Chapter 9
Never had Sandra seen the recreation hall so beautiful. Chairs lined the walls, and at one end was a bandstand. Bunting hung from the walls and ceiling. In the center of the roof was a large ball with dozens of tiny mirror faces coating it. Later, in the semidarkness, spotlights would catch the revolving mirror and throw a hundred bits of light about the hall.
Above the ball was a large net containing exactly one hundred and fifty balloons, one for each couple. The huge ribbon holding the net had orange letters sewn along its length: HARVEST MOON BALL.
All the girls had caught the excitement. After six weeks of rigid communal living, they were ready for a bit of real socializing. For days, they had worked on the hall and on themselves, sprucing up their party dresses or making themselves new ones in the homemaking shop.
Sandra was pleased that even Candy had caught the spirit. In fact, she had behaved quite well since that terrible night nearly a month before. A clever girl, she had fashioned herself a slinky evening gown, but when Hester caught sight of the plunging neckline, she made her go back to work-on a little jacket to cover more of Candy's sex appeal.
Now it was growing dark, and soon a hundred-and-fifty pairs of feet would come marching down the road and turn into the Treacher Camp gate. The feet would belong to the boys from the Archer Camp, and at the head of the procession would be Anthony Gibbs.
Although she hadn't seen him since that disastrous night, Sandra hadn't been able to get him out of her head. Through a bit of calculated questioning among the other counselors, she had learned that his name was Tony and that he was an assistant professor at Santa Barbara when he wasn't running the Archer Camp.
She told herself that she was foolish to keep him in her thoughts. He was older, perhaps thirty, and chances were he had forgotten her by now. As it was, he had been suspicious of her, she remembered, thinking perhaps she was Hester's playmate for the summer.
Thoughts of Hester reminded Sandra of her responsibilities for that night. She would need to keep a close watch on Candy to prevent another orgy from taking place somewhere beyond the reach of the lights.
In addition, she would have to keep watch on all her girls. Hester had been attracted to the young and appealing Nola Franchetti from the first day of camp. Until now Sandra had been able to look out for her charges.
As for herself, she, too, had been the object of the supervisor's advances. From time to time, Hester would get her in a corner and remind her of their friendship, of their unspoken pact regarding Candy, of Sandra's promised "cooperation." Sandra hadn't been able to avoid a few friendly pats here and there, but she had somehow managed to keep her clothing intact.
Hester's urgency had increased as the weeks rolled by, and Sandra could understand how girls might let their guards down when they were cut off from boys for too long. There had been rumors about several of the girls in the camp, and two had been sent home after being caught in a single bunk together. Two other girls had arrived from Los Angeles the following day to take their places.
Sandra found herself more restless. More and more the thought of an evening with Bobby Williamson seemed appealing. Although she had every second Sunday free to leave the camp, she hadn't returned to the city. She knew her yearning for Bobby wasn't real. And she knew she did not want to become involved with him all over again.
When there were men in Sandra's thoughts, Tony Gibbs occupied the dominant position. Again, she had to smile at herself. He didn't even know her, and that showed how wild her flights of imagine had become.
Under such a strain, she could understand how a girl would let herself get too close to another girl. If she herself had been a weaker person, she might well have succumbed to Hester's advances. After all, Hester was a handsome woman, and she had a great deal to offer-camp privileges, more days off and, most important, a valuable show-business connection.
She was shocked at her thoughts. At the same time, she was a bit concerned at her confidence. The summer wasn't over yet, and the final month probably would be the loneliest of all. She'd have to be extra careful.
"How do I look, Sandra?" '
The voice was at her elbow and, even among the furor of last-minute preparations in the recreation hall, Sandra was startled.
She turned to see Candy beside her, posing in her new gown, properly jacketed. She looked like a girl Sandra's age, instead of just eighteen.
"You look so fabulous I'm frightened all over again," Sandra replied. "Remember, I have your word about tonight."
"Yes, damn it!"
"You promised to stop using that language, too." She looked around and went on, her voice low. "I presume your boy friend of that night under the stars will be here. You're not to leave the building with him."
Candy wrinkled her nose. "With that jerk? Listen, Miss Counselor, that twerp was the lousiest hunk of man I ever had the bad luck to sack in with."
"Candy!" she said. "For God's sake, cool it!
The sound of voices came to them then. At that moment, as though by magic, a half dozen musicians appeared on the bandstand, tuning their instruments. At the same time, the front doors burst open, and scores of young faces-some obviously expectant, others a study in calculated boredom appeared in the recreation hall. Each face belonged to an Archer boy.
The lights blinked once and then came on again, but less intense. The orchestra began to play Harvest Moon, and the party was under way.
Sandra saw him a number of times during the evening, usually from across the floor, but not once did she see him looking in her direction. Not once did Tony Gibbs even speak to her, much less ask her to dance.
It was true, she told herself in a silent but firm voice. He doesn't remember. You're a nobody and he's a college professor and the head of an important boys' camp. Sandra Albright, please forget you ever met Tony Gibbs.
It was after ten o'clock. The party had less than two hours to go. As a special favor to both boys and girls, the directors had given permission for the festivities to go on until midnight. At that hour, the Prince Charmings would take their leave, and the Sleeping Beauties would go back to dreamland for another twelve months.
Sandra finished a dance with a pimply faced youth, stifled a yawn and made her way toward the door and a few breaths of fresh air. Tony Gibbs was at the other end of the hall, gallantly working his way through the ranks of the Treacher Camp counselors, making certain he danced with every one. Well, she wasn't going to hover about like a wall flower, waiting for him to make her evening blossom with excitement.
To hell with Tony Gibbs! Sandra marched outside.
She walked slowly in the darkness. Every few feet, light from the windows illuminated the ground before her and, here and there, couples lounged in the shadows, startled by her approach and then going back to what they were doing. It was perfectly all right, Hester had ruled, for the Treacher young ladies to let themselves be escorted out into the clearing. But the bordering rows of tents and the woods were strictly out of bounds.
Oscar was spending the evening hiking around the perimeter. The night watchman was under orders to prevent any couples from breaking through his picket line.
On she walked, around to the rear of the building, on the side away from the dance. She paused outside Hester's office, surprised to see the light burning. She climbed the steps to the porch, walking with extra softness for some reason, and went to the window.
She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the brightness. Then she could see movement. Hester, dressed in a strangely masculine outfit, was perched on the corner of her desk, leaning forward, talking to someone seated before her.
Sandra gasped. That someone was Nola Franchetti. Hester's hands cupped the pretty girl's face, and Nola's eyes were wide with fright. The hands strayed to her neck, and Sandra could see Hester's smile widen. Her lips were moving as though she were seeking to cast an evil spell over the clean young girl.
Sandra hurried to the door, throwing it open and rushing inside. Hester looked up with surprise and then annoyance, and Nola squirmed until she escaped from the chair. She stumbled across the office to Sandra.
"Yes, what is it?" Hester snapped. Her breathing seemed faster than usual and her hands worked, gripping the sides of the desk until her knuckles whitened.
Sandra put her arm around the girl's thin shoulders. They were trembling and she choked back a sob. She studied the girl for a moment. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I ... I guess so."
"Go on back to the dance," Sandra told her. "When someone else from our tent goes to bed, you go along, too. That way, you won't be alone."
"Yes, Miss Albright." Nola went out.
The two women looked at each other, their eyes wary. The spark of frustration and annoyance still glowed in Hester's glance. Sandra was filled with mingled relief and apprehension-relief that Nola was out of it and apprehension toward what might happen next.
"Well?" Hester took a few steps toward Sandra. "I asked you what you wanted?"
Sandra lifted her chin. "I wanted Nola. She was missed at the dance. I was afraid for her."
"You were afraid." The older woman said the words as a flat statement of fact, her words even, their meaning enigmatic. "Are you still afraid?"
"Of course not." She looked down at her twisting hands, almost surprised to see she wasn't wearing the eternal white of the Treacher Camp. For the dance, she had put on a baby blue party dress. It fitted her snuggly, and its low, square neckline was held in place by thin spaghetti straps.
Hester went to the door. She peered outside a moment and then pulled the blind. She did the same at the window. She came back to Sandra. "You must have something to say."
"Yes. I'd rather you stayed away from the girls in my tent. If you want to talk to them for any reason, please see me first."
Hester's eyebrows lifted and her mouth pursed. "Why you spoiled little snot!" she spat. "Do you realize you're addressing the camp supervisor? I can talk to any girl I wish and, if I choose, dismiss anyone from the camp. You hear me? Anyone?"
"I don't want you to put your hands on her again," Sandra said, her voice quaking. Perhaps it was all over, but at last she'd go down fighting.
She braced herself for the next verbal onslaught from the supervisor, and Hester did indeed open her mouth, her finger shaking under Sandra's nose. Then she stopped, and indecision flickered across her face as she let her arm drop. Surprisingly, she returned to the desk, sat down and took a package of cigarettes from the drawer.
"Come here and sit down," she called.
Sandra took the chair Nola had vacated. Accepting a cigarette, she allowed Hester to light it and they were silent for a moment, puffing quietly. "Ah," Hester murmured, "I needed that."
"So did I," Sandra admitted.
Hester put the cigarette in a tray and reached, taking Sandra's from her lips, putting it aside. "I really don't want to fight with you, my dear." She patted her hand. "It seems we've had so little time together since early in the summer, when we had our nocturnal crisis. We've been almost strangers since then."
Sandra crossed her legs, tugging at the hem of her skirt, wishing it were long enough to cover her knees. Hester watched, obviously enjoying her discomfiture.
"It's a beautiful dress, and you look lovely tonight, darling. It's refreshing to see a Treacher girl out of uniform."
Sandra squirmed. "Thank you. All the girls seem so different tonight."
Hester picked up her cigarette, drew on it, put it back on the tray. "Yes, I remember our discussion when you pleaded with me to spare that Simms tramp. There was a sort of unwritten promise that you and I would become the best of friends, Sandra."
"Everything has gone smoothly. Candy has behaved like a lady." Sandra puffed on the cigarette. "I really think she's been helped by her experience here."
"How lovely!" The eyes flickered with mischief. "You know, I let you change my mind that night. Now, for the second time, you burst in on me and tell me what I must and must not do. If I have let you have your way, my dear, you must realize there's a reason."
"I really don't..."
Hester slapped the desk, and Sandra jumped. "You owe me something! You know what I need and when the mood suits you, I get a half-promise you'll cooperate. When we've made our bargain, you manage to skip out." She breathed deeply, her breath noisy in her throat.
"Well, by heaven, you're going to begin delivery or find out who's running this camp. I can still send Candace Simms back to Los Angeles, and I can still bring Nola Franchetti or any other girl into this office for a private conference."
Sandra was aghast, although she realized something like this might happen eventually. She had baited Hester more than once, and managed to make a bargain without paying the price.
Hester was smiling now, leaning forward, her eyes twinkling. "My, don't I sound ruthless!" she said. "Actually, I'm a pushover when people get to know me. Oh, I can't count the number I've helped in show business, and for almost nothing. Simply because they were kind, and we got along so well." Her smile broadened. "I'd like to help you, Sandra, if you can show me you have real talent. I believe you said you were a dancer."
Sandra squirmed. Lord, how she wanted to accept help! How badly she wanted a push along the path to success! But would she need to be with people like Hester St. Claire in order to make it in show business? She prayed she would not.
"Yes, I dance."
"Perhaps we have time for an audition." Hester rose, clapping her hands, overjoyed at her idea. "Yes, here and now. Come on, my dear, show me how you dance. Do something slow and graceful something in which you twist your body this way and that, something which will excite me, something you love so much that you, too, will be stimulated by the time youve finished."
"Please!" Sandra half whispered, looking toward the door. "There's the party..."
"Screw the party! It won't be over for two hours and everyone's having a harmless good time-just as we are." She stood over her, her fingers resting lightly on her shoulder. "Come on. Kick off those shoes and show me how you can stimulate an audience." She laughed. "I promise you, you beautiful thing, I can be a very appreciative audience."
"I couldn't," Sandra whimpered, her body shaking at the macabre thought of her gliding about the room, exciting another woman with her movements. "There's no music."
"That's nonsense." Hester leaned over the desk. "We have the radio." She snapped it on, and instantly the strains of Dancing in the Dark filled the room. She turned it down low. "We mustn't clash with the live music on the other side of the building.
"No, please...! " Sandra felt the strength draining from her body. Dancing would be impossible. Shame and embarrassment washed over her, leaving her limp in the chair.
Hester saw. "No? Perhaps you're too tired."
"I'm exhausted."
"Very well, then." She walked around Sandra, making a complete circle of inspection. "I'll simply be forced to examine your talents in an inert state. Just sit quietly and let your hands rest at your sides."
Sandra's body felt positively leaden by now, and, indeed, her hands hung limply over the arms of the chair. She wanted to let her head loll to one side, but she managed to keep it upright. How strange it was, she thought. What black magic had Hester used to rob her of her strength?
She watched Hester hovering over her, saw her lick her lips, all the while purring soft endearments as her eyes danced with anticipation.
"Remember, darling," she said time after time, "you owe me something. You owe me this." She said it again and again, and Sandra felt like a subject being hypnotized by a swinging pocket watch.
At last, Hester disappeared behind her chair and stopped, her breathing harsh. Even over the murmur of the radio, Sandra could hear the noise in her throat. She waited, her body trembling, wondering where her tormentor would strike, wondering even more desperately why she could not leap up and flee.
The touch came, lightly, mere fingertips on Sandra's shoulders. The fingers drummed in time to the dance rhythm from the radio, tapping her bare skin, occasionally catching a spaghetti strap and pulling at it.
The fingers whispered down to her throat, coming together under her chin, and Sandra could feel
Hester's body leaning over her, bending to its task. The weight of the other woman's breasts rested against the back of her head, propping her erect, keeping her from swaying.
Down came the hands, lower on her throat, finding the first swell at the tops of her breasts, sliding still further down across Sandra's skin. The hands slipped into the valley between her trembling bosom, thrusting deeply into the warm, quaking depression.
"Hester...! "
"Hush, darling! You're doing wonderfully!"
The hands left the depths of the valley, separating and working their way up either side of her breasts, tugging against the tight bodice, squirming under the baby-blue satin, struggling to reach the high points of Sandra's mounds.
Sandra closed her eyes, the tears running down her cheeks. She clenched her teeth, her jaw working. Her hands curled themselves into fists which beat feebly at the air.
Hester was almost at her goal and her fingers trembled with excitement almost as much as Sandra's body trembled with despair.
The moment had come...
Mercifully, like a hand from heaven, a thundering series of knocks sounded at the door. Sandra sobbed aloud with relief as Hester's hands whipped away from her body.