Chapter 5
Sunday seemed a million years long. Ken Baylor moved in a slow torpor, lost in an inner labyrinth from which no one, at least not that day, was about to dislodge him. Dutifully he attended church with Diane and the kids, but had his life depended upon it, he couldn't have repeated a single thing that Reverend Pearson had said that morning.
It was a trance made up of part hangover, part conscience pangs, the latter definitely being the greater curse. Above all Ken was grateful that Diane expected no explanations for his withdrawn mood. She simply took his bloodiness as after-effects of his drinking bout Saturday night. She knew he was no drinker; if he had to hoot and howl until almost dawn that was his concern. And let him suffer. It would teach him a good lesson.
But if Diane had been able to see inside his brain, see the things he was thinking, see the wild, exciting pictures unreeling nonstop in there...
The most monstrous thing about the wild interlude with Tessa, Ken concluded baffledly that Sunday afternoon as he sat before the TV staring unseeingly at a beginning-of-the-season baseball game, was the total unreality of everything. Even now he had to force himself to revive the vignettes of what they'd done together, he had to prod himself to believe. Not so fast, he marveled Things couldn't have happened so fast. One day all but strangers, the next bedmates, engaged in the most fantastic love games. This just can't be!
But this had happened. He gritted inwardly, thinking of the teeth marks he'd discovered in his shoulder as he'd showered and shaved this morning. Nasty little souvenirs that he'd quickly covered would have to be careful about for the next few days. They were dark blue, unmistakable, irrefutable testimony to the libertine sin-tornado that had buffeted and torn them last night.
God, he marveled. What a love cat!
Why, he queried, after all these other guys have tried, why me? Could such a thing be? Had Tessa been waiting for me to make a move? Or was last night merely lucky circumstances? Had we both caught each other at an opportune time, when our resistance was down, when the mood was just right?
That had to be the answer. His ego badly deflated by the way his marriage had gone lately, he couldn't make himself believe that any woman would actually be attracted to him, that she'd lust for him above all other men.
A damn fool streak of luck, that was all. like the dog-eared phrase he'd heard so often: The right time, the right place ... and any woman'll cooperate.
That's what had happened last night. The right time, the right place.
like a dog worrying a particularly troublesome bone, Ken let his mind delve and dig, going back deeper into his reverie, starting at the beginning of last night's debauch and going over every single rememberable detail. As if, by faltering at some place along the line he'd prove to himself that he had been dreaming.
Until he got to the part where he'd undressed Tessa, where he'd turned out the lights and paid that crazy, sick homage to her body, to her innermost femininity. Drunk, dead drunk, he tried alibying, there was no other explanation. Hell, how could I have got like that? How could I have crawled, been glad, almost delirious to crawl? How could I have kissed her legs, her feet, like that? That was a fetishist's trick.
The realization stunned him. Hell, what has Diane done to me? Have I gone that far astray?
Or was there something else again? Was his only a natural outburst, a purgation of long dammed-up sensuality? All part and parcel of the fact that Diane had been cheating him of his sexual birthright all these years? That she'd taken the abandon and passionate recklessness out of their marriage and lovemaking, that she'd castrated him, all but made a trained, fluffy, cute little lap dog out of him? Had last night been a pathetic outpouring of gratitude at the finding of a woman who was sensual and passionate because she wanted to be, and not because of any feeling of duty? Not giving herself as reward and gift, not making love for ulterior motive?
Hadn't he, caught up in the love trance as he was, actually wanted to worship her? As incarnation of the total woman he'd yearned for all these years?
He shook his head slowly, caught himself as Diane entered the room, began going through the Sunday newspaper. Talk about squirrel cage candidates!
Now he recalled the end of the love session with Tessa, the way she'd turned so frankly vulgar, the way she'd wallowed in the references to Lady Chatterly's Lover, the way she'd urged him to join her in the sick, ugly litany. His awe was immense as he discarded rationalization, put blame squarely where blame belonged. Lord, didn't I enjoy saying all those things, calling her those names? Didn't that make the final outcome all the better?
Granted, Tessa was a strange one indeed. A woman possessed of eccentric, pseudo-intellectual attitudes towards love. And yet, in their end result, hadn't they been supremely effective? Could censure be in any way attached to them?
And if Tessa had curled his hair with her frank, open seduction, with her vocal paeans to excess, had he been any the less weird when he'd knelt before her to pay his aberrated homage to her?
He stirred in his chair, looked guardedly at Diane. Carol and Randy were rolling on the floor in Carol's room. It seemed so incredible to Ken. Surrounded by this workaday normality ... and thinking these dark, subterranean thoughts. Weird, absolutely weird. Momentarily he caught himself trembling.
Diane looked up, saw his twisted expression. "Ken? What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said, averting his eyes. "I just don't feel so hot."
"Hmph," she sniffed. "You've got only yourself to blame." Immediately she returned to her paper.
Ken knew he was only kidding himself when he tried firming up his resolve never to see Tessa again. Who did he think he was, Superman? One session like that wouldn't do him. Nor would two and three and four. Guilty as he was at his infidelity to Diane, plagued with the rottenest sort of thoughts toward himself, he knew that if Tessa were willing one of these days soon, he'd move heaven and earth to accommodate her. Just sitting here now, thinking like this...
What was the harm, actually? What Diane didn't know wouldn't hurt her. As he'd mused previously, this would be a perfect out for both of them. He'd get what he wanted, and she'd be relieved of an unpleasant wifely duty. Both Tessa and he were practical and realistic. They knew what they were getting into, they wouldn't let their affair get messy. He remembered how Tessa had made that clear the other night, as they'd talked, that this was a pressure valve thing with her. There was some fleeting mention of affection. But mostly expediency. When she needed a man.. .
There'd been other men before, there'd be other men after. But for now, so long as Ken treated her right, he'd be the only one. Whenever either of them was possessed by a bad case of frustration, he or she knew where to go to have their need assuaged.
And wasn't that enough?
This was enough, so far as Ken Baylor was concerned. His mind was made up. Rotten and cheating and disloyal he might be. But unloved? It would never happen.
He was embarking on a totally new, totally exciting and encompassing voyage. His life would never be the same from this day forth.
He got up from the chair slowly, clicked off the TV.
"Ken? Where are you going?"
"I'm feeling so dopey I thought I'd take a walk."
"Fine, darling. You go ahead. You'll feel better."
Baylor walked for over an hour, covered a lot of ground. For good reason: He had lots and lots to think about.
Several important and relevant things happened to Ken Baylor during the next week, which were to have definite bearing on his future.
First, on Tuesday afternoon late, as Baylor sat in his classroom checking papers, fighting the strong urge to go to the library to see Tessa (so far he hadn't worked up the courage,) Dave Frazer burst in He carefully closed the door behind him, checking to see that they were alone.
"Listen, pal," he said secretively. "I'm desperate. You remember I told you about Linton the other day? I wasn't just kidding you about that girl friend. She exists. Guess who? Peggy Dolan, in home ec. You know the one. Hell, if I'd have known she was looking I'd never have hooked up with Rose."
Ken looked up, smiled pityingly. All I need now, he thought, is another woman to take care of. "No," he said firmly.
"Listen, will you, Ken? Let me finish, dammit! Now here's what I'm thinking. Rose wants to fix her girl friend up." He winked. "I want to fix her girl friend up." Now if we can get something going, maybe we could eventually lose our compasses, do a little switching. You wouldn't mind a little bit of grab bag would you? Turn out the lights at Rose's place some night, and anything goes. Rose in the original variety kid. And while you were zipping her down, I Could be promoting with Peggy. Does that sound so awful?"
"Boy," Ken said gravely, "you do live on a very elemental plane, don't you?"
"Don't discourage me. Somebody's gotta train these young, underprivileged dolls. You're a teacher. Where's your sense of duty?"
"Dave, you slay me. When I think that you're what the world's come to, I have strong doubts about the future."
"Oh, can that," Dave said gruffly. "You know damned well that if you just weren't so chicken, you'd be in there with both hands. Honest, this'd be great. You ever play swaps? We get boozed up, turn out the lights, strip our babes down, and..."
"Spare me the details."
"Please, Ken, reconsider. I've got it set up for Thursday night. Rose suggested you as a prime choice. Among others. So I'm giving you first crack. How about that? Be a sport...."
"No, Dave," Ken said humorously but firmly. "I'm a steady married man. I got all I can take care of at home."
"That's a lie if I ever heard one. C'mon, Ken. You only live once."
"I'm sorry, Dave, but no. Find someone else. But check back Friday, will you? I'd like to know how this grab bag thing of yours turns out."
Grumblingly, muttering dire thoughts about some people being only half alive, Dave Frazer strode out of the room.
The second incident took place on Wednesday morning during Baylor's second hour English class. Again it involved the spoiled Vic Richardi. Again it was a disciplinary matter.
Ken had noticed the expensive 35 mm camera hanging around Richardi's neck as he'd entered class that morning. But taking it as another instance of the boy's insufferable show-off ways, he hadn't given it any further consideration. Until, as the period passed the halfway mark, and a study session was in progress, Ken couldn't help but notice a flurry of restless activity in Vic's corner of the room.
Looking up, he saw some of the boys smirking toward Vic. Immediately he caught the game. Vic had the camera up to his eyes, was focusing on the enticing Georgia Kirst, panning down especially to catch the way her skirt was high on her legs, the way her legs were jigging as she attempted concentration.
Ken heard the snick of the shutter, pretending not to. He kept his eyes focused on his grade book, wanting to give Richardi just a little more rope.
The clicks went on as the boy shot practically every kid in class. It was when Dixie Carter, one of the school tramps, reared back in her chair, crossed her legs in a mock cheese-cake pose, brought her breasts to full, bursting blossom and pulled her skirt as high as she dared to accommodate the cocky photographer, that Baylor intervened.
"Vic," he said evenly, "I think that's enough of that foolishness. Bring that camera up here. This's supposed to be a study period, isn't it?"
"I'm not doing anything wrong," the boy whined, trying to build up bluster.
"You aren't studying. Bring it up." The whole class was tuned in now, the majority of them exulting in Vic's comeuppance, waiting to see how he'd attempt wheedling his way out of this scrape. "The rest of you get back to work. Vic..."
The offending lad must have sensed the class' feeling toward him, must have realized he was headed for a humiliating defeat again. The sudden prescience triggered rebellion. For once he wasn't going to cave in. No stinking, mealy-mouthed teacher was going to scare him.
"I'll put it away," he said. "You might wreck it. This's an expensive camera. Cost over two hundred bucks." Then in sarcastic dig he added: "You wouldn't know how to handle high-priced equipment like this."
A nervous titter escaped the class.
Ken Baylor saw red. It was bad enough that he had to tolerate this punk kid's presence in class, put up with his weasely, sneaky stunts. But to take a snotty insult like this ... Despite his better judgment he let his voice rise. "Vic, I'm not going to tell you again. Bring that camera up to my desk. Right now!"
Richardi squirmed, slunk in his seat. Yet the perverse bravado remained; he wasn't going to chicken out this time. "And suppose, teacher," he said shakily, "I tell you I'm not going to? That I won't bring this camera up to your desk?" The last was in nasal mimicry. "You can't make me bring it up there. It's mine, and no two-bit schoolteacher's going to fool with it."
Ken was out of his seat instantly. His face frozen into a pale mask of rage, he strode down the aisle toward Richardi. His knuckles were white, his fingers were curved into trembling talons.
"You better not touch me," Vic made a last ditch attempt at arrogance, "there are laws about that. I'm not giving you this camera."
"I-don't-want-your-camera," Ken chewed the words out. "Not now. I just want you out of this classroom once and for ail. And you're going out, if I have to throw you out."
The boy twisted and fought, tried to get away. But Ken's strength was too much for him. Digging his hand into Vic's shoulder, he wrenched him from his seat. The boy took a swing at him, the effort throwing him off balance, bringing the swinging camera against one corner of the desk with a dull thud.
Ken intercepted the blow easily. He caught Vic's wrist, twisted it viciously, jammed it up behind his back, and exerted painful pressure. Vic screamed, almost folded in agony.
"Out," Ken gritted. "Right now. You're never coming back into this class again."
"You broke my camera," Vic squealed. "You broke it. I'll get my dad after you. He's got lawyers who'll...."
"Shut up! He's got lawyers who'll tell him he's got no case at all. Especially when his precious, baby son took a swing at his teacher."
"I'll get you for this, damn you!" the boy threatened. "I'll get even, just you wait and see." Some of the boys were laughing at the way Vic's voice shattered. This drove him to even greater frenzy.
"I'm gonna get you, Baylor," he shrieked once more. "You'll be sorry you ever touched me. You'll be sorry you ever saw me. I'll get you if it's the last thing I ever do. I'll fix you good."
The whole class was laughing as Ken unceremoniously flung him out of the room. Then they were in the hall together, heading toward Mr. Prather's office. Baylor really put pressure on Richardi's arm now.
Ken's wrath unmistakable, the weak-spined principal withered before it. For once he forgot the Richardi influence in Glendon Falls. It was out-and-out insubordination; he had no alternative but to suspend Vic for a week. Before Baylor left the office he'd got Prather's word that the boy would be transferred to another class when and if he was reinstated.
The third episode, a brief, but devastatingly significant thing, occurred that same night, after school, as Ken, drained from the emotional storm of the morning, finally went to the library to find Tessa Vareese. It seemed appropriate he should share the day's happenings with her.
The library was all but deserted. As usual Miss Bronson was out, leaving Miss Vareese in charge. It seemed his heart jammed and swelled inside his rib cage as he saw her standing behind the counter, it seemed her eyes turned into large, burning coals. Suddenly he wanted very badly to touch her, to reaffirm their chaotic relationship.
She'd heard about the Richardi incident. She was, of course, totally sympathetic, assuring him he'd done the right thing. But the words were hollow; they weren't what either of them wanted to say at all.
"Come behind the counter," Tessa whispered. "Back in the stacks."
He followed her.
There, in a gloomy corner hidden from anyone else in the library, she turned to him, her eyes frantic, her head tilted, her lips half parted. Shudderingly, their bodies grinding together, they kissed, seemingly without stop.
Then Tessa was moving back, holding her face to his. Her breath rapid and loud in his ear. "Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you come to see me?" she gasped. "I've been practically going crazy thinking about you, wondering ... But I just couldn't. Believe it or not, I was scared."
"You silly," she purred, pushing her lips into his throat. "You adorable silly. You've got nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all."
They kissed again, suddenly unable to get enough of each other. "Ken," she husked when they broke now, "when can I see you again? Soon, make it soon. I want to have you near, I want to talk to you so badly." Her body twisted convulsively. "As well as other things. Tonight. Come over tonight."
"I can't. That's out of the question."
"Tomorrow then. Anytime. I'll be waiting for you."
"I'll try. I'll let you know tomorrow afternoon. I ... I think so." His voice caught. "I want to so terribly."
Then they were kissing again. It was Ken who reluctantly drew her from the stacks. They did have to be careful after all. Little pitchers...
As mentioned before: very relevant things these.