You couldn’t call Laney anything but beautiful now. She was 5’7 and weighed 118 pounds with high, full breasts, slender hips and long tan legs. Her pale blonde hair was a curtain that hung down almost to her waist. Her generous smile and the warmth in her sea blue eyes drew people in, like they knew she was someone who could be trusted. Cal was handsome too with his muscular football player’s body, close-cut brown hair and sincere brown eyes. Both of them had lots of friends.
That was what she thought of her “normal” life and there was only one cloud in that blue sky and it was, of course, that no matter how much she liked Cal, no matter how hard she tried, she felt nothing for him sexually. She hated that for his sake almost more than hers. It didn’t seem fair to him to have a girlfriend who couldn’t respond to him, although she didn’t let him know that, naturally.
Then there was her other life, the Rafe part, the not so normal part. He never came home on race nights but he was there most week nights and when he opened his door and said, “come on over here, Honey,” her heart just immediately started to pound and shivers started shooting from her groin up into her stomach. He could come up behind her in the kitchen and put his warm hand under her shirt so it lay on her middle back, something as simple as that, and she’d just go weak from desire. She wondered how the effect of two kisses, Cal’s and Rafe’s, could be so different. When you closed your eyes, a pair of lips felt pretty much the same but when it was Rafe’s mouth on hers, she was transported by joy.
She asked Rafe once if he was jealous of her having sex with Cal. He’d just smiled and said, “who do you love, Lane?”
“I love you, Rafe, “she told him.
“That’s why I’m not jealous, Sweetie.”
* *
“Dad?”
“Yes, Rafe.”
“You do remember that Lane will be sixteen next week, don’t you?”
“Oh, hell, that’s right. I need to talk to her about a car, I guess.”
“Yeah, I thought I’d better say something. She probably wouldn’t have nerve enough to tell you herself even if you forgot. I think she’s pretty intimidated by you.”
“But I don’t intimidate you, Rafe?”
“Yeah, Dad, you intimidate me too, but I guess I’m more driven when I want something.”
Renny sighed. “Well, here’s what’s probably going to happen, Son. She’s going to ask you to ask me if you can take her looking for cars but the answer is no. She’ll go with me or not at all. So you tell her that when she comes begging you to be her front man. Got it, Rafe?”
“Got it.”
*
“Rafe?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think Dad would let you take me to look for a car?”
“No, he already told me he won’t. Lane, I know being with Dad stresses you out but if you want a car, you’re just going to have to stiffen your backbone and go with him. He won’t eat you, Honey.”
“He just makes me so nervous.”
“Here’s what you need to do, Lane. Know basically what you want before you go. He doesn’t have a lot of patience with dithering. Don’t tell him you don’t know or you don’t care.”
“What kind of car do you think I should get?”
“I don’t know, Lane. Have you seen anything you like?”
“Dawn has a Malibu. Hers is used but I like it. It’s not big but it’s not small. I think it’s pretty.”
“You definitely want a car and not an SUV or a truck?”
“Yes, I want a car.”
“Well, then tell him all that. Tell him you’re thinking of a Malibu. He might take you to look at some other models too to make sure that’s what you like best. If it is, stick to it.”
*
He called her into the study. It was a place she could only remember being in maybe three times in her whole life. All the kids had always known this room was off-limits to them when Renny wasn’t there unless they asked permission to do something specific, like get one of the guns out of the gun safe. The long wall across from the doorway was broken by a bank of windows surrounded by bookcases. The windows looked out over a flowered green lawn dotted with trees, stables farther off in the distance. At one end of the room was the ornate walnut fireplace with the family portrait above (sans Rafe and Lane), fronted by a cinnamon colored leather sofa and two burgundy club chairs. At the other end, was Renny’s impressive mahogany desk. The room also contained, in addition to the gun safe, curio cabinets filled with Vincennes memorabilia - a pair of dueling pistols that had belonged to Jean-Paul, Renny’s great great grandfather, military medals awarded to past Vincennes soldiers, mementos from family travels far and wide. Hanging on the walls were pictures and framed certificates and other documents, like a letter sent home from the Civil War after Manassas by Alain Vincennes. It was a masculine room characterized by fine wood paneling and colored in brown and burgundy and forest green.
“Come on in, Lane, and have a seat there.”
She took one of the two chairs in front of the desk. She reminded herself that all her brothers and sisters had to go through this same routine before they got their cars and so far as she knew, they all emerged whole. Renny was even able to talk Dad into his Corvette and she didn’t want anything so expensive as that!
Her father smiled. “Relax, Lane. I’m not an ogre. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“I never thought of you being an ogre, Dad, more like God.”
He chuckled. “Well, if I’m God, then I’m in my “Lord giveth” mode today. Tell me what you’re thinking in the way of a vehicle.”
Remembering Rafe’s advice, she tried to sound decisive. “Well, I don’t know a lot about cars but I’m leaning toward a Malibu. My friend, Dawn, has one and I like it. I don’t want a tiny car but I don’t want a huge one either and the Malibu is in the middle. I don’t care about it being super-fast. I want something that is comfortable to drive. I just want a basic, nice car, you know?”
“Well, I have to say that you’re more easily satisfied than your brother. Why don’t we go around and take a look at some other cars that are similar to the Malibu to see if you find anything you like better. If not, then a Malibu is certainly doable.”
Realizing that, of course, it was his own damn fault his youngest daughter was so in awe of him since he’d made so little effort to pay her any attention, he made that effort now, extending himself to win her over. Someone had once said about Renny that he could “charm the shine off a new pair of shoes” and Lane was certainly easier than that.
*
“He took me out to lunch at Jepson’s and then we spent most of the afternoon going to dealerships looking at cars. In the end, I still liked the Malibu the best. (The mint green Malibu now sat in its spot in the garage next to the ‘Vette). He was really nice, Rafe. He explained all about different options to me and talked about when all the older kids were little and how him and Mom met and fell in love. He told me he was proud of me. You were right about him knowing more. I thought he barely knew I existed but he knew all about my grades and the Cheer Squad and writing for the Scribe and even about Cal.”
“I told you he wasn’t as bad as you thought….as long as you never cross him. Just be careful what you say about us, Lane. He can interrogate you without you even realizing it’s happening and he can solve a puzzle from the smallest clues.”
“We didn’t even talk about you, Rafe. He just asked how I was getting along without you and I said fine.” She made a face.
* *
The fan club was beginning to get attention (there were 24 members now). In one of the towns where Rafe raced, the newspaper featured them in an article (naturally, they didn’t tell everything about the club in that interview) with a big picture of Rafe surrounded by all the girls in their “we ‘heart’ Rafe” teeshirts. The Benedict Sentinal picked it up. “Local Driver Rates his own Fan Club”. It went on to say that “Rafe Vincennes hasn’t quite hit the big time yet in motorsports though
he seems to be well on his way, but he does have something that is usually reserved for only the best-known drivers, his own fan club. Vincennes, who graduated from Benedict High year before last and is currently attending Princeton University…..blah, blah, blah.”
*
At the annual Benedict Consolidated School District conference, Linda Dee had bought a newspaper to read at breakfast. When she saw the picture, she hit the ceiling. She passed it around to the others, saying, “if you want to see something disgusting, look at this, this travesty!” She moaned, “am I going to spend the rest of my life having my nose rubbed in Rafe Vincennes?”
A sadder but wiser Melanie Britt looked at the picture and remembered. She was fully prepared to become Mrs. Stark in June but still, even now if Rafe happened to drop by, she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength of will to resist.
Jeb Kroner felt a stirring of envy. Rafe Vincennes seemed to lead a charmed life, surely it was a life every man dreamed of but so few were ever able to bring to reality. He wondered how many women had been part of Rafe’s harem by now.
Rhonda Fisher worked at keeping the fond smile from her face, for Linda Dee’s sake. There was something perverse inside her that admired Rafe’s outlaw qualities.
“Someone told me years ago that Rafe Vincennes would leave school and we’d all just forget him but I don’t think we’ll ever be allowed to do that, do you?” Miss Dee asked them.
One by one, they shook their heads no, they didn’t think so either.
* *
The racing season was over for Rafe. It was almost time to return to Princeton. Chester watched him say good-bye to the Fan Club (now 22 members strong). One by one, they all gave him a hug and a big kiss, all promising to return when he did next summer.
After Rafe went back to school, the women got together for a final good-bye until next year. During the course of it, they ingested quite a lot of adult beverages. They thought it was a kick to get in the pool with their teeshirts on, then have a photo taken of all of them with the “I ‘heart” Rafe” clinging revealingly to their bra-less breasts . They made enlarged copies for themselves and sent one to Rafe at school via e-mail. Just for fun, they sent another to Chester who posted it on the bulletin board in his office where it became the source of much interest to drivers, staff and vendors alike. Rafe moved his copy in his “save” folder but didn’t give it much thought after that.
~ ~ ~
CHAPTER 7
About six weeks after he got back to Princeton, Rafe received a request/command from Professor Helene Barnes via e-mail to come to her office the next evening at 7:00. He wondered what it meant. He’d heard from some of the girls that she regularly preached against them ever going with him. He certainly didn’t take now, or ever intend to take, any of her Women’s Studies courses. As far as he knew, he’d never even met her. Whatever she wanted, it probably wasn’t to strew rose petals in his path.
Walking to her building the next night, he was looking forward to this get-together. Rafe liked challenges and Ms Barnes just might prove to be one. He was familiar with the strategy employed by superiors such as bosses and teachers to make the pecking order clear at the beginning of a meeting like this one. Typically, the inferior knocked on a door, to be summonsed in by their better, who then proceeded to order them to take a particular chair while they themselves assumed the authority position behind the desk. Rafe intended to disrupt that strategy. When he rapped on the door and heard Helene call out for him to come in, he rattled the knob as if it wouldn’t open.
“What the….,” she muttered. He grinned when he heard her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.
“Now who is coming to whom, Professor Barnes?” he thought.
Rafe had a theory, not a very scientific one, not one that he intended to try to publish in a peer-reviewed psychology journal, but a theory nonetheless, one that had proved out more often than not. It went right along with his view that females usually gave early clues as to sexual desires. It went like this: whenever Rafe met a woman, if he had the opportunity, he very briefly invaded her space. He thought he could generally tell from her reaction to that small incursion into her territory, what she wanted from a man. These were usually subtle reactions, more psychic than physical, sensed more than seen.
The first type of woman instantly fell back and ceded her spot to him without protest. They were the kind of girls who, if he asked them what movie they wanted to see or where they wanted to eat, would tell him they didn’t care or whatever he preferred was fine with them. They could be dying for Mexican food but if he suggested Chinese, they’d fall agreeably in line. If you took them to bed, you had to be prepared to always take the lead and to treat them with tender loving care to keep from frightening them (much the way he’d handled Lida). They were the romantics, who were eagerly happy to turn themselves over to a man to be taken care of.
The second type would instantly stiffen and prepare to fight for her turf. They’d let you pick the movie or the restaurant the first time but the next time around, they assumed it was their turn and they should get to choose. They gave as good as they got in bed, expecting to receive pleasure but willing and able to give back to the man in equal measure.
The third and last kind of woman, hesitated at first, then took a step back if he forced the issue. Like the first group, they wanted the man to take charge, but the difference was that they couldn’t admit it. They had to put up a fight first and he had to win in order to gain their respect. Oddly, in his experience, many of the women who considered themselves feminists were in this category. He thought they were hoist on the petard of their own conflicting desires. They wanted to be strong and independent but they also wanted a commanding man. Ask them where they’d like to eat and they’d ask back, what sounded good to him? When he said, “Mexican”, they’d instantly tell him they would rather have Chinese. He’d insist on Mexican (even though he didn’t usually give a damn one way or the other) until he prevailed. They’d put up a bit of a struggle in bed too until he overpowered them and did it his way.
Rafe didn’t really have any preference in the type of woman he preferred. He enjoyed them all. He wondered what Helene Barnes would do when he stepped into her space.
When the door opened, he didn’t wait for her to invite him in but walked right toward her, practically in her face. He chuckled inwardly, when she stood stiffly for a moment, then took that small, involuntary step backwards. He could sense that she was feeling out-of-kilter at being forced to walk ahead of him as he watched from behind. This definitely wasn’t how she planned for their tete-a-tete to begin.
He took his seat before she was able to reach her own so she had no time to turn around and motion him to a particular location. Then he simply lounged in his chair, one booted foot over his knee. She tried to out-wait him. Usually, a second year student called to a professor’s office for an unknown reason was anxious but Rafe seemed perfectly relaxed and content to sit as long as necessary. She was the one who actually felt nervous with those emotionless black eyes boring into her.
Her office wasn’t very big but she’d made it look larger by the clever use of furniture and decor. Her walnut desk was small so that it didn’t overpower the room. Everything on top was neatly stacked and arranged. It contained some personal pictures and a basket of daisies as well as business items. The walls were painted a light airy blue and the curtains were blue and white striped sailcloth. The posters on the walls were pastels, most of them with some kind of inspiring feminist message printed across the bottom. This was an “a place for everything and everything in its place” kind of room. Her books were confined to the wall of bookshelves, not piled here and there in stacks as they were in many of the professor’s offices he’d been in. A white rocking chair sat in front of the window with a small antique table beside it. A lamp with a plump white porcelain base and a rose-colored shade sat on top along with a brass bowl of silk flowers.
He hadn’t known what to expect as f
ar as Helene was concerned. The reality was an attractive woman, late 30’s to early 40’s, with a chestnut braid down her back, a firm sturdy shape wearing an ankle-length skirt, a peasant blouse and short-heeled sandals. Striking green eyes in a somewhat broad, freckled face. No make up, no surprise there. “Earth mother,” thought Rafe, wondering idly if she was a lesbian. Not that it mattered but many of the most devout feminists were. He thought she might have an appealing smile although he didn’t know for sure because he hadn’t seen it and rather suspected he wouldn’t be seeing it either.
She broke first, as he’d known she would (hardly anyone could outlast Rafe when he was in his watchful, waiting mode). “Aren’t you curious about why you’re here?”
He shrugged. “You invited me, Professor Barnes, I assumed you’d eventually tell me why.”
“I heard a lot about you last year, Rafe. I didn’t like what I heard and I’d really hate to see that behavior continue this semester. The fact is, I think you’re a sexual predator.”
“What makes you say that, Ms Barnes?” he asked with genuine curiosity. “I’ve never raped anyone. I’ve never sexually assaulted anyone. I’ve never even slept with anyone who wasn’t as old as me or older.”
“I don’t accuse you of anything so obvious as assault but I believe you are guilty of emotional rape.”
A smile flickered across his face. “That’s a rather Victorian view for a radical feminist to take, don’t you think? Your students aren’t helpless victims, they’re independent and intelligent and able to make choices. I thought that’s what you liberated women were all about.” He pointed to one of her posters. “Our Lives, Our Choices” was inscribed in high italic letters across the bottom. “Choice is what you trumpet at every turn.”
Sociopath? Page 17
