Intensely Alice

by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

  “What’s Scav?” I asked.

  “It’s a joke. The big campuswide scavenger hunt each May. Here. Use this steak knife.”

  I couldn’t think of anything original at all, especially not with Patrick watching. Not when other people sat over coffee discussing the Socratic method. But why should I try to be someone I wasn’t? I took the steak knife and looked for an empty space. Then I dug deeply into the soft, once-polished wood of the table: Alice and Patrick, followed by the date.

  Patrick looked at it, then at me. He got up and came around to my side of the table, and I scooted over to make room. Grinning, he firmly, though a bit raggedly, cut a heart around our names and added a piercing arrow.

  9

  The Night in Max P.

  We walked all over campus afterward. The bookstore was still bustling—students sitting in the café section reading foreign newspapers over coffee, browsers in the book section in shorts and flip-flops.

  “Want me to buy you a present?” Patrick asked.

  “Why?”

  “A keepsake! A memento!”

  “Sure. What are you going to buy? A bookmark?” I teased.

  Patrick picked up a heavy maroon coffee mug with UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO etched in white Gothic letters.

  “Too heavy,” I said. “I’ve got to carry my bag back to Aunt Sally’s tomorrow.”

  “Sweatshirt?”

  “Same.”

  So he bought me a pair of earrings that looked like the Earth as a small blue marble. I took off the ones I was wearing and liked the feel of the new lightweight pair dangling from my earlobes.

  After the bookstore we went to the Reynolds Club, which is sort of the university’s student union, I guess. Of course I walked right across the university seal in the main lobby, but Patrick walked around it.

  “What? Is it holy or something?” I asked, noticing that other students didn’t step on it either.

  “Superstition,” said Patrick. “If you step on the seal, you won’t graduate in four years.”

  “Go ahead and step on it, Patrick!” I said. “You’re going to graduate in three anyway!”

  Like most of the architecture on campus, the Reynolds Club was an old stone Gothic building half covered in ivy, with enormous high-ceilinged rooms. In Hutchinson Commons, the dining hall, portraits of past presidents—a long line of them on both sides—looked solemnly down on the rows and rows of long tables where students sat eating, studying, arguing, joking, just hanging out.

  In another huge room, with a large fireplace, the students were more quiet. Some studied at the thick, polished wood tables or lounged on upholstered chairs. Not air-conditioned, the room’s windows were open to the night, and some students stood looking out, trying to catch a breeze. One guy stretched out on a leather couch, dozing. As we walked by the row of computer kiosks, Patrick stopped and fed his address and password into a computer to check his e-mail, then took me to see the fountain, which had just been turned on for the summer, and to the C-Shop for ice cream. We strolled past Cobb Hall, where artsy-looking students were hanging out, smoking, and finally stopped to sit on a secluded bench near Botany Pond.

  Patrick said that the pond was stocked with goldfish and that a family of ducks made a home in the reeds, but we didn’t see any.

  “What’s it like, Patrick, living away from home?” I asked him.

  “You should know that. You were a junior counselor once at camp, right?”

  “But that was just for part of a summer. This is going to be your home for the next three or four years, practically.” I snuggled against him, and we looked out across the darkened water of the pond.

  “I guess it hasn’t really sunk in yet,” Patrick said. “Or maybe, because Dad was away a lot when I was growing up, it seems like the natural thing to do.”

  “Because of his work?”

  “Yeah. Diplomatic Corps. Whatever the family routine, it feels natural if that’s all you know. And we got to live in a lot of neat places.”

  We were quiet a minute or two. Patrick’s fingers idly stroked the side of my face.

  “I wonder how it will be for Dad when I’m at college,” I said. “Maybe he’ll be glad I’m gone. He and Sylvia can have the house to themselves.”

  “It’s not like you’re deported or anything. You can always go back for holidays, for the summer. They’ll probably be glad to see you come and glad to see you go. It’s what animals do, you know. Leave the nest.”

  “Maybe I’ve been too sheltered all my life. We haven’t traveled around the world like you and your family. It’s always been Dad and Les and me. And Mom, when she was alive. And suddenly it will just be me alone.”

  “And a roommate,” said Patrick.

  “How’s that working out?”

  “Weird. It’s always weird, actually living with someone you hardly know. You just get used to weirdness, that’s all. And after a while even that gets routine—guys laughing and talking in the next room half the night, using the wrong toothbrush, not washing their socks. Then you go home to neatness and order and stuff, and that’s the weirdness.”

  “Would you ever want a life like your dad’s, do you think—traveling and being away so much? My dad was always there for me.”

  “I don’t know. Depends what I had to come back to, I guess. I don’t think I want to live my life alone. I’m sure of that. Not many people do.”

  “Me either,” I said.

  Now, in the late-night stillness, sometime after eleven, I sat sideways, my feet up on the bench, nestled in Patrick’s arms. He caressed my arm, my neck, my breasts.

  I loved that he was touching me. Loved that we were here on a bench in the darkness, away from everyone else. That I was experiencing part of his life at the university, that I was seventeen … I tipped my head back until my face was directly under his. He leaned down and kissed me, a long, sideways kiss, so that our noses could breathe and the kiss could go on and on.

  His fingers moved gently, slowly, back and forth on the bare skin above my waistband, and I sat up for a moment and leaned forward so that he could unhook my bra. When we resumed the kiss, his hand moved up under the bra, over my bare breasts, and I could feel my nipples stiffen under his caresses.

  A flood of warmth spread along my inner thighs. Patrick was breathing harder too.

  I turned around and put my hand on the fly of his jeans. Surprised, Patrick withdrew his arm and unzipped them. Slowly I put my hand under his boxers and gently stroked him, the first time I had ever touched a boy like this. And suddenly his lips parted, his head jerked back once, twice, then again, and I felt warm wetness as he ejaculated in my hand. He leaned against me, murmuring my name.

  I could feel my own wetness and wanted his hand on me.

  “I need you,” I whispered, and lay back in his arms again, my legs stretched out on the bench, and worked at unzipping my jeans. Patrick helped me tug them down a little, then gently slid his hand into my underwear and touched me. My throat seemed to be swelling in my excitement. I guided his fingers just where I wanted them, showing him how hard to press and how fast to do it, and a few minutes later, in the dark of Botany Pond, I came. When it was over, I curled up in Patrick’s arms, and all I could say to him was, “Patrick.”

  I’m not sure how long we stayed there. I was surprised and not surprised by what had happened. Occasionally we heard distant voices, a footstep as someone came out of Regenstein Library, but no one walked in our direction.

  “What are you thinking?” Patrick whispered at last, nuzzling my ear.

  “How wonderful this was. How glad I am to be here. What were you thinking?”

  “That I always wondered if we’d ever be like this. Hoped we would.”

  “So did I.”

  I cuddled even closer to him and kissed his neck. Is this what it would be like if Patrick and I were students at the same college? Would we spend weekends in secluded places in summer or search out an empty dorm room in winter? Or was this a special
moment because Patrick was willing to take the time? Because I was a visitor and we hadn’t seen each other for a month? Because … because … ?

  He nuzzled my ear again. “Alice, it’s after midnight. Almost one. We’d better get you to bed.”

  I disentangled myself from his arms. “Patrick, where am I going to sleep tonight? My bag’s back in your room.”

  He stood up. “Let’s go see if anyone left a message at the desk. One of the girls said she’d ask around and see if there was an empty bed.”

  I stared at his face in the darkness. “You don’t really have a place for me, do you?”

  “Well, maybe. She said she thought a girl was going to drop out before the second course. If she did, then her room—her bed, anyway …”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or faint. “Patrick!”

  “It’s no biggie. We’ve got that couch in our suite. I could sleep out there and—”

  “You want me to sleep in the room with your roommate?”

  “It’s a bed. He’s not in it.”

  “Patrick!”

  “He’s okay. Abe’s a nice guy. He’ll be on one side of the room and you’ll be on the other. I’ll be right outside the door.”

  I almost laughed. How could a guy be so sophisticated and smart and sexy and still be so clueless?

  “I don’t want to, Patrick! I don’t want to be in a bedroom with a guy I don’t even know and listen to him breathe! Why didn’t you tell me there wouldn’t be a place for me to sleep?”

  “Because there is! There’s a bed! There’s a couch!” Patrick put his arms around me and turned me toward him. “Because I was afraid you wouldn’t come. I thought something would turn up, and if it didn’t, I’d take the couch. I suppose I could always ask Abe if he’d sleep on the couch.”

  “He’s having a migraine, Patrick.”

  “Yeah, I know. And it’s sort of bad manners to ask your roommate to leave. ‘Sexile,’ they call it.”

  I thought of the black lacy pants and the condoms in my bag. I thought how impossible that idea had been all along. What had I been thinking?

  Patrick looked crestfallen as he backed away from me, holding on to my arms. “There’s something else I haven’t told you,” he said.

  I think I stopped breathing. Not a girlfriend here at the university! Not the Fran we had met at the Med.

  “What?” I asked shakily.

  “I’ve got a class tomorrow at nine.”

  “Oh …”

  “Alice, I really, really wanted you to come. I wanted to show you around and do everything we did today.” He squeezed my arms. “Everything. I figured that one half of one day was better than no day at all. You told me you can stay till one tomorrow. I’m going to come back here over my lunch break and see that you get a cab to Water Tower Place. I’d go with you, but it’s the first day of my second course, and I can’t afford to miss it. I’m really, really sorry.”

  “I … I know,” I said. “Is the rest of your summer schedule just as tight?”

  “’Fraid so. These condensed classes are held every day.”

  I didn’t want to hear about it, not really, but this was part of Patrick too—the focus, the intensity, the intellect, the drive… .

  I reached out and stroked his face. “I know,” I said again. “I’m glad I came too, even if it was only for half a day. And an evening. Don’t forget the evening.”

  “How could I forget?” said Patrick. He pulled me to him again. And we kissed.

  When we got back to Max P., there was no one now at the desk. A note with Patrick’s name on it was under a stapler. He picked it up and we read it together:

  Patrick, if your friend had come on

  Friday or Saturday night, I could have

  found a bed for her because some of the

  girls went home over the weekend. But

  everyone’s back now, and the girl I thought

  might drop out didn’t, so we’re full up.

  Sorry.

  We walked up to Patrick’s suite and opened the door to the living area. One of the guys was sitting on the couch eating a bag of corn chips. He quickly swallowed and wiped one hand across his mouth.

  “Alice, this is Spence. He rooms with Kevin,” Patrick said.

  “Hi,” said Spence. “You’re the one from Maryland, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, and smiled, glad to know Patrick had mentioned me.

  “She’s going back tomorrow,” said Patrick, and glanced round. “Kevin still out?”

  “No. He turned in early.” Spence scooted over. “Want to sit down?” he asked me.

  “Actually, I think we’re going to need that couch,” Patrick told him. “Alice needs a place to crash.”

  “Sure!” Spence picked up the chips and the book he was reading. “I’ll go down to the lounge. See you later.”

  “Sorry about this,” Patrick told him. “I thought we’d find a place in one of the girls’ suites, but they’re full.”

  “No problem. Nice to meet you,” Spence said, and went out into the hall.

  Patrick looked at me uncertainly. “Sure this is going to be okay?”

  “Of course,” I said, though I wanted him all over again. “Go to bed, Patrick. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He lingered. I lingered. We kissed again. He pressed against me, then pulled away. “Better not start something we can’t finish,” he said reluctantly.

  “Okay,” I told him.

  I took my bag into the bathroom, washed my face, and brushed my teeth. As I pulled out my pajamas, my lacy black underpants came with them. I looked at them wistfully for a moment, then shoved them to the bottom of the bag.

  When I came back out in my pajamas, there were two sheets, a pillow, and a light blanket on the couch. Patrick had made an effort to tuck one end of the sheets under a cushion. He stepped out of his bedroom, bare-chested.

  “I’ll leave my door open a little if you want. Scream if one of the guys tries to crawl in with you,” he joked, and went on into the bathroom.

  I got between the sheets and tried to settle down. This wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind when I’d suggested this visit. Well, Dad, I thought. At least you’ll be pleased at the way things turned out, I’ll bet.

  I tried to be mature about it, because I’d invited myself, after all. It’s not the weekend Patrick would have picked, with a new course starting the next day. It’s not the night he would have chosen—Friday or Saturday would have been so much better. He could have told me, It’s the worst possible time, Alice… . But he’d really wanted to see me, my family was here in town, so he made the best of it, and I should too.

  I was lying so still when Patrick came out of the bathroom that he must have thought I was asleep already. I’d been sure he would come over and give me a final kiss, but he moved noiselessly into the room where Abe was snoring. I heard him stumble a little over his shoes, and then all but Abe was quiet.

  Disappointed, I turned over on my side, my nose against the pillow. There was Patrick’s scent, clear as anything. It was obviously Patrick’s pillow. He’d given me his pillow! He’d probably given me his sheets! His blanket! I felt like creeping in there in the dark and covering him with the blanket, but the air-conditioning had been set on high, and I knew I’d need the blanket myself before the night was over. Maybe I should just crawl in bed with him, taking the pillow and blanket with me. But Patrick hadn’t suggested that. He had a class. It was late… .

  There was a clock with luminous hands on an otherwise bare shelf of a bookcase. One fifty-three. A door closed somewhere down the hallway. Laughter. A boisterous good night. Quiet again.

  I sighed and nuzzled the pillow once more, drinking in Patrick’s scent. I guess I’d never thought of him as having a “scent,” but I could recognize it now. I sniffed the sheets. Perhaps it was there too.

  A key turned in the lock, and someone came in the suite and turned on the light.

  “Oops! Sorry!” Spence said,
and turned the light off again. “I forgot.” He bumped into the end table as he groped his way to the bathroom. At least he hadn’t come in and sat down on me.

  The sound of his urinating was remarkably loud, and I felt embarrassed that I was so close and couldn’t avoid hearing. Then the sound of water running in the sink. The clunk of a plastic glass. The bathroom door opened more quietly, and Spence went into the bedroom he shared with Kevin.

  He didn’t flush, I thought. Eeeuuu.

  I turned over again, but this time my knees bumped the back of the couch. I turned still again, straightened my legs, pulled the blanket up under my chin, and stared at the dark ceiling.

  Patrick was already fitting into university life. He talked of “the Reg” and “the Quads,” “Ida” and “Hutch,” as though they’d been part of his vocabulary forever. New friends called to him to join their table. His dorm room looked like any guy’s bedroom—like he was perfectly at home.

  Patrick could fit in anywhere, it seemed, and I wondered if I would ever feel so comfortable living away from Dad and Lester. If I could find my way around a big city, go to movies with titles I couldn’t even pronounce, pass a course on Egyptian hieroglyphics, and get from one side of campus to the other in time for class.

  The next time I looked at the clock, it was after three. I wondered if Patrick was awake in the other room. If I didn’t get to sleep, I was going to feel awful. I was going to look awful when Patrick kissed me good morning. Maybe he was planning to take me to breakfast.

  I wondered if I should get up before the guys and get my shower first. Or save all the hot water for them. Sleep! I told myself. Pretend you’re at home and go to sleep.

  But I wasn’t at home. I was lying on a couch surrounded by four guys, one of them snoring first softly, then loudly in sudden snorts. I really was tired. All that excitement. All that walking… .

  I went over the day again in my mind. The way Patrick had smiled at me as I got off the bus. The way he had tugged at my waist as we walked along Michigan Avenue. The way our feet kept touching in the lake water, the sand squishing between our toes… .