The Gathering (25 page)

Finally, aside from the janitor, who had begun cleaning-up operations, Eric and Rose were alone.

Eric, completely relaxed, walked over to Rose and extended his hand. Wondering where this was going to go from an innocent handshake, she shook his hand.

“How ’bout the Stratford?” The theater was only a couple of blocks away.

Rose beamed. “That’d be great. They’re showing
National Velvet
. I’d really like to see that.”

“Perfect! We’ll get there just about showtime.”

There was a fair crowd for a Saturday early show.

Rose was captivated by terrific performances by twelve-year-old Elizabeth Taylor, and Mickey Rooney in a strong supporting role.

Meanwhile, Rose waited, wondering when the assault would begin. She would tolerate a certain amount of hanky-panky … just until she had experienced what it was like … just until she felt what Alice had felt.

Truth be told, Rose was jealous. Alice shouldn’t be allowed to experience one of life’s more intimate relationships unless Rose could do the same.

But no furtive arm encircled Rose’s shoulders. No roaming hand squeezed or caressed any part of her anatomy.

Perhaps he was saving the intimate stuff for the restaurant. If so, he seemed to be missing a good opportunity. Outside of the screen, the theater was pitch dark, and no one was seated anywhere near them. It seemed that the other patrons were completely absorbed in Mickey and Elizabeth and that magnificent horse.

The film ended. The lights went on. The patrons began to file out.

“Hungry?” Eric asked.

“Starved.”

“I’ve got just the place. A little restaurant just a few blocks from here. Dave’s Grill. Ever heard of it?’

“Yes, I’ve heard about it. It doesn’t have a very good reputation.”

Eric shrugged. “One of those things. The grub is first-rate. Neighborhood’s not so hot. But”—he smiled down at her—you don’t have to worry about the neighborhood while you’re with me.”

What an ego! she thought. He can do anything—or thinks he can. Nobody would dare cross him; the consequences would be disastrous. Well, he
was
a good-sized, well-built young man. And any sports devotee in the area would recognize him.

Here it was: Dave’s Grill. The neighborhood lived up to its reputation graphically. And the Grill followed suit. The food must be terrific, thought Alice; it certainly had nothing else to recommend it.

The interior of the Grill was paneled in dark wood and the lighting was at best muted. The owner—Dave?—smiled and nodded when they entered. At least Rose thought he smiled and nodded; her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the dimness.

Eric ushered her to the rear booth. It was empty, as were most of the other booths.

Rose sat down with her back to the front door and next to the aisle … at least for the few seconds it took Eric to slide her over to the wall by edging into the booth alongside her.

Dave, still smiling, appeared. Now she could see that his smile was aimed at Eric.

“Hamburger okay?” Eric asked her.

“Sure.”

“Two burgers, Dave. Mine well done.” He turned back to Rose. “And yours?”

“Medium rare.”

Eric nodded, then added, “And two Strohs.”

Dave winked, and headed for the grill. He hadn’t written down the order.

“Eric!” Rose said loudly, “we can’t have beer. We’re under age.”

Eric smiled. “You’re never under age when you’re famous.”

Dave returned with two beers. The aroma of the sizzling hamburger cut through the odor of stale tobacco and alcohol. Rose wondered whether she would be carrying this peculiar stench home with her. If so, how would she explain it to her brother—not to mention her parents?

Eric chugalugged almost the entire bottle. That she could understand. He must be terribly dehydrated and thirsty after all that sweating during the game.

She tasted her Strohs, and shuddered.

Eric laughed. “You’ve got to get used to it. I felt just like that when I had my first brew. Stick with it. You’ll see: Before we leave, you’ll be a changed girl.”

She didn’t think so. She didn’t want to be a “changed girl.”

Dave brought the burgers and two more beers.

Again Eric almost drained the bottle in one uninterrupted gulp. He urged Rose to drink up. Knowing she would never catch up, she forced herself to drink, but in a ladylike fashion—or so she hoped.

This was her first taste of an intoxicating beverage. Her head was beginning to spin. It felt a foot away from her shoulders. She shook her head as if to clear it. Eric urged her to eat; that, he promised, would cut the alcoholic effect.

She finished her burger and found another bottle of beer at her elbow.

“No more, please, Eric! This is my first time …”

“I wonder …” Eric was grinning. “I wonder what else may be your first time. Let’s just see.”

He cupped his index finger beneath her chin and raised her lips to his. Her resistance was only pro forma, not vigorous. She let her lips stay joined to his. It was pleasant.

Then she felt his tongue. He was pressing her lips to open. Her mouth loosened, and his tongue was inside, moving, exploring, probing.

She’d heard of French kissing, but this was the first time she’d experienced it. She felt the warmth build inside her. This had to be it; this had to be what Alice had experienced, if briefly. This was all Rose needed.

But Eric’s breathing had turned to panting. Now he was all over her. His hand found her breast and began pumping it. Then his other hand was pushing up her skirt and forcing his fingers between her thighs. She tried to fight him off, but she was no match for him.

Finally, she was able to push him far enough away to be able to speak. And speak she did. At first, she demanded. When that had no effect, she pleaded, while continuing to fight him with all the strength she had.

Ruefully, she remembered Alice’s final word in the matter: You’re a big girl; you can take care of herself. And Rose had agreed: She was a big girl now; she could take care of herself. Sure! Then why was she struggling as if her life was at stake?

There was movement in the adjoining booth. Eric was oblivious. Singlemindedly, he was pursuing his goal. But he couldn’t ignore it when two other bodies slid into his booth.

To say that Eric was not happy was a rank understatement. He had been
that
close to orgasm. Right on the brink. And these two voyeurs had cramped his act.

Eric relaxed his hold on Rose. She wriggled out of his embrace. She had never been more embarrassed. That two strangers had seen her like this! She looked over at them and gasped.

Her brother Mike and their friend Manny sat across from Eric and Rose.

No one said anything for several seconds.

As Eric glared at the visitors, a light began to dawn. “I know you jackasses, don’t I?”

Mike nodded. Manny simply stared at Eric, face impassive.

“We played you somewhere this year.” Eric snapped his fingers. “It was a practice game. We only played one of those this year. You’re the guys from the seminary.” Eric snorted. It was all coming back to him now. So what in hell are you doing in this bar? And why in hell are you horning in on my date?”

“It seems as if she was your victim rather than your date,” Mike said.

“Wait a minute …” Eric looked at Mike more closely. “You look enough alike to be her—”

“Twin,” Mike supplied.

“Twin! I’ll be damned! A twin! So, your sister is a big girl. She can take care of herself. Why don’t you two be nice seminarian girlies and blow! Before I really get angry.”

Rose didn’t like what she was hearing. Once her brother and Manny arrived on the scene, she was relieved, thinking her ordeal was over. Now, it was obvious that Eric intended to take up where he’d left off. Her heart sank. It was decent of Mike and Manny to come to her aid. But what could even the two of them do against this—properly termed—Viking?

“My sister is leaving now!” Mike could not have been more assertive.

Eric glanced at Mike, weighing the effort that would be necessary to lay this insignificant girl. Replacing Rose was simple enough. But what about his reputation? What would happen if it got around that he’d backed down before two draft dodgers?

As the seconds ticked by, details of that practice game reimpressed themselves on Eric’s mind.

Father Karl Hubble, seminary faculty member, and coach of the varsity, was a friend of Dev Sheedy, Redeemer’s coach. The two had arranged the preseason game. As the game progressed, either coach could whistle a halt and make necessary changes. No score was kept, but, as usual, Eric Jorgenson scored almost at will.

Thinking back, Eric remembered Mike only vaguely. After the game, Eric never thought of him again—until now. If it came to a scuffle, Eric was sure he could take Mike with no sweat—literally.

Now Manny was something else. This fellow Eric did remember. Manny was tough. He couldn’t hold a candle to the Vike, of course. But he could absorb punishment.

After a couple of hours—practice games had no time limit—Eric had actually gotten tired of using every dirty trick he knew. His elbows had jabbed just about every bone and muscle in Manny’s body. Yet the young seminarian had asked no quarter.

Yes, Eric remembered Manny. Now Eric was trying to figure out the next development in what was becoming a Mexican standoff.

Manny, still impassive, met Eric’s gaze unflinchingly. “Maybe,” Manny spoke softly but decisively, “I can help you.”

“Oh?” Eric leaned forward. Secretly, he wished he could have Manny on his team. The two, working together, could strike terror into any opponents.

Impossible. But a thought.

“We are going to leave here with Rose,” said Manny. “You can step aside and let this happen. Or, you can try to stop us.

“If you try to stop us, there’ll be a pretty fair fight. I don’t know if you remember the game we played. If you do, you’ll remember that you played dirty and I played clean.”

“Wait a minute—”

“No,
you
wait a minute. Just listen. Then you can decide what you want to do.”

Eric leaned back with a sardonic grin.
Okay
, he seemed to say,
have your piece. Then I’ll beat the shit out of you.

“Now,” Manny said, “I wouldn’t have been as bloodied in that game if I had sunk to your level of playing dirty. So I ask you to keep that in mind. And, keeping that in mind,” he repeated, “if you want a fight, by God, you’re going to get one.

“Now, any way you want it, Mike, and Rose, and I are going to walk out of here together. If we have to walk over you, we will.” He paused. “Or, we can leave peacefully.”

All this time, Rose, now squeezed as far into her corner of the booth as she could get, sat wishing the floor would swallow her up. There was no way she could free herself. Eric blocked every path of escape. She could not drop to her knees and slither under the table—there was not enough room between the seat and the table’s edge. And even had there been room, Eric’s muscular legs barred the way. Rose had no choice but to sit and watch and listen—like a scared rabbit cornered by two boa constrictors. How could it have come to this?

“I suppose you’ve forgotten Dave,” Eric countered, referring to the eatery’s owner. “Not that I can’t take out the both of you by myself,” he blustered.

Manny didn’t even glance at Dave, who was hovering within earshot, but out of arm’s reach. “I doubt Dave wants a fight in here, whether he’s in on it or not. The first thing that would happen would be that his establishment would be smashed to pieces.”

“Before that happens, Dave calls the cops,” Eric shot back.

“After serving alcohol to minors?” Manny shook his head. “I don’t think so. One whiff of your breath—or Rose’s …” Only now did Manny look up at Dave, who was sidling out of harm’s way. Clearly, Dave did not want a fight. He certainly would not take part in it. And he desperately hoped that Eric would take his horns and get the hell out of what the proprietor hoped would continue to be Dave’s Grill.

Eric watched contemptuously as Dave executed a strategic withdrawal, then turned back to Manny. “Look, little man”—Eric did not attempt to hide the derision in his voice—“what it comes down to when all your big talk is done, it’s you and me.” He flexed his fists. “If you aren’t a whipped yellow dog, you’ll step outside and we’ll settle this.”

“Eric, lad …” Manny was smiling like a bridge player who held the game-winning ace of trump. “Eric, lad,” he repeated, “you’ve seen too many ‘B’ movies. I’ll go out with you anywhere you want. Anytime you want. You may beat me pretty good. But as you may recall, I can take all you can dish out, and come back for more.

“And just so you know I’m not volunteering to be your punching bag, remember that I can give as good as I get. And think about this: You sat out the fourth quarter of today’s game. Coach Sheedy didn’t need to rest you … and he wasn’t trying to hold down the score. No,” Manny enunciated slowly and emphatically,
he … didn’t … want … you … to … get … hurt!

“Think about it, Eric, my lad: If we fight, I can hurt you. That I can promise. And I
will
hurt you. And that is not a threat; that is a fact.

“Your coach is
not
going to be happy. And if I hurt you enough, there go your scholarship offers. There goes your pro career.”

Manny leaned back and awaited Eric’s decision. Though he had spoken calmly, his fists were white. He’d been clenching them so tightly the blood had a challenge getting through.

Eric was angry. Probably more angry than he had ever been. Angry to the point of blood-boiling fury. But he couldn’t dismiss the threat Manny posed. Even in his rage, he couldn’t ignore the logic of Manny’s reasoning.

Still, everything in Eric wanted to fight. It was all his combative spirit could do not to throw logic to the winds and take on this wop. But …

Eric stood up, took a step into the aisle, and, with a broad, sweeping gesture, he wordlessly invited them all to leave. The gesture was a graceful one, but his lips and his eyes were slits.

The trio had taken only a few steps toward the exit when Eric called after Manny in a barely controlled tone, “You know this isn’t over. I’m going to get you. You know that.”