“Probably all respectable married by now. You’d be surprised how much in demand they are.”
“After working ...”
“Well, who wants a virgin anyway? Like the man said, if they’re not good enough for somebody else, they’re not good enough for me either.”
“Two words to you, Dog, and they’re not good night.”
“You really a virgin?” I asked her.
“If you promise to be gentle I could prove it to you.”
“That’s taking quite a chance.”
“Maybe.”
“Never mind, I’ll take your word for it.”
We drove past the outskirts of Linton and Sharon told me to take a left on a country road, then another left into a lane that ended a hundred yards away. I turned around the rutted dirt oval wondering what she wanted to see here, then the lights of the car swept over the remains of a small frame cottage set back in the trees. The windows were gone and a large oak had collapsed on top of the porch, one of the limbs taking out an attic dormer. A rubble of red bricks from the chimney made a mound at its base nearly hidden by weeds and grass.
Very softly, Sharon said, “That’s where I used to live. I was back here once before. My old bicycle is still out in back. It’s all rusted to pieces now.”
“Who owns it?”
I felt her shrug. “The bank, I guess. There used to be a For Sale sign in the front, but nobody ever wanted the place. I had a lot of good times here, Dog. Dad and me It wasn’t much, but he was happy. Neither one of us ever cared for pretentious living.”
“Then why sneak into Grand Sita?”
“Little girls are curious too. About different things, that is. You know what puzzled me about that big house you lived in?”
I shook my head.
“How you didn’t get lost in it. I used to try to figure out how you could find your way between ends. I could picture myself running upstairs and down and into all sorts of crazy empty rooms, yelling and screaming and never anybody to come get me out. I was always glad to get back home.”
“You’re silly,” I told her. I nodded toward the cottage. “Want to go in?”
“No. It would be too depressing. Don’t let’s spoil the evening.”
“We’re not going to find any night life in Linton, kid.”
“You know what I’d really like to do?”
“Just name it.”
“Drive out to Mondo Beach. For once I’d like to go through the main gate as a genuine guest.”
“You know, Sharon,” I said, “I think you’re a snob.”
“That’s me,” she said.
I found a hammer and screwdriver in the trunk of the car and knocked the lock off the hasp that held the gates shut. Wind-driven sand had piled up two feet deep along the bottom edge and we shoveled it away with our hands. When it was cleared I forced one section open, heard a hinge pry loose from the top, then I was inside. The roadway was too drifted over to try to get the car through, so Sharon took a blanket from the back seat and we started to walk toward the ocean.
After a dozen steps she stopped and said, “This ain’t no place for city clothes, buster,” then kicked off her shoes, stripped her stockings off, tucked everything under her arm and waited. I grinned, did the same thing, rolled my pants legs up halfway and held out my hand.
You could smell the salt air and hear the gentle rumble of the surf long before we came out of the near-jungle of trees and undergrowth. Once all this had been neatly planted and tended, a showplace for the elite who came in horse-drawn carriages, and later in thundering, brass-shiny automobiles. Vegetation had overrun the picnic areas, the cabanas were flattened somewhere under the sand and only the foundation ruins of the old icehouse were visible. At the south end, ghosting against the sky, you could see the turreted outlines of the twenty room summer house. My grandfather had built that out of quality materials and the sea storms still had a lot of years to go before they nibbled it to pieces.
“Funny, isn’t it,” I said.
“What?”
“It used to be such a great place. Now it’s almost back to where it was before the old-man built it up. You know, I think I like it better this way.”
“So do I.”
We were silent for a while, just looking around in the pale moonlight. Then I took her hand, tugging her up and over the rolling dunes, the foot-high strands of grass brushing against our bare legs. We came to the last mound, and there was the gentle slope of packed sand and the water in front of us.
She spread the blanket out and curled up cross-legged on one side. “It’s beautiful, Dog.”
I sprawled out next to her. “It’s about the only thing the old man owned that I used to want. I figured I could put up a shack made of driftwood and pull a Robinson Crusoe bit.” I rolled on my side and looked up at her. “One year I did just that. They sent Al and Dennie to some fancy camp while the rest went to Newport for the social season and my mother and I camped out here for six days. That was when she told me about marrying my father.”
“You never knew him, did you?”
“Only through her. He was some hell raiser. She sure loved him though.”
“Why wouldn’t they accept him?”
“Come off it, baby. You know the drill on that bit. If there was no money there was no position, ergo, no marriage into the Barrin family. They never thought my old lady would tell them to go toss it and get herself knocked up outside the family circle. Trouble was, when my father died she lost all the spunk she had. They squeezed her until there was nothing left. The old man had her yanked out of the apartment they were living in while she was alone and dragged her back to Grand Sita. She didn’t even know she was pregnant then. He hired guards to keep my father away, got him fired from his job, had him rousted out of the state and kept my mother incommunicado until after I was born. One day the old man showed up, beat the hell out of four of the guards and took off with my mother and married her. A week later he was dead and she was back in exile again in the old man’s little Siberia. I don’t think she ever left it except to come here on rare occasions. When she did I was just a kid and it was all over so fast I can hardly remember it. She was dead in the morning, in the coffin by noon and buried before nightfall. I threw some rocks through the old man’s greenhouse, spit in his decanter of fine booze and opened the sluicegate on the pond behind the house and drained his imported goldfish into the creek. I think the gardener covered for me and he never noticed anything wrong with his booze. The next day Alfie and Dennie knocked the shit out of me for something or other and I hit Dennie over the head with a rake. For that I got a week alone in my room and had time to think.” I stopped for a minute and looked at the ocean. “They never should have left me in that room,” I said.
“Why?”
“I thought too much,” I told her.
Down the beach something disturbed the gulls and they set up a screeching racket for a minute. A wisp of cloud ran across the moon and snaked away, letting the brightness come back again. The wind was soft and warm, a tail end of summer feel to it, just strong enough to stir the soft sand into easy motion.
Sharon’s hand ran over the back of mine and she tossed her head so her hair made ripples in the yellow light. “Dog ... it’s a shame to waste this whole ocean.”
“Who’s wasting it?”
“We are. We should go use it.”
“Now?”
“Uh-huh. Right now.” She uncurled from the blanket, stood up and stretched luxuriously against the sky. Then her hands came down and did something at the back of her dress. Soundlessly, it slithered to a heap at her feet. She found the hooks of her bra and undid them. tossed that beside her, then with a single, fluid movement seemed to slide out of the tiny flowered bikini pants that were left She turned and looked at me, the night shadows flowing around tanned shoulders, reflecting off the silken whiteness of magnificent breasts that swept up and out in a daring gesture before molding into the tanned flatness of a stomach that
was navel dimpled before contrasting with the bathing-suit whiteness around her hips. In the moonlight the hair of her loins was a tantalizing vee of auburn, her legs firm and softly muscular. She let me look at her a long minute, standing there with her hands on her hips, pelvis pushed forward provocatively.
Finally she said, “Coming?”
“If you don’t get the hell out of here I will,” I told her.
She laughed, turned and ran toward the surf, her stride loose and boyish. I heard her laugh again and her body splash into the water. Then I got up and took off my own clothes. I was going to leave my shorts on but that wouldn’t help matters at all, so I shrugged, took them off too and walked down to where she was waiting.
We were pleasantly exhausted when we got back to the blanket. The wind smiled and let its warm breath dry us off, and we lay on our backs staring up at the cloudless sky. I closed my eyes, wondering just how the hell this ever happened, feeling like some kind of an idiot for messing around with a nonprofessional kid. Then my eyes snapped open because the gentle touch of her fingers were on my stomach, moving slowly downward until they held me, and Sharon was leaning over me, her mouth inches from mine.
“You are beautiful, Dog,” she said.
Her mouth came closer and closer until it was a soft, warmly moist thing tasting mine with the strangest kind of touch I had ever known. My own hands ran down her naked back over the rise of her buttocks, pushed her away so I could cradle the firm thrust of her breasts, then began to explore all those lovely parts of her.
Sharon’s breath caught in her throat sharply. She smiled, kissed me again, then let her smile widen when she felt the pressure of my palms holding her away from me. “I told you I really was a virgin.”
“Damn, kid,” was all I could say.
“Does it make a difference, Dog?”
I turned on my side and let the heat ease out of me slowly. It was easier now and I felt like an even bigger idiot. “Look you,” I said, “you’re an engaged girl.”
“Woman,” she corrected.
“Okay, a woman. You got yourself a guy and you think enough of that thing to save it for him, so don’t go tossing it away.”
“Isn’t the choice mine?”
“Not with me, kid. This time it’s my choice. Just keep it safe between your legs until he gets it, hear?”
“You’re mean.”
“Just sometimes. Right now I feel damn moral. Old Hunter should be here to see this performance. He’d never believe it.”
“I’ll tease you.”
“Try it, Sharon, and you’ll be an unsatisfied, neurotic wreck in one hour. I’m too damn old not to know every gimmick there is to turn you women-children inside out.”
Her laugh tinkled in my ears and she tossed her hair again. “All right. I’ve managed this long, so I guess I can hang on a little while longer.”
“Who is he, Sharon?”
“A very nice guy. We grew up together.”
“Would he appreciate this little picture?”
“I don’t think he’d mind at all. Not really.”
“You don’t know men very well.”
“But I do. I truly do.”
She touched the side of my face, leaned down again and kissed me lightly, the tip of her tongue barely brushing my lips. My arms went around her and I laid her down beside me. Around our heads the grass rustled in the wind. I reached over her and pulled the blanket , over us both. Beside me her body was snuggled into the curve of mine, warm and naked. The moon watched us and another wisp of cloud passing its face made it seem like it winked at me.
Then the early sun woke us both and we looked at each other and kissed. Her hair was tousled and full of sand, but she didn’t care at all. We brushed each other off, got dressed, folded up the blanket and walked back to where we had left the car.
And this time we had company.
The black sedan and the patrol car flanked the limousine and the uniformed cop was peering through the window at the interior. The big beefy guy in the sports shirt and slacks was inspecting the wreckage of the padlock on the gate and neither of them heard us coming.
I said, “You fellows want something?”
The heavy-set guy turned and looked at me, his face set in a nasty scowl. “You do this?”
“That’s right.”
He dropped the lock and started toward me, but I was coming to meet him too and he didn’t like what he saw. The cop edged between us watching me, another hard-looking character with a broken nose and cold, flat eyes that come with too many years on the force. He didn’t like what he saw either.
The cop said, “Who are you, mister?”
“I asked the first question.”
“Don’t get smart, buster. I can handle you real easy.”
I looked at him with that old smile starting to come out. I couldn’t stop it because it always happened that way. “Don’t you wish you could,” I told him.
The two looked at each other, but by the time they looked back to me again I had taken two easy steps in the right direction and I wasn’t bracketed any more. The civilian wiped his hand across his partially bald head and curled his lips again. “You know this is private property?”
“Sure. It always has been. That’s why I want to know what you’re doing prowling around.”
The question came at him too fast and the sneer went back into a puzzled frown. I flipped a cigarette in my mouth and lit it. The cop was changing his original attitude now. Maybe it was because the limousine was bigger than the black sedan and I wasn’t the type he could shake up with a badge and a gun.
“I asked you your name, feller,” he said again.
“Kelly,” I told him. “Dogeron Kelly. My grandfather was Cameron Barrin and this area is still part of his estate.” I blew out a cloud of smoke and flipped the butt at the feet of the beefy guy. I said, “What difference does it make to you what I do here?”
His face was tight with anger, but the limousine was backing me up and he couldn’t quite figure the play. Finally he said, “This place won’t belong to the Barrins much longer, that’s for sure.” He looked at the cop, the cop shrugged, then they both turned and went back to their cars. Both of them kicked up sand getting out of there and the radio antenna on the black sedan snapped off when it cut too far under an underslung limb of an oak tree on the bend.
When they were out of sight Sharon came up and slipped her hand into mine. “You know who that was, Dog?”
“Sure, Cross McMillan. He still has that scar on his skull where I beaned him with a brick.”
“You love trouble, don’t you?”
“Not exactly, honey. It just seems to find me. It’s always been that way.”
IX
We met Leyland Hunter in the coffee shop of the inn, both of us looking a little silly like kids caught playing doctoi behind the barn. He noticed, but outside a small smile, said nothing. When we finished eating, he said, “I understand you met another old acquaintance.”
“Cross McMillan. The CIA should have this town’s grapevine.”
“Not really. It just happens that he is negotiating for the Mondo Beach property. His lawyer has to deal with me. Mr. McMillan wants the situation expedited.”
“How does it stand, Counselor?”
“McMillan has first option to buy outside the family. It was put on the market last year by your cousins. It has rarely been used, the buildings are destroyed and pretty well depreciated and they don’t see any reason for keeping it.”
“In other words,” I said, “they need the money.” Hunter nodded. “Frankly, yes. They intend to put it into renovations in the factory.”
“It’s prime property, buddy. Why haven’t they sold for a year?”
“Guess.”
“Waiting for further development of the area,” I said.
“True. There have been rumors of a new highway and some of the bigger land speculators have been probing around.”
“Only there were no highwa
y appropriations and the land boys are holding off.”
“And now Alf and Dennie are really in a bind. What’s the asking price?”
“One quarter of a million dollars.”
“Come on, Counselor, that’s a steal.”
The lawyer looked at me and shrugged. “For McMillan it is. He has the property boxed in right now. If he got that he’d have the nicest chunk of valuable property in the state.”
“How long before he picks up the option?”
“Another week.”
“He the only bidder?”
“Sure,” Hunter told me. “The way his land surrounds Mondo Beach nobody wants to be bothered with development. The really valuable acreage would be his for commercial development and he won’t sell. Right now the beach and the right-of-way belong to the Barrin estate. He wants it all.”
“Let’s screw him, Hunter boy.”
The lawyer’s eyes tightened a moment and he watched me carefully. I grinned and took out my brand-new checkbook, wrote in it and tore out the page. I handed it to him. “This ought to take care of sales, fees, taxes and insurance,” I said.
His forefinger ran up and down the edges of the check, then his eyes ran up to mine again. “Sometimes I can go along with a joke, Dog. Sometimes I can’t. Will you excuse me a moment?”
I nodded and he pushed back his chair and left.
Sharon was looking at me with an expression of puzzled humor, like she had heard a funny story she didn’t quite understand. “Where did he go?”
“To make a phone call,” I told her.
When Hunter came back he slipped into his chair with his mouth set in an odd grimace.
I said, “Well?”
“You astonish me, Mr. Kelly.”
“What happened to our pet names, Counselor?”
“Anyone who hands me a check for over a quarter million is automatically a ‘mister.’ ” He ran his fingers across his head with a nervous chuckle and stared at me again. “You are now sole owner of Mondo Beach, my young friend. You’ll have the papers shortly, the undying hatred of Cross McMillan and the everlasting animosity of the Barrins for having underrated you.”
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