Chapter 3
Hank Campbell would have been surprised to know that he and Shirley were thinking almost identical thoughts at the same time. He was rec-lined against a striped folding chair on a small private beach three miles south of his girlfriend and Shirley, listening to the surf pound against the jagged black rocks just to his left. Through the incessant noise of the crashing waves and the riotous shouting of his friends on their surfboards he listened to the active voice of his mind philosophizing in a juvenile effort to determine what actions he should take to alter the present design of life.
Like Shirley, he too was thinking about love and its reality. A word, really nothing more than that, he thought. Love is a compensation, almost a justification that some ancient semanticist devised thousands of years ago to describe what he felt when he saw a good lookin' broad standing in the market place-that was the real reason for love: sex. Everyone likes to screw, he thought, hut they don't like to think it's their only motivation, their only reason for intimate human relationships.
Hank smiled and crinkled his eyebrows, pleased with his mind's explanation. He would major in psychology when he started at the university in a year, and he knew that he was well prepared. There's no reason not to acquire all the finer things in life if you really want to, he told himself while he reached into a small cooler next to him and pulled out an ice-cold can of beer. All you've got to do is work just hard enough, and then get to know all the right people. That was the most important factor, knowing all the right people, and for that reason alone, Hank wanted to join the fraternity. He wanted to belong to their elite brotherhood more than anything else.
At eighteen he'd already mapped the outline that would guide him through life. He'd finish high school, already a member of his fraternity, then study like hell all the way through graduate school, making invaluable personal contacts along the way, and finally go into the world on his own as a clinical psychologist, well prepared technically and socially for the success he would find.
But he'd run into a snag, a problem that could throw a wrench into the whole works.
Ida O'Brien-a girl who raked every emotion possible from the young high, school senior. Whenever Hank thought of her he'd get angry, and then a moment later he'd feel nothing but the soothing caress of her fingertips on the darkened back of his muscular neck, and he would be forced to relax into a delicious daydream of sexual fantasy. He just had to have her, but goddamnit, she made it harder than hell to get into her pants with all that "I'm scared" crap that every virgin whimpers. Somehow he'd have to find a way to fuck her, but how?
He gulped a long choking drink of his beer and tried to unscramble his thoughts. First, she was the best-looking girl he knew and there was no doubt that he wanted to get into her pants. Secondly, she was a virgin and he didn't want to hurt her, but the real problem, the snag in his plans, was that he liked her, much more than he wanted to admit.
Damn, he snarled to himself and bent the aluminum beer can in his fist. He did like her-the way she looked at him, the way she carried herself-those long, ivory legs and her sexy walk-her breasts, full and jiggling when she laughed-but that was nothing but sexual attraction! However, she was smart, he thought, smarter than most of the spacey broads around here. When he talked, she always seemed to understand what he said, and did more than just listen. She took part in their conversations, questioning, answering and sometimes even interjecting ideas of her own. All these things combined made her the most attractive girl he'd known during his short lifetime, and served only to confuse the clearly set goals that he established for himself.
If he was going to be a success, he couldn't tie himself down with love and marriage, though he hadn't really considered it ... still there was always the possibility that she might trap him into it, and that would ruin everything. Hank knew that to get ahead, he had to be a swinger, a man of the world. But swingers didn't have wives. Nor did they have steady girlfriends for very long, he told himself, trying to analyze his predicament. He could probably justify their steady dating if he was getting into her pants, but the fact remained that he wasn't, and that left him open and vulnerable to other girls, especially Shirley.
Christ, he thought with a cynical snort, if Ida knew I was screwing Shirley two or three times a week she'd have a goddamned heart attack. But maybe it served her right for not puttin out. After all, a guy's got to get it somewhere, and why not in his own back yard?
It was true that Shirley had made all the advances, but Hank knew he certainly didn't even try to say no. After a while he'd even considered breaking up with Ida and going steady with Shirley, except that his best friend, Tony, would be hurt, too.
But that wasn't the only reason. There was something strange about Shirley-a mannerism, an excited cry in the heat of passion, and the irritating constant references to her secret lover. It could have been any one of those things, or perhaps even all of them. Hank wasn't sure of the reasons for his apprehension, but he was sure that Shirley was much different than the rest of the ones he could think of, yet she hadn't gone to bed with Tony yet, and that puzzled him. Tony's paying through the nose to go out with her, and I'm getting all the benefits, he thought sourly, wanting to be able to apologize to his friend. But I guess that's just the way life goes, and none of us can really change it.
Hank pulled another beer from the cooler and opened it with a crack, jerking the can to his lips and sucking the overflowing foam from the icy rim. If any of his friends knew what he was doing with the two girls ... shit, they'd crucify me!
"Hey, Campbell," a thick voice shouted from the surfs edge. "Get your ass out here and stop guzzlin' all the beer!"
'I'm comin', I'm comin'" Hank answered, relieved to be brought back to the reality of the sun and surf. The ocean really did look good, he thought as he picked up his surfboard and ran to meet his buddies in the water. An hour of riding the waves would clear his mind and give him time to really relax.
Forty-five minutes later Hank and five of his cronies raced up from the water with their boards slung under their arms. Exhausted by the afternoon's surfing, they fell in a small circle around the cooler and panted while Rod Thompson opened an ice-cold refreshing beer for each of them.
"Thanks," Hank said, taking the can from Shirley's brother's hand.
Hank, though he disliked admitting it, was in awe of Rod Thompson and his position. He was a junior at the university, on the Dean's List in the psychology department, and definitely headed for success. Hank knew, too, that Rod could have just about any girl he wanted, any time he wanted her. J wonder if he ever screwed his sister? Hank suddenly caught himself thinking and chuckled.
"What's so funny, man?" Rod asked him, curious about the workings of everybody's minds.
"Nothing, really," Hank laughed, trying to find an appropriate answer. "I was just groovin on all the bitchin' times we've had together this summer. All the great surf and groovy chicks we've balled ... you know. It's just too bad it's gotta end when school starts."
"Well, maybe it's ending for you high school clowns, but the university isn't going to cramp my style. In fact there's gonna be a helluva lot more pussy running around during the fall than we ever thought of seeing this summer."
"Yeah, that's true," Hank said, slightly irritated that Rod had called him a high school boy. He was a man, goddamnit! " 'Course, there's a lot of studying in college, I mean, there is if you want get good grades."
Two of Rod's friends laughed, while Tony and Hank sat silently, not wanting to offend them, and at the same time not seem too naive.
"Look, man," Rod told him, not trying to seem too condescending. "Studying is for the birds if you know how to get around it. First, you don't have to go to any of your classes. Just send some chick to take your notes for you, and then, if you've got any brains at all, you study her notes for about an hour a day. Christ, you don't have to worry."
"I know all about that," Hank said, wanting to sound as if he had already learned the necessary methods required to get him through the University. "But Freshmen don't have it that easy to begin with. I know it takes a while for anyone to get used to something as new as a University, and I can't see how anyone can get by without studying once in a while."
"Well, hell, you'll learn soon enough," Rod told him. "That's the biggest advantage of belonging to our fraternity. See, the guys all act like brothers, just one big happy family."
"I'm not sure I understand," Hank said, taking another sip of his beer.
"Not everybody does," Rod smiled. "It's very simple, though. We've got a copy of every test from every class on file in the house. Now when somebody needs to study for an exam, he just checks with whoever is in charge of the special file-this year it's Bob," he said nodding toward the blonde-haired surfer on his left. "You just give him the name of the instructor and what the test will cover, and he'll give you a copy of the exam. That way you're studying the actual test, and you can't possibly get any grade but an A."
"Not bad," Hank said aloud, but he was thinking just the opposite. Cheating was something that he had never done in his life. He'd never cheated at school, at sports, at anything ... except maybe he lied a little to Ida, but that was different. He found it hard to believe that Rod Thompson and his fraternity brothers cheated on their tests.
"Not bad is right," Rod continued. "As far as I know we're the only house on campus who has a filing system like that. They're plenty of guys who cheat, girls too, but they don't do it so systematically. That puts us way ahead of everybody else."
"It sure does," Hank smiled, not sure whether he could accept the idea or not, but afraid to say so. "That gives the fraternity members all the time they need to chase pussy and still get good grades."
"Why the hell should you worry about that?" Rod kidded him. "That cunt, Ida, you run around with has got to be more than any one man can handle."
She's no cunt, Hank thought to himself, but said: "Oh, she's all right. Better than most, but not too much for me to handle." At the end of his sentence he took another gulp from his beer can, trying to end the conversation. He was ashamed he had said anything like that about Ida, but he knew that for right now it was more important to have his buddies think he was more of a cocksman than he really was. Besides, Ida would never know he'd said anything dirty about her to them.
"I'll say she's better than most," Rod sneered. "Shirley said Ida's built like an Italian movie star when she doesn't have that bikini hiding those big jugs of hers. Christ, you've gotta let your future fraternity brothers have a taste of that little broad's tail."
Hank chuckled nervously, not sure what he should say to Rod's sneering dare. He probably has fucked his sister, Hank thought, trying to think of a terrible weakness to put Rod down with. The way he talks about his Shirley's body most of the time, he probably screws her just to get information about her girlfriends so he can fuck them too!
"Hey, I'm serious, Hank. If you could come up with something really outta sight for us, something that you could arrange with Ida, why, hell, you'd be in the fraternity so fast, we'd probably even slap the regular initiation."
"That's no problem at all," Hank said quickly, now knowing that Rod's lewd remarks were only a put-on. "I've already thought of something pretty wild, but I wanted it to be a surprise. I didn't think you'd put me on the spot before I set it all up."
"What is it?" Rod asked quickly, his eyebrows raised in expectation.
"Well, I-" Hank started. "I tell you what. Since you don't really know yet, I'll just keep you in suspense until next weekend. That way you'll dream about her all week and wonder what's going to happen."
He'd finished with a quick breath and stupidly committed himself to something he couldn't do and worse yet, he'd committed Ida. But to what? Now he was in a corner and would have to think of an idea that would satisfy all of them, and yet not make Ida angry with him. Shit! he thought. Everything depends on how I handle this, and. if Ida ever found out about it, she'd skin my balls and the guys would laugh my ass right out of the fraternity.
"You're really on the ball, Hank," Rod said while his two fraternity friends chimed in agreeingly. "Man, if this is gonna be as good as you say it is, I won't be able to sleep all week. I wish to hell you'd tell us what you're gonna do."
"Naw," he said and pulled open the snap tab on another beer. "You guys'll just have to suffer for a week."
"Well shit! If that's the way it is, well just have to wait. But goddamn, Hank, after all that big talk you'd better have something really wild for us."
"Don't worry. It'll be better than you could ever imagine," Hank told him, adding more bravado to his voice. By now he almost believed that he'd arranged a show for his friends that they would not soon forget. But he knew that unless a miracle happened, he'd never be able to back up his bragging.
"Hank, Rod," Tony interjected. "I hate to break this up, but I've got to split for home. I've got a date with Shirley tonight."
"You'll have to tell me how she is sometime," Rod sneered. "Little Sister doesn't tell me everything."
Good old Rod, Hank thought as he and the others started picking up their towels and boards. Nothing's sacred to him, not even his own sister. I'll bet he does fuck her.
After loading the boards onto their cars the boys drove to the freeway and turned their cars homeward.
"Hank," Tony said after twenty minutes' silence while driving along the crowded freeway. "What exactly did you have planned with Ida?"
"Oh, shut up!" was his sharp reply.