Case of Lucy Bending (19 page)

She looked at him. "If her mother is telling the truth, and Lucy doesn't masturbate, that doesn't help your theory, does it? It would indicate that Lucy
is
a latency child. Is that why you don't want to believe Grace?"

"Possibly. But I think now that Grace may be telling the truth, and Lucy does not masturbate. Not because she's a latency child, but because she has discovered a sexual practice that gives her more pleasure than masturbation. An adolescent practice."

"Exciting older men?"

"Yes."

"On the tape, she said she doesn't think she's doing anything wrong. Do you believe she really feels that way?"

"Wrong? Mary, what does 'wrong' mean in this case? It's not 'wrong' to her; it's pleasure."

"Sexual stimulation?"

"Of course. Plus a feeling of mastery, of power. She can make men become 'red and giggly.' She likes that. Right and wrong have no meaning for her in this connection. Good and bad would be closer to the mark. But not good and bad in the ethical sense, but what results in pleasure or pain."

They were silent a moment. Levin leaned forward to refill their wineglasses. He badly wanted a cigar, but she would not let him smoke in her apartment.

"Ted," she said, "if what you said is true—about the growth-accelerating factors that have made Lucy an adolescent instead of a latency child—then why aren't there many other little girls like her? Her case is unique, in my experience."

"Why?" he said bitterly. "Why? We always come back to that, don't we?"

"On one of those tapes—the first one, I think—you mentioned a similar case you treated. Was that the truth?"

"Do I ever lie?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Yes, I treated a similar case. About seven years ago. It's in the file. The girl's name was Betty or Barbara—something like that."

"Was it resolved?"

"In a manner of speaking. It turned out to be incestuous corruption by her father."

"Yuck!"

"A very trenchant, scientific observation—yuck."

"That's the way I feel. What happened to Betty or Barbara?"

"The family broke up. Divorce."

"Not what you'd call a complete success."

"It was a solution. The best under the circumstances."

"You think something similar may be the reason for Lucy's hypersexuality?"

"Mary, at this stage I just don't know. I've got to learn more about her parents and her early childhood."

"And then what? Her parents' parents and
their
childhood?"

"Possibly."

"It never ends, does it?"

"Well, it's limited by the time you can devote to a single analysis. You can't go back to Adam and Eve, though it might help to talk to them."

He struggled out of the wing chair, plopped down on the couch close to Dr. Mary Scotsby. He put a heavy arm across her shoulders.

"Now let me ask you a question," he said. "Do you think it's possible that Grace doesn't know whether or not she's had an orgasm?"

"Yes, I think it's possible, Ted. It's not so unusual amongst women who have had only one man in their lives."

"Have you had an orgasm?"

"Of course," she said. "You know, and I
know"

He laughed. "So much for previous experience."

She laughed too, and punched his knee lightly. "You bastard, you tricked me. Ted, do you think Grace could be a religious fanatic?"

"I'd guess not. Just a very conventional woman with traditional beliefs. I'll bet that home of theirs is
shining.
Neat as a pin. She's a real Mrs. Craig."

"Who is Mrs. Craig?"

"Before your time, my dear, and it would take too long to explain."

"You're insufferable. You know that, don't you?"

"I've suspected it."

They kissed.

"How have you been sleeping lately?" she asked.

"Not so great."

"Lucy B?"

"Mostly. I'm convinced that those contributing factors I mentioned may have pushed her into premature adolescence. But they don't explain what triggered the hypersexual behavior. As you pointed out, other female children don't act that way. Something caused it.
Something."

"Ted, do you want to sleep over?"

"Yes. Please."

About a mile north of the Holloways, Bendings, and Empts, there was a blank stretch leading from A1A to the sea. It was an alley, called a public access road, that allowed auslanders to reach the water.

On the highway end, there were parking spaces (with meters) for a dozen cars. Then the access was paved part of the way, this section provided with a shower. Then sand to the ocean's edge.

The access was the meeting place for Eddie Holloway's crowd. They called themselves the "Wild Bunch," or usually just the "Bunch." They gathered almost every late afternoon, and usually on weekend nights. They were mostly high-schoolers, ages about fifteeri to nineteen. They arrived on bikes, skateboards, in pickup trucks and a few sports cars.

Most of the boys, and some of the girls, were surfers. They drank beer, mostly, but sometimes strawberry wine and vodka. Marijuana. Occasionally speed and downers. They tossed Frisbees and, in the fall, footballs. Usually they just horsed around.

Sometimes, especially on Friday and Saturday nights, the Bunch made a lot of noise and impeded traffic on A1 A. Homeowners unfortunate enough to live near the access frequently called the police. It didn't do much good. The dope was stashed before the cops got out of their cars, and the booze always belonged to those of legal age. So?

The girls usually wore bikinis or diaper suits. The guys wore cutoff jeans and maybe T-shirts with the sleeves ripped out. No one wore shoes, except cool running Adidas with colored stripes.

This year the in-word was "blast." You having a good time? A blast. Last year the word was "gas." The year before, it was a "bomb." Whatever they called it, it was the same. There were thick hibiscus bushes bordering the access road. Late on Friday and Saturday nights, that could be a blast.

Edward Holloway dropped his cherry in those bushes. A bomb! And one night Sue Kellerman gave two jocks hand-jobs, one in each fist. A gas! And how about that round-robin night—two highschool cheerleaders and the basketball team. A boss blast!

One Saturday afternoon, just for kicks you know, and the weather being lousy, they decided to have a contest: who could boost the most valuable merchandise. They scattered to shoplift stores from Pompano to Boca. Then they gathered at night. Tony Jergens won; he had lifted a twelve-inch portable TV set. Crazy? A blast!

Eddie was right in there with the Wild Bunch, smoking the funny cigarettes, drinking the sweet wine, grab-assing all the creamers. He was well liked. They called him a cool stud. "Hey, where's the stud?"

But suddenly the stud wasn't there. He was alone, walking the beach near his home. Sometimes he spent late afternoons sitting on the sand, staring moodily out to sea. Not quite. He was watching the comings and goings of Mrs. Teresa Empt.

He thought he had her routine down pat. On good, sunny days, at about 4:30 to 5:00 in the late afternoon, she came out onto her terrace. She usually wore her white, two-piece bathing suit, a conservative bikini. But you could see her soft belly and the bulge of her big jugs.

She spent about ten minutes on the balcony anointing herself with suntan oil, though by that time the sun had lost its strength. Then she would step down the coral rock stairs to the beach and start walking south through ankle-deep surf. Past Eddie Holloway. She always walked in his direction. One day he sat north of her house, and that day she walked north.

(That Wayne Bending! He was only twelve years old, but he was a smart little bastard!)

"Afternoon, Eddie!" Teresa Empt would call out as she passed him.

"Afternoon, Miz Empt," he would say, and give her a smile^He tried to make the smile kind of sad, so she would think something was bothering him.

As she walked away from him, down the beach, he would watch her—and damned if he wasn't getting a hard-on. Not only big jugs, but an ass that didn't end. Great legs. Good tan. And she didn't slop like so many old dames. She was solid. And that long black hair. A blast!

The afternoon he selected was hot and muggy for October. The westering sun seemed to hang there, not wanting to go down, and there was a milky haze about it. The air was thick and sticky. Even the ocean seemed to have an oily film; it heaved and rolled but never broke. Breathless. The whole world was breathless.

"Afternoon, Eddie!" Teresa Empt called out.

He scrambled to his feet.

"Miz Empt," he said desperately, "could I walk along with you for a way?"

She was startled, then pleased.

"Of course you can, Eddie," she said, smiling. "I'm just taking my afternoon constitutional."

He didn't know what the fuck she meant.

"Yeah," he said, falling in step alongside her. "Well, I should walk more—you know? Keep in shape."

"You look in pretty good shape to me, Eddie," she said roguishly, glancing sideways at him. "I imagine you get plenty of exercise."

"Yeah," he said. "But still ... you know . . ."

They walked down the beach, side by side. Then he realized what a big woman she was. As tall as he, or maybe even a little taller. And she moved smoothly, striding out on firm thighs. She was all right, he thought. She kept herself nice. A hunk. If he could get into that, it wouldn't be a drag.

"I like your hair, Eddie," she said lightly. "You don't bleach it, do you?"

"Huh?" he said. "Oh, you mean like with chemicals? Nah, nothing like that. It's just the sun and the salt water."

"Yes," she said, "I thought so. You're in the water so much. I've watched you surfing."

"Yeah," he said, "I dig surfing."

"And you have a luscious tan," she said.

The word "luscious" frightened him, pleased him, emboldened him.

"Well, you have a great tan too, Miz Empt," he said.
⁴⁴
Darker than mine.''

"Yes," she said, "but not as . . ."

She didn't finish, and he couldn't guess what she had started to say.

"I'm not going to walk very far, Eddie," she said. "Just to the inlet. Then 1 turn around and walk back."

"Whatever," he muttered.

"Eddie," she said, turning her head to look at him, "is something bothering you?"

He heaved a deep sigh. "Miz Empt, I got a confession to make to you."

"A confession?" she said, laughing tinnily. "My, that sounds serious."

"Well, it is," he said, staring out to sea. "To me anyway. It's been bothering me, and I've been hoping to get a chance to talk to you about it. I hope you won't laugh at me."

"I won't laugh at you, Eddie. I promise. What is it?"

"Well, you know that, uh, like a little latticed shed you have on your place? The white one?"

"The gazebo?"

"Yeah. Near the road. Well, you know your gates are always unlocked and, Miz Empt, I've been going there at night. To the gazebo. And like I'm trespassing, and it's been bothering me, so I figured I better tell you about it and all."

She was silent a moment. They walked along, kicking at the frothy surf. He glanced at her briefly. Her head was lowered, the long black hair fell about her face. Then she swept it back with her fingers so it fell loosely onto her strong, tanned shoulders.

"You go there alone, Eddie?" she said in a quiet voice. "Or to meet someone?"

"Alone!" he cried. "Always alone, Miz Empt, I swear to you. I mean, I don't
do
anything there."

"But
why?"
she said. "Why do you go there?"

He had come prepared with answers.

"Miz Empt," he said solemnly, "sometimes I just have to be alone. I mean with my family and school and all, I just have to get off by myself and be alone for a while. I just sit there and think. That's all I do, Miz Empt, I swear it—just sit and think. But then I realized I really have no right to be there, and it's been bothering me, so I figured I better tell you about it. I'm sorry, Miz Empt."

"Oh Eddie," she said, turning toward him, "there's nothing to be sorry about. I think you've done a fine thing to tell me about it, and I respect your honesty."

"Listen," he said hoarsely, "if you want me to stop going there, just say the word and I'll never go again, I swear it."

She laughed lighdy. "I really don't see what harm you're doing. As long as you don't have any wild parties or anything like that."