He took off his jacket and shoes and loosened his tie and stretched out on the day bed face down. The tapestried cover smelled of dust. A transient room with nothing enduring about it. A room for the weak ones. Ben and Bess were strong ones, sure of their place. Walking the earth heavily, looking about calmly. Bovine and steadfast in their own sense of belonging. While the small ones scurry about and are eaten by giants.
When he heard the sound of her key, he rolled over onto his back. She hurried across the room to him, her eyes full of concern, and edged onto the day bed beside him, so that her round, warm hip fitted into the hollow of his waist and she rested her hand flat against his chest as she looked down at him. “Quinn, honey, what’s wrong? What happened? You shouldn’t come here like this. Your car out in front—talking to me like that in the mill.”
He pulled his mouth tight, thinking he would cry. He reached for her and pulled her down and held her, but it was no good because all the mill smells were caught in her hair, and there was a sweatiness about her, and the taut skin over the hard cheekbones was faintly oily. It was no good, and there was no desire in holding her.
“I’ll talk about it later,” he said. “I just wanted to see you, Bonny.”
She seemed to sense his restraint and she pulled away. “Let me clean up, then tell me, darlin’.” She went over and took clothes from the closet and turned and gave him a bright nervous smile and went into the bathroom and closed the door. He heard the metal thunder of the old tub filling. He lay there and pictured her as carefully as he could, using the images of her in an attempt to awaken and quicken desire, needing desire for her the way, in crisis, strong drink is used to wipe the mind clean of other things.
The tub noise stopped. Soon he heard the soft wet sounds as she bathed. He tried to imagine her soaping firm breasts. His mental pictures were without flavor or meaning. And the old fear was with him again. He got up quickly and walked soundless in stocking feet to the bathroom door and opened the door and walked in. The room was steamy, the mirror blurred. She had turned on the harsh overhead light.
She looked at him and gasped and held her arm across her breasts in the Venus gesture. There were blobs of suds on her shoulders, a soaked, blue sponge in her hand, and with her mouth open that way in surprise, the harsh light glinted on a metal filling. She tried then in a strained nervous way to smile at him, and he wondered if it was supposed to be a seductive smile. It was a thin grimace that did not touch her eyes. She held the sponge out shyly, tentatively. “Wanta scrub my back, hon?”
He turned and pulled the door shut behind him. He tied his shoes quickly, slid the knot of his tie up, shouldered into his jacket on the way to the door. He half ran to the car. The evening traffic was heavy. He half heard the scream of brakes behind him as he turned out into the traffic. He felt as if the world had gotten vague. His face felt as if something sticky had dried on it and the steering wheel felt too small in his hands, small and flimsy so that he could not hold it properly.
The evening traffic of Stockton crawled through the old streets, snarling and evil-tempered, honking at delays. Old men sat on high porches and watched the glittering evening river. The narrow old streets emptied themselves onto the wide velvet of main arteries leading out of town. The traffic sighed and the speedometers climbed and temperatures dropped and gear ratios thudded softly into the highest of highs. They swept out of the city toward mortgaged greenness, toward window walls and storage walls and corner enclosures for stereo speakers—toward PTA and the bowling league and the asbestos mittens that came with an apron embroidered JOLLY HOST—toward the new issue of Holiday and toward the twi-night doubleheader on TV and the bills that came in the mail and the book that came from the book club because somebody forgot to send in the slip saying you didn’t want it—toward blacktop driveways that were parking areas for small red bicycles and small yellow space ships on wheels—toward a tossed green salad and one small lamb chop and skim milk and no dessert because this was the year you lost twenty-five pounds—toward matchstick draperies and the incredible chomping din of the disposal and the mutter of the deepfreeze.
Metal river racing from stone of city to grass of suburbia, and in one car was Quinn Delevan driving with quiet face and chewing the inside of his left cheek and thinking of his dead loins.
Chapter Eight
The tennis, the swimming and the long shower had made Ellen Delevan feel delicious and absolutely ravenous. She glowed. This was going to be an absolutely perfect summer. One of the last little nagging worries had faded away when Brock had decided to come out to the club. He’d been so funny ever since that trouble at school. Nobody would talk about it. She knew he’d done something that made Dad act as if he despised Brock. Like he had committed a crime or something. And Brock acted different. Even today. Sort of … well, timid with people. Not like he used to be, always kidding around. More serious. As if something had happened to him that made him older all of a sudden.
She had brought a blue, imitation-leather hatbox with a zipper that ran almost all the way around it. She had toweled herself dry. She took out her fresh underthings and put them on absently, thinking about Brock. It would be nice if he and that Betty got along. She was nice. Sort of odd and different. Funny-colored eyes. A perfectly marvelous tennis player. She’d beaten Brock even, and Brock could take Clyde and Bobby Rawls. That Betty Yost certainly had a mind of her own. Funny how she seemed to take to Brock. They’d been talking at the club about how she was a man-hater. A lot of the older boys had tried to date her and had been called out on strikes. Brock had been sleeping as if he was awfully tired. And when Clyde had tiptoed up to roll Brock into the pool, that Yost girl had whispered, “Leave him alone!” and her eyes had looked like the flame on those Bunsen burners in high-school lab. She grinned, remembering the way Clyde had stopped and stared at her and then instinctively backed away as though he thought she was going to bite him on the leg. Betty Yost had been real fierce about it. It made her proud of Brock in an odd way to have the Yost girl take to him like that. She was very pretty, actually. And she had that sort of quiet grown-up manner that Brock had ever since coming home before school was out.
She put on her new pale-green cashmere cardigan, her light-tan skirt, the dark-green sandals. She pushed the cardigan sleeves up above her elbows. Her hair was still damp but drying fast. She pulled it back and put the little silver clamp on it, wishing it would grow faster, and wondering if she should have it cut short again. It was such a darn no-color. Not blond and not brown and not anything. Scared mouse. That’s what Clyde called it.
She went out to the other room. Norma Franchard was sitting at one of the little tables, fixing her face. Ellen sat next to her and dug her lipstick out of her purse. “I’m absolutely starving,” she said.
“I’m having a job keeping from snapping at this lipstick,” Norma said.
“What are the plans?”
“Gosh, I don’t know. Nobody said anything. I wish we could think of something exciting to do. Bob and Clyde were saying something about bowling and something about that new roller rink. Not for little Norma. I’m worn to a nub. Anything I do from now on is a spectator sport. At least almost anything.” And she turned to Ellen with an exaggerated leer.
Ellen felt obligated to laugh in a knowing way. Norma was so darn crude sometimes. Almost as if she felt she had to keep reminding you that she slept with Bobby. Everybody knew it. Ever since sophomore high school. It didn’t really make her cheap, because they seemed practically like old married people. That was what Mother didn’t understand. Things had changed. If you were going steady for just years and years, then it was all right. That didn’t make you cheap nowadays. If you slept around, then you were cheap and everybody knew it. And nobody respected you. But you didn’t lose any respect if you were going steady. You had to know what to do to keep from getting caught, because if you got caught, it was a disgrace that somehow made you cheap like the ones that slept around. Ellen guessed that the kids proba
bly thought she and Clyde did it. Clyde acted sometimes like he couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t. It made her feel funny to think what the other kids must be thinking about the two of them. A sort of uneasy feeling and yet kind of smug, too. Let them think what they wanted to think. It wasn’t exactly that she was scared, even though she was scared, a little. She guessed it was sort of not being sure of Clyde. He seemed so kind of crude sometimes. And he liked to show off his muscles, like standing so long on the diving board before diving. Things like that.
Anyway, she wished Norma had more … reserve or something. She was cute and a lot of fun.
Another reason was going to a different school in September, so far from Clyde. If she was going to go to Cornell, like Bobby and Norma and Clyde, maybe it would be different.
They went on out together. The boys were waiting. Ellen had her blue hatbox and Norma had a canvas zipperbag, like a basketball player. Ellen looked over toward the pool and saw that Brock was awake and swimming again with that Yost girl.
“Before either of you say a darn thing,” Norma announced, “be it known that Ellen and I could eat the tires right off that jeep.”
“It’s a conspiracy,” Bob said. “What are we for? Exercise ’em, drive ’em around, feed ’em, and start all over again. I’d rather have a cocker spaniel.”
“Has anybody ever heard of a joint called Brannigan’s?” Clyde asked in a dreamy voice, his eyes closed.
“Fat burgers with the works,” Ellen said reverently.
“Canadian ale with dew on the bottle,” Bob sighed.
“One of those big baskets of crisp, crunchy French fries,” Norma said.
They piled into the jeep and took off with Clyde spinning the wheels on the gravel of the parking lot. It was too hot to eat out in the jeep, so they went in and sat in a booth. Norma went over to the juke and turned and said, “Hey! Frank Sinatra!” Both boys groaned. But she put in coins, pushed buttons, and came back happily. They had two burgers apiece except Clyde, who had three, along with two bottles of ale. Bob forcibly restrained Norma from going back and replaying Sinatra. They sat in contentment and Clyde said, “What now, people? The bowling? The skating?”
“Out!” Norma said. “Definutely.”
“No exercise,” Ellen said.
“There isn’t a good movie within fifty miles,” Clyde said.
“I can think of one thing,” Bob said. He gave Ellen a quick speculative look. “Hell, I don’t know.”
“Give, man,” Clyde said.
Bob leaned forward, became conspiratorial. “Dad gets his vacation the first two weeks in July. We’ve got the place on Lake Sheridan. You’ve been up there, Clyde.”
“Sure. It’s nice.”
“He’s been beating on me for the last week to go up there and get the dock in the water and get the water pump started and shovel out the joint. Usually we get mice in the winter. He was up there a couple of weeks back, took some friends up and they went after lake trout. But he couldn’t do all that. No, it’s got to be Bobby. So what I was thinking of was two birds with one stone. We could all go up there and stay overnight and you could help me with that stuff he wants done, Clyde, and we could take some food along. It’s only twenty-five miles. It’ll be cooler up there, but there’s a good woodpile. I should know.”
“All of us?” Ellen said. “They wouldn’t let me do that!”
“Call your mother and tell her you’re staying with Norma. And Norma, you call your folks and say you’re staying with Ellen. It ought to work.”
“What if they check?” Norma asked thoughtfully.
“The odds are they won’t. Even if they do, we can think of something afterward,” Bob said.
Norma was looking at Bob. She took his hand, lacing her fingers in his. “I’m game, darling.”
“I’ll tell my people I’m going up there with you,” Clyde said. “To help.”
“And my folks will be glad I’m getting energetic,” Bob said.
They all looked at Ellen. She felt their excitement. “I don’t think I want to do that,” she said primly.
“Don’t you go chicken,” Norma said sharply.
Ellen looked down and she knew she was blushing. It made her feel young and stupid. “But I just don’t want to.”
“Good God, you’ll be chaperoned,” Norma said. “Robert and Norma, professional chaperones. Protect your loved ones. Come on, kid. Don’t be like that. It’s a wonderful idea.”
“Don’t go chicken on us, Ellen,” Bob said.
Ellen fiddled with her watch strap. She knew they were all looking at her. She didn’t want to look back at them. Her knees felt weak. She let out a long sigh. “Well … okay, then.”
Clyde patted her back and said, “Good gal.” Norma reached across the table and shook hands ceremoniously with her.
Bob grinned and got up. “I’ll phone first,” he said. He was gone about three minutes and came back and made a circle of thumb and middle finger, beaming. Clyde left and came back in about the same length of time, making the same gesture. Norma did the same, but her call took longer. They all looked at Ellen, and Clyde got out so that she could get out from her position against the wall.
“Well, here goes so much nothing,” she said. She smiled but it felt stiff. She went back and dug a dime out of her purse and used the wall phone. “Mother. This is Ellen. Mother, can I stay overnight please with Norma Franchard? Yes. Norma. On Poplar Crescent. No, I don’t have to because I’ve got nearly everything I need with me and I can borrow pajamas from Norma. What do you mean, Mother? I certainly wasn’t aware that I was sounding funny, I assure you. Of course not, Mother. No, Mother. All right. Thanks. Yes, I will. What? Oh, no, I’ve eaten already. I was hungry. Yes, I will. All right. Good-bye, Mother.” She hung up. It would have been so easy if her mother had said no. That would have ended it right there. And it was certainly almost inevitable that her mother would think of some other instructions or advice or something and call the Franchards and then things would really be messy. She went slowly back to the table. If her mother had said no, then it wouldn’t be her fault. And then nothing could be done about it.
She was at the booth and Clyde, standing there, waiting to let her in, said, “Well?”
“Gee, I’m awful sorry but she said I couldn’t.”
“I thought I heard you thanking her,” Clyde said suspiciously. “What were you thanking her for.”
“That was sort of sarcasm, I guess.”
They were all looking at her oddly as she slid in to sit by the wall. “What was the reason you can’t?” Norma asked.
“She just said I couldn’t. You know how they are. You don’t have to look at me like that. I tried, didn’t I?”
Bob Rawls sighed. “Okay, my lamb. You tried. Anyway, it was a thought. Where does that leave us?”
Norma’s expression was unpleasant as she looked across at Ellen. “It leaves us minus one gal. Who else do you know, Clyde?”
“If Ellen can’t go, then it’s out,” Clyde said.
“I think that was kind of stinking,” Ellen said to Norma.
All the good feeling of the day was gone. The excitement and daring of the idea had quickened them, and it had all gone flat, and Norma was being bitchy. Ellen felt as if the gulf between her and the three of them had widened. She was going away to school in the fall. Clyde, Bobby, and Norma had had one year away at school. She felt that Clyde, too, was annoyed with her, even though he had voiced his loyalty.
Ellen looked at her wristwatch. “There’s one thing we could do,” she said, lowering her voice.
“A fast hot game of scrabble?” Norma asked icily.
“It’s early. And it’s only twenty-five miles. We could all drive up and then Clyde could bring me back and then we could drive out in the morning. And … well, leave you and Bobby there, Norma.”
Bobby looked a bit uncomfortable but Norma’s expression changed. She leaned over and patted Ellen’s hand. “Dahling, you make delightful sense
. And then you’ll be at your house to cover for me in case she who brung me up should phone.”
“If she phones before I get home, you’re on your own, gal,” Ellen said.
“A calculated risk.”
“I don’t much like it,” Bobby said. “Suppose the four of us got caught. Okay, we could bluff. You know. Just having a happy young time. But if it’s just you and me up there, Norma, and we get caught, all kinds of hell are going to break loose.”
“And you’ll have to marry me, won’t you?” The ice was back in Norma’s voice. “Does that distress you, dear? Or are you reminded of that old yuk about catching a streetcar.”
“I didn’t mean anything like that,” Bobby said defensively.
“Then show a little more enthusiasm, dear. You’re not exactly flattering.”
“Knock it off, you two,” Clyde said.
Ellen, conscious of the tension, was glad to be able to change the mood. She saw two high-school boys come in the door of the place. “Dig those cool threads,” she said, in a parody of a local disc jockey who had a massive teen-age following. The boys were about sixteen, slight, sallow, dark-haired boys. They were dressed in their best. Pants cuffs so narrow they were fitted with zippers, pale jackets with lapels that rolled all the way down to the first button below the natural waistline, jackets that were tailored snugly across lean hips, shirts with tremendous collars dwarfing the black string ties. Their hair was long above the ears, brushed back. They went to the counter, moving with ultimate casualness, slow sophistication, and, before sitting on the stools, looked around the place with slow, complete disdain. Norma half stood up to see them over the back of the booth and then sat back down with an immediate attack of giggles. Ellen caught the infection. Bobby and Clyde started laughing. Ellen saw one of the boys look around at them, his face reddening. She tried not to look at them. She hoped they would think they were laughing at something else.
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