"He kissed her arm and then her neck and the flesh above her bra. Like the limbs of an octopus he massaged her buttocks with hungry strokes. Barbara whimpered in ecstasy. She threw back her head and sobbed as he moulded her breasts and let his hot fingers play a symphony upon the flesh around her ribcage. He hefted the twin globes while bending over to kiss the rigid ends. They popped to life under his masterful guidance as the minutes flew by.
"She ripped his belt off and peeled the pants away from his sweaty legs.
"'Oh, Maurie!' she gasped."
CHAPTER ONE
Maurice Hayko opened the door and stepped inside, knowing the girl must be somewhere in this teen-age retreat. His forehead throbbed with a passion-pulse as he scanned the faces of people seated at the booths. He smelled hamburgers and coffee brew, their scent mingling with the makeup of young females with leather-jacketed escorts.
The girl was a fire which snaked through Maurice Hayko's veins. He could not ignore or forget her any more easily than he could gloss over the fact that he was a man-with demanding physical equipment and the need to use it.
How might he appear casual? Swallowing his embarrassment, he went to the order counter of the Red Corner, a drive-in restaurant on the west side of Milltown. He glanced through the window and saw dust falling upon the motorcycles and jalopies parked outside.
"Yes sir," the boy at the grill barked.
Maurice nodded, "Hot dog and coffee, please."
The booths were rather deserted for a Thursday evening but he still felt uneasy. Then he spotted her, sitting alone at a table in the corner and absorbed in a magazine. He knew it was crazy to chase her like this. His eyes swept over the ivory white flesh of her body; the downy, perfectly formed legs whose thighs ended their nakedness at the hem of crisp yellow shorts. She also wore a halter and flat shoes. In his imagination Maurice peeled the rayon halter away and left her nude to the navel.
He grimaced, thumbing a film of sweat off his brow. Quietly he brought his hot dog to the table where Ida Reneson sat.
"I was hoping I'd catch you before you went back to the dorm," he said.
Ida looked up swiftly. Her frown melted into a soft, slow smile that threatened to drive him insane. "Hi, professor. Did I go and flunk the first exam of the season already?"
"No." The kids were forever upset about small things in academic life. "Grades are only relative to the picture taken as an entirety. May I?"
"Be my guest."
He slid onto the chair and forced a return smile in her direction. As he began eating he studied Ida's honey blond hair, worn long today, cascading toward the peaks of her breasts. They were large, firm, seventeen-year-old breasts, and they heaved delightfully with each breath she took.
"I've taught a lot of freshman students in my day," he offered. "You have less to worry about than anyone."
"About English lit grades, you mean."
"My duties are supposed to stop there. I'll admit, though, a girl with your looks and figure would distract St. Jude. Too bad I'm old and married and middle-class."
"Why, professor!" she replied coyly.
"If you'd call me Maurice, perhaps I wouldn't appear so foolish."
Ida closed the magazine and folded her arms as she stared back at him. "Look who's talking about the need to be sociable and friendly. I've been trying to get you alone for three weeks."
"A gent of my age loses his confidence where young dolls are concerned."
She laughed abruptly, then switched the subject to classroom gossip. He could not concentrate upon her miniature descriptions of the other frosh in his English 105 set. All he thought about was Ida and the lustful desire which had raged within him since the college year had started a few short weeks ago.
He wondered if it would help any if he explained the problems of a man who has reached age forty ... his fear of being inadequate in sex, his death grip on whatever success he had gained upon the earth. Maurice constantly dreaded the loss of his virile powers. Ellen was the type of wife who considered such doubts unimportant-when she thought about them at all.
Ida leaned over the table and shook him by the wrist. "Hey, you didn't answer my question."
"Sorry about that. I must have been daydreaming."
"I said-is it possible that a kid like me could turn you on? Sexually, I mean?"
He sighed. "Ida, you're rich and tantalizing. You bubble with a sense of humor. Show me the mortal with soul so dead that he wouldn't-"
"Let's get right down to the point," she whispered close by his ear, the warmth of her breath making him shudder. "I'm a virgin. But it isn't that birth control sends me to the heights like a boot of LSD. You understand, Maurice?"
"Almost."
"I'll wait for someone who deserves the right to my maidenhood. A wise, gentle, straightforward person instead of these infants at Milltown U."
The halter hung loose around her and she let him see the entirety of her snow-pure breasts, to the dark tips. Then she leaned back and adjusted the strap tight again on her spine. "Apparently the cat's got your tongue," she snapped.
"Ida, you're going to drive me wild yet." He glanced at the few other patrons of the Red Corner, busily occupied in cokes and listening to the loud juke box. He realized no one could hear his conversation with the coed. But she kept forcing an issue and he had to reiterate his stand so she'd comprehend the dangers involved.
"If I were only single," he groaned, "it would make such a difference. If you knew how badly I desire you-"
"Sour grapes. You sure didn't follow me to this joint with the idea of giving me a sermon." She stood up and seized her purse. "But then we shouldn't expect your dear wife to understand about sex and the way it makes two people hap- py."
"Tell me what you want."
"I'll write you a nice letter on the subject. And incidentally-you might ask yourself what it is both of us desire."
"Wait!"
But she was already swivel-hipping out past the cigaret machine toward the exit. Maurice crunched the napkin in his fist until the knuckles vibrated with pain. He had hoped to sever the strange attraction between him and the girl. He should be glad that she was leaving him flat, and yet a void ached inside him as he dwelled upon the emptiness of life if she should truly go away without ever returning.
Damn it, she's got my head spinning, he cursed as he stood up quickly. They teach lessons too well in our psychology classes. Instead of dropping Ida as I ought to, I know it's a matter of time-maybe days-until we're rolling in the hay together.
He hurried out to the lot and opened the driver's side of his aging brown Renault. An irritating pain stabbed through his foot as he climbed into the car. It was hell to get old. His trick right ankle, injured in basketball many years ago, had recently started bothering him.
At home that night he watched television with Ellen, aware that she had a yen for nothing sexier than spectatorship in front of the one-eyed monster. His wife was becoming a slap upon his masculinity.
"You look tired," he said as they sat together on the couch. "I suppose going to bed is out of the question."
"Once per week at the most, darling."
"Of course."
Ellen's encouragement helped him sleep like a log after they had retired. In the morning he reported for his duties at the faculty room in the university. Sipping at coffee from the thermos, he wondered how best to gr': Ida out of his blood. They rode a dead-end street with a one-way ticket and so many differences existed between them that he found the physical attraction all the more startling.
He patted the flesh on his rising pot-belly and knew he should get more exercise. Still, the hint of flabbiness didn't seem to deter Ida's campaign of seduction. Maybe she had a father fixation and he was the image of her parental past.
Maurice jammed the cup back onto the thermos bottle and rubbed his chin. It was a cleft jaw-you could hardly call it matinee idol material.
The room was silent and vacant except for Smithers with his infernal history lesson-plans at the far end. Maurice squinted in the sunlight which beamed down through the Venetian blinds. A lady had entered and seemed to be heading past the desks, toward him. But it was not really a lady after all because now he recognized Barbara Judd and suddenly he knew how to forget his troubles. You fought fire with fire.
"Don't get ruptured from the strain of saying hello," Barbara pouted. "I waited for you in the cafeteria."
"Stay right where you are. The sun is outlining you and I could swear that beauty has found birth in each mature, sleek curve," he lied. If his plan were to work, he must switch roles and chase Barbara with a rush. It would probably shock her at first because she had for so long been the pursuer even though he was a man who had rarely cheated on his marital vows.
"Your musical voice could woo the pants off a nun," she said.
He clicked his heels and arose. "As you wish. But nuns don't wear pants, naughty as it sounds."
Barbara Judd, dean of women at the college, smiled thinly as though tolerating a boy who had breached discipline. She powdered her nose from a compact as she stood near his leather-backed chair. "You and I have opposite personalities, Maurie. Surely you noticed how extroverted I am and how-"
"Introverted."
"Yes. You are the meek accountant type, to a certain extent. But that doesn't mean the electricity has vanished between us."
"I think it's stronger than ever," he intimated as he came nearer and squeezed her thigh at the apex of her womanhood. She blushed and then let her hand stray toward his own limp, half-awake erogenous zone.
"We've sung this song before, Maurice. The long ride which you promised me has never happened. Just a come-on for bachelor girls, eh?"
"The ride can be tonight if you'll say the word. Ellen has her bingo game."
"How convenient."
He waited patiently because he knew Barbara would jump at such a chance. She was nervous, self pitying, ashamed to face society. The modern fast code of living made her feel out of the crowd who scoffed at chastity and old maids. She was no angel; her respectability hid the whorish bent and her searing desire to marry, a condition all the more dangerous since he felt she would enjoy hooking him.
"I'll pick you up at seven," he purred. "It's going to be a night to remember, sweets."
"When I hear you rapping at the door, I'll believe you."
As the day progressed he performed like a automaton at the head of his classes. He droned on about Keats and Shelley and Renaissance poets, anxious to impart his enthusiasm to the students-but knowing that his mind remained upon the date with Barbara. Sure, he had done an about-face. She was probably wondering how a guy could find her suddenly irresistible and turn on his Casanova charm.
She needn't be briefed on the reason. Let her do her share to bring him back to the days of youthful erotica ... let her help erase Ida Rene-son from his imagination.
Precisely at seven he escorted Barbara out of her apartment and put her in his tiny foreign car. The Hawk Ridge Motel was an abode edifice set upon an overhang above the parkway. Maurice spoke only spasmodically as he drove along Route Eighteen, listening to the whiz of pine trees on the center island as he sped past. Strange, how he didn't feel certain that his agility would match her expectations-but then again, the satisfaction was of secondary importance.
He joined her in the motel room after signing the register. She unbuttoned her blouse without taking her eyes off him. "I think I'm turning into a nymphomaniac and I want you to cure it."
"Sounds like you're bribing me."
"My breasts haven't shrunk any since the good old days of adolescence. Touch them, dear. Show how you arouse the devil in these battle-guns."
He kissed her arm and then her neck and the flash above her bra. Like the limbs of an octopus he massaged her buttocks with hungry strokes. Barbara whimpered in ecstasy. She threw back her head and sobbed as he moulded her breasts and let his hot fingers play a symphony upon the flesh around her ribcage. He hefted the twin globes while bending over to kiss the rigid ends. They popped to life under his masterful guidance as the minutes flew by.
She ripped his belt off and peeled the pants away from his sweaty legs. "Oh, Maurie!" she gasped. Her head worshipped the hairy mass of his stomach and chest. She kissed every inch of the male body until he began to growl like a dog. She laughed mischievously. He unhooked her bra and watched the breasts spring free in full, stiff urgency; his fist tightened around the lace panties.
"I'm going to tear you apart and burn the pieces that are left," he said. "They'll construct a monument in your honor."
"Go ahead and kill me."
She shrieked in delight as the panties became shreds of fabric in his paws. He wrapped his arms around her, grunting hard, and carried her to the bed. They dove simultaneously upon a soft, silk quilt which ate up their nude forms in pulsating billows of welcome.
He worked on her breasts and inner thighs until she started weeping with frustration. "Kiss me there again! It's so wonderful and exciting-how can I stand it? Oh!!"
His burgeoning need soon lost the race against Barbara's wish for more delay via kisses and whispered words. He groped for her womanness. But as he straddled her and slid his passion rapidly into the normal position, her hand clamped about him. He let out a long, agonized hoot when the forbidden pleasure coursed through him with each stroke that she gave.
"I might disappoint you if you expect any double-headers," he moaned.
"So don't just kneel there! Do something!"
He yanked himself away, sensing the evil pain tom-tomming within him. She had drawn the outline and there could be no turning back. His face buried in the musk and fleshy depths of her bosom, he wiggled like a bullfighter awaiting the exact moment to aim his blow.
The woman shuddered violently as he harpooned her with bestial force. Deeper went the thrust and she burned like a mass of red-hot canvas beneath him, each spasm contorting her eyes and facial features. She grinned in triumph. Their struggle ended with a photo finish and as the thunder clapped its vicious echo around him, he knew she also had reached the culmination with him.
Blackness enfolded the tiny room. Panting for air, he rolled over and flicked the radio on and then lit two cigarets.
"We forgot about the entertainment part of our little affair. Cigaret, Barbara?"
"Thank you."
Despair hit him with the force of an ocean wave, for he sourly realized the experiment had failed. He felt ancient-not younger, as he had hoped. And instead of forgetting that brat, Ida, he needed her more desperately and could envision no other female on earth except her.
"You're very quiet," said Barbara. "Don't go saying I was less than you anticipated. We're up to our ears together in this, honey, and I intend to hang on."
"With the eternal claws of your species?"
"Tonight may have been our first time. But I advise you to make sure there are repeats."
Her threat was clear enough to give him the gist of it, and he figured a rather horrible mistake had been perpetrated when he got involved with the Dean of Women.
CHAPTER TWO
The mirror on the bathroom door, a full-length, blue pane of glass, reflected Maurice's upper torso as he wielded the putter. He glanced at himself momentarily. It did look ridiculous-a man practicing golf on the rug in his living room. Surely there had to be other ways to sharpen your eye or get in shape; he was tired of the daily yoga and sitting-up exercises, though.
His wife looked up from her book as she sat in the maple colonial chair. "Try to keep the rug from becoming shredded wheat, darling. They cost money."
"Golf balls?"
"No. I'm talking about carpets. Why you insist upon a silly sport I'll never know."
"I happen to like it." He hit the ball into a rubber quoit on the floor near the lamp.
"At one time you were quite a fiend for collecting coins, too. I preferred that."
"You run the strictest house on the block. And somehow I admire you for having such a title, Ellen. Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Not today."
He shrugged and walked toward the bathroom. Yes, the parlor was neat-with the dull-colored couches and ceramic ash trays and the best in wallpaper design. His wife had grown proficient at certain things. After eleven years of marriage she could hardly do otherwise, especially with no children to handicap her. Maurice smirked as he looked at the painting of the three nudes at a river, which hung near the arched hallway.
Surprising indeed that Ellen allowed a picture of his choice to destroy her wall scheme. He washed his face and started shaving. Lately she seemed grouchy and all wrong for him; whatever activity he suggested was vetoed by her. Her feminine lassitude during courtship had lost its glamor until now he found it burdensome.
The razor scraped upon his wet, creamed stubble of beard. He remembered how she had stirred him to the heights when they were engaged. Her lithe, smooth body had the strength of whips and he looked forward to a brood of their own. But no little feet had pattered. The doctors claimed the trouble was psychological on both their parts and a case of incredible odds dashing their hope for pregnancy, year after year.
He studied her image in the shaving mirror. Strait-laced brunette hair; a nose that curved with the sweep and grace of a tern in flight; her perfect white teeth. She was close to beautiful, even today.
Her lips shone with damp crimson glory above an oval jaw. He surveyed her breasts as they surged against the dress, tapering to a narrow waist. And her legs, they had been voted the most shapely at the high school in her native town of New Haven.
Again he wondered how their sex acts could be so inconsistent when each partner had more than sufficient equipment. Did she criticize him because she failed to match his perennial interest in the topic of physical love? He was proud of his ability. Like most men, he would rather have people point a finger at him and utter the accusation, "Unfaithful," than be called incompetent as a boudoir athlete.
His sex ilfe with her had deteriorated into a fluctuating, uneven thing. Whenever she felt in the mood. And yet the foreplay, the rapture, the explosion of intimacy recurred at a dead, unexciting keel. She just refused to try new approaches or positions which might get them out of a rut.
It sounded maudlin to believe she didn't "understand" his manly needs. They had hashed out their differences so often-but he was still as passionate and Ellen no less laconic than before.
He finished combing his hair and whistled gaily as he stepped into the parlor.
"Having this afternoon off was exactly what the doctor ordered," he said. "God bless the dean's uncle for dying."
"Come here and look at the snapshots my brother mailed along."
"Why not?"
He sat down beside her and thumbed through the photographs, taken of eighth-grade pupils at a school at which her brother taught. "Aren't these little girls cute," she said. "And they grow up to be even cuter. By the way, what sort of a crop do you have in the frosh classes this year"
"I'm loaded with Miss America prospects."
"Try to remember who your real mama is."
His heart missed a beat, chilling him with an icy sensation. But he reasoned that his fondness for young Ida could not possibly be known or suspected by anyone who had contact with Ellen. Thinking about the coed brought torture afresh to his loins. He leaned over and kissed Ellen on the cheek, then patted her hand gently.
"Dove, you hit below the belt when you kid me like that. You're the only woman on earth. To me, students are like yards of linen to the merchant-his raw material for earning a wage."
"Some of the merchandise has ruined lesser men than you." She winked and returned his kiss. "Sit right where you are until I fetch two spots of tea for us."
He leafed through the snapshot album as she headed for the kitchen. Husbands grew accustomed to female whims-like the wife changing her mind about wanting tea. Cursing through his teeth, he trusted that it had been mere coincidence which prompted her to mention the femme fatale beauty of coeds.
By the next morning he felt confident in the way events had shaped up. Barbara Judd didn't appear eager to press him for a continuance of their one-time stand at the motel. And he avoided Ida by hurrying to and from his classes without any glances which could be construed as invitations.
However, he inadvertently let his guard drop at the long break between third and fourth periods. As he strolled down the corridor of the main dorm he heard a voice calling him.
"Yoo-hoo! Wait for me, professor Maurie!"
He folded his arms behind him, halted near the elevator, and watched Ida hurry out of her room. The way her breasts kept jouncing, he reckoned there ought to be a law against it. She was built so deliriously firm and shapely out front that his adam's apple went into convulsions and his eyeballs virtually lit up with a "tilt" sign like a pinball machine.
"I thought we agreed to be on the platonic side," he growled. "You come from a different world. Your family owns that dairy and you're wealthy, brilliant, six miles out of my class!"
"For pity's sake-anyone might think I was chasing you! I just want to ask what the assignment is for tomorrow."
"A book report on 'For Whom The Bell Tolls,' dear daughter."
Ida dabbed at her sophisticated curl hairdo as she moved in close to him. Obviously she wore no bra or other undies beneath the sheer robe; he squinted at the dark aureoles of her breasts, clearly visible through the material. Then she pressed her thighs against him. Her fingers toyed with his hair as she pouted, "You mentioned our rich family. Let me say a few words about the king of Reneson Dairy. He always acted as if he were a boss instead of my father, and I'm at this school because he wanted to get rid of me."
"But why?"
"He had hoped for a son who would grow up to run the business. First Sue was born-she's my sister."
"I didn't think she was your brother," he said testily. "Stop talking down to the teacher of English, or he'll spank you."
"Any time," she grinned.
"So then you came along and Mr. Reneson decided he never would get his wish of a royal line succession."
"I came along like fifteen years later. And there have been no other children since. He raised me as a tom-boy and I'm lucky the gay ones passed me by."
"Gay ones?"
"The lesbian crowd. It often happens when a girl has my kind of background. But anyhow ... I'll pay father back for all that."
In his mind, Maurice was able to trace her logic one step further. Subconsciously she aimed at a goal of losing her virginity at an early age, which would hurt pop via humiliation. Maurice took the coed's hands off his stomach.
"My dad passed away some five years ago. And the old lady has gone downhill ever since; not that she was a paragon of virtue to start with."
"I like it when you speak so frankly."
"I'll bet you do."
"My mother is a real doll who hates being married. In fact I think she'd rather be male-which confuses the entire issue. She's the reason why I can't really see any sense in preserving my pure sex for a husband and the honeymoon and all that."
He felt his collar dampen with perspiration. Ida might just as well come right out and ask him to sleep with her. "A kid like you," he said. "What do you know about biology or-"
"I know enough to be on the safe side. For instance-females are unique because we can have orgasm while unable to conceive a child. No other creature would dare make that statement."
She moved forward, backing into the shadows near the wall. Her lips ground upon his and he tasted a hot tongue scorching the roof of his mouth. She grabbed his hand. Unbelievably, he found himself squeezing the nubile, anxious breast until his blood churned to a boil.
Abruptly he drew away and exhaled in exasperation. "You're a regular Lolita."
"So who's watching?"
"The walls have ears on this campus. It was nice talking to you, kid, but the duties of my profession call."
"Chicken."
His ears tingled uncomfortably at her dare as he hurried away toward the porch. Clouds and a sense of gray foreboding had shrouded the sky above the university grounds. He went across the lawn, entered Wallison Memorial Library and found the grammar book he had been searching for. It would be too bad if anyone had seen him kiss the girl. He thought not, but he still abhorred the prospect of some informer spreading nasty rumors throughout the collegiate ranks.
As he left the library he noticed a squat, muscular boy walking ahead of him. Maurice turned aside at the fountain, headed for a clump of trees. They boy also turned. Maurice pivoted on his heel and decided to play the silly game because he saw the boy checking back out of the corner of his eye.
The stranger followed along at Maurice's side until they reached the steps of the new sophomore building.
"I say," the teacher snapped. "You don't happen to be Agent 008 by any chance?"
"Your voice droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven."
"Please explain who you are and why I attract you so much. It's flattering to get followed around. I gave out my quota of autographs for the month, however, and-"
Bowing in mock subservience, the lad said, "DiCauslow's the name. John DiCauslow. The brainiest and most intellectual student in junior semester." Ha cocked his head, then moistened his lips like any juvenile delinquent at the drag races.
"Thrilled, I'm sure."
"Let's put the cards on the table, prof. I know who you are and what you want from Ida Rene-son. It so happens I'm the one who'll win the heart of that lady fair."
The announcement was rather surprising. Maurice squinted hard, his metallic gray-blue eyes matching the overcast sky. He tried not to show his embarrassment while regaining poise enough to answer.
"I'm not even acquainted with this-Ida."
"You deny trying for a score with her?"
"Stop talking like something out of a Hollywood teenage musical. Your fears are groundless as far as I'm concerned."
John laughed rudely. "Take a look at the main college building up there. Go ahead. It's a real mansion with ivy-covered walls, timbers and gables ... the whole bit."
"So what?" He frowned at the black and white edifice with its chimneys, sunken herb garden, the fountain, the wrought iron wind vanes.
"So you'll be the talk of the campus if you keep chasing Ida. I can make your name ring with sinister, shocking overtones throughout these noble houses. A word to the wise, Father Time."
"I refuse to stand here and listen to your libelous-"
John DiCauslow's haunting laugh echoed off the steps as he walked away. Was his unusual threat part of a joke or did he mean every word of it? Whichever direction the truth lay, he certainly pulled no punches for a kid barely wet behind the ears. Maurice hitched at his belt and hurried along at a lively pace toward his next hour of instruction on the second floor. He doubted that he had much to worry about.
The gym had apparently improved with age since the last time he had seen it. Thirty or forty girls dressed in short-shorts, blouses, and sneakers were lined up in the center of the basketball court. A physical ed instructor, herself possessing a voluptuous and whistle-inducing figure, led the group in calisthenics.
Maurice stood fascinated by the movement of ripe thighs and sinewy, strong calves. He waited patiently near the grandstand as the exercises continued. Though he disliked aggressive or athletic women, he did appreciate the beauty of anatomy.
Again he wondered how there could be such electricity between him and Ida. He watched her do the squat-jumps ... smoothly, perfectly, smiling at him from her place in the mob. They seemed to be direct opposites. She had a vitality and a yen for life's exciting, sparkling high points; he was afraid of tomorrow with his resentment producing morbidness in his outlook. Maybe they cancelled each other out, the divergent traits. Or perhaps the girl needed him to counter-balance what nature had made her, as Maurice needed her in turn.
The session ended at last. Coeds scurried off toward their lockers or outside classes, and Ida began moving toward the grandstand seats. For an instant he froze with indecision. He wanted to rush away and never set eyes upon her again.
But sunlight knifed in from the window and shone through her clothes and he saw the dark mystery of the girl, beckoning him.
He was numb with lust as she came to him. "You were superb on those push-ups. I'd give you a gold star for effort if I were the teacher." He cleared his throat and added, "Unfortunately I'm just an admirer."
"That's a big improvement over what you said yesterday."
"I've been thinking about your father and mother. They didn't give you much, except cash. I mean to fight the world with after you left home."
She toyed with the gold bracelet on her wrist and then used a handkerchief to wipe her heated cheeks. "I couldn't stay in the shadow of their brilliant dairy forever."
"You're trying a little too hard to prove your womanhood. There's more in life than ... than sex."
"Is there? Show me how else a hen-pecked husband can get his confidence back, and feel young again. Some of the happiest men are those who cheated one time-"
"Now you've put me under the microscope, Ida. We promised not to."
She giggled and said, "It's the natural salesgirl coming out, I guess. So tell me what's new in your life. I want to know everything you've done during the last twenty-four hours."
"You drive a hard bargain."
He felt the passion rising within him and he fought against it. Her immaturity was spanking clean, fresh, pulling him with magnet force. He recalled the meaningful threat of that overeducated punk who had claimed to be after Ida.
"I recently met a fellow you might be interested in," said Maurice as he propped one foot on the bottom board of the bleachers. "John DiCauslow. He appears to know quite a lot about you."
A frown curled her forehead. "John? Heck, I haven't heard from him in days."
"Judging by the way he chortled and raved, I thought you might be pinned to him. As if it makes any difference to me. He sounded rather tough-"
"We date occasionally, Maurie. Pay no attention to what he says."
"I do pay attention and I even analyze what people say." He was challenged by the concept of a nervy sophomore boy staking romantic claims in such a menacing manner. In fact he was bugged by John.
Ida winked as she tucked her blouse under the belt of her green short-shorts. The downy blond hair on her upper thighs aroused him.
"You must have played the field in your hey-day!" she said. "Tell me about the girls who clipped over you and planned suicide if you didn't marry them."
"There was only one."
"Platonic?"
"As a matter-of-fact she assumed the role of mistress for quite a while. My first erotic conquest, if you want to know. It left some gap in my existence when she ran out. But I should keep these facts secret rather than letting you in on them, Ida."
"When there's a gap, it has to be filled. I'm sure your wife hasn't helped."
For an instant he was tempted to strike this bold, insolent child. She had the knack of digging right through his outer shell and hitting the tenderness-the painful truth. He smiled slowly. How could he hurt a young psych major, especially the one he hungered to shack up with?
She put her hands on her hips and stared defiantly at him. "Do you think I'm sexy? I mean, if you were single and had the idea of dating me-"
"Please don't think I fear to look at another female, simply because of a wedding ring."
"You act it." She sighed and shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "Of course, John must have put the heeby jeebies in you and scared you away, too. I get all the wrong breaks from fate."
He bit his lip angrily in the awareness that she left him with no honorable exit. She had done everything except take the male initiative, a tact far beneath her intelligence. Ida was more brilliant than her cold-hearted father.
"I've had trouble sleeping," he grunted, "and it's because of you."
She replied with a coy uplifting of her eyebrows.
"Go for a drive with me tonight, Ida. I want to show you the scenery along the river."
"You've put it as a command, of which I had plenty at home in Pennsylvania."
"It's an invitation. Will you ride along or not?"
She seemed to understand intuitively that he had reached the limit of gallantry in his approach. With calculated caution, the girl nodded and said, "Call me and see what happens."
CHAPTER THREE
High tide being driven in by the wind presented an awesome sight along the shore. As he cruised up the north side of Durasett Beach, Maurice heard the waves pound against rocks and sand nearby. The moonlight gave illumination to the frothy, angry whitecaps that smashed the seawall and splattered fifty feet in the air.
A few minutes later he parked the Renault in front of her wood cottage near a cove. It was the most secluded spot he could imagine.
He cursed and got out onto the weeds of her yard. Marching across toward the porch, he knew he didn't give a tinker's dam about any prying eyes, because this was plenty far from civilization and the gotham. His last qualm vanished when he reasoned that only a true man could answer the challenge put out by Ida.
Seventeen years old or not, she had the maturity and the independence to be responsible for what had been initiated.
He stalked into the frame cottage as if he owned it. Her radio resounded with discotheque music, and she sat up easily on the divan when she saw him enter.
Leaving the door open behind him, Maurice said, "It's a relief to get to this joint safe and sound. The roads wind in and out from-"
"You poor guy," she teased. "I thought I gave pretty fine directions on the phone before when you called. Well-sit down!"
Somewhere along the line of her full life she had become spoiled. "I'd rather take a dip in the ocean first, if you don't mind."
"Really-I believe you're a muscular he-man. Honest I do. Besides, I'm so tired from school that even wading would be too strenuous."
"Up and at 'em!" He picked her up in his arms and lugged her outside to the beach, where she began squirming frantically. He set her on her feet again. They strolled together, hands entwined, past the cove and in a huge circle back to her cottage.
This time Ida slammed the door shut with a vengeance. He feared that his brown hair, thin as it was, would curl with lust as she stripped the sweater off her body. The radio was playing Brazil rhythm in a samba beat. She hurled the soft pullover sweater into a corner and said, "Make it everything I've dreamed about for years, Maurie. Gentle and cruel. Sweet like wine...."
"I'll show you the things age has taught me."
"Yes, daddy."
She was a hunk of pulsating, boiled flesh in his arms. He stroked her back and twisted his virility upon her until he felt the throb of power clanging against his skull. Her lips pursed upward to meet his. He drank of the virgin nectar and felt his hands going to her lips, even as he kissed the pale, blue-veined skin of her straining neck.
Two clopping noises told him her shoes were off. She kept her mouth welded upon his as she unbuttoned the capri pants and let the air rush upon her.
"Let me see every inch of you," he gasped.
"Hurry, darling! We're both adults and whatever we do in private is our business. Morals of any other kind don't exist."
He laughed but deep inside he despised her for throwing a rule-book at him at this vital, surging moment. "I like your own original standard." He watched her step out of the capris and then he peeled his clothes off until there remained just the jockey shorts.
"I guess you dig my panties," she said. "Do they turn you on? I call them 'peekaboo through the fish-net'."
"You should issue a telescope so I can see 'em. So goddamn tiny!"
She hooked her thumbs under the elastic and rolled the flimsy net panties down over her knees. He helped her get rid of the bra by shucking it quickly away from her breasts.
"You're puffing," she needled. "Maybe this will give you a heart attack."
"That's about as funny as leprosy."
They were both naked now, and flailing about on the foamy softness of the cot where they had fallen. Ida became a tigress with one driving thought. She kissed him from the hair on his chest down to the hairs on his thighs and abdomen, as he whimpered with dormant passion. His every nerve and bone and sinew felt taut under the sizzling outburst of sensuousness from this young devil.
"Ellen couldn't hold a candle to you in bed," he croaked. "Jumping toads, I'm ready to blow my top! Sweetest Ida-"
"Forget the other woman."
He heard the willow tree shaking outside the cabin as a blast of wind hit it. He kissed her breasts and fondled her thighs until she lay arched beneath him like a bowstring. "I like you," she tittered. "You're dependable and kind."
"A regular boy scout. Whether you feel affection for me or not is beside the point. You'll see what I mean."
"I can't see a darn thing!" she screamed with joy as he found her waiting receptable of love.
Her shrill, ecstatic cries were like death shouts of agony in the moment of his penetration. But her triumph and pleasure soon overwhelmed the pain of shattered maidenhood. She had been so athletic in her playful resistance. And yet, as he rocked and swayed to gain the fullest height of union, she slithered with his movements in docile acceptance.
The gas lantern's light wavered about him. He licked the foam off his lips and rolled aside, feeling her body quiver with even, rhythmic reaction while his arm rested upon her.
A voice inside him whispered "rape" and he acknowledged that it was technically correct. He felt Ida kissing his hips again with unconscious fervor. She had relished the hour of decision. Here was a female to be trusted and loved and cherished, as she would cherish him for being the first man.
She started singing in a weird, muted tone. The sound brought hackles to his spine due to the ethereal, unreal quality she projected. Her body was genuine enough, though, pressing against him in a blatant nakedness that required no conversation.
John DiCauslow leaned back in the seat of his Falcon and propped the yearbook against the steering wheel and his lap. He wondered why they had published such a bulky, heavy tome. Thumbing through the pages, he found the one with his picture on it.
He had changed very little in two years; same Roman nose, same carnal lips and eyes-maybe he had grown a little chunkier around the double chin.
His name stood out underneath. JOHU DiCAUSLOW, with the boldness conceived by a high school editor. John nudged the girl beside him in the car. She coughed and started putting her brassiere on again, moulding it around her ample breasts.
"Listen to what they wrote about me," said John. "He'll never suffer from repression or introvertism. Has unlimited knowledge and exists for today because an H-bomb bursts in the hereafter. Isn't that a scream, Yvette?"
The girl stroked her naked thighs, smiling in obvious pride as the curvaceousness of her entire chassis. "I hope they also mention how you go around seducing us poor chicks. The logical arguments you use...."
"And get this. John's an epicurean and empiricist from the word go."
"Hey, are you trying to make me feel dumb or what?"
"It means I pursue the pleasures around us." He slammed the book shut and then stretched his solid, hefty frame while yawning toward the roof of the auto. "Let's talk about the prof. You're sure you'll go through with the bit after I kick it off. I mean, you did promise-"
Yvette Thober fluttered her eyelids and stared at him with her shiny blue orbs. "You know I'd travel to the ends of the earth for you, John."
He wanted to trust her completely but realized that was unwise. She despised the idea of playing second fiddle to Ida. Only because she hoped to win John for herself alone had Yvette agreed to this plot against the English teacher. John understood exactly how far she could be trusted.
He gunned the motor and lurched away from their parking spot alongside the lake. It was a favorite passion pit for the kids from Milltown U. He smiled, feeling his veins still athrob from the wild coitus he had enjoyed with the girl. She demanded an awful lot for her services. At least she wouldn't get knocked up from tonight's session, though-he had made certain of that. For a math major she didn't seem to pay much attention to the inevitable results within the female reproductive system when you put two and two together.
As he cruised eastward, toward the city, he thought about the small grocery store which he and Yvette had taken. It was so damn easy. The old coot never knew what hit him, a pair of masked bandits walk in and grab the contents of the register. John patted the bulge of money in his pocket now and felt more secure.
"This'll pay for the rest of my tuition," he said. "And you've got enough for dresses to last you until doom's day."
"Gosh, I hope the geezer's all right."
"He'll wake up in half an hour or so. You should learn to stop fretting about the little things, Yvette, and think big. They don't have a chance of pinning the rap on us. College youths are the last ones any cop or detective would suspect, on such a professional heist."
"You're so modest. That's what I like about you."
She leaned over and planted a kiss upon his full, brooding mouth. He played with her breasts for a while as he drove one-handed past the tenement district in town.
When they reached the movie house, he let her off and jerked a thumb at the marquee. "Relax and get your kicks from it, huh? I'll pick you up at 9:30 after my business is done."
"Monkey business," she said.
"We have to set Maurice up as a clay pigeon! Worry not, my love."
There were several tricks he could use on the prof. Any of them would accomplish the purpose of hurting him and keeping him away from Ida for good. Already John had decided on the first violent step he would take.
He stopped at Bill's luncheonette, a sleazy dive on the main drag-about six blocks from the campus and one of Ida's hangouts. She always dropped off here on Sunday night for a snack. He waited at a corner table, sipping his coffee as he meditated. The waitress, a large-breasted redhead, kept eyeing him with lust but he ignored the invitation because he knew her and had slept with her once too often. Poorly educated divorcees bored him.
Ida Reneson finally entered the restaurant and sat in a booth near the door. He strutted over to her side. "Hi, doll. Fancy meeting such a nice kid in a greasy spoon like this."
"Your humor is deathless prose that will live forever."
"Always trying to top me with some clever slogan." He eased into the seat, resting his elbows on the table. "I got the busy signal on your phone the last couple of times. Please elucidate."
Ida scowled, then looked up at the waitress. "A vanilla milk-shake."
"Ditto for me." John narrowed his eyes, studying the coed's pale flesh and the excitement of her well-proportioned body. "At least you haven't thrown me out of the booth."
"It's 'Be Kind to Animals' month."
"Funny. You know something, Ida-I think you and I should start going steady again. We make one hell of a duet-"
"We ended it for good. Remember?"
"I can't get along on the scraps of a Saturday date every fortnight or so. I need you like grass needs the rain."
She shifted uncomfortably and snapped, "You're way too forward and sexy for my taste, John. Maybe that approach helps you as a house-to-house canvasser. But I look for deeper character in a boy."
"A man," he corrected. "The vacuum cleaner selling is just part-time. Let's try the frat pin and see what happens."
"I said you're too rough! It scares me to see the shady hoods you consort with."
He smirked. "You don't judge a book by the cover."
"Forget it."
"I'm sure if you think the situation over, you'll admit that I'm the best one to choose from."
Ida arose and plunked a half-dollar on the mahogany. "You can have both milk-shakes. Nice pass. Too bad it threw you for another loss, honey."
He dug at his teeth with an index finger as he watched her move out toward the street. Anger rose in a shivering burr across his throat. She enjoyed rejecting people. So "holier-than-thou" about sex, when he knew she wanted him desperately behind the hard-to-get facade. She ought to be happy that he considered her worthy of marriage instead of a quick pick-up, like most of the other soeds he dated.
John slammed his palm on the leather-cushioned seat. It was that clown Maurice, the teach. She had a thing for him and no progress could be made until they straightened the old bastard out.
Grimly John saw there was only one way to prove he meant business. At noon-time on the following day he started roving through the campus in search of his quarry. He drew a blank at the faculty office and gym and cafeteria, but hit pay-dirt outside, near the football field.
A few soccer play.-s were practicing on the otherwise deserted gridiron. He hurried across the yard and soon caught up to Maurice, who had wandered down the chalked sidelines enroute to the dorms.
He spun around, folding his arms tolerantly. "To what do I owe the honor of another visit from Mr. Brains DiCauslow?"
"Thanks for the nickname," John nodded. "It means you've done some checking and found out I was on the Dean's List."
"We both have ranking on one list or another."
"Take the chip off your shoulder, teach. I think we ought to know each other better. I'll walk with you."
"It's a free country." Maurice had his hands in his pockets as he moved toward the shadow of the huge dorm building. "The dean has no law against fraternization among the troops."
"Your respect for the law is very touching, you know. But the great men in history got that way through disobedience of authority-creation of their own code." He paused, then continued in his deep, resonant voice. "You're from Hartford originally."
"Correct. At the age of seventeen I moved to Providence, got my bachelor's, and then settled in Milltown."
"You were brought up with a normal environment, I realize that. On the other hand, my child- hood encouraged juvenile delinquency. No parents or guardian. No job future in the hick town where I lived. It would have been easy to rebel and turn anti-social against the world."
Maurice laughed and said, "Life must have been frustrating for such a talented kid as you. But I'm-uh-anxious to find the connection."
"Connection, teach?"
"The name is Hayko. and I'm talking about the infatuation you've developed with Ida Reneson. Apparently I fit in somewhere. You refuse to believe she's merely a friend, and you suspect I've tried seduction."
"Now you're a chip off the old block. Straight-shooting and frank."
"You like that, John."
"It seems ridiculous for two well-educated people to argue over the affections of-of a rich orphan. Her money would be quite attractive."
Maurice clenched his fist until white fibers throbbed in the kunckles. His face was getting red, a response which delighted young Johnny. Opponents became easy when emotion over-ruled their rational thought processes.
"She's no orphan, and I happen to be a decent married man! So watch your tongue!"
"A bad conscience can stretch one's imagination and find accusations where none exist."
"What you're saying is this: you haven't claimed that I slept with Ida. Thank you, sir! And please apologize for your threat to spread libelous stories about me throughout the faculty and school."
"Calm down."
"Underneath the intellectual surface you're wholly asinine!"
Maurice started to turn away at the corner of the granite dormitory, but John grabbed him by the jacket. "Swallow that remark."
"Let go of me."
"You seem to have trouble understanding the drift. One day soon I'll marry Ida in spite of your dirty desires! So pick on a girl your own age and leave Ida alone."
John had calculated his scheme in order that privacy would be assured. They were standing under the oak trees behind a hedge, where no onlookers could possibly see. He disliked the idea of witnesses to the scene.
His first punch missed completely. It whizzed past Maurice's ear as he ducked aside, and the man retaliated with a left hook to the belly. John shook off the blow. He was much heavier and stronger; a chop of his palm and a right cross sent Maurice slithering to his knees.
Blood spurted from his nose as he growled, "You lousy punk!"
"The facts of life can be rather startling. I hope you won't find it necessary to be warned again." John dusted off his hands and began whistling as he promenaded confidently toward the sun-baked football field.
CHAPTER FOUR
Silence had fallen upon the room and shrouded the atmosphere of English 105 with tension. Maurice admired their dedication to the task at hand. He checked the watch on his desk, whispering to himself in irritation and wanting the time to go faster, so he could stop thinking so damn much and occupy his brain with talk.
"Fifteen minutes left, class," he announced. "Review your answers with care if you're finished. Otherwise, speed it up and make sure there are no blank spaces."
He wondered if the kids were pulling his leg. Although it was a routine weekly quiz, they studied in a collective trance of concentration as one might expect during the May finals.
Maurice chewed at the eraser on his pencil and squinted at Genevieve, in the front row. She had the mini-skirt on again. And with her legs opened wide in his direction, he saw that she had forgotten to wear panties to hide herself. I've seen more of the true Genevieve than her doctor ever hoped to, he thought. But the sight had become aggravating lately even when she displayed her rounded hips and flesh the hue of bleached lemon and the dark triangular patch which lay in sweet shadow beneath her abdomen.
Yes, indeed, Genevieve was built for breeding. He squirmed in his seat as libido dried out his tongue and turned his tweed suit into a hot water bag. He swung his eyes away from the girl. No wonder so many of these brazen coeds got marriage licenses before they had time to earn a diploma. Baby carriages and birth control devices were part of the scenery on campus.
He meditated for a moment, with intense bitterness, upon Ellen's failure to give him a son. She knew it was the thing he really wanted from life. Maybe she had tried ... hell, you couldn't demand response from her inner muscles and ovaries. But she could stand improvement in everything elese-a wife shouldn't be passive and thick-headed when it came to sharing bliss on the bed. As the days went by, she seemed to understand him less than ever before.
Why? He had grown weary of searching for the reasons, weary of blaming himself. He was not the insensitive clod who paraded through grade C movies ignoring his spouse for the sake of a laugh from the audience.
The time ticked by on his desk clock and only six minutes remained until the quiz would be ended. He glanced at Genevieve. She seized her left breast and massaged it quickly; he turned away, frowning.
She undoubtedly had a boyfriend in the class who got jealous when she made passes at someone else. Maurice felt his pulse thump with anger as he recalled the beating he had taken from John DiCauslow. It had been a sneak attack. Maybe John outwitted himself in believing that violence would frighten away this particular rival. Maurice was laconic and peace-loving on the surface, and yet he responded with a crescendo of vigor whenever anyone challenged him. Next time the kid got rough, if there were to be another time, he'd find himself being used as a blotter upon the pavement.
The buzzer on the stop-clock finally grated loudly. Maurice stood up and waved his arm toward the back of the room.
"Pass your papers down this way. Oscar, that means you, too."
Oscar's freckled cheeks lit up as his fellow students laughed at his slowness-a standing joke among them. After the exam sheets had been collected, Maurice lectured briefly on the symbolism of sex in Dante's works.
Then, after the period was over, he took his briefcase and strolled along a corridor which led to the cafeteria. He spotted Yvette Thober standing near the bulletin board. Her raven-black hair flowed down to her shoulders with wild abandon; she whirled toward him and grinned.
"Headed for your Java break?" she said teasingly.
"It passes the time away on a chilly autumn morning. We all have our quaint habits and hobbies-like reading the bulletin board until you've memorized it."
"What's that supposed to mean, prof? I like dances and parties and making out. I can't stand outdoor sports. So the only way to find out what's up is to read the-"
"I'm just kidding you."
"Yeah-hah, hah. Tell me what your big hobby is."
He reached over and patted her on the soft curve of her buttocks. "Running into eighteen-year-old vixens. I also have a membership in the Highport fish and game club. They refer to me as an expert caster."
Yvette shuddered and then wiggled her index finger into his groin. It was a pleasant sensation. "I can't stand to even think about slimy fish," she laughed.
"You're probably interested in the more lasting sports. Like being pinned to a fellow here at the school."
"No, sir."
He knew she was drawing him out; during the past week she had run into him so often that he suspected an ulterior motive. "A nice girl like you should have at least one frat pin."
"You come on pretty square. That's like getting engaged to be engaged. As soon as it happens they expect miracles from us-like sleeping with them as a wife or mistress would." She tossed her head quickly, and the ebony locks tumbled straighter upon her shoulders and backbone. "Are you against parties, prof?"
"Let's not talk politics."
"We have a blast almost every night in the dorm. I never see you at any of them. But I suppose you're busy at the house or at your club meetings-"
"I suppose."
"Let me know when you're available and I'll try to get you an invite."
After she had strutted away, he scratched his head in bewilderment. Yvette might have observed him talking to Ida and deduced that he enjoyed socializing with the student body. But very few teachers endangered their reputation through attendance at one of those parties. Maurice knew he'd have to bring his wife along if he ever did go, or there'd be chatter in the halls.
He had a coffee at the chow room and then went to his desk in the faculty study den. Yvette seemed rather nosey about his social life. Did she suspect him of seducing Ida, or was it simply an innocent hand offered in friendship? Or did Yvette have another scheme in mind?
He sighed, not knowing what or whom to believe, since the night he had taken Ida's maidenhead at the cottage. He tried to concentrate upon correcting test papers and found himself in a dither about the immediate future. His sexual involvement with her had solved nothing. It accented the hard, cold truth of dissatisfaction with his present life and the fact that things had changed ... they had imperilled his marriage.
The red pencil felt heavy in his hand as he scrawled upon the sheets. Then a set of cold, lady-like fingers appeared before him. They nestled upon his eyelids and closed them, and he felt a soft, warm breast digging into the back of his skull.
"I'll give you three guesses," said the voice behind him. .
Indecision clouded his mental processes. Spinning around in the swivel chair, he knew he had figured her identity right-but there remained the problem of how to handle her. "You could give someone a heart attack like that, Barbara."
"The owner has the right to touch her property. I do own part of you." She whispered the rest into his ear so that Smithers could not hear. "Surely you remember which part that was, at the motel where you and the Dean of Women-"
"Have it your way. Excuse me ... I was just leaving for first P.M. class."
Maurice got up and feigned urgency as he stuffed his briefcase with miscellaneous junk from the desk. He hoped the act would discourage her. But he didn't really expect miracles when dealing with this clutching, man-hungry she-devil.
She blocked his path and purred, "You don't get rid of me quite so easily, darling."
"We'll see each other again."
"Sure. When the moon turns blue. You keep promising, but it's like the goon on relief who swears he'll pay his rent tomorrow. Then another tomorrow comes, and another, and still no rent money!"
"Show some patience. I can't go along with the idea of a person owning any of me."
"I spoke metaphorically on purpose. When are you and I stepping out again, Maurie?"
He furrowed his brow in discomfort and watched tall, shapely Barbara dab powder on her nose. It was a regal and proud nose with a down-thrust in the bone which denoted organizational intelligence. He took advantage of her lapse in attention. Skipping around the desk, he was between her and the door before she glanced up from the compact mirror.
"Go on," she snapped. "Run away, as you've always done."
"I said I'll phone you when the coast is clear!"
He rushed off to the elevator without bothering to hear her curse words. Of course she resented his brush-off. But there seemed to be little she could do about it, unless she figured on blackmail by spilling the beans to Ellen.
He chuckled privately at the knowledge of his position. Barbara would keep her mouth shut, because she also had a name and a reputation that must be upheld.
When he arrived home that evening he found that Ellen had already gone out on her bridge club night. The notion of a TV dinner hardly appealed to him, for some reason; he locked up the house and drove across town toward the cafe district in the suburbs. His small car threaded a zigzag path between speeding vehicles on the highway. He turned off at Empire Street and stopped in front of Swingland.
It was a noisy dine-and-dance joint but at least the combo and B-girls offered new atmosphere. He gulped the steak sandwich, washed it down with three Dubonnets, then eased to the end of the bar and stood there for a while.
Liquor didn't do much to get the vision of Ida out of his mind. It did lower his inhibitions, though, and he felt an overwhelming urge sweep over him. He stared at the painted floozy beside him. She was sort of pretty-behind the rouge and lipstick, which she didn't need as aids in attracting men. The dress clung to her svelte, fantastic body as though it had been varnished directly upon her skin.
"Hey, baby," he said as he nudged her with his elbow. "You look pretty lonely sitting here at the bar."
"Everyone's lonely. Everywhere."
"My name's Joe Smith," he nodded. "I'd like to buy you a drink if that's okay with you. Miss-uh-what's your first name?" She appeared aware that he was disguising his identity and yet the charades must be done as she had undoubtedly accomplished them a thousand times.
He knew what he was getting. A beautiful, painted queen who would not ask for money because he had none to give.
"Ruby," she whispered casually.
"You and I-we're both out to forget something. Cheers."
The conversation was slim indeed as he stirred his drink, watching the ice cubes swirl in the gin and wine mixture. Ruby's lips pursed at the taste of her Dubonnet. "I love lemons," she said. "Nothing like a lemon twist to set off one's drink. Do you agree, Joe?"
Soon they were joking and teasing each other like old friends. Maurice brought up the subject of travel, especially toward a quiet indoor destination, an idea to which Ruby added her ballot. It required a ten-minute ride before they were in her flat at the Turf Apartments.
"I know you're not really a truck-driver, Joe. What difference does it make? I like you and I think you talk funny."
"Wait'll you hear the epilogue."
"Hey, speak English!"
She might have been denied a formal education, but her hands were wonderfully trained. They stripped his shirt off and then unbuckled his pants and slid them down his hairy legs. He enfolded her in his embrace. Ruby's breasts mashed against him and she rotated her hips until it seemed she must corkscrew her midsection into him.
"I'd try speaking Greek," he said, "but they never had a word for this."
He unzipped the entire rear portion of her dress with one long, staccato stroke. She stepped out of the garment with lithe strides.
"Surprised? I hate underwear-bras and all that."
Her nudity was magnificent, from the sandy brown mat of her aureolas past the full breasts and down to her waist and perfectly proportioned hips. Her legs shone in the lamp-light with breathtaking loveliness. He gawked at her while she turned on the hi-fi. A slow fox-trot hummed into being and he continued to study her nakedness.
Her flesh was alabaster white, like a statue of some unattainable mythical goddess. The cords rippled in her thighs and arms as she approached him near the bed.
"Make love to me," she gasped.
"What is love except dancing without music? I offer you togetherness. I've rescued you from Swingland and the hundred stags who want your affection and nearness."
He swept his arms around her and danced around and around, gripping her by the rear of her delicious rump. Then he eased her down to the rug. It was a soft, inviting blanket for their activities. The floor lamp cast their shadows upon the wall and created silhouettes of lust- an eerie pantomime where her lewdness reached dramatic heights.
Maurice squinted in ecstasy as she held him rigid and directed his ballooning need upon her. She gyrated up and down, positioning him like a see-saw upon the hub of her body.
She wept for joy with each violent arc of her lips. He caught on to the rhythm and shifted his weight in the opposite direction until he felt her innermost muscles grind upon him. A cataclyst of explosions detonated him. For several unbelievable moments he became a lunatic filled with irrational, hungry passion, and the echoing burst of completion.
Consciousness seemed to fade away. His brain whirled and he did not know if it was the gin or the woman's startling demands taking their toll upon him. He wanted to lie here forever, his bare chassis united with hers and feeling her kisses begin to burn him again.
The room which Yvette used as her abode was certainly the largest in the dormitory. With her penchant for parties, the vast apartment suited her own character exquisitely, a fact which must have influenced her choice of the place at registration time.
Her stereo echoed teen-age discotheque of the period as the crowd gathered. Maurice sat with Ellen on a couch in the corner and sipped at his drink. He counted at least twenty other couples in the room, some dancing already and others standing about like adults-which seemed rather unusual for such wild collegians.
Maurice leaned toward his wife. "Are you still wanting to stick it out? Things could easily reach the point of no return and maybe even change into a make-out session."
"Not with four members of the faculty in attendance, dear. Relax."
"It's amazing how they accepted us on the guest list so readily."
"You have contacts," Ellen said quietly. "I thought Yvette herself was the one who asked us here. And besides-I'm very anxious to see the beautiful coeds of Milltown U. There has to be something attractive about them or you wouldn't be spending as much time as you do on-shall we say, extra curricular activities."
"I haven't noticed."
"Ah, but I do notice things where my husband is concerned."
Her implications were getting plainer every day. He puffed nervously at the cigaret and wondered how she could have found reason to suspect him. Maybe I talk in my sleep, he thought with a wave of panic. II so, I couldn't have uttered Ida's name or else Ellen would know who her rival is. Her attendance at this party would have been unnecessary. No ... she's groping in the dark for answers.
He realized he must play the role cool. It would be curtains if Ellen should find evidence or corroboration for her suspicion of his infidelity.
As the night wore on, he saw that everyone was getting rather high on the smooth Canadian whiskey. He checked the faces of kids whom he knew: DiClauslow, Irene Payne, Genevieve, Oscar, and a redheaded soph named Korin who was Yvette's chum. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that Ida had failed to show up.
Ellen was having a gay time doing the frug with Oscar. Maurice felt jealousy cold inside him; she never unbent enough at home to be-bop like this. What was her game?
He walked across the room toward the punch bowl. Most of the kids wore casual clothing with a mod look-epaulets on the shoulders of their suede or wool coats; bell-bottom trousers; one shapely girl was down to her T-shirt. Maurice felt ultra dignified in his gray tweed jacket and no-cuff navy pants.
"Hi-Yvette," he smiled as the young hostess joined him near the sofa.
"Isn't this a ball?" she winked. "A way-out blast from the word go."
"The greatest."
"And to think I had to fight Mr. Fedorhall for party rights last year. He must have thought there were sexy things going on in the dorm."
"Heaven perish the thought. I'm glad he changed his rule."
"Using a room at college for intercourse is out of style. We coeds have enough worries as it is. Come on and dance, prof. Your wife hasn't let any grass grow under her feet."
"No, she hasn't," he repeated dully, staring at the frank way Ellen was hugging Oscar in their fox-trot.
Maurice glided onto the huge rug with Yvette in his arms. He knew about the worries of these collegiate babes. In frosh year they had to figure out a defense against the boy who attempted making love to their breasts. As sophomores they had the worry of coping with the boy who explored the merchandise under their skirts. From then on-each coed to her own morality.
Yvette sang softly in his ear as she spun around, pressing her abdomen against him. He felt himself grow excited.
"Loosen up, prof. Tell me how it is to be an educated guy with his master's degree."
"Would you believe I don't enjoy talking shop?"
"I guess your wife is highly educated, too. My psychology books mention the intellectual wife-her habit of running things like a warden-her sensitive nature-expecting lofty standards from hubby and then cracking up if he fails. Or if she fails."
"You hit below the belt, kid."
"Is she like that? I'm asking you if she is, because I want to know."
As he prepared a blistering reply that would squelch the half-drunk hostess, he casually glanced toward Ellen. He did a double take. His eyes refused to focus or telegraph the obvious truth which assailed him.
Three females had stripped to the waist as they twisted with their partners. Ellen was one of the impromptu strippers.
And her male partner, reaching out to caress her as they danced in the shadows near the wall, was that punk himself, John DiCauslow!
Apparently no one really noticed who had chosen whom for the heavy stuff. Seven or eight couples were petting unashamedly on the floor. Maurice blinked in rage as he let go of Yvette and then he hurried toward the shadows. By now, pudgy John had his hands on those naked, quivering breasts and was kissing Ellen passionately. She seemed to enjoy it. Her arms circled him in response and she opened her mouth upon his with raw desire.
"Sorry to interrupt," Maurice spat out. He grabbed John's collar and yanked him aside savagely.
John sputtered, "Hey-what are you trying to do, be a party-pooper?" He guffawed fiendishly.
Ellen glared at Maurice with a sudden sober glint in her eye. "For crying out loud, I thought you had a sense of humor! The boy's only kidding around."
"Stop acting like a drunken whore and put this on!"
He threw the blouse at her, then spun around to face John. Even at such a victorious moment.
John's head was turned at a cocky angle as he shook with laughter. Many of the other guests had paused in their sex marathon long enough to view the action.
Maurice uncorked an uppercut that sent young John reeling into the davenport. The kid sat there, a look of puzzlement in his alcohol-dim eyes; for once he resembled something less than his genuine self.
"Please honor me," said Maurice to his wife, "by joining me as we leave this den of iniquity." He trembled horribly in fury and seized her by the wrist, although she had begun to weep without control.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ida walked past a crowd of bettors who had lined up near the parlay window. She twisted the bracelet nervously on her forearm and continued moving down a graded ramp toward the track.
She smelled the musty paint on the grandstand seats, mingling with other odors in her nose-dust and iron girders and the nearby horses themselves. Ida smiled as a feeling of triumph glowed within her. It was more than the happy knowledge that she had given herself utterly and superbly to Maurice.
Throughout early adolescence, Ida Reneson had suffered mentally because her mother had hated the role of "woman" which was foisted upon her.
What sense did it make to struggle and sacrifice as a wife? This was the theme under which the two Reneson daughters had grown up; only an idiot could enjoy being female. And so Ida would not hoard her virginity or save it for some husband. She had become lewd, promiscuous-a fornicator with the English prof until her independence was complete.
The mobbed bleachers at Unicorn Race Track hummed with noise and expectation. She halted at the railing, scanning the faces around her. At last she saw a thin figure weave through the assemblage of people who stood anxiously near the track's outer edge.
Ida extended her arm in greeting. "I thought I'd never find you," she said to Sue as they shook hands daintily. "The fourth race is ready to start, by the looks of it. How have you been?"
"Okay, for an ancient lady."
"You're just thirty years old, sis. In the prime of your life."
The sisters gazed at one another for a moment, and Ida was amused by the twinkle in Sue's eye. Sue had an angular, olive-skinned face, well tanned by her outdoor activities as owner of the horse breeding stable. Her royal air and the adequateness of her legs and figure in general gave her a lofty appearance. The ideal career girl. But of course it was not unusual for a Reneson to remain single and established in bachelorism.
Sue led the way to their reserved front seats and commented, "You still have that weakness for mature people. I'm trying to be a bit of a mother to you, Ida, and keep you out of trouble. Older men are poison."
"Come off it."
"I remember the oil executive in Jersey. And the high school principal-"
"Did they ever date me?"
"No. But they sure tried."
"So stop worrying and understand the facts of life." Ida sat down calmly to wait for the horses and jockeys to finish their warm-up. "As a coed I now analyze everyone where sex is concerned."
"Stay in your age group. I'll be snooping a-round at Milltown to check on you."
Soon the gate clanged open and Ida watched the race begin with a vengeance. She had pooled a few hundred with her sister in a wager on "Flying Mare." It irked Ida to be warned or chided as if she were a child, when suddenly she knew more than enough to take care of herself. She came from the upper economic class. In such a world, the sexes were equal and if you liked a man, you had him in bed when the occasion warranted. Let Sue act out her private eye farce; she'd run into a dead stop with Maurice-even if she did happen to find out he was involved sexually.
"Come on, Flying Mare;" Sue cried out in the din of the mob.
Her hands were gesturing excitedly, a familiar sight to Ida because she knew that Sue always did talk manually as well as with her tongue. The ostentatiousness pleased her. She seemed proud of having gained wealth without a college education behind her, and she displayed this intellectual lack deliberately in many of her actions.
"Oh, sugar!" Ida complained as the horses crossed the line one after another. Flying Mare had dragged in fifth, and Ida quickly tore up her ducats and threw them into the wind.
She had coffee with her sister at a diner, after which they separated and returned to their respective cars in the street.
"You keep in touch," Sue advised as she slipped the black gloves upon her fingers. "And be careful who you date at those wild parties."
Ida smiled and got into her large Rolls-Royce at the curb. As she cruised toward the university, she noticed that clouds had drifted in from the ocean and darkened the afternoon sky. A nice day to catch up on one's reading. She parked at her spot near the dorm and strolled alone past a clump of small spruce trees.
At the steps leading up to the book-store she was surprised to see Yankee Lane hurry across a patch of grass toward her. He seemed as vigorous and strong as ever.
"There she is," he said. "The spittin' image of my girl friend!"
"Yankee! What on earth are you doing around these parts?"
"I hope you didn't think I'd just drop out of the picture. They told me you had a room on campus. So I looked around and waited and you finally showed up." He surveyed the length of her body, his eyes raking in each curved outline and the skin which flashed under her dress as the breeze blew it helter-skelter. "A kiss for the old beau?"
She let him taste her lips for an instant but then she drew away hurriedly. "The past is dead, Yankee."
"I got a job as chauffeur for one of those rich cats on the hill." He ignored her resistance and took her by the arm. "Surprised? I'll be around you quite a bit, you know."
"It so happens that I'm going steady," she lied.
"We'll go about changin' all that before long. Hey, you're as gorgeous as ever!"
She had gotten her fill of this man and his friends at the motorcycle club back home. So he had moved to Milltown and undoubtedly had new cycle cronies. Well, he wouldn't have any more luck trying to seduce her than he had a year ago.
"See you in the funny papers," she said as she walked away."
"Whoah! Come back here!"
Getting rid of him in such direct fashion would be preferable to dragging it out. Yankee was persistent, though. She anticipated further attempts on his part to communicate with her, and the trouble he might cause. At the book-store she bought a Joyce novel and went around via the rear exit to her dorm.
Ida's first class in the morning was not until 9:30. After making her bed and painting her nails with scarlet polish, she started to dust the vases which decorated the room. Again her thoughts dwelled upon Maurice.
His presence had thrilled Ida far beyond the physical plane, a fact which gave sufficient reason for wishing to continue seeing him. He talked so well and with such experience. She could reach out past her capabilities, search herself and discover things that really mattered. The prof made it easier for her to plan the future career in social work which she had in mind.
She heard the radio playing rock-and-roll music on the end table. A gay, happy tune bubbled in her throat; she sang along with the radio as she ran the feather duster upon shelves and lamps and woodwork. She picked up her alligator purse from the vanity.
"That's a beautiful handbag," said a voice behind Ida.
Whirling about, she saw an attractive woman standing in the open doorway. "We have the habit of knocking at doors in this place," Ida said rather testily. "You frightened me."
"I'm known for my quietness. In fact Maurie calls me sneaky, in his lighter moods. You're the Reneson child."
"The choice of words is off-base."
"To be sure. I'm Ellen Hayko, dear lady."
A sinking sensation grabbed at Ida's stomach and she stood straight up, jutting her breasts outward. "So you're-the prof's wife."
"We're not exactly kissing cousins from Maine. I want to make a suggestion, and you'd better listen very well. I know what's going on."
An awkward pause fell between them like a wall of stone. Rage was dark on Ellen's face, and she stepped forward into the room without an invitation. Ida groped for the right answers but she felt at a disadvantage because of the shock element. It seemed impossible that she and Maurice could have been found out ... unless his spouse was guessing. Yes, that must be it.
"Exactly what do you mean, Mrs. Hayko? Your blood pressure looks a bit high at the moment."
"Ah-the innocent pose. It's something you kids excel at. The teen-age pattern runs along an obvious track, and you're no exception." Ellen's words came out listless, devoid of enthusiasm, which probably constituted her natural pitch of oratory. If she couldn't get more excited than this, on the subject of cheating husbands-. Ida began to chuckle.
"What in hell are you snickering about?" demanded Ellen. "I know about you coeds. Bored with sex in a car, bored with adolescent fellows, and yet you feel pressure on you that says you must become adult. And thus you turn into whores."
"Shut up, you foul bitch! I'm respectable!"
"Hah! To a person like me, love has sanctity and it's the only reason for having a man to live with. Whether he plays football for the JV's or teaches astronomy is beside the point. Your silly hero-worship-"
"I wish you'd either get to the point or else scram," Ida snapped. She felt that her performance was rather effective and convincing.
"The point? Dear infant, you just leave Maurie alone and don't ever touch him again."
"Explain what gives with that word touch. You're accusing me of-"
"I'm not a barbarian who makes rash accusations. You heard the warning. I have friends and they keep their eyes open around this college, so the truth's a common fact, Ida. You're chasing him. If I thought you had already succeeded-all the way-I'd tear your hair out!"
"Listen to me, now. I could care less about you and what you've imagined. I'll run my own life."
"Take care that it's yours, without any side affair. Do you think I'd let some tramp ruin eleven years of marriage?"
Ida felt her control vanish and she strode forward angrily. Clenching her fist, she was ready to launch a haymaker punch when Ellen suddenly backed out into the hall. Fear blanched her complexion until it was nearly white.
"Stop behaving in a tantrum. You're intelligent enough to realize where we both stand. Good-bye."
The fury pulsed away from Ida's brain as she leaned against the door panel. Tears began to trickle from her eyes. She hadn't wanted this ... an ultimatum from the suspicious wife. Sure, Ellen had been taking a shot in the dark and didn't truly believe in Ida's guilt. The woman simly had to search somewhere for the culprit who might be alienating Maurie's love.
Ida wondered if things had gone too far. If she were falling in love with him, the day for a showdown would inevitably arrive. She took the handkerchief from her purse, wiped the dampness off her cheeks, and turned away toward the parlor again.
The mere fact that his lunch tray was jammed to the hilt gave Maurice enlightenment. He nodded in private agreement with himself, sitting at the long table in the cafeteria, his attention fixed upon the food he would eat. Buttered buns, a dish of mashed potatoes, pork chops, cucumbers and coffee. At last he knew why he had gained so much weight, the answer being the simple one of over-indulging-which invariably led to a pot-belly.
He thought about the fast punch he had dealt John DiCauslow at the party. Not bad at all. And the beauty part was ... everyone involved had apparently accepted the ruckus as an unfortunate yet meaningless event. It was forgotten and filed away in the waste basket of their memory.
However, Maurice very well comprehended the significance in his wife's mind. She had deliberately induced John's passion, despite her denial to Maurice later, and once started on a task she insisted on pursuing it. He trusted that she would confine her experiments to more conventional gimmicks rather than stripping down to her fuzzy, cute waist to check on his jealousy quota.
The pork chops tasted greasy in his mouth. He grimaced, wiping his lips with a napkin, and then saw Yvette easing toward him. Seen in the sober light of midday, she did indeed sport quite a remarkable figure beneath the tight sweater and skirt. Her legs were rounded off at the right spots and he could see almost every luscious inch of Yvette's thighs. Her flesh shone flawlessly-a golden bronze hue from the sun, and he reckoned she had the dark type of breast-ends. Wine red, full, and hard when they were kissed.
Her nubile abdomen seemed to taunt him as she swayed invitingly near the table. She set her tray down opposite him.
"You're staring, teach. I guess you like this stuff. It's been touched and petted in every way you can think of-except the limit."
"Please don't call me teach."
"Why not?" said Yvette as she slid onto the bench and gave him a view of her almond brown legs up to the navel.
"Because that's a nickname which is used by your dime-store phony friend, the philosopher."
"John?"
"Yes, John."
"Sorry about the-uh-discussion you two had in my room the other night. Pass the salt, Maurie? Thanks. Anyway, John's what you'd call an acquaintance and not a friend."
He picked up the toothpick and started knifing at his right rear molars. She had claimed to be an undefiled maiden. Although Maurice had doubts about that-in fact he'd bet any amount of cash she was lying-the idea of Yvette flirting openly with him was rather offbeat.
"You're an interesting guy," she said between bites of the hot dog. "And we're pretty similar, we two, after all. I dig modern jazz as much as you do."
"I suppose you also smoke Havana cigars because I do."
"Right."
"Something's on your mind, Yvette, or you wouldn't have come over here and given me the free leg show. Unless you like to tease. In which case you're going around in circles, because it doesn't irk me to be teased or led on." He noted with mild shock that a button on her blouse was open and she did have very dark nipples. He tore his eyes away. "Perhaps you're jaded with the boys in your milieu."
She giggled, "You sound as if you're motivating a cheap novel on suburbia and bored housewives."
"So give me the answer."
"Believe it or not, I am tired of being decent and virginal and the innocuous life of any party I'd love to change my image."
He found it interesting to follow her rapid, often erratic ideas as they flowed out. This girl could help him understand why he had suddenly become irresistible and the target of teen-age coeds. Or maybe it was vice versa. He must find out what demon was throwing him into dangerous liaisons with the kids, regardless of which side did the chasing.
"I was brought up in Manhattan," Yvette went on. "A rich but tough neighborhood. My folks didn't really care what happened, with the result that I hung around with loose crowds. But I drew the line at sex orgies and was deemed a square."
"There's such an age gap between us," he argued, "that we talk different languages where sex is concerned."
"No, Maurie. Desire remains strong even for the middle-aged, which you've barely reached."
"I'm forty-four."
She sipped thoughtfully at her glass of chocolate milk for a few seconds. He felt conspicuous, like a fish in some aquarium. But when he glanced about him, he observed that many other instructors also sat at tables with students of the opposite gender, and no one particularly noticed him and Yvette.
He had a hunch about the point she was making, by her roundabout means. Maybe she'd be all right. It was for sure that she wouldn't blab something so intimate to any of her associates, because the kid had intelligence. He sighed and drummed his fingers on the table as he waited.
"I want you to take me out," she said finally. "What?"
"You're a very nice man and you couldn't possibly think I'd offer propositions or seduction. Just one date, prof. Platonic and yet entertaining because of the danger element. A little romantic atmosphere would even be appropriate-"
"Jumping toads, you girls must think I'm an ogre!" he whispered. "I don't hang scalps in my boudoir!"
"I have a summer apartment off the campus."
"Out of the question."
She arose and winked at him. "You'll call for me at three, tomorrow afternoon? Unless you're afraid."
Miserably he glared at her and wondered how they intuitively hammered upon his weak points, until he was trapped or faced with dishonor by refusing. Eve had probably done the same thing to Adam. Muttering under his breath, Maurice absently tightened his neck-tie. "You give me little choice," he said. "If a boy answers the door I'll turn you over my knee later and spank you."
He left the cafeteria, his nerves shot by the noises of the chow-hall work crew. Strangely enough, he began to look forward to the date with Yvette and relished the idea of playing with her body. She certainly wouldn't demand that they engage in innocent scrabble games. He anticipated the wildest orgy of his experience, while discovering more about what made his own libido tick.
That evening he went for a long walk amid the shadows of Catacomb Park, which was mainly a long stretch of seashore ridged with a breakwater running parallel to the beach. Baseball diamonds and dozens of trees adorned the park's grassy section. Maurice, haunted by reminiscent thoughts, recalled how he had first scored with Ellen on this very boulevard.
He had parked at Windy Point, under the high harvest moon. "No, you mustn't do that!" Ellen had objected when his groping hands advanced from the gray lace bra down to her panties. But persistence usually won out. And this time it had the tensions of courtship and an engagement ring to help break through her resistance. His kisses burned her flesh like white-hot darts while he whispered and fondled the reluctant entrance to triumph, which she guarded zealously by clamping both legs together. The dizziness of an August night overwhelmed her. Maurice had wept for joy as the evil crash reverberated inside the girl and he was hurled about as though on a hurricane-vicious sea.
But this had occurred more than a decade ago. He moved past the park benches now, alone and confused, knowing how soon winter would be arriving with its cold arctic blasts. It was the winter of his life, also.
He possessed ambitions and dreams, and yet how many of them would be realized? Desperately he battled for success in his teaching career and maybe a power position at the university. The aging men always sought power or authority. He laughed privately and snapped a decayed twig in his hand while the other goal came to his mind ... you had to avoid failure in sex, even when your wife fostered failure.
All work made Jack a dull lad. Maurice knew he could count on fillies like Ida or Genevieve to supply the fun he required. Was their freshness and immaturity a symbol of the youth which had passed him by?
Ida represented the real danger because she could be easy to love and worship in a permanent arrangement. Whenever he spoke with her, it was like being reborn.
But a fountain of youth was not destined for him, he reasoned. A new determination gripped him and he resolved that his marriage would be kept afloat no matter what the cost. It meant a break in his relationship with Ida. He hoped the rupture could be made without any drastic measures such as total absence from the coed.
Digging out his roots and drifting to a different college in a strange town would be the most painful thing imaginable. He doubted that he had the stomach to try it.
CHAPTER SIX
On Friday afternoon he drove to the address which Yvette had written on the scrap and given him. He was astounded by the size of the apartment house. Reaching up toward the clouds, it was a genuine skyscraper-built by some Italian immigrant who had started with a shoestring and become a construction czar. Maurice admired the plush carpeting and tile work as he entered the lobby.
He rode the elevator upward until it reached the nineteenth floor and deposited him automatically at a hallway. He knocked bravely upon Yvette's door.
A wad of saliva caught in his throat and stuck at the larynx as he watched the girl appear in front of him. The robe which she wore had a fuzzy texture to it but otherwise could best be described as transparent.
"Hi, there," he rasped.
"Hell-Jo!"
Yvette had the maddening habit of lengthening her words in a blatant, seductive manner. He ran a finger along his already-sweaty shirt collar. "At least you've got some underwear on, I notice." After hesitating for an awful moment during which his every impulse told him to flee, Maurice -edged toward the door jamb. "We could catch cold standing out in the draft."
"Excuse me, prof. Come on in and have a gander at my interior decoration."
He gawked at the outline of her bikini panties behind the robe. "Oh, you mean the wallpaper and so on. Of course." He closed the door behind him as they sauntered into the confines of her flat.
"Do you live alone?" he said.
"Your fangs are showing, Maurie. During the summer Korin and I shared the rent. Now we occasionally use the place as a team on week-ends. She's out, and I don't expect her back for a while-so just be yourself without any worrying. Or inhibitions."
He heard the modest hi-fi droning in a corner, near the purple pole lamp. The ceiling was a dark violet cloak above them.
Yvette said, "Take that jacket off and let your hair down."
"Let's talk about love," he smiled as he removed the coat and threw it on a sofa. "I imagine you expect to get married some fine day. Husbands are handy things around the house."
"Not the ones in my family. Both uncles and my father were birds of the identical feather. Just drifting bums."
"I'm afraid you sound anti-male, dear child."
"Who's to blame if I want to wait around for a rich sucker?"
She winked and sat beside him on the large couch. The rug under his feet was a downy rag type which felt as smooth as female flesh when he reached down to touch it. "You're very well equipped," he said.
"And how." She slid the cord away from her waist and peeled her gossamer, celluloid-thin robe off. It crumpled in a pile at her feet. Hefting the twin breasts in her palms, she shook them up and down. "You'd have to go pretty far to top this equipment."
The odor of perfume assailed him until his eyes watered with desire for Yvette's superb chassis. He draped one arm around her. "Instead of talking about love, I suggest we change the topic. Sex holds interest, too. Unless you feel that modern over-use has dulled sex in the art of conversation."
"You've got the right idea. Less chin music and more action!"
"I assume you don't wish to debate the difference between-"
"Knock off that literary crap. We're in a cozy room ... not your English 105 cell."
She unbuttoned his shirt and continued with his trousers. He listened to the Mantovani music on the record player. Incensed with passion at her bold touch, he got out of the pants and then hurled his shoes away and sat beside her, wearing only his shorts. He felt the cool air hit his masculinity.
She stared in fascination, her eyes a pair of shiny marbles that took in the sight of his climbing physical need.
Then Maurice was upon her. Like a pulsating electric wire, his mouth scorched the tawny flesh of her shoulders and stomach and hips. He kissed the sleek thighs and knees with fervent adoration. Yvette was laughing in joy as she tumbled backward to accommodate his supple hands. She showed the greatest cooperation, like a savage African beauty on the altar of sacrifice as the aged priest descends upon her and demands the apex in thrills.
But today, of course, there would be no gore. Her skin tasted salty-damp on Maurice's tongue and he shifted from her face to the waiting breasts.
His fingers taloned their way into the cushions of marshmallow loveliness. The mounds grew large and he knew the veins were athrob with blood and heat and female hunger. He kissed her until she quivered like a fish out of water. He drew the rigid dark ends one after another into his mouth and gagged on their swelling depth like a man gorging himself with candy.
"Maurie!" she wailed in ecstasy. "Straddle me close, darling! You have so much to give and I've got to see if-if I can hold it!"
"First I'll tell you the story of Jack and the Beanstalk," he prodded.
"You do and I'll call the FBI!"
"Honey, I hope you're not squeamish. This is going to come as a shock."
"I'm AC or DC. Hook up the current already and stop with the jokes. Ah! That feels so marvelous!"
He knew she was at the verge of blast-off like a Titan missile on the pad. Chortling, he removed his face from the essence of her being and felt his own sweet victory as their frames were united. It felt perfect ... a torpedo entering its chamber with exquisite smoothness. A long moan escaped from Yvette's throat as he fired one and two and three and scored direct hits upon her ship of war.
Eerie sounds filled his brain during the ebbtide of aftermath. They were demon voices calling him and warning him not to linger too late.
He got dressed and then reached down toward the girl. The black hair was vivid against her pulsing nakedness. "Are you happy, Eve?"
"You win top prize in my book. The other kids who had me before seem like amateurs. You're not leaving?"
"Have to."
"I'm pooped right down to the toes, or else I'd walk you to the elevator."
He kissed her swiftly and eased toward the quiet door. It gave him a start when he saw Korin standing inside the apse, grinning mischievously. She was a junior business administration major and Yvette's roommate.
"I must say, prof-you do put on quite a show."
"Korin! You weren't-"
"Watching? Put your ulcer back to sleep and forget it. My lips are sealed as far as this afternoon is concerned." She nudged him slyly with her elbow. "Besides, I can't blame anyone for being conquered at the shrine of Eve's beauty."
"It was still rather naughty of you. Sex should have a sacred privacy-"
"Stop the lecture. I'm no babe in the woods and neither is my dear roomie. We do more than study in here, you know. Thanks for warming her up."
Korin's frankness appalled him. He gulped his embarrassment away and rushed out to the elevator shaft. He had heard about lesbians on campus. No one could pinpoint their identity, but now he was acquainted with two of them. The notion brought a shudder of disgust, mixed with fascination, to his battered loins.
He tossed about in bed that night and counted at least a thousand sheep. When slumber finally did balm his worried mind, he was ravaged by nightmares which repeated a scene of satanic orgy-featuring himself and Ida, Yvette and Korin, all nude as they went at each other bestially.
Then it was daylight ... he could understand the shame that made him feel like the lowest kind of heel known to man. Shame for exploiting the innocent.
Ellen moped around the house with her face as long and brooding as his. He poured two coffees and tried to socialize with her at the kitchen table. "Ellen, I've raked the leaves from the yard. There must be something in need of paint or varnish."
"Go and find it, then."
"Nothing like enthusiasm to bring a couple closer together." He bit his lin, in search of a conversation piece which might spark her affection. She had grown listless as hell. "You haven't told me about church lately. Hearing you repeat the minister's latest jokes used to break me up."
"Religion means nothing to you. Why should we bother about the minister?"
Maurice twisted the napkin into a ball in his fist. No, it wouldn't help any if he got her started on the materialism which governed his philosophy of life. They had already shouted their way through several arguments on that score.
He picked up the newspaper and scanned the front page ... a big article on the national housing shortage. "I see where they're ready to build another project for low-income people in New Haven. Too bad."
"Yes it is, Maurie."
"You'd think that our country, with all her riches since the war, could at least-"
"Please!" Ellen snapped, sliding her cup and saucer away as she stood up from the chair. "I agree that inadequate housing is a real scandal in America. If you don't mind, I have a headache. Save the town forum for next week."
He shrugged in despair and propped his elbows on the table. His wife's footsteps waned in the distance, sort of like a cow-girl fading with the sunset. She did a lot of walking out nowadays. She was sullen, sad, resentful-he could name many adjectives to describe her attitude and they were all no good in his quest for harmony. Maybe she still thought he was laying coeds.
Shame pummeled him again, for that happened to be the exact truth. What had it accomplished when he made it with Yvette? A crazy treadmill. Or escalator stairs droning down at him as he walked up, leaving him further from his target; and the steps on that escalator were teen-age girls.
If he didn't stop the whole mess, Genevieve or Korin or someone else would be next. Mass seduction wouldn't help. He had to get free of Ida by the only sane method possible, and it must be done immediately.
He paced back and forth along the fireplace. Alexander, their pet Doberman pinscher, waltzed across the parlor and nuzzled Maurice's nose. The dog whimpered as his ears were kneaded gently.
Maurice said, "You know I'm in trouble, boy. After our many years together you can tell."
Alexander bared his teeth in mock anger. He was an easy-going pinscher but he had ripped the cuffs off more than one prowler or kid cutting through the Hayko yard. His breed of canine was born for the fight-the savage duel of supremacy and viciousness under the veneer of civilized animals.
Dusk was grim on the factory roofs and housetops of the city as Maurice drove around the Cloverleaf at Empire Street. This neighborhood stood on a hill, angled westerly toward Long Island Sound and her ceaseless, pounding white-caps. He wished there could be some easier escape route. But Ellen had been hurt, and she in turn was hurting him-which meant a vicious circle wherein no one could win unless the third party suffered.
He entered the smoky, beer-scented cafe. In the bar mirror he saw the neon sign reflected, pulsing on and off, SWINGLAND-SWING-LAND.
Ida had beaten him to their rendezvous at the booth. He swung into the seat opposite her, groping mentally for the best words.
She dead-panned, "You certainly picked a romantic site. And after the way you've been avoiding me in school. Some men are just too hard to figure out, aren't they? Maurie, say something."
"Look. We hardly know each other and I'm old enough to be-"
"Age has exactly no bearing on what I feel! So you've developed hypochondria and you're beyond the forty-year barrier and you worry about every ache or pain. Let me tell you about my ache."
"I'm afraid to hear what it is."
"You don't consider me a yard of cloth, or a routine pickup. You like me. And by God I'm falling in love with you, sir, whether anyone likes it or not!"
"Oh, no!" He slammed his palm upon his forehead and sagged back against the leather support. Her strategy was obvious. She had suspected his reason for telephoning and arranging this tryst. Female tenacity clung to the smallest straw-any speck of hope.
He muttered, "You're taking a sneaky angle shot. It's too late to play on my sense of pity. We just have to split up, Ida, and call our dating a thing of the unfortunate past."
"Unfortunate? One session in bed and three dates and I'm in love. Yes, I guess you would call that laughable!"
"Ida-" He wrung his hands in frustration and watched her sobbing into the handkerchief. The tears cut him like giant razor blades.
"Be a human being!" she wept. "Give me some kind of chance."
"With your looks it'd be easy to play the field. A kid like Oscar would-"
"The fraternity boys are loyal until death do them part. They won't switch pins."
"You've got the whole world!"
"I want you. Do you think I care about guarding my honor against any wolf or marriage-happy bachelor? Retaining savoir-faire?"
"Ida, please stop crying."
"Say you don't give a hoot about me! Go ahead, tell me I was just another notch in your gun."
"You know I'm fond of you."
"Such politeness!"
He had reached tha limit of his endurance, unable to bear her emotional attack or self-pity. His fingers quaked as he lit the cigaret. The phrase stuck in his brain: Hades hath no fury like the wrath of a woman scorned. But here he was battling against Ida's very different and calculated plea for dependence, her challenge to be taken.
She sobbed, "Do you love me? If not, you could learn to do it. Admit it and be honest, prof-you're talking this out with me because you do care."
"Divorce might be an easy notion for you. But we simply must split up. You understand?"
Her eyes bored straight into Maurice's and he truly thought she would slap him. Then she said quietly, "In that case, please leave my table this very instant."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Korin took out a comb from her purse and started raking her hair with slow, rhythmic motions. The page-boy coiffure seemed ideal for her fiery auburn locks.
A comfortable silence had descended upon Ko-rin's apartment. She grinned mischievously as she see-sawed back and forth in the rocking chair, her legs stretched out like pink serpents, glinting and rippling as if they awaited a sexual encounter. Maurice realized that was out of the question. He walked over to the davenport and sat beside Yvette Thober.
Yvette's composition lay upon the cushion, and she was studying the red corrections which he had pencilled in. "I nearly flunked this essay," she nodded. "My thoughts must have. been elsewhere."
"Why do you think I'm at your quarters tonight? The two top students in English comp and you both washed out." He stared at Yvette, who sucked at the eraser of her pencil as she perused the theme sheet. Then Maurice glanced at the rocker again. Korin's complexion was the texture of soft cotton candy and she wore her revealing mod outfit-khaki pants and a shirt with epaulet shoulders-to display her curves to advantage. Her breasts bulged under the cotton shirt until the nipples were starkly out-lined.
He found certain facts well nigh unbelievable. Such as this pair of delicious feminine morsels being gay. Korin had explained it away by her claim that she and Yvette practiced lesbianism just part-time.
"Korin, I think we should go over your grammar lesson again," he said.
"I've got a better idea. You said you wanted to see the results of my modeling at the art class. Viola!" She leaped out of the chair with enough virility so that he figured she wore no bra ... her breasts moved around and jounced merrily as if there were no tomorrow.
Yvette sat up and clapped her hands. "Come over to the davenport, where you can relax, Maurie. We'll look at the pictures together."
"Relax?"
She lowered the skirt to her knees and laughed, "If that's feasible when you're with us single girls."
He cautiously took a seat beside her as Korin dug the pictures out of her trunk. Then she strewed them on his lap in a pile. "Read 'em and weep."
Yvette did the honors of sorting out the large, amateurish-but-realistic drawings. They were done in charcoal, brush, and oil. Korin had obviously worn no more than the legal limit while posing-and indeed she was nude on several of the side shots.
"Get a load of this one!" Yvette enthused, pointing to a comic pose which Maurice felt sure had never been approved by the art instructor.
The picture showed Korin trying to don a bra. However, her gorgeous breasts were so large that they dwarfed the midget-sized bra. It was like trying to cover two watermelons with a postage stamp. And the expression on her face conveyed disgust or condescension as though humoring the idiot who had suggested she put on the bra.
Maurice said, "How about you, Yvette? They told me you modeled for a while."
"Patience and fortitude. I'm in there."
He enjoyed leafing through the sketches, especially the ones of Yvette in her bikini and various bedroom attire-garter belt, nylons, half slip.
A few minutes later he was out in the corridor again with his briefcase. You couldn't stay too long on a private tutoring excursion, or the gossips would catch it and start talking. Maurice whistled as he strode toward the porch. It had nearly killed him to cast Ida adrift, and he still missed her something awful. But he intended to persevere in his vow of seeing her only at class. As a married man he had no business even entertaining the thought of a new love; not after what Ellen had meant to him.
Ellen, though, had grown much colder than ever because of her suspicions. She couldn't seem to believe that he was faithful in his love and would remain at her side.
He reached the outdoor patio and stairwell, near the marble fountain. The school day had ended and he anticipated a good meal at home. When he came to his car in the parking lot, Maurice set the briefcase down and searched for the key in his pocket. Then he saw a man approaching on the cinder lot.
"Wait a minute!" said the stranger. "You and I have somethin' to talk about."
Maurice frowned, hoping it would not be a hostile chat from any viewpoint. The fellow was about six-five and had the build of a weight-lifter.
"The name's Yankee Lane," he grunted. "You've gotta be Hayko."
"I admire your terse manner of speech."
"Huh?"
"You say a lot in a few words. Pleased to meet you, but I've really got to rush. If there are any directions you want-"
"Maybe she would go for a high-falutin' cat like you." Yankee grinned, oblivious of the hole in his mouth where an eyetooth should be. He appeared mid-twentyish and quite brutal-if one should meet him in a dark alley.
He continued, "I drive a limousine for my livin'. You're popular around town, professor." Derision was evident in his stress upon the last word, after which he said bluntly, "Keep your hands off her."
"Off whom?"
"Ida."
Maurice sighed in exasperation as he sat in the driver's seat of his Renault and hit the ignition. The engine thrummed to life. "I suppose you mean Ida Reneson. And I further suppose you're her boy friend."
"Right."
"Not another one! Dear chap, she has more steadies than I have pills, and that's quite a few. Why pick on me?"
Yankee snorted and narrowed his eyes. "You were seen at Swinpland in a booth with her. I'm her guy! So don't make me do anythin' we'll both regret." He cracked his knuckles, then rammed a fist into the palm of his other hand.
The noise brought goose-bumps to Maurice's neck. Tired of being warned about his friendship with Ida, he found courage enough for rebuttal.
"There's no romance between us, Tarzan!"
"Crazy. Let it stay like that and you'll last out the year in fine shape."
"I suggest you go pound sand where it will do the most good." Maurice snarled haughtily at the surprise in his adversary's face; then he lurched the auto ahead toward the Boulevard.
John DiCauslow had his thumbs hooked in the side pockets of his pants as he strutted from one side of the parlor to the other. He liked Ellen's taste in furnishing the Hayko house. But he would not admit it, because that might deter his plan psychologically.
He wet his lips, admiring the long, graceful legs which Ellen had sheathed in dark stockings. Then he walked to the sofa where she sat. "Maurie doesn't give you a high budget for decoration purposes, does he? This reminds me of the ghetto back home." John scratched his thick-set jaw and added, "Landlords used to charge twenty-five bucks for each tenement room. What a profit they hauled in."
"My husband's generous enough."
"Oh, he's generous. Especially with his love."
"You have a mean way of insinuating things, John."
"Maybe I should act more like a guest and delete the remarks about your housekeeping. Force of habit. At the college, we're brainwashed at the hands of Dean Barbara, who punishes any coed for an untidy room."
Ellen leaned forward, her elbows resting on her thighs, and squinted meaningfully at the youth. "You said you know something about my husband. That's why I took a chance and let you stop in for a visit."
"So he's working late again tonight."
"A few students have fallen behind and he decided to tutor them occasionally. John, I like you. Don't keep me in suspense."
"Okay." He started to pace up and down the carpet slowly, as he had seen criminal lawyers do in the movies, for dramatic effect. He knew Ellen was ripe. Experienced gals could prove quite satisfying once you pushed them over the edge. "Scuttlebutt says that your dear Maurie has rolled in the hay with several coeds. I thought you ought to know."
"I heard the same rumor last year and the year before. But they were lies."
"Believe me, Ellen, I got this from the top. A girl at a university like Milltown tends to brag about her conquests so her friends will know she has conformed."
"Conformed?"
"To the status symbol of losing her chastity."
Maurice's wife buried her face in her hands. "My God! Who were these harlots? If I find out that Ida Reneson-"
"I wouldn't repeat any names because the facts are hazy. But it happened. And it will go on and on if you sit back without taking action."
"Words of advice are easy to utter."
"All you have to do is fight fire with more fire. It's common sense when a person gets revenge and straightens out her problems at the same time. Go for a ride with me. I'll explain how you can purge yourself of the shame he inflicted on you."
Her eyes turned cold for a brief instant. "I hope you're not suggesting that you and I-"
"Ellen, you happen to be a wonderful, beautiful lady. Trust me. Let me show what a true friend can help you accomplish."
He watched the turmoil taking place in the lines of her face. She wasn't bad to look at, for a tomato forty-three years old; in fact he wanted to rip her clothes off and fornicate with her right here-but it would be too risky.
Finally, although she must have comprehended his intentions, she nodded and stood up slowly. "Fine. It will be your show."
He left the house alone and drove to a drug store on the corner of Wharfside Street. Waiting in the Falcon, he figured she would be a pushover-playing into his hands so that he could cement his hold on Ida. And the teach's wife wouldn't even realize it.
Soon she walked up to the curb and got into the passenger side of his sedan. "I think I made it without being seen."
John gunned the engine to consummate their liaison. He found the persuasion of her will easy enough. She came with him silently as he entered the St. Olaf Hotel, a faded brown frame building, and obtained a room key from the clerk. John felt his heart drumming with a crazy fever as he led her into the room at this strange place so far from Milltown's prying eyes.
"We're on the sixth floor," he laughed as he removed his shirt. "Don't go getting air-sick on me." He glanced through a window and saw the weed-choked yard far below, bathed in moonlight.
"This had to happen between us," he purred confidently. "You're a fatal drug that drives me out of my skull. Good girl."
Ellen resisted weakly upon his first attempt at kissing her. She acted dumb, or paralyzed, until his lips branded a thick line of descent from her neck down along her bare arms and then darted back to her mouth. He shot his tongue deep into her waiting chasm. At last she awakened from the shock and let her teeth play with him ... nipping the hot tongue, reaching out to bite his shoulder. John slid the belt off her skirt as she groaned with pleasure. Within seconds the skirt was off and her blouse lay on the floor, exposing her erogenous areas.
"Hey, you're a swinging doll," he whispered during his search for the bra's rear strap.
"I can be rough. Maybe you won't be able to take what I give. It's been so long since I let the stops out with-with a guy!"
"Try me and see."
He unfastened the bra with a deft motion, feeling his virility spring free with the promise of untold ecstasy. The woman's breasts were firm and yet spongy when he fondled them. She kissed him everywhere on the glowing, sweat-slick surface of his chassis. Her hands aroused him to a crescent of desire as she kneaded his hips and chest and then tangled her fingers in his hair, biting and licking his face until he began to groan with delight.
John hurled himself on the mattress. His arms upraised, he grinned at her and spread his chunky legs apart. She seemed hesitant while seated at the edge of the bed, and her breath sounded ragged with lust as she panted desperately.
"Come to uncle," he said.
He flailed out with his calves until they were scissored around her naked waist. Doing a flip, he spun her completely over and then stripped the panties off her wet flesh. She paused, closing her eyes momentarily.
"You make me dizzy with that athletic stuff. Just take it easy!"
"Look here and get even dizzier!"
She gazed unbelievably at the masculine strength which he now revealed. Her entire body spasmed in passion as he yanked her down upon him. "Johnny ... you look so comical when you're-nude."
The teasing stroked him to greater fury in his probe. He fitted the woman upon him and then rolled over so that he was on top, gurgling with joy at the sound of her shrieks. He hadn't dreamed she would enjoy it so much.
His pistoning attack speared her brutally with the ageless, animal triumph of man over his tormentor. She rocked against him with terrible force, again and again, until there was no power left in either of them and the act was finished. He heard the fireworks, muffled with death, lose their impact as though he were going deaf. Her revenge had been gained. John kept his arms around her and felt the sweet feminine weight burrow against him, her cheeks damp with tears.
He had a vital weapon in his arsenal for the war against Maurice. Having known Ellen carnally, the rest would be routine.
John talked to her for a while and then they got dressed again. Ten minutes later he halted his car at the drug store near her home. "That was the most pleasant time I've ever had," he said. "We're true friends now."
"Good-night."
She sounded rather curt in her farewell but it was probably due to a nagging conscience. He watched her hurry away up the dark avenue. Perhaps Ida had the right idea about preferring older people in her sex life; Ellen certainly had shown him some new tricks.
After his math class the next day, John rode across town to Mickey's drive-in, a restaurant stand on the main drag where juveniles often congregated. He saw a dozen motorcycles parked in the lot as he walked into the dining room. A few of his pals were at the pinball machine. He joined them for a session of wagering on high score, during which he lost thirty dollars. But he didn't mind because there were ingenious ways to get money back.
He sat down at a table to enjoy his cola and rum shot. Several minutes later a woman came in and approached him, setting her purse on the vacant chair.
"They tell me you're John DiCauslow. I've been looking-for you."
"Oh?"
"I want to talk about my sister and a certain college professor. May I?"
He nodded and ogled her as she got seated beside him. She was average in looks and figure-wholesome, though, and more than likely a bach girl. "You ring a bell somewhere," he said. "I could swear I've seen you before."
"Ida and I have a strong family resemblance. Sue's the name. She's my sister and she used to mention you in her letters. When you were going steady."
"That was a long time ago."
"Yes. But you might be able to help me. I've found out that she's got a thing for some teacher named Hayko. Please tell me what you know about him."
John smiled thinly as he sipped the bacardi. This could be a golden chance in his campaign to heave Hayko out of the picture. He filled Sue in on the salient biographical points as he had learned them. "The guy's married, Sue. I always thought of him as a dirty old leech who bothers the coeds. But don't quote me."
"I doubt if she's serious about him. Ida's a very nice girl and it'd be a shame if she got panicky. About love, I mean. She has plenty of time to wait for the right one."
He considered the fact of telling Sue about him own fondness for her sister. But he could court Ida alone until he managed to wangle a diamond ring onto her finger.
"Lots of luck," he said when his knowledge of Maurice had been narrated. "I go for Ida myself-platonically of course."
"Of course. Thanks very much, John. If she does start getting serious about that teacher, I'll at least be able to help discourage it."
After Sue had gone, he thought about this latest twist in the happenings. Maurice really turned her on and excited her if John could judge by the frantic motions of her hands as she had spoken. She was playing mama for Ida. Like most wealthy girls, Sue would rather marry late in life than be a teen-age bride. And she didn't want Dear Sis rushing her spiritual-sexual love for the sake of any old gent who was also tied up in marriage. Logical enough.
John went outside and wandered along the fence near the cycles. Then he telephoned Yvette from the outdoor booth, urging her to meet him at Mickey's around midnight.
"We've dilly dallied long enough as it is," he barked into the phone. "Just show up!"
"But Johnny-"
"If you chicken out, it's over with us. Understand?"
He heard her murmur in assent grudgingly on the other end of the line. Moving out to his Ford again, he thought about Ellen and their smash at the hotel. She must have figured me as a kind of chaplain, he mused, the way she told her life history. He didn't give a hoot about her rough childhood. What did he care if Ellen suffered with guilt feelings ever since the day her mother had punished her for "touching" herself at a nasty spot? It had just made things harder for John, because she had needed a lot of persuasion before he was able to get into her at that lousy hotel.
It was nearly oue o'clock in the morning as he cruised down the deserted road near Maurice's house. John stopped the car and squeezed Yvette's thigh.
"Cripes, you're acting like a nun or something. We hit private homes before."
"Not Maurie's, though!"
"It'll be like falling off a log. He stows his jewels and at least eight hundred cash in that wall safe. The clown hates banks."
"John-be careful."
"You stay at the wheel and be ready to blast off with me if anything happens. But nothing will. Sit tight, honey."
He kissed her on the mouth and then crept along the grass toward Hayko's side door. Clouds had hidden the moon, which was perfect. John hefted the tool-box in his right hand ... the box contained every tool he might need, to crack that safe. He bit his lower lip shrewdly. For a whole month he had waited patiently for the chance, for a night when Maurice and Ellen would be gone on their visit to Rhode Island and his relatives.
John's feet thudded on the concrete sidewalk. In his pocket was the yellow "M," a piece of wool that symbolized Milltown U's athletic letter and would let the teach know who had burgled him. And he wouldn't be able to prove a thing.
Clinking sounds reverberated dully in the inky black air of night as John ticked at the door lock. Suddenly he heard a vicious growl behind him. The blood froze in his veins; he pivoted around and stared into the eyes of a giant dog.
John gulped at the tingling, terrorizing panic in his throat as he backed away. "Steady, boy," he said to the dog. "Easy does it." He noted that it was a Doberman pinscher-the worst type of watch-hound-but at least it was tied by a chain and pegged to the lawn. Smiling, John decided the coast was clear.
He made a slow movement toward the door again and the pinscher leaped forward. Its teeth ripped at John's arm, sending pain knifing through his brain. He cursed in a loud voice.
His arcing foot connected on the pinscher's jaw with a crunch. John squinted away as a window from the house next door slid open. "Who's there?" a man yelled.
The canine was yelping savagely from his long chain, unable to reach John, who had vaulted past the curb.
"Get the damn jalopy started," he grunted at Yvette.
"You're hurt!"
He gripped his bloody arm and said, "Never mind about me. Drag rubber out of this joint or we've had it." He closed his eyes against the pain and sense of failure as Yvette took off.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A can of pipe tobacco and some girly magazine? were lying on the floor, beside a pair of discarded men's shorts. Ida felt a shiver run through her as she walked across the room. Yankee Lane was violent, uncouth, and hard to predict; Ida somehow feared that he would injure her.
And yet the amazed look on his face made his growing pleasure very evident. Maybe he was only dangerous when his desires were frustrated-or so she fervently hoped.
"Nobody can figure dames out," Yankee said as he sat up on the edge of the bed. "I call you and chase you but I keep gettin' the brush. Now you pop in out of nowhere."
"Life is boring on the campus. Do you have a cigaret, Yank?"
He paused briefly, the hem of his robe sliding away to reveal the shadowed malehood which lurked underneath. Ida's veins churned with raw wantonness. She watched the brute arise and step toward a gold flecked chair on the other side of his apartment. It was a typical bachelor flat, unkempt in every detail from the orange velvet of the bed to the alternating panel drapes, which were as gigantic and primitive as the man himself.
"Enjoy it." He gave her the cigaret and lit it for her with fire from a bent match-book. "And tell me why you changed your mind about me."
"There's no reason. A girl has the right to do an about-face whenever the wind shifts direction. Of course I can leave if you'd rather be alone-"
"The queen'd be king if she had any balls. Sit down."
She clenched both hands to avoid trembling when she eased her buttocks onto the slick sheet covering the mattress. He didn't have to be told of her true motivation. She knew this big-mouthed chaffeur would brag about his "conquest" and the story would reach Maurie's ears-and he'd be jealous. That was how she planned to win him again.
"Lucky thing I took the night off," said Yankee.
Ida cleared her throat and replied in her high-pitched voice, "I often wonder why you didn't marry anyone. At your age, men need companionship."
"Cut it out, honey. What I need is the thing I find whenever I lift my finger. Beddy-bye! Here's the hair of the dog for you."
"Thanks." She accepted his Bloody Marv and drank from the glass quickly, tasting tcmatb juice and aware that the vodka would hit her very soon. Maybe Yankee had a point about his single status; with such an insatiable hunger for sex, he'd be better off as a bach than joining the ranks of husbands. Her reading had told her that half of American husband; cheated. Yankee w-nld surely be among the unfaithful crew, and thus make any marriage for him a woeful farce.
After the second vodka she felt more uninhibited. She took off her jersey bounce sweater and let him play with her anxious breasts. The brute laughed with joy, still titillated by her surprise visit, as he undid the straps of the bra until her breasts came free. She fidgeted in his embrace, pushing him away and letting her chest dance with gay abandon as she swayed on the bouncy mattress.
"You're slow on the trigger," she said. "I wonder if it's your bad conscience acting up."
"Horse manure."
"Thrill me the best way you know how, Yankee. Make me love it and love you as a person. That's when the whole schtick is truly satisfying."
His breath was ragged and coarse with unfed yearning as he suckled her flesh. His low boiling point required a minimum of stimulating. She heard him groan as their naked bodies thrashed in the prone position and he buried his head in the softness of her thighs. For an instant she imagined it was Maurice upon her. But then she understood that she was the victim in an unspeakable degradation which Maurice could never inflict upon a girl. Ida felt the tears scorch her own cheeks as her deepest vulnerable spot was violated.
The walls and ceiling exploded as though racked by dynamite. She was inundated by the backlash, the wicked reverberations of a cascading, roaring waterfall that had disemboweled a river bed with its awful thrusting force and gouged an ever wider gap in the clay, the uncharted terrain of her entity.
Suddenly she was insane no longer. The physical chaos had receded and she could think with rationality-she mumbled at her folly in encouraging Yankee's perverted demands.
"You don't get away so easy," he grated as he got on his back and rolled her naked, spent frame upon him. "Kiss me, baby! Give me your teeth and that warm little tongue, and do it nice."
"What a beast!" she laughed. He wouldn't suspect she was only half joking. Luck had been his tonight, for she needed him as the pawn in her determined scheme to draw Maurie to her like the reluctant sphere on a yo-yo.
She licked the muscled bulges on Yankee's chest and arms and she rammed the eel which was her tongue into his yawning mouth. A strong breeze struck her rump. She noted that he had opened a window, but the chilliness served to stoke her ardor like a blow-torch-as she aroused him by her wandering hands until he was ready again.
"Be gentle with me," she sighed. "You could kill a girl-if you don't watch out with that-"
"That hammer? Hey, I thought of a neat word, too."
"Yankee ... talk to me nice and easy and say I'm beautiful."
"Save the poems for your college friends. Me, I deal in pleasure. And you're receivin' the best I can offer to anyone. You oughta be glad."
"You're such a kid sometimes."
She felt herself being thrown back onto her hip and she tasted the perspiring musk of his jaw and forehead and neck as he kissed her frantically. The orange bed-sheet had become as hot and rough as a burning mass of leaves. The man was inside her now, she knew, and he jerked his body with a savage rhythm that eased and increased the pressure until she reached the end of the line. Her fulfillment was a freight train thundering nearer to the depot. The wheels clacked and boomed and finally a blast deafened her ... and the train began to speed away.
Maurice had his legs crossed calmly as he lounged at the stand-up counter in Bill's coffee spa. The neighborhood was unusually quiet for this time of day. After sipping at his coke, Maurice leaned his elbow against the top of the counter and put his weight upon it.
He nodded to the girl beside him. "I dig you, Korin. In fact the two of us .re very compatible in things that count."
"Oh? You once said I was a mixed-up kid."
"That phrase happened to be the sour grapes of middle age." Maurice studied her angular, etched features and the excitement of her open lips. "I was jealous of your youth. But when I'm with you, I feel vibrant and loaded with energy."
"Just don't vibrate too much or I'll be in hot water." She raised her eyebrows, staring at his groin jokingly.
"I wouldn't take advantage of you."
"That could be either an insult or a compliment. It says nothing for my ability to get you excited. Pass the straws, will you, prof?"
He slid the container of straws toward Korin and felt her soft breasts crunch upon his wrist. He understood what her "gay" nature really meant. It had been a kick-offbeat sex with her female roommate-and Korin was rebounding already toward heterosexual love. He wiggled his arm up and down, shaking her breasts delightfully. "I wish you would rebound a little more slowly," he said.
"Pardon me?"
"Nothing. Let's be a couple of real chums and talk about Yvette."
"I stiil want to know why you and I are so palsy lately. You said I ask too many questions. And also my comments are very frank for your taste-so what's the bit with the new friendship?"
"Hell, can't I join the club? By talking to you I forget this girl out of the dark, romantic past, who keeps haunting me."
"So that's it!"
He smiled as she dug a finger into his ribs to show that she was needling him. Suddenly the creaky front door of Bill's lunch bar opened, and a tall, gray-haired man entered. It was Uncle Wilbur. "Hi, Wilbur!" said Maurice as he waved to gain the man's attention.
"Well, as I live and breathe in this rat race of a world! My long-lost nephew has appeared."
Maurice said, "How have you been?"
"Still miserable and getting older." Wilbur came to the counter, acknowledged Korin's presence by doffing his bus driver's cap. "Hi, sis." Then he shook hands with Maurice with scant enthusiasm although the codger seemed friendly enough U" der the reserved surface. "They've got me do' the Wharfside run. Here I'm sixty-two years and they give me crap, while kids right of"' street get ... oh, what's the use. You and I are both fine, I hope?"
"As well as can be expected."
Maurice proceeded warily as he intro" Korin to his uncle and then traded chit-chat. Ic wouldn't do for the old gent to suspect anything amiss with the Hayko marriage.
Korin said, "I've seen you on the bus a few times, Wilbur. You get along with all the coeds. I think you're the one they call 'uncle'."
"Heck, I always did like kids. Never got hitched, though, because a couple of women hurt me bad."
"You seemed to recover from it."
Maurice said, "The two of us are birds of the same nest. Back in Hartford we used to hit the dances and parties and shop affairs together. Remember, Unc? We were more like brothers than anything else."
"Yep. Then you had to go and decide on being a teacher. Well, excuse me while I get my coffee-and. Let your hair down and give me a call some time, Maurie."
"Sure thing."
Then he was alone with Korin again, as a mournful caw echoed from the sky and he gazed out the window at a seagull swooping down with a clam in its beak. Maurice turned toward the girl. "The beach has a weird fascination at this time of year. Want to take a ride with me?"
"As pupil and teach, I assume?"
He winced. "We can count the grains of sand and the waves. I promise not to get fresh."
"If you keep the promise, I'll think there's something wrong with you."
"Touche."
He walked beside her out toward the macadam parking lot where his car lay inert. Trucks zoomed by on the overhead turnpike. He smelled oil and felt the concrete of the city surrounding him like a cement octopus. Korin nestled into the passenger seat and he drove away from the downtown area.
Yes, she was comfortable to have around you on a gorgeous autumn afternoon. Sex rated as a neutral subject in her line of thought. He recalled what she had said yesterday when they had met in the hall near History 31A...."I take sex for granted. By itself it means nothing-until we use it and create thrills by our own ingenuity."
He doubted that he would try forcing himself upon her, but maybe they'd be able to talk and admire the scenery, thus eliminating the danger of copulation.
Korin's skirt hiked up to her hips as they parked near some huge rocks. He gestured down in the direction of the beach. "See how desolate it looks? The gray water, the wind, trees swaying-Edgar Allen Poe would have loved the atmosphere."
"Prof-"
"Maurie," he corrected.
"Tell me about the girl you spoke of. The one you want to forget. If it's someone I know, maybe I can help you."
"She was very long ago," he lied as they meandered down the hillside to the privacy of a wooded area. No one must know how deeply he felt about Ida. The loneliness of the deserted shore envigorated him as he entwined his fingers into Korin's and felt her thigh continually bump into him.
"Did anyone ever tell you what beautiful freckles you have?" she giggled as she put a hand gently upon his cheek. "And the jaw is dimpled like Kirk Douglas'."
"Yes-I'm fantastically handsome."
"Be serious! Cleft chin, devil within is what the psychiatrists say. And I don't care if you do think the head-shrmkers are phony, because this time they were right."
The couple strolled arm in arm along the sandy peninsula until they reached a place hidden from the road by trees and bushes. Maurice felt no guilt or danger to his marital status. Whatever happened would have no emotional love attached, and it might even help him just because Korin was a chattel-a plaything meant for fun without involvement.
"You seem to know my pet peeves," he told her. "So even it up by throwing light upon your dislikes. What's a friend for, if not to hear another's woes and lighten their burden?"
"You big kidder." She halted in her tracks and then set down on the cushiony sand, her hair the color of sherry wine beneath the sun. "Actually I'm turned on by the Robin Hood scene. Ycu know, the classic war between rich and poor. I'm not smart enough to know which side is right, but I do think snobbery is a shame. Especially in cities where there's corruption and decay and poverty-ridden folks buried under it all."
He felt his heart thumping harder as the lassitude of the warm, balmy weather struck him. He knelt in front of her. The blood gurgled through him and he had the zip of a young stallion at mating time.
"I adore your sweater, Korin. Champagne camel's hair with a nice low-swept collar."
"One of us is talking an awful lot."
"We're out here at Durasett for completely different reasons," he said as he reached over and kissed the peak of her nose. "You're interested in the view. And I want you." His hands gripped her by the shoulders, sinking into delectable female flesh before his fingers hit the bone, feeling it throb to his touch. "This could be a wonderful experience for both of us."
"Just remember one thing." She levered her palm into his chest and shoved him away playfully. "It's possible you don't care to try merchandise that's been used already. Right?"
"I'm not exactly the newest car on the lot, either."
He laughed as she grabbed his fist and put it on her stomach at the place where she most wanted it. Her pliant warmth stirred him quickly. The zipper buzzed as he went to work on her skirt, anxious for the feel of her youthful skin. She kicked her shoes off.
A low purr echoed in her throat as she unleashed all of her cautious restraint. She ripped at Maurice's shirt and pants until he lay next to her with only his underwear between him and nudity.
Her thin but supple body shone startlingly....
I'll like a golden peach turning red and succulent. "I'm going to worship each part of you," he whispered. "Your breasts are fantastic and so very his;!" He kissed the mounds a hundred times before letting the tips meet his hungry lips. They stood at obedient attention.
"The sand is so dirty," she gasped.
"For you I could be Superman and Hercules rolled into one. Up we go!" He thought his spine would snap, but he hoisted Korin upward and carried her to the dry moss under a tamarack tree. The sea shimmered with its soft blue light. He lingered at her waist, suffusing it with caresses while his own desire raced toward ecstatic heights.
He paused to catch his breath. The hunk of waiting female reached up and clamped him around the back of his neck and drew him down again. She sure as hell doesn't act like a lesbian, he thought.
Onward surged his marathon of paying physical honor to the bastions where her honeyed delight awaited. He kissed her ankles and knees and thighs and continued upon those magnificent pink hips with the skill of a violinist. Briefly his thoughts catapulted back in time as he recalled a stag film he had once seen at a casino-two lovers on the beach, b, th dressed in skimpy swim suits, holding each other as they rolled along the edge of shore splashing in the water. When the woman's bikini shorts had worked loose, she went berserk with stark open licentiousness.
Maurice felt the moss heavy under his flesh. He must not try the water scene because Korin seemed afraid or perhaps allergic to it. In a way, though, she sensed that today would be her first and last time with the professor and she put up no resistance.
His hands searched, groped, found the treasures of carnality that beckoned him. Then she was kissing his neck with such ardor that a trail of heat followed her path down to his chest. He glanced at the welts which his own affection had forged upon the girl's breasts. She began rotating her body and raking his hair and squirming until she had herself on the bottom of their wild embrace.
He flattened her breasts, moulding them with his zealous clutch into various shapes. Now they were tan-red melons, now giant lozenges that clung to him, now mountains of twin dark-peaked glory with perfect, round dimensions. Strangely he felt that no other female including Ida had ever promised or delivered such rapture to his needs.
"Kiss me again, Maurie. I love it when you kiss me so gently and-" Korin twitched in savage revelry at the descent of his mouth upon her face.
He moaned, "Is the tongue enough? We're only halfway there when I give you these beautiful kisses. I'm on the verge of-losing you! Sweet baby!"
He realized the folly of ruining such a sacrosanct moment in the history of physical love by the use of words. Shut up, stupid! he berated him- self. The penetration was all that he had dreamed of ... and more. He stabbed as far as he could, felt his hands grasping like parts of a mindless computer, pressed forward with his buttocks until the point of limit had been reached. He was there-and so was she-the coupling found birth in their mutual painful success as they found a jackpot at the end of their rainbow.
He shuddered with violent fury and knew she was chattering like a machine-gun beneath him. Her teeth glistened with saliva. Maurice shut his eyes when she rolled away to leave him alone in the universe again so that his vitality could ebb back.
The whole bit was annoying. He had accomplished a sexual zenith far beyond his hopes, yet had failed in the goal of erasing Ida Reneson from his thoughts. He continued to yearn for her with a desperate, crying bitterness. She was the final clear thought in his mind before he dozed off in the warm Indian summer breeze.
CHAPTER NINE
Maurice felt the boards of the floor creak beneath him as he walked slowly across the university recreation hall. Most of the faculty had gone home and he had an opportunity to weigh the odds against him.
They were stacked rather high, even when he discounted Ellen's suspicion and the doubts regarding his fidelity which must still bother her. He gazed at the tile wall beside him. His eyes were reflected in the sheen ... dark blue orbs with gray, spider-wed threads. Worry showed plainly in his curled brow, and he could understand why.
Barbara, the dean of women, had been silent for over a week. That had to mean some kind of trouble brewing, because she was not one to sit quietly and let herself be "used" without fighting back. So he was ready for her. It had been a costly blunder when he seduced her in the first place, but such were the perils when you threw the dice of fate and gambled on love.
And of course the menacing shadow of John DiCauslow haunted every part of the campus. What had John been doing since the night he petted with Ellen at the party?
It irked Maurice when he meditated on that punk kid, who knew about the weaknesses of a forty-year-old man and exploited them. The fear of failure in his career, the hours of happiness which alternated so rudely with periods when the earth seemed cruel and Maurice felt depressed or even faintly suicidal. And always the inadequacy. The carnival workers' philosophy of "Never look back-something could be gaining on you" couldn't stem the knowledge that you were aging.
He paused when he reached the bowling alley and saw collegians exercising at the sport. There were other people whom he distrusted. Yvette, for one-she had become entirely too nosey and he noticed her socializing with John every so often. Maybe they were plotting together.
Maurice sighed, then continued his trek toward the exit door of the gym. His briefcase felt heavy in his hand; he wondered if he could muster enough physical strength to cope with the likes of that chauffeur. What was his name? Yes-Yankee Lane. There was bestial violence in the nth degree as symbolized by a character who openly claimed Ida for his own property.
A slight figure appeared in the shadows near the exit. It was a woman, all right, but one whom Maurice had never seen. She seemed to be sizing him up without any particular taste for the sight of him. He started to go around her.
"Can you tell me where I might find Professor Hayko?" she said crisply.
He felt uneasy under her cold smile. "Look no further. A half million professors populate the faculties of higher learning in these United States, and you chose the right one. Congratulations."
"That's quite a song and dance. You should have been an orator."
"I lack the necessary glibness for that field, Miss-uh?"
"Reneson. I happen to be Ida's older sister."
By extending his hand in greeting he covered up the shock which he felt. When she ignored it, he figured his hunch was correct about the hostility she displayed. "If I can help you in any way, Miss Reneson, please let me know."
"Why don't you call me Sue and get down to familiar cases. You certainly treat Ida informally enough. And that brings us to the reason for my social call."
"A phrase which you use for want of a better term."
"You do have a sense of humor, but sis has run into that before. So there's something else about you which she likes." Sue rubbed her upper lip with a finger as she stepped close to him. "I could hate you very easily. A married guy, dating a baby out of the cradle-tempting her-"
"Now just a second. We've gone at this pretty darn fast, with merely the Reneson side of the picture."
"Then you admit trying a Lolita act on my sister?"
He dropped the briefcase and ran his thumb under his collar, frantically seeking the answer to a question that was new in his experience. "Of couse I deny it. Ida's a nice girl and I treat her with the utmost respect. Sure, I saw her once or twice. But we ended it by mutual consent before anything could grow out of the situation."
"How noble."
"She told me about her parents-and about you, Susan. I felt sorry for her."
"And so you dangled a dirty affair in front of the kid! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, mister. I'm warning you to leave her alone."
He was getting fed up with the hypocritical tone of her voice. "Look, Sue. I've already told you what happened and you can be sure I conducted things as befits a lady. At least I didn't throw her out in the street."
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly what you think it does. Your parents ditched her and so did you when you bought that stable of horses upstate."
"Let's mind our own business instead of switching the guilt. She's a kid!"
"Sure. A waif who needs someone she can trust and love. I'm not the right person, but you can bet I didn't go for Ida in the way you suggest, either!"
Sue wet her lips and stared at the floor for a moment. Then she nodded curtly, "You may have a point, Maurie. I didn't intend to fly off the handle about her."
"Thanks a lot."
"I have to be sort of a mother even if it kills me. You understand?"
He glared back at her and saw the anger still heavy in the lines of her face. She apparently was debating inwardly as to whether or not to believe him. Finally she continued, "You and I probably talk different languages. I'm educated for nothing much except raising horses in a cut-throat business. Try to see how I feel, anyhow."
"Now that we've cleared the air, perhaps we can be friends."
"It would have to be another day. I do have a taxi waiting outside and a train coming in. Think about what I said."
Sue's threat was clear enough so that he could regard her as another stumbling block. He watched her rush out of the building. That little vixen Ida had certainly put him in a dither with everyone who was concerned with her. He wouldn't mind, except for his sneaky hunch that he was on the verge of falling for the kid-hook, line and sinker.
There could be a chance to wiggle his way out of it, though. All he must do was fall in love more desperately with Ellen!
He decided to make his big move in this direction at once. It was Saturday-the magic, hypnotic night-a throwback to their joyous days of courtship and togetherness, ripe for the recapturing. After supper Maurice rested in the easy chair with the newspaper for a while. He thought of the childhood which Ellen had known with her parents, as she often described it to him.
Everything had been so pat and nice in her family. She was spoiled, in a fashion, but grew out of it when her governess left and bankruptcy hit the clan and Ellen no longer received dresses or jewelry to suit her whims. As an adult she expected other people to live by her own standard of smooth perfection-as near as human failings would allow.
Maurice, on the other hand, was ultra-tolerant and frequently let himself be taken advantage of. He folded the paper and cast it aside. Noticing that she was in the kitchen, ironing drapes, he tiptoed along the carpet until he was directly behind her.
Simultaneously he kissed the back of her neck and untied the bow which held her apron tight.
"Maurice! Do you want me to burn a hole in your drawers with this iron?"
"I've heard worse suggestions." He wound his embrace around her so that his forearms hefted the underside of her breasts. "Let's talk turkey.
Say anything your heart desires, even if the topic has to be your family loyalty."
"You always find fault with them."
"Can I help it if I'm jealous? My folks would just as soon have thrown me out of the house as look at me. I never had stability."
"Get out the crying towel and soap-box for dear old hubby."
He kissed her full on the lips and wished she wouldn't be so god damned reserved about sex. "The weekend is upon us with a vengeance. You remember how we used to pet on Saturday evenings." She resisted half in jest while he escorted her toward the bedroom. "Come on, Ellen. Try and loosen up for a while."
"If you insist."
He knew the continuance of the psychological barrier between them was not due to their past arguments over Ida and John. The petty jealousy reactions had ended. This reticence belonged to Ellen ... her personality had changed and she would make him work hard for any reincarnation of the exuberant love they had shared during the months of engagement.
On their giant bed now, he put all his efforts into the task. He concentrated upon her thighs and hips because that was her favorite area, amounting to virtually a fetish or narcissism. He removed her dress from the slick, somnolent armor of her flesh. His mouth adored the legs with frantic, suckling kisses on their journey up- ward. He massaged her round hips until she at last gurgled with faint arousal.
Maurice covered the upper, meaty portion of her legs with oral worship. He touched and fondled each lovely curve without pausing for breath.
"You're tickling me," she suddenly remarked in her new killjoy tone of voice.
"Clothes will do that if you don't watch out. Sorry I forgot to undress for the part. Honey, you and I are going to have the greatest scene ever imagined by mortal man!"
"If I can stay awake long enough. Are these what you want?"
At least she eased the effects of her squelch by unfastening the bra herself and cupping the breasts in front of him. He felt his desire skip higher with a succession of kangaroo hops. The clothes flew away from him and he writhed, totally nude, amid the fluff which made their quilted bed a private Cloud Nine for pleasure. He closed his eyes tight as he increased the tempo, caressed her awakened breasts, manipulated the hard tips with a surgeon's delicate care.
Blackness swarmed upon him. His brain felt dizzy in a strange world of rapture, but he knew that Ellen had nothing to do with it. In fact he had forgotten her. He was dreaming ... in sharp, vivid detail the silent movie seemed to project before him on a glowing silver screen-Ida and only Ida wrapped about his naked frame as they shared a personal hydrogen bomb of exploding love.
Then reality slammed against him with cruel abruptness and he sighed in despair. No, Ida must be snuffed out! Her vision could not be allowed to haunt the very abode of intimacy which claimed him at this moment and forever more.
Why, then, did Ellen retain her stubborn silence? He roved about her with his arms and hands and belly, listening to the sounds of raw suction between their fleshy knobs when they made contact. He spoke but she merely offered murmurs in reply.
Eventually he struggled his way to the required amount of excited manhood. "I love you, Ellen," he persisted. "I want it to be good for us again."
"Yes, I know."
Her kisses lacked warmth although an artificial blaze of passion did reverberate in her spasming, powerful legs. She raked her fingernails into his back. He gritted his teeth, hoping she would draw blood and yet knowing it was too much of an aspiration.
Cursing from the strenuous exercise which racked his body, he quickly impaled her to the hilt. He gave his last ounce of vitality and then he dr-edged up untapped resources-raising her off the pillow as she gasped for air. Viciously he churned at her inner machine. Faster-faster-row on, you galley slaves or I'll whip the skin off your hides! He thought and acted like a demon from the black occult tribes of the River Styx. Finally he was shocked by a force equal to a mountain cave-in, as his ribs and bones seemed to crack apart under the wave which smothered him.
The sweet hour had arrived. He would not beg, but he wanted Ellen's love and could leave no stones unturned while searching for the triumph.
"You were terrific," he said as they lay side by side.
"Did you have to be such a savage? Look at you! So tired and dragged out that I suspect you'll even stay home from classes Monday. Really, Maurice!"
"We must learn how it is to share a deep love. Whatever I did, you can believe the reason was because I love you."
"Those lines went out with the megaphone and ten-cent novels." She got up and put her robe on. "Meanwhile I've been cheated out of watching the late show."
He clenched his hands, filling them with hunks of the bedsheet, wondering if she intended the cruelty in her words. The moments after sex-a critical, sensitive period-she was creating fear and unsureness within him. Such a strike at his vulnerability could drive him to impotency. She had ignored his affection and buried her own, which meant the guts had fallen out of his plan to win her back.
The next few days were a living hell for Maurice. He missed Ida with a fever that gnawed at him and tortured his nights piteously under the onslaught of sharp, accusing fingers. The predicament had slid from bad to grave.
He fought against himself and he knew it could mean the risk of tragedy if he reopened the wall. Better men than he had met their Waterloo because of a nubile young girl. The debate within him raged on through these sleepless dark mornings until he decided on the logical course of procedure.
Maybe she would reject him without any chance for talk. He felt sheepish, wary, yet knew the gamble must be taken as he strode through the dormitory hall. A light was shining in a white slit at the bottom of Ida's door. He knocked and paused ... the longest, most excruciating wait conceivable....
The door opened slowly toward her room. He stood like an idiot with his tongue unable to move or even slur a greeting.
"So what are you doing?" Ida said briskly. "Either you're a certain professor or his twin brother, and you both sicken me." She started to back away.
"Ida! Wait." His foot held the gate ajar in the best salesman tradition. "I'm sorry for everything I said to you-"
"It's kind of late for apologies."
"Give me at least a Chinaman's chance before you throw me out. Please! I need to be with you."
"Hah!"
"Sure it sounds crazy-like I don't know what I'm doing. But these last four days have been torture."
The coed tapped her shoe on the floor indecisively. "Do you think I'm a puppet on the end of your string? We left no room for negotiation. Now I'm expected to fall down and salame, because of an argument with your wife, I guess. Sorry, but-"
"All I'm asking is that you let me in for a while. Ida-please!"
She sighed, twirling the bracelet on her wrist with a steady, even cadence. His heart leaped because hesitation on any woman's part augured a ray of sunshine. Her eyes flashed briefly. Lowering his head, Maurice started to turn around in defeat and leave it there, dead beyond recall.
"You have exactly one hundred words allotted to your sermon," she frowned. "And hurry it up."
Relief gushed through him as they moved into her dorm parlor. He caught a glance of his face in a mirror and saw that he was utterly wan-far more pale than usual. Ida kept her distance away from him.
"I'm very busy, professor."
"Okay. First of all, you know how a man gets when he passes forty. He has left the golden years of the thirties during which he enjoyed prime life. Age, Ida! It makes you afraid you'll lose whatever has been gained."
"You explained how I wasn't among your assets. Or is Ellen the subject of this opus?"
"I mean you're a girl I've always wanted as a friend, if not-romantically. It so happens I do need you. The other day was an error, and errors will crop up. Please forgive what I said-"
"Stop giving with the mumbo jumbo and get to the point."
"Darn it, Ida, I think I love you!" He extended his hands toward her but she eased away, shaking her head.
"Sue warned me about you older fellows. I should have listened, before I got involved. You keep changing your mind."
"Take me back."
"Maurie, I couldn't think of it. You have a wife who loves you."
"That's the whole hub of it! It feels like we're both falling out of love at the same time, and simply because I've found you. I can't get you out of my thoughts."
A surging triumph overwhelmed him as he saw tears begin to shine in her eyes. She bit her lip desperately. "You're nuts," she whispered. Then she was enfolded by his arms and the world was a paradise filled with Ida's loveliness, her soft young body, the wondrous touch of her as she answered his kiss.
"Darling," he said. "I've gotten hooked on you and it's a sensation I never want to lose! You're my goddess."
"I should heave you out on your ear. But a lousy penny keeps coming back."
He kissed the trickling tears off her face while she fondled him yearningly with her hands and fingers. It cut him like a knife to hear her sob so tragically. "I was a bastard for causing you this heartache. And my own grief."
Ida was far gone with emotion and could not be expected to discuss anything right now. He knew what she would talk about, tomorrow, in the cold and sobering light of retrospection. Indeed they were hooked on each other. Something must be done and done quickly by him, as no man could successfully love two females when they each knew of the rival's existence. Yes, Ellen would sense it.
Maurice asked himself if this double love were possible. Ida had let it be known that she was hep on marriage statistics; she wanted to be one of the crowd-the lucky fifty percent of American girls who entered matrimony in their teens.
The dilemma which confronted him would require plenty of soul-searching. He licked his lips and began kissing Ida more fervently as shadows of late afternoon fell upon the rug and chairs.
CHAPTER TEN
Maurice stared at the fading green of the campus lawn, dotted with fallen brown leaves. The year was nearing its end ... he tried to recapitulate what he had gained since last New Year's Eve.
He trudged along a row of dead flowers near a hedge that -rimmed the side yard. What have I accomplished? I worked and lectured and graded papers until my eyes bulged. In fact he knew the same process had been going on for a quarter-century and it was certainly time for him to change the pace. Everyone deserved a bit of fun. Maurice was glad that he had gotten emotionally close to these kids even though it meant seduction and now a sad, trying moment with Korin.
The purity of the white clouds framed her as she stood dejectedly before him on the knoll, her young curves out-lined above the horizon. She refused to look at him.
"Korin, you're taking this much too seriously. Other girls have been suspended and lived through it-by hook or crook." He frowned at the suitcase propped beside her low-heeled shoes. "I wish I could talk you into staying."
"You sound like pious Mr. Fedorhall."
"He's the dean. A lost student makes him appear inept. I hate to see you ruin your attitude on life, going sour-"
"No one at this college understands the truth."
"Truth?"
"We coeds have tempers, Maurie, and a lot of pride. Do you think I'd sit back while Genevieve or the dean go around slurring my name? Suspension. Crap! He knows where he can shove his stupid rule."
Korin looked delicious in the linen suit and round straw hat; he knew by her jouncy movements that she wore nothing more than a half-slip underneath. He drifted nearer to her but she grabbed the suitcase and backed away. "I suppose you want to be friends all of a sudden."
"Please don't leave with the idea I squealed on you. You kids are like my daughters, because I never had any of my own. I'd die before I'd hurt you."
"Someone ratted on me." He pinched his brow and forehead with his fingers, then gazed numbly at her. They had disciplined her for drinking and staging a too-wild party in the dorm. Luckily the dean had glossed over any mention of lesbian activity. As it was, his implications had been enough to enrage Korin and she was enroute back to her parents. She would probably fade away from home, also, because the world of offbeat sex lured her irresistibly.
"Believe whatever you want to believe," he said. "I thought we could part as friends."
"You acted so nice and clean at first, didn't you? It was a pose. Just like the other hypocrites around here, you talked about dignity and friendship and then you got me in the hay. After that I'd had it."
"Korin-"
"Oh, keep quiet!" she sobbed. "I'm leaving the whole rotten place of Milltown U. and you're included!"
Shame saddened him as the girl strode off toward her car on the Boulevard. Of course she was disillusioned. But he felt unjustly branded as a seducer, without being given a fair trial in her mind. The way these teenage babes paraded semi-nude around town and throughout the campus, he found it surprising how few rapes occurred. Korin was far from angelic. She had virtually asked him to sleep with her on the beach that day-so he merely consented as a gentleman would.
He sighed, wandering across the yard to the faculty parking lot. Rationalization did not ease his doubts or sense of guilt where his lust was concerned. But very few men could live as a recluse in a cell, in this day and age of sex filling the air they breathed.
Maurice decided to enjoy a few beers at the Diamond later that night. He drove alone down the highway until he reached the cafe, a stone and oak building set back from traffic and nestled near a miniature golf course. He strode jauntily into the dining room of the Diamond. Money was no object to him, as it rarely had been, and he ordered the best whiskey for his boilermaker mix when the waitress arrived at his table.
Somehow he could think problems out with such a night club aura around him. He squinted in the dull light and smelled the clothing and perfume of other patrons enjoying their cocktails.
The jazz combo increased its beat onstage. Trixie, a platinum blond whom Maurice had seen before, waltzed to her position in the spotlight. He smiled at her and she acknowledged with a wink. Trixie ran the Connecticut strip circuit up to New London and then south again, returning each weekend to her musician husband in the Bronx.
Tonight she wore a luminescent, leopard skin outfit that was tight enough to have been tattooed on her very skin. Maurice gulped with flickering passion as the dancer tossed her long hair and interpreted the African jungle music. Off came the dress and stockings. Her yellow body shone with rippling nudity under the light which probed each luscious part of her.
He thought about Ida and about his wife, Ellen. Things had gotten so mixed up ... did he love both of them or just one-or neither? The choice was a hell of a thing to make. He studied the contours revealed by Trixie as she danced and sat on a chair and hoisted her legs at the audience. The blond was naked except for a thin G-string and two pasties on her breasts. They were mountainous and high, those professional breasts, which she aimed like guns under her chin.
She attached balsa propellors to her breast-ends and stood up. The piano thundered while she rotated, jumping up and down, grinning as the propellors spun in crazy circles before her mammary delights.
And yet he felt jaded with the sight. The decision he must bring to fruition involved his happiness and the future of two women. You couldn't take that lightly. The ramifications and dangers were so vital that he considered the witnessing of a total strip paltry by comparison. A hush fell over the crowd in the Diamond-Trixie bowed while exiting.
He ground his cigaret out and quaffed the rest of his beer with an impatient gulp. Grimly he saw that no one could help him plot the course of action. Ida was his for the taking. Her sister would not condone any trysts, though, and dealing with Sue might throw a monkey wrench into the entire schtick.
He went home to his quiet Cape Cod dwelling in the suburbs. Ellen was asleep and he eased under the blanket, torpored by the alcohol, swiftly losing his senses as he reveled in a sexy dream.
After breakfast he rode downtown toward the bus route where Uncle Wilbur had his run. Maurice parked at a meter and then waited at the corner stop. Sometimes it helped when another man's viewpoint crashed into your ideas and thoughts. Soon the bus roared up to the pole, stopped, and welcomed Maurice inside its yawning door.
Uncle Wilbur smiled, pursing his wrinkled lips. "All aboard, son."
He eased up onto the first step but was startled by the squeak of the accordion-type door as it closed halfway. Then Wilbur chuckled and hit a lever which opened the way again.
"Scared you, didn't I? Let's get moving or I'll be late."
"I wanted to ask your advice on something," Maurice said as he got seated. "Shoot."
"Ellen and I have been arguing quite a bit lately. For no special reason. Maybe your long experience would lead you to recommend a solution."
"Could be."
The engine droned beneath them as the codger guided his bus slowly through heavy traffic. He seemed to have been expecting such a question. "Maurie, you're what they call middle aged. The profitable years in a guy's life, when he's young enough so he don't get pushed around and old enough to produce from knowledge. But his marriage suffers. The wife gets on his nerves, and vice versa."
"You think we're seeing too much of each other."
"Not exactly. You just have more leisure time to bug one another. Put her into a hobby or social work that'll sweeten her disposition."
"I tried that. She still picks on little things ... and she suspects me."
"Of what?"
"Cheating."
Wilbur stared at Maurice for a moment, wisely refraining from asking whether it was a valid suspicion. He seemed to know. "Then go out on trips, alone. You decide how long the trips should be. Otherwise I don't know what to tell you, son, because I'm a grizzled bachelor who never went for women anyhow."
Their conversation continued, with a few more sage suggestions by Wilbur-all of which Maurice had already tried with his spouse. When the bus circled around to Nutmeg Avenue where his auto was parked, he saw the futility of seeking outside help. The quandary had left him to his own resources.
After his final English period in the university, he returned home feeling tired. Ellen pounced on him as he entered the parlor.
"You left your fishing pole and a can of worms in the basement. I had one rough time cleaning it. Absent-minded again, prof?"
"Sorry about that."
"How emotional of you. I accidentally squashed a worm under my shoe, and Alexander started to eat the slimy things."
"Dogs will be dogs." He removed his raincoat and slumped into the couch, seizing the newspaper. "We have a date for the theater tonight."
"I can't go while this headache is killing me. Wipe your feet, dear. You've tracked mud and rain right across the parlor."
He resisted the urge to call her a pain in the rear, picking at him again for petty things. Ever since the time she had cavorted in a risque manner with John DiCauslow at the party, Ellen had been behaving oddly. Was it possible ... Maurice made a disgusted face and buried himself in the paper. Cripes, it was time to call the men with the white coats when he started thinking she could submit to that kid and shack up with him. An utterly ridiculous concept.
Maurice scanned the movie page. One film was advertised as a shocker-See the amazing saga of this man, torn between love for his wife and a sensuous young mistress-
He glanced up, hearing his stomach churn with hungry, stifled cries. "What's for supper, dear?" he asked.
Ellen squirted liquid cleanser on the window pane and then began rubbing with a rag. The glass squeaked under her touch. "Let's starve for a change and bypass the whole meal. Eating is so realistic. Instead of adults living by realism, why not exist in the idealist world of teen-agers? Let romance and moodiness rule us."
"You sound drunk when you talk like that. I had a hard day-"
"I really do think you've lost your sense of humor. How's Yvette, by the way? The girl you talk about so often, now that Ida went out of vogue."
"For Pete's sake!" He stormed to his feet and walked along the wall until he reached her side. "I haven't mentioned you and that punk kid, John, have I?"
"You'd jolly well best notl"
"Answer my question about supper."
"Hamburgs, darling." She snorted and then laughed as he grabbed the rag out of her hand and whirled her around. "Maurice cut out the caveman stuff and act nice."
"I'm doing whatever is humanly possible to make a go of it. With you and me, that is. You create disputes out of our finances, my habits, the affair you've imagined-"
"As long as the cards are on the table, explain to me where you've been for the past week. Out every night and coming in half tanked up!"
"Yesterday I had an innocent shot of whiskey and beer at the Diamond."
"How convenient. I guess the tutoring of deficient coeds has lost its glamor. Or has it?"
He threw his hands up in despondency. "We're ranting at our problems instead of about them. You must be tired, Ellen. I'll fix the hamburgs so you won't have to strain yourself." He enjoyed seeing her eyes become slits of anger. When common sense lost its power to move her, sarcasm and abuse could be counted on to shake her up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The powder puff felt like a tiny sponge as Barbara Judd dabbed it on her nose. She inhaled the scent of pine which emanated from the powder. Then she swung around in her chair, a swivel seat at the desk in her office, and nodded toward a man who stood near the hat-rack. "You know quite a few secret things about me," said Barbara. "And we never even met until ten minutes ago."
Yankee Lane hooked his thumbs under the front buckle of his tight fitting denims. Barbara felt uneasy at the passion aflame within her, and she wished his multi-bulged manhood didn't show so clearly. She found herself desiring his thrust, his animal attack upon her innards.
"I stopped pullin' punches when I grew out of knee britches," snarled Yankee.
"What makes you think I'd cooperate in a-" She paused to check the windows and door, wary of being loose with her tongue. Any student or faculty member could walk by and get an earful which might spell finish for the Dean of Women. Barbara was satisfied by the quietness outside her room. "Blackmail would be a drastic step," she amended. "Your motive is clear enough, certainly."
"Because I want Ida."
"That's right, Yankee. But do I hate her so very much because she has her sights on the professor? He's just another man on our staff here."
"I happen to know better." He slammed his palm on the desk. "You asked for my plan and I gave it to you-free. It's your choice. Do the prof in or let us both go beggin' instead of livin' like royalty with the lovers we both want."
"You sound rather hopeless when you put it all up to a woman."
"If you chicken out, I got other ways. Pretty gory ones."
Barbara's eyes widened at the notion of physical violence being wreaked upon Maurice. She needed him alive, not crippled or dead. Calmly, without panic, she examined the little camera and tape recorder which Yankee had put on her desk. Yes indeed ... his ,idea had merit.
"I seem to have but one choice," she muttered. "Call me in a few days and I'll let you know what transpired."
"Crazy. Be gentle with the camera, hon. I have to return it to a stag movie producer for his nudie films."
She put her fingertips together in the shape of an Indian tepee and stared at Yankee's loins. He looked as big as a horse. His boots thudded heavily on the floor as he moved out toward the corridor. Barbara got up and put the machines back into their carrying cases. Then she dialed Ida's number on the intra-college phone.
There was no reply the first three times she tried. On the fourth attempt Barbara heard a high-toned voice say, "Hello?" and she knew it was the girl.
"Ida, this is Miss Judd. I'm having a group of friends at my apartment this afternoon, to look at modern paintings. You'd enjoy seeing them, I bet."
"Modern pictures?"
"Done by the great young Village artists. I can count on you to be there?"
"Well, I had other plans-" Ida sounded rather hesitant, but then she always did put forth a hard-to-convince armor against social advances.
"At two-thirtyish, dear. You wouldn't disappoint the Dean of Women right before exams start. Be casual in dress."
Barbara felt the veneer of sweat on her hand as she hung up and cut off the objection on the other end. Maybe that oaf, Yankee, was smarter than he had shown. During the rest of the morning she tied up loose ends in her paperwork and gave the secretary typing and filing to occupy her. Then Barbara drove west from the campus toward her residence neighborhood.
Yankee's scheme was ingenious-if it didn't backfire. She realized that Ida was intelligent and would have her guard up. Trickery, though, would be the last thing she'd be alert for in this innocent social liaison with a school official.
A sign above the apartment house entrance bore the number 13 in stark black-on-white. Good old 13 Hell's Kitchen Road, where the landlord didn't care who was brought into the rooms, nor did he ever seem to know when it happened-he lived in Florida most of the time. She started preparing the props for her drama.
She found the concealment of the oaf's camera easy enough. Patiently she positioned its lens until is stuck out a half-inch from the mirror at her movable wall bar. The snout was camouflaged by bottles and aimed squarely at her bed.
After peeling her clothes off, she threw a satin robe around her naked body. Before long the doorbell rang and she knew it had to be Ida, since there were no other guests. Barbara gazed at the expensive paintings which lay stacked along the wall. Then she let her visitor in.
"They sure are fine pieces of art," said Ida when she had surveyed them. She sat on the couch and took a drink from the whiskey glass.
"Would you like another drink? I see you're more relaxed now, and that's good for our morale. After all, we work at the same university."
"Gosh, I'm dizzy as it is."
Barbara nodded and sat beside the girl. With the aphrodisiac which had been added to this liquor, Ida had already consumed plenty-for purposes of what lay ahead. "Put your head on my shoulder. Go ahead, Ida. Be at ease in a friend's house."
"Your guests ... they're very slow in arriving, I must say."
She yawned at the effects of a drug whose existence she couldn't have begun to suspect. Barbara went to the bar and turned the camera on. The whirr of film was nearly inaudible, as was the tape recorder; she circled behind the couch with the drinks in her hand. It nauseated her to think of what must be done. She ruffled her long hair until it covered her eyes and most of her face, so the camera would not catch her identity.
Then she curled on the wide seat, letting Ida's body slide backwards. "What are you doing?" said the youth.
"Massaging your neck until the color gets high again. You're fatigued."
"Oh. Mm-mm! You have nice gentle fingers, Miss Judd, and I love the way you stroke my belly."
Barbara smiled, knowing her name could be stricken from the tape by splice jobs. "Ida, kiss me on the lips."
"That's a wild thing you're talking about!" She tried to get up but the drug had dulled her will and she required scant persuasion.
"Off-trail sex? Everyone does it and you'll gain a new respect with the 'in crowd.' Just relax."
Ida fought the advances in erratic flashes of resistance. Soon she lay nude, as was Barbara, their bodies clashing with aroused lust. They traded kisses frenzily. Barbara caressed the young flesh under her and kissed the breasts and arms and mouth, feeling her own throat burst into a fire that had to be quenched.
She knelt on her hands and knees, straddled herself above Ida. "Do it!" the woman demanded. "You want to have me like that, so let yourself go!" She made sure her voice was a raw whisper that could not be traced to her later upon the tape.
Her pendulous breasts dangled like twin sacks, touching and rubbing upon Ida's. Suddenly Ida stared upward. Her eyes were crystal clear and she seemed sober as a judge.
"You filthy old hag!" she spat out. Her elbows levered against Barbara and shoved her aside and then Ida was on her feet.
Fear gripped Barbara's heart when she saw that the sex potion had worn off too quickly. Ida ran to the bar. "What's this thing poking out here? My God ... a camera! You fiend!" She wrenched at the panel until the hinges came open to reveal the hideous secret weapons.
She hurled the recorder onto the floor. Cursing, she seized a broom off the carpet and started smashing at the camera, although its metal casing protected it.
Barbara ran over to the bar and shrieked, "Leave my property alone! How dare you treat me so boldly!" She reached out and yanked Ida's hair, nearly knocking her over.
The coed launched a left hook which sent Barbara spinning to the floor. Then Ida grabbed her purse. She dug out some matches, lit one, and held it in the camera slot until the film was ablaze. Then she looked at Barbara, cowering in tears on the carpet.
"Why did you try this stunt?"
"Ida, please understand."
"Horse crap! You wanted to blackmail me or get me thrown out of school! Why?"
The Dean of Women covered her eyes against the gush of tears that sickened her in defeat. She refused to answer. Ida stormed toward the couch, put on her skirt and blouse, and hurried to the door.
"You're soft in the head, lady. I should report you to the police or Dean Fedorhall. But they'd only take your word over mine." Then Ida also burst into tears and ran out into the hallway as smoke from the camera clogged the air.
Maurice paced up and down the floor of the dorm room. He was bewildered and shocked by what had been told to him by Genevieve, who lived in this flat. Maurice halted near her at the bed.
"I find it hard to believe a girl like Yvette would skip out. And without any good-bye." He threw his arms toward the ceiling in despair. "Some one please donate strength to me so I can figure out the weaker sex."
"The rumor's true," insisted Genevieve.
"She wanted her degree in math so badly that she could taste it."
"I know."
"Gen, will you please stop talking like a Western Union telegram and tell me where she is?"
"Leapin' lizards ... if I could only remember the address. Empire Street-" The coed squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again, smiling. She hopped off the mattress towards him. "The corner of Empire and Route Eighteen. I knew I'd think of it if I tried hard."
Maurice let out a sigh of victory. He kissed Genevieve on the lips and pried her hand away from his vital zone. "Maybe later, duck."
"You don't appreciate the secret I told you?" she pouted.
"Sure. But Yvette is the cat I've got to see before she leaves town and vanishes from sight altogether. Chow."
"Bye-bye."
He patted her on the sleekness of her hip as he pivoted around the coffee table. Yvette had left word that she had information for him. But she didn't give her forwarding address; just like a broad-to pick up and leave the halls of education as Korin had also done.
He rushed out to his Renault in the lot and burned rubber speeding up the concrete paved boulevard. Early evening traffic slowed him down at the bridge. Then, about twenty minutes after leaving the college, he screeched to a halt at the house on the corner of Empire.
Somehow it looked vaguely familiar, with shiny, smooth bricks the hue of yellow chrome, a rotunda jutting out front, windows of Czech stained glass, and brick walls. He searched his memory for the key. Then, as he entered the first story behind the porch, he knew.
The flowzy painted woman who greeted him was obviously a madam. That fitted the picture, all right; Maurice nodded as he held her hand while they paused inside a low aspe.
"We have many girls to choose from, sir."
"One will be enough. Her name is Yvette Tho-her and I must see her only."
"Names lose their value for those who undertake our hallowed profession. You're in luck." Her thickly mascarad eyes fluttered. "Go into that room and say I sent you."
"Thanks, ma'am."
"Don't forget to punch the clock on your way out."
He wrinkled his nose at her gesture of rubbing her thumb and index finger together. Everybody wanted cash these days. He knocked on the door, heard a voice murmur, and then he pushed into a dark den lit by lantern glow.
"Pretty romantic," he said. "Love by kerosene and other ulterior trappings. How have you been?"
"I'm glad you located my whereabouts," said Yvette. She walked toward him and let the slit robe show off her brunette nakedness.
"I can see why you didn't-"
"Give you my new address? Cut out the pity and face the facts, Maurice old boy. You thought I'd end up like this. Certain things are inevitable and we can forget the hunt for reasons. Maybe I chose this life out of fear or a defense against my gay nature."
"Each human being to their own code of ethics," he said. "I won't pass judgment."
"So I love money and I'm too weak to resist it." Yvette cinched her robe, looking tired and thin in the sheen of light upon her. "You're in trouble."
"That's the understatement of the year. A wife and a mistress have me right square in their sights as I row upriver without oars. Or are you speaking of different trouble?"
"A tangent of the same. You've already met Yankee Lane, I guess."
"Yeah, he did swing his chains at me the other day."
She lit two cigarets in her mouth and passed one to Maurice. "Go on."
"You deduce from his character and physique that he's very likely to kill anyone who gets between him and Ida. That's half of my warning. Be careful, and don't give Yankee a chance to hit you."
"I appreciate it. And the second half?"
"John."
The teacher furrowed his eyebrows and dragged quickly at the cigaret. "John DiCauslow."
"Having gone steady with him I know what he is. A brilliant thief, burglar, and potential killer. He wants Ida as much as Yankee does."
"And he's equally dangerous." Maurice stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully and then took her by the wrist. "I should have realized his real nature. Eve, I can't thank you very eloquently."
"You always were tongue-tied," she winked.
After showing her his gratitude in the most apt manner conceivable, he put his pants on again, and went out to the street. How did you fight two distinct enemies like Yankee and John? Offensive action would only stir them up more perilously; Maurice figured that would be unwise.
He had the answer doped out by the next morning when he took his customary early constitutional through the park. A veil of mist had risen, shrouding the trees and bushes of Catacomb Park's terrain. In the murky haze he was able to see only a hundred feet in each direction as he walked. The nude goddess statues were indiscernable shadows. Maurice decided he must remain defensive, and retaliate against his two avid rivals purely as a last resort in self-defense.
The eerie milieu around him brought a barrage of doubts and regrets to his thinking. Fog had always made him dwell on death and disease and the middle-age change of life, which he knew was a psychological revolt. Old-age spells, he called them.
His shoes scraped along hidden stones under the spider-web mist. Once or twice he could swear there were other footsteps nearby, echoing his-but maybe it was the steady beat of the ocean. Imagination often twisted things around. Trying to lighten the trend of his thought, he remembered how active life had been ... a few short years ago when he had run politically for alderman and then the school board.
I was forever on the move. Travelling to where the scenery beckoned, speaking at famous author parties and athletic banquets, heading, a charity or church drive to raise funds.
The super activity had quieted his tensions, until he had felt settled down and without need for such tranquilizing. Now there were new troubles. He jammed his hands disconsolately into his pockets and moved around a clump of cedars.
That was when the shot rang out in the dark, primeval silence. He halted in his tracks, frozen with dread and horror. Another slug crashed into the trunk beside his head. Maurice stared through a heavy gloom worthy of the best Frankenstein movies and saw who was manipulating the hardware.
Yankee Lane-in person. He stood about twenty yards away, the weapon extended from his shoulder and aimed straight at Maurice.
"Good show, professor! Your nerves are holdin' up real nice. A lot of guys would have jumped outa their royal red scivvies already."
"Hunting is frowned upon at Catacomb Park."
"Let's get even more technical. I found you, so there's no hunt at all. Haw!"
Maurice felt perspiration pop onto every inch of his slightly trembling frame. The initial fright had worn off, for he noted that his pursuer carried a baby-sized .22. In the mute privacy and semi-darkness the shock of hearing a noise like that had made it sound like a cannon.
"I have ten dollars in my wallet, if that's what you want. Otherwise I wish you'd stop joking around."
"Jokin'? Yuk it up, fella!"
The tiny pellet zinged past his ear as he heard the echoing blast. Yankee stepped closer. He was enormous in a pink sweater, ivy league khakis, sneakers and loud cotton socks. But the obvious fat around his neck and stomach meant that he'd be vulnerable in a fight.
Maurice snarled, "You're brave with a gun in your hand."
"Don't push your luck, or it might come back to haunt you. Ida still rates on your hit parade. I thought I gave enough warnin' about-"
"Go ahead and shoot."
"Stubborn courage is the cousin of stupidity. Maybe I will cut the temptation away." He aimed the .22 at Maurice's groin, then walked even closer and threw the weapon aside.
"Whatever she and I do is none of your business, Lane. If she prefers me over you-"
"Let's decide that touchy point right quick on your terms."
"Bare knuckles?"
"I got everythin' goin' for me. Youth, weight, strength ... your best feature is a flip mouth."
" Maurice used the element of surprise by reaching back to his days as an extra-point kicker. The toe of his right shoe flashed upward. It smashed into Yankee's elbow and hit bone with a sickening crunch. The giant chauffeur screamed in pain.
Then he growled, "You dirty son-of-a-bitch," as he waded forward.
His bolo chop arced down and swished the air when Maurice ducked away. Yankee found minor success with a left cross that ricocheted off his foe's shoulder. Maurice faked a haymaker, then shot another kick with lightning speed at the target.
The oaf gurgled with pain as he crumbled to one knee and held his violated sac. But he had amazing resources. Although the two mighty punts had drained his power, he got up with his fists clenched. "I'll fix you! Ida's goin' to puke when she sees what I've left of the old professor. They'll scrape you off this lawn!"
He hurled a savage right which caught the ozone beautifully. Maurice rolled over and over, the mud damp on his body as he ate ground. He grabbed the rifle angrily.
"You talk a good fight," he grunted.
Yankee stormed ahead and flew through the air in a desperate, lunging try at a tackle. His arms boa constricted around the teacher. Maurice, though his legs were thus imprisoned, brought the metal barrel of the gun down and felt it thuck into Yankee's back.
The next stroke seemed to shatter his ribs. He slithered upon the ground and sat there dumbly. Tears and blood covered his face-he could have risen to continue the duel but he apparently had cried uncle.
Maurice said, "We're living in a civilized era of history. I can be as primitive as you, however."
"God damn you!"
"I guess it's obvious that a warning works both ways. Do we understand each other?" He stalked off toward the road and his car, gasping from the effort of having made a rather valid point.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ida Reneson finished drinking the coffee and smacked her lips at the nectar taste which all her food had lately. She wondered if that was because she wanted things to be perfect, ideal, as her romance with Maurie was ideal.
A record player at the department store next door sent loud rock-and-roll music into the street. Ida eased past the cash register in Bill's luncheonette. She moved out to the sidewalk, wishing life could have no end, plotting her future with an intelligence far beyond her years.
She would be a wife and perhaps raise children as well as doing social work so her degree from Milltown U. would have significance. Maurie would be the husband.
Automobile horns honked on the avenue as she strolled northward. She thought of the various boys with whom she had engaged in petting parties-often to the point of physical detonation on her part. They had done their utmost to enter her body. But she held out, declining both orgiastic sex and the menace of a potential shotgun wedding.
Ida knew when a fellow sought to marry money rather than the girl and her love. She had scant respect, also, for the perpetual bachelors who gravitated toward her. They were immature and considered the earth a playground, when to her it was a challenge met by love or career-or both.
When she arrived at the entrance of the parking lot, she saw Maurie's wife rushing across the tar pavement. Ida paused and waited. Blinking hard, she reassured herself that it was Ellen Hayko, whom Ida had met twice so far.
No smile of greeting showed on Ellen's face as she spoke. "If you only knew how long I've waited for this moment."
"I beg your pardon."
"The chat we had at the college didn't sink in very well, did it? You're insistent on playing Delilah."
"Mrs. Hayko, I wish you'd explain some of those profound truths you toss off. Delilah. Maybe we're talking about a stage drama or-"
"Very humorous. I mean you and the cap you've set for Maurie."
A policeman's whistle shrilled in the late afternoon sunshine. Ida felt her nerves twitch; she gave the cop on the corner a dirty look and then returned her attention to Ellen. The wronged spouse had a nice shape, at that. She'd use every curve of it to hold Maurie and save her own honor.
Ida cleared her throat nervously. "You're having pipe dreams again. There are plenty of eligible kids around, so I don't need to steal-"
"We covered this line the last time."
"So what's your problem? Go on and do the talking, since you're so eager to interrupt anything I say."
"Such a sense of etiquette and fair trade, dear Ida. You have old-time ideas. If your character depends on ethics from the Flapper age, it makes for a contradiction." Ellen shifted on her high-heeled shoes and folded her arms. She seemed ready to get violent at the slightest provocation-even though they were standing in a busy downtown area. "Let's take sex. The lack of guilt or remorse that you show indicates a very modern morality, if any such word exists for you."
"The pot is calling the kettle black."
"My faithfulness overshadows you by so much."
"Stop breaking my heart. I heard about you and DiCauslow at the party ... and it wouldn't surprise me a bit if he made the scene with you since then."
Ellen squinted furiously at her rival. "More lies. You'd do anything to get Maurice."
"We're going around in circles without any sense to it. I heard what you said and I hereby yawn again. As long as you can hold him, there should be no worry or concern about my presence. Unless there's a law suit on your mind already."
"Alienating affection. You stole the words right out of my mouth, child."
"See you in the comic pages." Ida headed toward her Rolls Royce in the lot and felt superior as she noted the jealous envy in Ellen's eyes. Wealth could be an impossible foe to conquer. Not that Maurie cared whether his coed mistress was rich or poor, she thought contentedly.
The wrath in Ellen's shouting voice was very plain. "Be thankful I haven't scratched your eyes out! Maybe I will!"
"And give me the chance for a counter suit of slander or libel?"
Ida was angry herself now, but the sensation cooled off as she drove away. Back at the dorm she quickly forgot the irritation of being threatened again. They were two ladies locked in mortal combat-every girl to her own abilities. This encounter had served to impress Ida more deeply with the knowledge that she loved Maurie very seriously.
Her class schedule for the day was brief, as usual on a Tuesday, and after Calculus she went for a ride. The ghettos were pathetic around her as she cut through the city, bypassing congested brick buildings where a thousand people lived on top of one another.
She stopped at an open-air phone booth to call Sue. Ida dialed operator, gave the number, and inserted the proper change while she waited for the contact to be made. In her mind she envisioned Reneson Stables-the sprawling acres of meadow-land where horses from mustang to colt were raised. Sue might have lost out on higher education, but she had started an empire with dad's cash and her own native shrewdness.
"Hi, sis!" beamed Ida's voice into the phone. "I thought I'd call and see how the greatest equine show on earth is doing."
"My piebald ponies will be delighted to hear that you were asking for them."
"Silly."
"It's about time you broke down," her sister's hard words sounded out, nasally, as if she spoke through the wrong end of a megaphone. "The business keeps me out here for days."
"Months, I'd say."
"Give me the drift on your marks, your love life and the latest theory about Freud and subconscious sex-in that order."
Ida laughed. "Maybe I'll consolidate them together under one big A-plus. Everything's just fine. How about you and the nasty thyroid gland?"
"The doc says I'll live. I had a chat with your professor pal the other day."
"Sue! You promised-"
"I know. But I couldn't act like a do-nothing and watch you get in trouble with him. So I told him to make sure it's platonic between you."
"Oh, he mentioned that, and we shared a belly laugh on it." She glanced at her watch as Sue continued to ramble on about Maurie. It went into one of Ida's ears and out the other. Finally the coed said, "I really must run now. Appointment at the hairdresser-calculus jamming and so forth."
"Remember how I told you to handle Maurice. As a buddy-"
"And a boy scout. Cross my heart I will."
She hung up and meandered to her dazzling black vehicle at the meter. Sure, there were big differences between her and the prof-but some of these traits balanced off. Opposites did draw a male and female together with magnetic force. Her flighty, moody ways, for instance, were steadied by his mature pattern in selecting recreations.
But the reasons or angles could be left to a head-shrinker for analysis. Ida knew that her love would be all the impetus she would need for success.
Yankee Lane's apartment was quiet when she got there. But the murmur of the stereo told her Yankee had to be around, since he was not absent-minded and would have turned the machine off if he had gone. She knocked at his door.
Heavy boots slid along the floor inside and then he was staring at her from the dimness of his flat, looking ferocious, as dry blood caked on his jaw and throat.
"The wanderin' chick has returned," he growled. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Ida gasped at the bluish welts on his arm. "You have been hurt!"
"I just know it makes your heart bleed. Come in and get outa the draft. I was debatin' how long it'd take before you came to your senses about us."
"No, Yank. The reason I showed up-"
"You heard me!"
He grabbed her wrist and hauled her into the apartment, after which he clanged the door shut behind them. Hunching down in fear, she glanced at Yankee Lane questioningly. She had learned some of his mean qualities in the few weeks they had dated-so long ago. But this raw, animal fury on his face was startlingly new.
"So I suppose you paid me this visit with the idea of a tease," he snorted. "Rile me up and then fly away."
"What happened to your shoulder?"
"Never mind."
"It's-fractrued or something, the way your elbow sticks out. Let me see."
"I said forget it!" He slapped her on the chin with his open palm and she tumbled to her knees on the rug.
Tears filled her eyes as she realized he was aflame with vengeance. Who had done it to him?
She dared not ask. "Yank," she whispered, "I couldn't be stupid enough to tease you."
"Oh yeah?"
"Please leave Maurice Hayko alone! That's why I came here ... to beg you and try to convince you that I love the man. And I think he loves me. If you should hurt Maurie, I'd die!"
The brute seized his stomach as he went into convulsions of near-hysteria, half-babbling, "You're a real funny comedian. Me hurt the teacher. Haw-haw!"
His trousers and shirt vanished from his ape-like body. He removed the T-shirt, hoisted Ida off the floor, and marched to his single, dirty sheeted bed where he dumped her on her back. "I don't like anyone to ignore me, kid."
"Be a little decent about this and let me go. Please don't hurt me."
"Cripes, you talk like I'm nuts."
He tore the sweater and bra off her quaking torso. Next came the toreador pants and stockings, until she lay beside him with only a pair of shorts on, as he had. Yankee's paws squeezed her breasts a hundred times over. He kissed her abdomen and thighs and toyed with the hot breast-tips like a child at Christmas time.
He was a Jekyl turned Hyde, a satyr who could not fill the cup of his lust high enough. Ida wept in pain as her flesh throbbed with chills and then fire. He ravished her again and again, each time by a quaint and degraded entrance, until she lay spent on the filthy bunk.
She sobbed for mercy, holding her legs when they reacted like a freshly-killed dog on the street, her sinews locking and sliding apart fiercely.
"You'll kill me!" she cried. "Don't touch it any more! Oh, Lord in heaven!"
"The Lord won't do a thing for you."
Yankee spat in disgust at the girl's face and sat up on the chair beside her. He hurled the toreadors at her knees. "Just remember who still wants you. And I'll win out, too. If you got any idea of squealin' on me, you better forget it or else Hayko will suffer. The dean at that fancy school would crucify Hayko if I should let 'em know he shacked up with a coed or two. So take off already!"
She was barely capable of walking, and yet her will pushed her onward as she drew the sweater around herself and trudged miserably out of his room.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was unbelievable that a thrill-seeking girl could change overnight into a woman. But Ida realized she had made the transition, and her violation by Yankee had been the clincher. She sat on the lawn outside the book-store as Maurice rested on one knee beside her, caressing the honey blond hair at her shoulder.
"We men are pretty dumb," he said. "It takes forever before the scales drop from our eyes. I've thought out the angles, Ida. What other conclusion can I reach, if I call myself an intelligent being?"
"You make the alternative sound negative. Ellen's not that bad."
"We can rationalize until the cows come home.
You're the one I love-please believe that, regardless of the setting around us."
"It's not what you'd call romantic." She smiled in triumph and gazed at the collegiate youths who strolled by as if they owned the entire campus and the roads that bounded it. Let our romance be out in the open, she thought. I'm tired of hiding like some cheap trollop.
Maurice cracked the knuckles of his hands nervously. "You asked me where Ellen fits in and what's to be done about her. I don't know. Christ, I'm not even sure of you."
"But you said you adore me."
"Ida ... these things take a lot of time to boil over. Do you understand how a guy feels when he's married and has been with his wife so long? To go ahead and cut the knot-"
"Be very sure of yourself, darling. I trust completely in whatever you decide."
He twisted bits of grass until they shredded away in his fingers. As the sun brightened upon his neck, she saw raw scratches near the collar of the shirt. Ellen's passion? Ida doubted that; she remembered the mess which Yankee had been in, and a slow hunch wavered at her consciousness. Perhaps Maurie had outfought the brute and Yankee refused to admit it. He was a proud man-such silence would be characteristic of him.
Maurice arose and took her by the arm. "We'd best get into the building. You'll meet me at nine o'clock,"
"Nine sharp."
They went via their separate routes to the huge tan brick edifice where most frosh students were taught. She was so avid for his love again, she thought her heart would burst.
He picked her up at the bus station that night as they had arranged. Ida sat calmly on her side of the Renault and watched him drive. "You're beautiful," he said. "And your taste in clothes is ultra magnifique." His glances ate up her two-piece cardigan, the jacket made of a wine-colored wool, and the glen plaid cap she wore.
She knew what else he was thinking of. Her garter belt and nylons ... the identical things she had in mind, itching at her in the mutual desire that raged through them. He led her out of the car and they approached the Hawk Ridge Motel. She paid no attention to the wing or dubious leer of the desk clerk as Maurie paid his tab at the register. Upon reaching their room, she went over and turned on the radio which sat on a wobbly end table.
"Music is the voice of love," she sang in an impromptu song composition.
"Let the fellow take any required initiative. Such a naughty girl. I should keep the promise I made once, and spank you over my knee."
"Sweetheart!" she whispered.
They were on the verge of owning each other at last. Or so she hoped as her hands joined behind his neck and they started to dance. She nib- bled at his ear, stretching on her toes to reach him. "I always did look up to you."
"Okay, shorty."
A male singer crooned on the radio, and Ida felt swept up in a crescendoing valhalla or dreamland where she could remain lost forever, floating on ethereal clouds. But Maurie was very worried. She felt sorry for him and the cruel choice he must make in his life, after so many years of marriage.
She let him guide her in stages toward the bed as they fox-trotted rhythmically. Her eyes, shiny with joy, raked over the room's interior-from the vased white carnation to a dresser with brush, comb, and ashtray upon its fringed cover. There was a yawning picture window near the tile bathroom.
And then her jacket was sliding off to the tune of his deft grasp. They took turns removing the items of clothing, fondling and relishing the moments that flitted by, kissing gently as they eased onto the bed. It felt warm and cotton candyish around her. His pants and shoes lay neatly on the chair alongside her skirt.
"Maurie, you're a violent sandstorm on the desert. A field of ripe wheat dancing under the October sun at noon. A lyre that thrums a tune-"
"Girls have called me a different sort of liar."
"Fresh."
"You'd be surprised how fresh I can get when the wind's right." He kissed her breasts and buried his face in the twin, surging mounds. He kneaded the round thigh which had bent upward to meet his advance. His tongue flicked at her ivory flesh and along the hips, back onto the swelling breasts.
A volcano seethed far within her. She felt the dim rumble of lava and molten ash, and she clamped her legs upon the man. They traded kiss for kiss while her hands labored at the vineyard of his masculinity.
He was so gentle as he tenderly rolled the tips of her bosom in his fingers. She knew her breasts had reached the highest, largest point of which they were capable. "The ant hills have become giant mountains," he chuckled. "Just like when I was a kid, and blew up balloons until they split."
"Don't repeat the experiment."
"Hold me, Ida! Yes! I love it intensely when you-thrill me with your soft touch."
"Speaking of balloons that are ready for jet take-off-"
"You would bring up that subject. Okay, since I'm obviously at the point of no return, we'll start the countdown."
She appreciated his joking at a sensitive instant plucked from the infinity of time. How different from the bestiality of Yankee Lane! How tepid and yet grown-up Maurie was as he caught her on the side angle and gradually swung into dominance above her.
It shattered her with fantastic ecstasy. A brilliance of blinding lights as when a switch is thrown and the dark carnival midway bursts to luminescent, kaleidoscopic birth. The drive and power of the sea during a typhoon.
And then she was thinking not of the belt which had kayoed her and steadily faded away, but of this man who cradled her wistfully. His breath sounded short and ragged. The aging process had lengthened his recovery period, and he would be impotent during the critical minutes. Ida kissed his forehead with exquisite love.
"Sorry I got limper than a rag doll," he said.
"Let me soothe you, Maurie. There's so much time for both of us. We don't have to rush. Take it nice and easy."
The desk clerk, a stoop-shouldered man who appeared close to eighty, smiled and showed the toothless interior of his mouth. His eyelids twitched annoyingly as he said to Maurie, "That was a real short visit. I got to charge you the full price, though. No refund."
"The wife and I have other things on our schedule." Maurie kept his arm around Ida while they moved past the key rack and desk in the outer lobby.
"Oh, I'll bet you do," the old man chuckled. "Come back and see us again."
They went out to the car, where Maurie halted for a moment indecisively, planning his next step. But with her draped around him there seemed no need for concern about a destination. "Stop anywhere," she said as he drove up the dark rural road. "Who knows how long these glorious hours may last? I've learned one thing-to enjoy the honest pleasures offered by life."
"You talk as if there'll be no tomorrow. I said I'm going to tie the loose ends together and settle our whole problem."
The moon was an orange sphere hung above the dying cornfields and orchards of the countryside. He led Ida across a meadow which ended at some deserted, cobwebbed barn. She shivered from the chill in the air.
"It's warmer inside," he said.
His flashlight cut a swath in the blackness as they entered the barn. He lit a kerosene lamp beside three bales of hay. The girl said, "I'm glad our boys at the college don't know about this place. What a desolate atmosphere to defend your honor at!"
"They probably have even better parking sites."
He sat down next to her and began kissing her on the cheeks and lips. He realized what motivated an average college-boy. They rushed into steady dating and engagement for the sake of security-establishing an early marriage so their social worries would be nil. Maurie was glad the young Casanovas had failed to woo Ida.
She melted under the onslaught of his avid kisses, while he stroked the beauty and majesty aglow on her nude body. Her legs were downy pillars of love. The professor worshipped at the twin altars-her dark-tipped, hardening breasts. He felt suddenly half his real age and no longer did he fear to look at the future or battle against it. This child-turned-woman had completely overhauled his character although he had thought such a feat impossible.
Not a stitch of clothing was left on her. He whispered and cajoled and gave her affectionate, tiny pecks with his teeth as she squirmed in ecstasy upon the overcoats he had spread along the hay. His brain rocked with wicked pleasure.
Whimpering softly, she helped him caress the ripe breasts until both were aflame with need. Patters of sound grew louder on the barn's roof above them.
"It's starting to rain, Maurie. Maybe we'll get struck by lightning."
"I couldn't think of a better death."
"You're a funny man. Especially when I feel your spine arcing up at me like a banana." She giggled and touched him very intimately and then said, "So stop the music already, as they say on TV."
She seemed cruel in her insistent demands upon his power, but he realized it was only her wish to be a single entity with him. This creature could never be brutal. He shifted onto his back as the lance of happiness cut into his heart over and over again, bringing a film upon his damp eyes. Ida grinned until her teeth shone like pearls in the lamp light.
As his hand groped for her, she wrestled against the inevitable culmination. He batted her arms down and slid into the most fantastic, sweet paradise imaginable. The rain above thudded vigorously upon the shingles. And he reclaimed the prize which had first been his and his alone ... so many weeks past, at the awakening of improbable love between them.
She wept and held him tighter with the posses-siveness of a female who senses that destiny's pen had written upon the wall, its indelible message telling the world that she has won, nor could any person take away this hour or the ones to follow.
Barbara Judd shoved the roll of bills into the janitor's side pocket, feeling his gnarled hips vibrate to her touch. Then she removed her hand from his trousers.
The janitor scratched his head in confusion. Barbara squinted at the vials and test tubes and chemicals packaged on the long table. Here was her perfect setting-the chemistry lab and its props for damning an intruder.
"You're positive you'll go through with this, Hodson?" she asked.
Hodson, janitor at the university's labs, backed away from her. "The cards are all held by you," he said in a broken voice. He coughed quickly, his eyes darting in fear. "But if I should get caught."
"There's no danger! All you do is testify that you found her prints on the box and a vial. If the dean should ask. They'll take my word for it, though, so stop worrying."
"In that case, maybe you can swing the deal without me."
"I need you for insurance!" Barbara hissed. "Wasn't there enough money in the roll I gave you?"
"Good Christ, Barbara-"
"Both of us would hate to see those little side affairs told to the police. You know I'd talk. A man in your position-married and respectable-working at Milltown U. for six years."
"Okay!" Hodson clenched his fist and rubbed his thinning gray hair. "I should have known better than to argue about it."
"Now we're using some common sense. I'll call you if your testimony is required."
Muttering under his breath, the man took a last, hungry look at Barbara's breasts and then waddled toward the closet. She checked the carton of LSD on the shelf. Yes, her stage was set and she could ring up the curtain which would mean the end of an era. Her scheme with the hidden camera had washed out. But if you were stubborn and persistent, you could skin a cat eventually.
She had felt disgusted by Hodson's pitiful, helpless objections when he had been hired for this blackmail. Barbara sighed, walking down the hall and reaching her office. She sat down in the chair to browse through mid-term behavior reports. Luckily, she had found out about Hodson's sex attacks upon those two coeds in August. They were too ashamed to admit having been ravaged individually by the janitor. He had them buffaloed into silence, because of their loose reputations and fear of being arrested for prostitution.
But an informer had told Barbara the story; today at last she found a use for the knowledge. Hodson would cooperate or be tossed into jail on a statutory rape charge.
She puffed at the cigaret, watching smoke curls waft from her mouth to the ceiling. A clock on the wall ticked ominously. It was ten-fifteen, and she felt giddy with triumph as the moment drew near. Maurie and Ellen were on the outs-any fool could see that. And whom would he turn to when his marriage did fold up like an accordion? Ida Reneson, of course.
The girl's ugly name sickened Barbara with hatred as she thought of it. No other barrier existed between her and Maurie except the cute little rich coed. Well, she'd be shoved out of the picture soon enough.
Like drums at a tribal death dance, the hands on the clock thudded away. Barbara's impatience made her very nervous and she was about ready to use the phone again when she heard footsteps on the wooden floor outside her den. Easing backward in the chair, she templed her fingers together. The door opened and Ida walked in boldly.
"It's rude to keep the ladies' dean waiting," said Barbara. "Have a seat anyhow. You'll need moral support for our chat, believe me."
"I thought our topics of conversation had reached the end of the line."
"You're sweet."
"Why don't you leave me alone, Miss Judd? Your chances to sleep with the prof won't be helped any by riding me." She stood at the corner of the desk and glared defiantly at her tormentor.
"Listen to who's talking about morals. You're an intellectual snob. I couldn't summon up the gall to use men as you've done, though we both have the same goal."
"And we insult each other very well."
Barbara took the gray photographs out of her drawer and held them in front of her. "See these? Pictures of a certain girl's fingerprints. You may burn them if you'd like, but I do have the negatives. I usually try, try again until I get what I want."
"Fingerprints?"
"They're yours and they were found on a bottle in the chem lab-as well as other places where students don't go."
"Stop beating around the bush and-"
"Someone stole a package of LSD from stock, Ida!" The woman arose and strode around the desk for dramatic effect. "I have circumstantial evidence against you. Mr. Hodson took the prints and you were seen hanging around the lab before the drug vanished."
A cold silence froze Ida's face as she seemed deep in thought. "Other students use the room," she rasped finally.
"As I mentioned, the evidence is not conclusive. We're going to suspend you from class for two weeks."
"Maybe you think I'll lie down and take it like a nice whipping boy."
"I think so."
"Wait until my friends hear how you've tried to frame me," Ida snapped. "They'll fix you."
Barbara smiled, aware that the "friends" would be Maurie-the fellow who started this whole intrigue. His pleas, if any, would hardly cause Dean Fedorhall to rescind a lovely two-week suspension.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Maurie finished his pastrami on rye sandwich and started forking the lemon meringue pie into his mouth. The diner had ebbed into a hush, after the evening rush hour. He ogled the shapely waitress who came ambling down the aisle to his booth. "A glass of water, please," he said. She pivoted away toward the fountain and left him momentarily with his thoughts.
Things at home had reached a total impasse. Ellen constantly nagged him to death about every insignificant detail-and he knew why. She sensed the blockade which had grown ever higher, chaining him on his side of the fence marked LOVE.-KEEP OUT; and the love was between him and Ida.
The waitress' breasts did a pleasant jig as she returned to Maurie. "We have some fine cheesecake for you. Shall I get you a piece, sir?"
"I'm afraid I've overdone the pastries lately."
She glanced at her own full, firm breasts. In his mind he envisioned them naked, like the topless girls who worked at offbeat night clubs.
"Yes," she nodded. "I do believe I know what you mean."
He paid his check and then went out to the street, where the lights had been turned on as dusk fell. He remembered his recent visit to Yvette at the house of ill repute. She had nothing else to tell him, except that he was in danger and should decide upon one course or the other.
The car purred to life beneath his gas pedal. He drove across Nutmeg Avenue with his eyes on the treacherous, twilight-dim highway ahead. Yvette certainly had a motive in becoming a paid whore. Sure, her dad had drunk heavily and she was bred in the city delinquent jungle-but Maurie figured the reason went deeper.
She yearned to be hurt, physically and emotionally, to sacrifice herself at the heathen bonfire of pain. Some textbooks on abnormal psych might call it masochism.
The way she had cut respectability and decency from her life made him shudder. He guided his vehicle around a hairpin turn, then let a truck drift past. Suddenly he experienced the weird sensation of being observed, as though someone were following him. He scanned the rearview mirror.
Your nerves are shot. The highway's as empty as a baseball field in January.
Grimacing, recalling his long-dead heyday as an athlete in high school, Maurie wondered if he'd been satisfied even then. Of course age created its problems. You had to eliminate a lot of activities and it bugged you when time for another medical check-up arrived, and you wondered if the doctor would dismiss the case as hypochondria. Age also brought wisdom, though. No person would really enjoy being sent back via a time machine to the period of duped, dream-silly adolescence.
The sky was much darker now, as clouds hid the stars. He cruised down a long graded hill and heard a throaty roar from the rear of his car.
Panic seized his body and stiffened it when he saw that someone, indeed, hung on his tail. It was a motorcycle with fox fur and a green wind visor on its handlebar. Even under the high-powered arc lights spaced at regular intervals, the driver's face could not be discerned well enough for recognition. A cap and mask hid the features of his face.
Maurie sped up so that he could test the validity of his suspicion. Sure enough, his cyclist pursuer also increased the pace until he once again crept close from behind. It seemed to be a game like "chicken" on the narrow laned road.
Not until the bike swerved within a hair's breath of his left rear tire did Maurie comprehend what devilish aim his friend had. The two-wheeled machine contained Ben Hur chariot hubs ... razor sharp prongs jutting out and spinning viciously with each rapid rotation of the wheels. Maurie couldn't let the whirling blades hit his tire at this momentum.
His speedometer read 55.
Of course it was too late, but he reviewed his quick decision in horror and knew the car should have been slowed rather than accelerated.
He hugged the center line of the road as he attempted to outdistance the cycle. Again it swept in. The driver's teeth glistened and faded like a neon sign with each whizzing glare from the luminous posts alongside their route. Another few inches and the fiend would slash rubber. The Renault would hurtle crazily off a steep shoulder to crash there unless Maurie could avoid the blades.
Icy dred of disaster pummeled his thumping heart. He jerked the wheel to the right and hit his brake, pumped it, smelled the tires and heard them screech. Those few seconds were a nightmare. A voice cried out in death throes as the cycle skidded diagonally on a path across the road and smashed into a huge tree.
"Oh, no!" the teacher whispered.
He circled around and returned to the site where his pursuer had landed. Wreckage was strewn along the dark grass. Flames licked at the cycle's twisted, smoldering chassis, and a body lay in a pretzel shape several yards away.
The fact of self-defense did not ease the guilt Maurie felt when he gazed down at his vanquished enemy.
Blood and dirt ringed the face, but anyone could see it had been John DiCauslow. Yet who would believe he'd go so berserk with jealousy and try this bizarre eradication of a rival? Maurie trudged toward his car and figured he should call the state troopers. They'd mark this one in their accident log with an asterisk.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dean Fedorhall was a sandy -haired, unsmiling man who, according to reports, should have been hatched in electronic robot fashion instead of born as a person. He hunched forward at his desk that morning and read the document privately.
Then he stared over the top of the paper at Maurie. "You understand, of course, that you'll have to be terminated at once. Lascivious activity and involvement in a crime."
"A kid kills himself on his bike and you say I was the cause of it."
"Not the cause, Mr. Hayko. Our board has studied the case with a fine tooth comb. Your affair with Miss Reneson would be scandal enough-and I do say I'm quite surprised at you."
Maurie dug his elbows at right angles into the meat of his thighs, sitting tensely on the chair. He wrung his hands in defeat. "Pity is one thing I don't need."
"We're all expected to control ourselves where the female specie is concerned, particularly. A man your age. With over ten years service on the faculty here-"
"I've denied both charges. But then, you would take the word of Barbara and Oscar and Smithers over mine."
"Two witnesses are sufficient by any penal code standards."
It was a gray, overcast day which fitted the somber nature of his last hours at Milltown. He stared at the window, then back at Fedorhall and his poker face. "Their characters are beyond reproach. Barbara has lied and cheated in the past, to get some sugar daddy she wanted. Genevieve's a junky who'll end up on the street. As for Smithers-"
"The argument you propose may be valid. John, however, left a diary which implicates you and Miss Reneson."
"How do you know he wrote it?"
"You're hunting for straws, dear man. The verdict was reached and you should be lucky the police have not stepped in."
"you mean the sacred name of the university is lucky. Each faculty member represents a yard of cloth to you. A stepping stone to more power."
"Please leave the campus. Mr. Hodson will escort you out, and your check will be forwarded later."
Maurice snorted in anger but saw that he was utterly vanquished in a web of intrigue. Outside in the hall he paused to check the shadowy form of Hodson, lab janitor. Then Maurice started forward gladly to endure his drumming-out as a man. He heard kids laughing and joking as they stood around with books under their arms, and he sadly wondered how it would be-without them.
He had rarely been unemployed except for the summer hiatus. Would other colleges hire him or wait until a decent period of time elapsed, or had this thing black-balled him? He doubted it. A good teacher was worth his salt, and many a dean or corporation president had gotten to his eminent position by gambling on the unfortunate but talented.
At least I've developed a new confidence from this mess, he thought. Ellen never helped me to believe in myself.
Barbara Judd was standing outside her office. He walked up to her and resisted the urge to slap the living hell out of her. "I hope you're real happy," he snarled. "You've done your best to ruin three lives."
"Blame it all on a bystander, Maurie. I started the trouble by seducing you, didn't I?"
"How catty can you be? I had a fling because I wanted to prove I was virile, or young, and then you got rejected. That hurt. So you assaulted Ida with blackmail and lies-"
"And you're the one who marches ingloriously into the sunset from MU."
"Dry my tears. I know you're screwing for Fedorhall on the side."
"Good-bye, sir."
"You couldn't have me, so you decided to fix it so neither Ida nor anyone else could. But you goofed, Babs. I'll launch a fresh life and you'll rot in these ivy walls with nightmares for company."
Hodson came up the hall and waved. "Let's go, Mr. Hayko."
The door of Barbara's office slammed shut and he felt a weight slide away from his shoulders. He had seen her for the last time. She'd live and die as a scheming old maid, and he'd enjoy the final belly laugh.
When he got home he saw that Ellen had already packed up for her trip. A note on the coffee table informed him that she would be at the railroad station for the 8:25 train, if he cared to see her off. He crumpled the note in his fist. The tragedy wasn't her refusal to discuss his shameful scandal, but his prior decision to choose Ida over his wife.
Her leaving would make it look as if he had been forced to marry Ida. When he thought about the matter more deeply, though, Maurie saw he didn't give a tinker's dam what people said or believed. The girl's future happiness and his were all that counted.
The night stretched a pall of grim darkness over the houses and factories and business stores which lay packed close together in the center of town. He reached the redstone railroad depot, a castle of dusty architecture at least fifty years old. He walked from the metered parking lot up a graded ramp. It seemed pathetic and ironic that he should be coming to her, even at their hour of separation, obediently as always.
But one of them had to give in and be larger than life. He couldn't just let her go away without some kind of human contact, repulsive as it might prove. Posters on the concrete walls along the ramp advertised stage presentations soon to be held at theaters in the area. Broadway shows had their place, too, among the colorful ads which ridged his long and weary march up the hill. He saw a near-naked girl smiling out from a musical play in its second year at the Great White Way.
Inside the train station he was depressed by the gray, brooding atmosphere. After checking his watch several times he finally saw Ellen moving toward him from the door.
"You had to let it end abruptly, didn't you, Maurie? A sensational and exciting finish. I always told you to take up law, so there'd be an audience for your natural talent."
"It seems like you spent most of our eleven years telling me what to do."
"Feel sorry for yourself. Make me the villain who practiced adultery."
He noted that she carried only a purse instead of suitcases and valises for the vast wardrobe which had been removed from her closet at home. "You didn't waste any time in leaving. I suppose the baggage was sent ahead by freight."
"Yes. Via express to New Haven and the people who treat me like a human being. I had to talk father out of coming down here with a pistol to see you. Somehow he abhors a scandal-maker."
Maurie let her anger run its course, resigned as he was to receiving the whole guilty verdict. Then he stared meaningfully at his lost wife.
"You know we were drifting away from one another for the past few months, Ellen. Even before Ida came."
"It's easy when the criminal looks back with reasons."
"I love her. And she returns the love. When all the shouting about your family name and dishonor has died out, it boils down to essentials. Doesn't it? I tried to share a common ground with you but the guts had slowly drained away."
A porter hurried by, shoving his cart-load of luggage ahead of him. The voice from the loudspeaker announced her train as "on time" and people had filtered into the waiting room. Ellen surveyed her husband haughtily. "You expected miracles from me in the boudoir. It got to be a fetish-your devotion to sex and pleasure."
"Not exactly. I'd call my desires merely a symptom of deeper conflict."
"Words from one of Ida's Freudian text-books."
"Really, Ellen. I do feel sorry for you because it took us so long to find the truth. You didn't love me. You married status and if any love existed, it was the worship of dominance over a man."
"Still justifying your sins. Well, listen to me. That girl might last for a while, but the infatuation will wear out."
"Ida's not a fair weather person."
"Maybe you and she are both idiots. After she realizes how you raked her reputation over the coals-"
"We stand here arguing over minor things and still barely scratch the surface. The affair was hushed up. You and your dad are the type who would blow it out of proportion."
"Such glib, casual ideas ... now I suppose you're hoping she can present you with a son."
"Why else do average men get married?"
"The demands you pushed upon me were outlandish!" Ellen spat out. "You're the sterile one! This entire mess happened because I failed to produce the heir, an offspring for your ego."
She obviously had let rage and indignation cloud her reasoning abilities. He gritted his teeth, then gulped down his blistering reply. "It's rather late for a discussion on the first causes."
"I could change life to miserable hell for you. Barbara did a fair job of starting the landslide, but your philandering kept her alive." She folded her arms and gripped the straw handbag tighter. "You'll pay your fair share."
"Make sure the lawyer has my address right. I look forward to receiving the letter."
"You even sound like a teenage punk."
"Sort of a John DiCauslow returning from the grave?"
"Very funny. There never would have been a DiCauslow on my hands if you had walked the straight and narrow. At least I admit sleeping with him. Who did you notch on your gun, besides Yvette and that other girl who left school rather than take suspension?"
"I'll fight the suit, Ellen. Your case will be strong but not overwhelming."
"Alimony is a very sweet tonic."
There appeared no further profit in rehashing the soreness and wounds of their rupture. He could allow her this luxury-small people talked big and got a weird satisfaction from revenge. She would probably hunt out some wealthy man. A widower or tycoon or perhaps another teacher whom she'd rule with an iron hand.
Ellen held her shoulders high as she stepped toward her waiting train. He peered into the smoke which coughed up from the engine and wheels on the track. Express to Boston ... New Haven, Saybrook....
She would search and yet there could be no treasure of human love for her-not like the one Maurie had found. He pitied her. Good-bye, Ellen. I'll say it for both of us and wish you a safe journey. The moments ticked away on the enormous clock of eternity which pulsed increasingly amid whirring, cracking atoms in the universe.
He blinked at the soft tears on his eyelids. He kicked a candy wrapper along the cement floor and headed toward the down ramp, as a drizzle began to dampen the sidewalk near the taxi stand.
His electric typewriter still ran with enough zing, even though it had lain withering in the closet for so long. He struck the keys confidently as the resume took shape before him. Finding another college to teach at might be rather hard. Maurie decided it would be best to ignore reason for leaving the last position and talk around it later, with an interested dean.
What alternate task might he be qualified for? He blew into his cupped hands and remembered his long-ago stab at writing novels part-time; the money had been fair, but you were lost unless you could grind them out steadily. He just had not practiced enough to gain that amount of fluency.
Ida sidled across the den and put her palm gently on the rear of his neck. "Gosh, it's been an hour since you said boo," she remarked teasingly.
"I'm the strong, silent type."
"Listen to the rain pattering on the windows. Each drop sings a quiet tune, and it's our sere- nade, Maurie. You and I and your great big house."
He kissed her bare forearm as the tension zigzagged out of his extended nerves. Then he leaned back against her soft breasts. "There's poetry in the way you phrase your ideas. But we also need money for the mortgage payment."
"With your experience, a job should crop up any day now."
"I hope so."
He admired Ida for her sensitive, understanding habit of letting him forget that she was loaded financially. The trust fund donated by her parents had been the only kindness they ever showed. But Ida knew him. Come what may, he wore the pants in their relationship and would earn the bread, starting at once. Legally they would not be married until the divorce exhausted its red tape formalities.
She said, "I've already been accepted at Southern Teachers. Why don't you try them?"
"Good idea. These resumes will be sent out like confetti until I hit gold. You have to look at it as calls made by a salesman."
"Thank heaven I'm the final call you made for a lover."
He winked as he stood up and touched his glass of gin upon hers. The tinkling sound delighted him. "To your health, Ida." He swallowed the rest of the drink and eased toward the vanity dresser where his cigarets lay.
"Before you light up," she said as she followed him, "I have a secret to tell you. Something no one could ever have thought possible."
"Stop playing games."
"And you stop being such a grouch. Kiss me ten times and then I'll reveal the secret."
"By then I'll have forgotten about it and so will you."
He knew she was right; unfurling his worried brow, he relaxed his muscles and threw an embrace around her. Wake up, he thought. Enjoy life and realize that what happened to you is a triumph instead of a tragedy!
The girl's robe rustled as he peeled it away from the dynamic, throbbing loveliness of her body. His clothes were jet propelled and within seconds he sat upon the bed with just the jockey shorts on. Ida tasted scrumptious to his seeking lips. He traced a path along her ribs, up to the sheathed breasts, down again past thighs which glistened as white as fresh milk in the lamp glow.
He was tired, but he knew that for a youth like her the evening had barely started. They'd have to adjust to differences like these.
Her kisses swarmed like sizzling bits of coal over him and set his blood racing wild. They were clay statues in a furnace and he felt her skin melt inch by inch into his until they were a single entity. She gasped with joy, stroked him with affectionate adoration. The culmination drew nearer with each starving breath from his mouth as he made love to her breasts.
The sweaty bra came off easily in his fingers.
He shucked her stockings and panties to the rug swiftly and prepared for the glorious, agonizing shock that would conquer her.
"Maurie!" she cried. "You didn't ask me what the good news is!"
"Suck a tricky little Jezebel."
"Ah!! Lift me up again. You're so strong and yet gentle when you swerve us around. Don't ever stop loving me!"
"With a crazy fever like you in a man's veins, what else could he do? I'll make you light up with a tilt sign."
"First you'll have to catch me."
She tried to hop off the mattress but he had anticipated her game, and he swept her back onto her quivering spine. She giggled during the mischievous battle against his advances.
He stormed the bastile of her wondrous palace where untold riches awaited. She arced upward and sobbed. The finale shattered him like a row-boat being dashed into a rocky shore by the winter wind.
Then the heat was off and he could rest somewhat. She lit the cigaret for him, slid it between his lips, and drummed impatiently on the quilt.
"Maurie."
"Yes?"
"The world has been pretty rough on both of us. I think we'll survive, though. Especially when you look at the rosy days of the future and the clothes you'll have to buy for junior."
"That's the way the ball-" He jerked himself up quickly as his mind fastened on her meaning. "Ida, are you giving out with the secret?"
"Of course, I'm pregnant. Nothing else would surprise a sophisticated prof like you. I think we'll name him-"
Happiness frothed and bubbled within him as he kissed her several times on the neck. "You're sure it's male?"?
"Girl babies feel light as a feather when you carry them inside. So there, too. I warned you about the large families in our Reneson ancestry."
"You wonderful teenage brat." He tickled her under the breasts, aware that she was all he had expected and much more. An adult companion-the dream he'd always love-part of the slate which destiny had forged and hurled at him, daring his efforts to change it.
