Chapter 14
Sandy waited quietly, leaning her back against a tree, while the nine girls cleaned up their lunch things and scurried about the camp ground, anxious to leave it more neat than when they arrived. The fire rings reminded her of a wild beach party ... It seemed like years ago.
In the past two months, the blonde girl from the slums of Los Angeles had emerged as the natural leader of the group and, in many ways, had become Sandra's assistant.
The responsibility had been good for her. She had learned what it meant to use authority wisely, she had learned that kindness and patience could get results better than screaming and fighting, she had learned that even a small measure of personal success can be rewarding.
Her character had done an almost complete turnabout during her stay at the Treacher Camp. If it weren't for Hester St. Claire, she would have begged to return the following year, perhaps as a counselor. In the meantime, she decided, she was going back to high school and work hard to do something for those sagging grades before it was time for college.
College! Ten weeks earlier the life of a college coed was as remote to Candy as a trip to Pluto by skateboard. Now, even though she was a year behind her former classmates-thanks to her stub-born refusal to study-she was ready to work toJ ward college campus life. She would beef up her final year of high school with college-entrance courses-things like algebra, chemistry, language and English, instead of sewing, physical education and homemaking.
Already she had sent for scholarship lists, had found out who was giving away how much for students at which schools. She was certain she could make it at college if she studied hard, earned a scholarship and worked on the side.
She smiled to herself, tossing her champagne hair in the sun. Candy Simms wouldn't have time to be bad any more.
"We're all ready, Candy," Nola called from the clearing. "Shall we put on our packs?"
"Yes," she called. "We've got to get back so we can clean up before dinner."
They seemed too young as she watched them struggling into their gear, helping one another with straps, picking up escaping knives and forks and tucking them back into pockets. The youngest among them was only two years younger than Candy, but none, she was certain, had seen life as she had.
That was what, in a sense, had made her strong today. Her life had been the crucible which had made her a leader. She was like a veteran soldier-a combat man who had seen it all-with a group of recruits.
As they hiked through the forest, heading for the camp, Candy thought for the hundredth time how much Sandra had helped her. If Sandra hadn't gone to bat for a little blonde tramp from L.A. that morning after she got caught in the woods, Candy would be back in Los Angeles today-probably washing dishes at Juvenile Hall.
What a wonderful friend the dark-haired girl from UCLA had been. If only she could model her life after Sandra's. Sandra was beautiful, intelligent and, most important, she was a lady-a true lady with a lady's background.
She frowned, remembering how she happened to be leading Sandra's little band on this particular day. Sandra hadn't been well at breakfast, and Candy had found her throwing up behind the tent just before the hike. She had insisted that Sandra return to bed and taken the group into the woods.
Candy was worried about Sandra. For the past two days she'd been behaving strangely, as though she were either ill or terribly upset. Perhaps it had something to do with Tony Gibbs. Perhaps she was mourning because the summer was almost over and they would be parting.
She shook her head. It wouldn't be much of a parting, really. He would be in Santa Barbara and she in Westwood, less than a hundred miles away.
At any rate, she'd make it her business to get to the bottom of Sandra's trouble when they returned to camp. She owed her so much-everything, in fact. Sandra's problems were Candy's problems, and that was the way it was going to be.
It was late in the afternoon when they dragged themselves into the tent area. It was a hot day, even though it was almost September, and, despite a summer of physical conditioning, ten miles in the forest could slow even inexhaustible teenage energies. But by the time the dinner bell sounded, they'd be as fresh as a bull pen pitcher, ready to down a fifteen hundred-calorie, baked ham supper.
Sandra was not in her bed, and Candy told the others to take their baths, change their clothes and stay out of trouble until dinner. Then she began to look.
She found her in the forest, a hundred yards beyond the last tent. Sandra sat on a log in a tiny clearing, her chin resting on her fists, staring at the ground. Candy sat by her side before Sandra noticed there was company.
"Oh ... Hello."
"Hello yourself. Why the hermit act?"
Sandra shrugged while Candy studied her. She didn't seem physically ill any more, but she wasn't ready to run the mile in four minutes, either.
Sandra cleared her throat. "I had things to think about."
"What things?"
"I'd ... rather not say." She turned her head away, her body slumping.
"I thought we were tell-all buddies, blood sisters and all that jazz."
"Not about everything."
Apparently, she planned to say more, but a choking sob cut off her words. She let herself sink down on the log, her face on the rough bark, her fingers stretched like claws, digging into the wood.
Sandra cried, her body shaking, retching, writhing in total misery ... complete agony. Candy waited, knowing there was nothing she could do until it was purged. Perhaps then Sandra would accept help.
At last it was over, and Sandra sat up, looked at Candy and fell against her, burying her face in the blonde girl's breasts, her tears still falling, making Candy's T-shirt wet through. This time, when she lifted her face, there were no more tears.
Her eyes were puffy, red-rimmed, and she held a handkerchief to her nose, but there was no more moisture to be shed.
"Candy ... Candy!"
The poor thing was in desperate trouble, Candy realized at last. It wasn't merely the unhappiness of a temporary parting from Tony. Sandra would be strong enough to endure that. No, this was something bad.
"Tell me. I want to help."
Sandra shook her head. "You can't."
"Just telling me will help you. I know it will."
"I'm too ashamed."
Candy squinted, her lips pursed. "He's dropped you. Is that it? Tony's given you the gate." She patted Sandra's sleek hair. "Don't worry. You'll find somebody..."
"No, no, no. It's more. I gave myself to him, time after time, and then Hester told me."
"Told you what?"
Sandra took a deep breath and the words came in a rush. "He's married. Very much married. Four children. Hester stunned me, crippled me with the news. Then she ... she..."
The hairs prickled at the back of Candy's neck and she sat up straight, like a tigress ready to pounce. "She what?"
"She caught me when I was helpless. She threatened to tell everyone of my affair if I didn't..."
"Go on!"
"If I didn't let her ... take me..." Sandra's voice trailed off to a whisper and Candy had to keep her head close to hear.
She seized Sandra by the shoulders, turning her body roughly so that they looked into one another's eyes. "She raped you? She went the route?"
"I..." The dark head nodded. "Your way of saying it is so incisive, so terribly expressive. She ... went ... the ... route."
Candy got go her feet, feeling strength surge through her body. She rocked forward on her toes, her arms also forward like a wrestler preparing to apply a hold. "It's going to be all right, Sandra. Finish your cry and get back to the tent. You'll be taking the girls to dinner."
Sandra looked up, her arm raised in a questioning helplessness. "What are you going to do? I wouldn't want..."
"Do as you're told," Candy snapped. "Straighten up and get your fanny back to the tent. You have a responsibility to those girls. Now! Move!"
Sandra got up, hesitated, and then walked off slowly toward the camp.
Candy watched her go, wishing she could break down and have a good cry herself. She couldn't afford that. Not yet. She had to make someone pay for crippling Sandra.
Hester wasn't in the office, but the girl who was messenger for the day told Candy that their supervisor was at her tent, dressing for dinner.
Good, Candy thought, going outside again. What better place tban Hester St. Claire's private tent? They would be more alone, apart from the crowd, where Hester's screams would not be heard so quickly.
She crossed the clearing, went through the rows of tents and some distance beyond until she came to the tent which was Hester's private domain, a place where the supervisor could be alone, free from the responsibility and the presence of a hundred-and-fifty girls.
She stopped outside the screen door and knocked, letting her impatient fist pound hard before she remembered her plan. She knocked again, this time with proper respect for the privacy of her leader.
"What is it?" a voice called. "It's Candy Simms."
"Oh." The voice was flat, suspicious. They hadn't gotten along since the night Hester had tried to paw her in the back of Tony Gibbs' office. "I'm dressing. See me at the mess hall."
"I want to talk to you now ... Hester." She dropped a pregnant pause in her words before she used the supervisor's first name, and her use of the first name was a departure in itself.
There was no sound for a moment, and then the voice was just a foot away, on the other side of the screen. "What do you want to see me about?"
"It's personal."
"Personal? How?"
"Well..." Candy dug her toe in the step and looked down. "Summer's almost over, Hester, and I'd sure like to come back next year. I wanted to tell you how bad I felt about that trouble I got into with the Archer boy. That night, when you tried to be nice to me later on, well, I guess I didn't appreciate it very much."
"You certainly didn't, you little hellion. My lower stomach had a blue mark on it for a week."
Hester's words were snappish, but Candy could hear a note of hope in them, as though Candy were now considered a rogue who was ready to repent-to do her duty for her leader.
"Very well," she said at last, and Candy heard the lock snap off. "Come inside."
She opened the door and let it close behind her, keeping her hands hidden until she'd set the lock again. Slowly, her eyes grew accustomed to the shadowy interior. After the brightness outside it took almost a minute.
Then she saw the room, the dresser, the vanity with its bench and mirror, the bed...
Hester was seated at her vanity. She had on her white cotton uniform skirt and a brassiere and she stared into the mirror, her hands on top of her head as she pinned her hair. Her concentration seemed almost complete.
Candy stepped behind her and waited. At last Hester looked up at her in the mirror, and her hands dropped to her lap. "You want to be nice now, so I'll allow you to return next year. Just how, Candace Simms, do you intend to be nice."
"By doing something you like." Hester smiled with one corner of her mouth. "I knew your type would know the score about ... women like us. And I know you're an expert. No girl with a body like yours could be completely innocent."
"You're so right. Shall I show you?" Hester waited, her back straight, her hands twisting with anxiety. "Please do."
Candy leaned over her, dropping a hand over either shoulder, down to her breasts. She ran her fingers inside the cups of the brassiere until she was able to grip the fullness of each mound, her fingers closing over their ends, scissoring, making them seem to inflate like rubber balls.
"Oh. God...! "
"You like it, Hester?"
"What do you think, you little fool?" She had her head thrown back, her eyes closed, but Candy wasn't ready to strike yet. She let her hands slide lower, into the waist of the skirt, still lower, and Hester began to writhe. like a giant snake, she let herself weave back and forth on the stool, her hips twisting, her breasts heaving ever faster.
"This isn't right," she breathed, placing her hands over Candy's. "I'm the aggressor, the one who always takes charge. Don't you understand? You're reversing the roles..."
Candy took her hands away and stepped back. "I didn't know it worked that way, sweetie," she murmured, her hands behind her back, her breasts jutting in a way she knew was driving the hungry supervisor out of her senses. "I don't know if I want you to touch me like that. It seems sort of nasty..."
Hester had turned on her most engaging smile, and her hands were out, palms up, begging, pleading for Candy to stop her back-pedaling. Candy kept a few feet between them, always shifting, always just out of reach.
Hester came on, still smiling, her lips moving in the mumble of a woman who is just inches from the treasure of a lifetime. "Candy ... Beautiful blonde Candy ... Come to your lover-boy ... Your man wants you..."
Candy let herself step back against the bed and be upset so that she plunged down into its softness. Hester was right over her, bending down, her hands extended like vulture claws.
"My knees," Candy breathed, choking with what she hoped was convincing passion. "Start with my knees and work up. I love it that way."
Hester smiled like a witch over a caldron. "You tramp. That's all you are, isn't it? A slum bitch who swings both ways."
"My knees ... please!" Candy pointed.
"Yes ... Yes. I'll make you give up all men and all other woman." Hester was choking. "I'll make you mine for as long as I want you."
"Touch my knees!"
The hands, still bent like claws, went to her knees, and the face hovered over Candy, exposed. Candy loved the sublime moment when she drew back her fist and drove it into Hester St. Claire's face, seeing the blood splatter when the blow broke her nose.
Hester went back and down, and Candy was on her, her tight little body straddling the older woman, her fists raining blow after blow, always into the face ... determined to make the witch ugly for life...