Chapter 14
On Tuesday morning Adam called Betty. He'd slept the night before. Or rather he'd blacked out. In the late afternoon he'd finished the last of the Scotch and flopped down on his bed. Oblivion came almost at once. Sometime during the night he'd awakened and made a trip to the bathroom. Afterward, he'd headed for the kitchen, remembered that he'd finished the Scotch, and went back to bed instead. He didn't wake up again until eight o'clock.
His head ached, his mouth was dry, and he felt crummy in his dirty shorts. He lay for a few moments rubbing his three-day-old beard and thinking.. Today he'd call Betty. If he drank enough black coffee he knew he'd be up to the task.
He made a trip to the bathroom, splashed water onto his face, then padded into the kitchen. He put coffee on to perc and while he was waiting he dialed a liquor store and ordered a half case of Scotch to be delivered. He knew he'd need fortification if Betty wouldn't listen to reason.
He sat at the table for a long time drinking cup after cup of black coffee. What was he going to say to Betty? What plausible explanation could he give? No matter from what angle he approached the matter, nothing seemed plausible. Then he remembered the fanciful tale he'd made up about the dope addict with the gun. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that he could put it across. It was just far out enough to make her think. He sighed. There didn't seem to be any alternative.
Today, as yesterday, he fried two eggs and a couple of strips of bacon. This time he kept them down. He felt a little better, but not much. While eating he went over every detail of what he'd say to Betty. Presently he emptied the percolator, drank the remaining coffee, and padded into the living room. He was trembling violently. He wished he had a drink. Just one drink, he thought, would steady his nerves.
He stood for a long time staring down at the telephone before he summoned up enough courage to pick it up. Twice he tried to dial before his shaking finger found the proper digits.
Betty herself answered. At the sound of his voice she burst into tears. "Oh, Adam, how could you? How could you?" Her weeping came over the wire in great wracking sobs.
"No, listen, Betty. I can explain if you'll just give me a chance."
"Explain ? How can you explain such a terrible, terrible thing? You've made me feel that I wish I were dead. All our beautiful dreams. Our plans and thoughts. A-and what I did. I feel debased, unclean."
Adam swallowed and tried to get a grip on himself. He felt like the lowest form of heel. "Wait, Betty. The man who came to the door Sunday morning was a dope addict. He had a gun. There was nothing I could do. If I'd made a move or crossed him in any way, he'd have shot me. Then if he found you, I shudder to think what might have happened to you. All those vulgar things he said were the result of a drugged mind."
Betty was silent. She remained silent so long that Adam began to have hope that she believed him. "Betty? Are you there?" he asked.
"Yes, Adam, I'm still here." She stopped sobbing and her voice was steady. "That was very good, Adam. A convincing story. You almost had me believing. That's because I-I guess, in spite of everything, I wanted to believe." She paused. "Now I wonder if you can explain the letter I received in this morning's mail." She looked at him coldly.
"Letter?" Adam's insides began to churn. "What letter are you talking about?"
"It was a letter written by you to a girl named Anne."
Oh, God, no! He sat gaping at the phone. No! his soul cried. She wouldn't sink so low as to do a thing like that. But she had. He said into the phone, his voice containing a hopeless, beaten note, "I-I'm sorry, Betty. I truly am."
"So am I." She began to cry again, her aching heart in every sob. "We-we could have been so happy. I-I guess most men are like that. I should have known. I should have understood that something was wrong that weekend I came down for the game. But to me you were so perfect, so much my idol, I was blinded."
"Don't, Betty. Don't. You're torturing me."
"Perhaps being tortured a little is the best thing that can happen to you. Perhaps it will be a guideline for your future activities." She paused again and Adam could hear her choking back her sobs. When she continued, her voice was controlled. "For the moment, Adam, you've destroyed me. You've shattered all of my dreams, all of the good things I've known and cherished. I feel dirty, unclean. But I'll survive. I know I will.
"Goodbye, Adam. Please don't ever call me again or try to see me."
Adam heard the click as she hung up. He felt numb. His mind was a blank. Automatically he replaced the phone and sat hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Christ! What was the easiest way to commit suicide? The easiest way! That's the kind of shit he was. Always the easiest way. The line of weak resistance. The course taken by weaklings and cowards.
Someone knocked on the back door. Adam's heart came up into his throat. Anne! He hoped it was. He'd kill her for what she'd done to him, done to Betty. He leaped up, ran into the kitchen and jerked open the door. But it wasn't Anne. It was the boy delivering his half case of Scotch. Adam almost fainted. His ears these past weeks had been attuned to Anne's knock at the back door. Recovering, he said. "Come in, Charlie."
The boy entered and placed the half-filled case on the table. Adam pulled out a bottle, twisted off the cap and tipped the bottle up to his mouth. He drank until the whisky began to sear his insides. He gagged a little, smacked his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The boy was watching him, wide-eyed. Adam smirked. "Wait here, Charlie." Still holding the bottle, he picked up the bill that lay on the table beside the case, went into the bedroom, counted out the amount and added a dollar tip for Charlie, and returned to the kitchen.
Charlie took the money, but kept looking at Adam. "Are you sick, coach?"
Adam tried to smile, but managed only a leer. He shook his head. "I'm fine, Charlie. Little headache. It'll go away in no time. Thanks for bringing over the booze. I've included a tip for you."
Charlie nodded his thanks, hesitated and said, "There's something I ought to tell you, coach."
"What? Make it fast. I've got work to do."
Charlie glanced at the bottle, at Adam's stained shorts. "I see you have. Coach, there was someone in the store yesterday asking the owner, Melrose, questions about you."
Adam was suddenly beset by a sense of apprehension. "Who was it?"
"A private detective. Mr. Melrose called him Mike. He said he was working for Dean Hodgkiss."
The sense of apprehension grew. "What kind of questions was Mike asking?"
"Mostly he wanted to know how much whiskey you'd bought at the, store during the past couple of weeks."
"And did Mr. Melrose tell him?"
"At first he refused. But when Mike offered him some money, Mr. Melrose went over the customer list and gave him the information."
Adam took a long swallow from the bottle. "Do you happen to know how much whiskey I've bought, Charlie?"
"Yes, sir. Five cases."
"Five cases. Wow! Seems like a lot, doesn't it?" Adam tried to sound amused but he wasn't and Charlie knew it. "Yes, sir, it does."
"Well, thanks for telling me, Charlie. Maybe I'd better buy my whiskey out of town hereafter, eh?"
"If you don't mind my saying so, sir, I wish you'd stop buying whiskey period."
"Oh, but I do mind your saying it. Now, suppose you get your ass out of here. When I want your or anyone else's advice, I'll ask for it. But don't hold your breath."
"Okay, sir." Charlie opened the door, but hesitated, looking back. "I just want to say, sir, that I think you're a terrific coach, and I hate to see you blowing it."
Then he was gone.
Shortly after midnight Anne and Ben awoke and began making love. Anne did her best to please. In her newly chosen role she knew she'd have to please a lot of men, whether she liked them or not. Ben wasn't the handsomest man she'd-ever met, nor did he have an especially charming personality. But he had ardor, and she knew that all of the men in her future would have ardor.
Not for a moment did she regret her decision. This was what she enjoyed doing best, and the thought of being paid for it was like a stimulant. After all, men were pretty much alike when it came to sex. She knew and understood them. Just then her future looked bright.
Presently, fulfilled, exhausted, they lay side by side and went to sleep.
Anne rose before dawn, slipped on her dress and shoes and went into the alcove kitchen. She switched on the light, rummaged around in the cupboard over the sink, grunting in delight when she found a half-filled coffee can. She located a percolator, filled it with water, dumped in some coffee and placed it on a burner. Minutes later she was sitting at the table drinking coffee laced with bourbon.
Ben woke up. He blinked. "Hey, what's up?"
"Not you, Bennie boy. Come on over and have some coffee."
Ben got out of bed and crossed to the alcove. "What's the idea of getting dressed? To hell with the coffee. Come on back to bed."
"Nope. Party's over." She grinned up at him. "Was your fifty bucks well spent?"
"Sure. But, look, I'm just getting started."
Anne shook her head. "No more screwing tonight, sonny. I've got to get out of here before daylight."
Ben considered ripping off her dress and laying her right there on the alcove floor. But something in the girl's attitude changed his mind. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he wouldn't get to first base if he tried using force. And it had been such a glorious, wonderful night. So he sat down facing her, feeling uncomfortable because he was still naked and she was wearing her dress.
Anne got up and poured him a cup of coffee. She picked up the bottle of bourbon and looked at him questioningly. He nodded, and she added a stiff shot.
Ben sat down, took a sip of his coffee royal, made a face and asked, "What's with you, honey? Why are you up so early?"
"I'm getting out of here before daylight."
"Why? No one's going to recognize you leaving this place. Where's your car?"
"Down the street a ways."
"But why leave so soon? What time's your first class?"
Anne shook her head. "No more classes. No more Mekins Academy."
"You mean you're quitting your job?"
"That's it, lover boy. For good."
"I don't get it." Ben frowned. "Why can't you keep on teaching, and-well ... "
She laughed, her eyes teasing. "And carry on my whoring as a sideline. Is that what you're trying to say Bennie?"
"Well, yes."
"Would you be one of my steady customers?"
"You bet I would!" he cried eagerly.
Her expression mocked him. "How much money do you make, lover boy?"
He flushed. "Enough for-"
"Enough for a once-a-week bang?" she interrupted.
Ben's face was brick red. "Maybe, maybe I could get you some other customers."
"You mean you'd pimp for me? Wow! That would be something. Ben, the pimp. Who would you get, Bennie? Someone like Adam Lombard, for example?"
Ben shook his head, his expression serious. "Not Adam. He's a pretty straight sort of guy. Engaged to a lovely girl."
Anne hooted. "Now there's one for the book. I've got news for you, sonny. Adam's been screwing me since the first day we met. He's a real red-hot lover. A madman in bed. As for that girl you think he's engaged to . ... " She shook her head. "No more. I took care of that little detail."
"I don't believe it. Not Adam."
"Don't you? When you get back to the academy, you'll find a stir on campus. If not, ask Hodgkiss or Quimper or the Reverend Adams about their morning's mail." Anne's eyes were . suddenly cold, her mouth set in a thin tight line. She drained her coffee cup and stood. "As for your pimping proposition, sonny boy, I have bigger plans. I can get my own customers, and they'll pay a hell of a lot more than fifty bucks per night." She crossed to the bureau and picked up her handbag, heading for the door.
Ben shook off the stupor into which Anne's incredible words had driven him. He leaped to his feet. "Wait! Don't go. I can pay you more money. I know I can."
Anne paused with one hand on the knob. Her voice was taunting. "How much more? Maybe seventy-five dollars?"
"More. Any amount you say. I'll get it if I have to steal it."
"Well, now. that's the most flattering thing that anyone's ever said to me. I knew I was good, but not that good. It speaks well for my future." Her expression, which had momentarily softened, hardened again. "The men I service are going to be up there in the millionaire class. Men who'll gladly pay any amount I ask when they find out what I have to offer. Prostitution is an old, old profession, lover boy, and it's an honest profession." She opened the door. "So get yourself another pussy to play with, Bennie, and forget me, if you can."
"I can't forget you. I don't want to forget you." Ben started for the door, but before he could reach it, she was gone. He stood in the doorway, until the sound of the girl's footsteps died away. A moment later he heard the sound of a car starting up. Headlights speared the darkness as an automobile whisked past the entrance to the motel, heading in the opposite direction from Mekins.
Ben sighed deeply and closed the door. He knew as well as he knew his own name that Mekins Academy and all the surrounding country has seen the last of Anne Yeaton.