Chapter 3
The wood fire, trapped inside its ring of concrete, had given up the struggle, and its flames had faded to a mound of glowing coals which cast the only light on the beach.
The faces were in shadow, mostly, with red highlights from the fire, so that they looked like Indians. There were eight or ten of them, three girls, the others boys, all from the high school.
The year was over, another lousy term had ended. In another year, she'd be free, unless she quit before then. She wanted out now, but they practically broke down and cried at school when anybody talked about quitting. Dropout-that was the dirty word. They said she'd go straight to hell if she dropped out. Naughty, naughty...
Candy wiggled her toes in the sand, enjoying its locked-in warmth from the afternoon sun. She wriggled her bottom, too, working it into the blanket. Her suit was drying, leaving salt on her body, making it tingle and itch in a way that she liked.
She looked again at the faces in the ring. Generally they were seated boy, boy, girl, boy, boy, girl, so that each girl got plenty of attention all the way around. From time to time, one of the girls would be urged to lie back on the sand, and a husky, brown body would be over hers for a while in a tangle of arms and lips and busy hands.
Sitting, waiting for the cigarette to make its rounds, hoping she'd get at least two more puffs before it died and fell from the end of its toothpick, Candy was sad. Perhaps the pot would help, but she doubted it.
In her effort to escape her father and the stinking shack on the hill, she had been out every day and every night since the term ended. Already, it seemed like a long summer, and she wondered if her body could take the punishment until fall. She hoped so, for this life was better than life at home.
Home! The word was a joke. What was home? It was nothing. It was worse than nothing. It was a shack at the top of a flight of stairs, clinging to the slope of a scrubby hill. It was a place which rattled with winter's cold and rain, a place which sweltered in summer.
Worst of all, it was a place where her father prowled, waiting for her, pawing her, alternately using force and sickening pleas in his efforts to seduce her...
"Hey, your turn!"
She was startled by the bump on her elbow and turned to the boy, taking the cigarette from him. Nuts! It wouldn't last even another round. She raised it to her mouth and sucked, feeling its heat and strength. Holding the smoke in her mouth, she passed the cigarette.
Then she swallowed, taking the fumes into her body, inviting them to fill her breast, her stomach, her loins with their strength. When she exhaled less smoke went out than came in, and she wondered where it lay inside her.
The stuff worked, and her spirits were buoyed again, and she looked at the youth by her side, giggling. He giggled back, and she tried to remember his name. He was one of the newer ones, and the pot got to him more quickly.
Awkwardly, he put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, hearing his intake of breath. Apparently, he was surprised that she seemed to yield so willingly. She turned her face up to his and waited. Presently he kissed her on the lips, and she placed her hand flat against his chest, feeling his skin twitch.
She waited again, but the arm around her did not move. The best he could manage was a hesitant probing with the tip of his tongue. She opened her mouth wide and drew him in, pulling at his tongue, trying to suck it from its roots. With a gasp, he pulled his head back and away.
"Oh, for . . ! " She gnashed her teeth. "Come on, old buddy. This stuff will wear off before we're..."
She felt the touch on her thigh and turned to look over her shoulder. The boy on her other side was leaning, his fingers pressingly insistently against the inside of her leg, pawing the soft, white skin. She liked the touch. It kindled a deep flame, almost like another puff of pot.
She looked at his face. It was a boy they called
Mac. He had been a regular at their parties since the day school closed.
"Hey, bo," she whispered, turning to him, forgetting her other suitor.
"Hey, yourself!" he muttered, moving his hand to her belly, again kneading the flesh. The hand drifted up to her throat and pushed.
Candy let herself fall backward, slowly, gracefully, until her shoulders touched the blanket. It was warm and a bit gritty with sand, but she enjoyed working her spine against it.
"Hey, what are you, a belly dancer?" He was leaning over her, his elbow jabbing her stomach, his face close.
"You name it, I'll be it, Batman." She fluttered her eyes as though she were overwhelmed by his charms. He laughed.
She let her head go back to the blanket and closed her eyes when he pulled at her bikini top, reaching under her, fumbling with the catch until he lifted it off. His hands were on her, one snaking along her ribs, the other sliding down the valley between her breasts, climbing first one peak and then the other to massage her nipples, making them harden and pop forward, eager for more.
Candy was not a passive girl, not a girl to lie back and let her lover do everything. She was readily responsive, even aggressive-the take-charge type. Her own hands were busy, roaming across his chest, then dipping to his stomach, where she punched him lightly, playfully with her fists.
His little grunts caused her pleasure, and she wondered if one of these school psychologists would say she was really punching her father. She laughed out loud. Maybe she was. Maybe, when she made love, she was doing it to defy him, too. Well, if she were fighting him, this was a great way to do the job.
She ran her hands over the boy's hip, and he placed his fingers on her thighs again. Their thoughts were as one as they tugged, quietly yet strongly, at one another's suit. They loosened the fabric and pulled hard, lowering them to their knees and then off completely.
They waited a moment, looking at each other, and Candy wondered if he were going to take her here. It would be wilder than anything they had done, but what the hell. . .
The slap rang out like a shot, and everybody was laughing as Mac winced and reached back to rub his white, smarting buttocks. It caught the light so that all could see.
"Come on-give us a show!" they called.
He looked down at her again, a question in his eyes. Her answer was that she couldn't care less. Sure, let's do it here. I'll show those other dames what a woman's made for. I don't care, Mac. Give it to me right here, if you want.
These things her eyes said, and he read them, but something in him might have been better than her, for he turned to the others, calling for them to mind their own business. Then he lowered his face over hers, but he did not kiss her. "The car?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Hot and stuffy. Besides, there's no room, and Corky'll get mad if we mess up his precious upholstery."
He nibbled his lower lip, then she lifted her head, taking his lips lightly between her teeth and doing the nibbling for him. Presently he said, "Come on!"
He rolled from her and leaped to his feet. He reached and pulled her up with him, and they looked at the others. One or two faces were still turned their way, but the others were exploring one another's bodies, oblivious to any show Max and Candy might stage.
They looked down at themselves, seeing the mounds and hollows change in the red glow. He touched her breast, pushing it in so the shadow would deepen.
Then he took her hand, and they ran across the beach, down toward the water where the sand grew firm and then damp under their feet. They raced into the surf until the water surged about their ankles. Candy had thought it would be cold, but it wasn't much cooler than the night air.
He stopped, taking both her hands. "All right?"
She laughed aloud. "Let's quit with the questions, huh? Show me what you got."
He laughed in turn and, gripping her waist, he led the way out to deeper water. T-hey laughed, happy as dolphins, and, when the water was at her knees, a small wave toppled her off balance.
She fell headlong into the surf and rolled over, sitting up, wiping the water and streaming, champagne hair from her face. He fell at her side and his body touched her on the thigh. He was ready, she knew. His young body was hard and ready for hers.
She lay back, keeping her head up, holding her breath when a wavelet washed over her chin, and he pulled himself across her, moving her to suit himself. She let her body open and he struck, sure and clean, like a snake.
They were together, helped by the gentle wave action, their rhythm smooth and clean, young and virile. Their bodies were like slick rubber balls, firm and resilient at the same time, bouncing back, despite their abuse.
It was over in a moment. "Damn you, Mac," she cried, her lips open in anguish. "You're always so fast!"
She clung to him a minute longer, her hips making the water swirl in a fury of activity. Then she closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, arching her back so that her head dipped into the water.
She cried out again, but this time in pleasure, her fingers clutching his shoulders, her nails making red welts across his skin. The delicious sensation rocked through her body, and her hips moved on in slowly diminishing spasms of joy.
At last she let him go and fell back full length into the water. A moment later she sat up, sputtering, choking, coughing, and they laughed together.
"I forgot where we were!" she gasped while he thumped her back, making her cool breasts quiver' like gelatin.
"Hey!" He said the word in a voice low, with fear, he was on his knees, no longer erect and lustful, his gaze toward the beach.
She followed his look.
The others were standing about the fire. They had been joined by four additional figures. The strangers were taller and heavier and they wore white crash helmets and khaki uniforms.
While the newcomers arranged themselves in a loose circle about the group, the younger people began picking up what clothing they had, folding blankets and throwing sand on the fire.
"What do you think?" Mac blurted, his hand resting on her shoulder.
She pulled the hand and they sat down on the bottom, their eyes wide. "Keep still and don't move," she commanded. "This may be the luckiest little old piece you ever had."
They waited, and Candy's heart pounded. She could feel it and, looking down, she saw her breasts moving with its rhythm. "Oh, oh!" Mac whispered.
She looked up. One of the men was holding up garments-her bikini and Mac's trunks.
Heads turned their way and, a second later, a strong light struck them full in the face.
Candy looked at Mac, a wistful smile playing with her lips. "Thanks for the ride, pal. It'll be worth every day we spend in stir."
It was a large, noisy, crowded room. This surprised Candy. She had always thought that court was a place of quiet and dignity, like on television.
Even the judge was unimpressive. He was a little man who sat with his chin propped in his hand while he toyed with a pencil. He wore no robes, and there was no gavel in sight.
The voice of the court officer droned on. He was reading papers immediately before the bench. If the judge was listening, he gave no sign.
Candy looked around. Several of her friends were in the room; those who had been picked up during the party. She saw a number of adults, their faces strained and white, seated with them. She had a parent in the courtroom, too. Her father, a dark coat thrown over his dirty undershirt, was seated in the opposite corner of the room. She had to smile at his bandaged finger.
Presently the man stopped reading, and the judge nodded at the boy who stood by his side. "All right. I'll agree to that."
A policeman took the boy by the arm and led him out a side door. A middle-aged woman-apparently the youth's mother-trotted along behind.
"Candace Simms ... William Simms."
Candy jumped at the sound of her name, and the matron at her side looked at her. She got up and walked forward, stopping before the bench. Her father shuffled across the room to stand on the other side of the officer.
The man, who wore a dark suit and horn-rimmed glasses, rattled the papers and glanced at the judge, who nodded, looking from Candy to her father. His eyes flicked back to Candy, and she tried to smile, but he frowned.
"Get on with it, Mr. Lewis."
"Yes, your honor. William Simms had pleaded guilty to contributing to the delinquency of a minor and to the use of narcotics. Candace Simms, his daughter, was among the young people the officers found at the beach party."
The judge nodded. "Had she been smoking marijuana like the others?"
"Yes, sir. She was also found in the surf with one of the boys, Charles Maclnnes, in a state of ... well, neither wore any clothing."
The judge seemed to sigh and he was studying his pencil again. "Very well. What do you suggest?"
"This is the first time the girl has been picked up, your honor. Yet, it's obvious she'll only get into more trouble if she stays at home. One of our people checked it out, and it seems she and her father live under the worst conditions imaginable. There was no food in the house, but we found empty beer cans and whisky bottles and a number of marijuana cigarette butts."
The judge nodded at Candy's father. "What about him?"
"William Simms," the officer went on, reading from the papers. "Produce truck driver ... when he works. Presently unemployed. Married to Wilma Simms, mother of Candace. But the mother disappeared more than a year ago. Apparently, the family hasn't heard from her."
The judge looked at Simms, his eyebrows up. "Why did she leave?"
"She was no good, judge," Simms drawled, wiping his hand across his mouth. "No good at all. She took up with some lousy bartender, and we ain't never seen her since."
"Your honor," the officer continued, "Candace Simms told our worker that her parents fought a great deal and that her father frequently beat her mother. She also told us that she herself has been beaten with some regularity."
The judge dropped his pencil and straightened. "So what do we do about them? As you suggest, they can't live together. They'd be back before me within a month."
"I agree, sir. We suggest that the father be placed on probation, ordered to clean up his place of residence and that he report to our department regularly. As for the girl, we were hoping there might be room for her on the welfare list at the Treacher Foundation Camp for Girls."
The judge nodded. "That would keep her out of trouble for the summer, at least, and perhaps something could be worked out by fall, if necessary." He peered at the officer. "Is that how you see it?"
"Yes, sir. With your permission, I'll check with the Foundation officials and see if they can take the girl. Their summer program starts Monday."
The judge peered at Simms and Candy, his eyes moving back and forth. "You can both consider yourselves lucky. You"-he pointed at Simms "because you're getting a chance to stay out of jail.
But you'd better behave and clean up your home, or I'll hear of it."
"Yes, sir," Simms mumbled. "Thank you, your honor."
"And you"-he pointed at Candy-"because, instead of Juvenile Hall or a county girls camp work unit, you're receiving an opportunity to mingle with decent young ladies at a decent place. You'll be in the mountains, away from the squalor of your section of the city. You must learn a lesson from this, Candace Simms. This is your first offense, and I'll not tolerate another. Next time, you'll get the full juvenile treatment."
Candy's face reddened, but she said nothing.
"You ought to get down on your knees," the judge went on, "and thank the probation officer here for arranging space for you at such a decent camp. And you should also thank the founders of the camp who set aside funds to help girls in your sort of difficulty."
At last Candy nodded, realizing the judge was waiting for some sign of repentance.
"Very well, that settles it." The judge looked at the clock on the rear wall. "It's past noon. I'll hear about the others after lunch, Mr. Lewis."
He tapped his pencil on the desk and stood up, leaving by a side door which a policeman held open.
Candy turned and met the eyes of her father. He glared at her, his fists clenching and opening. "You little bitch!" he hissed in a whisper. "What kind of crap did you tell that dame what come out to the house?"
"Let's go." A policeman took Simms by the arm and wheeled him away without waiting for an answer from Candy.
She turned and saw the matron just behind her.
"Big deal," she said, cocking her head toward the bench. "Santa Claus came in June."
The matron puffed up in disapproval. "Like the judge said, you're a lucky little girl."
Candy turned up a corner of her lip. "Screw luck and screw the judge! I want to get out of here."
"You'll be in Juvenile Hall until Monday morning, you little tramp!" the matron exclaimed. "Then we'll escort you to the bus and make certain you're still aboard when it arrives at the Treacher Camp."
Candy shrugged. "Okay, warden, take me away." The matron did.