Chapter 8

She was sitting between Bobby Williamson and Hester St. Claire, and the car was traveling at great speed.

Somehow, neither was driving. The car guided itself around curves and through busy intersections, maneuvering among pedestrians, and Sandra knew they would hit nothing. She also knew that they couldn't be stopped.

As they rounded a curve, Sandra was thrown against Hester and the woman clutched at her body, her fingers raking. At the next curve she was thrown against Bobby, and his hands also reached, wanting but not hurting her.

Presently, they came to a rough road and the car lurched horribly, bumping them up and down, and Sandra found herself drifting over into Hester's j&p. There was no way she could stop herself. Hester reached for her and held on, her strong fingers shaking.

She shook and shook...

"Sandra ... Sandra ... Wake up!" The voice was at her ear, low, intense, urgent.

"What is it?" She was terrified. It had only been a dream, of course, but the villain was here, kneeling by her side, the same hands on her body.

"Get up and put your clothes on. I'll be waiting outside with the car."

She was gone, and Sandra held her watch up to her face. Four o'clock. What in the world...? Perhaps someone was sick. Or there was news from home. Mom and dad ... Something had happened!

She slipped into the Treacher Camp cool-weather outfit skirt and sweatshirt, complete with Treacher crest.

Outside, she saw a car parked by the administration building, its motor running quietly, its lights off. She ran across the clearing and got in. Hester drove to the gate and stopped as the watchman popped out of his shack.

She leaned out, peering up into his face. "Remember, Oscar, not one word about this to anyone. If I hear anything came from you, there'll be trouble."

"Don't worry, Mrs. St. Claire," he said, his voice subdued. "I'll keep mom."

They moved out onto the road, and she switched on the lights, accelerating the car. "Stupid man!" she muttered, half to herself. "If he had eyes and ears, this never would have happened."

"What wouldn't have happened?" Sandra asked, her hands clinging in her lap.

Hester glanced quickly at her and then returned her glowering gaze to the line on the pavement. "Didn't you count your girls before you left?"

"Just now?"

"Yes, just now!" she blurted. "If you had, you'd find the Simms girl is missing."

Sandra's hands shot to her mouth. "Candy-missing?"

"She was found under a tree with a boy from the next camp." She sighed. "Isn't the Treacher Foundation going to enjoy that cozy story if it ever leaks out."

They said nothing more for the next few minutes. Sandra huddled in the corner, almost in shock, while Hester glared at the road, her foot heavy on the accelerator. Then they were turning at a gate and Sandra saw the sign, ARCHER CAMP FOR BOYS. A man waved them through, and a moment later they were walking into an office building where the only light in the entire camp burned.

Inside a man was sitting on the corner of a desk, one leg off the floor. Facing him, seated side by side, were a young boy and girl.

Candy looked up as they came in. Her eyes were dark and sullen, her face was flushed. Her hair was rumpled, and her T-shirt was hanging outside her shorts. Her Treacher uniform was a mess.

The boy's face was also flushed, and his eyes had a wild, glassy look. He glanced at them a moment and then looked down to his lap.

The man at the desk rose. He was a tall, athletic type with straight dark hair, and he clenched a pipe in his teeth. It seemed to go with the tanned, even features of his face. He wore khaki pants, tennis shoes and an old corduroy jacket.

"Good evening, Mr. Gibbs," Hester said, her voice chilly and formal.

He nodded at her, taking the pipe from his mouth. He had worn an expression of concern as they came in, but now Sandra saw it was replaced by a look of distaste when he saw Hester.

"Mrs. St. Claire," he said, his voice even and deep. He looked beyond her to Sandra and again his face changed. Despite their surroundings, a tiny vertical line appeared between his eyes and he stared a moment, his gaze intense. He was like a man suddenly viewing a minor miracle.

Sandra, even as she saw these things, felt her own expression change from one of consternation and shame for Candy to frank curiosity. Here was a man! A man of size, a man who moved like a track-and-field athlete, a man who obviously was in charge of the situation. Yet that sensitive face!

"Miss Albright, this is Mr. Gibbs, the director of Archer Camp. Miss Albright is one of my counselors." She glanced sideways at Sandra, her gaze withering. "One of my inexperienced counselors, I might add."

He went back to his flat, distasteful look, nodding at her, glancing again at Hester, then toward the two young people. "These are the culprits," he said, and again Sandra loved the sound of his voice, even as her concern for Candy deepened.

"What happened, Mr. Gibbs?" she blurted. "Hester said tbat they were..."

"Yes, they were," he cut in. "Neither has the power of speech now, apparently, but it's not needed. I stumbled on them myself."

"But how...? "

"My trusted lieutenant here"-he nodded at the boy, who flushed a deeper red-"was seen creeping through the brush with your piece of property." He nodded at Candy. "Fortunately, not all of our night sentries are so easily lured from their duty."

Hester walked closer to Candy and the boy, leaning down, peering into their faces. She ran her eyes over Candy, from head to toe, at last straightening. "What did you do out there?" she snapped.

"He was showing me the North star," Candy retorted, her lip curling in a snarl. Sandra sensed she was as frightened as she was defiant.

"While you were on your back?" Hester said.

"Naturally. It's the best way to look up."

She straightened and went back to the director. "You say you saw them?"

Mr. Gibbs nodded.

Hester looked from Sandra to Candy, her face working. "I want to make certain." She nodded toward a door. "May I take her in there?"

"Certainly," the director said, going to the door and opening it.

Hester prodded Candy to her feet, and they marched from the room. Throughout the drama, Candy never once met Sandra's eyes.

When the door closed behind them, Sandra hurried to the director. They were far enough away so that the boy could not hear.

She felt her face beginning to crumple, but she was able to ask her question. "You mean my Candy and this boy were ... together?"

"In every sense of the word," he said, gazing at her, his voice low. He seemed torn between disgust and interest in Sandra. "Your girl friend is in there to see for herself." He snorted. "She fancies herself an expert in such matters."

"Doesn't Mrs. St. Claire believe you?"

He looked beyond her to the boy. "Of course she does, but her so-called clinical examination will prevent the evening from being a complete waste. She'll be able to paw the sexy blonde, and it will be quite legitimate."

Sandra felt her face warm. "I think I know what you mean."

He snorted again at her embarrassment. "I imagined you would."

She frowned, looking up into his face. Even in her discomfiture, there was something about him which drew her. "And just what do you mean by that?" she snapped.

He barked a short laugh. "Hester St. Claire doesn't hire counselors because they're antisocial-especially where she's concerned. I'm wondering if you're this summer's headliner or just one of the girls in the chorus."

Sandra took a deep breath, and he glanced down at the movement of her sweatshirt. "I'm not certain what you're getting at, Mr. Gibbs, but I get the idea that you should have your face slapped."

The door opened and Hester peered quickly at them before shoving Candy out ahead of her. She moved toward the door and Sandra followed, suddenly feeling dirty and ashamed. So even a man in the next camp knew about Hester. That, in addition to Candy's mess, made everything a shambles.

At the door, Hester turned. "Thank you for calling so promptly, Mr. Gibbs. If we meet again this summer, let us hope circumstances will be more pleasant."

"Indeed," he said, taking the pipe from his mouth. He glanced toward Sandra witb a half bow. "Good night, Miss Albright. I hope you find your summer stimulating."

As they went out to the car, Sandra wanted to run back and claw his eyes out. At the same time, she wanted to throw herself on him for another reason.

During the ride back, it was as though there were a tiny worm wriggling impatiently between her thighs.

She stood at the window, watching the sun rise above the final row of trees. In half an hour, it would be hitting the clearing full force, and the temperature would climb into the nineties once again.

From the woods, she could hear occasional shouts and laughter. A hundred-and-forty-nine girls were among the trees on their daily nature hikes, or learning to put up tents, or trying to cook bacon and eggs with only two matches to light the fire.

She turned back into the room. Already it was growing hot under the canvas, but the blonde girl sat on the edge of her bunk, apparently relaxed. Only her protruding lower lip revealed her inner tension.

At last Sandra said, "Can't you say why you dislike me so completely?"

Candy tossed her head, hurling a champagne lock back into place. "Sure I can, lady. It's because you're like them." She pointed toward the door. "Them out there. They're all little miss rich-bitches, and they know enough about where I come from to lord it over me. You're another. As soon as you knew I was on the dole, you turned into a damned missionary."

Sandra shook her head. "We're not patronizing you. We honestly want to help. They're good girls. They mean well."

"What's patronizing mean?"

"Well ... false kindness because they feel superior to you ... that they have more than you."

"You said the magic word, sister."

Sandra fought to keep from crying. Folding her arms, she paced the floor. At last, she went to her locker and took out a package of cigarettes. She went to Candy and offered her one.

"Help yourself, and I'm not patronizing you. I realize now that you're an adult in a girl's body, and from now on that's how you'll be treated."

Candy took one, and so did Sandra, lighting them both. They smoked quietly until Sandra went on. "I imagine you've seen much more of life than any other girl in this camp-including me."

"You bet your sweet one I have." She inhaled expertly, speaking as the smoke trailed through her nose. "It's a jungle on the street where I live. It's a jungle in a house with a lunatic father and a jungle outside with pat ... patronizing teachers, grabby boys who think they can help themselves whenever they want, tough cops and lots of other stinking people. When I get out of school, there won't be no jobs around, either."

"You know Mrs. St. Claire plans to send you back."

Candy looked away. "Who gives a damn?"

"I think I know what that means. You were in trouble with the law, weren't you? Now you're on probation. If you don't work out here you'll be sent to reform school."

Candy glared at her. "The headshrinkers and legal Fancy Dans call them schools for girls now. Didn't you hear?" She looked around the tent. "I knew I never had a chance. They just sent me here to show each other how damned big they are about dames like me. Now that I goofed off, they can put me away and still be able to sleep at night."

"That's not true!" Sandra cried. "The Foundation is the loser if you fail, not the law. The Foundation is paying the bills. They're the ones working to save you."

Candy snorted, but a spark of interest glowed in her eyes. "How can they 'save' me?"

"By teaching you about life away from your father and pawing boys and what you call tough cops. Perhaps, if you had lasted, by fall you'd have wanted something better. That's essential-wanting." Sandra sat beside the girl. She wanted to shake her to make her understand. "Then, when you went back to school, you would have worked hard to go on saving yourself. With good grades, you could get still more education, and then, someday, that job would be waiting."

Candy said nothing for several minutes. She finished the cigarette, started to drop it on the floor, but instead she got up and brought back the wastebasket. Together they split open the remnants of the cigarettes, sprinkling the tobacco into the basket and shredding the paper.

At last, she looked Sandra in the eye for the first time. "You make life on the other side sound pretty good, but it's too late. I'm finished anyhow."

"I could talk to Mrs. St. Claire."

Candy shook her head. "That dyke wouldn't go for it. Last night I knead her in the gut when she tried to play around."

Sandra gasped. "You mean at the Archer Camp?"

"Sure. In the back room."

So Mr. Gibbs had been right. Yet it meant there was a chance for Candy after all. Perhaps Hester's weakness could be used to change her mind.

She turned to Candy. "If I fix it so you can stay, do I have your word that you'll behave?"

Candy stared. Then, slowly she nodded.

"I can't promise anything, except that if Mrs. St. Claire agrees, I'll be responsible for you. If you misbehave again, we'll both have to leave. Do you understand that?"

The blonde girl swallowed. "You'd go out on a limb for me?"

"Yes, God help me! I think you're worth the try, Candy. It you're not, I want to know it firsthand."

Sandra saw naked respect light Candy's face. It was beautiful once the cynicism was washed away. "It's a deal, Miss Albright. You stick up for me, and I won't let you down. Guaranteed."

Sandra held out her hand, and the girl hesitated then took it. "It's Sandra to you."

"Sandra."

She didn't relish the next battle in her campaign to rescue Candy Simms from the filthy front lines of life. Now she had to face Hester.

She went through the whole thing. She told her that Candy's attitude was changing. She told her that Candy trusted her. She told her that she would be responsible if Candy got into trouble again. She would take full responsibility and resign her counselor's job in the bargain.

Hester listened for fifteen minutes, her face unreadable as she sat behind her desk. At last she said, "I don't like it one bit. That she-wolf won't be able to last the summer without her sex-life. She's too hard a nut to crack."

"Don't you understand?" Sandra pleaded, leaning over the desk, her face close to Hester's. "She has cracked. She's given her word. For a girl like her, that's a bond stronger than steel. At any rate..." She sighed. "There would be no ringer pointed at you, whatever happened. It's my head in the noose."

The head shook. "I just don't think..."

"You said you hoped we'd all have a pleasant summer here," Sandra blurted, firing the last of her ammunition, gambling that it would explode without killing her, too. "I thought you liked me and respected my judgment, Hester. You seemed so friendly at the beginning."

"Well..." The older woman seemed flustered, but also flattered. "Well, I do like you, dear. I didn't realize what I said meant so much..."

She began to rise, her lips smiling at Sandra like the muzzle of a friendly gun-possibly harmless,' possibly deadly. "Very well. I'll let the child stay on the conditions you've laid down."

"Thank you, Hester," Sandra's hands clapped once. "You won't regret it."

Hester walked with her to the door, her arm around Sandra's shoulders. She squeezed her and let her hip sink into the softness of Sandra's buttocks. "I don't intend to regret it, darling. We'll be seeing more of one another."

Sandra's knees went so weak that she almost fell as she raced across the clearing toward her tent.