Chapter 6

The next morning, Boland returned to the Parson School and announced without hesitation that he would accept his Ph.D. in marriage counseling and psychotherapy. The interview with his advisory board was almost affrontingly brief. He was given a mimeographed list of books to read and a large assignment sheet that included visits tormentally disturbed patients and a day at a mental hospital. He was told the course of study normally took a year, but that for a slight fee, it could be extended. The real expense, they said, would be the publication and approval of his doctorate thesis, which was to come from a list of suggested topics on a mimeographed form.

"I sort of have an idea of my own I'd like to try," Boland said.

Mr. Parsons nodded. "So much the better. We'll be interested in reading your notes when you've set them down."

And so, Boland returned home to Hurley, clearing out a better work area at his small desk. On the wall near his ancient upright typewriter, he tacked two things, a calendar and a picture of Lilly, then began working on the final draft of his master's thesis.

Grace Edwards continued to visit him, her demands taking the form of proprietary interest in him. "I know you're going after Lilly. I know there's nothing serious between us, Ed, but I feel I have a right to a voice in things now. It's more than just the money I'm loaning you. It's a feeling of participation. One of the things you need now is assurance and happiness. That means sex, a lot of sex."

Boland finished the final draft on his thesis two weeks before the end of the semester. He turned it in to his advisor at Hurley College and received notice a week later that it had been accepted, that he could, if he wished, participate in the regular Hurley college commencement exercises as one of their four successful candidates for the degree of Master of Science. Boland filed this information with his principal and, on the last day of school before the summer vacation, received written and verbal notice that his salary would be raised forty-five dollars a month, beginning in September.

It was a step toward his goal and even though he did not expect Lilly to answer, he wrote her a letter, telling her the master's had been granted and that he was ready to begin work on the Ph.D. in psychotherapy and marriage counseling.

To his great surprise, he received an almost immediate answer from Lilly.

"I'm going back on my word only this once, Ed, to congratulate you and tell you how proud of you I am and how much I miss my love. I'll be sorry to see you give up teaching, which I know you love, but I think you've shown your maturity by making a decision that's closer to the mark. You will do well here and I'll be proud to be yours.

"Ed, there have been other men in my life and I cannot help that. I tell you this not to taunt you but to let you know how very much I want you to be here with me. Please hurry, Ed. I need you."

On the strength of the letter, Boland revised his schedule and gave himself four hours sleep a night instead of the six he'd budgeted. The Monday after school closed for vacation, he resumed his job as a delivery driver for Fritch's department store, and on Sundays, he made deliveries for Tony's Pizza Parlor.

With this income, he was able to meet some of the interest payments on his loans, reduce the loans themselves a bit, pay rent and keep a minimum of food in the larder. The rest went for the text books on the list of materials sent him by the Parsons school.

Inside of two weeks, Boland realized that many of the books were those he'd either read or used as a college student. The assignments were annoyingly simple, comparing with some of the things he'd done as a college freshman. When he decided this might be some form of trickery, he spent more time on the next two assignments, doing them in great detail and adding long bibliography and outside references. They were returned to him with a long note explaining that he was responsible only for the assignment. Extra work could not be considered.

Boland began to be puzzled. After all, he was working on a Ph.D., a doctorate. It hardly made sense that this work should be easier than the work he'd done for his master's degree. The doctorate was the highest academic degree of all. How did you go any higher? There was only one other course, medicine, and that was, naturally, out of the question for Boland.

Twice during the early weeks of the summer, Ed Boland met Nola Peddersen. Each time she suggested to him that they go to bed; each time Boland guiltily made an excuse.

The third time he saw her, he was just pulling his delivery truck out of the loading entrance from Fritch's, and out onto Scott Street. She waved to him and he left the truck in the drive, waiting for her to approach.

Now that it was summer and she didn't have to dress according to the rigid protocol for teachers, Nola blossomed out into a low-cut blouse and a peasant skirt with frilly petticoats and sandals. "Ed," she said, propping a foot up on the running board of the truck, "why don't you stop driving yourself so hard?"

"I'm not," he said. "I'm simply going after something I want. It really isn't that difficult. Lots of other people have done more than I have."

"Ed, you've got to let people who care about you help."

Bitterly, he thought about Grace Edwards. She was reaching the point where she'd refuse dates when other men asked her. That was a sign of danger, a sign of an attachment, a sign of false hopes.

"I know from past experience that there's something I can do for you, Ed. Something you like, something you need, something I can do well. You've said it yourself, a healthy person is a sexual person, too. Practice what you preach, Ed."

"I'm sorry, Nola," he said. "It's no good like this."

She smiled at him. "Baby, you thought it was damned good in Minneapolis. And from the way you're looking at me now, I can tell I'm right. Ed, I'm going into Fritch's to buy some things. I'm going to ask them to be delivered. There's an awfully good chance that delivery will be on your route. I'll be waiting for you." She gave him a long, lingering smile, then stepped back into the street, turning with an expert flounce so that her skirt swirled about her excellent legs. She started toward the entrance of Fritch's Department Store, her small, high pitched fanny bobbing merrily. It was an exciting, compelling sight. As Boland eased the truck into traffic, he nearly had a collision.

Two days later, he got another batch of assignments back from the Parsons School. The comment on them: Uniformly excellent. Grimly, he leafed through the pages. There were almost no markings or signs that they'd been read. Now his suspicions flared, and to find out, once and for all where he stood, he copied two pages verbatim from a text book in answer to one of the questions.

The next day, when he loaded his truck for the morning delivery, he realized Nola Peddersen had made good. He was to deliver a kitchen table to her. On the instructions were the memo: driver to assemble if customer requests. He already knew the answer to that one.

Nola was waiting for him. She wore a pair of tight shorts that gave unusual accent to her comparatively short, well tapered legs. She padded about the house in bare feet, her blond hair done in a simple horse's tail. She wore one of Mac's shirts, unbuttoned, the tails tied at the midriff in an approximation of a halter. Proportionate to her size, Nola was a big busted girl. These excellent breasts loomed excitingly through the opened neckline of the shirt.

"Ed," she said smiling at him, "why not make it easy on yourself? You know we do well together in bed. You know you're aching for something."

He shook his head. "It's wrong, Nola, all wrong."

"Is it?" I

"You know it is. You're married. No matter what you say, this is a reflection on you. Something's wrong with your marriage or you wouldn't be doing this."

"Nonsense. You're the only man I've ever looked at since my marriage. The only reason I want this is to give you what you've given me."

"People don't have those kind of motives, Nola."

She sat on a hassock and crossed her legs. "This person does." With a smile, she yanked on the knot holding the shirt tails together. It opened quickly, allowing her breasts to spill forth excitingly.

"Tell me why you're doing this," he said.

Nola thrust her hands behind her on the hassock, using them to lean on. "Why do motives mean so much to you? I've told you, I want to give you some of the joy you've given me. Do you always have to be the curious teacher?" She smiled. "Maybe this will help you if it's so important to you. Yes, I find you attractive and exciting. It's daring, doing this. I'm excited knowing that my sex can help men who matter to me. Mac's had two raises at work. He's slated for a promotion. It would be silly to say that this is a direct result of our better sex relations, but I'll tell you, Ed, there is a connection, and no pun intended."

"This could be a dangerous habit, Nola. Suppose you met another man you wanted to-let's say, help?"

"Ed, I'm surprised at you. You're too good a teacher for that and I've learned well. There's a very simple answer. Children. We're going to start a family. In November. That way, I'll get in another year of teaching, then have the baby in August. As soon as that's over, we go back to the drawing board again for more. We've made up our minds that after September, we're going to throw caution to the winds and protection to the garbage. Now, are you satisfied?"

Boland managed a smile. "No, not satisfied, but aroused and envious, damned envious."

She lifted her legs in an athletic gesture, her toes wriggling invitingly at him.

Boland moved toward her, using her upraised legs as an opportunity to shuck her shorts over her slender limbs. Her panties followed and then he knelt before her, embracing and burying his face in the lushness of her breasts.

Even as his excitement mounted over the sight of her beautiful nudity, he knew this was wrong. What she said was no excuse, no real motive. He knew his own weakness, too. Loneliness. It did not excuse him, but he did have a need. If only there were Lilly. But Lilly was over a thousand miles away, over six months away. Worlds apart. The only connection was the memory of their love. And now, at this moment, with his need, memory wasn't enough.

Nola was good, hearty release, particularly after the possessiveness of Grace Edwards.

Excited by her position on the hassock, he moved to her and lay atop her there, his body spurred on by her excitement and willingness. It was difficult and demanding, making love this way. They both knew it and it lent further excitement to the insistent plunge of their bodies. He was amazed at how little it took Nola to have a reaction. Her response came almost immediately and she clasped him about the neck, thrashing her hips and legs wildly until he, too, felt the excitement surging forth to the inevitable.

Fifteen minutes later, Boland was dressed again, so was Nola. He sat on the kitchen floor with a screwdriver and a glass of lemonade, assembling the kitchen table.

Half an hour later, he left. Nola smiled at him and said goodbye as though nothing had happened. She was noticeably happier, a bit smug, but not very different, really, than if they'd had a cup of coffee together one evening before their night classes at Hurley College.

A week later, he received back the lesson from Parsons School with a crisp note telling him how pleased they were with his progress. "It is our considered belief that you will be able to take examinations that will enable us to grant you credit on a pass-fail basis," the note said, "thus making it easier for you to accomplish your goal."

It hit him hard, but Boland had to admit he really wasn't too surprised. Parsons School was a diploma mill. The courses of study were little more than formality. Somehow, someway, they had the power to grant advanced degrees. True, the degrees didn't mean much in the academic world, but if you looked at it another way, a permit to carry a gun didn't matter much either, if the person who'd managed to get it knew little about guns or shooting.

He was stuck, desperately stuck. If he quit this farce with the Parsons School, he'd still have to repay the money he'd spent to Grace Edwards. That would effectively take care of the raise he'd been offered, and he'd still be no better off. He'd have to save more money, make application to some new college, perhaps even Hurley, and go through the painfully slow process of working for years, at least two.

Boland could not do any more of the assignments for two days. He went through his jobs feeling completely numbed. He made love to Grace Edwards, feeling like a robot and, on Sunday, delivered hot pizzas in a complete fog, realizing at one point that he'd driven the stand's Volkswagen all the way across town without being consciously aware of it.

That Monday, he received another letter from Lilly.

"Ed, I know I swore not to write to you at all, but this is a necessity. I'm badly frightened, Ed. I love you. I need you. I don't want to lose you. But there is another man. I tried desperately to keep away from him. When I finally made love with him, I knew what a threat he had become to us. The trouble is, Ed, I was first attracted to him because he reminds me so much of you. He is gentle and kind, and understanding. Nearly always, when we finish making love, I cry out of sorrow. I've been cruel and bitchy to him, intentionally and unintentionally. But he still will not leave.

"Oh, Ed, I'm trying so hard. But it is difficult without you. I came here for selfish reasons, I know. I believed you'd find a way to follow if you really loved me. I realize this was wrong, that I should have had courage and stayed with you. But I was weak and tired and fed-up. I think about coming back to Hurley, but I don't know. There is this man, Ed, and that makes things difficult.

"Please come to me soon. Please come to me and make me yours forever. Please, Ed. I don't know how long I can last."

Reading the letter, Boland felt an icy chill and knew right there that he didn't have time for the luxury of getting drunk or being discouraged. He had to act and right now.

Moving to his desk, he inserted a sheet of paper in the typewriter and addressed the Parsons School. It was a difficult letter for him to write, but he managed to come bluntly to the point by asking them how much it would cost in the way of extra tuition and fees to allow him to submit his doctoral thesis right now and take examinations for all courses on a pass-fail basis. He was amazed at how easily it was for him to take part in the obvious offer of more money. It was simple to use terms like "tuition" and "advisor's fees" and "thesis publication expenses."

The Parsons School answered by return mail with the same candor. There was an itemized list of the new expenses involved. It totaled one thousand eighty-two dollars and seventy-five cents.

Boland sent Lilly a telegram telling her he'd arrive in time for Christmas with a Ph.D. in marriage counseling and psychotherapy. Then he was able to allow himself the luxury of getting drunk.