Chapter 7
Another week of tangled, directionless agony had passed, a week in which Ken had visited Tessa's apartment one more time. This was an after school adventure, carried out in broad daylight, proof positive of the reckless state he now moved in. That he'd expose himself like this...
Beyond this major upheaval in his life was the sec-andary one taking place in his own home the incredible rejuvenation which had come about with Diane. Time and time again he thought about Thursday night, the harrowing paces she'd put him through. Again the maddening question had boomed and echoed in his mind: What'n hell's happening to my wife?
Then, on Saturday night, after a social evening with the Barkleys during which Ken had drunk one beer too many, had let his thoughts of Tessa and their wild love-making get him worked up, he'd been given the same cold shoulder from Diane. Coming home, wanting to do more than reminisce on things sexual, he'd made what he thought were inflaming overtures only to be snidely rebuffed.
"What are you trying to prove, Ken?" she'd mocked. "Do you want to wear me out?"
That had killed that. How could she be so damned changeable?
So. Diane and Tessa. Two opposing natures and spirits, one carnal, one indifferent and quixotic. And how was a man supposed to reconcile himself to such a situation? How was he supposed to adjust when both vixens had descended on him with bombshell suddenness?
Thus the days dragged by, the practical details of making his living a crushing bore, his mind constantly alive with more devastating considerations and daydreams. And April drifted into May, the days grew longer and warmer, spring became fulfillment of a promise. Of course, the workaday world at Holcomb High became even more hectic, the school year's close looming closer and closer.
Vic Richardi had been removed from Baylor's class and inflicted upon the long-suffering Cora Hayward, a thirty year veteran capable of handling the snotty-likes of the Richardi boy. There had been no more threats, nor ground swell rumors of threats upon his person by Vic. Which was just what Ken expected. Vic was just making so much noise that day, venting his frustration, fighting to maintain his class image as "big trouble" in the only way left him.
The fact of the matter was that Ken hadn't even seen Richardi face-on since their flare up. He'd had vague impressions of the boy skulking in the halls, observing him from afar, but it might well have been only his imagination. There was nothing he could really put his finger upon.
But if Ken Baylor had thought he'd had his full quota of emotional crises for the school year, he was decidedly mistaken. The biggest storm was yet to strike. It was one which was to shake his life to its deepest roots.
Patti Conte was having trouble. It was a sudden, tin-explainable thing, and Ken, concerned about the ingenuous child, even as wound up as he was with Tessa and Diane, couldn't help noticing her serious backsliding.
Her marks plummeted, she constantly forgot to turn assignments in, she was listless and inattentive in class. This was an extreme turnabout, for Patti had always been a topnotch student, alert and sensitive, a responsive touchstone to whom he could turn when class discussions bogged down.
He doubted that he could or would flunk her even if the breakdown continued. But by the same token he could not rightly give her the A that should have been hers. If things went on as they were now, continued through the whole of May, she'd undoubtedly end up with a C. He couldn't help but wonder whether the decline had been noted by her other instructors also.
Often during those days of evaluation, as he wondered what to do about Patti, he covertly studied her in class, tried to see beneath that impassive, lovely face. On more than one occasion she became aware of his observation, and she flushed, became very agitated, her eyes fluttering like frightened birds.
Other times, when she didn't know he was watching her he was able to dawdle longer in his vigil, to assess her lovely features and precocious physical development. At times like this, becoming strangely aroused, he caught his thoughts turning to matters more volatile than Patti's failing grades. And though he cursed himself for a hound, he still couldn't help sensing, savoring even, openly prurient thoughts about her.
She was so beautiful, so excitingly voluptuous, teetering on the brink of full scale womanhood, existing in almost the best of both worlds. She was a virgin of that he was positive. She dated often, but each of her schoolboy swains was swiftly discarded as if they'd been tested and found wanting. He couldn't remember her ever going with the same boy more than two or three weeks at a time. There was always a new, goggling, tongue-tied lump dogging her steps in the hallways.
Which infuriated Baylor to an unreasonable pitch. It seemed so wrong, so wasteful for a creature so lovely as Patti to be prey to these bumbling, pimple-faced clods.
Try as he might he couldn't erase from his mind the image of Patti in a parked car with someone as witless, as useless as Vic Richardi, kissing him, letting him clumsily paw her.
And when he really wanted to torture himself he took his fantasy one step further, envisioned Patti letting Vic or any of the other trash she ran with undress her to kiss and fondle her nakedness.
It was enough to make Ken break out in a cold sweat.
Breaking from these trances he realized that his interest in Patti was more than objective, more than a pedagogical one. But here again he justified his sick projections. For, actually, didn't he feel the same way about so many other of the lovely girls in his classes? Didn't Kitty Elliott and Marcia O'Hara and Dede Blackwood and Rita Chavales all inspire the same kind of feverish speculation?
Why couldn't it be, he maundered in wistful foolishness, that these young people were fair game for the more experienced adults? Why couldn't our society accept this as proper and wise behavior? The older men could teach the girls, the older women could teach the boys. Train and season them, return them to their peers eventually, experienced and proficient in this the most important knowledge of life. Why did they have to bumble their way through it, take five, ten years to achieve sexual harmony, to break down inbred puritanical inhibition? The worst thing about it was that some of them never achieved a compatible love relationship, they never knew the glory of sublime physical release.
And, his hands always trembled at this point of his premise, why couldn't Patti Conte be assigned to my tutelage? Couldn't I teach her about love? Couldn't I train her in the arts of physical joy and response? Lucky the lad who'd get her after I was through with her.
It was only upon breaking from these aberrated daydreams that Ken Baylor felt totally and sickeningly disgusted with himself Of all the rotten ideas he'd ever had...
Yes. It was hard to consider Patti Conte objectively.
But something had to be done. And since none of her other teachers seemed to be taking any steps, it was obviously his move. It would be a tragedy to let the whole semester's work go down the drain.
Tuesday morning he stopped her after class. "I wonder. Patti," he said, "if I might see you after school tonight. There are some things I think we ought to discuss."
That wild, disturbed expression etched her features. She was unable to look at him squarely. "Golly, Mr. Baylor, can't it wait? I've got tennis tonight, I'm in a tournament. I won't be done until four-thirty or so."
"That's perfectly all right. I have some things to take care of so I'll be staying late. I'll be here, waiting."
"All right, Mr. Baylor. I won't forget."
A spring rain was threatening at four-thirty, and the day had suddenly become foreboding. Engrossed in his checking, Baylor didn't notice the encroaching gloom until almost four-thirty. He was on the verge of rising to turn on the light when he heard his door rattle and looked up to see Patti letting herself in, a wan smile on her face.
Holcomb High was situated in a beautifully landscaped, forested area of Glendon Falls. Looking out his window Ken could see the rolling grounds, the tennis courts and football field in the distance as well as the brooding green of the lawn contrasted against the slate sky beyond the creek. Even in the midst of the threatening weather it was a lovely view.
For some perverse reason he rebelled against turning on the lights. Their interview would be so much more intimate if they sat in the gathering murkiness. Perhaps he could get through to Patti more effectively.
"Ah, Patti," he said, "right on time." He rose and walked to the back of the room where he sat at a student's desk, indicating that Patti sit across from him. Seated where they were they couldn't be observed through the glass-paneled door. "You don't mind sitting in the dark, do you? I think we can talk better this way."
"No, not at all, Mr. Baylor. We can look out better. It's so pretty outside this time of year. It's going to rain. You can smell it in the air."
"How did the tennis go?"
"I won," she said simply, no elation in her voice.
"You don't sound very happy about it."
She shrugged. "It's all right, I guess."
Ken looked at her more closely. It's even worse than I thought, he mused. Tonight she looked even more the ingenue. She'd showered after her game. Her hair was damp at the edges, her make-up was washed away, revealing her natural, unblemished beauty. Despite himself Ken felt the insane yearning rise in him, all but choke him. What must that silky skin be like to touch? he asked himself.
She wore a white cotton blouse, a figure-complimenting garment in which her breasts were piquant and high. In the shadowed room, when she turned just so, he could see the subtle outline of her nipples against the crisp material. Her skirt was a simple, full thing, black, with pink roses scattered helter-skelter on it. Her feet were in tennis shoes.
She released a ponderous sigh as she stared out the window at the verdant landscape, her face in partial silhouette, her lips slightly parted.
"What is it, Patti?"
She smiled embarrassedly. "Nothing, really. I was just thinking how lucky we are to have our school located in such a lovely area. Those trees, the grass . . .the creek down there. It just gets me. Makes me want to go walking barefoot down there. You ever walk barefoot in wet grass?"
"I suppose I have. When I was a boy."
"You should do that now, too. I do once in a while. When my mother's not around." It seemed a deep bitterness invaded her tone.
"Your mother doesn't approve?"
"My mother doesn't approve of many things." She quickly changed the subject. "Tell me, Mr. Baylor, have you ever taken time to walk down by that creek? It goes on for miles. It's the most beautiful thing. Some Saturdays, after school even, I follow it out of town."
She smiled sleepily, sighed again. "It sort of irons out things for me. For a while anyway."
Baylor was surprised. It was uncanny, almost as if the child had been reading his mind. Her appreciation of the view and all. There weren't many teen-agers nowadays who had time for such things. And if they did, they weren't telling anybody about it. Rock. TV, the latest movie, the latest beer bash that was their world. He sensed a fragile clutch at his heart. He remembered one time as a high-school junior, when he'd...
He let it drop. It was time to start. "I think, Patti," he said gently, "that you have a good idea why I asked you to come in tonight, don't you?"
There was a strange defiance in her eyes. "Yes, I suppose I do. It's my school work, isn't it? I haven't been doing so hot lately."
His smile was kind. "No Patti," he echoed, "you haven't been doing so hot lately. I thought maybe you'd like to talk about it."
"What is there to say? I just don't care any more. I'm going to graduate, aren't I?"
"Yes, I presume so. Even a flock of D's won't stop you now."
"So, what's the sweat?" She looked away. "I can get a nice cozy job in a dime store some place, wait until I meet a nice guy. Get married, have a flock of kids." Her voice was despair clogged. "Who needs Shakespeare to scrub floors?"
Ken was drawn even closer, shifted in his chair. "You know you don't believe a word of it, Patti. Tell me, what's gone wrong? Something at home? One of your boy friends?"
"Skip it. I've just lost interest. Let it go at that."
"But, Patti," he said exasperatedly,. "you can't just quit like that. I've always pegged you as college material, I've foreseen great things for you. The way you write and express yourself..."
Her voice became choked. "Forget it, I said. It just can't be, that's all. It can't."
"But why? If there's a financial problem, well, you know there are scholarships. . .I'd recommend you personally."
Slowly she turned, her eyes almost malevolent, glittering in the dusky mask of her face. And now she spilled what was truly bothering her. "So? Do scholarships pay for everything? For room and board? For transportation, for incidental fees? Wouldn't your parents be expected to bear some of those expenses?"
"Yes, that's true, but...."
"But nothing. My parents won't pay for a darned thing. They don't want me to go to college. That stupid father of mine doesn't believe in it. All these years they let me count on it." Her voice broke. "And now all of a sudden they change their mind."
"Patti, don't talk like that. You know you don't mean it. Your Father..."
"My father is a piggy slob," she interrupted. " 'No money, no money', he keeps telling me. 'College is so much foolishness for a girl.' But there's money for the constant boozing he and Mom do. There's money to act like a drunken prince with those leech friends of his."
"Patti, Patti," Ken broke in, "you can't really believe all these things you're saying. Surely your parents..."
"It wasn't so bad," she seethed, her voice blurring as she valiantly fought back hateful tears. "All these years of waiting, being ignored, being treated like a stick of furniture. With Mom and Dad gone night after night. I was just a convenient, built-in sitter. I could bring up Danny for them. At least I had something to look forward to, there was a glimmer of hope that I'd break loose one day, make a fresh start on my own..."
Her shoulders slumped and momentarily Baylor panicked, thinking she'd burst into tears now. "Do you know that they even kept me out of school until I was six?" she continued. "So I could help around the house that much longer?"
But no, her bitterness was beyond tears. She straightened, jutting out her chin. "So now I can go on living at home. I can become a shopgirl slave, I can give my earnings to the old man so he can swill down more rotgut wine and beer and whiskey..." She laughed coldly. "For that I should kill myself in school?"
"I'll ... I'll go to them. I'll talk to them, try to show them the mistake they're making...."
"Save your breath. They won't listen. They won't listen to anybody. They think I'm crazy. My books, my poetry, the way I like to listen to classical music on the radio. Then when I get into one of my moods..."
Her eyes glazed and she looked at Ken with a twisted anguish. "Did you ever," she said in a foggy voice. "Just once, go out into the woods in the fall? See the trees on fire, all red and yellow and orange, the trunks showing through like black pillars? And did you think about the way they were making their last noise just before dying? Did you ever feel so sad and blue that you wanted to die along with them? And yet you wanted to scream at the way they were so beautiful?"
Kenyon felt a chilling shudder wrack him. Dear God, he thought, how long? How long has it been since I've remembered? The way I was when I was a high schooler? The morbid moods I used to get into? I thought I was the only one. And now ... this girl ... Patti.. .
He was struck by the strongest impulse to catch her in his arms, to hold her close, to rock her until their tremblings fused, became one, evened out to a single life pulse.
But he did nothing. Only turned to her and said, "And then, in November, when the fields are sere, when the trees are bare, and they stand there outlined against the gray sky, looking for all the world like they're pleading and begging, their limbs tangled and grotesque . .
Patti's eyes went wide, her mouth parted. "You know," she breathed in awe, "you really know. You understand what I ... You don't think I'm crazy. Oh, Mr. Baylor, I can talk to you. I knew there was a reason I loved your classes the most of all ... That ... the way you just described it ... that's exactly the way I feel. It's an awful sadness, it makes you feel cold and dead inside. And yet you don't want anybody to intrude. It's ghoulish, I know, but you want to enjoy your sadness. Isn't that right? Isn't that the way you feel?"
"Yes, Patti. That's the way I feel" And his heart heeled over hard, half in sympathy for this mixed-up, pitiful kid, half in sympathy for himself. "So you see, you're not alone." His voice became husky. "Not alone at all...."
And eerie whistling began in his brain. He felt as if he were suddenly freezing, as if his pulse were going to bang a hole in the side of his head. The yearning ... incredible, overpowering...
Suddenly, caught up in a reason-demolishing panic, proudly disdainful of consequences or risk, he was reaching for Patti, he was roughly pulling the pliant body toward him. Then, with the frightened girl half in his arms, half balanced on the chair, he was pushing her back awkwardly to lower his lips to hers.
And what happened! Just as in all his fantasies. Patti was rigid for the briefest moment, her body thin and graceful in his grasp her lips warm and dry. Then she went limp as she surrendered completely to the masterful, impulsive kissing. Her lips blossomed and pressured, answered him in surging passion.
Now the thundering stopped in his brain, and reason slowly flooded back. Little by little he released his hold on her, his lips twice returning to reaffirm the insane reality of what he'd done. Then he was setting her upright, his eyes darting to the door to see if, by any chance, anyone was peering in.
"I'm sorry, Pattie," he said, his words ringing in the hollow vault of his brain. "I shouldn't have done that. I know I shouldn't. But all at once that seemed..." His voice trailed off.
"That seemed the right thing to do," she finished for him, her face pale, her eyes wide. "The only thing to do."
They sat for long minutes in haunting silence, staring out the window, neither of them looking at the other.
"That just happened," Ken said stupidly. "I didn't mean to do that. I just did."
"That's all right," she murmured, suddenly affecting a worldly sophistication. "Don't blame yourself. Don't blame anybody." She seemed somehow much wiser than he at that moment.
"Patti," he said huskily, recalling the original purpose of this interview which all seemed so unimportant now, like something that happened years ago "we've got to talk again. But some other time. When we...."
"I know," she breathed. "I want to talk, too. About all kinds of things."
She rose, brushed out her skirt. She looked up at him, her eyes opaque with an undisguised yearning. Then, in a tiny voice: "Won't you, Mr. Baylor...? Please, kiss me again?"
His stomach constricted, his body was awash with tremors as he took her in his arms. She trembled uncontrollably as he kissed her a second time, made no protest whatsoever when his left hand rose, cupped her breast, moved gently. A moment later her hand covered his, held his hand immobile on the quaking mound.
They broke this kiss. "I want you," she wavered, "and I don't want you. I'm so mixed up."
Her lips were poised again. A third kiss then, tingling, maddening. Her own hand lifted his onto her breast. Then, suddenly, Patti tore from his grasp, went running from the room.
She left a disastrously stunned Ken Baylor in her wake.
God, Ken, he castigated himself ruthlessly. You silly jerk, what do you think you're doing? Don't you know where a thing like this can lead? Isn't it bad enough you're horsing around with Tessa Vareese, that you're climbing out on a limb, sawing it of after you? And now this? Hanky-panky with an eighteen year old kid? What in God's name are you thinking about?
It was six o'clock, the school was entirely deserted, before Baylor finally broke from his baffling trance and rose to leave. He glanced about uncomprehendingly, as if he didn't realize just where he was.
He felt like he'd been away from the world for a decade.