Chapter 3
In less than ten days, Boland received answers to the letters he'd written to the schools in California. With one exception, all were mimeographed form letters. All had the same content. California colleges and universities had unlimited opportunities for instructors on a college level provided the applicant had advanced degrees from well-recognized institutes of learning. Exceptions could be made in the case of graduates of the lesser known schools if the applicant had a record of distinguishing publication, work in the field of research or some strong experience in the practical side of his chosen field.
Ed methodically tore the letters to shreds and tossed them in the waste basket. His distinguished career in publishing included an article in the Hurley newspaper discussing the evils of spontaneous combustion, another being a short biographical sketch on the occasion of Sir Isaac Newton's birthday and a brief article on how to build a crystal radio set, this last appearing in the junior high school paper.
As for the distinguished work in the field of research, Boland had a letter of commendation from the Hurley PTA, thanking him for his exhibit of a dog that salivated at the sound of a bell for the science display at last year's Hurley Junior High Open House. Pick the smallest, most undistinguished college in the United States and they'd still have to laugh at the pretentiousness of it if Boland were to present these "accomplishments" with an application for employment.
Stopping in the coffee shop for a sandwich, Boland saw Nola Pedderson, flitting her way through the tables to join him, her petite figure advertising a smug, well-used sexuality. She flounced up beside him in a whirl of enthusiasm and sexy perfume and bent to kiss him on the cheek.
"You, Ed Boland," she said with a giggle, "could easily be called the Dale Carnegie of Sex. You're an absolute wonder. The first night I tried out your little scheme for Mac, it laid a big egg. If you'll pardon the pun, I didn't even get a rise out of him. But the next night-ah, the next night. Mac came after me like sex was going out of style. We made love right in the living room on the big hassock. Can you imagine it, Ed? A few weeks ago, he was complaining because I was supposed to be oversexed. Now I can't even pass him in the hallway without his making a grab for me. Why, this morning, I was late for school and when I told him I'd have to hurry, he started bellowing about the hell with school and my job. What's the world coming to if a man can't get a little loving in the mornings? Oh, Ed, if that keeps up, you'll have to steal some saltpeter for me out of the science locker."
He decided to be late for class, going to the graduate students' office to see if any action had been taken with the petition on his master's degree. Grace Edwards greeted him cordially, a proud smile on her lips.
"Ed, it feels like I've got it made. Since I last saw you, I've got myself a man-a steady man. It's everything they say it's supposed to be and then some. I can't tell you how delighted the sight is, a virile man, all fired up with desire for me. It just works wonders."
"Now, when those other girls taunt me, I laugh at them and tell them they don't know what they're missing. They made some token offers, telling me they'd like to get me naked for ten minutes, then describing some of the things they'd like to do to me. For a moment, it sounded good. You know-exciting. After all, in this business, there is no time for preliminaries. They speak right out. But then I just laughed at them, Ed and told them that no matter what they did, there was one important thing they couldn't possibly do." Grace laughed. "They claimed to have an answer for that, too. One of them even showed me the little device. But you know, Ed, when I saw it, it was pathetic. For the longest time, I thought love with girls was the only thing, the only way. But from here on in, give me a good virile man. It's every difference in the world and I have you to thank for helping me discover what I've been missing."
Boland felt embarrassed and tried to change 'the subject.
"Just a minute, Ed," Grace Edwards said. "I could always talk honestly with you and I relish it. I want you to know another thing. I envy Lilly what she's got-you. I can't help my feelings. So the next time you're with Lilly and you run into me, you'll be warned in advance why I'll just barely be polite."
"Thanks, Grace," he said uneasily. "I appreciate it. But now, could you tell me what action was taken on my petition to get my advanced degree?"
"They took it up and decided to grant you permission to finish sooner. You'd best get working, Ed-and congratulations. It couldn't happen to a nicer guy." Boland felt strangely let-down. Sure, it was what he'd wanted, it was a step up the ladder. But that was the trouble. It was a damned big ladder and one rung didn't mean a hell of a lot. "Now I can start thinking about a Ph.D.," he said with scorn. "That should take only three or four more years, at the rate I'm going. They - they don't even have a Ph.D. in psychology here at Hurley."
Grace smiled. "You think that's something , Hurley College has given only ten Ph.D. degrees in the past six years. Your best bet is to apply over at Newton University."
Boland groaned. "That's fifty miles away."
"Oh," Grace said cheerily, "you'll work out something, Ed. You always do. Now why don't you go find Lilly and celebrate-the lucky girl."
Boland did go to Lilly's, where he received a note of surprise. Lilly was generally slavishly neat about her small utility apartment. Anything but neatness made her painfully aware of its woeful inadequacy. Tonight, there were dinner dishes piled in the sink and a general atmosphere of disorder prevailed, including the fact that Lilly's hair was ruffled and she had nothing on under her fading flannel robe.
"I-I wasn't expecting you," she said.
"Good news," he told her. "I wanted to tell you. The Master's degree will come through soon. By next semester, I'll be able to expect a raise in pay. Then we won't have to consolidate all our troubles in one big debt."
Lilly gave him a plaintive look. For a moment, her eyes were b-rimmed with tears, then she reached for his hands, scooped them into hers and kissed them. It was a touching gesture, filled with tenderness and meaning for him.
Boland felt himself experience a deep, abiding love for her. So what if she had her moments of bitchiness or weakness? She wasn't a bitch at heart. It was so damned easy to call names, to get your male pride all ruffled because your girl kicked up her heels and bedded down with a guy you couldn't stand. The important thing was that she could do this.
Lilly, still holding his hands, drew them to her breasts. "I'm so pleased, Ed. You've fought against the worst odds there are. With the right kind of woman, I think you could make it."
"You're the right kind," he said.
"I-I don't know."
"I do. Your instincts are right."
She gave a wry laugh. "Ed," she said, "I love the feel of your hands on my breasts. I love the way you kiss me. Do you think we could make love the way we used to? Do you think we could try? It would mean so much to me."
Boland smiled. "It would mean a lot to me, too." He unhitched his tie, removed his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed. She perched next to him, her eyes filled with tenderness and softness. Her hands quickly undid the knot about her waist and removed the robe, revealing her eager, ready body.
Boland leaned forward, burying his face in the warmth of her breasts, his hands running over the roundness of her supple shoulders. He realized this was a special occasion, that it would be possible to recreate the warmth and tenderness and comfort they'd come to know and expect.
Deftly, he kissed at her breasts, running his lips over the cleft between them, then against the pulsing vein in the side of her throat. She uttered a slow moan of ecstasy then clasped her body against him tightly so that Boland could feel the tattoo of her pulse through the intimate, exciting closeness of her breasts.
He noticed at once that Lilly was reacting just as he. Her hands strayed over him slowly, as though gathering impressions and storing further happy memories. There was none of the grim immediacy about it as he leaned back and drew her atop him.
Lazily, her legs played against his, her fingers danced about the back of his neck and sifted his hair. Framing his face in her hands, Lilly kissed him, her tongue darting between his lips and sending shards of excitement racing through him.
This was more like it; strong, heightened desire, but not desire that was completely out of hand. This was desire two people could handle He grabbed her buttocks with admiration, squeezing affectionately, then stroking for a long moment, knowing how she enjoyed this. Her breath sighed into his face from her open, expectant mouth. He fitted his lips against hers for a long, moist contact, then deftly maneuvered her over on her side.
She sighed lazily then shifted to accommodate him. Their bodies met with the experience of teamwork. Boland smiled at the pleasure of having the tenderness of the intimacy renewed. I was good to be able to nuzzle his face against hers, to run the tips of his fingers lightly over her full, beautiful breasts, tantalizing himself for a thrilling moment before giving way to the urge to hold them to cup them firmly in his hands and feel the beauty of her.
After several moments, they began a slow, steady motion as if by common consent. There was no hurry, no records to set, no driving force of trying to achieve an impossible oblivion. Feeling the subtle motions of his body against hers, Boland knew sex could become dull, just as anything else. He knew a man could tire of the most beautiful woman in the world, even if she were the most accomplished lover. He knew he would always look at other women, but never want to do anything about it as much as he wanted to do something about Lilly-something just like what they were doing now.
He smiled at the knowledge he was imparting to himself, it was confidence that he wouldn't tire of her, wouldn't have any reason to. So long as they could find happiness and make love like this, there was a future to think about, plans to be made, children to be thought about.
Lilly's room seemed more palatable. The thought of having to go back to his own room even seemed bearable. Man really wasn't that difficult to understand. If he could get the right kind of love, the right kind of way, he could handle his problems.
A sudden quickening in Lilly's hip movements reminded him how different this was. They were not supermen. Once again, they were human, about to derive human satisfaction. He felt his own pulse quickening and gladly gave himself over to the last, final frenzy that had them moving against each other in a steady, well coordinated friction. Everything went well. Her legs moved about him possessively and her arms extended to him. Now a few thrusts and they lay clasped together, no further motion necessary.
This was how they enjoyed it, each thrust into release by the other, then came the joy of being able to lie in each other's arms, clasping tightly while release and satisfaction and resurgence flowed through them.
Boland left Lilly shortly before midnight, happier than he'd been in months. Nothing had been resolved, but he felt stronger about it, better. That was all that mattered.
In his room, he was able to read profitably for two hours, taking notes. It pleased him the way the plans for his master's thesis came bursting into his mind. This would be something he could show with pride. This might be the thing to send those California schools.
The next day, in school, he saw Nola Peddersen. She winked at him. "Scored again," she said. "The Boland method is a good, fine method. If this keeps up, I think I'll be able to start gossiping about how my husband never leaves me alone. What a wonderful state of affairs that will be."
He taught his classes that day with a verve that surprised and pleased him, noticing how responsive his pupils were when he was in such good spirits. Well, that was the way to teach. Give the kids something and they reward you with their attention and interest.
Hurley Junior High let out its classes at ten after three, the grammar school at three-thirty. Boland had time to clean up, check in the office mail box and discover there were no messages or mail for him worth attention. At twenty-five after, he was on his way to the grammar school, unable to wait until later in the evening to see Lilly. He had two books with him. It would be fun just reading at her place if she had papers to correct or other chores. Besides, there was the prospect of later.
Arriving at the school, he moved quickly down the hallway just after classes had ended, disgorging several hundred active, happy children into the playground and streets. When he came to Lilly's room, his thoughts of prospects for later that night quickly vanished.
The woman in Lilly's room, packing a few things into a brief case was Mrs. Dinsmore, a substitute teacher.
He quickly looked up at the room number, thinking there'd been a mistake, but Mrs. Dinsmore saw him and smiled. "I know what you're here for," she said. "These lover's quarrels can be trying, can't they?"
Ed Boland felt stunned. "Lover's quarrel ? What are you talking about? Where's Lilly?"
"Why, I thought you knew. Mr. Havelock said-Oh, dear, maybe I've made a blunder, Ed."
"Where's Lilly. Mrs. Dinsmore?"
"She's gone, Ed."
"Gone? Gone where?"
"Away. To California. She left this morning."
Boland felt stunned and weak. He found himself starting to laugh at his sudden, weak-kneed desire to sit down on the floor. "What are you talking about?"
"Lilly's gone. I'm taking over her class for the rest of the semester."
Boland felt like shouting at her. Instead, he lurched to the door and made his way quickly to the office of Herb Havelock, the principal of the Hurley grammar school.
Havelock was a short, dapper little man in his late thirties. His family owned several stores in Hurley and Herb Havelock dressed and acted as though he knew it. His crinkly face puckered with embarrassment at the sight of Boland. "Hi, Ed," he managed uncertainly. "I-I guess you didn't get Lilly's note, did you?"
"What is this, Herb? What the hell's going on? Mrs. Dinsmore says she left for California. Now how the hell could she do that?"
"We-uh-we made arrangements."
"What kind of arrangements? What the hell is this, Herb?"
"Now take it easy, Ed. She wanted to leave here. She-she said she couldn't take another day in Hurley. She-well, dammit, man, she hoped you'd care enough to go after her."
"How can I do that? You're head of the Teacher's Credit Union. You know I can't just pick up and go. I have no car to drive and even if I had the money for plane fare, there are about eight places in town that have first call on the money. I've borrowed the limit and I'm in hock with the Dial Finance Company at a percent and a half interest a month. You figure that out. A percent and a half times twelve months. Eighteen percent a year. Oh, hell, I don't know what I'm saying. How? How could she just pick up and go like that?"
"Well," Herb Havelock hedged, "I gave her a glowing letter of recommendation. I said in it that she wanted to leave before the beginning of this semester, but that she generously stayed on until I could get a substitute. I gave her a good recommendation. She got her degree from the University of Minnesota, that'll do well for her, too. I said she was particularly up to date on her audio-visual techniques and all the latest accepted theories of teaching."
Something about Havelock's statement didn't jibe. Nothing about Lilly's hasty departure did. "Wait a minute," he said, receiving a sudden piercing of agonizing insight. "Why should you go to all that trouble to give such a glowing recommendation to a teacher who walked out on her contract in the middle of the semester?"
Havelock averted Boland's searching glance and began to hedge. "I was very fond of her, Ed. She was a good teacher and I didn't want to stand in her way. Hell, let's face it; I'd had a wanderlust in my life, too. There are times when I feel like chucking everything and moving out to California.
The suspicion became clearer to Boland now. He recalled the mussed quality of Lilly's room, particularly the bed. He recalled again that feeling that their love making was serving-he same purpose of helping her to cleanse a guilt.
He tried to shake it out of his mind. It was an ugly thought. But it wouldn't vanish. Herb Havelock considered himself a lady's man. Even though married to an attractive, socially prominent girl, he liked to play the part. It would be just like him, Boland thought.
"For two cents, Herb, I'd deck you and mop up the floor with you, even knowing what you'd do out of revenge."
"Now, listen, Ed, you've got no reason to talk like that."
"Who suggested the idea, Herb? Was it you or her?"
"Listen, Ed, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Okay, I'll spell it out for you. She gave you something for that letter, something you've probably wanted a long, long time. She gave you her body in exchange for letting her off the hook."
"You're crazy, Ed."
"Am I?"
"It was her idea."
"Herb, you're a fink. And I'd like to be able to think you were lying. What the hell is truth, anyway? Something somebody doesn't want to hear. Okay, I believe you."
Weary and shaken, Ed Boland left Herb Havelock's office and began the trudge homeward. Then he found the note. It was brief and to the point.
"Ed, I don't know if you'll ever be able to forgive me. It's a calculated risk, but one I had to take. I know it's the only way we can get out of this rut. I'll send you an address as soon as I'm settled. I'll probably read your letters if you send any, but I won't answer. It will be the same old thing again. Come after me, Ed, and I promise you; you won't be sorry. I'll make everything up to you and then it'll be just us, all the wav."
Boland clawed the note angrily. What about the meantime? Bert Thielan, Herb Havelock and who else while she was waiting? And that was another thing, how long would it take?