Beach Trip (27 page)

As if reading her thoughts, he turned suddenly and glanced behind him and their eyes met. She was so startled she moved slightly, spilling popcorn all over the seat.

“Smooth move, Ex-Lax,” Bart said.

Sara scooped up handfuls of the popcorn and threw them out the opened window. Bart picked up kernels and began to toss them at Sara,
and when that didn’t get her attention, he leaned over and tried to drop them down the front of her shirt.

“Stop it,” Sara said.

“Stop it,” Bart mimicked, grinning.

J.T. swung his arm over the seat and clamped his hand on Bart’s arm. “Stop,” he said.

“Hey, man, take a chill pill,” Bart said, pulling himself free. “I’m just having a little fun here.”

“I need to go home,” Sara said. “I’m not feeling well.”

J.T. and Mel stared at each other.

On the way back to the ATO house, Mel and J.T. got into a big argument. Sara put the window down so she wouldn’t have to listen. Bart was quiet on the ride home, huddled into his corner on the far side of the backseat, and when they got to the frat house he got out of the car and went inside without another word.

el was in the kitchen mixing another batch of zombies when the phone rang twice and then stopped. They could hear her shouting, “Who is this? Goddamn it, stop calling this number! I’ve put a trace on this line and the cops know who you are!” They heard her slam down the phone and then she appeared, red-faced and shaking, in the doorway.

“Was it our obscene caller?” Lola said, all excited that they might have their very own pervert stalking them.

“He’s not really an obscene caller because he never says anything,” Sara said.

“Who says it’s a ‘he’?” Annie asked nervously.

“Two rings and then a hang-up. Two rings and then a hang-up. I tell you he’s driving me crazy.”

“I wonder if we really can put a trace on the line,” Sara said.

“No,” Annie said quickly. “I don’t think they can do that. Not like they do it on TV anyway. It’s probably just some old lady who dials the wrong number and then hangs up when she realizes her mistake.”

“Well, she’s been making the same mistake for about six weeks now,” Mel said.

“Hey, did y’all get those Japanese lanterns hung up in the backyard?” Annie asked, pushing past them into the kitchen. The party was about to begin and she could see Briggs and his fraternity brothers through the kitchen window, helping themselves to the keg out back.

The other three followed her into the kitchen. Sara looked at Mel and grimaced. “Oh, shit,” she said. “The lanterns.”

“I’ll help,” Lola said, twirling around so her short blue dress stood out around her slender thighs.
She looks better in this dress than I do
, Annie thought despondently, looking down at her own blue dress and black Mary Janes. She was too short to carry this look off, and she wondered now why she’d let the rest of them talk her into it. She was always letting herself be talked into one thing or another that she didn’t want to do.

She waited until they had all gone out into the backyard to hang the lanterns and then she went over to the kitchen phone and called him back.

“Hey,” Paul said. “I’m staying at a house not too far from you on Decatur Street. Two-oh-one Decatur.”

“Whose house?” Annie said.

“A friend. A colleague. He’s in London at a conference.”

“We’re having a party tonight. It’s set to start any minute.”

“Come on. Just for a little while.”

“I can’t.”

“Please.”

“I can’t.”

“Come on, baby. I miss you.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” she said, and hung up.

It was a code they’d worked out. He would call twice and hang up and she’d call him back at his office. She never called him at home. She didn’t know whether or not he was married. He’d never said and she’d never asked. But she could guess. His freshly laundered clothes. His unlisted home phone number. Actually she did know—there was no use lying to herself—but she didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about him having a wife and children and another life separate from theirs. She didn’t want to think about Mitchell waiting faithfully for her back in Howard’s Mill, waiting patiently for their life together to begin. It
was all too much; the weight of it, the guilt, would crush her if she let it. So she didn’t. She told herself she wouldn’t think about it today. She’d think about it tomorrow.

She walked along the deserted street, her black Mary Janes clacking on the shining pavement. Evening was falling. In the little houses lining the street, lights were just coming on; families were sitting down to dinner. Annie walked along, peering at the brightly lit windows, calling softly to the dogs who barked behind the picket fences, heralding her passing. This block was more family-oriented, unlike the block where she lived, which was crowded with large Victorian houses rented mostly by students.

Ahead she could see his car parked in the driveway of a small yellow cottage. She stopped to catch her breath, feeling the cold for the first time. She had come without a coat, shouting to Mel in the yard that she had to run over to the campus to pick up something at the library before it closed. She slammed the door before Mel could protest and hurried out the front door, hoping they wouldn’t follow her. The party would be in full swing before she got back.

She went up to the front door and knocked, feeling foolish in her little blue dress, wondering what he would say when he saw her. The light from the porch lamp cast a spindly yellow glow, turning her white stockings tan. She heard him moving in the house, saw the front curtain swing slightly, and then the door opened. He was standing just inside, out of the circle of light cast by the lamp. The house behind him was dark.

“Well, look at you,” he said, pulling her inside. He closed the door behind her and locked it. “Did you dress up for me?”

“No, silly, for the party,” she said, putting her head back to be kissed. He ran his hands up under her dress and then said, breathing heavily against her ear, “Not yet. Let’s have a glass of wine first.” He took her hand and led her through the darkened house to the kitchen. They bumped into furniture, giggling and jostling each other, and once he said, “Damn, there goes my stiffy.” She laughed because that’s how it was between them, it was all just one big joke. Nothing serious was ever discussed. When she was with him she was different, she was
Free and Easy Baby.
That’s how she thought of herself. No one knew her quite the way he did. No one knew this side of her, this part that wasn’t real, this fantasy she had built to make herself more attractive to him. She was funny and slovenly and nothing bothered her, not the unwashed sheets they slept in, not the dirty kitchenettes they cooked in, not the cold or the damp or the mosquitoes they
camped among. In the beginning, it was all about the sex. It was still about the sex but now it was about the fantasy, too. The truth was, she liked
Free and Easy Baby
better than she liked herself. She liked that he’d turned her into someone else. It wasn’t love, but it was close.

He reached the kitchen and flipped on the switch. The sudden bright light made her shy. She blushed and looked at her Mary Janes, now scuffed and muddy from her walk. “I should have changed,” she said.

“No,” he said, his eyes passing slowly over her. “I like you like this. I’m surprised we haven’t thought of this before.” He put his hand on her breast and kissed her again, a long, deep kiss, and then he went to pour the wine. She crossed her legs and leaned against the dishwasher. When he touched her she could feel it in the pit of her stomach like a jolt, a sudden firing of axons and sensory receptors. Until she met him, she hadn’t known what an orgasm was. Nothing she had ever been able to do herself, nothing poor Mitchell had been able to accomplish had ever come close to what Paul Ballard was able, so casually yet so skillfully, to do.

Their meetings were always hurried; he was always late for a class or on his way to run an errand. She imagined him calling to his wife as he left,
Do you need anything at the store? I’m going out for milk
, and then rushing to meet her at the Cherokee Motel before stopping at the convenience store on his way home to pick up a carton of milk and a newspaper. Twice they had gone camping. On the first trip he’d gotten sick and they’d spent the weekend miserably huddled in a tent under a steady downpour, and on the second trip he’d called home from a crossroads store in Linville Gorge, and learning of a sick child, he’d packed up the car and driven them home a day early. They always met at seedy motels or in mildewed tents, or several times, in the backseat of his car. They’d never met in a house before, in someone’s home, and looking around the cheerful kitchen with its gleaming countertops and glass-fronted cabinets, Annie felt odd. As hard as she tried, she’d never been able to imagine the two of them in a setting like this, engaged in the mindless details of an ordinary life. The truth was, she’d never be able to trust Paul. There’d always be the girls in his classes, the girls like herself, to worry about.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, handing her a glass. He never called her by her name. He always called her
Baby.

She sipped the wine and stifled a fake yawn. “I’m tired. We’ve been working on the party all day.”

He slid his arm around her and kissed her hair. He smelled of cigarette
smoke and aftershave. “You don’t have to leave tonight,” he murmured against her ear. “We’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”

She looked up at him. “What about you?” she said.

He shrugged. “They’re not expecting me” was all he said.

This is wrong
, Annie thought, but he was already kissing her.

He took her hand and pulled her into the living room, leaning to switch on a large television. “It’s almost time for
Magnum, P.I.,”
he said, nuzzling her neck.

“I have to get back to the party,” she said. “Lola and I are going as the creepy twins from
The Shining.”

He stared at her and then let go of her hand abruptly and walked back into the kitchen to get the bottle of wine. When he came back in he pushed past her and sat down on the sofa, stretching his legs out on the coffee table. He wore a sulky expression now and stared morosely at the flickering television screen. “If you have things to do with your little friends, why don’t you run along?” he said.

“It’s just that we planned it weeks ago. We do it every year.”

“Go ahead, then. I understand.”

“Don’t be mad.” She sat down beside him and threw her arm across his chest, resting her chin on his shoulder.

He ignored her, staring at the screen. “Go on,” he said.

“No.” She threw her leg over and climbed up on his lap, straddling him so he couldn’t see the set. He pretended to have X-ray vision but Annie saw the muscles around his mouth relax. He sipped his wine and looked at her.

She smiled, and when that didn’t work she said, “I’ve been a very naughty girl.” She put her wine down and slowly unzipped the back of her dress. She slid off her Mary Janes and stood up and stripped off the white stockings. Then she climbed back up on his lap. He was smiling now, running his free hand up her thigh.

“You’re always a very naughty girl,” he said, putting his glass down on the table. “That’s part of your charm.” He grabbed her and rolled her under him on the sofa and she squealed and squirmed the way he liked.

He took his time, aware that he was keeping her from the party. She tried not to think what Mitchell would say if he could see her now. She tried not to think of her parents or her grandparents or the pastor down at the Harvest Hollow Baptist Church. All she could think about was his mouth and the weight of his hands against her skin.

Nothing else mattered.