecting a feminine grace effortlessly, his face rubbery and witless.
The crowd broke into hysterical laughter. "My God, Kim howled, "he's funny! It's the funniest thing I've ever seen."
Ronni played to Hal, daring him, teasing him. Hal gave her as good right back, making ridiculous burlesque of her motions. The skirt was unclipped, was thrown aside; Hal whipped off his belt, fling it into the audience. She toyed with the tight, satin panties she wore; Hal ran the zipper on his fly up and down. But when the panties came off, Hal wagged a zany finger at her, pulled his trousers high, feigned embarrassed fear.
It went on for a long time, the club dissolving into bedlam, Hal mugging outrageously, staggering around like a poor man's Jerry Lewis. Now the act was drawing to a close, and Ronnie sidled up to Hal, sultry mischief in her eyes. She arched her back, put her hands behind her, leaned toward him, indicating that he could remove the plastic flames from her nipples.
Hal stuck his fingers in his mouth, held his legs together in parody of all the bumpkin shyness the world has ever known. And gingerly, slowly, drawing back his hands again and again, he reached for the flames. It was then that Ronnie made a serious mistake. She closed her eyes, wriggled her buttocks in show of anticipated delight. Now his hands were almost to the plastic flames.
Suddenly Ronni screamed, and everybody gaped. The flames were gone; but so were the plastic "cheaters." And the sudden separation had been painful. Ronni ran cursing into the curtains, leaving Hal in a pose of dismay, the souvenirs in his hands. The bouncer was determinedly elbowing his way through the hooting, delighted crowd.
Hal took on a homosexual lisp as he was brutally hurried from the stage. "Listen, fella," he mimed. "You be careful with me. This's my best suit. Watch it, now! Y're crushing the velvet! Fella, don't. I'm sensitive there!"
The crowd was laughing until tears came to their eyes. "Leave him alone," a man shouted. Instantly others took it up. The bouncer, forewarned, let up pressure, just gave Hal a hard shove out into the street, slammed the door behind him. Returned, smiling, into the club.
"Now you did it," Bernie said, when they came out, found Hal sitting glumly on the curb, a ragged gash in the knee of his trousers. "You know you coulda got killed."
Instantly Sara was sitting on the curb beside him, cuddling him in her arms. "Oh, Lord, honey," she giggled, "You were so funny. I ache inside, I laughed so hard. Did he hurt you, darling?"
Hal smiled at her contentedly. "Naw, I'm great." He reached into his pocket. "Hey, I got something for you."
Gravely he placed the plastic flames, the pink nipple-caps in Sara's hands. "What am I supposed to do with these?" she laughed.
"Souvenirs. You might want to go into business for yourself someday."
"You devil!" Sara snapped, blushing. Still she opened her handbag, dropped the mementos in.
"Hey, you guys," Hal rose and stretched. "I'm all sober again."
"Oh, goody," Sara bubbled. "You see that you stay that way."
They were in the car, driving aimlessly through the Daytona Beach streets, feeling some sort of pity for the mobs of collegians still aimlessly roaming the streets, waiting for something to happen. For their course was predetermined: something would happen for them.
"The beach again?" Bernie asked.
"Hell, no," Vicki shot. "I'm beginning to grow fungus. I'd like to try it human again. In a bed. You guys come over to our motel. There may be some chicks want to watch, but hell, you can't have everything."
"No chicks," Bernie said. "We're private at our digs. If you kids don't mind all in one room, I mean. Besides, home is where more booze is."
"Your place," Kim said sternly.
There was no fuss sneaking the girls into their motel.
A party was in full swing at the swimming pool, beer cans were being passed like a Budweiser assembly line. A dozen different transistors were blaring, guys and gals twisting in their trunks and swimsuits. Things were really shaking. For all Mr. dummy the motel man knew, the gorgeously gowned trio of gals who tagged Hal, Dell and , Bernie three minutes later, belonged there. Hell, let them play.
The boys had already taken off their jackets and ties when the girls entered number twenty-two, had hung them in the cramped closet. Five glasses of Scotch-on-the-rocks stood in impatient line on the glass-top desk.
"Boy," Kim said, "talk about informal."
"Honey," Hal laughed, passing out glasses, "any time you care to join us...."
"What about you?" Vicki said, counting glasses.
"I'm swearing off," Hal smiled, executing a snappy twist movement. "Sara's been p':king a scab all evening."
"Mmmm," Sara sighed over her drink, "you dream-boat. You are a good boy. Sarall be good to you, too, lover."
Bernie flipped off the lights, left only a small lamp on the desk glowing. His tapered fingers caressed the fifth of J. Walker. "You guys help yourself whenever you're ready. I got better things to do than bartend."
He began pushing Vicki toward his bed. "No," she protested, "you'll wrinkle my dress." . "Take it off then."
And then and there, with no hesitation whatsoever, Vicki pulled the figure hugging sheath off, bringing her slip with it, revealing herself in a lavender ensemble, the panties and bra emblazoned, dripping with exotic lace.
She waited while Bernie hung up her clothes. Then smiled paganly as he pushed her back on the bed, came over her, began kissing her.
"How about us?" Kim said. "Is there a gentleman in the crowd? Dell?"
"I thought you weren't talking to me."
"Talk we need yet? Talk is superfluous."
Dell heisted her dress carefully, kissed her when he saw her face again. "My, grandma, what big words we use."
Her grin was licentious. "I'll use more than words before the night's out, I kid you not."
And thus the impromptu little party was enjoined, the girls kicking off their shoes, the boys hanging their dresses for them, all taking their drinks to bed with them, the girls sprawling, kissing, talking, experimenting, wearing only their stockings and lingerie.
Sara, as she became aroused, as Hal's hands slid over her silky body, paused in secret places: "You girls won't listen, will you?"
"Oh no," Vicki snickered, "we wouldn't dream of such a thing." She turned back to Bernie. "Do that again, doll. That felt nice."
Kim was sliding her body sinuously against Dell, her breath coming quickly as her need mounted. "Why don't you get undressed, honey?"
"You're sure you want me to? Am I forgiven?"
"I'm sorry, darling. I can't help getting bitchy sometimes. I was jealous, I guess. That girl last night ... did you?"
An eerie pain struck Dell, a stab of regret almost. "No, Kim," he replied. "I didn't touch her except when we were dancing."
She pressed closer. "Oh, that's good, Dell. Then you're still ... I mean ... I'm the only girl you've ... "
"You're the only girl," he lied, his tone grave, sincere.
"I'm glad, I'm glad. Oh, Dell.. "What, dolly?"
"Soon, huh?" She shivered. "I've got it. Real bad."
Bernie was up, wearing only his jockey shorts, making two fresh drinks. He looked to Dell. "I'm getting there, Dell. Any minute now."
Dell's smile was sarcastic. "That's obvious, pal."
On that note, Bernie turned out the remaining light. There was only the hum of the air conditioner, the music and laughter from the pool party below. Plus other assorted rustlings, snappings, sighings and murmurs.
Kim pressed her swollen, hot breasts to Dell's naked chest, twitched her belly to his. "Oooh," she whispered.
Dell held her close, murmured into her ear. "What about this, Kim? I mean you and the others? Just sleeping around like this. I can't understand how girls like you ... like Vicki and Sara...."
"Don't talk, baby. Just do it."
"You come from good families, you've got money, I know that." He didn't quite know how to form the question. "I mean ... how come you...?"
"We're birds of a feather," Kim rescued. "We've got the hots. We can't help it we're the way we are. Only like you say, back at Virginia we've got a rep to keep up. So we save it up as best we can. Sometimes it gets real bad and we have to let one pop now and then. I remember a sailor I picked up in Norfolk one night...."
"Spare me the details..
"Anyway. We come down here every year, get things out of our system. If it wasn't Florida, it'd be someplace else. We're good for a long time afterward. You know what I mean. When we get married we'll forget it ever happened." Her voice was filled with an inexplicable sadness. "We'll make ourselves forget. We'll be good honest wives." Her voice became irritated. "God, you think guys are the only ones gotta sow wild oats?"
"Tell him to shut up," Vicki said evenly from the next bed. "He's bothering my concentration." She sucked in her breath suddenly. "Oh, Bernie, oh! That's beautiful, just beautiful."
While over on the rollaway, the wheels were squeaking. Then Sara took it up. As Hal determinedly rose and fell over her, straining to make amends for his botch on Saturday night. Any minute now, Dell thought, and that bed's gonna roll right out the door.
"What about it, Dell?" Kim said softly, her hands boldly running over his body, becoming compulsively sadistic when they found him. "Are we gonna sit this one out?"
She moaned, her words catching, bubbling in her throat as he came over her. As he pushed her hands away, opened her himself. Then plunged downward. He was less intoxicated tonight. His senses were awake, acutely discerning. It stung and tingled as he thrust himself completely to her. For a long time he just hovered motionless, savored the warm sufferance of her.
A pitiful sigh of enjoyment escaped her lips. It was an unmistakable signal.
Dell's arms and legs turned to resolute steel. As Kim's ankles clamped into the backs of his knees. He became aware of the smoothness of her belly against his, the way it was trembling. Then the ebb and flow of his body commenced. He retreated and sliced. Heard Kim moan ecstatically. A rhythm was established. A beautiful, aboriginal rhythm. Drumming and compulsive. Maddening. A tattoo that became more insane, more rapid.
And he rose and fell, rose and fell. Became conscious of Kim's efforts as she lifted herself to meet him. To greet and welcome him.
Shy Sara was reverting to type. "You're good, Hal," she shrieked in muffled defiance of her co-conspirators. "You're magnificent. Ride, damn you, ridel"
It was quiet in the room for an interminable time afterward. There was only the sound of deep, gasping breathing.
Then Vicki's voice: "Scoot, girls," she called. Dell awoke from a daze to see Sara standing over him, pulling Kim away. Almost like a ghost, Kim drifted up, went to Bernie's bed. Sara's hands went over him with primitive sureness. "Sure," she chuckled lewdly. "I knew you had one lying around here someplace."
Long after the party downstairs had ended and the patio had gone silent, there continued a party of quite another sort in the murky depths of unit twenty-two. Where varied passion games were played.
Court Whist. But with a few different rules.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dell was alone in their room at The Blue Martin. Bernie had left before lunch, had said he wouldn't return until five. Adding some vague reference to a bash that was brewing. Something having to do with Daytona Beach natives he'd met last year. Dell had been too preoccupied to heed his chatter.
It was two now. Hal had gone out forty minutes ago, ostensibly to meet Jane Kerr someplace. "C'mon along, Dell," he'd urged. "If I call she'll bring Robin along. In fact I think she was kinda hinting at it. Said Robin's been moping around like the world was coming to an end."
"No," Dell had said. "I'd better stay here and rest. I don't know about you, but I've about had it. I almost suffered a complete blackout last night and this morning. Toward the end there I didn't know who I was with...."
"What are you trying to prove?" Hal had persisted. "So Robin gave you a fast brush. Is an old swordsman like you going to let a little thing like that stop you? Charge back. Maybe this time she'll...."
"I don't know as I have much to charge with," Dell turned him off. "Let's drop it, huh, Hal? There's something squirrelly about that Robin kid, and I don't have time nor inclination to try to unravel her knots."
"Okay, sorehead," Hal had paused at the door. "Shall I give her your love?"
"Don't do me any favors," Dell had replied.
Now he sprawled on the bed, looking at the ceiling, fighting the impulse to call Robin. For despite his show of indifference to Hal, she was still very much in his thoughts. Vision of her troubled, haunted face swam before his eyes. Memory of the softness of her lips, her go-briefly yielding body, the firmness of her small breasts nagged him. She became eternal taunt and challenge.
And beyond that-mocking mystery. What was it with the lovely, cold woman? What private hell dogged her? And what had happened to her the other night? That she'd lost control for so long, had seemingly savored his love-play. What fear within had snapped her back, had let her rebuff him so vengefully?
Dell rose, went to the window, looked down on the snug, cozy arrangement developing down at the motel pool. Wherein the four Penn Staters had a thing going with the "Tarheel" contingent. Dell had his own private thoughts about the pre-dawn skitterings and gigglings he'd heard outside his room this morning.
Angrily he shut off the thoughts, found Robin intruding again. Then he was moving to the phone, impulsively dialing the number Hal had so pointedly left scrawled on the pad. He felt his heart freeze for some unaccountable reason as the phone rang three times. Then four. And still no Robin.
Then suddenly there was a click, the sound of a female voice. His heart leapt. "Robin? Is that you?"
"Yes," the agitated voice said. "Who's this?"
"This is Dell. You remember? From the other night?"
"I could hardly forget, could I? How are you, Dell?"
"Fine, I guess. I was wondering about you, what happened and all. You said I could call if I wanted to."
"I was hoping you would." There was a subtle excitement in her voice, and Dell was thrown into confusion. After what had happened, she was still glad to hear from him?
"I ... I'm sorry. I wanted to apologize for what happened Monday. I didn't mean for...."
She laughed lightly, "It's all right, Dell. It's forgotten. Those things happen. When a girl parks with a guy, when she lets him ... kiss her ... she should know what she's getting into. We're both to blame. Let's not discuss it."
"I was wondering if ... maybe tonight ... are you busy? We could take in the doings at the Seabreeze, dance, whatever you'd like...."
"But no beer," Robin said flippantly. I'm not responsible when L.,a
"No beer. I promise. I'll be a good Doy."
Her laugh was nervous. "I can't ask for more or a guarantee than that, can I?" She paused. "One thing, though. Jane and Hal have cooked up something with another couple. We'll be alone, I'm afraid."
Dell felt a sudden elation. "That won't be hard to take. Not so far's I'm concerned. It's a date then? I'll meet you at Seabreeze at eight?"
"Make it nine, will you? I've got a duty dinner with some other Purdue girls who are down."
"Nine it is." Moments later Dell hung up, turned away from the phone with a curious expression on his face. Half delight, half puzzlement. There was something about Robin's voice-she seemed changed somehow. An unexplainable something in her attitude. Devil-may-care, almost.
But Dell had very little time for pondering this tenuous transformation. For as he turned from the phone he heard a furtive tapping on his door. Strode rapidly to the end of the room, pulled it open. Froze into surprised rigidity, his stomach lurching, going cold.
For there-clad in a white cotton playdress, pleated, with a saucy sailor yoke, her hair in gamin disarray, a scheming, sultry smile curving her mouth-stood Kim Walsh. There was no mistaking the expression in her gaze. Instantly he recognized her intent, felt himself wither inside.
Kim giggled, darted past him, into the cool, shadowed room. Before the door was fully closed, she'd thrown herself into his arms, was kissing him hungrily, her mouth greedy and licentious. It was all Dell could do to sham ardor. After Robin-this thrill-hungry tramp?
She broke the kiss, smiled harshly. "Whafs the matter, honey? You don't act like you're happy to see me. I thought you'd be glad to have me alone for a change. Baby...." she wheedled.
"Ah ... sure I'm glad, Kim," he forced. "But I'm just wondering. You gals took care of things pretty good last night. I don't know if I...."
Her grin was teasing, lewd. "Don't tell me you're trying to beg off, baby. Not the big he-man from the north woods. You can get it for Kim, I know you can." Her eyes turned smoky, almost degenerate. "Kimmy has ways, you know." She came into his arms again. "Kiss me, doll? Like you meant it?"
Then she was lifting herself to him, clawing herself to his lips, the tip of her pink tongue at ready. Dell's big arms came around her, held her close. In spite of himself he felt his temperature rise. And yet vague fears persisted. Just how far can a man push his virility? he asked inwardly. I must be badly overdrawn by now.
Now she was pulling away, unzipping herself at the waist, down the back, chattering a mile a minute. She presented a pretty picture. The white dress, the white pumps, her touseled platinum hair. As she unconcernedly flipped the dress, the slip over her head. "We ran into Hal on the street, walking like Satan himself was after him, and I got the idea. I made Vicki drive past. And when I saw Bernie's car was gone, I just took a chance you were here alone. Vicki wanted to crash the party, too-but I cooled her, but good." She whirled, stood before Dell dressed in only a white nylon brassiere and panties. "You're glad, aren't you, Dell? You're glad I came to surprise you?"
"I'm glad."
"Like you meant it, darling."
"God, Kim," he snapped. "What do you want? I'm beat. I don't know whether I can hold up my end of things. I'm glad. If I can't be more enthusiastic, I'm sorry."
Her eyes flared with honest concern. "Don't, Dell. Don't snap at me. I've wanted it this way for so long. Ever since that first time. Just you and me. Alone. With all the time in the world." She came closer to where Dell had sat on the bed. "It'll be all right," she soothed. Her voice became urgent and thin. "I'll make it be all right, just you wait and see."
She turned her back to him. "Please, honey? Undo my bra for me?"
Dully Dell raised his hands, jimmied the clasps.
She wheeled, mischief rampant on her face, the brassiere hanging limply on her shoulders. "Take it off, Dell? Please?" She held her arms in front of her.
Dell felt his pulse quicken, reached for the filmy garment, slid it gently down her arms. Remembering a childhood joke, he smiled, said, "How much you want for them two puppies with the pink noses?"
Kim laughed, moved closer, until she was standing between his knees. "You do want Kim, don't you, Dell?" she coaxed. "Say you want me."
"Yes, Kim," he whispered. "I want you."
She held her large, bursting breasts in her hands, balancing them, letting the pink, turgid nipples peep between her fingers. "Touch them, Dell," she sighed She lifted and rolled them in lazy circles, a rain of goose bumps splashing her thighs. "They feel so heavy, so hot.
They want you. Please, baby."
Dell's hands came up, and she unloaded the creamy, blue-veined globes into them, her eyes rolling in her head, an enraptured sigh breaking her lips. As Dell's fingers began to manipulate the nipples. "Kiss them, baby," she canted. "Oh, please. Kiss them."
And Dell sat transfixed, amazed by the frenzy gripping her. As she crowded closer, shoved her breasts toward his lips. "Open up, dolly," she squeezed. "Let Kim come in."
Dazzled, Dell let Kim come in. Closed his knees on her, felt her shiver as her desire mounted. "My clothes, Dell," she said, her hands relieving his, bringing her nipples in alternate turn to his mouth, "take off my panties."
Gently, both of them moving as if in a slow motion trance, Dell slid the nylon panties down her hips, saw the muted sunlight catch in the tangled gold threads of her belly. Kim twitched her legs, let the panties slide down. Slowly, hypnotically she stepped out of them. Dell's hands coursed up and down her waist, moved back, caressed her dimpled back, roiled her smooth, warm buttocks.
Until Kim could endure no more. And breathing heavily, she detached herself, pushed Dell back on the bed. Made a reverent ceremony out of undressing him. Now both of them were naked, surrounded by a tangle of clothes.
Kim darted up, pulled the blinds. Then the drapes. Plunging the room into subterranean gloom. She checked the lock. She whirled now, neared the bed. As she looked down on the nude man, her eyes filmed with an eerie desire, her mouth curved into a rhapsodic smile.
"See," she said. "I told you, you could. It just took a little encouragement. Now you want Kim, don't you?"
"You devil," Dell choked, seeing errant rays of light circle her, turn the hard nibs of her breasts a deep, orangish brown. "You little she-devil."
"You've got it for me now, haven't you? Say it!"
"God, have I got it. Come here and let me show you." Now all thought of Robin, of decency, of his reluctance of brief minutes ago was gone. Left was only the consuming, maddening lust. "Don't tease me, damn you."
He reached for her, but she spiraled her shoulders, evaded him. "No, Dell, not yet. There's something else first." She snuggled closer, tucked her legs under her buttocks, leaned over Dell.
"Don't hate me, baby. Don't think bad things. Just let me, please. I've always wanted to do this to a man. But I never have. You're the first, Dell, believe me, the very first...."
Her eyes were glassy, her voice seemingly coming from a distant, unknown time and place. The voice of Eros, god of profane love. Kim had gone into a passion trance, all desire focused in one twisted urge and desire. "Kim," Dell choked. "What...?"
"Please, darling. You have to let me. I want to so bad. It has to happen with you. You were my first ... my only virgin. A virgin should have this. A virgin should...." Then she was leaning, coming up on her knees, her back a graceful arc, her hands tucked in her lap. She was kissing the heaving planes of Dell's stomach, her lips sliding, sliding.
Dell recoiled, tried to roll away. "No, Kim!" he spat. But her hands leaped from their lair, talons now, dug into the tender flesh of his thigh. "Yes," she hissed. "You must! You have to let me, Dell. I want to make this sacrifice. This offering..
The far-off voice again. Dell felt his flesh crawl.
But finally, caught up in a euphoria of his own, he surrendered to Kim, let her pull him back. Lay in disbelieving rigidity as her lips continued to kiss and caress him.
"No," he groaned a last time. "Please, darling," she intoned eerily. "Please, please, please..
Then the sweet warmth enveloped him. Became unbearable, yet delectable. Torture that was not torture. A sensation he wanted to end, but did not want to end That went on and on, magnifying and ballooning, becoming maddening pain. Until it felt like the top of his skull would be ruptured, demolished. Sent flying like bony shrapnel.
Still Kim continued the aberrated ministrations, halting now and then, her words clicking liquidly. "My virgin, my virgin...." she keened.
It was ten-thirty. Intermission time at the Seabreeze Recreation Center, where the city of Daytona Beach was sponsoring a dance, even providing a cool twelve piece orchestra in the bargain. Where, at that moment, onstage, a sickeningly jovial emcee was conducting a folksong singing competion, beaming at a Levi-clad Duke student who was bellowing his way through "Blue Water Line."
Dell was irritated by the singing, edgy and distant. A mood that was virulent, that was infecting Robin also.
Or wasn't it all his fault? At the evening's outset she'd been gay and charming, had done her utmost to gloss over the memory of their disastrous first date. Her vivacity had been almost too forced, Dell had noticed. He'd tried to catch her gaiety, but had failed.
Until now, after much listless dancing and forced chatter, Dell was almost beginning to wish the evening was over, that he'd never come out in the first place. It seemed the lapses became longer, that Robin was becoming more tense and nervous by the minute, a wild, frightened light becoming dominant in her gaze.
Of course, Dell knew what was bugging him. As! memory of Kim, of the depraved excesses she'd committed that afternoon, gnawed and snarled over the gristle of his brain. Dear God, he'd thought a hundred times that night, had it really happened? Did I really lay there and let her have her twisted way? Did I enjoy it?
It was this stark contrast-between the spiritual purity and chastity of Robin, the animalistic carnality of Kim-that had scuttled all prospects of a fun evening.
Dell felt a sudden craving for something alcoholic. A good jolt would help loosen him up, things would be easy again. And almost as if reading his mind, Robin now turned to him, said, "Maybe we should have had that beer anyway. You seem awfully glum tonight, Dell. Am I such poor company?"
He looked up quickly, surprised once more by her dark, serene beauty, thrilled by the lustre of her large, oval eyes, by the latent promise of her full lips. She was beautiful. And she was with him. She had chosen him above all the other thousands of males swarming over Daytona. Again and again he'd seen envious eyes poring ever her as they'd danced.
"No, Robin," he objected. "You're marvelous company. I'm sorry. It's my fault, I guess. I'm in a funk."
"Anything I can help with?"
Dell did a quick double-take, fought for composure. If Robin would ever discover what had happened between him and Kim that afternoon-
"No, Robin," he smiled. "Just the spooky blues, that's all."
"Maybe...." Her eyes widened suddenly, "maybe we'd best leave...."
"No, Robin, I didn't mean that. I'm enjoying my...."
Her jaw tensed, glowed whitely, and she looked down at her hands. A tremor cleaved her shoulders, and she rose abruptly. "I want to get out of here anyway."
Wonderingly Dell followed the lovely, lithe girl from the large hall, taking long strides to keep up with her as she all but ran from the building. Despite his puzzlement, Dell could not help admiring her gorgeous legs, the glittering allure of her black patent pumps, the way her cute bottom rattled and banged inside her tight black skirt.
Then they were out in the soft, warm night, leaving the loud, jarring noises of the crowd behind them. They came to Seabreeze Boulevard, where Robin's car was parked. "Robin, listen...." he said, holding the door for her.
She ignored him, went around the car. "I'll drive. I suppose I can drop you off at your motel."
"No, Robin, I don't want to go back to my motel. If you want to take off, go ahead. But remember it's not my idea...."
"What then?"
"Drive downtown. See what the kids are doing.
They hit Atlantic, turned south, headed into the thick of the reveling college kids. They lined the streets, beer cans in hand, making deltas where the beer bars were located, crossing heedlessly as if the streets belonged to them alone. At the corner of Atlantic and Main two boys from Ohio State, well smashed, were making great show of blocking traffic. Two cops -edged out toward them. But before the police reached them a flying squad of lads swarmed over them, carried them bodily out of harm. When last seen they were heading toward the ocean. "Some wise guys are gonna get a ducking," Dell chuckled.
Robin didn't answer. Nor did she acknowledge the existence of the winding, chanting snake dance that snarled traffic at Lennox Avenue. Her eyes staring steadfastly ahead, seeing nothing, her mouth a grim line, she inched the Chevy through the mobs as best she could. It was a desperate concentration that unnerved Dell. Wisely he held his silence, his bewilderment growing. What now? he thought.
And finally they were through the thickest part of the college crowd, still going south, picking up speed. "Hey," Dell warned, "you missed your turn. You'll end up in the ocean if you keep this up."
Still saying nothing, Robin made a sudden right, backtracked to Silver Beach. Here she crossed the bridge made a left onto U.S. I. Headed south once more.
Dell tried a humorous approach. "Help, I am a prisoner in a Chinese fortune cookie factory."
Robin's intense expression did not alter a whit. Minutes later they were entering South Daytona. "Where are we going?" Dell asked. "This is sure's hell the long way around."
There was a set grimace of near-panic on her face as she turned. "Just let me drive, will you?" she snapped. "Don't talk."
Then they were approaching Port Orange. The city was left behind. Still the Chev bored its way south.
And only now did Dell realize where they were headed. As Robin slowed the car, began searching for the turnoff. The turnoff where they'd been only forty-eight hours before. Barely trusting his voice, Dell directed her. "It's still two miles ahead." While his mind raged, What the hell's coming off here, anyway?
Shortly they were edging their way down the gravelled lane, Robin automatically dousing the lights, slowing to a crawl. Then edging to the shoulder, watching carefully for the sand-trap drop-off, she braked, killed the engine.
Ahead Dell saw the placid ocean, the unearthly gleam of the white sand. And nothing else. They were completely alone. In the silence he heard the sough of the wind, the crackling and hissing of the cooling engine. It was a long time before he dared to look at Robin.
When he did her face seemed ghostly, her lips a red slash, her eyes dark, vacant coals. The mouth opened and closed. Then opened again. "Kiss me, Dell," the words split the air. Then hung on gossamer threads, beyond belief. His hair bristled on the back of his head.
There was a rustle and Robin was sliding toward him, her head tilted, reaching. "Did you hear, Dell?" she sighed. "I want you to kiss me. Please ... I want it all. Anything you want ... the answer is yes...."
It was a day for sexual ecstasies. And Dell, his pulse racketing in his brain like a supersonic boom, put his arms about Robin, pulled her close. Kissed her.
Didn't stop kissing her for a long, long time.
Now they could hear the lapping of the wafer more clearly. In the distance the sound of traffic on the highway. But they were in a secret place, far down the beach. No one would interrupt them here.
In disbelief Dell looked down at the naked woman who lay sprawled in rigid anticipation on the blanket, and felt an awesome shudder twist his spine. Along the right side of the blanket was a tangled skein of clothing, Robin's black dress, the black patent pumps interwoven with her nylons, the pink panties and girdle. And there, half on and half off, the dainty brassiere.
His clothes were scattered on the other side.
Robin stared at him intently, her eyes seemingly filling her whole face. Her hands, palms up, lay in tense pose beside her shoulders. She made no attempt to cover herself as he looked down on the beautiful, svelte body. As his breath caught in his throat at the stunning beauty of that body. Of those small breasts, of that white, flat stomach, those trim hips and thighs.
"I don't understand, Robin," Dell murmured. "I just don't...."
"Don't try to understand," she intoned, "don't talk. I don't understand it either. Just do what you have to do. But soon, Dell. Before I lose my courage...."
"You're lovely," he said, his voice reverently hushed. "Let me look at you."
She twisted, closed her eyes. "Please, Dell," she strained. "Do what ... don't make it any worse for me."
Gently he lowered himself to Robin, let his lips close on the petite, firm swellings on her breasts, let his tongue flick over the perfect, tight-knurled berries of her nipples. He knew a stunning sense of Tightness as Robin's hands came up, tremblingly twined in his hair, pressured his head closer to her bosom.
"I didn't know," she quaked, "it would be like this. That I'd feel like this inside I feel so funny. All weak and fluttery..
"Robin, Robin," he moaned, his tongue and lips working in tandem to intensify sensation. "You angel, you glorious angel."
"It feels so good," she said, "so good. Is it always Eke this? Oh, Dell...." She trembled. "Soon, dear. I'm so afraid."
"Baby, baby," he moaned, his hands sliding on her velvety belly, cupping and stroking her.
"Tell me what to do," she breathed. "When you're ready, tell me what I should do."
Dell's heart lodged in his throat. A high-frequency hum sang in his ears. "No, Robin," he said. "You mean that I ... that you're...."
"I'm a virgin, Dell. Is it such a crime? Time was when...."
"No, baby," he hurried. "I didn't mean that. I don't know what I mean. It just seems so ... it's an enormous thing to do."
"Will it hurt? Wfll it hurt terribly?"
"I don't know, Robin. It's different with some girls."
She trembled, held his ear tightly. "Make it happen fast. So the pain will be over quickly. I'm a baby about pain. Dell, please. Before I'm too scared."
Dell shifted from her, went to his trousers, fumbled for his wallet. "All right, darling. If you're ready."
"Dell? What are you doing?"
"I'm getting something. So you won't get pregnant."
She pulled him frantically back. "No, Dell. Nothing. I'm safe. The rest of this week. I want you ... just.. as you are."
"You darling," Dell said huskily, rolling toward her. Gently he opened her legs, waiting patiently as reflexive indecision gathered in her, tensed her. Then inch by inch she surrendered.
"Tell me what to do," she whispered. "Please, Dell."
"Yes, baby," he said, coming over her. "I will. When it's time."
"Teach me to love."
"Baby, baby, baby...." he chanted, swamped with a sense of gratitude and humility. "I will, I will." He lowered himself slowly. "Be brave now, Robin."
"Yes, I will. Yes, my darling."
But still, when Dell forced the searing, agonizing entry, Robin could not completely stifle her hoarse screams. She turned her mouth into Dell's shoulder, held her breath. But still the sobs broke through. And Dell felt bestial as he felt her tears on his face and throat, as he assaulted and tore the seal of her innocence.
"I'm sorry, baby," he choked, "so sorry...."
"It's all right," she seethed, sucking in her breath, the tears spilling uncontrollably. "It's not so bad now." But still another cry split the calm night, and her body turned rigid as stone.
But finally it was over, and her cries diminished. She was silent, unresponsive, dumbly yielding as Dell began to pump his hips. And she knew it was no good. "Tell me what to do, darling," she called.
"Answer me," he directed, "with your body."
"Oh yes," she said, her legs instinctively rising, pressing his hips, beginning to move herself to the sweet greeting and release, "it's better now. So much better. Is it better for you, Dell?"
And because of the extraordinary demands made upon him during the past twenty-four hours, Dell was able to prolong his lovemaking, to stretch it beyond the boundaries of initial pain for Robin. To make it last until the pain was forgotten, and only the delight, the growing, blinding passion remained. Because sense cauterizing, obliterated everything.
The world, the sand, this massive ocean were nonexistent. There was only the heat within her, the glaring light behind her eyelids, the awesome feeling of completeness this man and his maleness engendered within her. Until, seemingly for no reason at all beyond the holy delight of the moment, Robin began to moan and scream in delicious, pagan frenzy.
A delighted outcry that regenerated Dell, that made him virile, aggressive man once more. That drove him to mindless frenzies of his own. That made him forget this woman was an ingenue, a novice to the ways of love. And he drove himself brutally to her, crashing his body without stop. An animalism Robin did not find distasteful at all. There was a rightness-a so-rightness-that caused her to cling, to answer with unflagging enthusiasm, to loose continuing and delirious outcries to the night skies. She wanted all the world to share her glory.
They lay in mute sufferance, still bound together, Robin refusing to release him. Breaths rasping, legs and arms atremble. "I never dreamed...." Robin whispered in a new boldness, "when I heard the girls talking.. it would be anything like this. But I had to know. I just had to."
"Why, baby?" Dell said. "How did all this happen?"
"It happened," she said, her tone stubborn. "Let it go at that. Someday I'll tell you, but not now, not tonight. Don't let's spoil it." She paused embarrassedly. "Dell? Can you ... I mean ... make it happen again? Must we go back right away?"
Dell's heart turned to so much mush. This child, he thought. This magnificent, innocent child. "Yes, Robin," he answered. "If you really want it. It'll be a bit...."
"Yes," her voice firmed. "I do want it. I can wait."
Her body arched, her lips became consuming, avenging, as Robin instinctively fell into woman's oldest role, became temptress. Then the strange, appalling words spilled from her lips. "I knew why I came here ... to Florida. I had no illusions. But...." she wavered, "I thought I'd find a stranger who'd take care of it for me. But ... you ... you're no stranger. I didn't dream I'd fall in love."
Dell's brain felt numb, as though someone had hit him a stunning blow with an axe-handle. Had he heard clearly? Had she really said she loved him? It doesn't happen like this. You don't just meet a girl, spirit her out in the weeds, take her. You don't just fall rear over teakettle. Instant love.
His head spun, his thoughts muddied, and he was more confused than he'd ever been. This innocent? In love with me?
Robin sought to smooth over the painfully awkward pause. To camouflage her disappointment. Her lips became ammoral, over busy. "It's all right, Dell," she said pointlessly. "It's all right."
The sky was a pale lead bowl before Dell and Robin finally deserted the beach, started back to Daytona.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bernie Quale was disgusted about the unexpected turnabout, and let Dell and Hal know about it in no uncertain terms. This on Wednesday P.M. immediately upon returning from lunch and finding Dell still in bed, still sleeping the sleep of the dead.
"All right, Dell," he snarled, shaking him viciously, let's knock off this Rip Van Winkle bit. Wake up, damn you. And I mean tout suite!"
"Go away." Dell jerked the sheet up under his chin. Whereupon Bernie gripped the sheet, ripped it completely away, to reveal Dell, wearing only his pajama bottoms. "I said wake up!" he bellowed.
And when Dell finally sat up, yawned, rubbed his eyes, Bernie asked, "What time did you get in this morning anyway?"
"What's it to you?" Dell said agreeably, excusing his friend's impulsiveness. "You didn't wait up, did you?"
"Brother, that's what I call gratitude. I bring you guys down here, promise to break you in right, get you girls, booze, pay for practically everything ... and what do I get? Hal here's out with that little blonde witch from Purdue, and God knows where you are all night. Both of you running out on me. Just when I need you most."
Hal stiffened at the derogatory mention of Jane Kerr. "Watch who you're calling a witch, Bernie."
"What in hell's going on here?" Bernie raged, reviving his harangue into high. "I've got you guys the hottest little firecrackers in Daytona. What's the matter . with them? God, what kind of excuses can I make for you? Two nights now you've ditched me. If you guys had to listen to Sara and Kim gripe you'd understand."
Dell came more awake, felt the resentment burn its way in. "I don't imagine you had much trouble finding replacements for us. Those pigs aren't fussy."
"They sure aren't," Bernie taunted, "if they get a case on two sad-apples like you and Hal. There's no accounting for a woman's taste though. Kim's all but clawing the walls for you. Why I'll never know. She keeps whining about you all the time."
Dell felt an unreasonable anger, a sense of being trapped and smothered. "God Almighty," he tore the words from clenched teeth, "what do those witches want? Every night and every night. A man's only good for so many every twenty-four hours...."
"Some men are," Bernie taunted.
"Did Kim tell you she was over here yesterday afternoon? That she practically dismantled me?"
"Burned you out, huh?" Bernie challenged. "So bad you went out and whaled away at it until dawn with some other broad."
For some strange reason it became very important that Dell defend Robin's name. "No," he strained for conviction, "it wasn't like that at all. We went dancing, sat down on the beach, got to talking...."
"Spare me the tears," Bernie leered. "Some talking that must've been." He drew himself to full height, put force behind his next words. "Listen now, and listen good. I got this party lined up tonight. Nobody you know. I promised these people. You guys ain't gonna run out on me tonight. Go hump your school girl sweethearts this afternoon, not on my time."
"Your time?" Hal snapped. "You think you bought us?"
Quale's eyes narrowed. "Haven't I? I didn't notice you guys paying for any gas coming down. Who paid for this room? Who's paying for practically everything?"
"We're gonna settle," Dell shot angrily. "I told you we'd split. Anytime you want to sit down and figure accounts. If you didn't get such a damn big charge out of making like the big spender from Kalamazoo-"
"Split, hell!" Bernie silenced him "I don't want to split. I'm staking this brawl, understand? But, by God, I want you guys to play ball with me."
Dell rose, went to his trousers, drew out his wallet. Carefully he counted out three twenties, four tens.
"Here," he threw the money on the dresser, "that should cover anything I owe you." And despite the bravado of the act, Dell sensed a small panic. It left him only fifty dollars.
"Keep your money!" Bernie said, his voice petulant and shrill. "I don't want it. I want you guys to roll with me. With those chicks. We can get kicks, damn you--boss kicks. But I can't do it all alone. I can't do it with raw recruits every night."
"Okay," Dell said, relenting, feeling a certain knowledge of obligation. After all, he did owe Bernie something. "The party, yes. I'll call Robin, break our date. But just tonight. I don't ever want to see those tramps again. You tell 'em for me-just like that if you like."
"You talk pretty tough all of a sudden, Dell," Quale said. "Gettin' to be a real rooster, ain't you? Maybe I broke you in too fast." His eyes turned scheming. "Okay, if you want to play tough. The party then. That's something anyway. We'll worry about the other later."
"There's not going to be any later," Hal said, his voice steady. "I'm with Dell. The party-but after that, nothing. Jane and I have got a real good thing going for us. I'm not queering it up with nymphos like Sara. And that's the word."
Bernie smiled sarcastically at Dell. "And you? I suppose you and Robin," he mocked the name, "have a little thing going for you, too?"
"You're picking one big scab, Bernie," Dell threatened. "Don't push your luck too far."
Quale snickered, shrugged. "Tonight at nine. Big doings. You two be here. Okay?"
"Okay," Dell answered for both of them.
Now Bernie smiled wolfishly, took Dell's hundred dollars, carefully stuffed it into his wallet. He turned to Hal. "How about you, chum? Or are you a tinhorn?"
His face grave, Hal counted out a hundred dollars, gave it to Quale. Dell could not help but see the meager amount left in his billfold.
"There," Bernie said, replacing his wallet. "Now we've split. Just the way you guys wanted. Are you satisfied?"
Neither Hal or Dell gave him the satisfaction of an answer.
Bernie started out the door. "Now you guys get on that phone, call the sweetheart of Sigma Chi, break her little cherry heart. Tonight'll be a screamer."
"God," Hal gritted when Quale was gone. "With just a little practice I could learn to really hate that guy."
There had been a time, Dell mused drunkenly, making small circles on the expensive inlaid table with his stemmed glass, when he'd known just how many people there were at the party. But now his fourth martini was gone, and he was blotto. At least well on his way, martinis and twenty-year-old boys being what there are.
It was all very formalized. It was obvious that the Hugenys had given parties like this before. Once before at any rate. During spring vacation last year. When there'd been so many kick-hungry kids on hand. Kids who couldn't handle their liquor any better than he was handling his tonight.
He could almost visualize the hard-faced Mrs. Hugeny-Denise Hugeny-planning the whole elaborate soiree, licking her libertine chops in sick anticipation of the evil debauch. Prodding her husband when he got cold feet, pondered the consequences:
"You remember that little blonde from Kentucky last year? The little virgin? How she fought at first, and how crazy about you she was afterward? Wouldn't you like something like that this year? The college kids will be in just three weeks from now. Shouldn't we get things rolling? After all, we deserve it. We aren't getting any younger. If we let ourselves get a little wild, who's hurt? It isn't as if those kids weren't down here looking for trouble. We're only accommodating them, aren't we?"
And Bill Hugeny remembered, smiled, his pulse quickening, surprised at the sap still left in the old tree. And got things rolling, made the terse, coded phone calls to certain male acquaintances, men with wives as corrupt as his own. "Yeah, Larry. Wednesday that week the kids are in. Yeah, our little once-a-year blowout.
Even the planning served to excite him, and for three nights running he tumbled the equally aroused Denise. "Honestly, Bill," she'd said after the third such plowing, "you surprise me sometimes...."
Or something like that, Dell concluded, fighting to concentrate on what the woman beside him was saying, a pretty-enough dyed mink with over-intense red hair. A woman who touched him too often, who sat too close. She was in her late forties, her body plump but well cared for, encased in a tricky bit of haute couture, the gown tight yet flattering, an exaggeratedly sexy getup. A gown that did things for her large, conical breasts, the skirt of which, even now, rode unheeded high above her knees, displayed her black-nyloned legs, still pretty, still thin.
Conscious of his eyes, Mrs. Raymond Wallin-Corrine, to Dell by now-wallowed in the attention, jiggled her crossed leg, was glad she'd worn the ruby patent pumps with the extremely pointed toes and heels.
"... my husband Ray-that's him over there-has been in the construction business for twenty years now and he thinks that if a young man is really looking after his future he'll...."
Dell barely heard her. Only nodded politely, let his eyes wander, trying to focus them, to concentrate. Then with almost superhuman effort he did clear his vision, was able to count the guests at Denise Hugeny's lavish party. Besides Mr. and Mrs. Hugeny and the Wallins, there were four other couples. All ranging in age from forty to sixty. All of whom Dell had been introduced to. All wealthy and jaded, all waiting anxiously for the liquor to totally incapacitate their young guests, dying for the party to hot up.
Twelve adults, well past their prime, choosing this depraved way of recapturing their long departed youth. Six lechers, six over-the-hill Jezebels. Used to buying what they wanted. Used to coercion and subterfuge.
And sixteen kids, eight coeds, eight boys. Mrs. Hugeny thought of everything, the extras, replacements actually. There were always a few of the dears who drank too much, who passed out. Then they were no good to anybody, were they? So-just in case-
With the exception of Hal and Bernie all the other kids were total strangers to Dell. At first he'd tried catching their names, the schools they represented, but as the booze cut in, he hadn't bothered. They were an odd lot, some innocent, some worldly. Some knowing exactly why they were at the Hugeny's magnificent hideaway beach mansion. Others believing implicitly that they'd been invited out of the goodness of the Hugenys' hearts, that these libertine socialities had opened the fabulous estate to them only because they liked young people around.
A party, just a cozy little party. To narrow the gap between age and youth. But just how cozy, just how intimately that gap would be narrowed, some of the callow types had no idea. The girls especially had swept in, starry-eyed, like lambs to the slaughter, little dreaming they were about to experience their first full scale bacchanal.
Had they been any more experienced they might have wondered at the fact that there were no servants about the rambling Hugeny house, that the drapes were drawn throughout the house, the air conditioning running full blast, that the lamps were purposely adjusted to low key.
Yes. A party. As dear Gertie Stein would have put it: A party is a party is a party-All shapes and sizes.
Now even the fresh, vibrant beauty of the college girls was blurred in Dell's mind. Perhaps distance was responsible. And there was plenty of that. For as the alcohol had made inroads on yourthful nerve ganglia, had rendered the students helpless and indiscriminating, the adults had moved in with a vengeance, had picked out their victim for the evening, had isolated him or her from other youthful, more attractive distractions.
And so. Dell McLaren and the forty-eight-year-old Corrine Wallin. Raymond Wallin and the dark, petite dolly from Oberlin College. Was her name Mary Bellino?
The same pretty Mary whose face had turned vapid and rubbery from one Manhattan too many. Who was, at that moment, sitting on the staid Mr. Wallin's lap, gigglingly resisting him as he tried to kiss her, half-heartedly brushing his hands from her knees. Who now gave up, surrendered to the blurring colors of intoxication, fell against Wallin, smiled in drunken eroticism, let his hands slide unhindered on her smooth legs. Jerked, then relaxed, as the hand slid beneath her skirt.
Dell became conscious of Corrine Wallin plucking his sleeve, but ignored her, let her whining words pour over him unheeded. He was remembering a lovely, spiritual-faced blonde he'd met earlier. A quiet, reticent girl from Columbia. His brain winnowed out her name: Penny Harmer. A pretty thing with a trim, immature body. Who hadn't wanted to drink, but who had been artfully led from weak highballs to Rob Roys.
The same pretty Penny Harmer who was now the loud, dirty-mouthed drunk at the far end of the room. The girl Bill Hugeny was keeping tabs on. She would be a real scorcher; he couldn't allow her to pass out too soon. This Penny would be one special piece.
And so he was holding her tightly, stroking and kissing her, his hands everywhere on her. Which attention Penny was obviously enjoying if Dell was to judge by her limp, acquiescent slumping on the couch. "Billy boy," he heard her shrill voice carry over the babble in the room, over the background music being pumped through Bill Hugeny's elaborate hi-fi rig, "you're a real dream-boat. Oooh! That was nice. Careful, you'll tear my dress. Wait, damn you. Can't you wait?"
Kids and booze, Dell maundered. Quite an ugly combination. But summarily he was drawn back to his own little corner of the world, as Corrine, fighting for attention, was dropping all pretense of decorum, was feverishly running her hands up and down his leg, clawing his thigh. "Dell, dear," she cooed, her voice thick, "you're so pretty. Corrine's gonna like you. Do you think you're going to like Corrine?" She smiled in what she took for sultriness, and the puffy flesh of her mouth and chin gathered and mounded.
Dell smiled. All in a day's work, the refrain came weaving into his brain. Everyone has something to teach you. And you learn only from experience. Even experiences with grotesque caricatures of womanhood like Corrine Wallin. But first-he rose unsteadily, started toward the long table against one wall of the spacious room. A table seemingly awash with acres of booze. With bottles and cocktail shakers of every description. Gallons of waiting martinis, Manhattans, daquiris, stingers, Rob Roys. Icebergs of ice cubes. Stemware by platoons.
"Dell," Corrine coaxed. "Where are you going?"
"I ... gotta get drink. I'll be ri' back."
"Bring me one, too, baby. A stinger...."
An hour later there was no doubt in anyone's mind as to the party's primary purpose. The last whimpering, frightened virgin had become properly sauced, was frightened no longer. The noise had risen to a wild level, so that even when a girl might protest an undue liberty, there was no one to hear her. And so the girls quit protesting. There were kissing, hugging, tangled couples everywhere in the room, the lights seemingly dimmer now.
In one corner of the room, partially hidden behind a lounge chair so that his defection would be less heinous, was sprawled the evening's first casualty, a soph from MIT who'd quietly passed out. Now Dell broke from one of Corrine Wallin's spongy kisses, looked across the room to where her husband sat, the girl called Mary still on his lap, her legs spread straight in front of her, braced on the arm of the chair. He saw the rapturous smile on her face as Ray Wallin pulled her skirt higher, bunched it in her lap. Then began to make ritual of stroking her legs.
Then it was Corrine again. Temporary blackout as she became total aggressor, drove her lips, her tongue to him. As she guided his hands to her heavy breasts. Groaned and wriggled herself even closer. "Pretty Dell," she keened, her lust a sick, ugly thing to see.
Dell slid away, held her at bay momentarily. Sucked at his martini again. Drinking courage. Saw a woman of forty, a shrew-faced blonde named Nikki Bogan kissing a boy of nineteen with greedy tenacity. And when the lad hungered for her breasts, she calmly and deliberately pulled down the front of her strapless gown, disengaged the built in brassiere, spilled them into full view of everyone. Then with gin-clouded eyes, drew the youngster's head down upon them, held him in smothering contact. "You like them, Kenny?" she called. "Are they good?"
Penny Harmer was having a laughing jag, screaming piercing peals of laughter at the top of her voice. While Bill Hugeny, a concerned look on his face, was trying to settle her down.
A giggling teen-ager, a blonde girl from Indiana had pulled up her sheath skirt, bunched it about her waist, was sitting high on her partner's lap, was kissing him, trying to wrap her skinny legs around his back.
Vera Ralston, wife of one of Daytona Beach's most influential real estate agents, was laying on the floor with a muscular, dark bearded athlete, one of the top Big Ten fullbacks. Their legs tangled, their lips glued together, they rolled and twisted on the expensive carpet, fought for position. All the while fully dressed.
Out in the hall Denise Hugeny was plastered against the wall, her head thrown back in abandon, her belly bunting, grinding against that of Bernie Quale.
An incongruous scene: in one corner, seated beside each other at a game table, an effete, pallid-appearing student from Georgia Tech, engaged in earnest conversation with Larry Ralston.
Finally Dell found Hal. Saw the black-haired woman lying in his lap adjust her body so that he could slide his hands inside the bodice of her low cut gown. Who simultaneously clawed his head down to hers in tooth-bared grimace, kissed him with tigress frenzy.
Later Dell was to wonder where the zany game had originated, where the rubber-band bracelets with the small, round index tag affixed had come from. He wondered at the hastily printed ten on his tag. Then he'd seen the wheel of chance, idly spinning on its stand, against the room's west wall. In his muzzy state it had seemed to appear from nowhere, to be promptly spotlighted. A wheel with crude numbers hand printed on it with ink brush, the numbers ranging from one to thirty.
Refugee of a derelict carny show.
But before he could grasp what it meant, Denise Hugeny was spinning it with a happy squeal. The wheel was slowing to a halt. Number five. Instantly Mary Bellino stood before the strangely quieted crowd, made mocking show of removing one of her blue pumps. She dropped it to the floor before the chair in which she sat. Seconds later the wheel stopped at twenty-two, and Denise Hugeny herself did an expert bump and grind, pulled off the bolero jacket she wore, threw it down at her feet.
Then Dell understood. It would be a lottery of the most lewd and depraved kind. A lottery that would end only when sexual frenzy dictated it. A frenzy generated by the sight of dozens of naked and semi-naked bodies. And despite the extent of his intoxication, he shuddered at the bizarre concept. Who, he wondered, had thought this up?
Now the wheel stopped at number ten. And when Dell hesitated overlong, the crowd took up a mocking chant: "Chicken, chicken, chicken...."
Dell took off his suit jacket, turned to watch the wheel again. Saw number seven come up. Boldly Vera Ralston struggled to her feet, established bold keynote. As she pointedly pulled her grey wool dress over her head, stood proudly displaying herself in a navy slip. "Let's get this show on the road," she crowed.
And after that there were no more shoes, no earrings from the women when their number came up. Possessed of a savage hysteria, they were eager to strip off their clothes, to reveal themselves, no matter how beautiful or how decrepit their bodies were. Alcohol is a great equalizer. For when one is drunk such details as pendulous breasts, thick, lumpy hips, a pot belly do not register overly much.
And the wheel spun and spun. The numbers reeled off in endless chain. The air of expectancy thickened in the room. So that now there was little sound save that of the whirring wheel, the heavy breathing of the sex-crazed participants. 22, 5, 2, 18, 19, 5, 20, 26, 22, 10, 6, 5, 5, 13, 20, 10, 16, 25, 22, 5, 6, 2, 1, 11-
On and on it went. And the temperature in the room continued to rise, the tension intensified. As the piles of clothing on the floor grew. As the mass strip-down continued. Dell saw things he didn't think existed. As the older women took off foundation garments, unwieldy girdles, harnesses, straps of all kind. As they loosed their bloated bodies to public view with an almost insane pride. He saw exotic, fabulous lingerie, expensive, imported garments, teaser items which he'd imagined only show girls and burlesque queens wore. These on the bodies of women like Corrine Wallins, Denise Hugeny, Vera Ralston. He saw how proudly and preeningly they carried themselves, the way they whirled and showed themselves in their sexy underpinnings and stockings, staggering unsteadily in their high, thin heels.
He saw the college girls, turned to wanton animals, balling like they'd never balled before, or likely ever would again, their eyes satanic as they peeled off their clothing, pirouetted and posed, arched themselves, getting tremendous thrill out of seeing the lecher liquidness come into the eyes of the watching men. Here, too, he was amazed at the variety of sexy underthings even these supposed ingenues wore.
Of course there were the men, all shapes all sizes, from the pot-bellied slob, to the trim, hard athletes like the fullback, like Dell himself. As his number came up for the eighth time, and he stood weaving before the crowd, dressed in only shorts and socks, he saw Denise Hugeny's eyes glitter feverishly as she appraised him. He felt Corrine Wallin, fallen onto the davenport behind him, wearing only a brassiere and black brocade panties, sliding her moist hands along his legs.
And still the wheel ground on, the numbers chanted without stop. Penny Harmer was completely naked, and sat in Bill Hugeny's lap, letting him use her body in whatever way he wanted, he wearing only his undershorts. Denise Hugeny still stood at the wheel, wearing only a pair of panties made of a fine, white satin, decorated with a swarm of tiny, embroidered red hearts.
There was another nude girl, a tall, thin brunette, whom her partner, also naked, a short, greasy, sag-bellied man, was even now dragging to the floor. Where, drugged to point of utter irresponsibility, ruled by unrelenting, unnatural drives, he began to kiss her body, then her belly. Then his head was lost to view, as in a fit of exquisite delight, the girl raised her knees, locked her legs. Obliviously, preeningly, they performed in full view of everyone. Drew the perverted rite to great lengths.
The lotters was to all intents and purposes now over. The degenerate breakthrough triggered other excesses. As one of the matrons threw her immature lover down on a davenport, dragged off his remaining clothes herself. Began to go over his body with hungry hands. As Hugeny's cohorts followed her lead, began to strip the remaining garments from the shivering, eager coeds.
Now Dell saw something that did not register clearry. It seemed a man, fiftyish, was scrabbling among the women's undergarments, was holding brassieres to his body. Now he rose, pulled on a pair of shimmering red panties. He was fumbling with the brassiere, trying to fit it to his scrawny chest.
While a wild cackle exploded from his right. From a squarish, stout woman he knew as Mrs. Thebo. "There goes Vince again. With that thing of his. He's always sneaking into my undies. He's ruined more of my stockings. And girdles? Murder."
The fatty was still working over the brunette on the floor, and she was screaming without stop. Another pot bellied lecher, sweating and cursing, was spread-eagling a sobbing child on the rug almost at Dell's feet.
Momentarily Dell's head swam as he saw the lovely girls so openly abused, used like mindless animals. And he remembered his dedication as he'd come to Daytona Beach. A dedication to financial success. Well here was success. Here was power and wealth. A whole roomful of it. Was this degenerate saturnalia now taking place example of what wealth and power does to people? Does it turn them into swine?
But there was little time for further talk. At that moment Corrine was upon him, her hands tearing at his shorts, her lips sliding on his chest as she struggled them away. Suddenly the lights in the room went out, leaving only a dim candelabra burning in the hall. There were drunken chuckles, moans, outraged screams of defloration coming from the darkness. The floor seemed to be a crawling, slithering sea of bodies.
But Corrine had better ideas. For she was hurrying the naked Dell from the room, up the circular staircase.
They were not alone. He saw naked bodies flitting before them, ducking into dark rooms. He heard the click of locks go before them down the hall. As Corrine found an unoccupied bedroom, pulled Dell into it, he saw the same two men hurry past, heard the trembling coaxings. "You'll like it, Mark, I know you will. I'll make you like it."
Then Denise, the white satin iridescent in the dull light, was running full tilt toward him. Before Corrine could slam the door, she was squeezing into the room.
"He's mine," she seethed. "Mine. I want him."
"No you don't, you pushy bitch," Corrine rasped. "Not this time you don't crowd me out." And she herded Dell before her, toward the bed, pushed him down, "This is my house, my party," Denise warned. "I swear if you don't give him to me, I'll tear your eyes out. I'll see that your husband never receives another order from Bill as long as he lives."
The threat hit Corrine where she lived, and she fell apart at the seams. "All right. Take him." Her eyes glittered. "But I get seconds. You've got to help me with him when it's my turn."
A light stabbed Dell's eyes, and he looked up to see the two libertines holding a lamp, staring down at him, their eyes smoldering with lust. "Oh, God," Corrine hissed, "if only my Ray was like that...."
"Or my Bill...." Denise shivered, approached Dell, streaked her finger up his thigh. "Lord, Lord. I want that. Like I've never wanted it in my life."
In the darkness Dell felt the deadly duet come into bed on either side of him, he felt two sets of hands explore his body, two mouths slide on his chest. But Denise out-paced Corrine, made a direct, shameless attack. And while Corrine swarmed over him, her lips closing on his, her tongue darting and digging, Denise showed him love of still another kind. Carbon copy of the animality Kim had taught him only yesterday afternoon.
Was it yesterday? It seemed like a thousand years ago.
Suddenly Corrine's mouth was wrenched from his. As Denise deserted her aberrated stand, crawled all over him. "Out of the way, damn you!" she snarled, and expertly, exquisitely straddled him, positioned her body. Then squirmed her way downward. "He's drunk," a distant voice said. "It'll take forever. God, wonderful!"
And her body jack-knifed, achieved perfect, pinpoint contact.
And while Denise screamed repeated, ecstatic release, Corrine guided his hands to her breasts, took crumbs. "You've got to help me afterward, Denise," she whined. "You promised to help me."
"Shut up!" Denise spat. "Let me enjoy this!"
Dell remembered little else of that night. Except that the two women were insatiable. That they were willing to go to any lengths to ready him for fresh assault.
CHAPTER NINE
For Floridians, the April day was still too cold for disporting themselves on the beach. They were happy to leave such idiocies to the tourists, to the madcap swarm of college students. And so, coming to that same stretch of beach outside of Port Orange, Dell and Robin were delighted to find that it was almost unoccupied. Only six or eight other couples were scattered over its wide, sweeping littoral.
And after the mad ant colony of Daytona Beach, it was as if they were completely alone. It was heaven.
Dell and Robin lay on a blanket, faces down, their backs, their legs exposed to the hot, massaging sun. Saying nothing, only enjoying the peace of this place, the security and warmth the mere nearness of the other conferred. And reveling in the sweet comfort of the sun, in the proximity of Robin, Dell nudged his hips even closer to hers, let his arm fall across her, his hand settling in the concavity of her back.
"Dell, darling...." she sighed.
Dell did not want to make love with Robin today. It was the last thing in the world he wanted at this moment. Not with Robin, not with any woman. He ached and burned, was stiff in every muscle. But worse than that was the mortal ache and sense of degradation that lodged in his brain, that cloaked normal thought patterns with black, suffocating remorse.
A hundred years will pass, he thought tiredly, a hundred years in which I will try to erase these ugly, depraved pictures from my mind. Before I'll be able to stand the sight of myself in the mirror again.
And today. He was front running candidate for presidency of the "I Hate Dell McLaren Society."
He had called Robin, come out with her this afternoon, for one reason and one reason alone. She was a symbol, a beacon. She stood for normality, for decency and purity. If he could just see her, talk to her, he could somehow regain his equilibrium. She was metaphysical purgative, a medicine that would save him, sick in both body and spirit as he was.
Dear God, he thought, seemingly hearing Denise Hugeny's obscene shrieks of delight, perpetual and depraved, resounding in the echo chamber of his brain, who would have believed the world could be so rotten?
He wished he could crawl into the sand like some slimy sea-slug, stay hidden there forever.
The pictures-the ugly, deviate pictures-like a Halloween masquerade, all the faces grotesque and hideous, the hands misshapen, gangrenous, runny, reaching for him, the shrieking, taunting phantoms, coming closer, closer-
Abruptly and involuntarily Dell's flesh puckered, and he gave a convulsive jerk.
"Dell!" Robin cried in alarm. "What is it?"
"Oh," he smiled shamefacedly, "I guess I was doling off. I must've been having a dream or something."
"Poor Dell," she smiled softly, lowering his head against her tanned, warm arm, kissing him on the ear. "Lay down now. That's it, lay down. Go back to sleep if you want to."
I'm sick, Dell thought, the panic closing down viciously. Sicker than I've ever been before. A sickness no doctor can diagnose.
Actually there wasn't much that he could remember about what had happened after Denise and Corrine had trapped him in that luxurious bedroom. A tasteful, lavishly-appointed sex arena. Everything seemed to blur in his mind. Only sensation of mortification, of nonstop, bestial abuse remained. A queasy suspicion that everything in the annals of sex lore had been tired by those women. He felt sudden pain at the base of his skull, like a knot being drawn tight, as he wondered what excesses he himself, caught up in an irresponsible, hysterical drunkenness, might have committed under the tutelage of the two vultures.
See the idle rich at their play. The sport of kings.
And queens, too.
Dell's mouth suddenly felt very dry.
"Are you all right?" Robin intruded on his thoughts anew. "You're trembling again."
He tried to make light of it. "The D.T.'s," he grinned tiredly. "Little red porkers with portholes cut in their sides. With ugly little people hanging out, waving college pennants as they go by."
She giggled. "Nothing conventional about you, is there? Pink elephants won't do, will they?"
He turned serious. "Look, Robin, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I did want to see you, really. But this thing came up...."
She shushed him playfully. "It's all right, Dell. I understand. After all, I don't own you. We've got no hold on each other. I'm just glad you did call-you did ... want me ... today."
Still Dell couldn't miss the hurt that lay, ill-concealed, microns beneath the surface of her pupils. "It was Bernie," he lied, mating his story to that Hal would tell Jane. "He wanted us to go out with him. There was a stag party. We pitched a good one." He grimaced in sour distaste. "I really feel it today. I...."
Robin touched her finger to his lips and Dell felt a gossamer thread of desire slither through his loins at the softness, at the fragrance of her hand. "You don't have to explain, Dell," she said. "It's none of my business. I don't want to hear any more about it. You're here now. With me. That's what's important."
And suddenly-moved by the shy, self-effacing twist to her lips, by the dark, sincerity of her eyes-Dell rose on his elbows, slid toward her. Gently he turned her until she lay on one side, her neck twisted gracefully, her face uptilted to his. Slowly, as though wanting to draw out the delightful anticipation, he moved his lips toward hers. Let them close with a sigh on hers. Felt his heart race at the easy surrender of her mouth and body, at the sensual permissiveness of the kiss.
And though he hadn't wanted her a minute ago, he was suddenly revitalized, his desire was a charging, undeniable animal. There wasn't a shred of doubt about it. He wanted her now.
Robin wanted him also. The fervor, the frank intimacy of the kiss, the way her body seemingly altered to accommodate his, attested to this. Then, as they broke the kiss, her lips were reluctant, clung with a last yearning tackiness. Her breath came in quick, shallow puffs.
"You angel," he said, his voice blurred by the intensity of the emotion mounting within him. "You beautiful, gorgeous angel."
She smiled impishly. "Dell," she teased. "How you talk." She pulled him down again. "So nice you talk...."
The kiss was longer this time, and Dell felt uncontrollable forces at work within him, he felt certain outer manifestations occurring. Which clue Robin certainly must have recognized, wrapped in close embrace as they were.
"Darling," he gasped finally, "let's go somewhere. Where ... we can be alone."
She opened her eyes, looked at him gravely. "Yes, Dell. If that's what you really want But where...?"
"We can walk up the beach away. Maybe there's a spot where there's nobody around."
She sat up on the blanket like an automaton, her eyes large, her body stiff. An almost subservient, animal docility in her motions. Then she stood, stepped off the blanket, her beach bag in her hand. "Which way?" she breathed.
Dell swept up the blanket, balled it clumsily Pointed north. "Up there. It seems deserted enough." Then he lagged briefly, felt a riptide of affection swamp him as he saw the lovely body, clad in the yellow, clinging Bikini, go before him. As he watched the elegant, exciting legs flash in quick strides.
But there was no deserted stretch of beach, no cove where they could huddle unobserved. The spacing of the beach occupants seemed intentional, perverse. There was no room for young lovers in their workaday existence.
They halted in the only feasible gap, looked at the middle-aged couple with the three children at their left, felt galling frustration.
"We could go to a motel," Dell said.
"No," Robin shivered. "I'd feel so cheap. It would ruin it for me."
It was then that Dell saw the overgrown footpath leading into the undergrowth bounding the beach. "We could go in there," he said. "If you're game."
Robin didn't answer. Instead she gave the intruding family one last glance, then plunged down the path, her thongs nipping at her heels excitedly.
Perhaps three hundred feet along the path they saw an opening to their right, sun dappled, clear of any brush whatsoever. Where once the ocean had hissed and slid, ages ago, before flying birds had dropped seeds over the endless plain of sand. The sand was soft, stirred, hot from where the sun beat directly on it. "Ooh," Robin gasped, touching a bare foot down as she stepped onto the blanket, "that burns."
Dell chuckled. "The better to bake you with, my dear."
Now, in an uncharacteristic impatience, Robin stood before Dell, reached behind her to undo the knot of her tight brassiere. "No," Dell pleaded softly. "Wait, baby. Let me...."
She smiled strangely, let her hands fall at her sides. Stood in still repose as Dell undid the knot. Loosed a soft sigh, touched his cheek as he inclined his head, laved one distended, hard nipple.
Then his hands were tremblingly working down the Bikini panty. While, with a nervous laugh, Robin fumbled with the buckle on his trunks. To cover the first awkwardness as her body was totally exposed to the glaring sun, she said, "You don't suppose anyone'll come back here, do you?"
"No," Dell gasped, stunned anew by her unblemished beauty, by the fragile voluptuousness of her body. "We're all alone here. In our own little kingdom by the sea."
Robin moaned softly as he lowered her to the blanket. "You don't suppose that was what Edgar Allan was hinting at, do you?"
"Hard telling about him. But I do know about me."
Robin sighed, stretched herself luxuriously on the blanket, let the sun examine her unashamedly. "Is that right? What do you know about you?"
Dell slid off his trunks, fell beside her, drew her into his arms. "I know that you're lovely. More lovely, more wonderful than a jug-eared jerk like me deserves."
She put her hands up to his face. "You've got nice ears...."
Then she sucked in her breath rapidly as Dell's hand settled on her stomach, began to caress with slow, lazy circles. "Don't," she protested as Dell sat up, stopped his tactile adoration, adored her with his eyes, "don't look at me. Please, Dell. I'm so skinny. I've got no breasts. I look like an under-fed boy...."
But Dell didn't answer, so caught up in hypnotic, admiring trance was he. As he looked down on the slow rise and fall of the petite breasts with their hard, crinkly buttons, as his eyes drifted to her flat, creamy belly, saw the haloed symmetry of her legs, the dark, downy patina of her thighs, he was flooded with actual wonder and humbleness.
That this woman was willing to-that she wanted to sacrifice herself to him.
"You're beautiful," he said, regaining himself, "you're not skinny. You've got an exciting, magnificent body, your breasts are enough to drive a man off his nut."
"Please, Dell," she continued, her eyes glowing with deep inner satisfaction at his words, "don't just sit there looking at me like that. Come down to me...."
Dell came to her, gathered her in his arms, felt her small belly tuck to his, felt her legs twine in eager response, as he kissed her. Again and again. His hands sliding up and down her back in restless odyssey.
Then Robin went silent, capitualted completely and ecstatically to the play of Dell's hands and lips on her breasts, wallowed in the sun's hotness without, her torrid weakening within. Her nipples burned, and she trapped the neglected nipple, shielded it from the sun.
But so willingly gave the other to Dell's eager, inventive lips and tongue. While inside her belly it felt like she was shrinking. As she anticipated how it would be when Dell finally came to her. As she remembered what it had been like the other night.
And though she fought for composure, still she couldn't control her hips and legs. They writhed unceasingly as the furnace-like heat built up around them. Ached to have Dell's hands find them. And when they did-
She lurched convulsively, opened herself joyfully to him, felt her need build and magnify. Until it seemed she would be split from head to pelvis from the incredible delight. "Please, Dell, soon," she sighed, her breath seeming to catch in her dry throat.
But Dell refused to terminate the exquisite torture. He wanted to adore and possess this woman, to bring himself to her when they were both at fever pitch. When every nerve end would be raw and screaming. When the union would all but cauterize them.
And so his lips paid reverence at her breasts, his hand wreaked havoc in other vulnerable places.
Until Robin was semi-delirious, was babbling in disconnected, gasping incoherence. Until she released the tiger of her own wantonness from its cage, let her own hands go forth.
And shortly thereafter:
The bodies were locked in death-like embrace, Robin's arms clawing for hold about Dell's back, her legs spurring into the backs of his, urging him to confer the magnificent pain once more. Her throat throbbed with dizzying pulse as he slowly, hesitatingly took her. As the pain was reborn, was irritated to full wakefulness. Then slept, was replaced by a sweet glory. A small dying.
"Dell," she gasped in disbelief. "It happened already. It did. Oh, darling." The terror fled as quickly as it came. As almost immediately another peak began to build. The mind-stunning wildness was back.
To Dell it was a dazing, transfiguring love. A love of total self-sacrifice on both their parts. Not the greedy, egoist love of Kim and her ilk, not the degenerate savagry of Denise Hugeny and Corrine Wallin. But a pure, purging love. A love that would leave him whole and clean once more.
And even more important, the knowledge striking him with cataclysmic concussion, it was a love he wanted lo have again and again. A love he wanted to own. So long as he lived. And because there was no time for evaluation, because there was time only for impulsive, compulsive pronouncement, he groaned thickly in Robin's ear, "Oh, baby. Stay with me, always. Let it always be like this. Robin, I love you. I know it now. I love you!"
Momentarily her body froze, her neck went stiff, pulled her cheek from his. "No, Dell," she choked. "You don't have to. Don't say it if you...."
"I will say it!" He jerked her head back, looked at her squarely, his eyes burning with newborn dedication. "Because I mean it. I love you, dearest. I do, I do!"
Then the triphammer slide and collision of their bodies was re-enjoined. Their arms and legs gripped and tore, their sweat-streaked stomachs slid and caught. And at that moment, as monumental memento of Dell's passionate declaration-
It seemed to Robin that a tidal wave had suddenly swept in from the east, was turning the sky dark over their heads. It roared with maniacal frenzy, poised, seemingly forever. A tragic fear possessed her, pressed her heart sadistically. Then the torrent of water crashed down upon them. And once again the sea had claimed this arrogant spit of land. They were drowning, drowning.
In that last moment before death, she said the one thing most important to her. "I love you, Dell."
Then they were oblivious to the storm. No storm on earth was stronger than the flood tides now sweeping through them.
"I love you, love you...." she was still sobbing as the storm miraculously passed. As they found themselves half off the blanket in the burning white sand. As she opened her eyes, saw that the sun was shining again.
The sun was lower now, not quite so hot. Small shadowed coins were sprinkled on their bodies But still they lay naked, talking earnestly, discovering the deepest truths about each other.
"I thought I loved Paul," Robin was saying, "truly I did. We were going to get married."
"Robin," he protested, "please. You don't have to tell me any of this. It's not important."
"It is important," she stilled him with a glance. "I want you to know about the other night, .why I.. J want you to know I'm not just a tramp." Her eyes regained the haunted light of old.
"Paul was at Purdue with me. He pinned me. I kept his pin, even after ... I took it off the day we came down to Daytona. It was understood that we were going to be married.
"Only Paul took that understanding, twisted it and abused it. Tried to make it something more than it was." Her eyes burned with mild bitterness. "We were lovers, to a degree. I let him kiss me, touch me sometimes. But I didn't really like it. I was afraid of anything real intimate. I knew it would cause trouble.
"It did. One night Paul insisted that I should let him go all the way. We were in his car, and it took every ounce of strength I had to fight him off. He hurt me something awful, tore my stockings and my blouse.
"But finally he gave up, began to curse me in the foulest language imaginable." She winced. "Some of the things he called me. I was a 'whore teaser'...."
"Robin," Dell interrupted, guiltily recalling his own condemnation that first night, "please don't...."
She acted as if she didn't hear him. "He dropped me at the dorm, roared off into the night. That was the last time I ever saw him. Angry as he was, he went someplace, got something to drink. Then wound up his Pontiac to a hundred or so, missed a bad turn near Foresman. He was in two pieces when they found him.
"I don't know what this is all supposed to mean," Robin looked down at her hands. "I don't understand it myself. I was all shook up for a long time afterward. That was part of why Jane insisted I come down here with her. Even before we started down I had this crazy idea in my mind: I'd find out what it was that Paul wanted so badly that night. So badly he'd kill himself for. It seemed like I was obligated to find out. Like it was a duty, a promise to Paul I had to keep. I came looking. My eyes wide open and that's how it all started. The other night. This...."
"That's not very clear," Dell said, his puzzlement making a strained mask of his face.
"I know it isn't. But that's the only way I can explain it. Maybe I'm still suffering from shock, maybe I'll wake up someday and find I've imagined all this. That I don't really love you at all...."
"Please, Robin, don't even suggest a thing like that. I'd die if you didn't love me. I want you, Robin. Forever and ever. I want to marry you."
"Don't rush things, Dell. There's time. We have a few days to find out for sure." She laughed tensely. "A sort of a premarital honeymoon."
"Don't baby. Don't talk about it anymore."
"I mean that about only a few more days, Dell. I'm leaving Sunday."
"Sunday! But I thought...."
"I've got to get out of here. This rat-race is getting on my nerves." She looked at Dell with wistful longing. "So don't fail me, dear. Be with me. Every chance you get. Let's make sure."
He drew her into his arms, kissed her fervently. "I will," he vowed. "I swear. I'll kill anybody who tries getting in my way."
"No, baby," she purred, laying her forehead in the concavity beneath his jaw, "there's been enough killing. Paul killed for both of us." She slid her head, buried her lips in his throat. "For this."
Her eyes were sad, suddenly very wise. Then she caught herself, exchanged the mood for one slightly bawdy. Fell back on the blanket. Purposely guided Dell's hand so it grazed her breasts.
"We don't have to go right away, do we?"
Dell was crushed, his heart paining him, by the terrible weight of his love for Robin. That this miracle should happen to him! He fell beside her, began to kiss her breasts again.
CHAPTER TEN
It was decided before they'd separated that afternoon that they wouldn't see each other that night, Robin explaining that she was confused-it had happened all too fast and she needed time to puzzle things out. Especially knotty was the complication of Dell's proposal of marriage, her attitude toward it, the practical contingencies to be met. When would they be married? What about college? She still had a year to finish. Or did he expect her to just drop it, become a plodding hausfrau?
Questions, questions-
Other things had been decided also. Among them the fact that Dell and Robin, Hal and Jane would all go back together in Robin's car. Their relationship with Bernie had become impossible. Especially with Dell so determined not to knuckle under to him again as regarded the "Terrible Three." They would drive as far as Lafayette with Robin and Jane, arrange bus or train connections from there to Madison.
They would leave early Sunday morning, drive straight through. They would-
It was at this point that Robin drew the Chevy to a jarring halt before The Blue Marlin, interrupted their intensive planning. And even though Dell was grateful for Robin's decision, dead tired as he was, he still said, "You're sure you won't change your mind about tonight? We could find someplace quiet," a sarcastic snort breaking from his throat at this, "and dance, talk ... get things straightened around."
"No, Dell. Please don't tempt me. Jane and Hal are going out tonight. I ... think so anyway. I'll have the room to myself. It'll give me a chance for a good skull session. Me, myself and I. Besides, you look terribly tired. You could use the rest."
"I thought you were the gal who wanted us to spend every single remaining minute together."
She laughed. "Manana. By this time tomorrow night you'll be so sick of me you'll...."
He leaned into the car, kissed her. "Never happen. So stop that kind of stuff."
Her eyes glowed luminously, a deep happiness hidden there. She wrinkled her nose. "Tomorrow, baby. Call me early." Then she allowed the purring Chevy to ease away from the curb.
Dell stood looking after her for a long time before he finally turned, walked toward the motel.
But there was no solitude in unit twenty-two. Instead there was a dour-faced reception committee. Instantly Dell braced himself, knowing what Bernie was going to say to him before he opened his mouth, knowing what Bernie had been saying to Hal.
"How about tonight, Dell?" he said. "You in shape for a real ball?" He smiled snidely, his look patent reference to the orgy at the Hugeny estate last night. "We have to take advantage of things when they happen. Tell you what, I'll see to it that you get put into a convalescent home as soon as we get back."
"The answer is no, Bernie. After last night I can hardly move. I need sleep."
"C'mon, pal," Bernie coaxed, hard put to keep an edge off his voice. "You can sleep when you're old. It'll be like old times. You, Hal and me. The three musketeers."
Dell looked at the wan faced Falter. "Hal?"
"Yes," Quale said cockily, "Hal. Seems his little campus queen stood him up today."
"Is this true, Hal?" Dell asked. "Are you going out with Sara tonight?"
Hal averted his eyes, didn't answer.
Bernie chuckled. "That leaves only little Kim all steamed up. I tell you, that kid needs asbestos panties the way she's got it for you. She's wild for your body. C'mon, Dell, be a sport. Just this one last time. The big party's almost over."
Dell's answer was obdurate, left no doubt whatsoever in anyone's mind that he wouldn't change it. "No, Bernie. I'm done. Another go-around with Kim would kill me. And I'm sure she'll find some other fireman to hose her down. Cross my name off the list once and for all."
Quale's face hardened. "Okay, Dell," he said. "It's your funeral. One of these days you'll be sorry you passed up all this free stuff."
He turned to Hal, thumbed him out. "C'mon, buddy. The girls'll be waiting." The door closed behind them, leaving Dell alone. Still he heard Bernie's parting remark quite clearly. "I'll bet it'll be good to sink your teeth into some raw, red steak after the veal chops you been having lately...."
Even then Dell couldn't summon up anger. He was just too beat. Dazedly he undressed, showered, got into his pajamas. He was asleep ten seconds after his head hit the pillow.
Sometime after two Dell heard Bernie and Hal drunkenly stumble into the room, talking and laughing between themselves. But he was awake only momentarily. It would have taken a Boeing 707 in full takeoff to waken him completely at that moment.
Thus it was incredible, perhaps two hours later, that the buzzing, snarling telephone could have pierced his drugged, hibernal sleep. Dazedly he came up from a deep tunnel, fought to focus his thoughts. As the phone rang and rang. Ten, eleven, twelve times-
Hal and Bernie were in bed, out like a light, the first grayness of dawn giving their figures a dusty, lifeless pallor. Then Dell reached the phone.
"Dell!" Robin's panicked voice cut through the cottony fog in his brain, brought him to modest alertness. "Is Hal there? Is Jane there?"
"Jane?" Dell snapped. "What would Jane be doing here?"
"Dell, she isn't home yet. It's almost five and she's not back. Ask Hal where she is."
"Ask Hal? I can't. He's so stoned he won't talk for a week. And besides, he wasn't out with Jane last night. Not so far as I know." He fabricated a lie. "He was stagging it with Bernie. They came in around three. Did Jane tell you that she was going out with Hal? The way I heard it she was standing him up."
"She was acting strangely, I know. She never did quite say who she was going with. But I assumed it was Hal. My God, you don't suppose something's happened to her."
It was then that Dell was to make a pat, condescending snap judgment. A judgment that would prove to be disastrous. Robin was such an innocent-"Well can't you see it for yourself? She didn't want you to know about this guy, did she? It was all hush-hush."
"Dell, you don't mean...."
"Let's be honest. It's too early in the morning for games. I mean she's shacking up with somebody. I imagine an empty motel room could be found somewhere in the area. If the guy's a real operator. And I'll give odds that's where she is right now. Sleeping one off."
There was faintly disguised disgust in Robin's tone. "No, Dell, not Jane. I know she's had affairs, that she and Hal have ... but to stay out all night with a man. Besides, even if it was true, she'd have called me."
Dell was strangely irritated. His prime concern was in getting back to his warm, inviting bed. If Jane had alley-cat proclivities what concern was it of his? He was short with Robin. "She's probably too busy at the moment," he said.
Robin's sharp intake of breath carried clearly.
"Jane's a big girl now, honey," he soothed. "She knows what she's doing, she can take care of herself. Now you go back to sleep. Shell be home in a few hours, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. You're getting all worried over nothing."
Robin begged assurance. "Are you sure, Dell? Do you really believe that? Oh, dear, if only I could be positive..
"That's all there is to it. I'll stake my life on it. Things like that happen. Now go back to bed. I'll call you later." He smacked a soft kiss to her. "Love you," he said. Then hung up.
Two minutes later he was involved in a desperate love affair with his pillow.
Dell came awake once and for all shortly after eleven o'clock on that Friday morning. For a long time he lay in bed pondering the cataclysmic chain of events-like firecrackers on a string-that had transpired in just this one brief week. As evidence of the lack of regard in which he held her Jane Kerr was the last person he thought about.
Then he was up, dialing feverishly. Perhaps he wasn't concerned about Jane, but Robin was. If he could help to ease her mind-in all likelihood Jane had skulked back by now. He'd best check just the same.
Robin answered on the first ring, her hello frantic "Oh, Dell, it's you." Her voice cracked. "She isn't back yet, darling, she isn't back."
Dell kept his voice level, used humor to allay her fears. "Sometimes those things take a lot of time. Perhaps she decided to make a day of it, too."
"Please, Dell," she snapped harshly, "don't joke. This is serious. Something's happened to her, I'm sure it has. She'd have called...."
Little did Dell realize how prophetic, how grisly his next retort would be. "Maybe it's gonna go on happening to her. Some girls are fanatics about it once they get started. C'mon now, baby, quit worrying: she's all right. She's a big girl now; she knows the score. If ever a kid didn't need nursemaiding, Jane was it." He paused. "Now, what about us? Am I going to see you?"
"Yes, Dell. The sooner the better. This thing's got me all shook. I need you around."
"I'm just getting up now," he said. "How about making it brunch? Say about one? I'll meet you at Andy's. The king of the giant-sized lockjaw. That all right?"
"Yes, Dell. Hurry. Don't be late."
When Dell hung up the receiver he was surprised to see that both Bernie and Hal were awake, that they'd both been listening to the conversation. Hal's face was a white mask. "What was that all about, Dell?" he asked. "That stuff about nursemaiding Jane? What's happened to her?"
Dell was fully convinced that Jane had changed brands, was in bed somewhere with a new stallion. And thus, knowing that Hal had developed an abiding thing for Jane, he wished with all his heart that Hal hadn't eavesdropped.
"I might as well give it to you straight. That was Robin-she's all upset because Jane hasn't been home all night." He squirmed uncomfortably. "Well, two and two do make four."
It seemed at that moment that someone had taken a scoop, had disemboweled Hal, stuffed him with straw. His face went ashen with grief and indignation, he seemed to collapse and shrink before Dell's eyes.
A despair that an unfeeling animal like Quale couldn't appreciate. "See," he taunted, "didn't I tell you not to get tied down? You can't trust none of the rubber-legged witches. Aren't you glad, now, that you came out with me last night? Wasn't that Sara a man-eater, though? Like it was her last time. Brother!"
"Shut up, damn you!" Dell roared, whirling, advancing on Bernie. "Keep your filthy mouth out of this. Can't you see what this means to Hal? Shut up before you're gargling teeth."
Hal rose, shuffled toward the bathroom, his face twisting to a cocky smile that didn't quite come off. "It's all right, Dell," he said shakily. "I was kinda expecting the kiss-off anyway. She can do as she damn pleases."
The bathroom door was too thin to completely contain the muffled sobs that broke from behind it.
First lave-Dell thought grimly.
Hal has been long gone, purportedly to get drunk, and Bernie Quale had screeched the Chrysler out of 'he drive only five minutes ago. It was twelve-forty, and Dell was giving himself a last quick check-over in the mirror before going to meet Robin. At least, he thought, I look halfway human today.
It was at that moment that he heard the door click, and open, whirled to see the blur of pink and gold to his right. Came face to face with the wantonly smirking Kim Walsh Saw her hands fumble with the knob lock.
"Kim!" he gulped, his stomach flipping at thought of the ugly showdown that must now take place. "What are you doing here?"
"Just looking out for my interests, baby," she smirked, sidling her body toward him. "Long time no see, Dell. You've been avoiding me."
Dell's resolve hardened. "You got the scoop from Bernie, didn't you? That's gospel. We're through."
The grin became a broad, red smear. As she put her arms behind her back, came on with her hard, high breasts aimed in purposeful show. "Oh?" she said. "Is that right? Big Dell hasn't got it for Kim any more? Well see about that, too. We're leaving Daytona tomorrow. I thought maybe just once more. For old time's sake?"
"Out, Kim," Dell snarled, jerking his eyes away from the double-pointed, sunshine-glared silk of her blouse. "I don't want any. Not today, not any day."
She was dressed all in black, deliberately intending that the color abet her wicked purpose. Black blouse, black over-tight shorts, black kid flats on her feet. A dainty black ribbon in her platinum hair.
Now her lips parted slightly, the pink, pointed tongue sallied out, moistened them. While one eyebrow arched mockingly, one hand came up, began undoing the top button of the jam-packed blouse. "Oh?" she repeated. "Well at least let's talk it over like old friends." The finger popped a second button, and Dell saw the black silk of her brassiere, provocative contrast to her honeyed skin.
"We're past talking," Dell snapped, backing off.
The third button. And a hard, mocking smile. "Perhaps we are at that, dear," she said. "Actions speak louder than words anyway." And with a gentle shrug the blouse was open all the way, seemed to burst from the strain of the restless, caged breasts. She was letting it slide down her arms behind her.
Dell gaped, stunned by the brutal frankness of Kim's overtures, realizing that she'd go to any lengths to seduce him this afternoon. Then incongruously he thought of Robin, glanced at his watch.
"You've got an appointment, doll?" Kim hissed. "Well forget it. You and me. We've got an appointment. On that bed there. Let that other tart wait."
Her hands went to the zipper at the back of her shorts, languorously worked it open. The shorts whispered down her legs, gathered tiredly at her ankles. She kicked them away, her shoes going with them. And turned to Dell, her eyes ablaze with need, her mouth lascivious as she sensed triumph. The ten red ovals of her fingers sparkled and congregated about her nipples, rubies on black silk.
Dell felt a shudder tumble down his spine, felt his arms sprayed with goosebumps. As she swayed slightly, raised her breasts, her hands shelves upon which they rested. Waited to be taken. "They're nice, aren't they, lover?" she taunted. "Real nice. You'd like a faceful of these, wouldn't you? Well Kim'll give them to you. Kim wants to give them to you." Her voice reflected her compounding lust. "Please, Dell, come take them."
For an instant Dell wavered, almost reached for the shimmering symmetry of the exotic conoids. Then he regained control, stiffened. "Out, Kim," he repeated. "Your cheap tricks won't work today."
She recoiled, her eyes narrowing at the rebuff. But if anything, she was persistent. Her features softened, and she tried another tack. Let her hips undulate, let the soft, round bowl of her belly vibrate, drawing his eyes to the sheer, lace encrusted witchery of her panties Where at a very strategic spot, sheer nylon provided a window. Glimpse into delights and joys unending.
While simultaneously she was undoing her brassiere, flinging it aside. And now the gyrations of her trunk set her breasts to flopping and dancing also. Made the nipples stand out like hard, brown nuts.
"Please, Dell," she sighed, her voice thick, "you know you want me. Come touch me. It's all you have to do. I'll do the rest. I want you, baby. So much I ache way down deep." Her voice became a whine. "Please! Just touch me!"
"Get out of my way," Dell said, sudden vision of Robin blotting out this sex-mad animal cringing and pleading before him. "I wouldn't touch you with an alcohol swab."
She stiffened as if she'd been slapped. But again-calmed herself. She could afford to be patient. "C'mon, Delly. Cut out the rough stuff. Be good to me and I'll be good to you." Her tone was low, aberrated, almost a chant. "Just like the other day, baby. You liked that, didn't yon?"
"No!" Dell spat. "Get away from me, you slut."
But she was in a trance of sexual anticipation; she thought it would surely happen. No man could resist blandishments like these. And she snaked the panties down her legs, stood completely nude before him. "Please," she implored, a lazy tremor sliding down her belly, "just let me, Dell. Like the other day. As long as you want. I'll make it so good for you. I didn't mind, baby. I liked it."
"I'll bet you did!" Dell raged. Then he moved toward her, tried to push her aside.
She fought him viciously, great frustrated tears rolling down her cheeks, streaking her makeup. "No, Dell," she gasped, "don't leave me like this. You can't. I swear I'll make it good for you. Anything you want. I'll do it, I swear, Dell. Do you want to Greek, lover? I'll do it. Anything! Only don't leave me. I'll die."
Dell pushed her viciously and she fell backward on the bed, bounced to the floor at his feet. Instantly she was groveling at his feet, clutching him in a maniac grip. "Then die!" he gritted, trying to shake loose.
But she only clung the tighter, let him drag her across the carpeting, until now, as he fumbled with the door, she rose up on her knees, threw her face against his thighs. Her hands came up, groped at his trousers. "Please, please, please...." she sobbed.
Dell hit her flat handed, the blow landing solidly on her cheek, sending her reeling backward. In that last instant as Dell glanced back into the room, he saw Kim on her knees, her buttocks high in the air, her head hanging dejectedly between her arms, bobbing in bitter, galling frustration. He heard her hawking sobs.
Then the door was closed, he was taking the steps two at a time.
Thrice during lunch Robin made query as to why he was picking at his food. Wasn't he hungry?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
But for all their fine promises, despite the impending nearness of the time when they would he separated, he and Robin couldn't communicate that afternoon. Their relationship was weakened rather than strengthened Their touch was cold, remote, their words vague and empty. For an invisible spectre had crowded between them, turned them into strangers. Jane still hadn't returned.
Robin was shocked into taciturn anxiety, her eyes scanning the beach constantly, not wanting to settle for more than a few minutes at a time. And thus the afternoon passed, Dell trying to reassure her, Robin constantly urging and hurrying him up and down the beach, searching, searching. Flippancy wouldn't help now. For even Dell began to doubt his glib reasoning that Jane was shacked up somewhere. Something serious had happened to her.
"Dell," Robin said at five, finally breaking down, laying her sobbing face in his shoulder, "we've got to do something. We've got to find her. I know something's happened to her."
"All right," Dell said. "Let's go get your car. Well start driving around."
"Shouldn't we go to the police?" Robin said.
"Maybe we should. But Jane would be awfully embarrassed if they found her in some motel room with some guy. Let's try it our way first."
Daytona Beach is a city of some eighty-thousand inhabitants. It is a sprawling city, covering roughly fifteen square miles in Daytona proper, even more if the cities it bleeds into-Ormond Beach, Holly Hill, Port Orange, South Daytona, Daytona Beach Shores-are taken into consideration. There are thirty miles of motels along its famous beach, and God knows how many hotels. Then dump into this already glutted area approximately twenty-thousand thrill-happy, hell-bent college kids.
And where-just where in hell would you start looking for one missing girl?
The hopelessness of their task became more and oppressive to both Dell and Robin with every passing hour. Until now it was eight, and they were tired and hungry. Until finally Dell turned to her and said, "I think we'd better catch some dinner. Then you go back to your motel, wait to get a call from either Jane or me. I'll see if I can find Hal, and we'll keep on cruising, to see what we can find."
"You promise, Dell? You'll keep looking, you'll keep calling me, to let me know?"
"Yes, baby, I promise. This is my trouble now, too. If I hadn't been such a wise guy, thought the worst of her, we might have found her by now. I'll find her if it kills me."
"Please, darling," Robin comforted. "Be careful."
Dell found a haunted-eyed Hal Falter at their motel. Sitting in darkness, staring into space. He was not drunk. He had been, but it was past-tense by now. And when Dell explained their mission to him, admitted his suspicions that Jane had been victim of foul play, Hal nearly went into crazed shock himself.
"I shouldn't have believed it," he blamed himself, "I shouldn't have believed it for a minute."
And so they both slammed themselves into Robin's car, gassed up, began the eternal rounds all over again. Again and again-as the clock hands swept to ten, then eleven-wherever they saw an opening, they stopped, asked the college students if they'd seen a pretty blonde, about five-seven, a hundred-twenty pounds, dressed in a blue satin cocktail dress, blue, patterned pumps, maybe looking like she was in some kind of trouble.
But always the answer-when they could get one from the disbelieving collegians, they taking the search as a gag of some sort-was negative. Still they kept cruising, kept stopping, kept asking. Kept calling Robin to see if she'd had word of any kind. And with each negative answer they died a little more inside. Jane Kerr had vanished without a trace.
But it was at twelve-sixteen exactly, as they returned to The Barn, circulated among the twisters and drinkers, kept asking the same question, that they got the crucial lead. As one of the band members, returning from a break, overheard their interrogations, drew them aside.
"This is on the QT, Jack," he muttered, "but it might fit. I heard some drunkos talking an hour back about some college gals who were putting out at a motel out on ninety-two, about eight miles out. You know, one of those log cabin places. Had a couple college boys pimping for them and all, steering like mad. That might have some bearing, I don't know."
"The name," Dell interrupted, his heart freezing inside his chest. There might be a chance. What did he have to lose? "The name of the place, did you get it?"
"Oh yeah," the musician said, "I caught the name all right. Those boys were spreadin' big. It's called Citrus Cabins. Like I said ... out on ninety-two...."
Dell and Hal didn't hear the rest. They were charging from the club like the devil himself was at their heels.
The Citrus Cabins Motel was as mangy and scabrous a collection of rundown motel units as Dell and Hal ever hoped to see. Situated far off the road, almost hidden by brooding, giant water oaks, Spanish moss ribboning in the breeze, it looked like the uninviting sort of place a redneck Lothario might bring the evening's fun to. It seemed to exude decay and corruption.
Immediately Dell could see that an operation like the one the bandsman had described could flurish here.
For the motel owner was obviously getting his cut from the college boy entrepreneurs who'd booked his cabins.
Before the engine had stopped Dell caught vision of the lanky, tall blond, sporting a Miami U sweatshirt and high-water wash trousers, crepe soled moccasions on his feet, moving in on them, his smile smugly venal "You guys here f'r wha' I think you are?" he said. He was drunk.
Dell fought to keep his voice under control. "I hear you got some hot trade out here."
"You hear right, buddy. Two college queens who really like stuff. What d'ya dig? Blonde or redhead? We got one'a each."
At mention of the word "blonde," Dell's muscles went tense, his arms ached from clenching his hands. Don't let it be, he raged inwardly. God, please-
"I'll take a look," he said, emerging from the car. "Where are they?"
"Way inna back," the boy grinned in chimpanzee glee, and Dell saw conclusive evidence of his intoxication. His breath would have burned if he struck a match. "We have ... happy times back there. Cost you fi bucks a throw."
In the gloom they saw the cabins, the shades drawn, a thin line of light shining around the edges. "Blondie's in there," he pointed right, "carrot top inna other. Jus' stick your head in ... take your pick."
Both Dell and Hal veered right. The blond boy's breath almost turned Dell's stomach as he squeezed past him into the room. But inside there was an even mose disgusting, unmistakable stench. Dell barely saw the littered kitchen, the food-crusted plates, the grease congealed pans on the burners. For now his host was proudly ushering him through the open door of the bedroom.
Where the smell, the sudden recognition served to drive Dell's brain downward, impale it on the spike of his spine. Caused an overdose of adrenalin to course into his system. It seemed at that moment his heart would rupture from the berserk rage that pumped through him.
For there, carelessly draped over a chair, turned inside out, was the blue cocktail dress. While on the chair seat itself, helter-skelter in a tangle of stockings and pink lingerie, were the prettily patterned pumps.
And on the bed, totally nude, staring at the ceiling with vacant intensity, an idiot smile on her lips, was Jane Kerr. She had a silver dollar in her hands, some patron's version of a tip, was listlessly and ceaselessly turning and rolling it, dropping it into the valley between her breasts, retrieving it, looking at the bauble as a baby with vestigial vision might.
More indicative of the fact that she'd been driven beyond the limits of sanity was the repetitive singsong, almost a babble, that came from her throat.
In that instant Dell saw the bruise along one side of her face, discolored and dark, he saw the one puffy eye. Immediately the whole picture was framed in his mind's eye. A date with this blond stranger, his identity concealed because of guilt feelings at deserting Hal. An alcoholic date if the bottles littering the room were any testimony, ending in inevitable fashion. Whereupon the sex maniac had evolved a depraved scheme, had sent messengers scurrying back into the city. Panderers.
Premeditated or extemporaneous, product of whiskey hallucinations, what did it matter?
In the end the victim was no less brutalized.
"Ain't she a pip?" the blond, crewcut specimen cackled. "She puts out, too, make no mistake. How 'bout it, frien'? Five dollars?"
The boy screamed like a stuck pig as Dell drew back his fist, and with all the strength in his body, all the hatred in his soul, buried it in his stomach. He wheeled, and went down like a sack of sand. On the floor he groveled and writhed, the screams, feminine and outraged, erupting from his throat without pause.
Screams which Dell matched, out of his head with rage, clawing at the body, fighting Hal for it. "Pig!" he groaned, kicking savagely. "Swine! Inhuman filth!" He grabbed his throat, tried to pull him up. "I'll kill you!"
"No," Hal grated, his voice ragged, all the desperation of his young life behind the cry, "he's mine, do you hear? He's mine. He did this to Jane, to my Jane...."
Dell quailed before his fury, gave ground, his hands slipping on the blond's body. The boy came almost to his knees, slipped. But Hal stepped in, caught him, brought his right knee up, caught him full in the face with it. There was a dull crunch, another unearthly scream, and suddenly his face exploded, blood gushing forth like a popped grape. Hal leaned over him, dragged him to his feet. "You'll pay, scum. For what you did to her. You'll pay...."
It was at that moment that the outer door burst open, and another boy, a dark-skinned, stocky item, charged into the room. "Walt ... wha' the hell!" His face went white at the brutal scene being enacted before his eyes, and he turned to retreat. Dell caught him as he whirled, spun him back, drove his first, cocked to perfect, full leverage straight into the middle of the drunken, stupid face. Again there was a dull, splintering sound, and Dell felt the boy's nose go flat, he saw a spurt of blood streak his shirt.
A horrible grunting began in Dell's throat as he methodically and sadistically hammered the dark-haired boy's face to a pulp. He was deriving the greatest satisfaction in the world from the feel of his fists sliding in the bloody, pulpy mess that had once been a human face.
Then with a last vengful thrust, he brought up his knee, slammed him between the legs with all his strength. The boy screamed, his voice sounding like it was coming from beneath water. And Dell saw bubbles of blood and crud inflate and pop on his face.
From the corner of his eye he saw Hal sprawled over his victim, pounding at a bloody, runny mask, the same grunts escaping his throat.
There was a scrambling on the steps of the cabin, and Dell whirled to see a small, pot-bellied man, obviously the motel owner, armed with a stout billy, coming at him. Dell folded, flung himself at the man's knees. Then they were both rolling on the floor. Until Dell had the club, flung it aside. He hit the man in the Adam's apple, Dell fought his way to his feet, and with a diabolical smile leaped, came down on the man's chest full weight, his knees caving him in, snapping ribs.
Then Hal was holding him, his hands leaving great bloody splotches on his shirt, preventing him from further mayhem. While in the distance they both heard the whine of a police siren.
They straightened, looked toward the bed.
Where Jane was lying on her back, staring upward, none of the violence penetrating that ravaged brain. Still she played with the shiny coin, still she hummed the nonsensical, wordless tune.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dell and Robin sat in the shirty, polished hallway, side by side on modern office chairs, the harsh, flourescent lights glaring down on them. Hal was gone; the man from the D.A.'s office had taken him into a private room for further questioning and testimony.
Robin stared straight ahead, saying nothing, still stunned by the impact of the story Dell had told her about the decrepit motel, about the way he'd found Jane. Her face was pale, tired-she looked as if someone had siphoned off her last ounce of strength. Now and then she trained her eyes on Dell's bandaged hands, on his blood-patterned shirt, an almost resentful expression igniting in her gaze. As if all that had happened was his fault.
At the hall's far end, from the direction in which they'd taken Hal, Dell saw a tall, portly police detective advancing. He too looked tired, his face gray under the artificial lights.
Suddenly his attention was distracted as a whoosh at his right compressed the air. And a brisk walking man, gray-haired, soft-faced, dressed in a tropical-weave suit entered the building. Obviously one of Daytona Beach's shining lights, a business-man wheel. And spying the detective, he walked even faster, his mouth twitching in nervous anticipation.
"My God, Art," he squawked loudly, his voice echoing in the concrete tunnel, "what are you trying to do, crucify us? Who let this rape thing leak out to the newspapers? Rinaldo just hauled me out of bed, told me to get right down here. The Chamber's not going to like this one bit. It'll ruin everything-it'll be in every paper in the country. God, do you realize what these college kids mean to this stinking city?"
Instantly the meaning became obvious and Dell felt the anger ball his entrails again, felt hatred flush his face. This man, this officious, money-coddled man, was representative of the city's chamber of commerce, he was bemoaning the adverse effect this unwanted publicity would produce. Avarice and privilege in a Palm Beach suit.
"So the kid got raped," he rattled on in stacatto fashion, "do they have to make a federal case out of it? There are hundreds of gals getting it all over Daytona this very minute. That's what they come down here for. Well this Kerr witch got just what she came after With interest. Can't you change the story some way? Fix it so the kid was putting out for pay, like she was in it right from the start?"
Dell half-rose from his chair, his face livid with outrage. He wanted to kill this rotten parasite, to turn his cultured, pampered face to raw meat. But a stern, stolid glance from the detective warned him back. He sunk heavily back into his chair.
The detective turned on the man. "Shut your mouth, Crawford. Before you turn my stomach. Hush the story, huh? How you gonna wash it? That kid took on an army of guys, she fought and yelled until she couldn't fight any more. Then she went clean off her head. Shell be in an institution the rest of her life. She was in on it from the start? You rotten, money hungry-louses...."
"Watch it, Art. I can have your badge, you know."
"God, I'll be glad to hand it over. If I have to protect the interests of scavengers like you. I never wanted those kids here-the chief, the D.A. all warned against it." The anger curled his voice. "But the businessmen did. The restaurants and motels, the beer sellers and the condom sellers...." His words faded. "And this is what we get."
"You're overstepping yourself, Art...."
"Well I hope you're happy with all the money you made. Damn happy. God, I saw that poor girl, I saw her whimpering like a year-old baby. And I hope they close this town up for good. I'll go to court and testify for the guys who half-killed those pimp rats." He was shouting, but suddenly his voice dropped, "Oh. By the way, Crawford, these kids here are friends of the victim. This boy, Dell McLaren, was one of the guys who chewed up the scum at the motel."
Crawford went even more pallid, quickly slid hi? eyes across Dell and Robin. "Oh ... I ... sorry. I really am." But he wasn't sorry at all, they both saw. He was only sorry he was going to lose all that nice, green money. And again the ugly image of success was imprinted on Dell's brain, driven home with unmistakable finality. This was what the quest for the almighty dollar did to people. It allowed them to trample justice and decency. It gave them contempt for the rights-the very feelings of others.
Suddenly he was very glad Hal had not been here to witness the scene. The detective wouldn't have been able to stop Hal with a mere glance.
"I'm not finished," Crawford was saying to the detective, hurrying him down the hall. "I want to see Benson about this. Maybe hell listen to reason."
"Maybe he will," the other man said acidly. "But I doubt it."
There were two men in the office into which they ushered Dell. One asking questions, the other impassively taking down everything Dell said in rapid shorthand, his pencil rasping loudly in the dawn-still room. Dell fought for composure, subjugating emotionalism, as he described how they had found Jane, how he'd become a madman afterward.
Then they started all over, checked for variations. The questions went on and on. Until Dell, drained completely, began to doze off.
Finally they were ushering him out, bringing Robin in. "We'll have this testimony typed out in awhile," the detective said. "You sign it, and that's all we'll need from you for now. As far as those guys you two lions massacred are concerned, well call it self-defense. I'd have done the same thing, I'm afraid."
"But, don't we have to stay around? For the trial and stuff?"
"Well be subpoenaing you. When the time comes. But for now, this will do. The case's pretty much open and shut. We've wired Jane's parents; they're on their way down."
"And the newspapers? Will they..
The interrogator winced. "Those vultures'll have a field day. You'll be big in Wisconsin."
It was four in the morning before the police released them, and Robin had dropped them off at their motel. They were relieved to find that Bernie Quale still hadn't returned.
Dell tried to think over the steady buzzing in his head. But things kept ganging up on him, kept getting hopelessly tangled in his brain. Until finally, too exhausted to continue, he fell asleep.
Hal was gone. He'd taken a bus out of Daytona shortly after noon that Saturday, borrowing the money for his fare from a for-once-subdued Bernie Quale. They'd dropped him off at the depot, Hal looking for all the world like a little old man as he lugged his bags into the station.
Bernie had argued with them briefly, offering to leave immediately, to take both Dell and Hal back with him. His offer was refused. Hal wanted to be alone on his northward trek, Dell was leaving with Robin later that same afternoon.
His good-bys to Bernie at four as Robin honked in front of The Blue Martin were brief and curt. Yet Strangely grave, for it was a final, irrevocable farewell-Dell knew that Bernie would never feature in his life again. He felt older, changed, more purposeful. It was a different Dell McLaren who was now leaving Daytona Beach than the one who'd come here. There was little time in his life for callous, schoolboy pranks any more.
Bernie's standards were repulsive to him now, as unappetizing as the retrospective realization that once upon a time, hundreds of years ago, he'd even wanted to emulate those rotten standards. That he'd been willing to sell out for financial success on any terms.
A different Dell McLaren indeed.
There was more than money, more than power to life. There was decency, dignity and humility. There was humanity.
II I can't make it without dirtying my hands, without trampling other people, Dell thought as he stroke toward the car, I won't make it at all.
But he hid his serious mood from Robin, sought to cheer her. He put his two bags in the back seat. Then, as he shoved himself into the front beside her, he said, "Layfayette, Indiana, please. Home of the fighting boiler-makers...."
But Robin wasn't amused. Her face was grim as they drew away from the curb. "Don't, Dell," she said.
"What's up, honey?"
"I saw Jane," Her voice wavered. "Just an hour ago. Her mother and father came to get me, took me to the hospital. They flew in early this morning."
Dell was appalled. "But why? What in heaven's name did they hope to accomplish by that?"
Abruptly Robin pulled the Chevy to the curb, groped in her bag for her handkerchief. "You'd better drive, Dell," she said, finishing her cry, blowing her nose. "I'm certainly in no shape."
Dell got out, came around the car, squeezed behind the wheel. "It was bad, huh?" he said.
"They thought maybe she'd recognize me, maybe it would help to shock her out of her daze." Now Robin flung herself into Dell's arms. "It was terrible, terrible. She didn't recognize me at all. She doesn't even look the same." Her voice choked. "Oh, God, why do people have to be such animals?"
Dell's voice was bitter. "Because some people are animals." He took out his own handkerchief, dried her face. "Feel better now? We'd better get this heap rolling."
"I'll be all right." She looked up at him through misted, red eyes. Then she shuddered. "Oh, Dell, if anything ever happened to us...."
"Nothing's going to happen. We're going to get married, raise kids, turn into seniles together, rocking back and forth on the porch of an ivy-covered cottage The happiest, most bumbling old couple you ever saw "
She sniffed, brought up a crooked grin. "Darling, it sounds just wonderful."
"It will be just wonderful."
"Kiss me, Dell, tell me you love me."
Dell affected dismay. "Here, baby? On the street in broad daylight?"
She smiled tiredly. "Yes, Dell. Right here. Please, baby?"
Dell reverently brought his lips down to her, kissed her tenderly, lingeringly. "I love you, Robin. For now, for always."
A poignant look lighted her eyes. She shivered. "Dell ... the way you said that. I feel almost like I'm married right now...."
Then she was kissing him again. "Baby, I love you so. I'm going to die waiting for June to come, waiting until we can be together again...."
"It'll be all right. I'll try to get down a few weekends in between. And in between there's always the U.S. mails. It's all some people had during the war...."
"I know, baby. I'm awful to be so selfish where you're concerned."
Dell chuckled. "You be just as selfish as you want. I love it. There's plenty more of me where that came from."
"Silly...." she sighed, sank into the seat.
"Lafayette, Indiana?" he prompted.
"Yes, James," she caught his mood. "Lafayette."
She snuggled against his shoulder fifteen minutes later as they came into the outskirts of Daytona Beach. But suddenly she stiffened. "Dell? Wasn't it somewhere in here that those boys took Jane?"
"We've passed it already," he lied. "You wouldn't have wanted to see it anyway. It was an awful place." And his eyes flicked left, his jaw tensed as he saw the Citrus Cabins Motel flash past in a gray, nondescript blur.
"No," Robin said. "I suppose not. Morbid curiosity, I guess."
The road evened out, stretched like a white ribbon before them. Dell did not even glance back for a last view of the ocean in the rear view mirror.
Minutes later Robin was asleep against his shoulder, and Dell felt his heart become a warm, swelling ball inside his chest at the simple dependence and trust of her.
92 and 40 to Ocala, 27 and 19 north to Thomasville, 84 to Dothan, 231 to Montgomery-
