Fabulous Creature

by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

  As he approached, Diane broke off the conversation and started toward him, and then whirled back suddenly towards Mike. Walking backwards she said, “Okay, just remember, Mikey. Next time…” Flipping her racket around she pointed the handle at her brother and made a machine gun noise. “Ack-ack-ack!” Twisting, she raked the muzzle of her racket-gun from side to side, flaring her short skirt over tight white shorts, and then turned and skipped up to James. “Brothers! she said, smiling dazzlingly. “Ugh!” and then, “Hi, sweetie. Want to play with me?”

  “Sure,” James said. “Any time. Any game.”

  She giggled and skipped over to the far court. They played for about an hour and then walked up to the Jarretts’ cabin together. On the way she told him about what had been going on between her and Mike.

  “He’s a dirty traitor,” she said. “Dad’s been teaching us how to drive his new land-cruiser. It’s really neat. Four-wheel drive and wide-track tires. It’ll go almost anywhere. He bought it for hunting trips, and he’s going to let Mike and me take turns driving it this season when we’re out in the woods away from traffic. Only he won’t let us drive it except when he’s with us, which is really a dumb rule because I’m already very good at driving it. So anyway, last week when Dad was in Sac and Mom was down at the lake I took it for a little spin, and when I was turning around up at the end of Anzio I kind of backed into a tree. It wasn’t my fault. The stupid contractor just didn’t leave enough room up there for even a VW to turn around in. It wasn’t much of a dent, but my dad never misses anything. So when he came storming into the house, Mike squealed on me. Just like that. So now I don’t get to drive the cruiser for a whole month. Isn’t that disgusting?”

  “Why did he do it? I mean, why did Mike rat on you?”

  “So he could learn to drive the cruiser better than I do. He said it was because Dad was blaming him, but the real reason is that he’s always very jealous of everything I do. He’s always been that way. He’s just a very jealous person. Can you imagine anyone doing anything so cruddy? I mean, can you really?”

  “Yes,” James said, “I mean, no.” The truth was, he’d gotten so engrossed in watching—in watching the curl of perfect lips over perfect teeth, the angry heaving of a perfect chest, the flashing gold-brown eyes—that he’d almost forgotten to listen to what she was saying. But now, getting the gist of the conversation, he hastily agreed that he couldn’t and was rewarded by a quick kiss that turned into a longer kiss, and then a quick detour off Gettysburg and in among the trees, where there were several more kisses. By the time Diane twisted away from him and skipped back to the road, his chest was heaving as much as Diane’s had been, but not with anger, and other parts of his anatomy were pretty much out of control, too. Fortunately when they reached the Jarretts’ cabin things were just about back to normal, because Mrs. Jarrett and Jacky were in the trophy room when they walked in.

  Jill Jarrett was in a friendly, or at least talkative, mood. “Well, hello, James,” she said. “It is James, isn’t it? Yes, I thought it was.” Her intensely benevolent smile somehow made him feel as if he ought to be overwhelmed with gratitude at being remembered.

  “Yes,” he said with what he hoped was the proper amount of enthusiasm.

  “Di,” she said, “Barbie called a few minutes ago. I told her I’d have you call back as soon as you came in.”

  “Ooh, Barbie,” Diane said. “I have to talk to her right away. It’s very important. Excuse me just a moment, will you James?”

  Diane ran up the stairs and James went on standing in the middle of the room. Mrs. Jarrett was sitting on one of the leather couches, and Jacky was doing something on the hearth in front of the huge fireplace. James couldn’t make out exactly what, because his glasses were still in his pocket, where he had put them while he and Diane were in the grove. Feeling that nearsightedness was a handicap he couldn’t afford in the present company, he got them out and put them on. Then he stood around trying to convince himself that he was relaxed and self-confident. He put his hands in his pockets, pulled them out, flicked a speck of dust off his shirt and glanced casually around the room—which made him feel more uncomfortable than ever. It was irrational, of course, but if you’re feeling self-conscious, it doesn’t help to be surrounded by dozens of pairs of staring eyes—even if the starers are only animals and dead at that.

  James focused his attention on Jacky. Jacky was playing with two toy cars. One was a very large dump truck and the other was a tiny red sedan. Jacky was making the dump truck run back and forth over the sedan. He had hold of the dump truck with both hands, but there was a golf-ball-shaped bulge in the pocket of his coveralls.

  “James,” Jill Jarrett said, “do sit down. Di’s apt to be on the phone for some time. Barbie’s an old friend and a dedicated gossip. We’re neighbors in Sacramento, but during the summer the girls keep in touch by phone.” She smiled indulgently. “Our phone bills are disgraceful I’m afraid. My husband tears his hair, but what can you do with fifteen-year-olds?” Jill Jarrett’s smile was sometimes very much like Diane’s.

  “Not much, I guess,” James said, sitting down across the enormous free-form redwood-burl coffee table from Mrs. Jarrett and Jacky. There was no point in mentioning what Charlotte had done in a similar circumstance—after James’ first long distance call to Max. What Charlotte had done was to suggest rather forcibly that from then on James and Max should carry on their summer dialogue by means of the United States Mail. Unless, of course, James wanted to use his own money. James didn’t, since about two more calls would have used up his entire life savings.

  James asked then about Mr. Jarrett—if he had had to go back to Sacramento already—and from there the conversation went to how hard Mrs. Jarrett’s poor husband had to work and what a shame it was that he couldn’t spend more time at The Camp since he really loved it, more perhaps than any of the rest of the family.

  “He planned the whole house himself, you know,” she said. “He worked with the architect from the very first sketches. This room was entirely his idea. Until the cabin was built, Hank never had a place to display all his beautiful trophies. At least not the kind of place they deserve.”

  Looking up at the head of an impala, James wondered briefly what it could have done to deserve Hank Jarrett’s trophy room. It was an interesting thought, but he decided against sharing it with Mrs. Jarrett. She was still going on about hunting and how much it meant to her husband. “Are you interested in hunting,” she asked James.

  “Well, not really,” James said. “I guess what it is, is that I just don’t really understand the—attraction, I guess you’d call it. I mean, I know that a lot of people really find it an exciting thing to do, but—well, I guess I don’t really see what they get out of it.”

  Mrs. Jarrett smiled graciously. “Actually, I’m not much of a hunter myself, so I don’t suppose I understand entirely, either. But you should hear Hank on the subject. On most topics he tends to be, well, rather plain spoken; but when it comes to the joys of hunting, he can be positively eloquent.”

  “The joys of hunting?” James asked in a very sincere, straightforward manner. It wasn’t just that Jill Jarrett was Diane’s mother either, and therefore a good person to be on the best possible terms with. He really was curious to know.

  “Well. A lot of it has to do with being in the great out-of-doors. Exploring virgin country, sleeping under the stars, waking up to the smell of coffee and bacon over a campfire, and of course the special kind of close friendships that develop among a group of hunters out in the wilderness.”

  James nodded. “Okay. All that I understand. But why not just go backpacking, or if you want to hunt animals, why not with a camera?”

  The explanation got rather complicated and confusing after that. It seemed that Hank didn’t think much of camera safaris, but the exact reason never became clear. Basically, what it seemed to be was that you tended to meet a better class of people on an actual hunting safari; and although exactly what �
�better” meant was even less clear, what it boiled down to was—people with more money. James played it very straight and didn’t make any of the humorous comments that occurred to him; but either Mrs. Jarrett sensed what he was thinking, or else that there were a few holes in her logic, because she began to sound a little bit irritated.

  At last she got to the point where it came out that killing something was a very important part of the attraction. James said, “Well, maybe the problem is that I asked the wrong question in the first place. Maybe what I need to have explained is the joys of killing.” At that she looked at him rather sharply.

  Just about then Jacky began to pound on the red sedan with the poker, and Mrs. Jarrett had to get up and take it away from him. After she’d ordered him to leave the poker alone several times, she got up again and put it on top of the mantel. Then she lit a cigarette and started asking James questions about his family and the Willowby cabin.

  “Well, wasn’t it nice of the major to allow you to use The Camp facilities,” she said. “Especially nice for Mike and Di. There’ve been so few young people at The Camp this summer. Last summer there were the Whitleys and the two Richardson boys; but the Richardsons have been traveling in Europe this year, and I’m not sure just where the Whitleys have been. So your presence has been much appreciated, I’m sure.” She exhaled a large cloud of smoke and regarded James thoughtfully through half-closed eyes. “I hear the Richardsons are back now and are due to arrive at The Camp any day. That will be nice, won’t it? You’ll like Lance and Gary, I’m sure. Mike and Di are very fond of them.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry.” James got to his feet as Diane ran down the stairs. “That Barbie. She’s incredible. I’ve been listening this whole time. She wouldn’t let me talk long enough to even tell her I had company. I tried and—watch out, James!”

  Whirling, James stumbled over the lion’s head and lurched to one side as Jacky’s golf ball missed him by inches and crashed into a lampshade. The lamp rocked and righted itself while Jacky chased after the ball, and Mrs. Jarrett chased after Jacky. When she caught him, she explained to him that it was very bad of him to throw his ball at people and that the only reason he did it was because he was hungry and tired and needed his lunch and a nap. And she was going to take him upstairs, and Ethel would make him something nice to eat. After James and Diane watched Mrs. Jarrett carry Jacky up the stairs, they went out and sat on the deck and talked about swimming and parental hang-ups and other more personal topics.

  James asked about the swimming meet, and Diane said it had been a bore. “I used to really be into the whole swimming thing,” she said. “I used to work out three hours every day, and I really got off on going to the meets and winning awards and having my picture in the papers and all that power trip. But then when I began to get more interested in other things, I got sick of having to spend so much time in the water. So I switched over to diving because it’s not so much a matter of stamina and I can be very good at it without spending nearly so much time practicing. In fact, my coach is always telling me that if I’d work even half as hard as other divers I could probably be an Olympic champion. But I’m getting sick of the diving now, too. And this Sacramento thing was really a bore. I only went to it because my father wanted me to, and I couldn’t even get interested enough to really try.” She reached over and put her hand on James’ and then made her hand walk on two fingers—and somehow made the two fingers suggest the sexy way she had of walking—up his arm to his shoulder and then made it jump up and put one finger on his lips. “Besides,” she said, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes, “I had other things on my mind. More exciting things.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her around, and they kissed quickly before she pulled away and glanced back at the picture window. “We’d better watch it,” she said. “My mother.”

  “Is she pretty puritanical?” James asked.

  “Puritanical? Oh you mean anti-sex? No, not particularly. I mean she laughs at dirty jokes and goes to X-rated movies and things like that. But there are some things that really drive her up the wall. Like Dad’s girlie magazines—and anything I do. Anything at all about me. I think the thing is, she hasn’t realized I’m not ten years old anymore. And my dad is just as bad, only in a different way.”

  “In a different way?” James asked. And she started telling him about how her dad had always pushed her and Mike, too, to be the best at everything and take part in all kinds of competitions and win prizes and awards and trophies, and how it was obvious that what mattered to him was winning, even though he kept saying that what really mattered was giving it all you had. While she was talking, James watched her and nodded and made appropriate comments, and after a while she stopped talking and just stared at him. Then she smiled very seductively and made a kissing mouth and said, “Jamesy. You know something? I really like you. You know what I really like about you? The way you listen. A lot of people, and boys especially, just never want to listen to me at all. Most boys want to talk all the time themselves or”—she raised her eyebrows—“do other things. But you are a very good listener.”

  “Well thanks,” James said. “Now that I come to think about it, it probably is one of my more creative talents.” But what he was thinking was that if the truth were told, and it wasn’t about to be, he hadn’t been listening all that carefully. What he’d been doing, along with listening just enough to make a comment now and then, was thinking about getting Diane to walk down to the road with him when he left and wondering if she would agree to a detour into the woods, again, on the way.

  Not long afterwards Mrs. Jarrett called Diane to come to lunch, but when he asked her to walk as far as the road with him, she agreed. On the way down the hill he asked when he could see her again, and she suggested that they meet at the lake the next morning and go swimming together. Since she had to hurry back to lunch, their detour into the trees was very brief, but very passionate. James was still breathing hard when they got to the end of the drive and, because of the picture window, said good-by very discreetly. He was just stepping out into the road when there was a sudden roar, and he jumped back as a silver-colored Porsche rounded the curve and swept past them. A hand waved above the roof on the driver’s side, and someone yelled, “Hey, Di!”

  “Lance!” Diane called. “Hi, Lance.” She waved and went on waving until the car disappeared.

  “Well, good-by again, until tomorrow,” James said.

  “Oh,” she said. “Good-by. You know who that was? That was Lance Richardson—in a new car. The Richardsons are back.”

  “Yeah,” James said. “Your mother mentioned them. Well, I’d better be on my way. Good-by, Diane, and—” Cocking both hands he gave her favorite salute. “Ka-pow!”

  Diane’s answering “Ka-pow,” seemed slightly preoccupied.

  CHAPTER 8

  IT WAS AN old fantasy involving a gorgeous sexily dressed girl who practically pounced on him as he was walking innocently through a hotel lobby and by some transparent ruse or other got him to accompany her to her room where she immediately began to initiate a lot of wildly exciting activities—the kind of thing that apparently happened to Max quite frequently but that James, himself, had only read and fantasized about. The difference was that recently the fantasy girl had had a recognizable face. A sleek tan face with reckless gold-brown eyes and a kiss-shaped mouth.

  He sighed and threw back his blanket so that only a sheet protected him from the fresh morning air. It seemed warmer than usual. He closed his eyes again and let himself sink back into reverie and once again conjured up her face. Diane was undoubtedly—and unexaggeratedly, in spite of what Max had implied in his last letter—the sexiest girl James had ever seen. Beside her, Trudi Hepplewhite faded into drab obscurity. He sighed again as the fantasy face rolled its beautiful eyes and curled its perfect lips in a familiar smile—a smile that simultaneously teased, challenged and invited.

  “—and beyond appearance?”

  Unexpected and unsol
icited, the question appeared below the fantasy face like a subtitle in a foreign movie. But not out of the blue. It had been asked before—just the night before, in fact, by Charlotte, in the midst of a discussion concerning what James had been doing with his time lately. He had considered telling Charlotte before, and this time when she asked, he had suddenly said, “I’ve been falling in love.”

  “Oh, really? I somehow had a feeling something of the sort was involved. Tell me about her.”

  They had been sitting on the veranda at the time—just James and his mother—watching an enormous full moon float up over the eastern ridge of mountains, sending a golden trail across the black waters of the lake. The moonlight was bright enough for him to tell that she was looking at him with curiosity and with what seemed to be approval, which was just about the reaction he’d anticipated. Charlotte had always been very interested in emotions. When James was little, she was always asking him how he felt about things and telling him that it was important for people to stay in touch with their feelings. Once, when he’d asked her if his father was in touch with his feelings, she’d smiled in a funny way and said, “You know, I used to wonder about that, too. But then I discovered that your father has a perfectly normal quota of emotions. It’s just that in his case they have a lot of intellectual activity to compete with. Actually, his emotions behave quite normally once you get their attention.”

  Having become accustomed to discussions of that sort, James felt free to bring up all kinds of topics—topics some people might consider unsuitable where parents were concerned. For instance, he’d mentioned more than once his feeling of inadequacy with girls and Charlotte had listened without making any of the useless comments you might expect from a person her age—Such as not to worry because it was only a phase he would be growing out of as he got older. She’d seemed to understand how frustrated he was about it, so he felt certain she’d be pleased to hear how things had changed since he’d met Diane.