Chapter 13
It was unbelievable that a thrill-seeking girl could change overnight into a woman. But Ida realized she had made the transition, and her violation by Yankee had been the clincher. She sat on the lawn outside the book-store as Maurice rested on one knee beside her, caressing the honey blond hair at her shoulder.
"We men are pretty dumb," he said. "It takes forever before the scales drop from our eyes. I've thought out the angles, Ida. What other conclusion can I reach, if I call myself an intelligent being?"
"You make the alternative sound negative. Ellen's not that bad."
"We can rationalize until the cows come home.
You're the one I love-please believe that, regardless of the setting around us."
"It's not what you'd call romantic." She smiled in triumph and gazed at the collegiate youths who strolled by as if they owned the entire campus and the roads that bounded it. Let our romance be out in the open, she thought. I'm tired of hiding like some cheap trollop.
Maurice cracked the knuckles of his hands nervously. "You asked me where Ellen fits in and what's to be done about her. I don't know. Christ, I'm not even sure of you."
"But you said you adore me."
"Ida ... these things take a lot of time to boil over. Do you understand how a guy feels when he's married and has been with his wife so long? To go ahead and cut the knot-"
"Be very sure of yourself, darling. I trust completely in whatever you decide."
He twisted bits of grass until they shredded away in his fingers. As the sun brightened upon his neck, she saw raw scratches near the collar of the shirt. Ellen's passion? Ida doubted that; she remembered the mess which Yankee had been in, and a slow hunch wavered at her consciousness. Perhaps Maurie had outfought the brute and Yankee refused to admit it. He was a proud man-such silence would be characteristic of him.
Maurice arose and took her by the arm. "We'd best get into the building. You'll meet me at nine o'clock,"
"Nine sharp."
They went via their separate routes to the huge tan brick edifice where most frosh students were taught. She was so avid for his love again, she thought her heart would burst.
He picked her up at the bus station that night as they had arranged. Ida sat calmly on her side of the Renault and watched him drive. "You're beautiful," he said. "And your taste in clothes is ultra magnifique." His glances ate up her two-piece cardigan, the jacket made of a wine-colored wool, and the glen plaid cap she wore.
She knew what else he was thinking of. Her garter belt and nylons ... the identical things she had in mind, itching at her in the mutual desire that raged through them. He led her out of the car and they approached the Hawk Ridge Motel. She paid no attention to the wing or dubious leer of the desk clerk as Maurie paid his tab at the register. Upon reaching their room, she went over and turned on the radio which sat on a wobbly end table.
"Music is the voice of love," she sang in an impromptu song composition.
"Let the fellow take any required initiative. Such a naughty girl. I should keep the promise I made once, and spank you over my knee."
"Sweetheart!" she whispered.
They were on the verge of owning each other at last. Or so she hoped as her hands joined behind his neck and they started to dance. She nib- bled at his ear, stretching on her toes to reach him. "I always did look up to you."
"Okay, shorty."
A male singer crooned on the radio, and Ida felt swept up in a crescendoing valhalla or dreamland where she could remain lost forever, floating on ethereal clouds. But Maurie was very worried. She felt sorry for him and the cruel choice he must make in his life, after so many years of marriage.
She let him guide her in stages toward the bed as they fox-trotted rhythmically. Her eyes, shiny with joy, raked over the room's interior-from the vased white carnation to a dresser with brush, comb, and ashtray upon its fringed cover. There was a yawning picture window near the tile bathroom.
And then her jacket was sliding off to the tune of his deft grasp. They took turns removing the items of clothing, fondling and relishing the moments that flitted by, kissing gently as they eased onto the bed. It felt warm and cotton candyish around her. His pants and shoes lay neatly on the chair alongside her skirt.
"Maurie, you're a violent sandstorm on the desert. A field of ripe wheat dancing under the October sun at noon. A lyre that thrums a tune-"
"Girls have called me a different sort of liar."
"Fresh."
"You'd be surprised how fresh I can get when the wind's right." He kissed her breasts and buried his face in the twin, surging mounds. He kneaded the round thigh which had bent upward to meet his advance. His tongue flicked at her ivory flesh and along the hips, back onto the swelling breasts.
A volcano seethed far within her. She felt the dim rumble of lava and molten ash, and she clamped her legs upon the man. They traded kiss for kiss while her hands labored at the vineyard of his masculinity.
He was so gentle as he tenderly rolled the tips of her bosom in his fingers. She knew her breasts had reached the highest, largest point of which they were capable. "The ant hills have become giant mountains," he chuckled. "Just like when I was a kid, and blew up balloons until they split."
"Don't repeat the experiment."
"Hold me, Ida! Yes! I love it intensely when you-thrill me with your soft touch."
"Speaking of balloons that are ready for jet take-off-"
"You would bring up that subject. Okay, since I'm obviously at the point of no return, we'll start the countdown."
She appreciated his joking at a sensitive instant plucked from the infinity of time. How different from the bestiality of Yankee Lane! How tepid and yet grown-up Maurie was as he caught her on the side angle and gradually swung into dominance above her.
It shattered her with fantastic ecstasy. A brilliance of blinding lights as when a switch is thrown and the dark carnival midway bursts to luminescent, kaleidoscopic birth. The drive and power of the sea during a typhoon.
And then she was thinking not of the belt which had kayoed her and steadily faded away, but of this man who cradled her wistfully. His breath sounded short and ragged. The aging process had lengthened his recovery period, and he would be impotent during the critical minutes. Ida kissed his forehead with exquisite love.
"Sorry I got limper than a rag doll," he said.
"Let me soothe you, Maurie. There's so much time for both of us. We don't have to rush. Take it nice and easy."
The desk clerk, a stoop-shouldered man who appeared close to eighty, smiled and showed the toothless interior of his mouth. His eyelids twitched annoyingly as he said to Maurie, "That was a real short visit. I got to charge you the full price, though. No refund."
"The wife and I have other things on our schedule." Maurie kept his arm around Ida while they moved past the key rack and desk in the outer lobby.
"Oh, I'll bet you do," the old man chuckled. "Come back and see us again."
They went out to the car, where Maurie halted for a moment indecisively, planning his next step. But with her draped around him there seemed no need for concern about a destination. "Stop anywhere," she said as he drove up the dark rural road. "Who knows how long these glorious hours may last? I've learned one thing-to enjoy the honest pleasures offered by life."
"You talk as if there'll be no tomorrow. I said I'm going to tie the loose ends together and settle our whole problem."
The moon was an orange sphere hung above the dying cornfields and orchards of the countryside. He led Ida across a meadow which ended at some deserted, cobwebbed barn. She shivered from the chill in the air.
"It's warmer inside," he said.
His flashlight cut a swath in the blackness as they entered the barn. He lit a kerosene lamp beside three bales of hay. The girl said, "I'm glad our boys at the college don't know about this place. What a desolate atmosphere to defend your honor at!"
"They probably have even better parking sites."
He sat down next to her and began kissing her on the cheeks and lips. He realized what motivated an average college-boy. They rushed into steady dating and engagement for the sake of security-establishing an early marriage so their social worries would be nil. Maurie was glad the young Casanovas had failed to woo Ida.
She melted under the onslaught of his avid kisses, while he stroked the beauty and majesty aglow on her nude body. Her legs were downy pillars of love. The professor worshipped at the twin altars-her dark-tipped, hardening breasts. He felt suddenly half his real age and no longer did he fear to look at the future or battle against it. This child-turned-woman had completely overhauled his character although he had thought such a feat impossible.
Not a stitch of clothing was left on her. He whispered and cajoled and gave her affectionate, tiny pecks with his teeth as she squirmed in ecstasy upon the overcoats he had spread along the hay. His brain rocked with wicked pleasure.
Whimpering softly, she helped him caress the ripe breasts until both were aflame with need. Patters of sound grew louder on the barn's roof above them.
"It's starting to rain, Maurie. Maybe we'll get struck by lightning."
"I couldn't think of a better death."
"You're a funny man. Especially when I feel your spine arcing up at me like a banana." She giggled and touched him very intimately and then said, "So stop the music already, as they say on TV."
She seemed cruel in her insistent demands upon his power, but he realized it was only her wish to be a single entity with him. This creature could never be brutal. He shifted onto his back as the lance of happiness cut into his heart over and over again, bringing a film upon his damp eyes. Ida grinned until her teeth shone like pearls in the lamp light.
As his hand groped for her, she wrestled against the inevitable culmination. He batted her arms down and slid into the most fantastic, sweet paradise imaginable. The rain above thudded vigorously upon the shingles. And he reclaimed the prize which had first been his and his alone ... so many weeks past, at the awakening of improbable love between them.
She wept and held him tighter with the posses-siveness of a female who senses that destiny's pen had written upon the wall, its indelible message telling the world that she has won, nor could any person take away this hour or the ones to follow.
Barbara Judd shoved the roll of bills into the janitor's side pocket, feeling his gnarled hips vibrate to her touch. Then she removed her hand from his trousers.
The janitor scratched his head in confusion. Barbara squinted at the vials and test tubes and chemicals packaged on the long table. Here was her perfect setting-the chemistry lab and its props for damning an intruder.
"You're positive you'll go through with this, Hodson?" she asked.
Hodson, janitor at the university's labs, backed away from her. "The cards are all held by you," he said in a broken voice. He coughed quickly, his eyes darting in fear. "But if I should get caught."
"There's no danger! All you do is testify that you found her prints on the box and a vial. If the dean should ask. They'll take my word for it, though, so stop worrying."
"In that case, maybe you can swing the deal without me."
"I need you for insurance!" Barbara hissed. "Wasn't there enough money in the roll I gave you?"
"Good Christ, Barbara-"
"Both of us would hate to see those little side affairs told to the police. You know I'd talk. A man in your position-married and respectable-working at Milltown U. for six years."
"Okay!" Hodson clenched his fist and rubbed his thinning gray hair. "I should have known better than to argue about it."
"Now we're using some common sense. I'll call you if your testimony is required."
Muttering under his breath, the man took a last, hungry look at Barbara's breasts and then waddled toward the closet. She checked the carton of LSD on the shelf. Yes, her stage was set and she could ring up the curtain which would mean the end of an era. Her scheme with the hidden camera had washed out. But if you were stubborn and persistent, you could skin a cat eventually.
She had felt disgusted by Hodson's pitiful, helpless objections when he had been hired for this blackmail. Barbara sighed, walking down the hall and reaching her office. She sat down in the chair to browse through mid-term behavior reports. Luckily, she had found out about Hodson's sex attacks upon those two coeds in August. They were too ashamed to admit having been ravaged individually by the janitor. He had them buffaloed into silence, because of their loose reputations and fear of being arrested for prostitution.
But an informer had told Barbara the story; today at last she found a use for the knowledge. Hodson would cooperate or be tossed into jail on a statutory rape charge.
She puffed at the cigaret, watching smoke curls waft from her mouth to the ceiling. A clock on the wall ticked ominously. It was ten-fifteen, and she felt giddy with triumph as the moment drew near. Maurie and Ellen were on the outs-any fool could see that. And whom would he turn to when his marriage did fold up like an accordion? Ida Reneson, of course.
The girl's ugly name sickened Barbara with hatred as she thought of it. No other barrier existed between her and Maurie except the cute little rich coed. Well, she'd be shoved out of the picture soon enough.
Like drums at a tribal death dance, the hands on the clock thudded away. Barbara's impatience made her very nervous and she was about ready to use the phone again when she heard footsteps on the wooden floor outside her den. Easing backward in the chair, she templed her fingers together. The door opened and Ida walked in boldly.
"It's rude to keep the ladies' dean waiting," said Barbara. "Have a seat anyhow. You'll need moral support for our chat, believe me."
"I thought our topics of conversation had reached the end of the line."
"You're sweet."
"Why don't you leave me alone, Miss Judd? Your chances to sleep with the prof won't be helped any by riding me." She stood at the corner of the desk and glared defiantly at her tormentor.
"Listen to who's talking about morals. You're an intellectual snob. I couldn't summon up the gall to use men as you've done, though we both have the same goal."
"And we insult each other very well."
Barbara took the gray photographs out of her drawer and held them in front of her. "See these? Pictures of a certain girl's fingerprints. You may burn them if you'd like, but I do have the negatives. I usually try, try again until I get what I want."
"Fingerprints?"
"They're yours and they were found on a bottle in the chem lab-as well as other places where students don't go."
"Stop beating around the bush and-"
"Someone stole a package of LSD from stock, Ida!" The woman arose and strode around the desk for dramatic effect. "I have circumstantial evidence against you. Mr. Hodson took the prints and you were seen hanging around the lab before the drug vanished."
A cold silence froze Ida's face as she seemed deep in thought. "Other students use the room," she rasped finally.
"As I mentioned, the evidence is not conclusive. We're going to suspend you from class for two weeks."
"Maybe you think I'll lie down and take it like a nice whipping boy."
"I think so."
"Wait until my friends hear how you've tried to frame me," Ida snapped. "They'll fix you."
Barbara smiled, aware that the "friends" would be Maurie-the fellow who started this whole intrigue. His pleas, if any, would hardly cause Dean Fedorhall to rescind a lovely two-week suspension.