Chapter 9

There is a famous rest home in Long Island where famous alcoholics go to dry out. It is a large, rambling place, restful to look upon, with many straight-trunked trees, rolling lawns, a tennis court, a swimming pool, of country club atmosphere. There is no city close by, only the town. And the town's inhabitants are as separate from the rest home as though the place did not really exist.

I had no idea of its existence either. I had stopped over to spend the night on my way home from Quebec. I had taken a ferry across the Sound and felt that I'd had enough driving for one day. The small town looked cozy, inviting. I parked the car, had dinner and then began to look for a room for the night.

As I walked, I realized how long it had been since I'd stretched my legs and, before I knew it, I had come to the end of the town and was strolling into an area of lovely, fragrant bushes, rustling trees overhead and that felt good to the feet.

I was preoccupied with some matters of no especial consequence now but at the time they held my full attention and I hardly saw where I walked.

Even as I write this, I cannot recall how long I strolled without being acutely aware of my surroundings. I think I had gone perhaps a mile before I realized that I must have wandered onto someone's estate.

I did not wish to trespass but, regardless of which direction I looked, I saw no sign of how to get off the property again. I was surrounded by manicured lawns with the loveliest of landscaping. It was too dark for me to see any buildings and I thought that if I simply continued to walk straight on, the path would lead eventually back to the road. Or if it led to the house and someone came out to me, I felt sure that I could explain my error and be shown the way back.

With this in mind I continued my stroll with great pleasure and security. I have always enjoyed being close to nature and though I was looking forward and returning to New York, my inclination was to do so the long way round.

Little could I know how long a way round my route would actually be.

I soon came to a more lighted area and the sound of voices told me that other people were out on the lawn, taking the night air. But, before I had a chance to reach them, I heard footsteps in the grass and a young girl's voice calling to me.

Gladly I stopped and waited for her to come up to where I stood. I smiled with pleasure when I saw her for she seemed, even in the uncertain light, to be vibrant and attractive.

"Hi," I said. "If you belong to this place, maybe you can help me. I seem to have lost my way."

"Oh, did you?"

There was something uncertain and curious in her tone that I did not yet understand. It was as though she did not believe me.

Because I saw no reason for her to doubt my word, I did not trouble to explain the details of my meandering route, but only repeated that I was no burglar and wanted to get back to town as soon as possible.

The light fell upon her soft blonde hair. Her profile had an upturned look to it that struck me as strangely familiar, though I could not understand why.

"You really aren't staying here then," she said.

I assumed that she meant that the place was a hotel. "No," I said. "But you are, apparently. Do you like it?"

"Oh, it's all right, you know, for what it is."

"Well, if you recommend it," I continued, "perhaps they can put me up here overnight."

"Oh, not for just one night," she laughed. "And, besides, one has to make reservations months in advance."

"Yes, I would imagine so."

"There's no place like it on the east coast, if you need this sort of thing."

"Well, everyone can use a vacation," I said, "and it's too bad I can't stay. But do you suppose you can tell me how to get off the grounds and back onto the main road?"

"Well, I can tell you, all right," she said, linking her arm through mind, "but wouldn't you prefer that I show you?"

I heard an undertone of breathlessness which her casual manner could not quite hide. Had I been an ordinary man without intimate experience with women, I might not have noticed that she was excited about something.

"I'd be delighted for your company," I said, truthfully.

"Then come with me this way."

She turned me around and we proceeded to retrace my steps almost exactly. She apparently knew the route by heart, was familiar with every inch of the ground and I suppose she had been staying at the hotel, as I still thought it to be, for most of the summer.

We chatted about all manner of trivia, quite pleasantly. Finally we did reach the main road which led onto the grounds without either fencing or signs for direction.

"You see," she said, "this is a most casual atmosphere. But you know you're still quite a ways from town." She glanced up the highway for signs of cars. "Perhaps we can hitch in, if you'd like."

"Oh, no need to do that. I'll be glad to walk it. Thank you."

"Oh," she sounded disappointed. "You don't want me to come with you all the way?"

The way she put it it seemed an insult to deny her the trip. I gathered from her tone that there were no romantic interests at the hotel to keep her there and she would be glad to break up the monotony a bit with my company, for I was, obviously, an older man and, perhaps, in relation to her, somewhat challenging.

"Well, I still don't think we should hitch a ride," I said. "Isn't there a way to get a taxi?"

She shook her head. "This is the country, my friend."

"Well, don't people in the country walk, then?" I asked, noting her apparent good health.

"Yes, they do," she laughed. "Let's go."

By the time we had traversed the mile back into town, Loretta and I were close to being friends. She was easy to talk to, open about herself, and it hadn't taken long to discover that she had been a child movie star, now temporarily out of work. The problem of age transition had presented the classic obstacle to her career. It had been necessary for her to sit out the physical changes of adolescence.

"But you look ready for work now," I commented as we reached Main Street, and I saw her in the full flood of the street lights.

She took my compliment in stride, yet smiling with acknowledgment and pleasure that I had troubled to say so.

"Well, yes, I expect my agent will be able to get me some work come this winter."

"And meanwhile?"

She sighed. "I'm at loose ends, that's all."

"And not interested in any other career?"

She shook her head, no. "Acting is a disease of the blood for some of us. There just is nothing else."

We were passing a bar and she paused. "Would you like to buy me a drink?"

Since we had been enjoying each other's company so well, I could see no reason why not, and in we went.

It was a mid-week night and the place was fairly empty except for a few locals, sitting at the counter watching a television perched on a shelf up in one corner of the room. As I followed Loretta to a table at the rear of the place, I sensed something almost sly in her movements as though she were putting something over on somebody.

I tried to guess what it might be. She was certainly not under age. I doubted if a couple of drinks could be an obstacle to her career, particularly now when she wasn't working at all. Maybe she came from a strict family background that had given her a guilt complex about anything which might be labeled hedonistic activity.

To me she seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She looked well rested, high in spirits, and with the world before her.

I did not even pay attention when she ordered a scotch neat and drank it down in a single swallow. Young people could do that without harm. Or perhaps I had been too accustomed to drinkers. Anyway, it wasn't till the fourth shot that she followed down with equal alacrity that I began to question what was going on.

"It's getting late," I said "and I haven't a place to stay for the night."

"Oh, you'll find one." She put a staying hand on my arm. "Don't leave yet. The evening's young and we have lots to talk about."

Her inviting voice almost fooled me into believing that what she wanted, in fact, was my company and not just the booze. Yet my realistic attitude did not altogether fail.

"Well, then, let's go outside, or maybe for some coffee."

"We can stay here. You can get coffee." She called to the bartender for a cup of coffee for me. "See? Now just relax. How many times in a girl's life does a stranger wander in?"

I saw her through one more drink and then insisted that we leave.

By now there was no budging her. The clear eyes had become somewhat bloodshot, a trifle bleary, but her speech was still even without a single trace of thickness. She was only on the verge of becoming inebriated, not yet drunk and I knew that if I could get her out of the bar now, she would still be all right and I could part company with a clear conscience.

Her stubbornness intensified. She clutched my wrist as I stood, became irritable as I insisted that we leave.

"Well, if you must go on like this," I said, finding it necessary to be adamant, as she was, "I'll take you back to the hotel and you can finish drinking there."

"Hotel." Her voice did not seem to comprehend my meaning.

I heard the hollow ring as she echoed the word.

We looked at each other, each of us puzzled.

"Isn't that a hotel where you're staying?" I asked, feeling a small wave of premonition creep upon me coldly.

She exploded with a small, contemptuous laugh. "I wish it were a hotel."

I said nothing. My jaws clamped shut as my mind worked over what had just transpired and the new fragment of knowledge that was being offered to me obliquely.

"If it's not a hotel ... " I let my thoughts come out aloud.

"Oh, sure, sure," she hurried to rectify her mistake. "It's a hotel, okay."

"Loretta, what are you trying to hide from me?"

She turned her face away, looked down at her empty glass. "Get me another drink and I'll tell you. I promise."

I knew better, wasn't going to get her a single drop, and would rely on my own abilities to figure out what was going on with this girl.

I took the empty glass from her fingers. "You really like this stuff, don't you?"

"No."

The lie was a wall between us and through a thunderclap of understanding, I realized the situation in which Loretta was enmeshed.

"But if you're not supposed to drink," I said, "why don't you cooperate?"

"I do, as long as I can. I'm not out to kill myself, but there's something in my system that seems to need alcohol. Don't you see? Can't you understand?"

I sighed, realizing that I had helped Loretta to take a step backward.

"Besides which," she said into the silence, "it's boring there. Who needs to play volley ball? If they would just give us something to do that would take our minds off things, maybe I could get cured. But that country club and that house isn't for young people. It's for ancient alcoholics who have no where else to go."

There was desperation in her voice. She was telling me the truth right from her heart. At the same time her emotions were colored by the alcohol she had consumed already and I knew I had better be alert and keep my wits about me or she would con me into a fifth of alcohol before the night was out. Not that I minded buying her the stuff, I just didn't want to see a good thing go to waste.

But what to do about her? The most sensible arrangement would be to try to get her back to the sanitarium.

"Come on, Loretta," I said. "We have to be on our way."

Her face took on a mulish look, not beautiful, distorting her features with a frenzy of fear.

"You know what they're going to do to me when we get back?" she asked.

I didn't know. I didn't want to know. I didn't want her to think about it, wallow in it beforehand.

Her fear infected even my spirits. I knew I ought to be callous and just cart her back there. What difference would it make, though, if she spent the night with me?

Still, I had no place to stay, no facilities to offer her. I had to remain reasonable.

I paid the bill and started to walk out of the bar alone, knowing that Loretta had no money with her and would have to follow me. The bartender would certainly not extend credit. Maybe she could con a drink or two out of him on her looks but that would be about all.

I was halfway up the street when I heard her stumbling after me.

"Don't be a louse, Joe. Don't run out."

I turned and caught her in my arms as she tottered forward against me. She was warm and soft, something like a child, something like a woman. The alcohol had skinned her of that facade of adulthood which was only a new fuzz upon her being. At twenty-one Loretta felt herself to be halfway through life. I guess it was based on the prodigy era. She had known adult responsibilities much too young and was, somehow, it seemed to me, going backward rather than maturing.

"T don't care where you take me," she said against my shoulder. "Just don't bring me back to that horrible place. Not tonight, Joe. I'll go tomorrow. I know I have to go and I will. I'll be a good girl. Only not tonight. One night away Please, Joe, please."

The begging didn't reach me. I had been begged and pleaded with many times in many situations and T was no longer available to it unless the argument was based on rational sense. This was the case with Loretta. I understood the horrors of the sanitarium, the impersonal approach which had to be the rule there. What she needed was someone to pay attention to her, directly, personally, with warmth. I wondered how come a girl who had so many fans in her youth was not left without, apparently, a single friend.

"All right," I said. "You can stay with me.

But where? Where can we go?"

"Oh, there's a nice little hotel up the street a way, see? You can just about make out the neon lights. Look."

I followed the direction of her pointing finger to where a vertical neon light in blue letters said, "The Oak Tree." Then, with my arm around Loretta's waist to support her faltering steps, we proceeded slowly in the direction of the hotel."

It was the typical transient combination restaurant-bar and rooms upstairs. The building, made of clapboard, was painted pale blue with white trim in an effort to be respectable-looking.

We went into the lobby, a small, musty smelling place.

The clerk, seated on a worn, velour sofa, looked up from a copy of "Popular Photography" spread on his knees and said, "Hi, Loretta. how's it going for you?"

I realized in a flash that tonight was not Loretta's first break-out from the sanitarium and my heart sank for her and her future.

My impulse was to return her to the sanitarium right then and there but I realized that the fight she would put up against going back would be more difficult to contend with than spending the rest of the night with her. Hopefully, in the morning she would be sober and more reasonable.

The room clerk gave her a key. She made her way quite well up the single flight of stairs, wobbling only slightly from time to time. She hung onto the banister and seemed to reach the room more out of habit than out of current awareness.

Then we were alone together. The room was large and meagerly furnished with a double bed, dresser and rug, all of which had seen better days. Loretta went to the sink and splashed water on her face.

"You think I'm drunk, don't you, Joe? But I'm not."

I said nothing. I had no way of judging exactly how drunk she was. Just as I thought this, she wandered to the bed and fell down upon it, face forward.

Passed out.

Her pale face, limp, expressionless, took on a new and marvelous beauty. She looked hardly more than sixteen and a healthy sixteen, too. The alcohol had not yet begun to destroy the smooth, peach-like complexion.

I knew there was nothing more I could do for her. She would sleep safely through the night.

I fell asleep beside her, feeling a burning in my cock. Something about Loretta made me want to fuck the living shit out of her. I had an idea that she would be a really good lay. Because of my experience, in the business that I was in, I could usually tell when a woman would be a good fuck, even before touching her. This was the case with Loretta.

I wanted to jerk-off before I went to sleep, but decided that I would wake her up with a good fuck in the morning. That was just exactly what I did.

When I woke up, Loretta was still resting comfortably. She was snoring slightly, and I realize the alcohol she had consumed the night before had afforded her a tremendously peaceful and heavy sleep.