Yearbook (21 page)

“That’s what I figured.”

“Listen”—Guy shut his eyes and spoke fast—”if you’re not busy this Thursday night, the thirty-first, you know, New Year’s, well, Corky just invited me to a terrific party, I mean
the
big one in town, and I know it’s kind of sudden, last minute and all, and believe me, I respect you enough to know how rude it is to ask anyone out without plenty of notice, honest, I mean especially for something as important as the last night of the year, but please don’t stand on ceremony with me Amy if you’re free and wouldn’t mind going because Corky said I had to bring… no, I mean I
could
ask someone if that’s what I wanted, all up to me, and I’d sure like to bring you, seeing how you and I always have such a good time, and you could finally get a chance to meet him and his friends and find out they’re a lot more than you give them credit for, but don’t worry about it, it’s okay either way, and if you don’t want to go or if you’ve made other plans I’ll shove my head in the oven but I’ll certainly understand—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” Guy was confused by his own convolutions.

“Okay. I’ll go with you to the party.”

“You mean it’s a date?”

“What time?”

“What time … oh, eight, I guess. I’ll pick you up at eight, okay?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Guy hung up and did a little dance around the hallway, picking up a sleeping Rasputin for his partner, dancing the cat in circles, hugging and kissing him again and again.

He had a date. Guy Fowler, long-time photographer, recent fighter, now had a real live honest-to-God date. With a girl. Amy. I’ve been invited to a party New Year’s Eve by Corky Henderson himself and I’m taking Amy. My friend Amy.

The Zombie.

Yipes! What the hell have I done?

In his frenzied haste he’d asked—face it—the school freak-intellectual to an all jock-cheerleader gathering. What a crazy thing to do.

How to get out of it? He called Corky.

“Corky? It’s me. Guy.” “Hi, kid.”

“Got a minute?”

“Barely. On my way to the gym.”

“Then I won’t keep you. Just wanted you to know I got a date.”

“And in less than five minutes. Not bad. You must be more of a make-out artist than I thought.”

“Hardly.”

“It’s you short smart ones always breaking the prettiest hearts.”

“But I have to tell you who I’m taking!”

“Why don’t you surprise me?”

“Because you won’t like her.”

“I don’t have to, Casanova. She’s your date. Don’t worry. I like everyone as long as they’re pretty and don’t wear metal underwear. Gotta run.”

“ButCorky…”

“whatr

“Metal underwear is the least of her problems.”

“How old are you, kid?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen? Christ, by the time I was fifteen I was getting it left and right.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Neither was I. I’ll see you Thursday.”

Staring at the disconnected receiver, Guy wondered how he was going to talk Amy into straightening for the one evening, if not her nose, at least her hair. Wasn’t there some way she could shrink six inches? Maybe she’d have the good taste and common decency to drape an American flag over her head.

Corky hung up the phone and hurried out of the house. As he drove to the school he wondered if he hadn’t laid it on a bit thick, bragging to the kid about how he was a born C-man. Except what else could he have done? Last thing he’d want his number one fan to know was that he’d paid his dues, same as most. Take, for example, that time … how many summers past… .

Side by side at the Waterfield Country Club, on terry-coated deck chairs, the two women sipped gin and tonics and stared at the lifeguard.

Atop the stand sat fifteen-year-old Corky, his strong arms folded before him, his long legs dangling over the platform. Bored, he watched three little monsters thrashing about in the shallow end.

A so-so summer. His remarkable tan and the forty laps a day were about all he had to show for it.

From their cabana the ladies schemed. They’d been keeping tabs for two months, comparing notes.

“One more drink and I’m going over there to talk to him,” said the younger of the two.

“Sally, you wouldn’t!”

Sally would and ordered another round from a passing cabana boy to prove it.

“This should be interesting!” said the older woman, rubbing her palms in anticipation.

Corky slouched in his lifeguard stand, abstractly stroking the blond hairs on his stomach, just above his bathing suit. His eyes scanned the water and then took in the cabana area.

He noted the two women, awash as usual in gin and tonics, passing the afternoon gabbing under the sun.

They were always watching him, those two, always looking at him over tall frosted glasses. At first it bothered him, making him feel as if he were on display.

But then he got used to it. He was, in fact, rapidly adapting to so many eyes staring his way. Looks from fifteen-year-olds and twenty-year-olds, thirty-year-olds and who-knew-how-olds.

He’d grown another inch since Memorial Day when the pool opened for the season. Along with the added height there’d developed a subtle maturity, the suggestion of a deep sensuality behind those large, earnest green eyes; a slow awakening of a powerfully rugged young man suddenly growing out of a boy’s body.

When he saw the younger of the two women put her empty drink down and start walking his way, he slouched still farther into his chair and fingered the metal whistle around his neck. He noticed her spirited walk, her provocative figure, despite hips too wide and a stomach gone to excess, too jellied to be exhibited in her two-piece bathing suit.

He put the whistle in his mouth as Sally appeared below.

“Hello!” She smiled up into his eyes.

“Ma’am!” He dropped the whistle and smiled back.

“I was wondering it we could chat. Some place private.”

He looked around the pool. The kids had climbed out. “I was going to the pool house to get my sweat shirt.”

“Fine, I’ll go with you.”

Sally followed him into the pool house.

“I’m Sally Orton.” She closed the creaky door. Sunlight filtered in through cracks in the woodwork. They were surrounded by hoses, hooks and gallons of chlorine.

“Corky Henderson,” he said, wishing she hadn’t closed the door, leaving them cramped together in so dark and tiny a space.

“You know the twins?” Sally asked, leaning against the door, hoping the effects of her three gin and tonics weren’t showing.

“You mean Gail and Jackie?” He picked up his sweat shirt.

“Gail and Johnny. Yes. That’s who I mean.”

“Sure. Sweet kids. “

“They’re mine.”

“No kidding?” He tried to sound interested.

“No kidding!” Sally mocked his forced enthusiasm.

He looked at her. She winked. He felt very uncomfortable.

“You said you wanted to talk to me, Mrs. Orton?”

“Yes. I wanted to thank you for teaching my kids to swim.”

“It’s not necessary, ma’am. Really. We’re not supposed to accept tips. I was glad to help.”

“I wasn’t thinking of giving you money. We’re not coming back after today.”

“Nor

“My husband’s flying us to Montreal for Labor Day. We’re meeting him there.”

“Oh. Well, I hope you’ll have a nice time.”

“He’s been there all summer. Works in industrial diamonds.”

“I see.” Corky smiled politely.

“Do you?” Sally actually raised an eyebrow. Look, she told herself, this puppy ain’t gonna be the one to light the fire. So it’s up to you. Either make the move or let him get back to work. She took a step closer. “Tell me, young man, how old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

Sally took a small breath. “Kind of big for fifteen. You play football, or something?”

“Quarterback.”

“It figures.”

Embarrassed, six-foot Corky looked away.

“Don’t get me wrong. I think you’re just the right size.” Sally took a step closer. “I think you’re perfect.”

Their bodies were practically touching. Corky stopped breathing.

“I’m twenty-seven,” Sally confided.

Having no idea what to say to that, Corky nodded.

“You think that’s old, don’t you?”

“Not too old,” Corky told her suavely.

“Would you believe at college I was All-fraternity Dream Girl two years in a row?”

“Sure.”

Sally’s eyes roamed the well-defined muscles of the lifeguard’s chest; his shoulders, arms and stomach. “Can’t imagine how anyone could have been allowed so much.”

Making her move, Sally pressed a full breast into him. Then, finally taking the situation in hand, she squeezed his tight nylon trunks. “That feel good?”

Corky looked down at the floor, saying nothing. The impressive object that sprang to life was sufficient answer.

This is it, big fella, she silently told him. I made the first move. Now it’s up to you.

This is crazy, thought Corky, standing there with a goofy grin. He wanted to kiss her but … “I think I better be getting back to the pool, Mrs. Orton.”

Sally placed her hands on her hips and stepped back, sighing with disappointment. “Just my luck, huh? Talk about bad timing!”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Orton—”

“Sally.”

“I guess I did something wrong—”

“No, you did nothing wrong. You did nothing, absolutely nothing.” She patted the bulge in his trunks. “Lucky for you, you won’t have to win Nobel peace prizes, won’t have to find a cure for cancer, won’t have to do anything but wait. It’ll all come. No trouble for you.”

“What would you like me to do, Mrs… .Sally.”

Sally opened the wooden door. “What I’d really like you to do is meet me again in five years because by then you’ll know what to do without having to ask.”

Twirling her hair, Sally strutted from the pool house… .

The minute Amy told her mother about the New Year’s Eve party, she was sorry.

You’d think she’d been invited to a coronation.

“I just don’t know what you can wear,” Evelyn fretted, fingering her way through Amy’s closet.

“What’s the difference, Mother? It’s only a dinky get-together.”

“No such thing as a dinky anything!” Evelyn insisted. “Make every occasion a special event and you’re bound to be the hit of the party.”

“But it’s no big deal. Really.”

“This looks good!” Evelyn removed a robin’s-egg-blue dress from the rack and held it against her own five-foot-four frame. “What do you think?”

“Much too dressy.”

“Important thing is to always look your best. Give it your all and we’ll soon have invitations we won’t know what to do with.”

Amy collapsed onto her bed.

Evelyn continued her determined foray through the rack of clothes. “ Maybe this yellow outfit. No. Too summery. And your hair, dear. What can we do that would be different?”

“Shave it,” suggested Amy, exasperated.

Evelyn let it pass. “Maybe tie it up, huh? Give you an air of sophistication.”

Amy got off the bed and joined Evelyn at the closet. “Mother, my

‘date’ comes up to my waist. The last thing I should look is sophisticated.”

Evelyn eyed her daughter up and down, then got lost in the closet again. “How about this green skirt and your silk blouse with the puffy sleeves?”

“Hate!”

“Well, I just don’t know.” Evelyn scratched her neck. “I think you and I are just going to have to run to town and find something. God knows, parties are important stepping-stones. “

“Whatever you say.” Amy gave in.

“You’ve got to feel pretty. A new outfit will stand out and register all over your face, and that’s a fact, Amy, dear.”

The only thing standing out or registering all over Amy’s freshly scrubbed face as she stood in a steaming shower Thursday evening was a stubborn residue of blemishes. Pellets of water rained on her flowered rubber cap as she painted herself with Phisophex.

After toweling herself, Amy checked the mirror. No change.

She scrubbed again with the liquid, hoping when the medicated suds popped, her skin would be clear. No such luck.

Damn acne! Taking a scalding washcloth to her cheek, she squeezed, then applied astringent to the area of attack.

Once again she looked in the mirror, and asked the reflection why she had agreed to go to a party with all those beautiful girls? She hardly needed to be reminded of her physical limitations. A fleeting image of Corky answered her question.

She smiled to herself. You’re no Sophia Loren, my dear, but you’re all you’ve got!

Corky called for Ro-Anne just before eight. A festive Marian Sommers opened the door. “Whee!” She and Lester had started their celebration early. “It’s the New Year baby!” Marian patted Corky’s backside. “How come no diaper?”

Corky smiled politely.

“ Wassa matter? Don’t I get a kiss for Happy New Year?”

“Sure.” Corky leaned forward to kiss the side of her cheek.

Quickly shifting her tace, Marian greeted him on the mouth. Stunned by the move, Corky didn’t know which would be worse—pulling away or responding.

He did neither.

Marian edged her tongue forward, and seemed to leave it there after she withdrew. It was a moment before Corky realized she had transferred the pit from her martini olive.

“Fooled ya, huh?” She took his hand. “Come on, say hello to Lester. He’s smashed.”

Corky took the olive pit out of his mouth.

“Hap-pee-New-Year!” Lester sang from the couch in the living room. “Get him a glass, Marian. Havea’tini, Cork. Kick off 1959.”

“No thanks. Me and martinis don’t mix.”

Beautiful and aloof, Ro-Anne now walked slowly down the stairs, smoothing on her gloves. Marian and Lester, breaking up over some private joke, had no way of knowing what an awkward moment it was for Ro-Anne and her boyfriend, this being their first time together since the spat of the week before.

Corky walked over to the bottom of the stairs. “Hey, you look terrific.”

She smiled coolly. What else was new?

He kissed her lightly on the lips, careful not to smear. “Happy New Year.”

Stretching fingers into a white kid glove, Ro-Anne sighed. “Let’s get going.”