Chapter 2
The mirror on the bathroom door, a full-length, blue pane of glass, reflected Maurice's upper torso as he wielded the putter. He glanced at himself momentarily. It did look ridiculous-a man practicing golf on the rug in his living room. Surely there had to be other ways to sharpen your eye or get in shape; he was tired of the daily yoga and sitting-up exercises, though.
His wife looked up from her book as she sat in the maple colonial chair. "Try to keep the rug from becoming shredded wheat, darling. They cost money."
"Golf balls?"
"No. I'm talking about carpets. Why you insist upon a silly sport I'll never know."
"I happen to like it." He hit the ball into a rubber quoit on the floor near the lamp.
"At one time you were quite a fiend for collecting coins, too. I preferred that."
"You run the strictest house on the block. And somehow I admire you for having such a title, Ellen. Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Not today."
He shrugged and walked toward the bathroom. Yes, the parlor was neat-with the dull-colored couches and ceramic ash trays and the best in wallpaper design. His wife had grown proficient at certain things. After eleven years of marriage she could hardly do otherwise, especially with no children to handicap her. Maurice smirked as he looked at the painting of the three nudes at a river, which hung near the arched hallway.
Surprising indeed that Ellen allowed a picture of his choice to destroy her wall scheme. He washed his face and started shaving. Lately she seemed grouchy and all wrong for him; whatever activity he suggested was vetoed by her. Her feminine lassitude during courtship had lost its glamor until now he found it burdensome.
The razor scraped upon his wet, creamed stubble of beard. He remembered how she had stirred him to the heights when they were engaged. Her lithe, smooth body had the strength of whips and he looked forward to a brood of their own. But no little feet had pattered. The doctors claimed the trouble was psychological on both their parts and a case of incredible odds dashing their hope for pregnancy, year after year.
He studied her image in the shaving mirror. Strait-laced brunette hair; a nose that curved with the sweep and grace of a tern in flight; her perfect white teeth. She was close to beautiful, even today.
Her lips shone with damp crimson glory above an oval jaw. He surveyed her breasts as they surged against the dress, tapering to a narrow waist. And her legs, they had been voted the most shapely at the high school in her native town of New Haven.
Again he wondered how their sex acts could be so inconsistent when each partner had more than sufficient equipment. Did she criticize him because she failed to match his perennial interest in the topic of physical love? He was proud of his ability. Like most men, he would rather have people point a finger at him and utter the accusation, "Unfaithful," than be called incompetent as a boudoir athlete.
His sex ilfe with her had deteriorated into a fluctuating, uneven thing. Whenever she felt in the mood. And yet the foreplay, the rapture, the explosion of intimacy recurred at a dead, unexciting keel. She just refused to try new approaches or positions which might get them out of a rut.
It sounded maudlin to believe she didn't "understand" his manly needs. They had hashed out their differences so often-but he was still as passionate and Ellen no less laconic than before.
He finished combing his hair and whistled gaily as he stepped into the parlor.
"Having this afternoon off was exactly what the doctor ordered," he said. "God bless the dean's uncle for dying."
"Come here and look at the snapshots my brother mailed along."
"Why not?"
He sat down beside her and thumbed through the photographs, taken of eighth-grade pupils at a school at which her brother taught. "Aren't these little girls cute," she said. "And they grow up to be even cuter. By the way, what sort of a crop do you have in the frosh classes this year"
"I'm loaded with Miss America prospects."
"Try to remember who your real mama is."
His heart missed a beat, chilling him with an icy sensation. But he reasoned that his fondness for young Ida could not possibly be known or suspected by anyone who had contact with Ellen. Thinking about the coed brought torture afresh to his loins. He leaned over and kissed Ellen on the cheek, then patted her hand gently.
"Dove, you hit below the belt when you kid me like that. You're the only woman on earth. To me, students are like yards of linen to the merchant-his raw material for earning a wage."
"Some of the merchandise has ruined lesser men than you." She winked and returned his kiss. "Sit right where you are until I fetch two spots of tea for us."
He leafed through the snapshot album as she headed for the kitchen. Husbands grew accustomed to female whims-like the wife changing her mind about wanting tea. Cursing through his teeth, he trusted that it had been mere coincidence which prompted her to mention the femme fatale beauty of coeds.
By the next morning he felt confident in the way events had shaped up. Barbara Judd didn't appear eager to press him for a continuance of their one-time stand at the motel. And he avoided Ida by hurrying to and from his classes without any glances which could be construed as invitations.
However, he inadvertently let his guard drop at the long break between third and fourth periods. As he strolled down the corridor of the main dorm he heard a voice calling him.
"Yoo-hoo! Wait for me, professor Maurie!"
He folded his arms behind him, halted near the elevator, and watched Ida hurry out of her room. The way her breasts kept jouncing, he reckoned there ought to be a law against it. She was built so deliriously firm and shapely out front that his adam's apple went into convulsions and his eyeballs virtually lit up with a "tilt" sign like a pinball machine.
"I thought we agreed to be on the platonic side," he growled. "You come from a different world. Your family owns that dairy and you're wealthy, brilliant, six miles out of my class!"
"For pity's sake-anyone might think I was chasing you! I just want to ask what the assignment is for tomorrow."
"A book report on 'For Whom The Bell Tolls,' dear daughter."
Ida dabbed at her sophisticated curl hairdo as she moved in close to him. Obviously she wore no bra or other undies beneath the sheer robe; he squinted at the dark aureoles of her breasts, clearly visible through the material. Then she pressed her thighs against him. Her fingers toyed with his hair as she pouted, "You mentioned our rich family. Let me say a few words about the king of Reneson Dairy. He always acted as if he were a boss instead of my father, and I'm at this school because he wanted to get rid of me."
"But why?"
"He had hoped for a son who would grow up to run the business. First Sue was born-she's my sister."
"I didn't think she was your brother," he said testily. "Stop talking down to the teacher of English, or he'll spank you."
"Any time," she grinned.
"So then you came along and Mr. Reneson decided he never would get his wish of a royal line succession."
"I came along like fifteen years later. And there have been no other children since. He raised me as a tom-boy and I'm lucky the gay ones passed me by."
"Gay ones?"
"The lesbian crowd. It often happens when a girl has my kind of background. But anyhow ... I'll pay father back for all that."
In his mind, Maurice was able to trace her logic one step further. Subconsciously she aimed at a goal of losing her virginity at an early age, which would hurt pop via humiliation. Maurice took the coed's hands off his stomach.
"My dad passed away some five years ago. And the old lady has gone downhill ever since; not that she was a paragon of virtue to start with."
"I like it when you speak so frankly."
"I'll bet you do."
"My mother is a real doll who hates being married. In fact I think she'd rather be male-which confuses the entire issue. She's the reason why I can't really see any sense in preserving my pure sex for a husband and the honeymoon and all that."
He felt his collar dampen with perspiration. Ida might just as well come right out and ask him to sleep with her. "A kid like you," he said. "What do you know about biology or-"
"I know enough to be on the safe side. For instance-females are unique because we can have orgasm while unable to conceive a child. No other creature would dare make that statement."
She moved forward, backing into the shadows near the wall. Her lips ground upon his and he tasted a hot tongue scorching the roof of his mouth. She grabbed his hand. Unbelievably, he found himself squeezing the nubile, anxious breast until his blood churned to a boil.
Abruptly he drew away and exhaled in exasperation. "You're a regular Lolita."
"So who's watching?"
"The walls have ears on this campus. It was nice talking to you, kid, but the duties of my profession call."
"Chicken."
His ears tingled uncomfortably at her dare as he hurried away toward the porch. Clouds and a sense of gray foreboding had shrouded the sky above the university grounds. He went across the lawn, entered Wallison Memorial Library and found the grammar book he had been searching for. It would be too bad if anyone had seen him kiss the girl. He thought not, but he still abhorred the prospect of some informer spreading nasty rumors throughout the collegiate ranks.
As he left the library he noticed a squat, muscular boy walking ahead of him. Maurice turned aside at the fountain, headed for a clump of trees. They boy also turned. Maurice pivoted on his heel and decided to play the silly game because he saw the boy checking back out of the corner of his eye.
The stranger followed along at Maurice's side until they reached the steps of the new sophomore building.
"I say," the teacher snapped. "You don't happen to be Agent 008 by any chance?"
"Your voice droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven."
"Please explain who you are and why I attract you so much. It's flattering to get followed around. I gave out my quota of autographs for the month, however, and-"
Bowing in mock subservience, the lad said, "DiCauslow's the name. John DiCauslow. The brainiest and most intellectual student in junior semester." Ha cocked his head, then moistened his lips like any juvenile delinquent at the drag races.
"Thrilled, I'm sure."
"Let's put the cards on the table, prof. I know who you are and what you want from Ida Rene-son. It so happens I'm the one who'll win the heart of that lady fair."
The announcement was rather surprising. Maurice squinted hard, his metallic gray-blue eyes matching the overcast sky. He tried not to show his embarrassment while regaining poise enough to answer.
"I'm not even acquainted with this-Ida."
"You deny trying for a score with her?"
"Stop talking like something out of a Hollywood teenage musical. Your fears are groundless as far as I'm concerned."
John laughed rudely. "Take a look at the main college building up there. Go ahead. It's a real mansion with ivy-covered walls, timbers and gables ... the whole bit."
"So what?" He frowned at the black and white edifice with its chimneys, sunken herb garden, the fountain, the wrought iron wind vanes.
"So you'll be the talk of the campus if you keep chasing Ida. I can make your name ring with sinister, shocking overtones throughout these noble houses. A word to the wise, Father Time."
"I refuse to stand here and listen to your libelous-"
John DiCauslow's haunting laugh echoed off the steps as he walked away. Was his unusual threat part of a joke or did he mean every word of it? Whichever direction the truth lay, he certainly pulled no punches for a kid barely wet behind the ears. Maurice hitched at his belt and hurried along at a lively pace toward his next hour of instruction on the second floor. He doubted that he had much to worry about.
The gym had apparently improved with age since the last time he had seen it. Thirty or forty girls dressed in short-shorts, blouses, and sneakers were lined up in the center of the basketball court. A physical ed instructor, herself possessing a voluptuous and whistle-inducing figure, led the group in calisthenics.
Maurice stood fascinated by the movement of ripe thighs and sinewy, strong calves. He waited patiently near the grandstand as the exercises continued. Though he disliked aggressive or athletic women, he did appreciate the beauty of anatomy.
Again he wondered how there could be such electricity between him and Ida. He watched her do the squat-jumps ... smoothly, perfectly, smiling at him from her place in the mob. They seemed to be direct opposites. She had a vitality and a yen for life's exciting, sparkling high points; he was afraid of tomorrow with his resentment producing morbidness in his outlook. Maybe they cancelled each other out, the divergent traits. Or perhaps the girl needed him to counter-balance what nature had made her, as Maurice needed her in turn.
The session ended at last. Coeds scurried off toward their lockers or outside classes, and Ida began moving toward the grandstand seats. For an instant he froze with indecision. He wanted to rush away and never set eyes upon her again.
But sunlight knifed in from the window and shone through her clothes and he saw the dark mystery of the girl, beckoning him.
He was numb with lust as she came to him. "You were superb on those push-ups. I'd give you a gold star for effort if I were the teacher." He cleared his throat and added, "Unfortunately I'm just an admirer."
"That's a big improvement over what you said yesterday."
"I've been thinking about your father and mother. They didn't give you much, except cash. I mean to fight the world with after you left home."
She toyed with the gold bracelet on her wrist and then used a handkerchief to wipe her heated cheeks. "I couldn't stay in the shadow of their brilliant dairy forever."
"You're trying a little too hard to prove your womanhood. There's more in life than ... than sex."
"Is there? Show me how else a hen-pecked husband can get his confidence back, and feel young again. Some of the happiest men are those who cheated one time-"
"Now you've put me under the microscope, Ida. We promised not to."
She giggled and said, "It's the natural salesgirl coming out, I guess. So tell me what's new in your life. I want to know everything you've done during the last twenty-four hours."
"You drive a hard bargain."
He felt the passion rising within him and he fought against it. Her immaturity was spanking clean, fresh, pulling him with magnet force. He recalled the meaningful threat of that overeducated punk who had claimed to be after Ida.
"I recently met a fellow you might be interested in," said Maurice as he propped one foot on the bottom board of the bleachers. "John DiCauslow. He appears to know quite a lot about you."
A frown curled her forehead. "John? Heck, I haven't heard from him in days."
"Judging by the way he chortled and raved, I thought you might be pinned to him. As if it makes any difference to me. He sounded rather tough-"
"We date occasionally, Maurie. Pay no attention to what he says."
"I do pay attention and I even analyze what people say." He was challenged by the concept of a nervy sophomore boy staking romantic claims in such a menacing manner. In fact he was bugged by John.
Ida winked as she tucked her blouse under the belt of her green short-shorts. The downy blond hair on her upper thighs aroused him.
"You must have played the field in your hey-day!" she said. "Tell me about the girls who clipped over you and planned suicide if you didn't marry them."
"There was only one."
"Platonic?"
"As a matter-of-fact she assumed the role of mistress for quite a while. My first erotic conquest, if you want to know. It left some gap in my existence when she ran out. But I should keep these facts secret rather than letting you in on them, Ida."
"When there's a gap, it has to be filled. I'm sure your wife hasn't helped."
For an instant he was tempted to strike this bold, insolent child. She had the knack of digging right through his outer shell and hitting the tenderness-the painful truth. He smiled slowly. How could he hurt a young psych major, especially the one he hungered to shack up with?
She put her hands on her hips and stared defiantly at him. "Do you think I'm sexy? I mean, if you were single and had the idea of dating me-"
"Please don't think I fear to look at another female, simply because of a wedding ring."
"You act it." She sighed and shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "Of course, John must have put the heeby jeebies in you and scared you away, too. I get all the wrong breaks from fate."
He bit his lip angrily in the awareness that she left him with no honorable exit. She had done everything except take the male initiative, a tact far beneath her intelligence. Ida was more brilliant than her cold-hearted father.
"I've had trouble sleeping," he grunted, "and it's because of you."
She replied with a coy uplifting of her eyebrows.
"Go for a drive with me tonight, Ida. I want to show you the scenery along the river."
"You've put it as a command, of which I had plenty at home in Pennsylvania."
"It's an invitation. Will you ride along or not?"
She seemed to understand intuitively that he had reached the limit of gallantry in his approach. With calculated caution, the girl nodded and said, "Call me and see what happens."