Chapter 5

Ida walked past a crowd of bettors who had lined up near the parlay window. She twisted the bracelet nervously on her forearm and continued moving down a graded ramp toward the track.

She smelled the musty paint on the grandstand seats, mingling with other odors in her nose-dust and iron girders and the nearby horses themselves. Ida smiled as a feeling of triumph glowed within her. It was more than the happy knowledge that she had given herself utterly and superbly to Maurice.

Throughout early adolescence, Ida Reneson had suffered mentally because her mother had hated the role of "woman" which was foisted upon her.

What sense did it make to struggle and sacrifice as a wife? This was the theme under which the two Reneson daughters had grown up; only an idiot could enjoy being female. And so Ida would not hoard her virginity or save it for some husband. She had become lewd, promiscuous-a fornicator with the English prof until her independence was complete.

The mobbed bleachers at Unicorn Race Track hummed with noise and expectation. She halted at the railing, scanning the faces around her. At last she saw a thin figure weave through the assemblage of people who stood anxiously near the track's outer edge.

Ida extended her arm in greeting. "I thought I'd never find you," she said to Sue as they shook hands daintily. "The fourth race is ready to start, by the looks of it. How have you been?"

"Okay, for an ancient lady."

"You're just thirty years old, sis. In the prime of your life."

The sisters gazed at one another for a moment, and Ida was amused by the twinkle in Sue's eye. Sue had an angular, olive-skinned face, well tanned by her outdoor activities as owner of the horse breeding stable. Her royal air and the adequateness of her legs and figure in general gave her a lofty appearance. The ideal career girl. But of course it was not unusual for a Reneson to remain single and established in bachelorism.

Sue led the way to their reserved front seats and commented, "You still have that weakness for mature people. I'm trying to be a bit of a mother to you, Ida, and keep you out of trouble. Older men are poison."

"Come off it."

"I remember the oil executive in Jersey. And the high school principal-"

"Did they ever date me?"

"No. But they sure tried."

"So stop worrying and understand the facts of life." Ida sat down calmly to wait for the horses and jockeys to finish their warm-up. "As a coed I now analyze everyone where sex is concerned."

"Stay in your age group. I'll be snooping a-round at Milltown to check on you."

Soon the gate clanged open and Ida watched the race begin with a vengeance. She had pooled a few hundred with her sister in a wager on "Flying Mare." It irked Ida to be warned or chided as if she were a child, when suddenly she knew more than enough to take care of herself. She came from the upper economic class. In such a world, the sexes were equal and if you liked a man, you had him in bed when the occasion warranted. Let Sue act out her private eye farce; she'd run into a dead stop with Maurice-even if she did happen to find out he was involved sexually.

"Come on, Flying Mare;" Sue cried out in the din of the mob.

Her hands were gesturing excitedly, a familiar sight to Ida because she knew that Sue always did talk manually as well as with her tongue. The ostentatiousness pleased her. She seemed proud of having gained wealth without a college education behind her, and she displayed this intellectual lack deliberately in many of her actions.

"Oh, sugar!" Ida complained as the horses crossed the line one after another. Flying Mare had dragged in fifth, and Ida quickly tore up her ducats and threw them into the wind.

She had coffee with her sister at a diner, after which they separated and returned to their respective cars in the street.

"You keep in touch," Sue advised as she slipped the black gloves upon her fingers. "And be careful who you date at those wild parties."

Ida smiled and got into her large Rolls-Royce at the curb. As she cruised toward the university, she noticed that clouds had drifted in from the ocean and darkened the afternoon sky. A nice day to catch up on one's reading. She parked at her spot near the dorm and strolled alone past a clump of small spruce trees.

At the steps leading up to the book-store she was surprised to see Yankee Lane hurry across a patch of grass toward her. He seemed as vigorous and strong as ever.

"There she is," he said. "The spittin' image of my girl friend!"

"Yankee! What on earth are you doing around these parts?"

"I hope you didn't think I'd just drop out of the picture. They told me you had a room on campus. So I looked around and waited and you finally showed up." He surveyed the length of her body, his eyes raking in each curved outline and the skin which flashed under her dress as the breeze blew it helter-skelter. "A kiss for the old beau?"

She let him taste her lips for an instant but then she drew away hurriedly. "The past is dead, Yankee."

"I got a job as chauffeur for one of those rich cats on the hill." He ignored her resistance and took her by the arm. "Surprised? I'll be around you quite a bit, you know."

"It so happens that I'm going steady," she lied.

"We'll go about changin' all that before long. Hey, you're as gorgeous as ever!"

She had gotten her fill of this man and his friends at the motorcycle club back home. So he had moved to Milltown and undoubtedly had new cycle cronies. Well, he wouldn't have any more luck trying to seduce her than he had a year ago.

"See you in the funny papers," she said as she walked away."

"Whoah! Come back here!"

Getting rid of him in such direct fashion would be preferable to dragging it out. Yankee was persistent, though. She anticipated further attempts on his part to communicate with her, and the trouble he might cause. At the book-store she bought a Joyce novel and went around via the rear exit to her dorm.

Ida's first class in the morning was not until 9:30. After making her bed and painting her nails with scarlet polish, she started to dust the vases which decorated the room. Again her thoughts dwelled upon Maurice.

His presence had thrilled Ida far beyond the physical plane, a fact which gave sufficient reason for wishing to continue seeing him. He talked so well and with such experience. She could reach out past her capabilities, search herself and discover things that really mattered. The prof made it easier for her to plan the future career in social work which she had in mind.

She heard the radio playing rock-and-roll music on the end table. A gay, happy tune bubbled in her throat; she sang along with the radio as she ran the feather duster upon shelves and lamps and woodwork. She picked up her alligator purse from the vanity.

"That's a beautiful handbag," said a voice behind Ida.

Whirling about, she saw an attractive woman standing in the open doorway. "We have the habit of knocking at doors in this place," Ida said rather testily. "You frightened me."

"I'm known for my quietness. In fact Maurie calls me sneaky, in his lighter moods. You're the Reneson child."

"The choice of words is off-base."

"To be sure. I'm Ellen Hayko, dear lady."

A sinking sensation grabbed at Ida's stomach and she stood straight up, jutting her breasts outward. "So you're-the prof's wife."

"We're not exactly kissing cousins from Maine. I want to make a suggestion, and you'd better listen very well. I know what's going on."

An awkward pause fell between them like a wall of stone. Rage was dark on Ellen's face, and she stepped forward into the room without an invitation. Ida groped for the right answers but she felt at a disadvantage because of the shock element. It seemed impossible that she and Maurice could have been found out ... unless his spouse was guessing. Yes, that must be it.

"Exactly what do you mean, Mrs. Hayko? Your blood pressure looks a bit high at the moment."

"Ah-the innocent pose. It's something you kids excel at. The teen-age pattern runs along an obvious track, and you're no exception." Ellen's words came out listless, devoid of enthusiasm, which probably constituted her natural pitch of oratory. If she couldn't get more excited than this, on the subject of cheating husbands-. Ida began to chuckle.

"What in hell are you snickering about?" demanded Ellen. "I know about you coeds. Bored with sex in a car, bored with adolescent fellows, and yet you feel pressure on you that says you must become adult. And thus you turn into whores."

"Shut up, you foul bitch! I'm respectable!"

"Hah! To a person like me, love has sanctity and it's the only reason for having a man to live with. Whether he plays football for the JV's or teaches astronomy is beside the point. Your silly hero-worship-"

"I wish you'd either get to the point or else scram," Ida snapped. She felt that her performance was rather effective and convincing.

"The point? Dear infant, you just leave Maurie alone and don't ever touch him again."

"Explain what gives with that word touch. You're accusing me of-"

"I'm not a barbarian who makes rash accusations. You heard the warning. I have friends and they keep their eyes open around this college, so the truth's a common fact, Ida. You're chasing him. If I thought you had already succeeded-all the way-I'd tear your hair out!"

"Listen to me, now. I could care less about you and what you've imagined. I'll run my own life."

"Take care that it's yours, without any side affair. Do you think I'd let some tramp ruin eleven years of marriage?"

Ida felt her control vanish and she strode forward angrily. Clenching her fist, she was ready to launch a haymaker punch when Ellen suddenly backed out into the hall. Fear blanched her complexion until it was nearly white.

"Stop behaving in a tantrum. You're intelligent enough to realize where we both stand. Good-bye."

The fury pulsed away from Ida's brain as she leaned against the door panel. Tears began to trickle from her eyes. She hadn't wanted this ... an ultimatum from the suspicious wife. Sure, Ellen had been taking a shot in the dark and didn't truly believe in Ida's guilt. The woman simly had to search somewhere for the culprit who might be alienating Maurie's love.

Ida wondered if things had gone too far. If she were falling in love with him, the day for a showdown would inevitably arrive. She took the handkerchief from her purse, wiped the dampness off her cheeks, and turned away toward the parlor again.

The mere fact that his lunch tray was jammed to the hilt gave Maurice enlightenment. He nodded in private agreement with himself, sitting at the long table in the cafeteria, his attention fixed upon the food he would eat. Buttered buns, a dish of mashed potatoes, pork chops, cucumbers and coffee. At last he knew why he had gained so much weight, the answer being the simple one of over-indulging-which invariably led to a pot-belly.

He thought about the fast punch he had dealt John DiCauslow at the party. Not bad at all. And the beauty part was ... everyone involved had apparently accepted the ruckus as an unfortunate yet meaningless event. It was forgotten and filed away in the waste basket of their memory.

However, Maurice very well comprehended the significance in his wife's mind. She had deliberately induced John's passion, despite her denial to Maurice later, and once started on a task she insisted on pursuing it. He trusted that she would confine her experiments to more conventional gimmicks rather than stripping down to her fuzzy, cute waist to check on his jealousy quota.

The pork chops tasted greasy in his mouth. He grimaced, wiping his lips with a napkin, and then saw Yvette easing toward him. Seen in the sober light of midday, she did indeed sport quite a remarkable figure beneath the tight sweater and skirt. Her legs were rounded off at the right spots and he could see almost every luscious inch of Yvette's thighs. Her flesh shone flawlessly-a golden bronze hue from the sun, and he reckoned she had the dark type of breast-ends. Wine red, full, and hard when they were kissed.

Her nubile abdomen seemed to taunt him as she swayed invitingly near the table. She set her tray down opposite him.

"You're staring, teach. I guess you like this stuff. It's been touched and petted in every way you can think of-except the limit."

"Please don't call me teach."

"Why not?" said Yvette as she slid onto the bench and gave him a view of her almond brown legs up to the navel.

"Because that's a nickname which is used by your dime-store phony friend, the philosopher."

"John?"

"Yes, John."

"Sorry about the-uh-discussion you two had in my room the other night. Pass the salt, Maurie? Thanks. Anyway, John's what you'd call an acquaintance and not a friend."

He picked up the toothpick and started knifing at his right rear molars. She had claimed to be an undefiled maiden. Although Maurice had doubts about that-in fact he'd bet any amount of cash she was lying-the idea of Yvette flirting openly with him was rather offbeat.

"You're an interesting guy," she said between bites of the hot dog. "And we're pretty similar, we two, after all. I dig modern jazz as much as you do."

"I suppose you also smoke Havana cigars because I do."

"Right."

"Something's on your mind, Yvette, or you wouldn't have come over here and given me the free leg show. Unless you like to tease. In which case you're going around in circles, because it doesn't irk me to be teased or led on." He noted with mild shock that a button on her blouse was open and she did have very dark nipples. He tore his eyes away. "Perhaps you're jaded with the boys in your milieu."

She giggled, "You sound as if you're motivating a cheap novel on suburbia and bored housewives."

"So give me the answer."

"Believe it or not, I am tired of being decent and virginal and the innocuous life of any party I'd love to change my image."

He found it interesting to follow her rapid, often erratic ideas as they flowed out. This girl could help him understand why he had suddenly become irresistible and the target of teen-age coeds. Or maybe it was vice versa. He must find out what demon was throwing him into dangerous liaisons with the kids, regardless of which side did the chasing.

"I was brought up in Manhattan," Yvette went on. "A rich but tough neighborhood. My folks didn't really care what happened, with the result that I hung around with loose crowds. But I drew the line at sex orgies and was deemed a square."

"There's such an age gap between us," he argued, "that we talk different languages where sex is concerned."

"No, Maurie. Desire remains strong even for the middle-aged, which you've barely reached."

"I'm forty-four."

She sipped thoughtfully at her glass of chocolate milk for a few seconds. He felt conspicuous, like a fish in some aquarium. But when he glanced about him, he observed that many other instructors also sat at tables with students of the opposite gender, and no one particularly noticed him and Yvette.

He had a hunch about the point she was making, by her roundabout means. Maybe she'd be all right. It was for sure that she wouldn't blab something so intimate to any of her associates, because the kid had intelligence. He sighed and drummed his fingers on the table as he waited.

"I want you to take me out," she said finally. "What?"

"You're a very nice man and you couldn't possibly think I'd offer propositions or seduction. Just one date, prof. Platonic and yet entertaining because of the danger element. A little romantic atmosphere would even be appropriate-"

"Jumping toads, you girls must think I'm an ogre!" he whispered. "I don't hang scalps in my boudoir!"

"I have a summer apartment off the campus."

"Out of the question."

She arose and winked at him. "You'll call for me at three, tomorrow afternoon? Unless you're afraid."

Miserably he glared at her and wondered how they intuitively hammered upon his weak points, until he was trapped or faced with dishonor by refusing. Eve had probably done the same thing to Adam. Muttering under his breath, Maurice absently tightened his neck-tie. "You give me little choice," he said. "If a boy answers the door I'll turn you over my knee later and spank you."

He left the cafeteria, his nerves shot by the noises of the chow-hall work crew. Strangely enough, he began to look forward to the date with Yvette and relished the idea of playing with her body. She certainly wouldn't demand that they engage in innocent scrabble games. He anticipated the wildest orgy of his experience, while discovering more about what made his own libido tick.

That evening he went for a long walk amid the shadows of Catacomb Park, which was mainly a long stretch of seashore ridged with a breakwater running parallel to the beach. Baseball diamonds and dozens of trees adorned the park's grassy section. Maurice, haunted by reminiscent thoughts, recalled how he had first scored with Ellen on this very boulevard.

He had parked at Windy Point, under the high harvest moon. "No, you mustn't do that!" Ellen had objected when his groping hands advanced from the gray lace bra down to her panties. But persistence usually won out. And this time it had the tensions of courtship and an engagement ring to help break through her resistance. His kisses burned her flesh like white-hot darts while he whispered and fondled the reluctant entrance to triumph, which she guarded zealously by clamping both legs together. The dizziness of an August night overwhelmed her. Maurice had wept for joy as the evil crash reverberated inside the girl and he was hurled about as though on a hurricane-vicious sea.

But this had occurred more than a decade ago. He moved past the park benches now, alone and confused, knowing how soon winter would be arriving with its cold arctic blasts. It was the winter of his life, also.

He possessed ambitions and dreams, and yet how many of them would be realized? Desperately he battled for success in his teaching career and maybe a power position at the university. The aging men always sought power or authority. He laughed privately and snapped a decayed twig in his hand while the other goal came to his mind ... you had to avoid failure in sex, even when your wife fostered failure.

All work made Jack a dull lad. Maurice knew he could count on fillies like Ida or Genevieve to supply the fun he required. Was their freshness and immaturity a symbol of the youth which had passed him by?

Ida represented the real danger because she could be easy to love and worship in a permanent arrangement. Whenever he spoke with her, it was like being reborn.

But a fountain of youth was not destined for him, he reasoned. A new determination gripped him and he resolved that his marriage would be kept afloat no matter what the cost. It meant a break in his relationship with Ida. He hoped the rupture could be made without any drastic measures such as total absence from the coed.

Digging out his roots and drifting to a different college in a strange town would be the most painful thing imaginable. He doubted that he had the stomach to try it.