Chapter 7
Carol Bauer stared blankly at the flickering gray images on the television screen, unable to concentrate on her studies, and yet not fully interested in the program either. It had been that way for the past few days now, and there weren't any signs that it was going to get any better. She was lonely. She missed Grant's happy smiling face ... that handsome face that looked so like Fred's ... and she was lonely. And miserable.
She'd been lonely before when Fred was killed, but then she'd had an eleven-year-old boy to take care of. Now, she was alone for the first time in years and it felt terrible. Idly, she got to her feet and meandered into the kitchen in hopes of interesting herself in something to eat. It was a futile gesture, and she knew it; she hadn't had much of an appetite since Friday, the day Grant flew to New York. Still, it gave her a few minutes to kill without thinking about sex.
Sex. It had been on her mind almost constantly lately. God, she'd even found herself looking at the crotches of some of those big University of Pennsylvania "jocks" the past week or so. Including, but not exclusively, that of a strapping young black man named Herbie Gatewood.
Herbie wasn't much older than her son, Grant-only a sophomore, as a matter of fact-but he was the most talked-about newcomer to the U. P. basketball squad in several seasons. A towering six-eight-and-a-half, he was considered to be among the "shorter" of the nation's most recent batch of "hot shots," whose speed on the forward court more than made up for any stature deficiencies; he moved with the grace of a jungle cat, off court as well as on.
At first, it hadn't fazed the rusty-haired young mother one way or the other that the U's star hoop-attraction had ended up in her summer chem class in an effort to bring a slipping G. P. A. up to "playable" standards. After all, she'd reasoned, she was thirty-four years old, and not quite as flip as the young cheerleaders who were all going gaga over him. She was a mature woman, with a son of her own to raise, and besides, Herbie Gatewood was cynical and conceited without par-no matter how big the lump in his pants was! Needless to say, Carol had been something more than just mildly upset when the instructor had made her and Herbie share the same microscope in lab.
It was bad enough that Herbie kept trying to look down her blouse, but when he began to "accidentally" brush his hands across her legs about four times each class period, she was at the end of her patience and told him so. Grinning toothily, he'd responded, "Hey, baby, I know all about you honky mamas, so don't you give me no jive ... You been starin' at my pants as much as I been starin' at yours, and if you ever want to do somethin' besides look, y'all can reach me at the Beta Sigma frat house." The very nerve!
And yet, even in her embarrassment, she knew that he'd been right ... she had, in truth, stolen any number of glances at his powerful black crotch whenever she was sure that his eye was properly glued to the microscope. She'd not only looked, she'd felt the lips of her pussy flare slightly as she did so!
Quickly knotting an apron around her tiny waist, Carol began to assemble the necessary utensils and ingredients for a tuna casserole, but found her hands trembling too badly to continue. Her big blue eyes were beginning to swell with tears of frustration as she located her footstool and mounted it in search of the cooking sherry on the top shelf of the cupboard. Maybe a drink would calm her, she rationalized. Maybe a good stiff drink ... or something.
It only took a sip or two of the pungent amber liquid to convince the young mother that she was wrong; as loath as she was to admit it, there was only one way to take care of her problem. And yet, for all the maturity of her observation, she couldn't quite bring herself to make the necessary call. Instead, she poured herself a full glass of the wine this time, quickly draining it in a few searing gulps. This time, she drank for courage. It had been so long since Carol Bauer had admitted that there was a physical side to her nature that she needed all the help that she could get.
Finally, she felt as if she could handle it and she crossed quickly to the blue Princess phone that hung on the kitchen wall and began to dial the number for University Information. While she waited for a response, she refilled her glass from the bottle she had brought along with her. Then, after clearing her throat with another healthy swallow, "H-Hello? University Information? ... Uh, I'd like the number of the Beta Sigma fraternity house, please." She'd almost blurted it out, but she breathed a little sigh of relief that the arduous task was over.
Quickly she rung off and dialed again.
"Beta Sig ... Hello?"
"C-Could I speak to ... to Herbie Gatewood, please?"
"The 'Flash' isn't here right now, baby doll, he's at the pool workin' out."
"Oh ... uh, well, then, I'll ... call back later."
"Hey listen, baby doll, I'm not doing anything tonight, maybe-"
"No ... No, thank you."
The voice on the line was as persistent as it was immature. "Well, hey, who'll I say is calling? Maybe you'd like to leave your num-"
"I, uh, no thank you." Again, she cradled the receiver, this time breaking into wracking sobs. Oh, my God! her mind recoiled in a peculiar mixture of disappointment and relief. I ... I almost did it! If ... If he'd been there I probably would've invited him over to have sex with me!
The young mother's stomach turned a nauseous flip at her momentary weakness, chiding herself at the same time for not having the guts to commit herself one way or the other. Then, steeling herself with another half-glass of sherry, she began to dial again. It was Vikki's that she was calling this time, what she should have done in the first place. It was just loneliness, she reasoned optimistically, she'd only called 'The Flash' because she'd wanted somebody to talk to!
"H-Hello, Vikki? No? Who am I speaking to, please? Angel? ... Uh, this is Carol Bauer. Yes, that's right, Vikki's sister ... Huh? Oh, I'm fine, thank you. Uh, could I speak to Grant, please? Where? A Yankee night game? Well, when he gets in would you tell him I'm coming up for the weekend? You will? Thanks a lot, Angel Yes, it'll be fun meeting you too, sugar ... Bye-Bye, see you then!"