Chapter 14
Ken Baylor slept a haunted, restless sleep that night, when he managed to sleep at all. Mostly he was awake, staring into the mocking darkness, his mind teeming with countless conjectures. All of them dire, reeking of catastrophe.
But whatever he expected Vic Richardi to do with his damning photographs blackmail looming as the most-likely possibility in Ken's mind he certainly didn't expect him to do what he did.
For the next morning, as he blocked his shoulders, forced himself to enter Holcomb High, he was hardly ready for the humiliation and utter disaster that awaited him.
He couldn't help but notice the change in attitude among the early-bird students as they clustered in the halls. It seemed they'd been alerted to his arrival, that they lined the halls to watch him proceed down the hall. A regular Memorial Day parade.
Their usually friendly, open smiles were traded for sneers, for guarded looks of triumph and shock. A seething silence preceded him, abruptly boiled into muffled remarks, giggles and whistles as he passed. More than once as Ken made his way down the gauntlet of students he saw them duck something behind their backs.
He didn't like the looks of this at all. Something was up. Something bad.
As he reached his own classroom, unlocked his door, saw the nine-by-twelve manila envelope on the floor inside, he realized just how busy Vic Richardi and his cohorts had been last night. Opening the envelope (Upon the outside of which was scrawled a vengeful BAYLOR, YOU RAT!), he froze, swayed, almost fell back as he saw its contents. He knew instantly what the Holcomb High pupils were passing around behind their backs.
There were four glossy eight-by-ten enlargements in the envelope. Seeing the first, which showed him and Patti making love on their blanket, he was staggered, moved to close the door. Then he slumped at his desk, all the steam suddenly gone from him as he spread the remaining photographs before him. Two more depicted his and Patti's shocked surprise as they sat up, staring at the interlopers.
It was a tribute to Richard's photographic skill that all three of the top pictures were clear cut, in sharp focus and correct exposure. No mean feat in the darkness. There'd be no fighting these shots; his and Patti's faces were in precise definition. There was no question as to who was in that farmer's pasture.
Damn, damn ... Ken thought, suddenly feeling like someone was pounding a foot-long spike through his skull. Where do we go from here?
But while the topmost pictures were the more shocking, it was hard to say whether or not the bottom one was the more surprising. That damned Richardi! Ken raged. He didn't miss a single trick did he?
For there, grainy and under-exposed, shot on the run obviously, was a photograph of Ken and Tessa Vareese in the library, kissing back among the stacks, again both faces easily recognizable!
We're all going down together, Ken thought desperately, wanting all of a sudden to cry, scream and bellow his helpless frustration. Patti, Tessa, me. An afterthought hit him. And Diane. The kids, Carol and Randy. All on the same sinking hell ship!
He turned the photos face down, jammed his hands into his eyes. What will I do now? was repeated in idiotic refrain. What will I do now?
A sudden tapping on his window snapped his head upright. And his eyes narrowed, he almost stumbled to his feet, went in pursuit, as he saw Terry Wexler, one of Vic Richardi's bosom buddies, leeringly holding the photo of him and Patti against the glass.
The question of what Ken was going to do was summarily answered. As his room speaker clicked on he heard Principal Prather's voice, crisp and decisive for once: "Mr. Baylor. Please report to my office. Immediately."
That was the hardest thing Ken had ever had to do in his life. To walk down those corridors in full view of the smirking student body, knowing full well what awaited him once he reached the administration offices.
Miss Nichol ushered him into Mr. Prather's office with flushed dispatch. There he found a grim-faced James Prather triumphantly awaiting him. And one other a defiantly erect Tessa Vereese, who sent a hateful glare in his direction.
"Sit down, Baylor," Prather snapped. "I think we have some very disastrous matters to go over." Ken, who saw a matching manila envelope and four overturned photographs on the principal's desk, understood right away. Prather touched the photographs but didn't turn them over. "I'm assuming you've already received your surprise package. Seems that every one in school has. There are a dozen of them floating up and down the hall. That's how many we've confiscated already anyway. Is my assumption correct?"
"Yes, it is," Ken said gravely, sitting down, determined, even as indefensible as his position was, to acquit himself with as much dignity as possible. He'd be damned if he'd crawl before this jelly-spined caricature of a principal. "Someone shoved it under my door."
"Now, I don't know who's responsible for this..
"Vic Richardi," Ken snapped.
Prather's face went strained. "That's beside the point. The point is that we've got a full-fledged scandal on our hands a scandal that's about to blow this school sky-high. Do you even begin to realize the harm you've done to this educational system, to the cause of education as a whole?"
"I'm sure I do. And I'm sorry. I made a mistake, a grievous mistake. For which I'm now ready to take full responsibility."
A sly, half suppressed smile formed in Prather's face. "You seem to be a man of many talents, Mr. Baylor, the least of which, seemingly, is teaching English and social studies." Prather was relishing the interrogation. "You've cut a wide swath here at Holcomb High. Or are these," he fingered the photographs fondly again, "just a few of your ... ah ... conquests?"
Ken turned livid. "I'm in pretty deep now, Prather," he snarled. "It won't hurt if assault and battery is added to my charges. Keep that kind of insinuation up and I'll drive that silly smile of yours down your throat."
The man paled, shifted uneasily. "I hardly think you're in any position to threaten anyone."
"Just try me and see."
"I suppose you're aware that the Conte's know about this incident; their pictures were waiting for them when they arose this morning. They're on their way over here right now." He sucked on the words savoringly. "I imagine they have a few choice words to say to you."
Baylor made no comment.
"May I inquire," Prather sneered, "just bow involved you were with Miss Vareese?"
"You may not," Ken replied levelly. "The actions of the faculty during their off duty hours are not under the jurisdiction of the school and its authorities. What Tessa ... Miss Vareese and I did on our own time is none of your damned business."
"You sound like you've memorized a law book," the principal taunted quietly. He flipped over the shot of Ken and Tessa kissing. "But you seem to forget that this was taken on school premises. You were not confining your ... ah ... extra-curricular activities to your own private sphere."
"It's unfortunate that I had an enemy who'd stoop to anything to get revenge on me for justified discipline. We were in error, we let things get out of hand."
"I should say so."
"I don't like what you're thinking," Tessa flared, borrowing courage from Ken. "It wasn't anything like that at all. Ken and I had a deep friendship ... we got carried away one day. And that's what happened. Just because that sneaking, sniveling Richardi cretin..."
"You are out of order, Miss Vareese!" Prather spat. "You have no way of knowing what I am thinking. It's a guilty mind that attempts to..."
"Can that, Prather!" Baylor snapped, half rising in his chair.
The principal tensed, swallowed the rest of his prissy speech and returned to safe ground. "Anyway ... and needless to say, you are both suspended from teaching duties in this building as of now until such time as the school board can convene and act upon your immediate dismissal. And as for the disgrace you've brought this school...."
He was interrupted by the buzzer in intercom. "Mr. and Mrs. Conte are here," Miss Nichol announced.
"Good. Send them in, please."
He turned to Tessa Vareese. "You are excused from the rest of this interview. I would suggest you clear your desk, clear out of this building ... and this city ... posthaste. You are through. Leave a forwarding address with Miss Nichol ... we'll send you whatever remaining salary is due you."
Tessa rose, glared at Prather, said nothing. At the last she turned on Ken. "You stinking rat," she snarled. "You had to get me involved in your rotten feuds."
Then she was beating a quick retreat from the office.
Mrs. Conte, a washed out blonde of forty or so. her face lined, her clothing frumpy, was in state of near shock. She followed her stumpy, greasy, half bald husband into the office, obviously resigned to having him handle the entire affair.
The man, immediately upon seeing Ken sitting in his chair, recognized him as his daughter's seducer. He wheeled and started for him. "You louse," he choked, "you dirty, rotten louse. With my daughter! My pure little Patti. I'll kill you!"
Instantly Prather was up, and, with Mrs. Conte managed to pull Mr. Conte back. But it was Baylor's simmering belligerence, the intense hatred reflected in his eyes, the fact that he'd risen, ready to do battle with the hypocritical father, that was the main deterrent.
And the cowardly Conte, still spouting threats and obscenities, let himself be pulled into a chair on the opposite side of the room from Ken.
"And that's not bad enough," Mrs. Conte wailed, "but now we find that Patti's gone. Her bed hasn't been slept in all night. Some of her clothes, all her money's gone. She left a note; she's run away!"
"Where is she?" Mr. Conte bellowed, making a lesser show of attacking Ken this time. "What'd you do with her? What kind of shenanigans did you talk her into? Where are you meeting her?"
Ken slumped in his chair, the air squeezed from his lungs all at once. He felt so desperately tired and defeated. So the poor kid's finally gone and done that, he thought. God help her, God give her a break for once in her rotten, mixed up life. Patti, why couldn't things have turned out differently for you?
The self condemnation and remorse was complete. Patti, what have I done to you? You were just a kid, looking for some scrap of kindness from someone. And I took advantage of you. God, Vm supposedly an adult. I should have known better. Forgive me, Patti.
But none of this inner turmoil reached the outside. As he looked at the selfish, shallow man before him, his eyes smoldering with hatred, he thought how he'd love to get his hands on the slimy slob, beat some sense into his imbecilic skull, show him who was really responsible for her fleeing home.
"You did it, you damned hypocrite!" Ken spat. "You made her run away, it wasn't me! With your non-stop boozing and running. You never gave her a chance to be herself. She was just your built-in slave . .
"Mr. Baylor!" Prather tried to intervene.
Ken ignored him. "She wanted to go to college, she wanted to make something of herself," he continued. "She was a talented, beautiful girl. The world would've been her oyster if she'd had her chance. But you wanted to deny her that, too. It'd cut into your drinking time too drastically..."
"Don't you dare talk to me like that, you pervert filth!" Conte roared. "You're the one who took her out into the woods and used her ... God knows where else you...." Conte used a very graphic and coarse term.
"Please," Prather interrupted, stalking from behind his desk, standing between the two men. "This is getting us nowhere. Patti's running away doesn't enter into this at all. The important thing is the fact that one of our instructors got involved with Patti ... had carnal knowledge of her body. And what are we going to do about that?"
"Yes," Mrs. Conte refrained stupidly. "What are you going to do about that?"
"What-we-are-going-to-do-about-it," Prather said, his tone turning testy, "is discharge Mr. Baylor on the spot. We're going to see that he never teaches in another public school anywhere in America."
"Good," Conte gritted. "That's just what he deserves."
Prather became overly conciliatory. "What you axe going to do is more important to us. Needless to say this matter can have terrible repercussions in the city's school system. It can set education back ten years in Glendon Falls. That is, if you intend to prosecute, to take this to court."
"Prosecute," Conte leaped on the word. "That's just what we intend to do. We're gonna have him thrown into jail."
"Now just a minute, Mr. Conte," Prather said. "I think you should be informed of certain things. You realize, don't you, that you wouldn't benefit from this case. There'd only be a jail term for Mr. Baylor, there'd be no punitive charges."
The man's eyes glittered at this, his face fell.
"And furthermore, I'm afraid you'd do your daughter irreparable harm. The publicity would ruin her for life-as well as ruin your own reputation in this city. Certain things are going to be revealed in that trial, personal, perhaps not very nice things about your family relationship. It's also going to be revealed that Patti accompanied Mr. Baylor on these ah ... sin jaunts ... voluntarily. She was not forced. Not to mention the fact that she is eighteen, no longer a minor in a legal sense."
"What are you trying to tell me?" the man said suspiciously. "That I don't get no dough outa this?"
"Not a cent. What I'm trying to tell you, Mr. Conte, is that the school system wishes to avoid all this publicity. This will be bad enough as it is. The state authorities will undoubtedly bring moral charges, even if you don't prosecute. We are going to get rid of Mr. Baylor, he'll be forced to leave Glendon Falls for good. If you will agree not to press charges, you will be doing yourselves, your daughter, as well as the school system, a tremendous favor. We can well do without any extra publicity."
"Maybe we'll do that," Conte grumped, "maybe we won't. I want to talk to my lawyer." He glared at Ken. "But no matter what, he's got to tell us where she's gone to, so we can get the little brat back."
"I'll be damned if I will!" Ken flared. "I wouldn't give you the pleasure of getting your hands on her again. Press charges, see if I care. But I won't tell you."
"The police will find her," Conte said lamely.
"Maybe they will, maybe they won't. At least she's got a fifty-fifty chance."
"Remember this," Prather talked fast, trying to water down the raging blaze, "that if you prosecute, Mr. Conte, and lose the case, the court charges are your burden. Now, can you afford all those legal and court costs?"
It was a totally deflated Mr. Conte who looked up at Prather, fought for words. "And you call this justice? The land of the free? Free for rich men, that's all."
The acrimonious conversation went on for an hour more; all angles were discussed and re-discussed until the Conte's were satisfied, and they agreed not to press charges. But still the meeting didn't end without a last ringing volley of threats and name calling. And the Conte's were finally plodding out of the office.
Five minutes later, after receiving Prather's last ultimatum, Ken followed them. The halls were deserted now, the students in class. A passing monitor sent Baylor a sheepish grin. Obviously Ken's classes had been reassigned to another teacher and his classroom was empty when he reached it.
Ken took his personal effects from his desk, piled them into a small cardboard box. There were many things he had to leave behind, things he'd never have use for again. It was one of the saddest, most depressing moments of his life. It marked bitter and symbolic end to one of the most important segments of his life. It left his life barren and devoid of meaning.
As he paced the ringing halls, heading toward the faculty parking lot, he thought, What have I done? What have I done? What is Diane going to do when I tell her what's happened?