Teacher's Pet
Date: 1985-01-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Fiction
Description: An intricately woven novel of suspense from the bestselling author of The Devil's Advocate. Mr. Lucy is just the kind of teacher the children of Centerville needed. He's sharp, understanding, and always ready to help out. A man like that inspires respect in his students. And he gets great results; it was really quite astonishing when the children brought home straight-A report cards. All the parents were so proud. It was even more astonishing to see how they began to resemble Mr. Lucy. And act like Mr. Lucy. And kill like Mr. Lucy . . . Praised by V. C. Andrews as "a master of psychological th

Teacher’s Pet

Andrew Neiderman

Copyright

Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008
New York, NY 10016
www.DiversionBooks.com

Copyright © 1986 by Andrew Neiderman
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com

First Diversion Books edition May 2015
ISBN: 978-1-62681-791-3

Also by Andrew Neiderman

After Life
Duplicates
The Maddening
Perfect Little Angels
Deadly Verdict
The Magic Bullet
The Solomon Organization
Guardian Angel
Child’s Play
Sight Unseen

For our son Erik, because in the end, that’s what it’s all about.

Preface

The fall moonlight served as a spotlight, drawing him off the main highway.

He paused and got out of his car at the road sign that announced, “You are now entering the hamlet of Centerville, a community in the Town of Fallsburg, first settled in 1826.”

It was obvious that the sign had been recently made, built out of pressured timber. The raised letters were carved in script. This was a community that was very proud of itself.

He stood within the shadows and looked down the relatively straight road that pointed like a long dark finger toward the center of the village. The street was hauntingly quiet, but he bathed in that silence. He barely moved himself. He was as still as the maple and oak.

Anyone observing him would say he looked like someone going into a deep meditation. He had the eyes of someone in a trance. In fact his body felt more than ever like a shell. He had visions of snakes shedding their skins, sliding out of their bodies and leaving their imperfections behind.

He liked it here. There was a stirring within him, a buildup of energy. He welcomed the feeling and welcomed the revitalization of his spirit. He knew that he had a sense of this place already; he trusted his instincts. His search for a new setting had ended. Like a nomad from the underworld, he traveled until he came to an oasis of evil. Here he would pitch his tent and do his work.

He left his shadow behind to mark the spot and went off to make arrangements.

1

The light that escaped from under the pale yellow lampshade seemed magical to Johnny Masterson. He was hypnotized by the glow and couldn’t help but run his hand under it to see if he could feel the illumination. It was a strange idea, but strange ideas often occurred to him when he was in the tutor’s house. He would think thoughts that he would never tell anyone else.

Sometimes he would feel like a little boy again, imagining wild things. This was something that had been growing ever since he began with the tutor. It happened tonight when he was walking to the tutor’s house and he turned around quickly to look at the moon because he thought it was following him. He dodged behind Mr. Lorner’s old maple tree and peered up at it. Afterward, he felt like a jerk and looked around to be sure no one had seen him.

But on cold fall nights like this one, there was rarely anyone on the streets. Walking through Centerville after dark was like walking through some movie set. Most of the houses had their shades and curtains closed. The glow of illumination behind them seemed to come from stage lights. People, silhouetted, looked like puppets. Even when he looked through uncovered windows, the inhabitants moved like figures on a television screen.

There was a standing joke about upstate hamlets like his: “At night, they pull in the sidewalks.” It was a funny exaggeration, but there was also a sense of truth to it. In the evening everyone wrapped his home around him and withdrew like turtles and snails. It was just as Mr. Lucy had told him when they were studying his history lesson: “It’s the Middle Ages again. Men, fearing the darkness, retreated into their walled towns and forts.”

He was right. Mr. Lucy was always right. There had never been anyone in his life as intelligent and as perceptive as Mr. Lucy. He dreamt of becoming as intelligent as Mr. Lucy because he sensed that the tutor’s intelligence gave him a power over people and a confidence that made him invulnerable. There were few adults Johnny cared to be like, but Mr. Lucy had to be one of them. Pleasing him had quickly become just as important, if not more important, as pleasing himself.

“What are you doing, John?”

Johnny pulled his hand out of the lamplight quickly. Mr. Lucy stood in the doorway, his face in shadows. So silhouetted, he seemed taller, broader, even more powerful than Johnny imagined.

“Nothing, I…”

“Did you finish all the examples?”

“Not yet. I’ve got two more.”

“Then you better get at it, buddy. We don’t want to disappoint your parents, do we?”

The tutor stepped forward. The light lifted the darkness away as one would remove a mask. Johnny saw the wry smile on his face. It formed at the corners of his mouth and rippled through his cheeks. He winked. Unsaid sentences passed between them. Johnny felt as though he and Mr. Lucy were part of a conspiracy, the object of which was simply to fool and defeat his parents. So far, they were succeeding very nicely. His grades had improved dramatically during the short period he had been working with the tutor.

Johnny began working on his remaining math problems. While he concentrated, he sensed the tutor’s movements around him and he felt him looking down at his paper. It made him work faster, harder. Finished, he sat back in anticipation.

Mr. Lucy sat down at the desk. The magical, yellow light seemed like an X-ray. Johnny thought it was probably just another one of his wild thoughts, but Mr. Lucy’s face became skeletonlike, the high cheekbones exposed, his eye sockets deep. When he smiled, his lips disappeared and his teeth glittered. He held the worksheet in fingers of bone.

“This is good,” Mr. Lucy said. “You’re improving. Your mother will cut back on her Valium this week.”

Johnny laughed. If someone in school had said such a thing, he would have become embarrassed and angry, but it was he who told Mr. Lucy about his mother’s pill-popping and his father’s martinis. He hadn’t talked as much to a teacher about his private life since he was in grade school. But right from the beginning, Mr. Lucy understood; he understood and he cared.

“Should I start on the next page?”

“No, that’s enough for tonight. You’ve grasped the concepts. Now it’s a matter of some drill and that’s something you can do anytime. If you do everything here, you won’t be able to impress your parents with your work at home.”

“My father came into my room last night. He thought since the music was off, I was up to no good. He snuck up to the door and then turned the handle quickly and charged in. I bet he thought I was smoking a joint or something.”

“What happened?”

“I did just what you said to do when something like that happens—I turned from my book and as nonchalantly as possible I said, Hi, Dad.”

“The power of understatement. Never underestimate it. Very few people your age know how to use it. They tend to go overboard.”

“I could see he felt pretty stupid. Then I did the rest—I made him feel guilty. I started talking about the science chapter. He stood there dumbfounded. All he could do was stutter his way out. Later, I heard my mother yelling at him for it.”

“Did you get something?”

“Well…”

Johnny smiled, reached into his pocket, and took out a fifty-dollar bill. He put it on the table. Mr. Lucy nodded his appreciation, stuck it in the textbook, and closed the pages on it as if it were a bookmarker.

“I told them I was thinking of going to the fair down in Middletown this weekend and I might be taking a date. My mother reached into the pocket of her housedress and took it out. She doesn’t know herself how much money she carries around. I could have taken what I wanted anytime.”

“But this way is better, isn’t it? You don’t steal from them; you make them give it to you. That’s what I meant by being in control.”

“Yes,” Johnny said. He was infatuated with the soft yet authoritative tone in the tutor’s voice.

“If they want to blame anyone for it later, they can blame only themselves. You always come out looking good.”

“You always do too, don’t you?” Johnny said. It was forward of him to do so, he knew, but he felt he had earned it and, instinctively, he felt the tutor would not be upset with him. He would be upset with the others, any of the others if any of them did it, but not with him, not now, not since he proved himself. Johnny believed the tutor took a special interest in him and he was proud of that.

“Yes,” Mr. Lucy said. Johnny held his breath. The tutor smiled. “But that’s one of my secrets.”

“Not anymore. Now I know it, too.”

Mr. Lucy laughed. It wasn’t like his usual laugh; it was warmer, friendlier. It made Johnny feel good and he laughed, too, even though he wasn’t sure why Mr. Lucy was laughing. “You’re OK, Johnny. You’re all that I thought you would be.” He stopped laughing and leaned forward, his face growing very serious. “That’s why of all my students, I treat you special, Johnny. You have all sorts of greatness in you, all sorts of potential. It’s important that it doesn’t go to waste, that it doesn’t go unused. Will you help me make sure that doesn’t happen?”

Johnny could hardly speak.

“Yes.”

“Good, because there are other secrets I have that I want you to know and to use.” Mr. Lucy leaned back. “Don’t tell me you didn’t realize that, Johnny Masterson?” Johnny smiled. “See. Don’t try to put one past your tutor.” Johnny laughed.

“I won’t.”

“Because you don’t have to,” Mr. Lucy said quickly and leaned forward again. “If we can’t trust each other, we can’t trust anyone. Am I right?”

“Oh, yes.”

Mr. Lucy stared at him for a moment. Then he smiled again and reached forward to playfully shake Johnny’s head.

“How about a cup of hot chocolate?”

“Sure.”

Mr. Lucy stood up. When Johnny did too, Mr. Lucy put his arm around his shoulders and they started out of the study.

“We have a little more time tonight and I would like to discuss some of the other kids with you.”

“The other kids?”

“My other students. You know all of them, even though you’re not such great friends, right?” Johnny nodded. “Well, I think you can help me with them.”

“I can?”

Johnny sat at the kitchen table while Mr. Lucy prepared the hot chocolate.

“Of course. Lots of times people don’t learn things because of personal reasons, personal problems that block their capacity to understand or even their capacity to care. If a teacher could know these problems and deal with them first, he or she might be a great deal more successful, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, look at your case, Johnny,” Mr. Lucy said, turning from the stove. “When you told me about your parents and your relationship with them, I began to understand your problems. I’ve helped you a great deal with them, right?”

“Right.”

“And now you’re doing a lot better in school and getting along a lot better at home. See?”

“Uh huh.”

“So,” Mr. Lucy said, turning back to the hot chocolate, “what I want you to do is tell me things about my other students. If necessary, find out things about them and tell these things to me.”

“Like a spy, huh?” Johnny asked. Mr. Lucy poured the two cups.

“No, not like a spy.” He lifted the cups and turned, smiling. “Like an assistant. I want you to be my assistant.” He put the cup down in front of Johnny and sat across from him.

“An assistant?” Johnny felt a surge of excitement. He liked the sound of that, but most of all he liked the implied power.

“Uh huh. Of course, no one will know. This will be another one of those secrets between us. You can understand the reason for that, I’m sure.”

“Sure.”

“And this won’t be a one-way street, Johnny,” he said, and sipped his hot chocolate. “As I told you before, there are other secrets I have that I want you to know and to use.”

“You’ll teach me these other things?”

“That’s right. Things other than your schoolwork.” He leaned toward him again. “Things that will give you power and strength.”

“And make me like you,” Johnny said. He said it as he would state a conclusion. The tutor smiled.

“Exactly, Johnny.”

For a moment Johnny Masterson was silent. He stared ahead, stared past the tutor, stared beyond the house. He stared at an image of himself, a fantasy that could come true. He saw himself in the halls of his school, no longer the quiet, meek outsider, no longer the lonely insecure person he was. Instead, he saw himself walk with the tutor’s strength and confidence. He saw the way the other boys looked up to him and admired him, hoping that he would be their friend and maybe pass on some of the secrets to them. He saw the way the girls competed for his attention and he saw the way he handled it maturely. He saw the new respect his teachers had for him and he saw his parents look at him in awe.

“Johnny,” the tutor said. Johnny blinked and came back to reality. “You’d better start drinking your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

“Oh.”

Johnny lifted the cup to his lips. The tutor and he considered each other. Johnny formed the smile around his eyes the way the tutor formed his. They nodded ever so slightly at each other, then they both laughed.

With their eyes, they signed a contract between them.

One day, Mr. Lucy had just turned up. None of the neighbors said they saw any moving vans or pickup trucks parked by the old Taylor house. The house itself was a neighborhood joke. It had stood idle a great many years before the tutor came. People called it “turn-of-the-century.” Ordinarily, that would be something of a compliment; old things were quite in style now. But this house was quite decrepit on the outside. The owners, a pair of spinster sisters, had inherited it. They did nothing to restore it and little to keep it in shape.

The wooden shutters, their paint faded and peeled, hung loose. The gray wooden siding was chipped and so badly in need of paint it looked bleached. The eyebrow windows of the attic were grimy and streaked. Sunlight had yellowed the old linen curtains that were draped over the other windows. They hung like limp ghosts of a bygone time when handmade things were common and expected, when houses like this had porches for people to sit on and talk away warm summer nights, when front doors like this one were thick and hand-carved, and when red brick chimneys weren’t a sign of opulence but necessity.

The small, two-story structure with its Queen Anne roof and its tiny patch of lawn stood out like a sepia photograph placed on an album page filled with color photographs. It was distinctive, right down to the small cement squares that made up its short walkway to its three wooden plank front steps.

No one had ever seen the real estate agent or the Stanley sisters come around with a prospective tenant, but a neighbor, Ellen Lorner, looked out of her bedroom window one night and saw there were lights on in the old Taylor house. She called her husband Barton to the window.

“Couldn’t have just happened today,” he said. “They had to have the electric company come and turn the electricity on.”

“No one said anything about a tenant.”

“Well, the block gossips let one slip past them. How could such a thing happen?” he chided kiddingly.

“How could anyone just move into that house? Didn’t it need a lot of work inside? Goodness knows, it’s been an eyesore on this block for as long as I can remember. Why just the other day, Toby Feldman said she was going to get Morris to have the town code enforcement officer see about having it condemned.”

“Why? The structure’s still good. Those houses were built solid. Not like these two-by-fours. Nowadays, everyone’s in a hurry. Why, my father’s house…”

“I wonder who would move into such a house,” Ellen said. If there was one thing she didn’t want to hear any more about, it was Barton’s father and the way things used to be. “Those miserly sisters couldn’t have sold it, could they? They must’ve rented it. If they sold it, we’d all know. With Toby’s husband working in the town hall…we’d know.”

“So it was rented, so what?”

“I just feel sorry for whoever rented it. I’m sure those old Stanley sisters charged too much rent.”

“You’re just dying of curiosity to find out all about the tenants. Think of some excuse tomorrow and go over to say hello. Then call me at the office and tell me how much rent they’re paying.”

In the morning the telephones on Highland Avenue formed a chain of chatter, announcing the news and linking the curious. Highland Avenue was a side street of a dozen houses in the hamlet of Centerville, an upstate New York community with a population of just under two thousand. It, plus seven other similar communities, formed the Fallsburg Township. Many of the children were bused to a centralized school system.

The township, like a good part of Sullivan County, a once rich resort area heavily populated by New York City tourists in the summer, had gone into an economic decline during the past two decades. Many bungalow colonies and small hotels went out of business. The successful business people who remained guarded their luxurious homes and styles of life vigorously. They felt threatened in many ways, a principal one being the deterioration of the school system. The line, which had become something of a chant, was “The schools are failing us.”

Within such a view of things, Mr. Lucy had an important place, for he could provide what the schools were unable to provide: individualized, private, and effective instruction. Only a day after he moved to Centerville, he presented himself to the principal of the junior-senior high school and made that quite clear.

The principal’s name was Bill Carman, and like so many of the school administrators Mr. Lucy had met, this one looked harried, confused, and overwhelmed by the start of the school day. Carman was a tall, stout man who unconsciously expressed the heaviness of his thoughts by slouching when he walked and sat. There were dark circles around his dull brown eyes, and his graying light brown hair had thinned considerably over the past few years. He looked more like a man of fifty than one of forty, and he wore the pained look of a man who knew it.

The man and his setting mirrored each other. His desk was a shambles—papers strewn about, family pictures blocked by pads, books and pamphlets open and turned over, and sheets from a message pad stuck in every conceivable spot on his desk. There were some water stains in the ceiling panels overhead where the roof of the school had leaked. Although the walls of his office were done in a rich dark pine, they too looked grimy, worn, and uncared for.

“Oh,” he said, rising and leaning over his desk to shake Mr. Lucy’s hand, “you’re an applicant for a sub position. That’s good. We’re in desperate need of substitute teachers. Teacher absenteeism has become an occupational disease.”

“No, I don’t sub,” Mr. Lucy said. “Not in the sense you mean, even though I have the qualifications.”

“You don’t sub? Well, if you’re looking for a full-time position, you should…”

“No, I’m not interested in a full-time position either. May I sit down?” he asked. Carman was still leaning over his desk.

“Of course, of course. I’m sorry. It’s been one of those hectic mornings. We had a bus breakdown, parents screaming over the phone, two of my English teachers are out, and one of my subs is having a hard time controlling the first-period class. To top it off, my wife just called to tell me our hot water heater is leaking in the basement. How’s that for a start?”

“No rest for the weary,” Mr. Lucy said. He smiled sympathetically, and for the first time, Bill Carman really looked at the man who had asked for an appointment.

Although Mr. Lucy’s posture was correct, it wasn’t stiff. There was an aura of power and authority about him. Dressed in a tweed suit and tie, he looked taller and larger than the principal first thought. Bill Carman felt himself settle back calmly in his chair. The frenzied atmosphere of the morning’s activities began to fade. It was as though he and this intelligent-looking stranger were adrift on a quiet sea. He welcomed the change of pace.

But this slowing down in the tempo of things had another effect, a disconcerting one. It made Bill Carman aware of his own disheveled appearance. The sports jacket he was wearing had long since lost its shape. He had a nervous habit of shoving his hands hard into his jacket pockets, stretching and pulling the material. The bottom button was loose and the dark blue looked as though it had faded a shade or two. He liked to think of it as his work garment, but the sharply and neatly dressed Mr. Lucy made him feel inadequate.

Sitting before a man like this, Carman was also embarrassed by his office. He had been after the custodians for weeks to do something about his malfunctioning venetian blinds. They hung on a slant because of a bad pulley. Carman moved some of the papers on his desk to make for a clearer space and quietly cursed his secretary for letting his paperwork become so slovenly.

“You’ll have to excuse all this,” he said, waving his hand about indefinitely so it would take in everything, “but this is what you might call a working office. Front lines, front lines.” He winked. “Now you can appreciate why principals fight so hard to become superintendents. It’s much quieter and saner in his office, believe me.”

“If you’re that aware of the differences, you’ll have the drive and ambition to become one,” Mr. Lucy said. Bill Carman liked that. He smiled widely and folded his hands against his chest.

“I think you’re right, Mr…”

“Lucy, Adam Lucy.”

“Yes. Well then, Adam, how can I help you? You say you don’t want to be a sub and you don’t want to apply for a full-time position?”

“That’s correct. I am a tutor.”

“A tutor?”

“In the traditional sense, yes.”

“Well, any of my subs can be used as tutors. Why don’t you consider…”

“No, you don’t understand. I am a professional tutor. I don’t do other things on the side. I tutor.”

“I see,” Bill Carman said, but he couldn’t hide the skepticism in his voice. He leaned forward. Mr. Lucy’s eyes were intriguing. They were magnetic, demanding. Carman couldn’t get himself to treat this man in a perfunctory manner and dismiss him.

“Because I have made that my primary work, I can tutor in any subject. I can do remedial work and I can help students advance. Today, with so much emphasis on standardized tests, my kind of extra help can be very important. In fact, I prefer working with students who are trying to improve on relatively good scores, students who are ambitious, or…” he smiled. “Whose parents are ambitious for them.”

“I know the type you mean,” Carman said. He smiled, too. It was as though they shared a secret about the world of education. He liked this man’s directness and confidence. What he said made some sense.

“What I would like to do is leave my papers with you. Included in this folder are a number of letters of recommendation from other school officials, teachers, and letters from parents who were satisfied with my work.”

Bill Carman leaned over and took the folder from Mr. Lucy. He opened it and flipped through some pages quickly.

“Impressive,” he said. “You’ve been around a bit, too, I see.”

“I like traveling. There are certain advantages to changing your setting every now and then,” he added. Bill Carman looked up sadly. Mr. Lucy’s smile evinced an inner happiness that he envied. The principal looked about his office again and nodded. “A fresh, new view of things can revitalize you,” the tutor continued. For Carman his words were like nails being pounded into a coffin. In many ways his office had become a kind of tomb. He was stuck; his career had been stymied.

“I guess it’s nice to be able to pick up and go if you don’t like your clientele.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I find kids the same most anywhere,” Mr. Lucy said. “You can’t escape the problems.”

“Maybe not. Anyway, I haven’t.” Bill Carman laughed. It was the first time he had laughed all morning.

“So, if you approve, I would appreciate your placing my name on any bulletin boards or with any parents who might want their children tutored.”

“I’ll give this to my guidance people. They handle such referrals every day.”

“Yes, that would be helpful.”

“But can you really…I don’t want to appear presumptuous…but can you earn enough from this work to make a living?”

“Everywhere I have gone, I usually have,” Mr. Lucy said and smiled. Bill Carman thought it was an odd smile, almost devilish. Again, he had the strange feeling they were sharing some sort of secret.

“And you’ve never considered sub work or full-time positions?”

“I prefer the one-on-one work, a luxury rarely afforded in a traditional classroom setting. It gives me the opportunity to get to know my students, and once I know them, I can direct my attention to them more efficiently. It’s an ideal way to teach.”

“No question about that. I envy you,” Bill Carman said. The intercom on his phone buzzed. He depressed the button on the little speaker. “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Carman, but Mr. Leshner sent one of his students down to tell you that Miss Robinson’s class is going wild. He says there’s a lot of yelling and some pounding on his walls.”

“I’ll be right there. It’s one of those subs I was telling you about when you first came in. Can’t handle the group. Once kids sense that, they’ll tear the sub apart. They’re like wild animals smelling blood.” Mr. Lucy nodded knowingly and stood up.

“I won’t take any more of your time. Thank you.”

“Not at all, not at all. I’ll forward the information. You’ll get some clients pretty soon.”

“Thanks again,” Mr. Lucy said. Bill Carman stood up and reached out to take Mr. Lucy’s extended hand. He found the grip firm, almost too firm. Once again, he took note of Mr. Lucy’s physical characteristics. This man was no dandy, he thought. The strength radiated from him. Too bad he couldn’t have such a man on his staff. Then again, he wondered, would so strong a teacher with such definite ideas somehow be a threat to his authority?

“If you change your mind about subbing, don’t hesitate to call us to have your name placed on the list.”

“I won’t change my mind,” Mr. Lucy said. “But thank you for the invitation.”

As soon as Mr. Lucy left, Carman sat back again. It wasn’t just the man’s appearance that made him feel inadequate, Carman thought; it was his whole demeanor, his control, his quiet but definite authority. That was the way a good school administrator should appear.

Dejected, he looked about his office. What had become of him and his ideals? Talking to this man, even for so short a time, had been like sitting in an air-conditioned room on a hot summer day. Now that the air-conditioner was off, the intensity of the heat became even more emphatic.

The buzzer interrupted his self-pity.

“I hate to keep bothering you, Mr. Carman,” his secretary said, “but that class Miss Robinson is covering…”

“Oh, yes, yes.” He got up quickly, cursed under his breath, and headed out of his office.

Right from the beginning, things went the way the tutor had expected. Such communities were always fruitful for him. With a miserly eye, he guarded his time. Every moment had to be on target. Because of that, he would take great care in choosing where to go, doing the research; quietly learning all that he could about the inhabitants, the area’s physical and economic characteristics, and its schools. For obvious reasons the last was the most important. Such areas, ones that had undergone relatively rapid changes, mostly for the worse, usually had the core of bitterness and fear he expected. It was expressed to him the day after he drove into Centerville when he looked for a place to live.

“We used to have a little prep school here,” Ruth Krepsky, the real estate agent, told him. “I mean it’s always been a public school, but the quality of the students and the nature of the community was such that education was a real priority. Why, do you know that until last year, this school district never voted down a budget? Even during the hardest times, the good people of this community would come out en masse and make sure the children had what they needed.

“I wouldn’t be telling you all this if you hadn’t told me you definitely would not buy property,” she added and patted his hand. He smiled with understanding. He knew that; he had known it before she started talking. “But after you told me what you do, I can assure you, you will have a great deal of business. Why, it’s like a doctor coming into a town where all the people have colds once a week, every week.”

This middle-aged woman with the terribly short haircut and jeweled eyeglass frames was flirting with him. She lingered over coffee, giggled like a schoolgirl, and patted and touched him at every opportunity. He had expected that, too. It was far from the first time.

“Can’t really be as bad as you describe,” he said.

“Believe me, I know.” She widened her eyes dramatically. It was as though she were finding a place for a Broadway producer and not a tutor. “My daughter graduated ten years ago. I know what kind of school system it was. Now my sister’s kids are in high school, and she has her hands full worrying whether they’ll get talked into taking drugs or lose interest in their studies, or…or her daughter getting pregnant. Yes! Why just the other day I found out there have been eight pregnancies in the junior high school this year already. Eight!”

“Those things go on everywhere now.”

“But it’s a shock for us. Ten years ago, you had to fight to get store space in any of these hamlets. Now, you can have your choice of dozens in any community.”

“Better not let that out or you won’t get your prices,” he said.

She giggled and squeezed his forearm. “Prices? They go and build all this low income housing, attracting an element you wouldn’t believe. When I take you to Centerville, we’ll pass one and you won’t believe that it’s only two years old. It looks like someone lifted a slum tenement out of New York and brought it up here.”

“You don’t have to take me to Centerville.”

“Pardon me?”

“It’s not necessary. I’ve seen the house.”

“But how did you…you didn’t go inside, did you?”

“I saw enough to know it’s what I want.”

“But…”

“Why don’t you just write up the deal. It’s OK, believe me.”

She simply sat back and stared at him for a few moments. Then he touched her hand as though to assure her it was all real. She jumped up and went out to tell her secretary to pull the file on the Taylor house.

After his telephone was turned on and he had visited the school, he went home to wait. He didn’t have to wait long. First came the Rosen boy and then Johnny Masterson and the others. It was a good group, as good as any he had had; and, as always, he knew the success it promised.

2

Barbara Rosen knew that it made little difference whether she told her husband Charlie about it or not. He said what he usually said, “Whatever you want, Barbara.” Then he held his hand over the receiver and shouted something at one of his men.

She envisioned the scene because she knew he kept his office door open so he could see everything and yell orders to the men. She hated the fact that he couldn’t give her his full attention for at least five minutes. But this was the way her marriage had been from the start.

She had always wanted to marry money and Charlie was one of the wealthiest men in the community. Though her parents had had only a modest income from a shoe store in Woodbourne, she had been spoiled.

She had developed a vocabulary of euphemisms to block out anything unpleasant. Her parents hadn’t been shoe store owners; they were small business people; she hadn’t merely gone to an inexpensive private college, she had attended a school for girls; her son wasn’t doing poorly in school, he was simply not applying himself.

When Bill Carman told her about the new tutor, she was very receptive. First of all, she didn’t see the concept as remedial and therefore, degrading. Even Bill Carman said it wasn’t like your child was being forced to get extra help after school. This was expensive; this was special. What’s more, from what Bill Carman told her, she gathered she would be the first parent to do it, and she liked the sound of that. Her friends would be calling to learn all about it so they could follow suit and send their children to the tutor.

Of course, Gary didn’t like the idea; he didn’t like anything that required any effort. Like her, he was an only child, and like her he had been spoiled. Her husband had made a slight, insubstantial effort to get his son to work in the lumberyard during summers and weekends. He wanted him to work with the men, to learn the business from the bottom up, the way he had learned it, but the kid resisted. When Charlie forced him anyway, Gary would come to work late and procrastinate for most of the day when he did come.

“You don’t work in the yard,” he argued, “why should I?”

“But I did. How do you think I built up this business? You think it was just there, handed to me?”

“But you don’t have to do it anymore. You pay the nerds to do the idiot work.”

“Don’t call them nerds.”

“What’s the point in doing that work if you don’t have to do it? It’s stupid.”

“You’ll have to be logical, Charlie,” Barbara said. “Explain it to him logically.”

“There’s no logic,” Gary said. “That’s why he can’t explain it.”

“Well?” she asked. It was her husband’s cue. “Should he work in the yard or shouldn’t he, Charlie?”

Charlie Rosen looked at his sixteen-year-old son. His hair was too long, his body was too soft; he was so unlike him, he could almost believe Barbara slept with another man. But there were too many similar characteristics in their faces. No, Gary was his son, all right. There was no denying it. The kid stood there with his arms folded, his mouth open in a smirk, the expensive orthodontia work showing. Charlie felt a deep sense of defeat and personal grief. He couldn’t imagine passing on his business to such a boy.

“Whatever you think, Barbara,” he said, and so Gary hadn’t worked. Barbara was blind to her son’s inadequacies and often retreated to the rationalization, kids are just too smart these days. They grow up faster.

The moment she met Mr. Lucy, though, she felt she had made the right decision. He came to the house to meet her, to discuss Gary’s problems and to meet Gary. The voice on the telephone had intrigued her. He was polite, but warm. She felt they had known each other for a long time. Never had she so enjoyed a conversation with a complete stranger. His tone was sympathetic and sincere. She couldn’t forget about him all that day and actually looked forward to meeting him. That made her feel silly because she imagined him to be an elderly man looking to earn some extra money. So when he did arrive and she opened the door to greet him, she was pleasantly surprised.

At first she thought it was someone else, someone who had come to see Charlie. She was about to send him to the lumberyard when he introduced himself. She thought she must have had a comical look of surprise on her face because he smiled so widely. But she couldn’t help it; he was so much younger than she expected.

He had wavy black hair and deep dark brown eyes that caught her hypnotically. She thought, this is what my mother must have meant when she talked about the power of Rudolph Valentino’s looks on the screen. She had always wondered how an actor could be so magnetic in a silent movie, but in this moment she saw why sound wasn’t always so important. It felt as though they had just spoken pages of dialogue to each other anyway.

“May I come in?”

“Oh, yes, please,” she said stepping back. As he moved by, she held her breath. He was so tall and so broad-shouldered. He looked more like one of Charlie’s yardmen than a school tutor. It stimulated her interest in the man. What was his past? What brought him to Centerville? How in hell did he become a tutor?

“Thank you. What a beautiful house. You must be very proud of it.”

“Oh yes, I am.” What’s wrong with me? she wondered. I sound like a kid.

She led him into the sitting room across from the living room. It was a room they rarely used, little more than a show room. There the thick light blue nylon rug was so soft it showed footprints. Once in a while, Charlie would kid her about it and come running to say he spotted a footprint, proving someone was in that room recently. The room contained a baby grand piano which no one knew how to play and a marble fireplace, which never saw a fire. She had furnished it in French provincial, the two chairs and love seat running four thousand dollars alone. He stopped in the doorway as though it required special permission to enter such a room.

“Please, have a seat,” she said.

“Thank you. You have excellent taste. This is a magnificent copy of a Renoir,” he said, pointing to the painting above the mantel.

“Oh, it’s not a copy,” she said nonchalantly. His eyes danced with appreciation. This is a man of quality, she thought, the kind of man she had dreamt of marrying. To this day Charlie didn’t know who Renoir was or why the painting was so valuable. All he talked about was the quality of the frame.

“I am afraid to ask you what your husband does for a living,” he said jokingly. She thought the laughter around his eyes was contagious. She smiled warmly and sat back on the love seat.

“My husband is Charlie Rosen. We own a lumber company, the biggest one in the tri-county area.” There was no way to say it modestly, she thought, and then thought, this man wouldn’t appreciate false modesty anyway. He would see right through it.

He looked about at some of knickknacks, the jade figures they had brought back from the Orient, the Waterford crystal they had purchased in the Virgin Islands, and the hand-carved, ivory chess set they bought during the cruise last year. It was all there on display. No one ever touched anything except for Cheryl Williams, her cleaning girl. No one even knew how to play chess.

Then his attention centered on her. For a long moment, long enough to embarrass her, they simply stared at each another. He looked at her so intently he made her feel as if she were another one of the expensive objects in the room. Maybe she was, she thought, maybe that is the way Charlie sees me.

Almost by reflex, she folded her arms across her breasts and sat back. But as soon as she touched the velvet cushion behind her, she leaned forward, reaching nervously for a cigarette in the gold case.

“Cigarette?” she offered.

“No, thank you.”

She lit hers quickly, impatient with the seconds it took to do so and inhale and exhale.

“I should tell you a little about Gary before you meet him,” she said. “He can be a difficult child.”

“You mean, he doesn’t want to be tutored?”

She laughed. It was a relief to do so.

“Exactly. I see you have dealt with difficult children before.”

“Let’s face it, Mrs. Rosen…”

“Barbara, please.”

“Barbara. I’m needed because these children have certain problems, individual problems, whether these problems cause them to do poorly or not to do what they’re capable of doing. I’ve tutored many a good student who should be an excellent student.”

“That’s exactly Gary’s situation,” she said quickly. “He’s passing everything, but he hardly works. He’s got a brilliant mind when he wants to use it. He should be at the top of his class. In two years he’ll be going to college. I want him to do the best he can and go to a school that meets his exceptional needs.”

“Of course. That’s only reasonable.”

“But with his marks and the way he treats those important tests…even with money, he might not get into a decent school.”

“I quite understand.”

“He’s stubborn,” she said taking a long drag on her cigarette. The more she talked about her son the angrier she got. “He’s headstrong, like me.”

“All strong individuals are. We have just to give him direction, show him the way, and he’ll take it from there. You’ll see.”

“Yes,” she said. She liked the way he put it. “Exactly. I’ve been saying something like that for quite a while, but the people over at the school…”

“They have so many problems to deal with, Barbara. You can’t expect to get the kind of individualized treatment a boy like Gary needs. I know, I’ve seen your school system. It doesn’t take long to see what those teachers and students with good potential are up against.”

She nodded. Why would such a brilliant man want only to tutor? He had the looks, the intelligence, and the demeanor to run an entire school.

“I’ll go get him,” she said, standing. “But I must warn you. He can be so impolite at times.”

“So many of his generation can be,” Mr. Lucy said. “But we’ll survive it.” He winked. She chuckled and put her cigarette out as gracefully as she could. Never was she so conscious of her every move. It was important not only to be the mistress of such a house, but to look like the mistress of such a house. This man would appreciate that, she thought. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“Don’t rush. It’s delightful sitting in so beautiful a room.”

She lingered a moment, trying to think of something to say as an exit line. He made her feel as though she were in a movie. Unable to come up with anything suitable, however, she moved softly through the door, thinking of a line she read in one of her romance novels; “She left him behind, frozen in the moment until she would return.”

Her description of Gary was an understatement. The boy wasn’t just impolite; he was downright sullen and belligerent. She practically pulled him into the room. Mr. Lucy heard her pleading with him in the hallway. Finally, he entered, but he stood there with his hands on his hips, looking away and down.

“This is Mr. Lucy, Gary. Say hello,” she said.

“Mr. Lucy?” He turned with the intention to laugh at the tutor’s name, but when his eyes met Mr. Lucy’s, his smile faded.

“Hello, Gary.”

“Hello.”

“Your mother tells me you’re having some difficulty with your schoolwork.”

“Yeah, some,” he said. He relaxed his arms and stood a little straighter. Barbara Rosen went to the love seat again and bit down on her lower lip nervously.

“Have you been working as hard as you should?” Mr. Lucy asked. Gary shrugged. “Haven’t been paying much attention in class either, have you?”

“I guess not. But it’s not entirely my fault,” he added quickly. “Most of my teachers are nerds.”

“Gary!”

“That’s all right, Barbara. I think I know how Gary feels,” Mr. Lucy said. Gary looked skeptical, but interested.

“School’s a drag,” he said.

“Maybe it is, but it doesn’t have to be. At least, not for you,” Mr. Lucy said.

“You listen to him, Gary. He knows what he’s talking about.”

“How do you know?” Gary snapped.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Barbara Rosen said, her face reddening. “You see what I have to put up with?” she asked, appealing to Mr. Lucy for his sympathy. He closed and opened his eyes gently, but he turned a sterner gaze at Gary, who seemed to feel something.

“What kind of a teacher are you?” he asked.

“Not a nerd, I hope.” Mr. Lucy smiled at Barbara Rosen, who laughed and started to reach for another cigarette.

“I thought you were giving up smoking,” Gary snapped. Her hand froze over the gold cigarette case.

“I want to, but you make me so nervous.”

“You weren’t nervous before he came.”

“Gary! Do you see?” she asked Mr. Lucy. He kept his eyes on Gary. The boy began to fidget.

“So? What subjects can you teach?”

“I can teach any subject matter.”

“Any?”

“That’s correct.”

“What are ya, some kind of genius?”

“Jesus,” Barbara Rosen said and lit her new cigarette.

“That’s all right, Barbara. Gary’s asking a sensible question. No, I suppose I’m not what might be termed a genius, but I am a pretty smart guy.” They stared at each other a moment and then Gary laughed. Mr. Lucy smiled knowingly. Barbara Rosen looked from one to the other. She felt as though some crisis had just passed, even though she didn’t know what Mr. Lucy had done to get by it.

“See, Gary, I told you this man was special. When does he start with you, Mr. Lucy?”

“How about tomorrow? Nothing like right away, huh, Gary?”

“I don’t care.”

“You damn well better care,” Barbara Rosen said. “He’ll be there tomorrow, Mr. Lucy.”

“Fine.” The tutor stood up and Barbara Rosen started to follow. “That’s all right, Barbara. Gary will see me to the door.” Gary looked up with surprise. He turned toward his mother, but she said nothing. Mr. Lucy went to him, put his hand on his shoulder, and turned him to the door. They headed out. “You’ll bring your textbooks and your assignments.”

“Yeah, if I show.”

“Oh, you’ll show,” the tutor said. He turned Gary into him more and Gary was unable to look away. “It’ll be good for both of us, right?”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” He reached for the door and opened it. Then he turned back. “Oh, and Gary…”

“Yeah?”

“When you come to my house tomorrow…”

“So?”

“Make sure you don’t have any joints beforehand, huh.” He slapped him gently on the cheek and left. Gary looked back quickly to see if his mother had overheard the last comment. She hadn’t; he could tell.

“Quite an interesting man, isn’t he?”

“He’s all right. Probably a waste of money, though.”

“You leave that up to me, Gary Rosen. You just make sure you listen to him and give him a chance. Understand?”

“Sure, Ma, I’ll do everything he says,” Gary replied and quickly returned to his room. He had left the half-smoked joint on the outside sill of his bedroom window, and he hoped that the wind hadn’t blown it away.

Ellen Lorner was frustrated. For three days now, she had kept an eye out to see who would come out of the Taylor house. The house was lit up every night, but she saw no one at the windows. Either the house was now inhabited by ghosts or the inhabitants left very early in the morning.

“You don’t watch the house all day long, Ellen,” Barton told her. “Do you?”

“Of course not.”

“So? You just haven’t caught sight of him yet.”

“Him? What do you mean, him? You know something, don’t you, Bart?”

Barton Lorner smiled gleefully. He snapped the Centerville Watchman before him and pretended to be involved in the local news. Ellen couldn’t see the twinkle in his eyes, but she knew how much he enjoyed teasing her. She thought it was juvenile of him. It didn’t fit the kind of a man he was and the kind of a man he looked like. Actually, Barton had aged too quickly. At forty-four, the soft, balding, pudgy man looked like a man in his early sixties, and she was quite conscious of the contrast they presented when they were out together.

“Barton!”

He lowered the paper and smiled. Barton had been an insurance agent for most of his life. He and Ellen had been high school sweethearts. They had been married for twenty years now. They were a childless couple whose lives were wrapped around each other. From time to time they toyed with the idea of adopting a child, but had never gone further than talking about it.

The truth was they had both grown afraid of having children. It seemed to them that not a day passed without one of their friends complaining about their own kids. So many couples they knew, couples who had pre-teens and teenage children, were overwhelmed by the problems. Barton often made home visits, and when he returned, one of his favorite refrains was, “With a kid like that, this guy’s going to need all the life insurance we can get him.”

“I’m really surprised at you, Ellen,” he said with an expression of mock-seriousness.

“Why?”

“Letting me find out something new on this block before you or Toby Feldman found out.” He laughed.

“Come on, Bart.”

“I don’t know that much because Ruth Krepsky didn’t know that much.”

“Oh, I should have thought about her. She never sells or rents a property without learning the prospective client’s entire genealogy.”

“Ordinarily, yes. But she didn’t learn that much about this guy and it’s killing her.”

“Who is he?” Ellen’s eyes widened. She leaned forward. This was better than she expected—a mystery.

“His name is Adam Lucy and he’s a tutor. He tutors high school students in practically any subject. That, my dear, is about all she knew.”

“How mysterious. Maybe he’s a fugitive of some kind.”

“Why? Maybe he’s only someone who enjoys his privacy.”

“So he’s a bachelor?” Barton nodded. “How old?”

“She’s not sure. She thinks about thirty-five.”

“Oh.” Ellen brought her hand to her cheek and sat back. She had just finished reading a novel about a bachelor who moved into a suburban development and had romantic affairs with two different married women, causing a break-up of each of their marriages. In the end one of the husbands killed him, but both women came to the funeral.

“So,” Barton said, snapping his paper up again, “it looks like you and your spies have your work cut out for you.” He chuckled behind the newspaper.

The next day Ellen was more determined than ever to catch sight of the man. She did see the Rosen boy go into the house late in the afternoon. After he left the Taylor house, she went outside and raked some leaves. She put on one of Barton’s old thick pullover sweaters and a pair of designer jeans. At forty-two she still had a nice figure. Always conscious of exercise, she had recently purchased the Jane Fonda Workout video tape. Long ago she had Barton fix up their back room so she could use it as a gym.

She was about to give up again when the tutor appeared. She tried not to stare. He was as tall and as dark as an Arab prince. Her fantasies went wild. When he paused in front of her, her heart began to beat madly.

Later, when Barton came home, he found her daydreaming in the living room.

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“Well, I see you haven’t started on supper and you look kind of dazed.”

“Oh. Oh! What time is it?”

“A little after six. I got tied up with Sam Cohen. You know how those insurance directors can get. I think we must have gone over thirty files. So, what’s up?”

“I just lost track of time,” she said. He looked at her blankly and she felt guilty. “I met him,” she said finally.

“Him? Oh. You mean the tutor. So? Come on, let’s hear it. How old is he? Where was he born? Why isn’t he married or was he? What’s he usually eat for breakfast?”

“Oh Bart.”

“So, what did you learn?”

“Not that much. I mean, he talked, but he didn’t say that much about himself.”

“You must be slipping, Ellen. Well, he must’ve said something. You must have some impressions.”

“I asked him why he took the Taylor house. He said he thought it was a beautiful house. The way he described it, I began to wonder myself.”

“I told you it was a well-built house. At least we know the guy recognizes quality. What else?”

“Well…he was different. It’s hard to explain. I’m sure he’s very intelligent. He speaks with a clear, resonant voice, and he asks a lot of questions.”

“He asks a lot of questions? Isn’t that something of a reversal here?”

“He acts as though he has money. He looks like someone who has money.”

“A guy who tutors for a living?”

“I know. That’s why I say he seems different.”

“Very disappointing, Ellen. Very disappointing. Do you think the guy might have some interest in getting insurance?”

“How would I know that, Bart?” she said, and then she smiled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I think if you went over there to sell him some insurance, he’d end up selling you something.”

“Is that so? I’m still the leader in my sector, for your information.” She stood there smiling at him, but he felt as though she wasn’t really seeing him. “Well, now that we’ve met the mysterious stranger, maybe we can think of ways to solve the mystery of supper.”

“Huh? Oh.” She went into the kitchen. He shook his head.

He found her very quiet at supper and very moody afterward, so he decided to catch up on some bookwork in the den. He heard her go up to the bedroom early.

But she didn’t go directly to bed. She changed into her nightgown and sat by the vanity table brushing her hair mechanically over her light brown strands as she remembered a time when her hair was longer, brighter. She regretted the appearance of some tiny wrinkles by her eyes, and she mourned the way her chin drooped as it joined with her neck.

Suddenly she turned to her bedroom window, drawn to it as though something were calling her. For a moment she didn’t move. She felt her heartbeat increase and when she looked into the mirror again she saw that her face had become flushed. She placed the brush on her table softly and stood up, running the palms of her hands down over her breasts, straightening her nightgown.

She looked at herself in the mirror again. The sight of her body beneath the sheer material excited her. She was proud of the uplift in her breasts, the soft curves in her hips, and the narrowness and firmness of her thighs. She wondered if Bart appreciated her enough. Although they never pursued the answer, neither one wanting to discover that he or she was the one incapable of having children, she couldn’t imagine how a body such as hers could lack the power of conception.

She felt guilty for thinking it, but it was Barton who was inadequate. It wasn’t something she had thought about recently. Something had stirred her up, created all this turmoil in her body and her mind. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had done it either. The tutor’s eyes flashed before her. She envisioned his smile and felt that gaze again, felt the way he undressed her, leaving her naked and vulnerable. It had been so long since such excitement passed through her body. But these weren’t things she could have told Bart. That was why she had simply said the tutor was “different.” The word hid a multitude of things.

Once again she felt herself drawn to the window. Was it the moon? The tops of the oak and maple trees? She went to it and opened the curtain. Standing there with the light behind her, she knew she was exposed. She looked down at the old Taylor house. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as gray and depressing to her as it had always been. It was as if the tutor had convinced her that it had an inner beauty, one she had been unable to see until he pointed it out.

As though on cue, he suddenly appeared in the living-room window and looked up at her. It put her into such a shock, she could barely move away. She was almost literally standing naked before his eyes. He had a strange smile on his face. It wasn’t exactly sly or evil, but it made her feel sly and evil.

Instantly she realized what it was that she had felt when she had met and spoken to this man. It was a nudity of the soul, not just the body. He looked deeply enough within her to see her most secret desires, ones she would hardly admit to herself. It made him dangerous yet exciting. It was an ambiguity from which she could not retreat.

As if to underline that fact, she remained in the window much longer than she should have. In fact, it was he who nodded ever so slightly and then moved away.

She shuddered, embraced herself tightly, and drew the curtains closed again. Then she hurried into bed, pulling the covers around herself tightly in hope of shutting out these new, powerful feelings.

When Barton came upstairs, she was still awake. He was surprised, but not half as surprised as he was at the way she made love to him hungrily—demandingly.

Later, he half jokingly commented that he thought he had been raped.

“Yes,” she said. Yes, she thought and she fell asleep dreaming of the tutor’s smile when he looked up at her in the window.

3

Johnny Masterson was impressed with himself. There was a distinct change in the attitudes others demonstrated toward him, just as Mr. Lucy said there would be. Of course, the change that had come over him was dramatic. He could see that as far as his teachers were concerned, it was as though he had emerged from a coma.

It began with his class participation. He had been one of those who never volunteered any information and never asked any questions. If he were called upon, he would sit sullenly until the teacher went on to someone else. If the teacher didn’t choose another student, Johnny would simply say, “I don’t know,” even if he did know. Eventually, most of his teachers stopped calling on him. He couldn’t remember ever getting a report card without “failure to participate in class” being checked.

Then one day his hand shot up in math class. He was surprised himself because it happened so automatically and seemed like such a natural thing for him to do. Everyone turned toward him. He knew that most of them expected he would come out with a wise remark or a stupid comment, but he rattled off the solution to the problem methodically, accurately, and even creatively. The teacher was amazed, but before he could respond, Johnny asked a new question, a perceptive question that led to an entirely new area.

The change in the way he performed in school reflected itself in his physical appearance as well. Although he was a handsome boy, standing five feet eleven with light brown hair and classic baby blue eyes, he rarely did much to emphasize his good looks. That is, until now.

Usually, he combed his hair superficially in the morning, simply taking the time to keep it out of his eyes. He had long thin hair and would only get a haircut when his father demanded it. His previously depressed mental attitude had manifested itself in his posture as well. He had slumped when he sat, stretching his long legs out awkwardly under the desks in school. When he walked, he had hunched his shoulders up and lowered his head. His mother had always complained about his posture.

Now, he pulled his shoulders back, emphasizing his naturally firm physique. He had muscular arms with especially thick wrists and powerful forearms. The golf coach was always after him to join the team, but he had no interest in team sports, even one like golf that stressed individual ability more than the other sports did.

Before he had begun with Mr. Lucy, there was a darkness in his face, an habitual glumness especially evident around his eyes. He usually appeared half awake, his face expressionless. But after he began to emerge as a student, his face lit up. The brightness of his eyes radiated intelligence and confidence. He brushed his hair back neatly on the sides and developed a wave in the front.

Most importantly, he began to think about what he would wear to school and not grab the same pants and shirt day after day. He found he sought the brighter colors and cared about polishing his shoes and wearing freshly ironed shirts and pressed pants.

This new interest in himself had its effect on the girls around him. They began to notice him more; they waved to him more often, smiled at him in the halls and in the classrooms, and looked for opportunities to converse. He was really beginning to enjoy it.

Then, less than a week after he had initiated these physical changes, Sheila Cohen made it a point to sit across from him in the lunchroom. When he entered with his tray, she got up and went right to his table. Sheila was a chubby, fifteen-year-old girl with hair always cut too short. It looked as if someone chopped it, and it emphasized her bloated cheeks and double chin. He remembered looking at her a few times before and thinking that somewhere within all that blubber lived a nice-looking girl. She had soft, green eyes and otherwise small, even features. He imagined that at least a half dozen now famous actresses might have looked like her at one time.

During one of their informal conversations, he had discussed her with Mr. Lucy. He concluded that she was a classic example of someone who was insecure.

“She’s more comfortable being fat and forgotten,” he said. “You understand what I mean?”

Johnny did, but for the first time, he thought something should be done about it. More importantly, he had the confidence to believe that he could do something about it himself, if he had a mind to. Didn’t Mr. Lucy say, “You can help some of the others, like Sheila Cohen. All someone has to do is build up her self image.”

“You’re being tutored by Mr. Lucy, too, aren’t you?” she asked him. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Mr. Lucy had directed her to him somehow. He even wondered if this could be one of Mr. Lucy’s tests to see if he had the capabilities to be the leader he thought he could be.

“Yeah.”

“I think he’s wonderful, don’t you?”

“Why?” he asked. He couldn’t help being suspicious. She barely ever said hello to him or even looked at him before this.

“Because of the way he explains things. He makes it all seem so easy and he makes you believe you can do it. My regular teachers don’t do that for me,” she added. He thought her answer was honest and accurate.

“I know. Mr. Lucy is more than my tutor; he’s my best friend,” he said. He wanted her to be sure to understand he and Mr. Lucy had a special relationship.

“He does like you a lot. I know.” She didn’t sound jealous; she sounded happy for him.

“How do you know that?”

“By the way he talks about you. How else?” She looked down at her food quickly, as though she had said too much.

“What did he say about me?”

“Oh, only good things. He says you’ve got a lot of potential and it’s a shame the school hasn’t developed it.” She dipped her fork into the pile of ziti.

“Why do you choose the most fattening stuff to eat?”

She looked up as though she was surprised herself that she had done it. Then she shrugged.

“You could have taken the salad plate. Don’t you care?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think about it. I just take what’s in front of me at the time.”

“Well, you should care. You…” He thought about the way Mr. Lucy looked at him and held his attention, his face frozen in sincerity. “You have a very pretty face if you’d just let people see it.”

She simply stared at him, the forkful of ziti stuck in the air between them. He couldn’t believe he had said what he had said himself, but he had and it had come out easier than he thought it would. He liked the effect it had on her, too. It made him feel more like Mr. Lucy.

“I mean, if you dropped some weight, people could appreciate your good looks and you’d feel better about yourself. Your whole personality would change and that would affect everything you do.”

“My mother says I’m hopeless.”

“Your mother is hopeless,” he snapped, his eyes burning with instant anger. “She really doesn’t give a damn about you or she wouldn’t say something like that.”

Sheila nodded slightly and looked at the fork in her hand. Slowly, she lowered it to the plate.

“She probably thinks you’ll be competition for her if you lose weight.”

“Oh no, my mother’s too beautiful. She’s a…”

“I know your mother,” he said, his eyes small, his face screwed tightly with authority. “I’ve seen her with her new boyfriend, too.” Sheila blushed, but he didn’t retreat. “Your father’s an asshole.”

“It’s not that. They’re practically separated.”

“Well, why doesn’t he move out?”

“He will. Soon,” she said sadly. Her eyes watered and she tugged nervously on the short, light brown strands that barely went over her ear. “I was going to run off and join my sister in Denver.”

“Screw that. Let your mother run off and join your sister in Denver.”

Sheila laughed. She made an impulsive move toward her plate of ziti again and stopped.

“Throw it in the garbage and take the salad plate. Go ahead,” he commanded. “I’ll wait for you.”

She considered the offer and then got up quickly to do it. He watched her closely as she moved across the cafeteria. His eyes were on her as if he could move her at will with the power of his gaze. Sometimes he thought Mr. Lucy could do something like that. He had such dominating eyes.

When Sheila looked back at him after she dumped her tray, he nodded his approval and tilted his head toward the lunch line. She went back to get the salad plate.

How easy it had been, he thought, and how good it made him feel to manipulate someone. Maybe Mr. Lucy was right. Maybe he did have a great deal more potential than he gave himself credit for and others assumed he had. He suddenly felt that he had cheated himself, but more importantly, he had been cheated by other people, people he had trusted in one way or another—his parents, his teachers, even some of his so-called friends.

Sheila looked his way as she started back. He knew she wanted him to make some statement of approval; he knew she needed it. It was all coming to him, naturally, quickly. This was what Mr. Lucy meant by “personal power.”

“That’s a lot more intelligent,” he said, indicating her new tray. “You’ve got to work at this for a while. I’d like to see you show up some of those snobby bitches,” he added, nodding toward another table, one filled with other girls from her class, girls he knew had little or nothing to do with her.

“Well, I did try a few times. I even joined Weight Watchers, but there were just older women there and…”

“And you didn’t have your mind determined and no one at home gave you any support. Isn’t that true?”

She nodded.

“You know,” she said, “you sound just like Mr. Lucy. He said something like that to me last night when he was talking about my lousy grades.”

Johnny smiled. There was nothing she could have said that would have made him feel any happier.

“Well,” he said, filled with more confidence than he ever dreamt he would have, “Mr. Lucy and I have a lot in common. He told me what life was like when he was my age,” he added. It was a lie, but he couldn’t stop it now.

“Really? He never tells me anything about his past when I ask him questions. He always changes the topic.”

“After a while, when he gets to trust you more, he will.”

“How did you get him to trust you so quickly?”

“He just sensed something about me, I guess.” He looked around. He couldn’t help it. It made him a little nervous to lie when it came to Mr. Lucy. It was as though Mr. Lucy could hear him.

“I believe it,” she said. Her eyes widened. She did believe it and she was very happy that she had taken Mr. Lucy’s advice and made friends with Johnny Masterson. Before this, she was a little afraid of him. Now, she fantasized all sorts of future scenarios, not the least of which was a romantic one.

Johnny pushed his plate aside, folded his hands, and leaned forward on the table. Like a tutor overseeing his pupil, he watched her eat her salad. When the bell rang, indicating the end of the lunch period, they walked together down the hall to class, stopping only once to speak with Gary Rosen, who stood leaning against the corridor wall, glaring sullenly at most everyone else. But he was eager to talk to them.

Already, some of Mr. Lucy’s students felt a common bond. It was beginning to take shape, just as it always did.

“Tell me what he’s like,” Toby Feldman said. She leaned forward on her elbows, her face filled with excitement. She looked like a primary grade school girl about to hear a fairy tale. For some reason, Ellen Lorner’s closest friend annoyed her this morning. Toby’s immature, she thought. She lacks sophistication. No wonder Morris treats her like another one of his kids, instead of like an equal.

Ellen shook her head. This morning, coffee klatches suddenly seemed very stupid and very wasteful. What did the four of them accomplish? There was she and Toby and Myra Whittaker and Sally Anderman. Sometimes, Bea Baxter joined them, when she could get away from her housework, that is. Her three children kept her permanently attached to a vacuum cleaner. Myra and Sally sat back with half smiles on their faces. They were interested, but nowhere near as obvious about it.

For a long time now, Ellen had felt like the head of this little group. She was the one who had come up with the revolving restaurant plan, going to dinner at a different place every Friday night; she was the one who suggested the three Broadway show-dinner trips; and she was the one who researched and planned last year’s mid-winter vacation to Aruba.

“Toby, I thought I made it clear that I didn’t speak to him that long.”

“But you said he was…”

“I said he was impressive.”

“And good-looking.” Toby’s eyes twinkled with childish excitement. She had a small dimple in her left cheek that was the subject of some of Morris’s off-color remarks. The jokes seemed beyond her, though, as did so many other things, Ellen thought.

She sighed. She longed for her intellectual equal, someone with whom she could have intelligent conversations about literature, music, the theater…life itself! Myra and Sally were just as vapid at times. She didn’t think she would ever forget how long Sally had talked last time about her new refrigerator. It was as though her whole life was wrapped around frozen foods, automatic ice makers, and an endless supply of ice water. Not to mention the ice-cream maker machine that came installed in the refrigerator. Oh God, she thought she would burst out laughing at any moment in the middle of it. The only thing that held her back was knowing how crushed Sally would be.

What about me, though, she thought; what about the way I’m being crushed mentally, spiritually, intellectually…

“Myra saw him,” Toby said, hoping to redirect everyone’s attention. “And she spoke to him, too.”

“Only for a few minutes,” Myra said quickly. She was a tall, thin woman who could be very bubbly and funny when she had a few glasses of wine. Otherwise, she was very prim and proper. Neurotic, too, Ellen thought, especially about foods. Now she was into diet-light, prepackaged frozen dinners. She could be a salesman for the company, she talked about it so much. But like all her other fads, Ellen thought, this too would pass.

“Where did you see him?”

“At the supermarket. I was with my brother. Tony wants Sandy to work with a tutor. She’s been having a hard time ever since he remarried and it’s affected her schoolwork. She used to be a straight A student and now she’s barely passing.”

“Well, you’ll have to admit that it takes a while to get used to the fact that your mother ran off to join a transcendental commune,” Ellen said.

“And be so wrapped up in yourself that you accept a divorce without any care or concern for your child,” Myra added, her thin lips pulled up so tightly they whitened at the corners of her mouth. “My brother was left to raise a teenage girl, to run his printing business, and to face the disgrace. He was lucky to find Paula.”

“Does Sandy get along with her?” Sally asked.

“Not fabulously, but Sandy is a difficult child, even without considering all the other problems. For one thing, she is too mature for her age…physically, that is.”

“It takes more than a big bust to be mature,” Ellen said dryly. She looked at Toby again. The thread of the conversation hung limply in the air among them. She began to think of ways to effect a graceful exit.

“What did Tony say to him?” Toby asked, remembering her main point.

“He asked him if he could consider taking on another student.”

“And?”

“He said of course. He was very polite. Maybe a little too formal for Tony.”

“He’s not that way with women,” Ellen said impulsively. She regretted it immediately because they all turned to her with curious new interest. “I mean, he wasn’t that way with me.”

“I thought you said you didn’t speak to him long enough to know all that,” Toby said.

“It’s just a first impression, but my mother used to say that first impressions count the most.” Why did she feel such a need to defend him? she wondered. Although she did believe it was true—he wasn’t too formal. He was…sophisticated. Someone as mundane as Myra couldn’t appreciate that. “I felt he had a certain quality about him. Didn’t you sense that, Myra?”

Myra’s forehead wrinkled as she gave the question some thought. The others waited expectantly as though her reply would determine the tutor’s destiny in the town and maybe even for the rest of his life.

“I suppose you could call it ‘quality’. I just didn’t think the kids would take to him and get along with someone so, so…obviously intelligent. He is good-looking, though,” she added quickly. “I mean when he looks at you, you, you…”

“What?” Toby said first. Even Ellen had to lean toward Myra with interest. How did other women react to him? Was it the same for them as it had been for her?

“This is silly,” she said, seeing their intense interest.

“No, go ahead,” Ellen said.

“Well, he made me very conscious of myself.”

“How do you mean?” Sally asked. Ellen already understood.

“Well I…I did a stupid thing. I buttoned up my blouse. Right to my neck. Wasn’t that silly? I know Tony didn’t notice, but the tutor seemed to. He smiled at me and I felt like a schoolgirl. Oh, I’m embarrassed to mention it.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Ellen said. She said it so quietly and so seriously that the others took a new look at her. There was a moment of silence and deep thought for all.

“Oh,” Toby burst out, “I can’t wait to meet him!”

This time her childish excitement brought everyone to laughter.

On the way home, Ellen tried not to think about him. Something was warning her of a hidden danger, a danger she didn’t understand. When he suddenly appeared on the street before her, she shuddered from a mixture of fear and excitement. His appearance was almost supernatural. It was as though she had conjured him up.

She could ignore him, she thought; she could turn away and walk faster, but she didn’t. She turned to him and smiled while she waited for him to approach her like some long forgotten but recently resurrected feeling. She would stand by helplessly as it washed over her and embraced her.

“Absolutely beautiful here in the fall,” he said. He began as if they had been walking and talking together for hours. “When they told me autumn was magnificent in the Catskills, it was a gross understatement.”

“Yes,” she said, and she looked around her as though she were the stranger and he were the native. She couldn’t remember when she had commented about the beauty of the area last.

“There’s something about the crisp air that makes your mind sharp. It reminds me of my first semesters at college, carrying books over lush, dark green lawns, the leaves yellow, brown, and red. Everybody’s skin flushed from the excitement. I felt I could conquer the world, that there was nothing between me and all the success I wanted.”

“You sound like someone who’s failed and looks back with regret.”

He looked at her for a moment as though he had just realized she was there and she overheard his thoughts. It made her regret what she had said. But then a smile came to his face, a warm, friendly smile.

“No, no, I’m just more realistic now than when I was a college student. How about you?”

“What do you mean?” She was vaguely aware that they were standing in front of the public library, that people were going in and out and looking their way, that some of the people who drove by and knew her were slowing down to see whom she was talking to, that she had waved to no one and had acknowledged no one and did not care to.

“Aren’t you more realistic now than when you were nineteen, twenty years old?”

“Oh, God, yes,” she said. He laughed.

“Don’t make it sound like such a relief.” He looked past her. “I was just going to check on the public library. Is it a good one?”

“Not bad for a town this size. I’m sure you could make arrangements to use the community college library if you need more books. It’s only ten miles away.”

“Well, we’ll see.”

He was looking at her hard now, as if he were trying to understand what and who she was. She didn’t mind the intensity of his gaze; she felt she could bathe in it. She almost felt like spinning around and saying, “Well, what do you think?” The silliest ideas were running through her head.

She broke the dramatic pause.

“You look like an Irish folk singer.”

“What? Oh, this sweater.” He ran his hands down his chest, smoothing out the eggshell wool garment. The high turtleneck made him appear even taller, but the garment clung to his shoulders as though it were form-fitted. She considered that a possibility.

“Did someone make it for you?”

“No. Actually, I did buy this in Ireland.”

“Oh. You’ve been there?”

“I’ve been throughout most of Europe and a good part of the Middle East.”

“I’ve yet to cross the Atlantic,” she said, and smirked.

“You should try to go. It’s important to meet other people and see other places.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling my husband. His idea of a vacation is two weeks in the Poconos playing golf.”

“Interesting, isn’t it—how many ways we have found to lobotomize ourselves.”

“What?” A wide smile formed on her face. “I’ve never heard it put quite that way before, but you know something, you’re right.”

“Oh, I know I’m right,” he said. Then he pointed to the library. “Let me investigate.”

“Yes.” She regretted that their conversation had ended, but she didn’t walk off until he entered the building. Then she thought about Barton.

How many nights did they spend during which neither of them had anything very interesting to say to the other? Where was his intellectual curiosity, his perceptions about life? What did he ever do but talk about his business or people at the business? And he expected her to be just as interested in those drab things, too.

She walked on, thinking. How long has it been, she wondered, since she and Barton spoke to each other impulsively as she had just done with this stranger? She never thought about the fall. They never went for walks or looked at the scenery. And the library…she couldn’t remember a time when Barton had been in it. All he ever read were the newspapers and those consumer magazines.

It occurred to her that her life was far duller than she had ever dreamt. This man was probably younger than she was, but he appeared to have far more wisdom. She had missed out; she was still missing out. Was it too late? Too late for what? she wondered. What could she do now? She hadn’t even developed a career. She didn’t want to go back and start over again. What was she looking for? What could she hope for?

All of this depressed her and she knew the only way to get herself out of it was to exercise. When she got home, she immediately changed into her exercise suit. The skintight garment pinched her thighs and made her aware of every flaw in her body, not that there were many for someone her age. She turned on the records and began her aerobics, moving faster and harder than ever in an attempt to quiet the gnawing that had begun within. The music couldn’t get loud enough and she couldn’t move fast enough. She almost drove herself into a wild frenzy. When she caught sight of herself in the wall mirror, she couldn’t believe the look on her face. She was on the verge of either screaming or crying.

Then she heard the doorbell. It must have been going for a while because she caught it just as one song ended and another was about to begin. She turned down the volume on her deck, grabbed a towel to wipe her face, and went to the front door. Even before she opened it, she sensed who it was.

For a moment he looked stunned. Then she realized she was in her skintight exercise suit. She folded her arms across her breasts quickly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you were in the middle of exercise. I thought…”

“To the music…I…it’s one of those programs.”

“Yes. I just wanted to tell you that I used you as a reference.”

“Reference?”

“At the library. To get a card,” he added when she continued to look confused. He opened his palm to reveal the card. “You were right, too. Not a bad library for a town this size. Is that OK?”

“What?”

“Using your name?”

“Oh, sure. Just don’t run off with any books or forget to pay your fines.” He laughed.

“What are you into, aerobics?”

“Yes.”

“I’m into yoga, myself. If you see me standing on my head for an hour or so, don’t think the world’s turned upside down,” he said, backing up. “Thanks again.” He waved the card. She nodded, watched him turn the corner, and then closed the door.

For a moment she simply stood there in the entranceway. Her heart was beating just as fast as it had been before when she was in the middle of her exercise. This was the second time he had caught her unawares. Her nipples were so erect under her thin suit that she might as well have gone bare-breasted.

She went back to the den. Her curtained window looked out across their lawn to the Taylor house. She knew that the windows on that side of the house were kitchen windows. She never thought about closing her curtains or pulling her shades when she exercised because no one ever lived there since she and Barton had moved into this house, and she liked the way the daylight brightened her room.

But when she went to turn her amplifier on again, her fingers trembled. She looked at her opened window and thought about him looking in on her. Her exercise was a personal thing; she didn’t have the self-confidence to do it in groups, and this outfit she wore was far too revealing for her to wear it in any public way. Yet, she couldn’t get herself to close those curtains or pull those shades. She felt just the way she had when she had looked down at him from her bedroom window.

In fact, as she went through her moves, she deliberately placed herself in full view. She slowed her exercise down, making it into a kind of sensual ballet, working and more stretching and turning. Periodically, she looked out the window into his.

She never saw him, but her heartbeat never slowed and she sensed that he was there watching her, waiting. He haunted her with his smile and drew her to him with his magnetic eyes. She had fantasized extramarital affairs; she had even made love to Barton imagining him to be someone else, but actually to be unfaithful…she didn’t think herself capable of it.

She turned up the music again. She moved faster until she was almost in a frenzy once more. Afterward, Barton found her flushed and exhausted, lying on the living-room couch. She was still in her exercise suit and she looked like a woman who had made love all afternoon. He didn’t understand why, but as he looked at her, he felt a terrible sense of foreboding, a sense of personal defeat.

4

Sandy Dickens opened her front door lethargically and stepped out of her long, brick-faced ranch house. The morning sun, appearing between the twin oaks on the well-manicured front lawn, blinded her for the moment and she did not see Johnny Masterson, Gary Rosen, and Sheila Cohen sitting in Gary’s car, parked a few feet down from her driveway. She listened for a few seconds before closing the door. Her father and his new wife were laughing over coffee, their voices reverberating through the corridor from the dining room.

Even though Paula had been with them for almost two years now, Sandy still thought of her as her father’s “new wife.” It was difficult for Sandy to think of Paula as a mother anyway, since she was only in her late twenties. She had resisted getting to know her well and because of that aloofness, they were still learning things about each other. If anything, Sandy was even more reluctant to become friends.

She reached into her pocketbook for her Porsche sunglasses and put them on quickly. Her father had bought Paula a pair just like them, but one morning they had appeared, mysteriously shattered, on the hall table. No one accused Sandy. Everyone agreed someone must have laid a heavy object on them unknowingly. Accusations were not easily made in this house, she thought. It was too guiltridden.

She would never forget the guilty expression on her father’s face when he woke her that morning to tell her he was off to get married. He had been going with Paula before the divorce actually took effect, and Sandy had sensed it was inevitable that her father would bring Paula into the house.

She was just surprised by the formality of it—a legal marriage. Why bother? Why did anyone bother to get married in this day and age? A mere sheet of paper, some silly-looking legal document didn’t legislate sincerity. Getting it was part of the world of adult hypocrisy. People behaved according to their selfish whims anyway. She was convinced of that.

She turned back quickly when she slipped her glasses on so she could look at herself in the door window. With her free hand, she brushed back her shoulder-length auburn hair—her pride, the feature that she knew drew the most attention to her. Even her teachers, the ones who professed such disappointment in her for her poor grades, expressed appreciation of her hair and complimented her for it. What was it Mr. Adams had said; “If you took as good care of your grades as you do your hair, you’d be the class valedictorian.”

She laughed at that—one of the few times she laughed at anything teachers said anymore. They had become such ogres, such depressingly dreary people. No wonder she had refused to be tutored and hated going to school. She had the worst attendance record so far of any year she had gone. Paula lectured her about it. It was one of the few times she tried to behave as her mother. Sandy nearly laughed in her face.

“This is your most exciting year, your best year, the senior year. How I wish I could return to that myself,” she concluded, and Sandy thought, How I wish you could also. Who the hell wants you here?

But her mother, too, had claimed that her senior year would be her best year. That was so long ago, however, she could barely recall the conversation. It was before her mother’s Sida Yoga stage, or was it TM? She couldn’t remember which one anymore; they all ran together in her mind.

All she knew was that once, a long time ago, when things in the world seemed balanced and good, when her father and mother looked young and the three of them sat around the dinner table and talked with a young family’s excitement, when her father’s business was just beginning and they were struggling together to reinforce and encourage each other, when all that was going on…her mother and she had real conversations and during one of those conversations, she described how wonderful her senior year had been.

It all seemed like a fantasy now. It was as if she had dreamt those days and they never really happened. She had gotten to the point where she looked curiously at people who said she was getting to be as beautiful as her mother, or she had her mother’s green eyes. What mother? Did she really have a mother? How did her father describe it all to her when she demanded to know his true feelings?

He was going around pretending that what had happened to him was nothing. He could deal with it. So you’re married to a woman for nearly eighteen years and one day she says, “I don’t want marriage anymore. I don’t want ‘wifedom and motherhood.’ I don’t want to be a part of this plastic world we live in. I want spiritual truth. Good-bye.” So what? Doesn’t it happen to a lot of married people?

That was the way he wanted to appear to the rest of the world, but he didn’t appear that way to her. She wasn’t going to permit any false faces, not anymore. One day she demanded honesty.

“I want to know how you took it,” she said. “I want you to tell me how you really felt.”

“What do you mean? We’re making it, aren’t we?”

“I’m not talking about making it. We eat. The house is clean, Daddy. You’re making as much money as ever, I’m sure. But for godsakes, I’m your daughter. Mommy forgot that, but you can’t.”

He saw how she was and he stopped smiling. He nodded and sat down.

“I’ll tell you how I feel. I feel like someone who has been in a boat tied to a dock for years and one day someone untied the boat and now it’s adrift on an endless, meaningless sea. That’s how I feel.”

He looked like he would cry then and she was sorry she had demanded the truth. The picture of that drifting boat never left her, not even when he married Paula.

Sometimes she thought she liked that picture and wanted him to be forever a boat adrift. He’d be more in line with her and the way she felt. Marrying Paula was his way of changing the picture. He was tying his boat to another dock, but what about her? What about her endless drifting? Paula wasn’t any dock for her. She was anything but that. She was simply another person out for herself. She didn’t use TM or est as a rationalization, maybe, but the net result was the same.

Sandy thought she had rationalized the situation well. Paula saw her as a threat, not just because she took her father’s attention away from her, but because she reminded him of his former wife. Didn’t people say, “How could Tony Dickens look at his daughter without thinking of his first wife?” Sandy thought Paula might even have overheard someone saying it.

At times she could almost tolerate her life. It was so much like a soap opera. But then she would think, this isn’t happening on some television screen. I can’t turn it off and on at will. I live it.

All these thoughts drove her out of the house, even though she wasn’t anxious to get to school. When she turned away from the door to cross the patio, she dropped her math book. She was almost willing to leave it there. What difference did it make? She wasn’t going to pass that course anyway. That was why her father talked about getting her tutored. Sandy heard Paula tell him that if she just did her work the way she was supposed to, she wouldn’t need a tutor. No fooling. What a brilliant observation.

She picked up the book and started down the sidewalk. Her new designer jeans squeaked. She should have gotten the prewashed ones, she thought. At five feet seven, with her small waist, long legs, and rather well-developed bust, she presented a striking figure. In the summertime when she wore those short shorts and the cutaway shirts, she stopped traffic. How that galled her aunt Myra. She smiled thinking about it.

“Hey, Sandy,” she heard and first noticed Johnny Masterson leaning out of the passenger-side window of Gary Rosen’s car. “Can we talk to you?” She walked over to them.

“What are you doing here?” She looked in the back and saw Sheila Cohen. Gary was sitting back against his door, holding a cigarette between his lips. Instead of looking like the usual blob, he looked cool, confident. In fact there was something different and peculiar about all of them, she thought. She was interested.

“We were waiting for you,” Johnny said. He smiled warmly.

“Hi, Sandy,” Sheila said.

Sandy opened her pocketbook and started to pull out a cigarette, but Johnny produced one from his top shirt pocket much quicker.

“Thanks. So? What’s up?”

“We wanted to talk to you about Mr. Lucy,” Johnny said.

“Who the hell is Mr. Lucy?” She lit her cigarette and blew the smoke straight up.

“How about we give you a lift to school and tell you more about him?” Johnny said. Sandy looked down the sidewalk as though there were another ride waiting for her. For a moment Johnny thought so too. “I mean, if you’re not busy.”

“I’m not busy, but who the hell is this guy and what’s he got to do with me?”

“He’s the man your father spoke to about tutoring you.”

“Oh. Forget that,” she said, and started to walk away.

“No, wait.” Johnny got out of the car and ran up to her. She was surprised at his aggressiveness. “You’ve got the wrong idea about this guy. We’re all being tutored by him,” he said, gesturing back at the car. She saw Sheila leaning forward intently. Gary had straightened up his seat and was now facing forward.

“Big deal. Look, I’m going down to George’s for a cup of coffee. I don’t even think I’m going to school today. I’m not in the mood.”

“That’s a mistake,” Johnny said. She half expected he was being sarcastic, but when she looked directly at him, she sensed his sincerity. He saw the puzzled look on her face. “I mean, you’re getting back at them, but you’re only making it harder on yourself, believe me.”

“What are you studying to be, a guidance counselor?” She laughed at her own joke. Then she turned serious for a moment. “Somebody did tell me you were doing great in school. He sounded jealous. I know. It was Richard Slattery. He thought you cheated on your English test.”

“I didn’t cheat. I knew that stuff cold. He thinks he’s the only one who can understand subordinate clauses, or anything for that matter. I remember how he used to flash his papers in front of me. He’s not doing that anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because of the tutor.”

“The tutor?”

“Mr. Lucy.”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Lucy.”

“And it’s not just my schoolwork that’s improved either,” he said enthusiastically. He took a step closer to her, a new, knowing look on his face. She felt a tingle of excitement. It made her consider him more seriously. She had admired Johnny Masterson’s looks from time to time, but she had classified him as being a zero. What was all this personality, this come-on all of a sudden?

She looked back at the car. Gary and Sheila were staring at her so hard she thought they were fixated.

“What are you, on drugs or something?”

“No, Sandy. Gary’s even cut back on joints. Hey,” he said, nodding his head confidently, “we’re into ourselves and it’s paying off…in more ways than you can imagine.”

She stared at him a moment. There was something in his eyes, some kind of sureness that she envied. It was as though he did find some answers and some contentment. That, more than anything, held her interest.

“What do you want from me?”

“Just want to help you help yourself, that’s all. All of us,” he said, gesturing back at the car, “feel the same way.” She tilted her head, still obviously puzzled and skeptical. “We heard you didn’t want to work with Mr. Lucy and we talked about it and decided we’d try to get you to change your mind. None of us wanted to work with him in the beginning, but we’re all glad we did.” He stepped closer to her. “You see the change in Sheila Cohen,” he said, lowering his voice. “She’s lost nearly ten pounds and her grades have improved almost as much as mine.”

“This Mr. Lucy must be some guy,” Sandy said. She was a little threatened by his intensity now and hoped that her sarcasm would drive him back, but he remained serious and determined.

“He is. He’s more than a tutor of school subjects; he’s a tutor of life. You’ll see, if you give him a chance.”

“What are you, getting a cut or something?”

Johnny blanched.

“No way.”

She looked down the sidewalk behind her and then back at the car. The three of them seemed so dependent upon her cooperation. They really wanted her and that flattered her.

“Oh hell, what’s the difference,” she said, stepping toward the car.

“Great. Besides,” he said, “it would have been a helluva waste for someone to come out of the house looking as great as you do and not be seen at school.”

She smiled, just as he knew she would. It was easy to say things like that when you meant it, as he did now, but the power came from being able to say them no matter what. The important thing was to sound and look sincere. What was the secret Mr. Lucy gave him about this: “If you’re having trouble being nice to someone, pretend that it’s someone you want to be nice to and you’ll be able to do it.”

Sheila Cohen moved over quickly in the backseat, anxious for Sandy to get in beside her. She had always hoped she would have Sandy for a friend. Just being seen with her was important.

“Your hair looks great, Sandy,” she said.

“Thanks.” She looked at her for a moment. “There is something very different about you.”

“Nine and a half pounds, to be exact. And I’m letting my hair grow, see.” Sheila pulled on the strands to emphasize the new length. Sandy nodded with appreciation. She was impressed.

“You do Downing’s homework?” Gary asked her as he started the car. He looked back at her through the rearview mirror.

“Get serious. I haven’t done homework in that class for weeks.”

“It was easy. I’ll let you copy it in homeroom, but I’ll show you how to do it, too, just in case he asks you questions about it.”

“He probably will,” Johnny said, “expecting that you copied it. But when you answer the questions, he’ll swallow his accusations and you’ll feel great. You’ll see.”

“He’s right,” Sheila said.

Sandy looked from one to the other quickly. Then she leaned toward Gary.

“You did all of it?”

“Sure. I’m getting an A this quarter and when I do, my mother’s buying me a 300 ZX.”

“Oh,” Sandy said, sitting back. She was comfortable with that reason. “That explains it.”

“But that’s not my most important reason,” Gary added quickly. “I can live without a sports car.”

“Is that so? And what’s your most important reason?” Sandy asked, smiling at Johnny, who had turned back to her as they pulled away from the curve.

“It’s what Mr. Lucy says I should get,” Gary replied. He said it so nonchalantly it was as though he expected her to know it.

“What?” Sandy smiled in puzzlement at Johnny.

“You’ll understand what Gary means after you’ve met and worked with Mr. Lucy,” Johnny said.

She looked at Sheila, who was nodding emphatically in agreement. Then she looked at Gary, who slowed down to get under the speed limit as they turned off her road and onto Main Street.

What the hell were they on? she wondered. Whatever it was, she wanted some of it. They seemed so damn happy and so damn pleased with themselves. She couldn’t remember when she felt that way last.

“I guess I’ll really have to meet this guy,” she said, this time very sincerely.

Johnny’s smile widened. She was interested and that was all he had to accomplish. He felt good. Mr. Lucy would be proud of him.

It was that special quiet time again for Johnny Masterson. All the others were gone; he had had his lessons, and he and Mr. Lucy were alone. Mr. Lucy sat very still in the big, gray cushioned easy chair with the thick, hand-carved legs and arms. Despite its size and softness, the chair in no way diminished Mr. Lucy.

In fact, tonight, with the living room lights dim and shadows everywhere about them, Mr. Lucy seemed larger than life. When he spoke, his words were deceptively soft, for there was nothing weak about him, as far as Johnny was concerned. But the pauses between Mr. Lucy’s sentences were filled with so deep a silence, it seemed as though the very house itself were listening, absorbing. Nothing dared creak, not a shutter, not a floorboard, not a wall.

Mr. Lucy had told him that he thought there was something special about this house.

“It looks out of place here,” Johnny had said, “because it’s surrounded by all these modern homes.”

“That’s exactly it, Johnny. That’s why it’s so special. It’s what brought me right to it. It is out of place, but in a nice way. This house has personality, style, soul.”

Johnny tried to look at the house the way Mr. Lucy looked at it. He did sense something.

“It’s warmer,” he said.

“Yes. Because it’s alive.”

“Alive?”

“When something is built with feeling, when people really care about what they’re doing with their talent and energy, they put something of themselves into their products. It’s the same with children, Johnny.”

“You mean…the way their parents treat them?”

“That’s it. Right from the start the question is, did they want them? Did they want them with all their hearts? Are the children a burden or a joy?”

Johnny nodded. He did understand, especially when he thought about the way his parents treated him and the way Gary’s parents, Sheila’s parents, and now Sandy’s parents, treated them. It all seemed to be so clear when Mr. Lucy explained it.

He looked around the house again and wished that he was part of it, or at least, part of something substantial. He didn’t have any real feeling for his own house. He remembered carving things into the walls in his room when he was about six or seven years old. He didn’t care about the mess or the permanent damage he was creating.

“I guess all of us are a burden,” he said. “I think Sandy even called herself that.”

“Quite understandably. You’ve done well with her, Johnny. You’ve helped her to get a new start.”

Johnny smiled. From the moment he had come this evening, he had sensed how pleased Mr. Lucy was with him and his accomplishments. Sandy Dickens had been there only twice, but she was already quite taken with Mr. Lucy and thanked him for talking her into going. He felt confident that now there were four in what he had come to think of as Mr. Lucy’s inner circle.

“She’s happier already.”

“Oh, she is.”

“And so are Gary and Sheila. Sheila’s getting to look better and better every day.”

“I know.”

Mr. Lucy’s eyes seemed to grow darker and deeper. To Johnny they looked like two tiny endless tunnels that went down into another world, into another dimension. He couldn’t turn away. Mr. Lucy folded his hands across his chest and sat back. The move relaxed them both.

“Gary has a very poor relationship with his father, doesn’t he?” Mr. Lucy asked.

“Yeah. He almost hates him, I’d say. His father always wanted him to work in the lumberyard, to learn the business, but Gary hates it there. He told me he’s never going to work there, no matter what.”

“Pretty rich people.”

“Richest in town, probably. Gary still gets almost anything he wants.”

“There was this ring he was telling me about. Did he mention it to you?”

“His grandmother’s ring. Yeah, he was telling me about it.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Well, he said he was thinking of getting it to give to you. For our account.”

“And?”

“I told him it was a good idea, but he had to be careful because jewelry like that might be missed. But he said his father would never know it was gone anyway. No one wears it; no one even looks at it.”

“Good. What about Sheila?”

“She told me about this necklace her mother has, one she hardly wears because it’s so valuable.”

“Sounds good.”

“Her father gave it to her when they were in love, she said.” He smirked.

“You sound like you don’t believe in such things.”

“Not much.”

“Sandy has that problem, too. It’s important to believe in something you can’t touch, something you can only think about or feel in your heart. Like a friendship or a loyalty…”

“You mean, something like us, like what the five of us have now?”

“Yes. And what we can be…all of us, all of you.”

“It’s already happening,” Johnny said with enthusiasm. “I can sense it. Others can sense it, too, I know.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Lucy leaned forward slightly, his face emerging out of the shadows. There was a yellowish glow over him that made him look like he was made of wax. For a moment Johnny was intimidated by the image. “When you say, others, what do you mean?”

“They’re jealous.”

“You’ve got to be careful.”

“I don’t brag about anything, if that’s what you mean. I remember what you said about power.”

“About the mystery?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Mr. Lucy sat back. There was a long pause and then he sat forward again, but he seemed changed this time. His eyes weren’t as deep and as dark and the glow that was on his face looked lighter, warmer. It was as though there were two of him and he could move in and out of each at will. Johnny liked them both, even though the other was a little frightening. He was intrigued and thrilled by him. This version of Mr. Lucy was more like a big brother or father.

“Now tell me about your sister. You were complaining about her before.”

“When my mother told her about my good marks, she laughed like it was some kind of freak accident.”

“That’s sad. It’s sad when a brother and a sister are at such odds with each other. Was it always like this between the two of you?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think that’s so?”

“It’s the way my father brought her up. In his eyes, she can do no wrong,” Johnny said bitterly. The anger in his face was like a small fire fed by the understanding in Mr. Lucy’s face. Johnny felt comfortable exposing his truer feelings. Images of revenge and jealousy were not restrained as they usually were. He didn’t have the same sense of guilt for thinking and conjuring them up.

“You’ve got to change that. Most of the problems with young people today come from the fact that parents can’t be objective about their own children.”

“What do I do?”

“Get him to see she’s human, vulnerable. Get him to understand she’s not special, or at least, not any better than you are. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” he said. It was practically a whisper. In fact, he couldn’t remember any of them speaking very loud in this house. It must have something to do with the place itself, he thought, and with what Mr. Lucy was talking about when he said the house had character and has soul. It would be almost sinful to be loud and wild in here.

“It would only be right, Mr. Lucy.” He looked as though he had just convinced himself as well.

“But…but what do I do? I mean, how…”

“You need an opportunity, something to develop.” He sat back again. “Tell me more about your sister. Talk about her. Say anything that comes to your mind, no matter how insignificant you might think it is. And from that, maybe we’ll find a way. Go ahead.”

“Well,” Johnny began, “she’s spoiled. As far back as I can remember, she’d go running to him if I ever did the slightest thing to bother her. My parents always took her side in any argument,” he added. His anger was raw now. Unsheathed like a sword, it cut through any inhibitions to expose his bitterness. Mr. Lucy looked very pleased.

“That’s so wrong. It’s so wrong when parents pit one child against another. It’s so obvious a mistake you’d think anyone could see it. But something’s blinded them, or at least blinded your father.”

“Both of them,” Johnny said. “My mother goes along with whatever he says.”

“I’m sorry to hear this. But what are they blinded to, exactly?”

“She has bad habits, too, habits they don’t see or don’t want to see.”

“For example?”

“Well…” He looked about frantically as though things were laid out for him on the floor. “Lately, she’s been getting more and more interested in sex. All the brats in her crowd are.”

“How do you know?”

“I listened in on some of their conversations. A couple of her girlfriends will come over and they’ll go into her room and shut the door. They don’t know that I have a…”

“What, Johnny? You can tell me now. I understand.”

“I have a peephole. There’s this separation between the molding of the doorjamb and the wall.”

“There’s an adjoining door?”

“Yeah, but ever since she was twelve years old, the door was locked. Like I give a shit. I told them good because she’d probably come walking in on me and my friends. Anyway, you get bored sometimes and I thought I’d get a kick out of listening to their dumb conversations and seeing what they do.”

“Tell me some of what you’ve seen and heard,” Mr. Lucy said. “Take your time and try to remember what you think might be the most important stuff. You want a Coke or a glass of juice?”

“No thanks.” Johnny was eager to go on and impatient with anything that might interrupt him.

“OK,” Mr. Lucy said. “Go on. I think I might already have an idea of how to help you,” he added.

Johnny was encouraged. He reached into his memory and began.

5

Johnny opened the hallway door to the basement and walked down the carpeted stairway slowly and silently. He wanted his entrance to be a dramatic surprise. Ordinarily, whenever his sister had a friend over, he would consciously avoid them. But this time it was different. Mary Warren was here, and from his description of Denise’s close friends, she was the one Mr. Lucy had chosen.

There were good reasons for the choice. Of all his sister’s friends, Mary Warren was the most physically developed and the most precocious. She looked more like a tenth- or eleventh-grader than a seventh-grader, and she had the potential to be a very attractive woman. She was a dark-skinned, five-feet-two inch girl with long, shiny black hair. Although there was a softness in her face reminiscent of preadolescence, the maturing process was easy to see. Her dark brown eyes were lit with a knowing awareness, and for a seventh-grader, she smiled too suggestively at upper grade boys. Also, she had taken to wearing a wet, shiny lipstick that gave her an older, sensuous appearance.

Johnny knew that Mary took after her mother, a tall, full-figured woman who looked like she might have been a beauty contest contestant. Mary’s bosom was probably ninety percent of what it would be. Her waist had narrowed and her thighs and rear had tightened and curved, giving her an attractive figure. Like all the other seventh-graders anxious to be considered grown-up, she wore her jeans too tight and her make-up too heavy.

From listening in on her sister’s conversations and from observing her and her friends here at home and at school, Johnny also knew that Mary was something of a leader in the group. The others usually did whatever she suggested and thought whatever she thought. She knew the most, talked the most, and told the most. Johnny suspected that she had already lost her virginity. He had heard her name mentioned by a few upperclass boys. Hearing all this, Mr. Lucy said she would be perfect for what they had to do.

And so Johnny thought that he couldn’t pass up this opportunity. About a half hour after the girls had gone down to the basement, he decided to attempt the plan. Before he made the turn on the stairs near the bottom of the flight, he heard their laughter. He imagined they were already into one of their “private talks”; he figured the atmosphere was perfect and the timing was ideal.

The Mastersons had a full, finished basement. It was furnished with a soft, velvet eight-piece sectional with two ottoman pieces, end tables, and a vibrating easy chair. Johnny’s father called the room his “Playboy Palace.” There was a thick, soft shag carpet on the floor done in a light, natural lamb’s wool shade, and real plank wood panels on the walls. They had a large-screen projection television set and video deck directly across from the sectional. To the right of that was a brick-faced bar with cushioned stools and a pool table.

But the pièce de résistance was in the left corner: a whirlpool spa had been set on a masonry platform with marble steps. The water in it bubbled and the filter hummed. Its scented water perfumed the air. The scent was enticing, suggestive.

As Johnny reached the bottom steps, he saw that the stereo unit that was built into the bookcase on the rear wall was lit, but the tape in the player-recorder was rewinding. His sister and Mary Warren were seated on the sectional, their knees up and folded as they turned into each other to giggle and talk. He saw they had their homework out on the ottoman pieces. Neither of them heard him or saw him because they were so engrossed in their conversation.

Mary was dressed in a dark blue sweater a size too tight, and a pair of old, faded jeans that strained so hard around her buttocks, they looked like they would tear apart any moment. Her sweater had a V-neck collar, and looking down from the stairs as he descended, he could see that it revealed a nice portion of her cleavage. Both she and his sister had their shoes and socks off. Mary played with the heel of her left foot as she talked.

“Hi,” he said.

They both jumped. Denise turned to him disgustedly, making it obvious that she detested his invasion of their privacy. On the other hand, Mary, as she usually did, smiled warmly, her eyes dancing with interest. Johnny thought there was even a note of challenge in them. She’s a natural tease, he thought.

“What do you want?” Denise asked, her emphasis on “you” as though he were a servant in the house. When she grimaced widely, her braces made her look like a vampire, Johnny thought. “We’re studying for a test.”

“So what?”

She turned to Mary and whispered something and they both laughed. Ordinarily, he would have had a clever, nasty comeback, but he pretended to ignore them instead and went to the bookcase. The two girls worked silently in their notebooks for a while, acting as though he were a teacher who had caught them goofing off. When he turned around, however, Mary was staring at him. He gave her his best, most interested smile. Her eyes widened with surprise and delight. Denise looked up, aware that her friend’s attention was being pulled from her.

“What are you looking for, Johnny?” she asked, her voice still filled with a tone of annoyance.

“I thought we had a book on European history down here, Gunther’s Inside Europe.”

“I never heard of it. We never had a book like that. You’re making it up.”

“Sure we did. You don’t know the titles of all our books, Denise.” He kept his voice from sounding angry or annoyed. He saw that just as Mr. Lucy said, that made her appear more childish and impressed Mary. It encouraged him. It was as though Mr. Lucy was right in this room with him.

“I know more about our books than you do. That’s for sure. He never even read The Diary of Anne Frank,” she said. Actually, she whined it, hoping to get a laugh of ridicule out of Mary, but Mary didn’t even smile.

“I didn’t read it either,” Mary said.

“But you had to…to be in the A group,” Denise protested.

“I faked it after I saw the movie,” Mary said. She kept looking at Johnny and he kept smiling at her.

“I don’t believe you. You’re just saying that because he’s here.”

“It’s not so hard to do that, Denise,” Johnny said. “I’ve done it myself plenty of times.” He took a few steps closer to them. “But the best way to do it is to go to the library and get a hold of Masterplots. Ever do that?” he asked Mary.

“No,” she said, “I never thought of it.”

“That’s stupid,” Denise said quickly. “You don’t get all the facts and your teacher might find out and give you a zero on a major assignment.”

“You get enough of what you need,” Johnny said. He was looking only at Mary now and she was quite aware of it. “I’m not saying it’s the same as reading a book, but when you’re in a pinch…”

“You’re always in a pinch,” Denise said. “That’s why Mommy had to get you a tutor.”

Johnny shrugged, his wise guy smile still written over his face. Mary liked it.

“It’s good to know about that Masterplots thing. Thanks,” Mary said.

“I thought you were changing your ways,” Denise said. “Since you started with your fabulous tutor. That doesn’t sound like someone who is changing his ways,” she added, mostly for Mary’s benefit. But her friend did not come to her aid.

“I’m changing. I’m changing. But I’m not giving up on the things that have helped me all along. That would be stupid. Even Mr. Lucy said so.”

“Sometimes your teachers pile on the work and you’ve got to do something like that,” Mary said. “I bet they even expect you will.”

“Exactly.”

“I never would,” Denise said, but her tone was softer. She was losing this battle and she didn’t want to appear out of step with Mary. “It’s not right.”

“Well, she’s got all this time on her hands now,” Johnny said. He winked at Mary. ‘Find ways to separate them,’ Mr. Lucy had said. ‘Find ways to draw them apart.’ “When she gets older and her interests develop in other things besides homework and stars on her report card…” he added, widening his eyes on ‘other things.’ Mary smiled and nodded knowingly. Denise sensed she had been wedged out of the conversation.

“I’m interested in other things,” she claimed. She said it so vigorously that both Johnny and Mary had to turn to her.

“Oh?”

“But it’s none of your business.”

“That’s immature,” he said. He knew he couldn’t say anything worse as far as she was concerned. Especially in front of Mary.

“It is not.”

“Maybe it is,” Mary Warren said, her eyes on Johnny again. She was obviously playing for his approval.

“Yes,” Johnny said. “You can’t be ashamed of your other interests. As long as they’re natural,” he added, his smile widening.

“I’m not ashamed. I…I just don’t like talking about it, that’s all.”

“You do too,” Mary said.

“Mary!”

Johnny laughed. He walked around the sectional and plopped himself down on one of the ottoman pieces.

“I know someone who has the hots for you, Denise,” he said quickly. The expression and the idea took both Denise and Mary by total surprise. Denise’s mouth dropped and Mary’s smile widened. Mary put her notebook down between herself and Denise and turned to him completely.

“Who? Who likes her?”

“I told him he’s nuts. He should either see an eye doctor or a psychiatrist.”

“You would. He’s lying anyway,” Denise said, but Mary’s attention couldn’t be rescued.

“I don’t think he is. Come on, Johnny, tell us,” she pleaded. She turned her shoulder suggestively and leaned on the arm of the couch. Her breasts pushed up into the V-neck collar, deepening her cleavage. Johnny admired how pink and smooth her skin was there.

“Well, he’s a junior,” Johnny said. This impressed both the girls.

“How do you know he…likes me?” Denise asked. She tried to be disdainful, but her voice weakened as the real possibility took hold.

“He’s always talking about you. Whenever the other guys are not around, that is. He thinks you’re cute. We have the same tutor,” Johnny explained to Mary. She nodded, her face growing serious. Johnny kept his eyes on her.

“Who?” Denise asked after a long pause. “Tell me,” she squealed. “If you’re kidding me, Johnny Masterson…”

He sat up and shifted from the ottoman to the couch to sit next to Mary. She shifted to make a comfortable place for him immediately. He put his arm behind her, stretching it over the back of the couch.

“I don’t know if I should tell you. I’m not teasing,” he added quickly. “I just don’t know if he wants me to. He never asked me to say anything.”

“If he told you, he probably meant for you to say something to her,” Mary said. “You’re her brother. He’d expect it,” she concluded.

“That’s right,” Denise said. “Besides, it isn’t fair. It’s like teasing.”

“It is teasing,” Mary added.

He nearly laughed at the way she pleaded with her eyes. He turned away, acting as though he were giving the matter deep thought. Both girls waited anxiously. Then he nodded to himself.

“Well, you can’t tell him I told you. You’ve got to act cool about it. You can’t let on. I’m not so sure I’m not violating some code of privacy or something.”

“I won’t.”

“She won’t. I’ll make sure she doesn’t,” Mary promised.

“All right. It’s Gary Rosen.”

“Gary Rosen! He’s…”

“All right,” Johnny said quickly. “Not too many people know him like I do now. He’s a very sharp guy.”

“I always thought he was,” Mary said quickly, even though it was obvious she had just thought of it. “He’s got dynamite eyes. Shirley Ruderman said so too,” she added. Shirley had been speaking about someone else, but Mary thought she could always claim she thought she meant Gary.

“I never thought about him,” Denise said. “He never says anything to me.”

“Afraid to,” Johnny said. “Because of me.”

“Because of you?”

“He thought I would be upset, since he’s a junior and you’re only in seventh grade.”

“Yeah, but seventh-graders are different nowadays,” Mary said. “It’s not the same as it was, even when you were in seventh grade.”

“I know,” Johnny said. He leaned toward her. He could see a small flush come into her neck.

“Well, I’m certainly not going to chase after him,” Denise said.

“You don’t have to,” Johnny said. “All I have to do is give him the word and he’ll chase after you.”

“Oh, tell him to do it,” Mary said. “It’ll be a great experience for you, Denise. Tell him,” she repeated when Denise hesitated.

“I don’t know,” Denise said. She looked worried.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mary said, and then in a low voice added, “Remember what I told you about me and…” She looked at Johnny. “Remember?”

“Yeah.”

“Look,” Johnny said. “If you don’t like him, you’ll tell him to bug off. He won’t push himself where he’s not wanted. He’s not the type. Look,” he added, seeing the continued hesitation in Denise, “I’ll tell you what…this is just a possibility, but think about it.”

“What?”

“We’ll have a little prearranged get-together this weekend, down here in the basement. Mary will come, you know to make it look like one of your regular get-togethers or something, and I’ll invite Gary over. We’ll just happen to come downstairs. You can have your tapes going and we’ll have a spontaneous little party. What’d’ya say?”

“Oh yeah,” Mary said. “Great. I’ll come, I’ll come.” She turned anxiously to Denise. The reality of it frightened her, but she wouldn’t let on in front of her sophisticated friend. Johnny could practically feel his sister’s tension.

“I don’t think it’ll make that much difference, but if you want to…”

“I do.”

“OK.”

“Mom and Dad have that party over at the Singletons, so we’ll have the house to ourselves. We can do whatever we want,” Johnny added, touching Mary’s shoulder. “So let your minds run wild,” he said. He leaned forward and nibbled on Mary’s upper arm. She squealed and he got up, laughing. “Oh,” he said, turning back to them, “if you see that book anywhere, let me know, will you. I’m working on a report and I need it.”

“I’ll help you look later,” Denise said, suddenly cooperative and pleasant.

“One other thing,” he said. “Don’t tell any of the other kids about this. I don’t want any crashers.”

“We won’t,” Mary said. She gave Johnny a look of understanding. He nodded and started away.

When he looked back, they were both staring at him, Mary, wantonly, Denise, in something of a shock. He waved and went back upstairs. Before he closed the door behind him, he heard Mary speak in a loud whisper.

“Your brother’s so great,” she said. “I wish any one of my brothers had half his personality.”

Denise didn’t reply, or at least, if she did, he couldn’t hear what she said. He laughed to himself and closed the door. Why was it Mr. Lucy was always so right about people? he wondered. And then he wondered if he would ever have Mr. Lucy’s power to understand and predict what people would do.

That’s the ultimate secret, he thought. He knew it was the one that would take the most time to learn, but it was the one he wanted the most. He looked forward to greater and greater discoveries through the eyes of his tutor.

Gary Rosen stood across the street from the Mastersons’ house, just where Johnny and Mr. Lucy told him to wait. He still didn’t completely understand why all this was so important, but when Mr. Lucy explained how sensible it was for them to support one another, he immediately agreed to be part of it. He didn’t know all the details of the plan, but he understood they were going to discredit Johnny’s sister.

“I’ll do it,” Gary told him after they left Mr. Lucy’s house, “but I’m not sure how it’s going to help you.”

“If you had a younger sister who ridiculed you all the time and parents who supported her all the time, you’d understand.”

“Maybe,” Gary said, but Johnny could see that winning his parents’ favor was not very essential to Gary. He could live without it.

“And I’m tired of the way she makes fun of Mr. Lucy,” Johnny added. “She calls him my Band-Aid, which is supposed to be her little joke.”

“Nasty little bugger.”

“Needs a good lesson.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Gary said.

And so he stood behind a tree, waiting. When the Mastersons came out of their house and got into their car, he did what Johnny wanted: he stepped out just enough to be visible and then pulled back so he would look sneaky and guilty of something.

As Johnny had hoped, his father saw Gary peering at them. He stopped the car at the foot of the driveway. Johnny’s mother said something to his father and they both looked in Gary’s direction. Gary kept himself behind the tree until they pulled away and were well down the street. Then he stepped out and walked to the house. Johnny greeted him at the door.

“I was watching,” he said. “Perfect.”

“Well, if the rest of the plan is that difficult,” Gary said, tightening his smile of sarcasm, “then we have nothing to worry about. For a moment I thought your father was going to get out of the car and walk over to ask me what I was doing. I would have had to tell him I was inspecting bark.” Johnny laughed. “So what’s the next step in this ingenious plot to destroy your sister’s ivory reputation?”

“We’ll go up to my room for a while. Mary hasn’t arrived yet. Denise is in the basement, waiting. Anxiously, I might add.”

“You might. Well, lead the way. There’s nothing I look forward to more than sitting in your room,” Gary said.

Up in his room, Johnny explained things further.

“Pay a lot of attention to her,” he said. “She’s very impressionable and very conceited. All those girls in her class and section are. They all think they’re hot shit or well on the way to being it. Compliment her about something, but don’t make it look too obvious. She’s not stupid, just…what’s the word Mr. Lucy used…vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable? At least all this is contributing to our vocabulary levels.” Johnny laughed. “Compliment her, huh? This isn’t going to be as easy as I thought. Your sister isn’t exactly Brooke Shields.”

“She thinks she is, though, so she’ll believe almost anything.”

“If she believes I have the hots for her, as you put it, you’re right—she’ll believe anything.”

“Wait a minute,” Johnny said, looking out his front window, “here comes the little nympho.” He saw Mary coming up the walk. Gary looked, too.

“Yeah, well you got the better of this deal. Why don’t we try to discredit Mary Warren?”

“Come on,” Johnny said. They went down to greet Mary. When she saw Gary standing behind him, she smiled knowingly at Johnny and nodded surreptitiously in Gary’s direction. Johnny winked and then nearly laughed at how quickly she fell for it.

“Hi,” Gary said. She smiled coquettishly.

“Hi.”

“I believe your sister is expecting me,” she said, trying to sound as mature as possible.

“She’s in the basement,” Johnny told her and winked again. Then he leaned toward her. “We’ll be down in a little while. You’d better build up her confidence,” he whispered. “She’s very nervous and almost changed her mind twice.”

“No problem.” She squeezed his upper arm and hurried off.

“We’ll watch a little television first,” Johnny said after she was gone. “Timing is very important in something like this.”

“How do you know?”

“Mr. Lucy told me.”

“He tells you a lot of things, doesn’t he?” Gary said, following him into the den. There was obvious jealousy in his voice.

“Not much more than he tells you. If you’d ask him stuff, he’d talk.” Johnny turned on the set and sat back on the couch.

“Not when you’re doing work. He’s strict about that. At least he is with me.”

“With me, too, but he leaves time for you, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, but I wish he left more time.”

“Well, he can give just so much of himself. He has other students. He’s got to make a living or he won’t stay here.” Johnny watched Gary take a seat. “What about that ring you mentioned?”

“What about it?”

“Did you get it to him?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s worth more than a thousand dollars. My father had it appraised.”

“What did Mr. Lucy say?”

“He said he’d see. Lots of times these appraisals are inflated. I told him my father’s a bull-shitter from way back, too.”

“I like his idea about having ‘an insurance account’. He’s right. It will give us a sense of independence and increase our confidence. Someone like Sheila needs that kind of back-up too. Did you speak to her like I asked you to?”

“Yeah. No problem.”

“Good,” Johnny said, and relaxed. It was the way Mr. Lucy wanted things done, he thought, the kids getting each other to act. If Mr. Lucy did it directly, some adults might not understand, especially his parents or Gary’s. “It’s better this way,” Mr. Lucy explained. “You people have got to have faith in one another, too, and Johnny, you’re the best one to develop that among the others.”

“I was talking to Sandy about it, too,” Gary said. “She told me about some of her mother’s stuff, stuff she doesn’t want Paula to get her hands on. She says if she doesn’t take it, Paula is sure to get it.”

“I know. She told me.”

“You’re getting to be just like Mr. Lucy,” Gary said, this time a strong tone of envy in his voice. He was almost angry. “You know everything before anybody else does.”

“Well, we just happened to be…”

“Did you know that Murray Okun’s mother has been trying to get him to work with Mr. Lucy?”

Johnny did know, but he could see how important it was to Gary that he be the one who knew first.

“When did you hear this?”

“Yesterday, in the library.”

“I thought he was doing great in everything. Isn’t he in the top of your class?”

“Yeah, but he’s not on the top,” Gary said, his eyes widening.

“I get it. The Okuns want their boy to make the big speech on graduation day.”

“Yep and his mother will probably write it for him. I can just see her standing there on the platform handing him the pages.” They both laughed. “What a mama’s boy. Remember the song: ‘Murray cannot play hardball: softball, yes; hardball, no’.” Johnny smiled. He recalled how Mr. Lucy had laughed when he had sung that for him, but he dared not tell Gary about it.

“So, is he going to do it?”

“I don’t know. He came over to ask me a lot of questions about Mr. Lucy.”

“What kind of questions? Did you tell Mr. Lucy about them?” he added quickly.

“Naw. They were nothing questions—how does he teach? Where do we work in the house? How long does he spend on a subject? Does he yell? That kind of stuff. You know Murray. He’s not permitted to sweat too much. His mother still makes him wear a handkerchief around his neck on warm days so he doesn’t get a chill.”

“Yeah, I know. Still, you’d better tell Mr. Lucy about those questions when you see him…to give him all the preparation he can get. Why should he be at any kind of disadvantage when it comes to Murray Okun and his mother?”

“Mr. Lucy at a disadvantage? That’ll be the day.”

Johnny made a mental note to tell Mr. Lucy about it before Gary did.

“OK,” Johnny said. He stood up and turned off the television set. “Let’s go down. Now remember, just follow my lead and do anything I suggest and support anything I say. Don’t forget what I said about looking at her and complimenting her.”

“Jesus, I hope I can pull this off. I don’t want to let you or Mr. Lucy down.”

“You won’t. Trust me. Whatever happens, it’s to help one another, just as Mr. Lucy said. I’m sure I’ll do something for you soon.”

“Right.”

They looked at each other for a moment. There was a sense of brotherhood between them, a feeling of alliance. Loners most of their lives, they had finally found companionship and a sense of identity. They were bonded together by more than common problems. Mr. Lucy’s presence was always felt wherever there were two of them together. They shared his shadow.

Johnny hesitated a moment at the basement door. He opened it slowly, as if he were uncovering something precious. Then they started down the stairs. The girls were on their knees near the stereo, choosing tapes. Denise looked up shyly when she heard them approaching. Johnny could see there was some excitement in her face already and he had a momentary pang of regret. He considered it weakness and forced it down.

Mary’s eyes were hot with expectation. He took a deep breath and smiled at her. He felt the personal power, just as Mr. Lucy promised he would.

“What’s up, girls?”

“Just listening to some music,” Mary said quickly.

“Great. Mind if we hang out?”

Mary waited for Denise to speak, but all she did was stare.

“No. Why should we mind?”

Johnny turned to Gary. “Wanna play a little pool?” Gary stared at Denise. A flush began to come into her face.

“What? Oh, sure, sure. Maybe the girls want to play, too. We could partner up for eight ball.”

“Maybe. What’d’ya say, girls, you wanna play?”

“Sure,” Mary said quickly.

“I don’t know how to play eight ball,” Denise said.

“There’s nothing to it,” Gary said. He looked at Johnny. “I’ll take Denise. That way I can teach her as we go along.”

“Fine with me. Mary, you’re mine.” She laughed. “I’ll set up. Put on a tape anyway,” he added.

“Go on,” Mary said, indicating Gary, “I’ll do it.”

Denise stood up slowly. She was wearing a recently purchased pair of jeans and a Danskin blouse tight enough to outline her budding breasts. Mary had given her the idea to go without her training bra.

“It’s suggestive,” she told her. “Someone told me it’s even sexier than a fully developed woman in a bra. It leaves things up to men’s imaginations and they can be driven into a frenzy because of it,” she added, her eyes big. Denise could hardly breathe because her heart was beating so fast when Mary told her all this. Now, she had done it, and from the way Gary Rosen was looking at her, she was positive that Mary’s information was correct.

“I’ll go first,” Gary told her. “And as I go, I’ll explain things to you, OK?”

“Sure. I’m not too good, though. I hardly ever play.”

“That’s all right.” He handed her a cue stick. “I like your hair like that,” he said. She couldn’t respond. Her throat closed before she was able to utter a thanks. Instead, she turned to Mary, who was smiling and biting her lower lip. Gary went to the table.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he whispered.

“Just play the game,” Johnny said. “Everything’s going well.”

Gary shrugged and got ready to break the pack of pool balls. The girls gathered around the table as the music started. The game was funny. No one could really play well. There was a lot of laughter and fooling around. Johnny got cozier and cozier with Mary. He got behind her and put his arms around her to show her how to use the cue stick. He embraced her often and kissed her on the cheek when she sank a ball. He correctly anticipated that Denise would follow her lead and use her as a model. Whenever Gary made the same kind of gestures he did, Denise didn’t resist. It made Johnny recall a recent conversation with Mr. Lucy.

“It’s always like this,” Mr. Lucy had told him. “Someone in the group sets the tone, shows the way for the others who follow like sheep. You’ll set the tone for the inner circle, Johnny. You’re their leader.

“Now, from what you’ve told me, this Mary Warren is the leader of your sister’s group. That means whatever she does, your sister’s bound to do. Get Mary to do it first; get her to encourage your sister and your sister will do what you want her to do. Sometimes it’s more effective to work through people, other people, when we want things done our way. Understand?”

“Yes,” he said. He did understand and he wanted to say, “That’s what you’re doing when you work through me.” But he didn’t say that; he kept it to himself so it could be one of his secrets.

The music continued. They played another game. Halfway through it, when the playing got very bad and they all got very silly, he suggested they “borrow” some of his parents’ booze. Denise was shocked by the suggestion, but Mary was all for it.

“Just a little,” he said, “to warm things up.” He went behind the bar to mix some drinks. “Everyone like vodka?”

“Sure,” Mary said.

“Love it.” Gary added. When he looked at Denise, she nodded quickly. “Denise loves it, too.”

“Great, because we have a lot of tonic.” Johnny gave himself, Gary, and Mary practically nothing, but filled his sister’s glass nearly halfway with vodka.

They drank; they played more pool; they danced. There was another set of drinks. The giggling got louder; the laughter got looser. When he suggested the whirlpool, there was a momentary pause filled with tremendous excitement and expectation. Everyone turned to it as though just realizing it was there.

It loomed before them, filled with erotic promise. The bubbling, scented water beckoned and tempted. Even Gary, part of the contrivance, seemed taken with the hydro-fantasies. Everyone looked at everyone else. The air was electric with sexual tension.

“Let’s do it,” Mary said.

“Sure, what’s the big deal?” Johnny said.

“Do what?” Denise asked. The vodka had left her lightheaded and confused. Gary had his arm around her, but she didn’t seem aware of it.

“Go in the spa. What’d’ya think? Just like my parents and their friends do,” Johnny added. It gave the suggestion some kind of seal of approval, especially for Mary.

“Yeah, if the adults can do it, why can’t we? Last one in is a nerd,” she said, moving toward it. She began to unfasten her jeans. Johnny shot a glance at Gary, nodded, and then took off his shirt as quickly as he could.

“Great,” Gary said, and did the same. Denise looked from one to the other, the realization of what was about to happen settling in on her.

“Put the lights out at least and draw the curtains on the windows. I’m not going in unless you put the lights out.”

Mary already had her jeans off. She held them in front of her and looked impatiently at Denise. Johnny smirked as if to say, “Let’s humor her.”

“Get the curtains, Gary,” he said. “I’ll get the lights.”

After that there was a nervous air of silence as everyone stripped down. Mary was in first. There was still enough light from the basement windows to silhouette her body clearly. Gary stared admiringly. The sight of her well-developed figure brought the scene to a high pitch of sexual excitement. Johnny nudged Gary to remind him of his mission. He reached over and took Denise’s hand.

“I’m not ready,” she exclaimed. Still in her panties, she embraced her naked upper body.

“Come on,” Johnny said. He was up on the platform.

“It’s beautiful,” Mary cried. “Hurry up, Denise.”

“I’ll go first,” Gary told her. He got behind Johnny and the two boys slipped into the spa, Johnny getting close to Mary quickly. Then the three of them coaxed Denise until she got up enough nerve to slip out of her panties and come up the platform. Still embracing and covering her tiny bosom, she stepped into the spa. Gary held his hand to guide her in beside him. She looked at him anxiously for a moment, hesitating.

“It’s dark,” Johnny said.

“Stop being so immature,” Mary said.

Throwing abandon to the side, Johnny’s little sister did what he had hoped. She uncovered herself and got beside Gary in the spa. Everyone cheered. The booze, the bubbling water, the excitement of their nudity soon made Denise as loose, as everyone else. She watched as Johnny kissed Mary and Mary cooperatively returned his embrace. When Gary made a similar gesture, Denise did not resist.

“This is beautiful,” Mary said. She leaned back, the tops of her breasts gleaming in the tiny illumination that penetrated the window curtains.

“If Mommy and Daddy ever find out,” Denise said, and nervously laughed at the image in her own mind.

“What’s the difference?” Mary said. “They do it.”

“Yeah,” Gary said.

“As long as everybody behaves, there’s no problem,” Johnny said.

“No problem,” Mary repeated and giggled. She and Johnny kissed again. Denise saw Johnny fondling Mary in the water. She jumped when Gary touched her own waist though.

“Relax,” Mary said. There was a little splashing about and then Johnny suddenly stopped.

“Hold it a moment,” he said. “Quiet.”

“What?”

“Everyone be quiet.” They were. “Aw, shit.”

“What is it?” Denise asked.

“It’s got to be Gerson Fishman. I forgot all about him.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Mary said.

“I did,” Gary said. “A doorbell, right?”

“Right. He was supposed to drop by with a book on European history for me. That’s him. Shit.”

“Forget about him,” Mary suggested. “Maybe he’ll just go away.”

“Naw, he knows I’m home and…and the door’s open,” he added quickly. He stood up. “Everyone stay put. I’ll get rid of him in ten minutes and be right back.”

He hopped out and dried himself quickly with one of the big bath towels stacked beside the spa. Then he slipped on his jeans and shirt, grabbing his shoes as he leaned over to kiss Mary. She laughed.

“I’ll chaperon these two,” she said, “but hurry back.”

“Right. Wait,” he said, going to the bar. He took the bottle of vodka and the glasses and placed them on the spa. “Gary, you do the honors. Keep everyone happy until I get rid of Fishman.”

“Gotcha.”

Johnny hurried upstairs. His phone call to the Singletons was quick and dramatic.

“Tell my parents to hurry home, Mr. Singleton. Something terrible is happening in the basement. Please,” he said.

“I’ll get them for you. Hold on.”

“No. Just tell them to come quickly.” He hung up before there could be any questions. They were only a few blocks away, so he knew they would just come.

Still dressed he went to the basement again. He walked halfway down the stairs.

“Everything all right?” he asked in a loud whisper.

“I can’t see Gary’s hands, but everything’s all right,” Mary said. “Come on back in.”

“I will. Fishman went to the bathroom. As soon as he’s out and I get him out of the house I’ll return. Don’t leave the spa and don’t make too much noise.”

“We’ll only talk with our hands,” Gary said. Denise giggled.

“Good,” Johnny said. “Good. Everything’s fine,” he added for Gary’s benefit.

He walked back up and closed the basement door softly. Then he went to the front and waited by the window. When he saw his parents drive up, he went out to greet them. His father got out of the car quickly and slammed the door hard.

Johnny remembered Mr. Lucy’s words. “They’d be angry,” he said, “angrier than usual because they’d be embarrassed and frustrated. They’d expect to go back to their party, maybe, but in any case, they knew everyone back there was waiting to find out what had happened.”

“What is it?” Johnny’s father demanded as soon as he saw his son. His father was a big man, well over six feet tall. He had been a good athlete in college and now, despite his heavy work and social schedule, he kept himself in relatively good shape. When he was angry, his face reddened so quickly he looked as though he would have an explosion of blood at the top of his head. Once, Johnny humorously compared him to a thermometer. His mother laughed but his father didn’t think it was so funny.

“What happened, Johnny?” his mother asked. She came around the car quickly. It never took much to get his mother set off. She was normally high-strung and nervous, which was supposedly why she remained so thin. “Is this some kind of a prank, because if it is…”

“It’s no joke, unless you think it is. I don’t like being a snitch, but…”

“What?” his father demanded, his arms extended.

“Go on down to the basement and leave me out of it,” Johnny said, feigning indignation.

“My God, what could it be?” his mother asked. She brought her hands to her mouth and pressed them against her lips as though to stop herself from screaming.

“Damn,” Thomas Masterson said. He hurried into the house, his wife right behind him. Johnny watched them and then smiled.

After a moment he walked back to the front door. By the time he reentered, they were already down the basement steps.

6

Ellen had taken to looking out her windows more than ever. She told herself that it was a nervous habit, something she always did, but she had difficulty lying to herself, especially when every time she looked out the window, her heartbeat quickened. She knew she was anticipating him, hoping to see him. When she was honest with herself, she told herself she was acting like a teenager with a crush. That thought embarrassed her and drove her to attack her housework with a vicious enthusiasm.

Vaguely she understood that when she pressed that vacuum cleaner to the rug, practically digging out the material, she was transferring her frustration into the effort to clean. Never did her furniture shine so. The windows were so clear that they looked invisible. The tiled bathroom and kitchen floors were practically aseptic. She had gotten on her hands and knees to scrub out cracks and corners.

Barton, who hardly ever noticed any changes in the house, remarked about the new spic and span appearance. His comment brought out guilt immediately and she became defensive, but so vehemently defensive that she had him apologizing profusely and feeling terrible.

“What does that mean?” she asked him. “That the house isn’t usually clean? You have some complaints? Someone said something to you?”

“No, never. I just…”

“I try my best, Bart. If that’s not good enough for you, hire a cleaning lady.”

“All I said was…”

“How would you like me to be critical of the work you do or what you contribute to this marriage?”

“I wasn’t critical.” He held his hands out, practically begging for her understanding, but she was unrelenting with her tirade.

When she walked out of the room, she was crying, but she wasn’t sure of the cause. She knew only that it wasn’t really his fault. He came after her, trying every way he could to placate her. He even suggested that they take a vacation. But that idea was the most threatening. He was surprised to see how quickly she rejected it. It was something she brought up from time to time.

“I’m not looking for a change of scenery. What good is a change of scenery going to do? I have to come back to this afterward, don’t I?”

“I know, but I thought you said…I have two weeks coming and…”

“Save it for when the weather’s bad here,” she said. He shook his head and retreated.

It was all too confusing for him. Why did women have to be so damn complicated? Later, Ellen was nice to him, even overly solicitous. She behaved like a servant instead of a wife, and filled her voice with such sweet, soft tones, he was lulled into forgetting the entire incident. Although they didn’t make love, she was affectionate. Her gentle and considerate manner continued into the following morning. Feeling secure again, he went off to work, unaware of the rupture tearing at the fabric of his marriage.

But she sensed it more and more. Each time she caught sight of Adam Lucy, each time he waved to her or smiled or nodded, she felt the frustration swell within her. These thoughts and feelings manifested themselves into an actual physical symptom—her skin suddenly became very sensitive. She couldn’t touch her arm or her stomach without sending a tingling all along her body. Often, in the middle of the day, she would have a heat flash. She would gasp, get a glass of water, throw herself into exercise, try to read, watch television, call her friends, go shopping, and generally do anything she could to keep herself from thinking about him. None of it worked.

And she met him coincidentally so often that she felt she was fated to do so. One time, at the supermarket, she came around the corner of an aisle and nearly bumped into his cart. When he looked up at her, she was speechless. It brought a smile to his face. Embarrassed at her own reaction, she hurried on, positive he was laughing at her.

It seemed to her that her friends talked about him all the time, too. He was rapidly becoming quite a hit with the parents of the students he tutored and the students themselves. Nearly all of his available hours were taken. Even Myra had changed her initial impression of him. She said he was having incredible success with Sandy.

“Not just her schoolwork, either. She’s behaving like a mature person at home. My brother is very pleased.”

Whenever they had these conversations, everyone turned to Ellen because she lived right next door to him, and asked her if she had seen him lately or spoken to him. What they wanted to know is did she learn anything more about him.

“No one seems to know anything concrete,” Sally Anderman said. “Tillie Okun says he slips questions about himself like she slips questions Bernie asks her about their bills.” Everyone laughed.

Ellen tried to appear nonchalant about him, even to the point of ridiculing her friends for being so interested in him. Yes, she saw him occasionally and occasionally they had some insignificant conversations. No, she didn’t pursue him with personal questions and he didn’t volunteer any information, but it was like Barton said—he was just a man who enjoyed his privacy.

“We’re just going to have to respect that,” she concluded, recognizing herself that she sounded somewhat pedantic.

“You’re such a killjoy lately,” Toby told her.

“I am not. I’m just not acting like a silly teenager,” she said, but Toby wasn’t discouraged.

“Morris said he learned something about him. It’s not something he could confirm, but it’s a story,” Toby offered. Ellen tried desperately to appear disinterested, but she couldn’t control the way her throat tightened and her voice cracked.

“Some story someone made up, I’m sure,” she said. “And then we’ll go off spreading it as though it were the gospel truth.”

“You heard it?”

“No.” From the way Toby asked her, it was obvious that it was something negative. “All right, what did he learn?”

“He said he heard that Mr. Lucy was married but his wife committed suicide. That’s why he left the place he was at and came here to live.”

“He doesn’t act like a depressed person, Toby. Morris will have to come up with something else,” she said. She said it as dryly as she could, but she couldn’t wait to be alone to think about it.

Her imagination ran wild. All sorts of scenarios developed in her mind. Why couldn’t Morris’s story be true? It made sense. That was why Adam didn’t talk much about himself. His past was painful. But why was he so kind to her, so willing to talk to her…so…she liked to believe…interested in her?

Was it because she reminded him of his dead wife? It could be. Maybe the resemblance was so strong, it was the main reason he rented the Taylor house. He had seen her, learned where she lived, and sought out quarters that were close by. How dramatic. How romantic. In fact wasn’t there a romance novel she had read that had a similar plot premise?

She caught herself daydreaming like this more and more, and what frightened her the most about it was that she never realized it until she snapped out of it. Just how much time was she spending on these fantasies? She was like someone who went in and out of a romantic coma. It began to frighten her. Maybe Barton was right. Maybe they should get away for a while; maybe a change in scenery was exactly what she needed. She thought she would tell him she had changed her mind—they should go on a vacation now.

Then one morning shortly after Barton had left for work, she looked out the window and saw Adam Lucy returning from his early jog. She knew that he jogged, but he told her he did it so early that she never looked for him before. This morning he had either run longer or started later. She saw him coming down the block, moving gracefully, looking strong and alive. She thought if Barton ever did this, he’d keel over by the time he reached the corner of the street.

Mornings were very cool now. She could see the little puffs of breath at Adam’s mouth as he jogged. She was still dressed only in her housecoat, her hair was loose and uncombed, and her face was without makeup, but she couldn’t resist stepping out of her front door to greet him as he went by.

His sweat suit looked form-fitted. The shirt revealed the firmness in his arms and shoulders. The material, dampened from his perspiration, clung to him. She could see his leg muscles flex beneath the garment as he moved. His body was symmetrical, his waist and buttocks small.

For her there was something unreal about such physical attractiveness. It was as though he were a sculpture of Adonis come to life, a movie idol who stepped out of the screen, or a male model lifted from the pages of a magazine and placed on her block. In a moment she would close her eyes and open them and he would be gone. It had all been a dream. He had never come to Centerville.

But he was there; he was real. He stopped at her front entrance and ran in place when he saw her.

“Morning.”

“Later than usual today, aren’t you?”

“Ran a little further. Felt like it. It’s such a beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

She looked up as though first noticing the sky. It was true—there wasn’t a cloud in it and the blue was deeper and brighter than usual. She took a deep breath and nodded, closing her eyes as though to let the hand of morning caress her. He laughed at her emphatic appreciation of nature.

“You make running look so enjoyable. I might get up one morning and join you. Not that I could keep up,” she added quickly.

“You’d be surprised at what you can do, especially someone like you who is already into a regular pattern of exercise. Of course,” he said, stopping his running in place and leaning on the fence post, “you’d have to wear something a little more compatible with running.”

“Oh God,” she said, “I didn’t even think about my appearance.” She was surprised at herself. More and more she was acting like someone in a trance. She ran her hands through her hair, and her housecoat parted from her calves to her upper thigh. She squeezed the garment closed quickly. Once again, he laughed, but it was a warm laugh, an attractive laugh, a laugh that made her feel comfortable, not embarrassed.

“It’s all right. You look great. You look natural,” he said. His gaze was penetrating, even hypnotic. She had the wild urge to slip out of her housecoat and stand naked before him in the morning sun.

“I’m hearing good things about you,” she said quickly. “So many of your students are improving.”

“Thanks.” There was a dramatic pause. She looked at his house.

“How’s the house?”

“Fine. Everything works. Have you ever seen the inside of it?” he asked.

“Actually, no.”

“It’s an interesting place. You should come in one day and see it.”

“Yes,” she said but it was a weak yes. She touched the bottom of her throat. Why wasn’t she cold? She should be cold standing out here like this, she thought.

Then, it just burst out of her. After she said it, she could hardly believe she had said it. It was as though there were someone else within her, someone who had taken over her mind and her body. She felt more like an observer.

“I still have some hot coffee, if you’d like some.”

“Well, thank you,” he said. “That’s very generous of you, but I’ve run into quite a sweat,” he added, pulling the material away from his body. “I don’t think I’d be very good company right now. I’ve got to take a shower.”

“Of course.” She couldn’t hide her disappointment.

“If the invitation is still there in, say, ten minutes…”

“Oh, yes. I have to change out of this anyway. Natural or not, I don’t want to walk about all day like this.”

“I know,” he said. He made her feel as though he watched her constantly. She sensed the flush come into her cheeks. “Ten minutes,” he repeated, turned, and jogged on to his house. She stood there for a moment in disbelief.

Had it really happened? Had she really invited him into her home? Was she mad? What had she done?

She looked up the block. There was no one standing outside, but someone could have been looking out his window. She looked up at every house, searching for a witness. It was impossible to tell if anyone were there or not. And what about later…in ten minutes? Wouldn’t someone see him walking in? How could she explain it to Bart?

She went back inside quickly. How could she stop it? Should she phone him and say she was sorry but she had forgotten she had to be somewhere? That would work. Of course, she’d have to leave the house, but so what? At least she would get out of it. What could she have been thinking about when she invited him in? She had to call him. She had to stop it.

She went upstairs to get out of her housecoat. She would have to get dressed quickly so she could leave the house right after calling him. What would she wear? (For a moment she was so flustered she couldn’t make the simplest decisions.) She spun around, confused. And then she caught sight of herself in the wall mirror.

Rarely did her own nudity affect her so quickly. She felt faint. She kept thinking, he’s coming over any moment and I’m undressed. Her arms and legs became heavy. She teased herself with indecision. The doorbell would ring and she would have nothing on. He had seen her this way before, in the window that first night. She’d permitted it then; she’d permit it now.

But this would be different. There would be no distance between them. They could actually touch and it wasn’t by accident that he saw her. The wild fantasy stirred her. A redness came into her chest; her nipples hardened and a pocket of warmth filled the inside of her thighs so quickly she moaned and sat back on the bed.

Time, she thought, time. It was too late to call it off. He was coming and that was that. She couldn’t prevent it; she wouldn’t prevent it. Why was it so terrible anyway? she rationalized. She was just being friendly to a new neighbor. This wasn’t the nineteenth century, was it? There was nothing wrong with it. She thought about that television commercial that featured a woman inviting a man over for a glass of wine. Times were different.

Yes, her conscience replied, but the woman in the commercial is not married and you remember how Barton reacted to that commercial—how he said he was glad they didn’t have a teenage daughter who would be exposed to all this forwardness encouraged in the media.

She couldn’t prevent this part of herself from chastising and warning her. She fought to ignore it. Anyway, she liked battling with herself like this. The struggle was exciting and made her mundane existence more interesting, she thought. Most importantly, it was dangerous and danger filled her with a sense of being alive.

“It’s time I knew exactly who I am,” she muttered.

More determined now, she stood up and went to the closet. She chose a pair of jeans and a rather lightweight cotton blouse. Placing the garments on the bed, she turned to her dresser drawer. Then she stopped and thought. There was one concession she would make to her passions and fantasies immediately: She would wear no undergarments, no panties, no bra.

As if to prevent any more argument, she hurried to put on the jeans and blouse. Then she began to brush her hair. The strands did not fall into place quickly, but she liked the fact that she looked a little wild. She liked the redness in her cheeks, the moisture on her lips. She liked the way her eyes brightened from an inner fire. She liked the way her breasts remained firm behind the flimsy blouse. When she turned and leaned back, she admired the way her jeans carved her thighs and clung tightly to her rear.

He had teased her with his eyes and his smile, with his laughter and his words. She would torment him with her body.

“We’ll see who the real tutor is,” she muttered and laughed at her own joke. The joke wasn’t characteristic of her, but she didn’t seem to care that a face with an attitude almost unrecognizable stared back at her from the mirror.

She didn’t want to stop it. That part of herself that wanted it stopped was behind her, hovering somewhere in the corner of a dull room. Let it remain there, she thought and went down to greet him when he came.

Johnny Masterson’s father was there in the morning waiting for him. Usually, he was gone before Johnny sat down to have breakfast. His father was an ambitious man, a workaholic. Johnny used to believe that characteristic was one of the major differences between them and one of the main reasons why he could never be like his father. His father was driven and determined. He was tenacious and intense. He hated losing; he hated being wrong. There wasn’t any deep secret to his methods, nothing like there was to Mr. Lucy’s. His father simply took everything personal and that meant commitment and sacrifice.

But his efforts were rewarded. His firm was said to be one of the most successful in the county. All Johnny knew about his father’s wealth was he had so much invested in so many things, it was nearly impossible to determine exactly how much he really had.

“I’m driving you to school today,” he said when Johnny showed surprise he was still there.

“Where’s Denise?” he asked. His sister was always ahead of him.

“She’s not feeling well this morning,” his mother said. “She’s still in her room. I’ll call the guidance office and you’ll pick up her homework at the end of the day.”

“What’s…”

“Let me know when you’re ready to go,” his father said and went off to work and to wait.

Johnny ate slowly, taking the opportunity to think and to anticipate. It was a technique Mr. Lucy taught him.

“Youth is impulsive,” he said. “That’s why errors are made. Whenever you can, pull back for a few moments and consider before you take action.”

Johnny wondered if his parents realized what he had done, how he had set up everything. On Saturday, Denise hadn’t been given much of a chance to explain, and she was too hysterical herself to make any sense anyway. Gary played his part well. The only excuse he offered Johnny’s parents was that Denise invited him over. He kept repeating it. “She invited me because you were going to your own party,” he added. They recalled seeing him sneaking around in front of the house, waiting for them to leave. So they believed him.

Mary said little. She dressed quickly and left. Johnny’s mother threatened to call her mother and tell her all about it, but Johnny knew she wouldn’t. Phyllis Masterson would rather contain the embarrassment. Of course, both Gary and Mary were forbidden to return to the house, and Denise was told never to associate with either of them.

Thomas Masterson could barely control himself. He threatened all kinds of legal action should Gary so much as set foot on their block. He said he would speak to Gary’s father privately. That, Johnny believed, but he knew Gary’s father and he knew the way father and son behaved toward each other. It would come to nothing. Gary wasn’t the least bit concerned or intimidated.

Johnny knew his father had spoken to Denise yesterday and become even angrier and more frustrated because she continued to remain silent, almost in shock. Still, Johnny thought as he ate his breakfast, his father was a clever man; he might have figured it all out by now. That could be why he was waiting to drive him to school this morning. What else could it be? He never had done it before. If only he could get a chance to speak to Mr. Lucy before he got into that car with his father, Johnny thought. He considered calling him, but decided it was too risky. He would have to handle it himself.

“I’m ready,” he said, standing in his father’s home office doorway.

“Good,” his father said and closed a folder he was reading. He put it into his briefcase and they headed out of the house. Johnny said nothing. He thought it best not to ask questions, but to wait and to think. He was already devising a strategy when he closed the car door. His father started the engine and they pulled away.

“All right,” his father said. “The reason I wanted to drive you to school this morning is I wanted to have this important conversation with you before the situation degenerates any further.”

“Situation?”

“I’m talking about your sister,” he snapped. He slowed down some when he turned to Johnny. “Now listen, son, it’s not my style to beat around the bush. You know that. It’s just part of who I am. I don’t like wasting time. Time is…”

“Money. I know.”

“Exactly. Especially in my business. And it should be the same for you. Waste is waste. Anyway, things haven’t been exactly hunky-dory between us, I know. I’ve never been a phony when it comes to my own kids. A lot of parents are blind to their own kids. I don’t believe in it. Up until now,” he continued, “you’ve been pretty much of a mess. You barely got by in school; you’ve been unenthusiastic about your own future; you’ve had no energy and no drive and you’ve been in trouble far too much. Sometimes, I thought you were a blob of protoplasm living in my house. Understand?”

“Yeah.”

“I came to the conclusion, perhaps unfairly, that you were hopeless. Frankly, I was thinking of suggesting you enlist in the armed services. I was hoping you might develop some self-discipline there and maybe become capable of holding down some responsibility. At least enough to get by and make a living. Now…”

“Now?”

“Now.” He smiled. “Now, I think I owe you an apology, son. I don’t know how this guy got to you or how he did it. I’m not sure what has exactly taken place inside you, but you’ve turned a corner. It’s not just your grades and the good things I’ve been hearing about you at school, but there’s a difference in your attitude at home as well. You’re developing self-respect. I see it and I’m happy about it.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said, but he didn’t relax. He was too used to compliments before bombs. Teachers, especially, had that style. They would praise him, tell him how well he could be doing, how much ability he had, and then come down hard on him for his failures. Was his father using the same approach?

“Now, we come to your sister. I’m afraid I’ve been a little blind there. I recognize that some of this, maybe all of it, is my fault—your past failure and her…whatever we want to call it. I suppose I could place a lot of the failure on my work. It consumes me. It’s a fault, I know, but it’s one of those good faults, if you can understand what I mean.”

“Yeah, I think I do. Mr. Lucy explained it to me once.”

“Mr. Lucy? Oh, the tutor. Good. Anyway, I want to be dead honest about this. I don’t foresee any dramatic changes in my style, and your mother…well, just between you and me, Johnny, your mother isn’t strong enough for some things.”

“I realize that,” he said in a tone of voice that made it seem as if it had always been an obvious conclusion.

“You do?” His father considered him. “Yes, I think you do. You’ve got a lot more perception than I was willing to give you credit for, Johnny. Anyway, what it boils down to is I’m going to ask you to take on some responsibility. What you did Saturday night was good. Although it was the right thing to do, I know it took guts because Gary Rosen and Mary Warren will probably tell all your friends about it and other kids will know you snitched. I realize what that can do to your relationship at school but…”

“I don’t care about other kids,” he said quickly. “I don’t let other people tell me how to behave and what to think. I’m not susceptible to peer pressure the way most of my friends are,” he added, his eyes small and determined.

Thomas Masterson was impressed. For a moment he thought he was riding with a complete stranger. “Susceptible?” Was this the same boy who would simply shrug and back down whenever he was confronted with any criticism?

“That’s good, Johnny. That’s the way to be, if you can.”

“I can. Mr. Lucy says that when we surrender our choice, we surrender our meaning.”

“He’s quite a guy, this Mr. Lucy. I guess I’m going to have to meet him.”

Johnny sensed something threatening in that. His father might not approve of some of Mr. Lucy’s ideas and some of the things they had done. He certainly wouldn’t understand their “insurance account” and he would never approve of what he had just done to his sister, even though, as Mr. Lucy had predicted, it was beginning to bring about something good.

“He’s OK, a little nicer than some teachers, but it’s nothing to get all excited about.”

“As long as he’s a positive influence, and from what I see and hear, he is. But getting back to what I was saying, Johnny. I’m going to ask you to take on more responsibility…responsibility for your sister and to some extent, even your mother. I don’t want you to be obvious about this,” he added quickly, “but I want you to keep a sharp eye on Denise. Obviously, she needs more supervision than I had anticipated. Next thing I’ll find out is she’s playing around with drugs or something.”

“I know what you mean,” Johnny said. He was surprised himself at how mature he sounded, and at how he felt on an equal footing with his father right now. Was this what Mr. Lucy meant when he said sometimes we go beyond ourselves? he wondered.

Thomas Masterson was affected by his son’s tone of voice, too. He studied his face a moment.

“She’s not into that already, is she, Johnny?”

“Not that I know of, Dad,” he said, and before his father could relax he added, “but that’s something you can never be sure about.”

“I know,” Thomas Masterson said sadly. “Look what happened to Mike Cutler’s son, and here’s Mike working in the public defender’s office. The ironies of life, the ironies of life.” He paused and then he laughed.

“What is it?”

“Funny thing, Johnny, but I used to expect that of you. Now here I am asking you to watch out for Denise.”

“I know and I deserved it then, but you can trust me now, Dad. I know what has to be done and I won’t be obvious about it.” He said it with complete assurance. Thomas Masterson nodded.

“I believe you, Johnny. I really do. Now, if you see anything that you think I should know, or you hear anything I should…”

“I’ll tell you right away.”

“Good, Johnny. I’m glad we’re having this conversation and I’m only sorry it took us so long to have it.”

“Well, it’s not all your fault, Dad.”

“That’s very understanding of you, son. It shows real maturity. I guess those old Masterson genes are fighting their way to the fore, eh?”

“I think we’re all individuals, Dad. Genes are important, but the combinations make for new people, don’t you think?”

Thomas Masterson looked over at his son again. He had never liked to admit that there was much of himself in the boy. What part of himself did he see in his son now? The self-confidence, sure, but there was a different cut to it. There was something else there. What was it?

“I suppose you’re right, Johnny.”

“Dad, there was something I was going to ask you. Maybe this is the right time.”

“If it’s a favor, Johnny, it’s a good time. You’ve got your old man’s sense of drama at least.” He laughed, but Johnny didn’t crack a smile. Damn, this kid is serious, he thought. I never realized how serious a kid he was.

“Mr. Lucy is going to run these classes in self-defense on Saturdays, starting next Saturday. I’d like to enroll in them.”

“Self-defense? The tutor?”

“Yeah. Karate, judo, stuff like that.”

“No kidding. This guy’s kind of all around huh?”

“He knows a little of everything, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” Thomas Masterson thought for a moment. “Well, whatever it costs, as long as it’s within reason, it’s OK. It’s a good thing to learn and from what I’ve seen around here and what I know now, I can’t think of a better person to spend your time with.”

“Me neither, Dad. Except you, of course.”

Thomas Masterson smiled. His son was actually being diplomatic and actually did it well. The kid had potential. He was proud of him, so proud of him it almost compensated for the disappointment he had with his daughter.

“I’ll see what I can do about spending more time with you, Johnny. That’s a promise.”

“Fine. I’d like that,” Johnny said. He felt confident that this was something that wouldn’t happen.

When they pulled up in front of the school, Johnny saw Sandy and Sheila standing by the doorway talking. They turned his way and he gave them a knowing nod. He was happy Gary wasn’t in sight. That friendship would have to be kept subtle for a while. He got out of the car and signaled to the girls to wait for him.

“Oh, Johnny, don’t forget your sister’s homework.”

“No problem,” he said. He held the door open a moment and then leaned in. “Have a good day, Dad,” he said.

“Thanks, son,” Thomas Masterson said, and for a moment a frightening thought lingered: he was being manipulated by his teenage son. The kid seemed too clever, too good, too grown up. He was hitting all the right points.

He watched him walk to the building and saw the way the two girls smiled when Johnny approached them. Well, he was a handsome boy, wasn’t he? New individual or no new individual, combination of genes or not, his son’s good looks were a direct result of his lineage, Thomas Masterson thought. There were remarkable resemblances, resemblances he had not cared to acknowledge before. But they had always been there and now there was no denying them.

He didn’t want to deny them. This kid was going to be someone. He would accomplish things. Despite his son’s previous poor record of achievement, he had never gotten in with a bad crowd or become a drug user, as some of the children of many of his friends had. So Johnny was a late bloomer, so what? At least he was blooming, wasn’t he?

Still, there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind…that look in Johnny’s eyes when he said, “Have a good day, Dad.” It had been so unlike him to say something like that.

That’s it, Thomas Masterson thought, I’m just not used to the changes in the kid. That’s all it is. I’ve got to get to know him. I’ve got to get to know my own son.

He felt comfortable with that idea and he let it take charge. As soon as his office building came into sight, he began to review the day’s work. He put everything else out of his mind, making a vague mental note to think more about his son later.

But he didn’t. Not until it was too late.

7

For Ellen, the front door of her house had become terrorizing because the mere opening of it seemed immoral. She was convinced that once she turned that handle, she’d go over the brink, throw all caution aside, and surrender to her sexual fantasies. And so, the debate within her began again. She realized that every action, no matter how small or insignificant it had seemed in the past, would now become earth-shaking.

After she had let him in, would they go into the kitchen to drink the coffee or would she take him into the living room? Would she show him the house? Did that mean going upstairs with him, taking him into her bedroom? How long would he stay? Ten minutes? A half hour? Suppose one of her friends called while he was here. Would she detect his presence from the sound of her voice? In short, when she opened that door, would her whole life change?

The sound of the door buzzer shattered her thoughts. She stood like one frozen to the floor, unable to move in any direction, her mind scrambling for sensibility. He was here; she had caused it to happen, but she didn’t have to panic like this. She could handle it.

This was silly, she thought, and the reason why she was behaving so silly was because she had permitted herself to become so damn narrow-minded, limiting herself to a small circle of inane friends and burying herself in this mindless, dreary marriage. She had the potential to be sophisticated and intelligent, and if the others didn’t understand, well…that was because they were incapable of understanding something that deep.

She threw back her head defiantly and moved forward. Later, she would swear to herself that the handle of that door felt hot. She turned it open and stepped back. He stood there, more handsome than ever, dressed in tennis sneakers, tight jeans, and that beautiful wool sweater she had so admired. His hair was soft and wavy and his face, red from the running and the shower, looked bright and vibrant.

Once again he had the look of a celebrity, of someone managed and pampered for magazines and films, of someone always in the spotlight, standing out from the crowd, the object of attention, and magnetic almost in a royal sense, because to be near him and to touch him was important. She was sure that after an encounter with him, no matter how slight it seemed, you carried away something valuable. He bestowed his voice and his gazelike gifts. You were grateful for his attention.

Instinctively, she knew it was wrong to feel and to think this way about a man, but she couldn’t help it. Although she was surprised at her own weakness, she didn’t try to overcome it. He laughed at her inability to speak.

“I’m at the right place, aren’t I?”

“Oh. Come in, come in. I was just surprised at how quickly you got yourself together. I barely had time to throw this on and my hair is still…”

“Still natural and beautiful,” he said. He stepped closer and looked over her as though he were inhaling the scent of her. She brought her fingers to her throat and smiled. Was she really as beautiful as he seemed to think?

“The coffee…”

“Yes?”

“Is in the kitchen,” she said and laughed. It was a nervous, little laugh that she cut short quickly and swallowed. He followed her down the corridor.

It’s safer to remain in the kitchen, she thought. Kitchens are the least romantic of all the rooms in a house because they are filled with machines and the odors of foods and detergents. They are too bright and too shiny and clean, and the furniture in them is practical, consisting of metals and woods. There are rarely cushions in a kitchen and usually no place to recline. It doesn’t have the potential to be suggestive like a dining room with its chandeliers and candelabra and fine china. It’s not the room in which one loses her virginity or surrenders her morality. She thought all this as they walked to her kitchen. But she she recalled that scene in The Postman Always Rings Twice when Jack Nicholson made love to Jessica Lange on the kitchen table.

“Very nice,” he said, looking around. “Airy, comfortable. How long have you been here?”

“Since we got married.” She hesitated to tell him how long she was married.

“Always just the two of you,” he remarked, making it sound as though it were a conclusion he had just reached.

“Yes. We have no children. We tried, but…please, sit down.”

“Thanks.” He did so. She thought he looked so much bigger than Bart did at the table. The sweater emphasized the wideness of his shoulders and made him appear even taller.

After she had poured the two cups of coffee at the counter, she was sorry she had done it there. It meant turning and carrying them to the table, and she already could feel the trembling in her body. She was sure the cup and saucer would shake, so even though it looked silly, she took one cup in both hands and brought it to him.

“My, but you’re careful,” he said.

“What? Oh.”

“No wonder this house looks so immaculate.”

“I suppose I am a little neurotic about it.”

“It’s a good neurosis.”

She went back for her cup, thinking how important it was to keep talking and to prevent long moments of silence. She was afraid of what she would reveal in her face, afraid of what would come between them when they stared at each another. Already, her heart was pounding and she stumbled nervously over syllables.

“So how do you like Centerville?”

“It’s a very nice place. Pleasant. All the people I have met are friendly. Of course, I haven’t met that many. Parents and school people mostly.”

“And kids. You have some group, I see. There’s a regular parade of them afternoons and evenings.”

“It’s going well,” he said.

“Were you always just a…I mean…”

“Just a tutor? Yes.” He smiled.

“I didn’t mean to make it sound insignificant.”

“That’s all right. I know it is rare for someone to make his living solely as a tutor nowadays. Usually, they teach and tutor on the side for extra income.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“I’ve made it into a specialty—one-on-one instruction,” he said and leaned toward her, his face becoming serious and intense. “In this age of computers, high tech, mass communications, people long for personal contact. Especially kids who can be made to feel insignificant and unwanted in so many ways, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Although I must admit, I never thought about it quite like that.”

“We’ve come a long way from the one-room school house. Today’s schools are growing increasingly impersonalized with their objective marking systems and their standardized tests. They punch you out on a card and program you into oblivion. Actually,” he continued after he sipped some coffee, “I’m an anomaly. In some ways I’m very old-fashioned because I’m not afraid of personal relationships. In fact I encourage them.”

“I think that’s very nice,” she said. He could talk her into believing anything, she thought.

“Do you?” He paused and looked at her hard. His question was more demanding than it seemed.

“Yes,” she said softly, “although I don’t have as many close relationships as I would like.”

“Really? I would have thought…I mean, in such a small community…”

“I have friends, acquaintances.” There was another long pause and that intense gaze of his. “What brought you to Centerville? I’m curious.”

“I like small communities, places where people get to know each other better. There’s more opportunity for personal relationships, even if there aren’t as many as we’d like.”

“You grew up in a small town, I take it.”

“Yes. Very much like this one. And you lived here all your life?”

“Yes. Things were different when I was a little girl growing up here though. There was always a lot of activity in the summer. All the bungalows and small hotels were kept well and were filled with tourists. There was an excitement then and…” She stopped, embarrassed by her enthusiastic description. “I make it sound as though I’m a hundred years old.”

“Not at all. I like it when you get excited like that. It brings a light into your eyes that’s fascinating.”

She looked at him and then looked down quickly. It was happening and she couldn’t prevent it. She felt herself slipping, sliding down like someone easing into a warm bath. She felt a stirring within her, and saw the image of a flower opening to greet the sun. Is that how I really feel, she wondered, like someone living in shadows most of the time?

“Would you like some more?”

“More?”

“Coffee.”

“No thank you,” he said. She could let it go now, she thought. She could end the conversation and indicate he should leave. But she didn’t.

“What do you do all day?” she asked. “I mean, before your students arrive.”

“I devote part of it to myself, just like you do. I exercise; I read. Then I prepare my lessons. That takes time because each student gets individualized treatment.”

“They’re there all late afternoon and into the evening,” she commented, not realizing she was revealing how much she watched his house and the things he did.

“I try not to go beyond eleven o’clock.”

“And a good chunk of your Sunday, too.”

“I see you’ve been watching me,” he said, smiling. She blushed.

“I…well, we don’t miss much on this block.”

“That’s what I meant about small communities.” He put his cup down and looked about again. “This is a nice house.”

“Thank you. We have two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. I have the back room converted into my exercise room and my husband has a small office next to it.”

“Insurance?”

“Yes. All his life,” she added, unable to delete a note of sadness. “Not romantic or exciting.”

“Very few careers really are, and the ones we think might be are usually matter-of-fact to those who have them. I’m in insurance, too, you know.”

“You are?”

“Figuratively speaking. Parents use me as an insurance policy or a last resort.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose you could think of it that way.”

“I do.” He smiled at her again. “You really do have lovely hair,” he said.

“Thank you. I keep after it.”

“Exercise has done well by you.”

“I try.”

There was another long pause and she felt if she didn’t speak up, he would go on staring at her for hours. It wasn’t that his look was unnerving; she was comfortable with it, too comfortable perhaps. She felt herself on the verge of drifting and sensed a warm glow coming into her face.

“And how do you spend your day?” he asked.

“Filled with trivial things.”

“If you feel that way, why don’t you look for work, develop a career?”

“I’ve been thinking about doing that. Vaguely,” she added and laughed. “I suppose I’ve gotten spoiled.”

“We’ve all got to be careful about that. It happens too easily. Have you worked before?”

“A secretary. In Barton’s firm.”

“Why not go back to it?”

“I wouldn’t want to work there now. Barton brings the work home enough as it is. With me there, too…besides, I don’t know if I could go back to being a secretary. I’m rusty when it comes to skills. I can get proficient with a typewriter, but all those letter-writing skills and grammar and…”

“Be glad to tutor you.”

“What?” She smiled widely.

“Help you bone up. No problem. Free of charge, too. A neighborly gesture.” They both laughed.

“I might just take you up on that.”

“You don’t scare me.”

She laughed again. Then she got up and took the cups and the saucers to the sink. For a moment he just sat there staring at her. She felt his gaze. When she turned around, he was up, too. Neither of them spoke, but his eyes drew her to him in such a magnetic way, she felt unable to turn aside. Seconds seemed like minutes.

“I can usually tell about people,” he said. The tone of his voice had changed. It was soft and soothing and resonant like the voice of that analyst she had gone to last year. “You’re different.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a quality to you, a depth. You have greater needs, don’t you? You’re not satisfied with what you have in this town. Sometimes, you feel like you’re on an island by yourself.”

“Yes,” she said. It was only a whisper.

“Everyone’s a stranger, even people you’ve known all your life…especially people you’ve known all your life.”

“It’s true.”

“I’ve been watching you; I’ve seen the way you look at things; I can practically hear your thoughts. I was the same way so I know what it is to be imprisoned within yourself, to have all these perceptions and feelings, to have all these unsaid words dying in echoes, to be unable to share any real discoveries and interesting thoughts. You live in the world of the deaf and the dumb and you see and hear.”

He was much closer now. Suddenly, his face was only inches from hers, his eyes holding her even before his hand touched her waist. Her lips parted slightly as he brought his to them. The kiss was soft, undemanding, exploratory. She turned into him, fitting her body neatly within his embrace, welcoming the strength in his arms and the hard, manly torso that pressed against her breasts.

Before she could speak, he scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen as easily as he would carry a baby. She had no desire to protest, although the words formed themselves dutifully in her mind. Almost as quickly as they did, however, she subdued them, pushed them under the surface of her consciousness, dooming them to the oblivion of distant memories. She wanted what was happening even more than she had suspected she wanted it. It encompassed all the forbidden things there ever were in her life, all those things her parents had denied her because she was too young or they were too dangerous to do; all those things she had denied herself because she couldn’t throw off the hood of fear that shadowed them.

As he turned to the stairway, she closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. With her body cupped in his arms, she let herself drift into fantasies. A flood of previously frustrated images charged forward, now released by her determination not to refuse those darker, unseen voices that had called to her in dreams, that had tempted her with “evil” scenarios reaching as far back as she could remember. This was the culmination of it all, her most daring act.

She didn’t open her eyes until she felt herself being lowered to her bed. Then she looked up at him, but neither of them spoke. He lifted his sweater over his head and unbuttoned his shirt. Naked to the waist, he sat beside her. She watched his fingers release each of the buttons on her blouse. After he did them all, he paused before lifting the material from her breasts, and looked at her as if requesting her final approval before going further. She merely closed her eyes again.

Never had lovemaking with Barton lasted so long. Her chest ached from the heavy breathing and her skin burned with the redness that had come over it in little patches all over her body. Her legs tightened as though she had been doing aerobics for hours.

She didn’t remember exactly how it ended. He brought her to another climax and then withdrew. Grateful for the respite, she turned over and embraced the pillow. She felt him rise off the bed. She didn’t turn to watch him dress, but she heard the rustling of clothing. What she was waiting for was her heartbeat to slow up and her breathing to calm down. By the time it did and she turned on her back again to talk to him, he was gone.

He had slipped from the room so silently and so quickly, she had the momentary feeling that he had been a ghost or the figment of her imagination. The realization that he wasn’t there sobered her even more quickly. She sat up and listened for him.

“Adam?”

Perhaps he went to the bathroom, she thought. She got up, but when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she stopped abruptly. Her skin was patchy red in so many spots, including her neck; her hair was completely wild; and her face looked so flushed it was as though she had a terrific fever.

“Adam?”

She went to the doorway, but she heard nothing. Puzzled, she went back to the bed, put on her clothes, and walked downstairs again. He was nowhere in the house.

She opened the front door and stepped outside, feeling both disappointed and annoyed. Old man Cutler was walking his dog, a large mixed poodle that looked as tired and as senile as did the old man. It was hard to determine who was walking whom.

“Hello, Ellen,” he said. Oh no, she thought, he can talk for hours.

“Do you smell something burning?” she asked.

“Burning?”

“Oh, my eggs!” she screamed and turned back into the house, closing the door quickly behind her.

A mixture of emotions seized her. First she laughed hysterically at what she had just done, how cleverly she had escaped from the old man; then she realized that Adam was gone, that she was exhausted but high, that she was excited but afraid. All of it came back to her, rushing over her in a mixture of images—Adam’s smile, his kiss, her dreamy trip up the stairs, the passion, the violence of their lovemaking, her return to consciousness and reality, old man Cutler’s surprised expression, and the sound of her own laughter.

She looked at herself in the little entranceway wall mirror. My God, she thought, look at me. What did I do?

Her laughter turned to tears, her tears back to laughter. She hurried upstairs and stripped quickly to get into a shower. The hot and cold water revived her. Afterward, she sat by the vanity table rubbing cream into her face until she brought herself back to the softness and color she wanted. She brushed her hair neatly into place this time and dressed again, this time putting on her bra and panties. When all that was completed, she went downstairs.

She stood by the front window in the living room a moment debating what to do. It was her day for food shopping and she did want to look for that wallpaper for the bathroom. The fact that she could recuperate so quickly and get back into the ordinariness of her life intrigued her. It made her question what had really happened. How much of it was real and how much had she imagined?

Realizing she had to put it all into the back of her mind in order to function, she moved quickly to get her things together. She stopped for a moment only when she went through the kitchen and saw his coffee cup alongside hers in the sink. It was almost like something at the end of a “Twilight Zone” episode, an object that proved the fantastic event really had occurred.

She took up the cups quickly and put them in the dishwasher, for now she thought of them as evidence. It was only then that she realized she felt no sense of remorse, no sense of guilt. Perhaps that was because it had all happened so quickly and so passionately it seemed beyond actuality, she thought. At least that was the way it would be for now.

But what would be later, especially when she faced Barton? Would her face reveal anything? Would he, in a moment, sense her betrayal? It was like that in so many of the romance stories she read; was it like that in real life?

When she stepped outside and the cool, clear air caressed her face, she paused. She looked back at her house as though she wanted to press it forever into memory. She felt like someone leaving home forever.

She started toward her car, but stopped to look over at the old Taylor house. He was nowhere to be seen. Had he gone inside or somewhere downtown? She considered going over to knock on the door and confront him, but the street was coming alive. People were taking out the garbage, dogs were barking, there was more traffic. It was too late.

But why did he leave so quickly? Was he ashamed? Did he feel guilty, afraid? Did he hear something and think Barton was coming home? None of these ideas seemed right. It had to be something else, but what?

Wondering about him like this brought her thoughts back to the end of their lovemaking. God, it was good, she thought; it was so good and yet…there was something, something gnawing at her consciousness, some thought trying to make itself clear.

She opened the car door and got in behind the wheel. She started the engine and reached for the radio dial. But she stopped and looked at his house again.

That was it, she thought. He hadn’t said a word to her from the moment he carried her upstairs to the moment he left. There were no words of affection, not even any sounds…no grunts, no moans, no sighs, nothing.

It was the silence, the weird, deep silence. All the sounds she had heard were the sounds she had made. It was as though he had come to her house to accomplish a predetermined task and then left, having done it. What was the task? What had he done?

Suddenly she felt more like a woman who had been raped than a woman who had made love. After all, she had just slept with a man and made the most intimate contact with him that she could, and as far as she was concerned, he was still a stranger.

It was as though it had never happened.

She would try to keep it that way for as long as she could.

8

The four of them walked together through the village toward Mr. Lucy’s house. There was something they had among them, something that made them special and strong. They were all aware of it, but Johnny sensed it the most. He felt as though there was a protective field around them. An invisible chain linked them so tightly to one another that they moved as one.

They faced forward as they walked, their heads high and proud, their posture improved but arrogant. Johnny led them; they hovered beside and right behind him. The other three were vividly alert to his every move. When he stopped, they stopped; when he looked to the right, they all looked to the right to see what had attracted his attention.

He was cognizant of the way people looked at them. He saw many pedestrians stop to stare; he saw people looking interestedly out of storefronts; he saw drivers turn their way; he even caught sight of an elderly woman, Mrs. Melenick, gazing down at them from her third-story apartment above Feldman’s Fish Market, her face, gray and skeletonlike, framed in the dusty pane, a study in age captured like a face in a cameo.

And yet the four of them wore nothing special; they had no identifying symbol pinned to their clothing. Individually, there was nothing that would cause them to seem strangely different from the other teenagers in town, but collectively they affected one another so strongly that they were molded into a single entity: Mr. Lucy’s Kids.

Johnny verbalized it as “the inner circle,” but he recognized that what they were and what they were becoming had a direct relationship to those parts of himself that Mr. Lucy had imbued within them. During the past few months, they had become so attached to him and so involved with him that any attack on him was an attack on them. That was why they had decided to go to his house now in unison. For Johnny, it would be the first “inner circle” meeting. He was filled with excitement, but he contained his enthusiasm well, remembering Mr. Lucy’s advice about control and power.

“Inscrutability is the face of one who has self-confidence and knows victory,” Mr. Lucy told him. “Never show people what you are thinking and you will have the advantage. As we study karate, I will show you how that principle is translated into a physical advantage.”

Actually, the visit to Mr. Lucy today had been Sandy’s idea. The four of them had been together in the cafeteria, as usual, when Sheila described her latest incident with Mr. Zola. On more than one occasion, the thirty-four-year-old science teacher had made some sarcastic remark about the “amazing changes” that had come over each of the four of them. The tall, slim man with the wavy, styled blond hair and fair-skinned, heavily freckled face seemed offended by their improvements in his and other classes. His bright, feminine lips curled as he turned his shoulders and lowered his chin. It was as though they had violated one of his cardinal principles of education—when doomed to failure, one should fail. He, like so many of their other teachers, had predicted their poor achievement.

“He was really sarcastic,” Sheila said. “Nobody raised their hands, so I did. He would have just ignored me, but I called out.”

“What did he do then?” Gary asked. He raised the left corner of his mouth and tucked in his cheek tightly. It looked as though an invisible finger were pressed into his face.

“He said, with his hands on his hips, ‘Yes, Miss Cohen, do you think you know this one, too?’” Sheila said, blowing out her chubby cheeks to mimick Zola.

“He did something just like that to me yesterday,” Sandy said, brushing her long, auburn hair over her shoulder.

“At first I wasn’t going to answer,” Sheila continued. “Lately, he makes you feel guilty for knowing something. He hates overachievers, Erik Todd told me.”

“That’s not it,” Johnny said, his eyes small. “I’ve been watching him. Go on, what did he do?”

“I answered the questions and explained synthesis just the way Mr. Lucy explained it to me. All the other kids were looking at me. After I finished, they turned expectantly to Zola.” Sheila paused and tugged on her short bangs.

“What’d he do,” Gary asked impatiently, “shit a brick?”

“He said, ‘Is that another of your famous Mr. Lucy’s explanations, Ms. Cohen?’ I said yes. And then Zola started to nit-pick: that wasn’t exactly the way he wanted us to understand it. If we used my answer, it might confuse us later on…He went on and on, complaining about Mr. Lucy’s words. Then he said, ‘I suggest you confine your tutor to reviewing work we’ve already done and not teaching you new work. Fortunately,’ he said, turning to everyone else, ‘the rest of us don’t have that problem.’ Everyone laughed. They were laughing at me. He made them!” Sheila exclaimed, her eyes wide.

“I know what you mean,” Johnny said softly. His calm tone drew Sandy’s attention. “He did that to me last week. I was going to tell him I wouldn’t need a tutor if he was an adequate teacher, but I remembered what Mr. Lucy said about verbal fights with your teachers—we can’t win when we battle them in the open. Even if they’re wrong, they won’t admit it.”

“What’ll we do?” Sheila asked. She grimaced dramatically.

They were quiet for a moment and then Sandy said, “Let’s go tell Mr. Lucy and ask him what we should do. He’s involved in this as much as we are.”

“I can tell him this afternoon,” Gary said.

“No,” Johnny said. “I’ve got a better idea—let’s all go to see him during Gary’s appointment. It’ll be better if we all tell him our experiences. He’ll see how serious this is becoming.”

“I’ll go,” Sheila said.

“Me, too,” Sandy said.

And so they had gathered at Gary’s house and headed for Mr. Lucy’s. As they walked through the village now, Johnny felt a change coming over him. It was as though he were growing taller, wider, stronger. It wasn’t just the improvements that had occurred in school or the development of a more outgoing personality. It was almost as though he had become an entirely different person. Familiar things now looked unfamiliar to him, and what he had tolerated in the past now disgusted him.

For most of his life, he had viewed the village as being a force, an entity onto itself, almost another living thing that breathed and grew and spoke to him in private ways. When he used to take nightly walks alone, he thought of himself as having a more intimate relationship with the place. Perhaps it was strange, but he thought of the village as naked at night. Without the light of day, without its business and people, its traffic and noise, it seemed smaller and much less intimidating, just as would anyone in authority who had been stripped of his clothing.

He felt they had much in common then, he and the village, for both of them were naked and alone, vulnerable and small. That was why he enjoyed his solitary walks at night. The darkness that diminished the village made him feel comfortable and inconspicuous. He was like a blind man who had been placed in a dark room with people who had sight. Now, they were on more equal footing, but because he had always been accustomed to the darkness, he had a distinct advantage.

What Mr. Lucy had done for him, he thought, was take him out of the cover of night and make him strong enough for the brightness of days. He no longer needed the shield of darkness to make him feel adequate. He could look directly at the village in its daylight face and feel unafraid. In fact, as he walked through it now, it seemed as small and as vulnerable as it used to be at night.

Centerville had grown in odd ways. Mostly, it had been grafted together in afterthoughts that took the form of small, single dwelling houses, new low income apartment complexes, and upper-middle-class town houses. Many of the apartments and stores in the downtown area were once rooming houses and small hotels designed to serve the tourists who frequented the Catskills.

For Johnny, the village’s personality came from these many incongruities. In the past he didn’t mind the decrepit structures beside the modern ones; he didn’t care about the worn-down and chipped-out sidewalks and poor storm drains in front of Miller’s modern department store with its computerized cash registers; he didn’t think about the store owners who did little or no maintenance and left their front windows cloudy or their sidewalks unswept, even though the village was supposed to be a resort town and attractive to visitors.

Suddenly it changed. He saw things he never saw before, and his reaction was quite different. Mr. Bienstock’s butcher shop with its sagging room and cracked window was a disgrace. Why hadn’t the Chamber of Commerce forced him to do something about it? Why was the bank’s parking lot still not repaved? Look at the potholes and cracks. Mr. Pauling’s drugstore was a joke. The windows and the aisles were so cluttered with merchandise, a customer practically had to claw his way to the prescription counter. What kind of planning was that? And the police station…that was the most comical thing of all—a two-by-four office in the same building that housed Biltmore’s Miami Fashions.

For the first time, Johnny thought, how could the people in this community take themselves seriously, his father included? This place was nothing compared to some of the places Mr. Lucy had visited. After Johnny had listened to some of the tutor’s descriptions, he realized what a silly mistake this hamlet was. Some developer should buy it and bulldoze it all down, he thought.

He put all this from his mind when they turned down Highland Avenue. Mr. Lucy didn’t seem at all put out by the arrival of the four of them, instead of only Gary. Johnny was impressed by that. His tutor never lost his cool and never seemed to be at a disadvantage.

“What’s this?” Mr. Lucy said cheerfully, “Gary needed an escort today?”

“We have to talk to you,” Johnny said. “We have a problem. Gary was willing to donate some of his scheduled time for it.”

“Generous of you, Gary, but you’re still going to have to do some grammatical constructions,” Mr. Lucy said.

Sheila laughed the loudest and they all entered the old Taylor house. Johnny saw Mr. Lucy look down the street as if to check whether or not they had been followed or whether or not they were being watched. It never occurred to him that there might be something suspicious in their group arrival, but then he thought, with the kind of snoops in this town anything looks suspicious.

Johnny didn’t like coming to the Taylor house during the daytime. He noticed that it looked quite different. With all the curtains wide open and the shadows gone, the house looked its age; it even looked weaker to him. All of its imperfections were more clearly visible—the many worn spots in the rugs, the faded paint on the walls, the tears and holes in some of the furniture cushions. Much of the woodwork was scratched and the unpolished tables and chairs looked feeble. The rooms looked smaller, too, their dull wallpapered walls making them appear dreary and sad. He was always sorry when he came here in the daytime.

Although Mr. Lucy wasn’t diminished by this setting, in Johnny’s eyes he did appear different. Of course, he was still as handsome, as tall and as strong-looking, but there was less mystery to him. Johnny had gotten to like the eerie, almost supernatural air that characterized Mr. Lucy and the house at night.

Whenever he came down Highland Avenue and saw the old Taylor house with its windows lit in a pale yellow and orange and the top of it swallowed in darkness or silhouetted in the moonlight, he felt as though he were entering another world, crossing into another dimension where voices and faces changed, where words echoed down the long corridors of his imagination, where things of which his dreams were made could be seen and heard and felt.

Johnny studied the others to see if they had a similar reaction to the house in daytime, but apparently they didn’t. No wonder they didn’t see Mr. Lucy the way he saw him, Johnny thought, and they didn’t have that extra sense of power that came from knowing his secrets. These were the secrets that could be told only at night when the house was no longer a part of the neighborhood, when the darkness encased it like a protective wall. These were the secrets that lived within the shadows and the whispers. They lived like bats, hung in the caverns of the mind, coming alive only when the sun went down and the stars and the moon called to them.

“Let’s go into the kitchen,” Mr. Lucy said. “I’ll make some tea and we’ll talk.” He looked directly at Johnny and Johnny knew he was searching his face for some signal, some unspoken message. With his eyes and his nod, Johnny told him, “There’s no problem with you.” Mr. Lucy smiled.

They followed him and took seats around the table. All eyes were on Mr. Lucy and everyone was still.

“So,” Mr. Lucy said, “everyone for tea?” Everyone nodded even though they rarely drank it on their own. After all, it wasn’t just having tea, it was doing something intimate with Mr. Lucy, being part of the conversation and fully participating in the rituals. “I’ll brew it,” he said, “so we’ll have real tea, tea the way it should be made. There’s too much instant this and instant that, nowadays.”

How could he go on like this about tea? Johnny wondered. If I were Mr. Lucy and four of my students came by like we just did, I’d be dying to know what it was about. He had to admire his control. Control is power, he recited to himself, remembering the way Mr. Lucy always phrased it. Control is power.

“My mother wouldn’t even know what you’re talking about,” Gary said. “She’s the worst cook in Centerville. My father says she can burn water.”

“My mother would know,” Sandy said. Her eyes softened with the memory. “My real mother, that is. When she was into one of her Far Eastern religions, she used to brew tea like that and burn incense and sit in the yoga position in the middle of the living room and ‘Ohm.’ I can still hear her chants in my sleep.”

“I do that sometimes,” Mr. Lucy said.

“You do?” Sandy looked confused.

“But unlike your mother, and unfortunately a large part of our population in this country, I don’t treat religions and philosophical concepts like products in a supermarket. I don’t shop around for the truth. Everyone expects instantaneous results or he or she drops it. That’s your computer age for you, Johnny, hit the buttons and watch the knowledge zip out. Huh?”

They all turned to Johnny to see why Mr. Lucy had directed his last remark only to him. Johnny offered one of his famous shrugs.

“I never said I liked it.”

“No, you never did. So, while the water’s boiling, who wants to begin? What brings you all to Ivory Castle on a night like this?” he asked, imitating the voice of Boris Karloff. That finally brought a smile.

“I’ll begin,” Sandy said quickly. She eyed the others to see if anyone would challenge her, but no one did. “It’s about Mr. Zola.”

“Zola, Zola. Where did I hear that name before?”

“He’s our science teacher,” Sheila said, and grimaced emphatically.

“Oh yes. Well, what about him, Sandy?”

“He’s been giving each of us a hard time in his class.”

“Oh?”

“A really hard time. And only because of you,” she added, lowering her voice dramatically. She leaned toward Mr. Lucy and they all tightened the circle.

“Me?”

“I think I know why,” Johnny said softly. Sandy’s melodrama influenced him. His heart began beating rapidly as all of them turned to him.

“You do?” Sandy said. “Why didn’t you say something before?” she asked quickly, resenting the way Johnny stole Mr. Lucy’s attention from her. She sat back skeptically.

“I thought I’d wait until we all met with Mr. Lucy. I said I think I know.”

“Go on, Johnny.”

“I think he’s jealous of you, Mr. Lucy. I think some of the other teachers are getting that way, too, although they don’t do the things Mr. Zola’s doing.”

“Why should they be jealous of him?” Sheila asked. She shrunk back quickly when the others glared at her disdainfully.

“Because he’s so much better-looking than all of them,” Sandy said. “I mean…”

“That can’t be it,” Gary said. “Most of them haven’t seen Mr. Lucy, right, Mr. Lucy?”

“They’re jealous of him because he’s succeeding where they are failing,” Johnny said matter-of-factly. “And not only with us, but with most of the others,” he added. For a moment no one spoke.

“You might have something there, Johnny,” Mr. Lucy finally said. “That’s good insight.”

Johnny beamed. The others were jealous of the compliment so all of them began talking at once, offering information that might confirm Johnny’s theory.

“Hold it, hold it,” Mr. Lucy said, holding his hand up and smiling, “one at a time. But first let me get this water into the teapot.”

After he did that, Sheila related her recent incident, elaborating on it a great deal more than she had when she first told it to them. Gary, in characteristic style, dryly described a similar one, and Sandy then told hers, taking the longest of the three.

“The same kinds of things happened to me,” Johnny said and left it at that, confident of the power of understatement.

Mr. Lucy had listened attentively to all of them. He poured the tea and said nothing. They watched him intently, waiting for his words. Only Johnny seemed to be able to be patient. The others looked from one to the other nervously.

“How’s the tea?” Mr. Lucy asked. “Notice the difference?”

“It’s the best tea I ever had,” Sheila said. Her face was flushed. Her voice trembled as if she had just made love instead of sipped tea.

“I don’t drink tea so I don’t notice the difference,” Gary confessed. That made Mr. Lucy smile and they all relaxed.

“All right,” he said, sitting back in his chair, “we have a bad situation developing. I’ve seen it happen before. My guess is that this Mr. Zola, for whatever reason, is instigating the others against me. You know how teachers talk about students when they all get together in the faculty room. How long has he been a teacher in your school?”

“Only two years,” Johnny said. Mr. Lucy was silent a moment.

“So then he’s not on tenure. That fits the pattern.”

“He thinks he’s some kind of Romeo or something,” Sheila said.

“What’s that?”

“It’s not that he thinks he’s a Romeo,” Sandy said. She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her bosom. She wanted to be sure Mr. Lucy saw how much more sophisticated than Sheila she was. “He thinks he’s debonair,” she explained.

“How so?” Mr. Lucy asked, but Sandy seemed unable to go on.

“What Sandy’s trying to say, I think,” Johnny said, “is he tries to act like one of us sometimes. You know, he talks about music or television stars, just to show us he keeps up. He wears tight designer jeans and gold chains. He goes to all the school dances and tries to be Mr. Cool.”

“Interesting.”

“He’s not married,” Gary said. “Actually, I think he’s a fag.” He held his wrist up loosely, but only Sheila laughed.

“Why do you say that?” Mr. Lucy asked quickly.

“Just the way he is around boys. I don’t know.” Gary looked to the others for support. “He’s nicer to boys, isn’t he?”

“He can be catty, if that’s what you mean,” Sandy said. “He makes fun of girls more than he makes fun of boys.”

“Do the other kids like him?” Mr. Lucy asked.

“They like him,” Sandy went on, feeling confident with the theory now, “but I know they think he’s flaky. He doesn’t realize it, but half the time they’re all laughing at him.”

“He sounds immature,” Mr. Lucy said, looking as though he were talking to himself now, “and immaturity can be an awful weakness especially for an adult who has to deal with young people daily.”

“What should we do?” Sheila asked. Her voice was thin, nearly hysterical. “I don’t want to participate in class or do well on his tests just to get him off my back.”

“That’s not right,” Mr. Lucy said, his eyes finally flashing with some anger. “Not after the beautiful progress you and the rest of you have made.”

“So, what do we do?” Sheila repeated. She pressed her hands against her chubby cheeks and braced her elbows on the table.

There was another long silence. Johnny put his cup down and leaned forward. Mr. Lucy was looking at him intensely. The others could practically feel something passing between them. They were jealous, but also somewhat in awe.

“Mr. Lucy knows what we should do,” Johnny said. The three others looked from him to Mr. Lucy expectantly. His eyes never left Johnny’s.

“Yes, I do,” Mr. Lucy said, “and it’s only right; it’s only fair, no matter how other people might react to it.”

“How other people react is not important to us, is it?” Johnny said. He turned to the others and they all shook their heads.

“What we do must be kept in strict confidence,” Mr. Lucy said.

“No one will ever learn anything from any of us,” Gary said. He looked threateningly at the girls, but he didn’t have to. They wore looks of total devotion as they stared at Mr. Lucy.

“Good,” Mr. Lucy said. “I know exactly what to do.”

9

Stephen Zola lived in the Garden Lane Apartments, a modern complex recently constructed just outside of the Centerville village limits. It had a pool and the grounds were well manicured. Presently, there were fifty units with another twenty on the planning board.

Mr. Lucy’s kids knew that Zola lived alone. Richard Slattery and two of his friends, also high-powered students scoring in the top one percent on the college boards, had visited Mr. Zola a few times and bragged about it. After all, they were on “friendly, adult terms” with one of their high school teachers. He served them coffee and they “discussed” other students and school candidly. At least, that’s what Slattery claimed.

Mr. Lucy was happy to learn that Richard Slattery publicized his visits well. He said that fit in perfectly with the plan, even though, as Johnny explained, Slattery was what the other students characterized as a “brown-noser.” He played up to all of his teachers.

“Which bugs me because he doesn’t have to,” Johnny said. “He’s so bright as it is.”

“He’s a type,” Mr. Lucy explained. “No matter how well he can do on his own, he’ll always play up to those who judge him. He’ll be a company man. Don’t ever trust him or those like him.”

Johnny understood.

“Mr. Zola was probably like that when he was in high school and in college, huh?”

“Precisely. That’s why they get along so well.”

Everyone was confident after they left Mr. Lucy’s, even though no one spoke for a while as they walked. Under the circumstances, Mr. Lucy decided that Gary should be excused from his grammatical drills. He promised to do the work on his own anyway, but Mr. Lucy recognized that just now it would be difficult for Gary to concentrate on the assignment.

They walked down Highland Avenue, staying even closer together than they had before. The strategy against Mr. Zola had bound them tighter. It was as though they shared one giant imagination. Everyone saw the same visions; everyone pictured the same scenes and heard the same dialogue.

Remarkably, although there was some nervousness, there was no evidence of fear. No one expressed any hesitation; no one brought up the possibilities and the consequences of failure. It was as though failure as a possibility didn’t exist when it came to Mr. Lucy or anything he proposed.

Of course, the boys would be taking the most visible risks, but the girls had been part of the planning and saw themselves as much a part of the conspiracy as were the boys. In their minds it would be difficult, if not impossible, to separate themselves from the results.

It was Mr. Lucy, though, who pointed out how important it was that it not look like a conspiracy. The girls could be encouraging and supportive, but they shouldn’t be found at the scene or around the boys shortly afterward.

“I know how it is in schools,” Mr. Lucy said. “You four are getting identified and maybe even isolated by the others. You’re hanging out together everywhere nowadays, right?”

They admitted it and they saw his point. And the fact that he could so anticipate things made them even more confident. They were being tutored by the best, by the strongest, by the wisest.

When they reached the point in the village where they would part and go their separate ways to their separate homes, Johnny turned to the three others, his face tight with determination, a mirror of Mr. Lucy’s.

“Don’t call each other tonight and talk about it,” he said. “Someone in your house might overhear your conversation. Just for a precaution, let’s mix more with other students tomorrow. Get into conversations with different kids during lunch and in the halls. And whatever you do, don’t challenge or annoy Mr. Zola in any way.”

“I’ll go back to sleeping in his class,” Gary said. “Just for tomorrow.”

There was a short silence among them. Johnny could sense that they all wanted to touch one another. It was strangely similar to a team going into a huddle before a play in a game. He smiled knowingly and put his right hand out. Sandy looked down at it a moment and then put hers on top of his. Sheila did the same quickly and then Gary joined in. No one said anything. Johnny pulled away and they exploded into different directions.

And they all did the same the next day—they followed Johnny’s suggestion and stayed away from one another, except for that one moment right before the last period of the day when Johnny and Gary confronted one another outside the boys’ room in the lower corridor. Johnny’s nod meant that it was all a go. Things had proceeded just as Mr. Lucy predicted they might.

During his fifth period study hall, when Johnny knew Mr. Zola had a free period, he got a pass from the study hall monitor to go to see him. He purposely did it toward the end of the period so there would be little time to talk.

Mr. Zola worked in his room during the fifth period, preparing his lab for a demonstration to be carried out during the next class. In a school as small as theirs, it wasn’t hard to get to know everyone’s pattern from time to time, and in fact, on two occasions, Mr. Zola had asked Johnny to come to him from the study hall for a conference fifth period. Both times, pre-Mr. Lucy, it was to be bawled out for bad work or no work.

As Johnny walked to Mr. Zola’s room he fortified himself by conjuring up images of Mr. Lucy, especially the expressions on his face when he spoke and the look in his eyes whenever he came to a conclusion or gave advice. He reviewed some of that advice and thought hard about power and control. He remembered how much easier it had been than he thought it would be to handle his father and how good things were at home for him since he had followed Mr. Lucy’s commands. Surely Mr. Zola was no challenge for him, not with the arsenal of techniques with which Mr. Lucy had provided him. He was confident, and before he reached Mr. Zola’s room, he was even anxious for the challenge.

For a moment Johnny stood in the classroom doorway unseen and watched the unsuspecting young teacher preparing his lab lessons. Johnny concentrated, putting all his mental power into his gaze, just the way Mr. Lucy said he put his when he was about to attempt something that required strength and determination. It must have worked, Johnny thought, because Mr. Zola turned around as though he felt the intensity.

“Masterson? What’s up? Where are you supposed to be?”

“Study hall,” he said, “but I have a pass.” He held up the slip of paper.

“To where?” Zola glared at him suspiciously.

“To here,” he said.

“Here?”

“To see you, Mr. Zola, but…” Johnny let his voice drop and looked away.

“But what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I oughtta forget it.” He looked down at his note as though the problem was on it.

“Forget what? What is this?” Stephen Zola’s interest was piqued. He put down the beaker and walked toward the classroom doorway. “Come on, what is it? You cheated on the last test?”

“No, nothing like that,” Johnny said indignantly. He stared into Zola’s eyes, his own eyes burning with intensity, the blue seemingly getting more blue. “I wanted to talk to you because I thought you could understand and you could help. I get the feeling you know something anyway.”

“Know something? About what?” Mr. Zola’s face softened. The classroom clock above them ticked down to the last minute before the passing bell, just as Johnny had anticipated.

“About Mr. Lucy,” Johnny said. He made it seem as though the words were stuck in his throat.

“Lucy? Who’s Mr…Wait a minute, isn’t that the tutor you and a few others have been using?”

“Yes sir, but…they shouldn’t. No one should,” Johnny said quickly.

“Why shouldn’t they?”

“I can’t talk right now, Mr. Zola. What I wanted to know was whether or not I could talk to you about it.”

Mr. Zola just stared at him for a moment.

“Why don’t you talk to your father and mother about it?”

“I guess you don’t know my father and mother.”

“Well, what about him?”

The passing bell rang.

“Is there any possibility of my talking to you later on?”

“I have a meeting after school, but I suppose…”

“No, I can’t stay after school. My father has me doing something at home. I’ve got to leave right away. Look,” Johnny said, putting on the most sincere expression he could muster, “I thought of you because you seem to have seen through some of this. You seem to understand already. But if you don’t think you should…”

“No, it’s not that. All right, when do you want to talk?”

“Do you think I can drop over to see you tonight, say around seven-thirty?”

Students began approaching the classroom door.

“Okay,” Mr. Zola said quickly. “Seven-thirty is fine.”

“Thank you,” Johnny said and left the room. After Johnny furtively signalled A-OK, Gary proceeded with step two.

“I’ve got to see Mr. Carman,” Gary said. “It’s very important.”

Sandy Feldman, the principal’s secretary, looked up at him over her wide-rimmed, thick-lensed glasses that had slid down the bridge of her nose. There was some ink from the duplicating machine on her chin. She had just had trouble with it because a sheet of paper got stuck between the rollers and she had to reach in and pull it out. Her fingers rubbed up against a roller and she brought the ink out with it. Then, she scratched her chin. It was the third time the machine had given her trouble this week.

She put down the face mirror and looked up at him, disgust and impatience written all over her.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” He stared down at her.

“Well, Mr. Carman’s had a very bad day. He just got into his office and…”

“This is an emergency. I’ve got to speak to him. He’ll be angry if I don’t,” Gary added, practically spitting out the words. He knew that would swing her. He could sense he made her uncomfortable. She knew him well. His long hair and habitually aggressive look unnerved her. He always looked explosive to her and even more so now.

“Just a minute.” She continued to wipe her hands and began muttering under her breath. A few moments later, she buzzed the principal. “I have Gary Rosen out here and he says he must see you.”

“What’s it about?”

“He wants to know what it’s about.”

“It’s personal,” he said, sneering.

“He says it’s personal.”

“All right. Send him in,” Bill Carman said, the annoyance clearly visible in the tone of his voice.

“Go on,” Sandy told him. She waved her hand as if she was chasing away an insect.

Gary smiled when he turned away from her and walked to the principal’s office door. Mr. Lucy was right when he said that most adults resent young people. “Maybe it’s because they remind them of what they’ve lost,” he said, and Gary thought that was certainly true when it came to his mother. He didn’t know what he could say about his father, except they were both like creatures from different planets.

“What’s the problem, Gary?” Bill Carman asked even before Gary got completely into the office. The principal was sitting back in his desk chair and a cup of coffee was steaming on his desk. He had his top shirt button undone and his tie loosened. The strands of his hair were wild and loose as though he had just run his fingers through them.

Gary closed the door softly without speaking and went to the chair in front of the principal’s desk, reviewing Mr. Lucy’s instructions as he did so. Look reluctant, Mr. Lucy had said. Look pained, but don’t overdo it.

“I got to tell you something, Mr Carman. I got to tell someone.”

Bill Carman sat up in his seat. He put the coffee aside and leaned on his desk.

“Well, what is it?”

“It has to do with me and Mr. Zola.”

“Oh. Look, Gary…”

“No, you don’t understand,” Gary said quickly. “It’s not a problem in class. I didn’t get into trouble with him or anything.”

“It isn’t? So, what is it?”

“It’s something I did with him…at his place. Something he made me do,” Gary said, and looked down. There was a long pause. Bill Carman swallowed hard and then instinctively buttoned his top shirt button.

“I don’t understand, Gary. When you say ‘his place,’ you mean…”

“His apartment. I’ve gone to his apartment.”

“Yes?”

“He invited me. I wasn’t doing so well in his class, you know, so I thought…well, some others have done it,” he added quickly.

“Done what, Gary? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Things,” Gary said. It’s not to going to be easy for you to say, Mr. Lucy had told him. It’s got to look like you can’t do it. That’s very important. It will affect the principal. I know the man; I know how he’ll react. Trust me.

“You’ve got to tell me exactly what you mean, Gary.”

“Bad things,” he said, and brought his hands to his face.

Bill Carman was sure the blood had left his face. He actually felt it drain away. He was never fond of Stephen Zola; the man was not his type. To Carman, Zola personified the new breed of teachers they had been getting lately—the distinctions between them and the young people they taught were diminishing. It was hard to determine who was imitating whom.

Carman didn’t like to think himself a prude, but when he was a teacher, it was not acceptable to be seen frequenting the same discos the high school students frequented. A jacket and tie were a mandatory part of the teacher’s presentation. There was a clear difference in language. It wasn’t important to seem on the same level as the student—in fact, it was important not to.

This tutor he had directed Gary and some other students to, Mr. Lucy, that was the kind of man who went into teaching. Where had they all gone? To industry? The legal profession? Bill Carman had come to believe that teaching as a career had been emasculated. And now, to hear this about one of those new types he had to tolerate…

“Do you realize how serious a thing you are saying, Gary?”

“Yes, sir,” Gary said. He looked up. His face was red and his eyes looked teary.

“Have you told anyone else this?”

“No, sir.”

“Not your parents.”

“Oh no. They wouldn’t understand. Please don’t tell them.” He looked like he would panic any moment. Bill Carman was afraid he might have an hysterical kid in his office. A horrible scenario passed through his mind: Gary crying hysterically, his secretary running in, students in the hall being attracted to the noise, the whole story exposed and in his office!

Part of this was his fault. He blamed himself for not getting around the building enough, for not observing his newer teachers enough. He should have been more like the old-fashioned administrators; he should have poked his nose into everything. Now, something like this, coming as a surprise…the members of the Board of Education will wonder how come he had no inkling. Was he so out of touch with his staff and his students? Make him the superintendent of schools?—what a laugh. What a tragedy.

“All right, all right. Take it easy. This doesn’t have to go any further than this office, Gary, but I’m going to have to know some details, and I want to continue to impress upon you the seriousness of what you’re saying. If this turns out to be a false accusation, you can kiss your public school education good-bye, not to mention all sorts of legal problems, lawsuits…you understand that?” Carman hoped that his outline of possibilities would dissuade the boy and end it all here, but he looked more determined.

“Yes, sir. It started when he told me to come over to his house to go over some things I didn’t understand in class. I thought that was nice of him, so I went. When I got there, he offered me a glass of wine.”

“Wine?”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t want to appear impolite, even though I’m not very fond of wine. My mother’s always drinking wine…I hate it. But I drank some of it. It tasted like shit. Excuse me.”

“No, go on,” Carman said, impressed with the authenticity and frankness.

“Then we got to talking about other things besides the science work. Clothes, music, that sort of thing.”

“Uh huh.” The buzzer on the intercom went off and he hit the button angrily. “No calls, Mrs. Feldman. No calls. Go on.”

“He said he wanted to show me his apartment. We went into his bedroom and…” Gary looked down. “He started to talk about how good-looking he thought I was. He said he liked my build. He squeezed my arm and then he told me not to be afraid and how important it was for us to get along.”

“My God,” Bill Carman said. He couldn’t help it.

“Do I have to describe the rest?”

“No, no, that’s all right, son. This is very serious,” he said, searching for the right words.

“The reason I came to you today, Mr. Carman,” Gary said quickly, “is because the same thing is going to happen to a friend of mine.”

“The same thing?”

“Yes, sir. Tonight.”

“Who?”

“Johnny Masterson. Mr. Zola has invited him to his apartment at seven-thirty. You know where he lives, don’t you? The Garden Lane Apartments, number four.”

“Yes, yes. Tonight, you say?”

“That’s right.”

“All right, Gary,” Bill Carman said after a moment. “I appreciate your coming forward. I know what courage it must take, but you have to realize that all I can consider having right now is an accusation and a most serious one at that. A man’s career and reputation is at stake.”

“I know. I didn’t want to come, but, Johnny…”

“Yes, I can understand. All right, listen,” Carman said. “Don’t say anything else to anyone just yet. There might be a way to handle this so that there is a minimum of publicity, do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Go back to your last class.”

“All right.” He stood up. Mr. Lucy said the exit was important. It’s a very dramatic moment. “Thanks,” Gary said and looked down. He opened the door slowly and walked out.

Bill Carman didn’t move for a long moment. He couldn’t help but see his entire career going down the drain. These kinds of things were happening everywhere, that was true, but this was a small school system and although they had their share of drug incidents and vandalism, sexual abuse was just too urban, too sensational to be tolerated. They’d have to have a scapegoat.

He knew what the superintendent would do. He had done it before. He would claim the building has to be run by the building head. Carman could recite the words from memory: “He’s the person in direct command. He should know the nitty-gritty. My job is too big for me to be dealing with the day-to-day running of the school. That’s why I have a principal, whom I thought could handle the job.”

He would handle the job, he thought. He’d have to handle it. At this moment he hated Stephen Zola and thought only about how he could crush him. There was only one way to do it and to do it surgically clean so that there would be a minimum of damage to the school and to himself. He would have to confront the man out of the building in the most dramatic place and situation possible, so there would be no chance for a teacher-union defense. He would go to his apartment tonight just after Johnny Masterson arrived there and maybe, with luck, he would at least catch him offering the boy an alcoholic beverage.

After that, it would be easy. He could force Zola to resign and by promising to keep the reason quiet, he could help both of them; he could help the school. After a short time, he could reveal the truth to the right people and do it in such a way that he would appear to have been the most efficient and professional person involved. What could the superintendent say then, except job well done. And the board members would be impressed and the parents would be appreciative.

Yes, he thought, there was a way yet to rescue this situation and gain from it personally. He felt more optimistic about it.

The buzzer ending the school day jolted him out of his deep thoughts, but he was ready to do what had to be done.

That evening was cooler than usual. Winter was making its impending arrival known. The wind, coming from the northwest, stripped the trees of their gold, brown, and red leaves in single gusts. As Johnny walked toward Stephen Zola’s apartment complex, the road before him became animated. All sorts of refuse escaped from loosely covered garbage cans. Old newspapers danced over the sidewalks and empty soda and beer cans rattled along the gutters as they were carried aimlessly along. The swaying branches made the trees look like a chorus of hypnotized creatures trapped in the rhythm of eerie, unheard music.

Johnny walked alone, accompanied only by his shadow elongated within the pool of yellowish street light. It gave him the impression he was bigger, taller, stronger than he was before he had started on this journey. Although the streets were quiet and deserted, he did not feel isolated. Ever since they had all discussed the plan at Mr. Lucy’s house, he had felt the tutor’s presence with him, even when he moved through the crowded school day.

Now that feeling was so strong, he had to stop from time to time to look behind him or into the shadows to see if Mr. Lucy was there. Once, he thought he heard something and called to the darkness, but there was no reply.

Mr. Lucy doesn’t think it’s necessary to hold your hand, he told himself; he has faith in you. He believed this, but he still felt as though he were being accompanied. When cars went by and their headlights washed away the darkness, he looked about for evidence of another. There was never anyone.

As soon as the apartment complex came into view, he began to feel a little afraid. What if he were the one to fail after Gary had done so well? Thinking about how disappointed in him Mr. Lucy would be helped him to screw up his courage. He would do this so well that Mr. Lucy would be prouder than ever of him. After all, they were really doing this for Mr. Lucy. He was the one under attack. It was their need and their desire to be loyal to him that motivated the whole thing. He would not fail.

He turned into the main entranceway determinedly when he saw what he knew to be Mr. Carman’s car parked across the street. He didn’t see Mr. Carman in it, but he didn’t want to stare at it. He couldn’t let Mr. Carman know that he knew he was there. Everything had to appear spontaneous.

He checked his watch, saw that it was a little after seven-thirty, and pushed the buzzer for apartment four. Mr. Zola opened the door expectantly. The young science teacher wore a velvet smoking jacket, a pair of dungarees, and tennis sneakers.

“Come in, Johnny,” he said. “I just finished my dinner dishes,” he said, smiling. “This is what a bachelor’s life is like.” He backed up and Johnny entered the small, but comfortable one-bedroom apartment. It consisted of a modern kitchen, small dining room, a living room, and a bedroom. There was only one bathroom. The living room had a patio door that opened to a small veranda.

Johnny had known the apartment would be neat and clean. Mr. Zola struck him as the meticulous type. He thought it didn’t look as much like a bachelor’s apartment as it looked like what he expected a spinster’s to be. A quick perusal of all the visible rooms showed him that nothing was out of place. Even the magazines were placed neatly in a magazine rack beside the couch.

“Nice place.”

“It’s comfortable, but overpriced, believe me. Living on a teacher’s salary without any tax deductions to speak of is not an easy achievement.”

Johnny smiled and nodded. Now that he was here facing the man on a one-to-one basis with the formalities of the classroom and the school not present, he felt some reluctance. Maybe Mr. Zola wasn’t as bad as they thought he was. In order to harden himself against the man and strengthen his mission, Johnny had to recall some of the sarcastic comments Mr. Zola had made about Mr. Lucy.

“Got cold tonight, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, come on in. This is the living room, as you can see. You want some coffee? It’s still hot.”

“Coffee? Yeah,” he said, thinking how that would look. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Go on, make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a minute.”

Johnny moved into the living room and unzipped his jacket and took it off quickly. He threw it over the couch and sat down to wait. Mr. Zola came in with the coffee on a small, plastic tray. He set it down on the small round table and then sat in the square, cushioned chair across from Johnny.

“There’s milk and sugar there,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Mr. Zola waited for Johnny to mix his coffee and take the first sip before leaning forward to speak.

“So, you came here to talk about your tutor.”

“Yes.” Johnny put the cup down slowly. “He’s helping everyone, but he’s also hurting everyone.”

“Exactly what do you mean?”

“He’s making everyone think our school is crap,” Johnny said. Mr. Zola nodded sympathetically. “He says terrible things about all the teachers, not just you.”

“I see. I thought so. What are some of the things he’s been saying?”

“Some of the kids, most of them, I mean, are really starting to believe it, too.”

“I bet. What are these things?” Mr. Zola repeated.

“He says we’re not being taught the right stuff, and the teachers don’t really care about the kids.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. But everybody’s parents think he’s great.”

“I know,” Mr. Zola said, and smirked. “Look, would you be willing…”

The sound of the door buzzer interrupted him. He looked confused for a moment. Johnny felt his heartbeat quicken.

“I don’t know who that is,” Mr. Zola said. “I’m not expecting anyone. Let me just see,” he added when the buzzer was pushed again.

“I’ll just go the bathroom,” Johnny said, standing.

“Sure. It’s to the right of the bedroom.”

Johnny didn’t go to the bathroom. He went to the bedroom, but Stephen Zola had gone to the door, his back to him.

“Mr. Carman,” he heard Mr. Zola say with surprise. The principal entered quickly.

“Where’s Johnny?”

“Excuse me?”

“Johnny Masterson,” Bill Carman said, looking around quickly. “Where the hell is he?”

“Johnny Masterson? Why, he’s…”

Stephen Zola turned around to indicate the bathroom, but Johnny emerged from the bedroom. He had his pants and his underwear off. Zola’s eyes widened in disbelief. Bill Carman’s mouth dropped.

“Oh,” Johnny said quickly and closed the door.

“What the hell…” Stephen Zola began. He turned frantically to the principal. Bill Carman’s face was inflamed and swollen with anger.

“Masterson!” he screamed. Johnny emerged again, buttoning his pants. “Come out here.”

“Johnny,” Zola said, “what the hell are you doing?”

“I didn’t know Mr. Carman was here,” Johnny said. “I didn’t hear the buzzer.”

“What? Look, Mr. Carman…”

“Get out of here, Masterson. Get out of here and wait in the front of this place. Move it, boy,” Bill Carman said. Johnny didn’t hesitate. He went back into the living room and got his jacket quickly.

“Now wait a minute, Mr. Carman,” Zola began, “you don’t believe…”

“Out!” he screamed and Johnny fled from the apartment. He waited outside as Mr. Carman had commanded. He had to move around to keep warm because Mr. Carman remained in there so long. The longer it went, the more nervous Johnny became. Maybe it didn’t go well. Maybe Mr. Carman believed Zola.

“Get in my car. It’s across the street there,” Mr. Carman said as soon as he did emerge. Johnny moved obediently. The principal got in behind the steering wheel and started the vehicle. Johnny said nothing. They pulled away from the curb and the principal headed back toward the village. “Was this your first time over here, Johnny?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know how serious a thing this is? What this could do to your family?”

“Yes, sir. But you see…”

“You don’t have to try to explain. I don’t need that. What I need for now is for you to be mature and intelligent about this.” He slowed the car down and looked over at Johnny. “Do you think you can do that?”

“I’ll try.”

“Eventually, your parents are going to have to know about this, as will the parents of some other students…whoever else…anyway, there’s no reason why we have to make this a public thing right now. You made a mistake and thank God I found out about it all in time…in time for you, at least.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Zola won’t be back in school tomorrow or the next day or the next, do you understand?”

“Uh huh.”

“So you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“If you do just what I tell you, we might all get through this with a minimum of damage to your families and to the school, understand?”

“Uh huh. Thanks, Mr. Carman,” Johnny added. The principal looked at him and nodded. That was just the reaction he had hoped for.

“I’m going to let you out here, Johnny, and I want you to go right home, understand.”

“Uh huh. I will.”

“Tell nobody about this until I speak to you.”

“OK.”

“All right, Johnny.”

When Mr. Carman stopped his vehicle, Johnny got out. He held the door open a moment and looked back.

“Thank you, Mr. Carman,” he said.

“It’s all right, Johnny. I’m just glad I was there in time for you.”

Johnny nodded and closed the door. He stood there and watched the principal drive off. Then he walked nonchalantly down Main Street. He passed some of the sections of the village that he had come to detest. He was ashamed that a man like Mr. Lucy had to live in a community with such run-down buildings. Maybe one of these days, he thought, he’d set them on fire. Yeah, he thought, what this town needs is a good cleaning. Didn’t Mr. Lucy say that fire is a purifier?

He stopped at the pay phone in front of Pauling’s Drug Store and made the call. Mr. Lucy answered after the first ring.

“It went perfectly,” Johnny said. “Just as we planned.”

“That’s good. Just go home now and let things take their course.”

“We did the right thing.” He needed the reinforcement.

“We certainly did, but we couldn’t have done it without you, Johnny. You’ve become a real leader,” Mr. Lucy said. And then he added the greatest words of all, the reward Johnny sought. “I couldn’t have done better at your age myself, Johnny. I’m proud of you, proud you’re one of my students.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lucy.”

“Have a good night, buddy,” Mr. Lucy concluded.

For a few moments after Johnny Masterson hung up the receiver, he stood by the pay phone replaying the telephone conversation in his mind, the way someone would replay a video tape. Then he turned and started for home, moving in and out of the shadows as silently as the shadows themselves.

By the time he got to his house, he felt exhausted, but it was a good exhaustion, one that came from high emotion and excitement. He turned from his front door and looked back at the night. The wind had calmed some, but the air wasn’t any warmer. He was just not as aware of the cold as he had been when he had first started out.

Anyway, he felt invulnerable. Nothing could bother him; nothing could touch him or harm him as long as he was with Mr. Lucy. Never before in his life did he feel as safe and as secure as he did at this moment. In the morning he would move through this village knowing that no one could stand up against him and Mr. Lucy. The image of his great tutor loomed before him. It would be with him wherever he would go, and he was so grateful for it that he couldn’t stop the tears of happiness from coming.

He rushed upstairs to his room so no one would see and know his great secret.

10

Ellen Lorner couldn’t understand it. It seemed to her that ever since that morning when she had invited him over and they had made love, Adam Lucy was avoiding her. He appeared to have gone back to very early jogging and every time she did see him in the street, he waved and sped up. They had hardly exchanged a dozen words in a week, and all that week, she expected him to come ringing her doorbell.

She didn’t want to go chasing after him, and yet she felt abused by what was increasingly appearing to be a one-time stand. She hadn’t thought he was that kind of person. Of course it occurred to her that he might not have enjoyed being with her, that he had left that morning feeling unsatisfied. But if that were the case, she would at least like to know it, she thought. It was the only decent thing for him to do. The way he was behaving now, it was almost as if it hadn’t happened.

At times she had to question whether or not it did. She was unable to conjure up what she would consider satisfactory erotic remembrances. When she did think back to it, she could only recall her own reactions, her own feelings, and especially, her own sounds. It was almost as though she had made love to a phantom.

The first time she broke down and went to his house to pursue him, she gave more credence to that belief. He didn’t come to the door, no matter how hard she knocked. There was no electric buzzer or bell on it. She waited and waited and then peered through the curtained window on her right.

The house looked as deserted as it always had. There were no signs of any life within. He was using the same old furniture and some of the things were still covered. There were no lights on and the room looked dismal and gray. One of the things that struck her as strange was she could see nothing of him in the house, nothing new that he had added.

She had to walk around the house and peek through the kitchen windows just to satisfy her curiosity. Once again, he wasn’t in sight and the room looked unused. There were no dishes out, no food products on display. Was he really living in there or did he just use it for his tutoring work?

She tried calling him on the phone, but there was no answer. Did he know it was she calling or was he really not there? She went to sit by her front window, to wait for him to appear. The whole day passed without any sight of him. His students began to arrive in the late afternoon, so she knew he was in there, but how did he get back into his house without her seeing him? she wondered. She had left the window only for a few minutes here and there during the day. She concluded he must have been inside all the while, but he just didn’t come to answer the door when she knocked or answer the phone when she called.

Before she could do anything else, Barton returned home from work. She went to make supper, but he sensed something was wrong. He had been sensing it all week.

“You look distracted,” he said. “Like you have something very serious on your mind, but you don’t know how to express it.”

“What? No, I don’t have anything on my mind.”

“I talk to you, tell you things, and you look at me, but you’re not listening. I can tell, Ellen. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Why do you always have to think something’s wrong?”

“Well, when you live with someone and you know someone as long as I’ve known you and you’ve known me, you can pretty much sense when something’s not right. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s one thing, but don’t try to get me to believe nothing’s wrong,” he said. He was unusually aggressive about it. She didn’t reply, but she didn’t snap back at him.

What was she going to say anyway: I had an affair with the next door neighbor, but he’s ignored me ever since? It occurred to her that she couldn’t even call it an affair. It was more like a moment; she’d had an extramarital moment. That idea made her laugh. Barton looked up from his plate expectantly.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I…I was just remembering how I got away from old man Cutler the other morning. You know how he can talk your head off. He came by just as I opened the front door and I screamed that I had left something on the stove. I went back in and slammed the door behind me before he could utter a syllable. He probably thinks I’m crazy.”

“Probably does,” Barton said with an uncharacteristic dryness. “What’d’ya been doin’ all day? I thought you were going to take my suits to the cleaners; they’re still on the chair in the bedroom.”

“Oh, I forgot.”

“So, what’d’ja do?”

“I…just hung around the house. I don’t know, a little of this and that and time just passed.”

“Usually, you’re out and about,” he said, but he didn’t look at her. It made her feel guilty and wonder if he suspected anything. He hadn’t asked her any questions about the tutor all week and he hadn’t said a thing about him himself. As if on cue, he looked up and said, “Our neighbor’s doing pretty good, I hear.”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“You must see the parade of students going into his place.”

“I don’t sit around watching his business, Barton.”

“That’s unusual. Everybody else watches everyone else’s business on this street.”

“What are you so bitter about tonight?”

He didn’t say anything. He went on to finish his dinner in silence, but later on, after she had put things away, he came out of his office to join her in the living room. She had just turned on the television set.

“I heard a nasty rumor today,” he said. She looked up at him and her heart began beating quickly.

“What?”

“It concerns our wonderful neighbor.”

She brought her hand to her throat and sat back on the couch. She felt herself grow frantic as she thought of possible denials. Yes, he had come over, but it was just harmless—coffee and some friendly conversation. The neighbors are vicious to make such suggestions. And how could he believe them? That was good, she thought. Go on the offensive.

“What about him?”

“Seems they drove him out of the last town he was in because he bagged the wives of a number of important people.”

“What do you mean, Bart?”

“He had affairs. You know what affairs are, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It came out weak and small.

“Well, what do you think about that?” he asked, his face broken into a wry smile, one that she interpreted as a smile of pain and hate. She said nothing.

“Who told you this?” she asked. She felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her.

“Charlie Rosen heard it from one of his salesmen.”

“Maybe he’s mistaken him for someone else.”

“That’s what Charlie’s wife told him. I got the feeling from the way Charlie talked that Barbara’s quite taken with the guy. He must be some charmer, huh?”

“I don’t know. I guess he can be.”

“You know, I’m really surprised at you, Ellen. When it comes to this new neighbor, it’s as if you know nothing about him.”

“Yes,” she said, but more to herself than to him.

“And with all your good eyes and ears out there…what have you women been doing, ignoring good gossip?”

“I don’t know,” she said. She got up and went back into the kitchen and then out to her exercise room from where she could look into Adam Lucy’s house. There were lights on in the kitchen, but she saw no one there. She stood staring and waiting for as long as she could before Bart began to call for her.

Then, before she went back to the living room, she saw him appear with what looked to be the Masterson boy. She watched them talking. They stood so closely to each other and the boy’s attention was so solidly fixed on Adam. After a few moments, he stroked Johnny Masterson on the head affectionately and then they walked out of the kitchen.

She was disappointed. Even watching him with one of his students was fascinating to her. All this week she had been hungering for the sight of him. She felt like a vampire craving blood. She knew that she would continue to pursue him, even though she thought it was degrading and dangerous.

And what if the story Barton heard were true, what if he were a womanizer? Wouldn’t that make it more degrading, especially since she had this warning? Was he after Barbara Rosen? Was that why he had avoided her?

“Ellen.”

“I’m coming,” she called back, but she looked at the tutor’s house. “Who are you?” she muttered. “And what have you done to me?”

She fled from the dark room before she could hear any answers.

After Mr. Zola’s third day of absence, the rumor mill began to grind away at school. The teachers had a standing joke when it came to news about anything involving the educational system: “If you want to know anything, ask the students.” Sure enough, although Johnny and the rest of Mr. Lucy’s kids did not tell any of the other students about the manufactured incident, the students began to find out and to talk about it in dribs and drabs.

Exact information was hard to come by, but by the fourth day most of the students knew that Mr. Zola was forced to leave the school. The reason did not remain vague long. What was unknown was who the students were who were involved.

Carman had met with the superintendent and they had called in the president of the Board of Education. Everyone decided he had to meet with the Rosens and the Mastersons immediately.

He told them there was no need for the public to know anything specific. He had taken care of the situation. Both the Mastersons and the Rosens appeared to agree. Barbara Rosen tried to discuss it with Gary, but he pretended it was all too terrible to relive. Charlie Rosen seemed to feel it was just something that was inevitable, considering the son he had. He had no desire to discuss it. Frustrated, a few days later, Barbara Rosen told someone “in confidence” who proceeded to tell someone else “in confidence,” and the story with the facts wound its way back to the school.

Johnny’s parents handled it differently. His father was furious that Johnny had been so abused and initially wanted to pursue additional avenues of vengeance, but when Bill Carman pointed out the additional publicity that could result, Phyllis Masterson forced her husband to accept the actions of the school as sufficient. Both of them treated Johnny as though he was a wounded war hero.

At first his sister thought she might get back at him for the way he had gotten her in trouble, but the first time she tried to joke about the incident with Zola, Johnny’s parents came down on her so hard she retreated in terror.

Mr. Lucy had predicted Johnny and the others would find themselves increasingly isolated from the rest of the student body as the news about Gary and Johnny became more widely known, however it was a sacrifice they were all prepared to endure.

Of the four, Sandy felt it the most. A very attractive girl, she had been the most popular. Her regular clique of friends had begun to resent her association with Sheila. The more she hung around with her, the further away her old friends grew. It got back to her stepmother Paula, but when she tried to talk to her about it, Sandy stormed out of the room, telling her what she did with her personal life was none of her damn business. Her father didn’t interfere. As usual, he took the easy way out, avoiding siding with either her or Paula.

The increased isolation strengthened rather than weakened Mr. Lucy’s kids. The faster and more completely they could answer questions, the better grades they achieved, and the better their overall behavior, the more they demonstrated the value and the power of Mr. Lucy’s tutoring. Soon, the other students were doing more than just avoiding them; they had come to resent them as well.

They resented their confidence and their achievements. They resented their steadfast loyalty to one another. Others who had been using Mr. Lucy’s services began to ease away from him. Increasingly, they saw something freakish in the whole situation. True, they were doing better in school, but after a while, anyone who used him become labeled as “one of those.”

Johnny was the first to see the flight of the others from the tutor. This growing rejection of Mr. Lucy was intolerable. He was able to tolerate being rejected himself. After all, it wasn’t the first time he was placed in a separate category, but an attack on Mr. Lucy was something entirely different. It was an attack on the meaning, the value, and the purpose of all that he saw as good and true. It couldn’t be and it wouldn’t be endured.

This first crystallized itself when he heard that little Tommy Richards, a ninth-grader who looked more like a seventh-grader, had stopped going to the tutor. Johnny collared him in the lower corridor by the boys’ locker room right before Tommy’s gym class and demanded to know why he had stopped seeing Mr. Lucy.

“Your grades have improved, haven’t they?” he asked him.

“Yeah.”

“So?”

“I just don’t wanna go anymore, that’s all.”

“That’s stupid. Why would you stop doin’ something that’s helping you?” Tommy shrugged and tried to get away, but Johnny blocked him. “Your parents didn’t tell you to stop, right?” he said. Mr. Lucy had told him that Tommy’s mother called and placed the blame entirely on Tommy.

“No.”

“So? You want your marks to drop?”

“They ain’t gonna drop,” Tommy said softly. He could see that Johnny was furious.

“Why not? They weren’t so great before, were they?”

“I’m gettin’ help from someone else.”

“Who?” Johnny demanded.

“It’s part of honor society. They assign people to help you.”

“Yeah? Who the hell was assigned to you?”

“Richard Slattery,” he said. “He’s helpin’ Eric Todd and Carl Novick, too. He’s going to be the valedictorian,” Tommy added proudly. He pulled himself out of Johnny’s grasp and went into the locker room.

Johnny stood there thinking a moment. Richard Slattery had been jealous of his achievements from the start. He had been one of Mr. Zola’s favorites and now he was the leader of a group who were constantly mocking Mr. Lucy’s kids. Slattery was bright, probably the brightest in the school, there was little doubt about it, but he had always been an arrogant creep as far as Johnny was concerned.

He brought the news to the others.

“If Mr. Lucy keeps losing students, he won’t have the income to remain in Centerville,” Johnny explained. They had all gone to Sandy’s house after school to discuss the situation. Her father was at work and her stepmother was shopping. They stood around in the kitchen and watched her brew tea the way Mr. Lucy brewed it.

“Let’s tell him to keep our insurance account for himself,” Gary said. They all quickly agreed.

“Let’s build it up a little more,” Sandy said. She took a heavy gold chain out of the pocket of her jeans and held it up. “It’s twenty-four carats,” she said.

“That’s yours?” Sheila asked.

“It was…Paula’s, but my father’s given her too much as it is,” she said, and laughed.

“He needs more than jewelry,” Johnny said. “Whenever possible, we’ve got to get him hard cash.”

“I’ll get him five hundred dollars by tomorrow,” Gary announced. “My father keeps money stashed in this cigar box in the basement. It comes from cash deals he makes so he won’t have to pay any income tax.”

“Won’t he realize it’s missing?” Sheila asked.

“Naw. He doesn’t even know how much he has. If worse comes to worse, we’ll take the whole thing, but make it look like a burglary,” he said. “Then what’s he going to do? Call the cops to complain about being robbed of money he’s hiding to steal from the government?”

“Great,” Johnny said. “So if we have it, we’ll be able to provide Mr. Lucy with the income he needs to remain.”

“Right,” Gary said. “So let’s not worry about that.”

“But we have other problems,” Johnny said. “We can’t let everyone desert him; it won’t look good and he might not want to stay even though he has enough money.”

“Johnny’s right,” Sandy said. “If some of these kids turn their parents against him…”

“Well, how can we stop it?” Sheila asked.

“First we’ve got to stop that creep Slattery from opening his big mouth,” Johnny said. Everyone was silent a moment.

“Maybe we oughtta discuss this with Mr. Lucy,” Gary said.

“He’s right, Johnny. We may end up making things worse for him if we don’t handle it right.”

“We can handle it right. I’m only talking about Slattery. What the hell’s so special about him?”

“All the teachers love him, for one thing,” Gary said. “He’s always kissing ass and you know what his grades are like.”

“He’s popular with a certain group,” Sheila said.

“And many of the kids in that group were and are using Mr. Lucy,” Gary emphasized.

“He told Elly Kaplan that he doesn’t believe Mr. Zola did what you guys said he did,” Sheila said.

“What? When did he say this?” Johnny asked.

“On the bus yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Gary asked.

“I forgot.”

“You forgot? Jesus,” Johnny said.

“Well, I didn’t think it was important.” She looked at the others, but they were unsympathetic. “I had other things on my mind,” she added sadly.

“Like what? What could be so important that you’d forget that?” Gary demanded. Sheila was quiet a moment.

“My father finally moved out of the house for good,” she said. Everyone simply stared at her a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Sandy said. She took her hand.

“It’s all right. I’m getting over it.”

“Let’s get back to Slattery,” Gary said. “He’s a smart kid, Johnny.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think he’s going to be able to figure things out?” Gary’s silence annoyed him. “Is he smarter than Mr. Lucy? Well, is he?”

“No, of course not.”

“So?” Johnny said.

“So we’ll have to tell Mr. Lucy,” Sheila said, raising her arms for emphasis.

The hot water pot began to whistle. Everyone watched Sandy pour the water into the teapot to brew the tea. Then, as though they were participating in some religious ritual, they gathered around the table and sat quietly by their cups.

“There’s sugar and lemon if anyone wants it,” she said. There was a heavy silence. “We’re not going to get into trouble and everything’s going to be all right,” she added finally.

“Of course it will,” Johnny said.

“This tea’s good,” Sheila said. “Almost as good as Mr. Lucy’s.”

“It’s as good as Mr. Lucy’s,” Gary said sullenly.

“Should we go there now or wait for tonight?” Sandy asked.

“Who’s on for tonight?” Gary asked.

“None of us,” Johnny said. “He’s seeing Jeff Benson from seven to nine.”

“How come you know his whole schedule?” Gary asked, his jealousy evident again.

“I just listen when he speaks.”

They were all quiet again.

“We’ll wait outside of Mr. Lucy’s house around nine,” Johnny said, “and when Jeff leaves, we’ll go in to talk to him.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, and then, as though to seal it with a symbol, they all raised their teacups and drank.

The four waited in the shadows across the street from Mr. Lucy’s house. Johnny was happy they had come in the evening. Darkness surrounded the old structure like a protective wall. He had this image in his mind—once they crossed the road and entered that darkness, it closed in around them just as protectively as it closed in around Mr. Lucy. The darkness had never seemed as warm and inviting to him before.

From time to time, they saw Mr. Lucy’s form silhouetted in the living room window. Johnny thought he looked gigantic; his shadow was larger than life, but instead of this being frightening to him, it was comforting. Once again they were coming to him with a problem and once again, he was sure to solve it.

Johnny sensed that the others weren’t as calm and as optimistic as he was. He felt it from the moment they met in front of Miller’s Department Store. They were all so quiet for most of the trip through town and up Highland Avenue. Sheila set the mood of doom when she related to them what Tami Bliskin’s mother told her mother.

“My mother asked her why she permitted Tami to stop seeing the tutor and she said Tami was virtually hysterical about it.”

“She’s virtually hysterical abut everything,” Sandy said. Gary laughed, but Johnny didn’t crack a smile.

“Tami’s mother fell for that?” he asked.

“She said Tami claimed all the other kids were ostracizing her because she goes to Mr. Lucy.”

Johnny stopped walking. “What did your mother say?”

“She didn’t say anything, but she’s bothered by it. I can tell. She won’t want to be the only woman in her bridge club to have a child using the tutor. But I’ll go to Mr. Lucy no matter what she says,” she added defiantly. They continued walking in silence.

Now they stared in silence at Mr. Lucy’s front door. They could hear him talking to Jeff Benson in a low voice as Benson stood in the open doorway. Johnny recognized Mr. Lucy’s gentle but firm way of bawling him out. Benson hadn’t done his homework.

This is what would happen, he thought. If their parents continued to insist that they come, they would become uncooperative, and after a while, their parents would give up. Mr. Lucy would be finished as a tutor in this town, even though he might have some financial security because of the things they did. He could be left to tutor only the four of them, and if he was left with only the four, their parents might start to feel the pressure, just as Sheila’s mother already had.

No, he thought, this is the most important meeting of all. He watched Benson move quickly down the avenue. Gary started forward, but Johnny put his hand up.

“Wait. We don’t want Benson to see us.”

They waited until he disappeared around the corner at the end of the street and then they moved forward, emerging like shadows transformed into people. They were so silent anyone might have thought there was no substance to their forms. They glided over the small walkway to the front door. Just before they knocked, Johnny looked over at the Lorner house. Something pulled his attention to it.

He saw Ellen Lorner peering out from between the curtains on the side window. From the way she watched them, he knew she was trying to remain undiscovered. How long had she been doing this? he wondered. Why was she spying on Mr. Lucy?

Before he could think any more about it, Mr. Lucy opened the front door to greet them.

“Good evening,” he said. This time he didn’t act surprised or amused. His face was a mask of seriousness and intensity.

“We have to talk again,” Johnny said.

“I know,” Mr. Lucy said. “I was expecting you.”

“You were?” Sheila said.

“Of course he was,” Johnny said, almost snapping at her. Then he turned to Mr. Lucy and smiled adoringly.

“Come in,” Mr. Lucy said. “Quickly.”

They slipped into the house like nocturnal creatures returning to their lair.

11

Mr. Lucy took everyone into the living room. Sandy, Gary, and Sheila sat on the old soft cushioned couch. The springs in the seat of it were weak. The three of them sunk so low they looked submerged in it. Johnny sat in the easy chair with the big arms that was just to the right of the couch. The material on it was worn and torn in spots, but it was still very comfortable. Mr. Lucy pulled the hard wood rocker forward so he’d be closer to them all. The only light in the room came from a small lamp behind him and a large lamp with a heavy glass shade to the left of the couch.

Because Mr. Lucy was backlit, his face was draped in darkness. The light from the large lamp lay a sheet of yellowish illumination over the heads and torsos of everyone on the couch, but Johnny remained in almost as much shadow as did Mr. Lucy. There was an old phonograph beside the small bookcase on the right. All of them had seen it, but no one had thought it still worked. Mr. Lucy had never used it before.

Tonight he had it playing low. They didn’t know whether he had found the records in the house or had brought them with him. They were the old-fashioned, breakable, 78’s. At the moment, he had on the beginning of Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C Sharp Minor, although neither Johnny nor his friends knew what it was. He had the music very low, serving as background. Despite the age of the machine and the discs, the tone and quality were rather good.

“So,” Mr. Lucy began, “things are getting serious.”

“Yeah, and all because of that creep, Slattery,” Johnny said quickly. He looked at the others, but all of them, including Gary, seemed hypnotized by the music, by the shadows, and by Mr. Lucy’s quiet demeanor.

“Slattery?”

“Richard Slattery, the one who’s most likely going to be this year’s valedictorian. He’s been talking against you and us, and now he’s tutoring some of the kids who’ve dropped out of our classes.”

“He’s tutoring?”

“It’s part of an honor society program,” Sandy said. She had been in the honor society until the beginning of this year. Now she was a candidate for reentry, and she agreed with Johnny—it was all because of Mr. Lucy. “Each member is supposed to do some service to help others. Tutoring can be one thing. Only…”

“Only what?”

“Only Slattery is making it a personal thing,” Johnny said. “It’s his way of getting at you and at us. He’s taking on any kid who drops you.”

“I see. Why?”

“He’s jealous of us,” Gary said. He folded his arms across his chest and sat back. The strands of his long hair lay comfortably around his shoulders.

“But it gets worse,” Johnny said. “Tell him, Sheila.”

“I overheard him say that he doesn’t believe Gary and Johnny had the problem with Mr. Zola.”

“So it is serious,” Mr. Lucy said. He was quiet for a long moment. No one else spoke. The music seemed to get louder on its own. “What kind of a boy is this Slattery?” he asked, leaning forward until he was almost within lamp’s illumination.

“He’s perfect,” Sheila said quickly, and then looked at the others. “I mean, everyone thinks he’s perfect.” She bit down on her lower lip as if to keep her mouth shut.

“What she means is he’s a teacher’s pet. He’s got great grades, he’s never in trouble, he’s been a class officer, and now he’s president of the student government,” Gary said bitterly.

“He was starting center on the soccer team,” Sandy added.

“An all-around boy,” Mr. Lucy said, a wry smile forming on his face. Johnny heard an apparent note of admiration turn into something bitter.

Johnny leaned forward, mimicking Mr. Lucy’s posture. He clenched his hands into fists, thickening the muscles in his forearms. His gaze was intense, his blue eyes darkening. He understood that for Mr. Lucy, Richard Slattery represented something hateful, a true target.

“He’s going to keep on making trouble for us,” Johnny said. He didn’t realize it, but he was whispering now. The others leaned in to hear him. Mr. Lucy sat back and nodded, but it was imperceptible to all but Johnny. “We’ve got to stop him.”

“We’ve got to be careful,” Mr. Lucy said. “Never let your enemy think that he has any power over you. Negotiations are only effective when your opponent’s confidence has been eroded somewhat.”

“Negotiations?” Johnny didn’t like the sound of the word. It connoted too much reasonableness, too much calmness. He didn’t care for the restraint. Perhaps Mr. Lucy didn’t realize just how serious this was and just how much damage a kid like Slattery was capable of doing.

“He’s got a lotta friends,” Johnny said. “And the teachers listen to him. Parents like him, too; they like their kids hanging around him.”

“I know. I know what he’s like. I’ve known him all my life.”

“All your life?” Gary grimaced.

“The type,” Mr. Lucy explained. “I’ve known the type.”

“He’s dangerous,” Johnny said. “We can’t play around with him.” He pounded his own thigh emphatically.

“I understand, Johnny, but remember control; at all times, we must all have self-control. It’s only when you lose it that you make mistakes.”

“Mr. Lucy’s right,” Gary said quickly.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” Johnny snapped. His eyes widened and the blue became fiery bright again.

“Easy. We are going to need each other more than ever the next few days,” Mr. Lucy said. “What’s his family like?”

“His father teaches at the community college,” Johnny said with more restraint, even though he eyed Gary. “Math.”

“And his mother teaches in the elementary school,” Sheila said. She looked to Johnny to see if he minded her speaking.

“He has a younger brother,” Gary added, “in the seventh grade. He’s going to have the same personality. I can tell.”

“Both parents are teachers,” Mr. Lucy said almost inaudibly. Johnny thought he was saying it more to himself. “As you have seen, teachers can be very defensive. Maybe they’re setting him against me.”

“His mother must’ve known Zola,” Johnny offered.

“Hmm.” Mr. Lucy nodded toward him. They were all silent again. Then the record ended and Mr. Lucy got up to turn it over. Everyone watched him patiently. “Doesn’t he like any of you?” Mr. Lucy asked after he finished with the record.

“He likes Sandy,” Sheila said, a note of jealousy evident.

“Really?”

“He asked me to the prom last year,” Sandy said. She ran her hand down the back of her hair. “But I pretended I had a date.”

“She ended up not going at all,” Sheila said. She sounded happy about it. Johnny was getting annoyed with the way she added her little tidbits of information, but Mr. Lucy didn’t seem to mind, so Johnny said nothing.

“And what about this year?” Mr. Lucy asked.

“He still bugs me from time to time. Until recently, that is. Maybe he’s given up or maybe he can’t stand me hanging around with these guys,” she said teasingly. Johnny didn’t smile.

“Well then,” Mr. Lucy said, “we have our negotiator.”

“What’dya mean?” Johnny asked.

“Sandy’s the one to talk to him.”

“I think it would be better if you talked to him.”

“Ordinarily I might, Johnny, but I don’t think it would be diplomatic at this time. He’s apparently dead set against me, for one reason or another.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Sandy said, “but what do I say?”

“For one thing, I’d like you to find out why he’s so antagonistic toward me and the others?”

“Make him see how much good Mr. Lucy has done,” Sheila said. Mr. Lucy smiled, but Johnny thought he was smiling the way he would if he had to humor someone.

“Find out as much as you can.”

“It might just be a waste of time,” Johnny said.

“It’s never a waste of time to learn all that you can about your enemy, Johnny.”

Johnny stiffened and looked at the others to see if they thought he was being reprimanded.

“Yeah, I know,” Johnny said. “I just meant that we’ll never change Slattery’s mind about you and us.”

“That’s probably true.” He concentrated on Sandy again. “See him tomorrow, as soon as you can. Set something up so you can be alone when you talk to him.”

“That won’t be hard for her to do,” Sheila said. She practically sang it, her head tilted to one side.

“Will you shut up,” Johnny said. “This is serious,” he added, trying to imitate Mr. Lucy’s tone of voice.

“I know it’s serious.” She bit her lower lip again.

“All right.” Mr. Lucy moved forward so he was between Johnny and Sheila. “Relax. We’ll work it all out, I’m sure.”

Johnny stood up first and then the others did.

“We’re going to have some more contributions for the insurance account, Mr. Lucy,” he said, eyeing Gary.

“That’s right.” Gary said.

“We know your income has been reduced because of people like Slattery,” he added quickly. He wanted Mr. Lucy to believe the rest was entirely his idea. “So we decided you had better use it as you need.”

“Well, thank you everybody,” Mr. Lucy said. “That’s very kind of you all.”

“We don’t want anything to happen to you, Mr. Lucy,” Sheila said. Johnny was embarrassed by the little girl tone.

“Let’s go,” he said, and moved toward the front door. He opened it quickly and the others began to exit. Mr. Lucy put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder before he followed them out.

“Take it slow, buddy,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Don’t let events dictate to you. Remember.”

Johnny felt like embracing him for singling him out this way. He thought, this is the greatest friend I’ve ever had and I’ll ever have.

“I won’t,” he said. Mr. Lucy winked, and Johnny stepped out to join the others in the darkness.

The walk back was animated. Everyone wanted to talk at once. Johnny had to continually remind them to keep their voices down.

“We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves,” he said. “Look,” he said when they reached Main Street. “Let’s just give Sandy a chance to do what Mr. Lucy asked and forget about it all until then. Ignore the creeps as much as possible tomorrow. Don’t let anyone draw you into any arguments.”

“Right,” Gary said.

“I’ve got two tests to study for,” Sheila said. “I’ll just think about that.”

They parted to go their separate ways as usual, but Johnny cut around through the alley between Miller’s Department Store and Kayfield’s Bar and Grill to cut off Sandy before she reached her street. She didn’t seem surprised to see him emerge from between two large maples.

“I’ve got to talk to you privately,” he said.

“I had a feeling you would.” Her eyes danced with glee.

“Really?”

“Just a feeling. What is it?” She pressed closer to him.

“I got an idea for tomorrow. I didn’t want the others in on it because they’d want to be involved and too many could spoil it.”

“What?” Her face brightened with curiosity, the little dimple in her cheek flickering. For a moment Johnny lost track of what he wanted to say. Her skin looked so soft.

“I don’t trust that creep with you,” he said. Sandy smiled. For a while now, she had been sensing a growing intensity in their relationship. The four of them had become such a clump, she thought, it was impossible for the two of them to be alone. But often, she would catch Johnny staring at her and the looks between them had become more suggestive.

“I can handle him,” she said, and continued walking home.

“I don’t doubt it, but why take chances?” He wanted to take her hand.

“So what do you suggest?”

“Where’d you plan on…on seeing him alone?”

“I thought I’d talk him into walking me home. Paula’s going to Paramus to spend my father’s money. No one will be home.” She paused and turned to him. “You wanna listen in, is that it?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. I’ve got an idea. We keep a house key under the welcome mat. Just go directly there and let yourself in. I’ll follow with him. Go up to my room and hide in my closet.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. I’ll take him up to the room and you’ll hear and see everything through the door. Only, don’t make any noise or you’ll really screw it all up.”

“I won’t. I’ll be like dead. Unless you need me.”

“If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

“Great,” he said. They both stopped and she turned to him. “You’ll hang around awhile after he leaves, OK?”

“Sure.”

“It’s been great, being close like this,” she said. Her face was only inches from his. He could smell the scent of her hair. “I’m glad Mr. Lucy has brought us together,” she added, and she kissed him. He was only annoyed that he didn’t kiss her first. He didn’t want her to think that he was too timid, so as she started to pull back, he embraced her and pressed his lips so hard against hers, she could feel his teeth behind them. “Here’s to afternoon delight,” she added, and started down the street to her house. He watched her walk until she reached the front door and disappeared within.

He couldn’t remember feeling so alive, so excited, and so powerful. He felt as though he could walk through buildings. How much his life had changed since he met Mr. Lucy. How wonderful everything was now. And to think there were people out there who wanted to stop it all from happening.

It filled him with a rage that matched his emotional high in its intensity. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow and the days that followed because he believed that in the end they would find a way to crush the jealous and vicious people like Richard Slattery. Mr. Lucy and his kids, he thought, nothing could stop us.

The music of a dozen different television adventure shows followed him home. And when he got there, he went to sleep dreaming of Mr. Lucy, his arm around him, his voice soft and soothing, as the two of them walked off the screen, leaving thousands of young people his age dreaming of having such a relationship with so great a man.

Gary was a little suspicious at the end of the day when Johnny made excuses to get home early. Gary’s plan was to hide well and to wait for Slattery to leave Sandy’s house. Then they would go to her to see how she made out.

“We’re all meeting back at Mr. Lucy’s,” Johnny told him. “We’ll discuss it there.”

Johnny made as though he had things to do and left him. He hurried through the village to Sandy’s house, found the key where she said it would be, and let himself in. He had been in her house a few times before, and each time he had been taken by the femininity of it. There was something about the scents, the way the furniture was arranged, the daintiness of the knickknacks, the colors of the wallpaper and the paint…all of it had the feel of a woman’s influence.

Johnny never said it, but he admired Sandy’s stepmother. He thought she was a very attractive woman. She was always very friendly toward him, and even though he knew it might be his imagination, she seemed flirtatious at times. Of course, he enjoyed it, but he would never let Sandy know.

He moved cautiously through the empty house, feeling like a Peeping Tom. He sensed that if a woman found out that someone unknown to her had been in her house, moving through her personal space, it would be as though she had been caught naked. He especially experienced this feeling when he entered Sandy’s room, even though she knew he’d be there.

Her room was dainty and soft. There were stuffed animals of all sizes and kinds displayed everywhere—on shelves, on the bed by the pillows, on the floor against the wall, and on the dressers and vanity table. The curtains over her windows were so sheer they looked like shaped smoke. He thought if he moved too roughly or too quickly, he would shatter something. Heavy footsteps might jar the little glass figures on the entertainment center shelves or shake the rock posters loose and send then floating over the bed and furniture.

He inhaled what he had come to know as Sandy’s scent—her cologne and shampoo. She had a definite presence in this room; there was something of her in it at all times. He saw a picture of her on the night table. She was probably only ten or eleven years old at the time, but her budding good looks were clearly visible. In another picture, taken a year or so later, she was standing in the front of the house with her real mother, whom he thought was a pretty good looker herself.

He went to the walk-in closet and opened the folding doors. He didn’t know whether it was unnatural or not, but confronting her clothing with her not present once again made him feel as though he were doing something erotic. Moving in and close to the garments, he couldn’t help but think of her body. It was as though just touching the bodice of a dress was the same as touching her breasts.

When he heard voices below, he closed the folding doors behind him and squatted. He could see through the ribbed doors. After a few moments, Sandy entered with Slattery beside her. Johnny hated everything about him, especially the neat and formal way he dressed for school. Who else but Slattery wore a pressed pair of dress pants, a white shirt, and a tie every day? His dark brown hair was always short and prim like a cadet’s. He even walked with a military posture and looked down his nose at the rest of them as though he was an officer and they were all privates. There was a nasality to his voice that suggested arrogance. It annoyed Johnny just to have Slattery in his presence.

Sandy went right to her bed and flopped on her side. She rested her head against her propped hand and laughed, obviously about something she had said before they had entered her room. Johnny had the feeling she had been teasing him all the way back to her house.

“Jesus,” Slattery said, “what are you, in the stuffed animal business?”

“Just gifts and things. Don’t you collect anything?”

“Old coins. There’s a value to that,” he said, but not sarcastically.

Johnny never liked the tone of Richard Slattery’s voice. He always sounded too much like an adult. He resented his note of self-confidence. He didn’t think anyone was supposed to be so sure of himself at such a young age. It was a tone of voice that belonged with a man like Mr. Lucy, not with a kid like Richard Slattery.

“So,” Sandy said, patting the place on the bed before her, “why do you resent Gary, Johnny, and Sheila so much?”

“I don’t see how you can be friends with such zeros,” he said, lying down on his side, too.

“They’re doin’ pretty well for zeros.”

“Erratic. There’s no stability to them. Besides, they’re not doing it on their own. It’s like cheating.”

“You mean using the tutor?”

“Of course. You know what I think, and you don’t have to tell me if I’m right if you don’t want, but I think this tutor has files on all the tests. He’ll get their averages up somewhat, but he won’t get them an education. You know what I mean?”

“I think so.”

“Mr. Zola felt the same way.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. We talked about it right before…right before he got framed.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t really believe he got framed, do you?”

“I know they’re your friends.”

“We hang out together because we all use the tutor, but I’m not going to really call them my friends. I thought you understood that.”

“I understand,” he said, but still sounded somewhat suspicious.

Sandy laughed and turned over on her back. Johnny could see Slattery leer at her and at the way her breasts lifted before him. She started to play with the front of his hair.

“There’s certainly nothing romantic between me and Gary Rosen or Johnny Masterson,” she said.

“I was hoping that wasn’t so.”

“Give me some credit, will you.”

“You guys seemed so close.”

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” she said. She ran her fingers down the side of his face and touched his neck.

“You’re about the prettiest girl in school,” he said. “It would have been a real waste if you were…”

“Forget them for a while, will ya. Anyway, they’re queers, right?”

“No they’re not,” he said, the anger evident.

“How do you know for sure?”

“I’ll tell you, but you can’t say anything to them.”

“I don’t talk to them about things like this.”

He looked at her for a long moment. She could see he was deciding on something so she turned into him and lifted her lips toward his. Johnny was surprised at how calculating she could be. He was also very jealous of Slattery’s closeness. The kiss was quick, but too sensuous, he thought. Did she have to be so convincing?

“We’ve got to get to know each other a little better,” she said. “You’ve got to be my hero and rescue me from the zeros.” She laughed teasingly. He smiled and leaned over her when she went back to resting her head against the pillow. “So how do you know they’re not homos?”

“Mr. Zola told me.”

“What?”

“That’s right,” he said. “I went to his apartment the next day. He called me on the phone. When I got there, he told me what happened. So I know the truth. He trusted me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.” He was quiet for a moment, his determination evident. “So you’re going to stop seeing that tutor?”

“Oh yeah. The only reason I went was because of this deal I had with my father. It’s off now, so I’ll be quitting soon.”

“Good. I hate to see you influenced by those zeros.”

“How do I know you’re such a good influence, Richie?” she asked. She pushed her finger into his chest and he laughed. Then he leaned over to kiss her. Johnny saw that she let him run his hand over her breast. He started to kiss her neck and bring his leg over hers.

“Wait,” she said, and sat up quickly.

“What is it?”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“I was supposed to meet my stepmother at Dede’s Boutique at three-thirty. She’s got an outfit picked out for me.”

“So, tell her you forgot.”

“I did forget, I’d better get my ass over there.”

“Just call her.”

“You don’t understand. My father thinks I’m deliberately avoiding doing things with her. This won’t help. Come on,” she said, “I’ve got to rush over.”

Disappointed, Slattery rose off the bed to follow her out of the room. Johnny sat back in the closet and shook his head. She was great, he thought. What a manipulator. He heard them go down the stairs and out the front door, Slattery protesting all the way.

The house was quiet again. He waited a few more moments, just to be sure, and then stepped out of the closet. He wondered how long it would take her to get rid of him and come back. However long it took, he would wait. He went to her bed and lay down where she had been, putting his head against her pillow. He thought about Slattery touching her and he felt a mixture of anger and envy.

Then he thought about the things Sandy had gotten him to admit. He couldn’t wait to bring the information back to Mr. Lucy. He made up his mind right then and there that he would go before the others and talk to Mr. Lucy alone. No matter what they thought, the others didn’t have the same relationship. Mr. Lucy might not want to say certain things in front of them. He’d be happy I came by myself first, Johnny thought. He’d even expect it.

It was a good twenty minutes before Sandy returned.

“He nearly followed me to the boutique,” she explained. “Finally, I had to stop walking and promise to meet him again tomorrow after school. He doesn’t give up easily, does he?”

“That’s what worries me,” he said. She saw the rage in his face. He was flushed and that now familiar fire brightened his blue eyes.

“You heard it all?”

“And saw it all,” he said. He was still on her bed, sitting up against the pillow. She smiled and shrugged.

“You think he was telling the truth about Zola?”

“I don’t have any doubts,” Johnny said. He looked thoughtful.

“What are we gonna do?”

“Mr. Lucy will decide that.” He paused and they looked at each other for a long moment. She came to the bed slowly and sat down beside him. “I didn’t like you kissing that creep.”

“I didn’t like it either. I just imagined I was kissing you,” she said, seeing he was skeptical.

“Really?” She nodded. He leaned forward and took her by the shoulders gently. It was a long kiss but once again, she surprised him with her aggressiveness. She pushed her tongue into his mouth before he could even think of pushing his into hers.

“I bet you’ve had a few boyfriends,” he said. He couldn’t help the critical note. She just looked at him for a moment and then looked down.

“My parents were always very open about sex,” she said. He thought she sounded sad about it. “They never locked doors. My mother believed in awareness. Everyone walked around nude in front of everyone else. I don’t think I was more than five years old when my mother explained to me how babies are born. To tell you the truth, I think she got some kind of a kick doing it.”

Johnny listened in awe. His father had never even had a man-to-man discussion with him about sex. It was expected he would learn all about it in sex education, and when it came to his parents being open about their own relations, they acted as though they were both still virgins. It occurred to him that the way Sandy was brought up and the way he was brought up were so different that it was like they were from different countries.

“Is Paula like that, too?”

“Oh yeah. She’s always talking to me about sex. I think my father assigned her the responsibility to be sure I don’t get pregnant before I’m supposed to.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Am I?” She got up and went to the night table to open the drawer. “See this,” she said, holding up the small box. “Birth control pills. Paula got me the prescription.”

“You take them?”

“Regularly. I’m not stupid.” She smiled and he just stared at her. “So you don’t have to worry either,” she said. She put the box back in the drawer and began to unbutton her blouse.

“You sure no one’s coming home now?” he said, looking at the partially open door.

“What if they do? They understand,” she said, and she laughed.

There was no question in his mind that he wanted her. She was pretty and desirable and he had fantasized about her often. He had grown especially excited watching her with Slattery, but her matter-of-fact or “enlightened” attitude about it was something of a turn-off. There were a few steps to this moment missing.

He didn’t know how to express it or even if it were important to do so, but he felt that she was using sex to get back at her parents, probably mostly her father, in some way. He wondered how many boys she had done this with for the same reason. He felt as though he were being used, as though it really didn’t matter if it were he or not.

She had her blouse off. That portion of her bosom that bulged above her bra was pink, flushed from her excitement. He didn’t move; he didn’t change expression. She brought her hands behind her back to unfasten the bra and then hesitated.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’.”

“So why don’t you get undressed?” He didn’t say anything. She brought her hands to her sides. “You didn’t hesitate when you and Gary pulled that bit on your sister and Mary Warren, did you?”

“I’m not hesitating.”

“So?”

“I don’t know. I feel almost as if we’re not concentrating on the plan, or something,” he said. “You know, like we came here to do one thing for Mr. Lucy and we’re doin’ another.”

“Huh?” She looked at him for a moment. “Listen,” she said, “Mr. Lucy is no prude. He knows about these things. He expects us to do it.”

“How do you know that?” She didn’t say anything for a moment. “You talked about it with him?”

“Of course.”

“But how could you? I mean…”

“He’s very understanding. He wanted to know about my past and my family life, as I told him things. You know what he said?” Johnny shook his head, but he was anxious to hear. “He said people overestimate sex. He said sex is just a trick of nature to bring people together. He said if we just treat it as something natural, we wouldn’t have all this guilt.” She smiled and added, “He said too many people worship the orgasm.”

“He said all that?”

“Uh huh. So don’t feel so guilty.”

“I never talked to him about sex,” Johnny said. “Except that stuff involving my sister.”

“So it worked out, didn’t it? She doesn’t bother you.”

“No, she wouldn’t dare.”

“Good. Now you can talk to Mr. Lucy about your own problems. But first,” she said, reaching back and unfastening the bra, “you’d better have something to talk about.” She slipped the garment down her arms and dropped it on the floor. He stared with obvious appreciation, but he didn’t say anything.

He got off the bed quickly and began taking off his clothes. She unbuckled her jeans and slipped them and her panties off. Then she pulled back the blanket and got into the bed.

When he slipped in beside her and they embraced, he thought about what she had said: Mr. Lucy expected them to do it. She wouldn’t say it if he didn’t, he thought. She wouldn’t lie when it came to Mr. Lucy.

Just the fact that Mr. Lucy expected it made it more important to him. He pressed to be more aggressive than she was; he had to live up to Mr. Lucy’s expectations for him. Afterward he wouldn’t have to say anything. Mr. Lucy would know. He would look at them and he would know.

Johnny understood that there was no part of their lives in which their tutor didn’t play a role, but he didn’t resent it; he welcomed it. Mr Lucy was a father, a brother, and a friend. They would carry his stamp of approval openly.

As Johnny made love to Sandy, he looked over at the chair in the corner near the bed and imagined Mr. Lucy sitting there and smiling.

“These are my kids,” he would say. “They’re good at anything they do.”

12

Ellen Lorner could stand it no longer. During the past few weeks, her personality had undergone a gradual but radical change. She had grown so impatient and so short with her friends that they had begun to consciously avoid her. This was especially true of Toby, who had been brought to tears a few times because of Ellen’s nasty and cutting comments.

Her friends assumed that there was bad trouble developing between Barton and her. Ellen’s newly abrasive ways confirmed their quiet suspicions—Barton and she had grown further and further apart because there was nothing to keep the marriage glued together, no common interests, no children, and no burning passion. She was merely taking out her frustrations and unhappiness on them.

It wasn’t really the cause, but the truth was that Ellen’s frustrations had invaded her relationship with Barton. He tried to outwait it and ignore what he thought might just be some stage she was passing through. Each morning he looked for a return to the way things were—some sign of her characteristic energy and optimism.

But she didn’t improve. She was unusually withdrawn and pensive, and whenever he would ask her why, she would explode with the same frighteningly violent anger. Simple questions brought her to a pitch of hysteria. He took to tiptoeing around her and to fighting back his curiosity as to why she stopped doing her exercise, why she was letting the house go, why she wasn’t seeing her friends anywhere as much as she used to, why her appetite had dwindled, and why she sat for what seemed to be hours staring through the television set or rereading the same page in her latest book.

It occurred to him that Ellen was approaching a nervous breakdown and he began to believe it would be only a short time before she would need professional help. She would either go on her own or he would force her. He discussed it with Morris Feldman, one of his closer, lifelong friends, and ironically that conversation resulted in the first seemingly positive change in Ellen’s new but degenerating personality.

“Maybe she has to get a job,” Morris suggested.

“She never wanted that before.”

“I know, but these are different times. Her friends might be putting subtle pressure on her. Maybe she thinks badly of herself because of it. Did you ever tell her she couldn’t work?”

“No way. She just seemed so occupied with the house and her own activities, I never thought…”

“Well…suggest it. See what happens.”

He did, and it was as if he had awoken her from some deep sleep. She looked up from the book she had been staring into and a light came into her eyes.

Ever since she had made love with Adam Lucy, she had been suffering from a mixture of guilt and disappointment. She had given herself to a man who had apparently taken it very lightly. It was as though he had brought her down from purity and innocence just for the sake of it and left her there.

And yet she couldn’t turn herself away from him completely. She longed for a second intimate meeting, if for nothing else but to understand who he was and what had actually happened between them.

Twice during the last week, she had gotten herself to call, and once she had gone over there; but when he answered the phone, she couldn’t get herself to speak and when she went to see him, he wasn’t home. Or, once again, he had seen it was she and had decided not to come to the door.

She was caught in a paradox of feelings: it was degrading to her to pursue him and yet she wanted to pursue him. She knew the frustration was having a serious effect on her and her relationships with her friends and Barton, but she felt helpless to prevent it.

And then there were the dreams. They had started the night after Adam and she had made love. She couldn’t remember ever having any as vivid. When she awoke in the morning, she had to lie there and think. Did it really happen?

In all of the dreams, she made love to Adam again, but each time, they did it in a different part of the house. Once, they even made love outside on her front lawn, and while they were doing it, old man Cutler came by walking his dog. He stood there watching them, waiting to get a word in.

The dreams always left her aroused and excited, but when she looked over at Barton, he was usually fast asleep with his back to her. Once, her moaning woke him and he shook her out of it. She told him she had a nightmare and then she got up to take an aspirin. Before she came back to the bed, she stopped by the bedroom window and looked down at Adam Lucy’s house.

It was very late at night, but there was a light on. She thought she saw one of his high school students emerge and head down the avenue, but she told herself that couldn’t be. It was far too late for tutoring. Right afterward, though, the light went out and his house was dark.

“Are you all right?” Barton asked her.

“Yes,” she said and she went back to bed, but she didn’t fall asleep until it was almost morning.

It went on like this so long she began to feel incapable of ever helping herself, so when Barton made his suggestion about her getting a job, a light did go on. An idea was quickly born.

“I don’t have the skills anymore, Bart. Things have changed considerably since I was a secretary and if you don’t keep up with something, you get rusty.”

“So…take some refresher courses.”

“I can’t see myself sitting in classes with kids, Bart.”

“No, a lot of older people take courses at the community college.”

“I’d rather just find someone to work with me.”

“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “You mean, like a tutor?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Well,” he said. He turned to the side as though he could see through the wall and into the old Taylor house. “From what Charlie Rosen told me, I couldn’t see sending you to this guy.”

“My God, Bart,” she said, nodding her head slowly, “don’t you trust me? After all these years?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Ellen. I don’t know if I should trust him.”

“I don’t know why we’re even talking about it,” she said, sitting back in her chair. She looked dejected and forlorn again and he immediately regretted throwing cold water on her excitement. “The man probably doesn’t do the kind of tutoring I need.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess it’s worth finding out,” he added. “I could ask him.”

She thought for a moment. Why not? she wondered. Let the pressure be on him. Let’s see him turn down Bart. She felt a growing excitement as she imagined the scene: Bart going over there and knocking on door to request that Adam spend time with her, the look on Adam’s face as he searched Bart’s expression to see if there were any knowledge within, his hesitation, and then…what would he say?

“What about Charlie Rosen’s stories?”

“Maybe you were right. Maybe he was just jealous of the way Barbara spoke about him. I’m not worried,” he said, smiling. “If he can help you…”

“Well, like I said, I don’t know if he can.”

“Won’t hurt to find out?” He looked at his watch. “It’s not that late. I’ll take a walk over there now and speak with him. OK?”

She hesitated.

“I’m not sure that I really want to go back to work.”

“At least you’ll have the option. OK?” he repeated. She looked up at him and then nodded slowly. He smiled and she smiled back. It warmed and encouraged him. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

She sat back and watched him go to the front door. He put on his jacket and left. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. What if he says yes; what if he says no? Oh God, she thought, I shouldn’t have let Bart do it.

She got up quickly and went to the side window to see whatever she could, but Barton was already at his door and a moment later, he was inside.

It was almost as if the tutor had expected him.

Johnny saw Barton Lorner enter Mr. Lucy’s house. He was halfway down Highland Avenue at the time. He pulled back into the shadows and waited impatiently. He knew that Mr. Lucy didn’t have a tutorial tonight. Tonight was the night Tommy Richards would be seeing him if he hadn’t been talked out of it by Richard Slattery, he thought.

Mr. Lorner remained in the house so long Johnny began to get discouraged. The others would soon be here and he wouldn’t have his private time with Mr. Lucy. Also, it had turned so cold they were predicting flurries and he really wasn’t dressed warmly enough. He tried running in place and swinging his arms about before he finally realized he could go to Mr. Lucy’s house and pretend it was his scheduled tutorial. How would Barton Lorner know the difference?

He did just that, and when Mr. Lucy opened the door and saw him standing there, he looked grateful.

“Oh, your student’s arrived,” Barton said. “Well, thank you for the advice and those suggestions,” he said and left.

“Good timing, Johnny.” Mr. Lucy looked past him. “Where are the others?”

“They’ll be along. I thought I’d talk to you first.”

“Oh, I see. Good. Come on in. Did you see Sandy since she spoke to Richard Slattery?”

“I did better than that,” Johnny said proudly. “I was there at the time. Well hidden of course.”

“Your idea?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thought so. Well, come on, sit down. Let’s talk. Getting cold, huh?”

“Yeah. Might snow tonight.”

“I was thinking about making a fire in this old fireplace, only I’m not sure it’ll work. Don’t want to set this place on fire. Sit down,” he repeated, seeing Johnny was still standing in the living room.

He was standing by the seat Mr. Lucy usually took, but Mr. Lucy indicated he should take it. He looked at it and then looked up at him to be sure he meant it. Mr. Lucy nodded and Johnny eased himself into the chair.

He tried to sit the way Mr. Lucy always sat—his back straight, his hands on his lap, the fingertips touching. His head was eclipsed in the same darkness that usually kept Mr. Lucy hidden. He knew it was probably his imagination, but he felt different the moment he sat in this chair. He felt as though he could be the tutor, as though he could tell the others what to do and how to behave. Mr. Lucy smiled as though he sensed Johnny’s illusion.

Mr. Lucy did not sit down. He stood before Johnny and kept his hands behind his back. Now he looked more like a regular tutor, waiting for his pupil to recite some mathematical table or some list of spelling words.

“All right,” he said. “Tell me what you heard.”

“He hates all of us. That’s for sure. Except Sandy, that is. He’s crazy about Sandy,” he added, his jealousy exposed. “But the worst thing is he went to see Mr. Zola right after…right after it all. Zola called him to come over to his apartment and he told him his side. Slattery swore to get us.”

Mr. Lucy stepped closer to the chair. He seemed to grow taller and wider right before Johnny’s eyes. He blocked out most of the light behind him and Johnny felt as though night itself had invaded the house. There was a chill and he shivered, but he did his best to keep it subdued and hidden.

“Sandy couldn’t get him to ease up on us then?”

“No way. He hates her having anything to do with us. He calls us ‘zeros,’ the bastard. He’s the biggest zero of all.”

“I see.” There was a long moment of silence.

“What are we going to do? The others will be here soon.”

“Yes, they will. You’re right. You and I are going to come up with something, Johnny, and it will be up to you to help me to get them to cooperate. It’ll be best for everyone. We’ve got to make them understand that.”

“They will,” Johnny said, imitating Mr. Lucy’s characteristic tone of confidence.

“Good,” Mr. Lucy said. He went to the window and peered out at the avenue. Snow flurries had begun, but there was no sign of the others yet. “If Slattery ever did expose us, it would be terrible for everyone, especially you and Gary,” he said without turning around.

“I know.”

“You’ll run into people like him all your life,” Mr. Lucy said. For the first time, Johnny thought he heard a note of sadness in Mr. Lucy’s voice. “Just when things are going well for you, someone like him will appear and try to hurt you because he’s jealous of your accomplishments. People like him think everything belongs to them.”

“I hate him. I’ve always hated him.”

“You’ve always sensed it, Johnny,” Mr. Lucy said, turning around. Johnny couldn’t be sure because of the poor illumination in the room, but it looked like Mr. Lucy was smiling again. “I knew you had this special sensitivity; I knew it from the start. You’re a born leader, Johnny.”

“I try,” Johnny said. Mr. Lucy’s compliment nearly brought him to tears.

“We’re going to have to do something very serious, Johnny, but I think you’re up to it and I think you can help me bring the others up to it.” Mr. Lucy hadn’t just lowered his voice. He had thickened it and filled it with a tone of excitement. Johnny’s heart began to pound in anticipation.

“I’m not afraid,” Johnny said. He knew that was what Mr. Lucy wanted to hear the most.

“Good. I’ve seen what you can do, so I know there’s not going to be any problem.” He turned around again and looked through the window. He could see the others coming down the avenue now. “That was very clever what you did with Sandy, listening in unseen. It’s given me an idea.”

The four of them sat together in a heavy silence. Mr. Lucy had gone into the kitchen to make them hot chocolate. The wind had picked up and it seemed to be blowing right through the old building. Loose window shutters tapped ominously against the sides of the house. The flurries had grown heavier, but when the flakes hit the windows, they quickly turned into cold tears. The resulting streaks made the glass look shattered.

Sheila, Gary, and Sandy huddled closer on the couch. The need for contact came from more than just the need to be physically warm. The silence that had fallen among them after Mr. Lucy had left worked like a thread sewing them together. They stared at Johnny, who still sat in Mr. Lucy’s chair.

“My father’s visited me last night,” Sheila said. Although it had nothing to do with what they had been discussing, it seemed appropriate. “He came to tell me he was going to work and live in New York City. He kept asking me about my mother, but I pretended not to know anything.”

“Your father’s too weak,” Johnny said.

“I know,” she said, and looked away when her eyes watered.

“Maybe you should live with him,” Sandy suggested. “He needs you more.”

“He didn’t even offer it. I hate my mother’s boyfriend. I hate my mother,” she added. Her cheeks looked swollen and Johnny wondered if she was regaining weight. “I don’t have anyone I really care about or who cares about me. Except…Mr. Lucy. He’s the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“Sometimes,” Gary said, leaning forward, “I dream that he’s my father. My father’s such a nerd compared to Mr. Lucy.”

“But Mr. Lucy isn’t anyone’s father,” Johnny said. “He’s our tutor. He belongs to all of us.” Johnny had had the same fantasy, but he didn’t want to admit it or reveal his jealousy.

“My father can’t see the way Paula’s come between us,” Sandy said. Everyone else’s self-revelations encouraged her. “It’s happening more and more. I know she resents that I’m doing so much better in school and that my father’s proud of me. That’s why she didn’t want me to start with Mr. Lucy.”

“Mr. Lucy was right,” Johnny said, “when he told us that you only play into the hands of your enemies by doing badly.”

“Mr. Lucy’s got such a clear view of things. I wonder if I’ll have that view,” Sandy said. Her voice was soft and feminine. Johnny recalled their intimacy.

“You’ve already begun to have it,” he said. He looked at Gary and Sheila. “We’ve all begun to have it.”

“He’s right about Slattery,” Gary said. He spoke like one who had been hypnotized—leaning forward, staring at no one, his eyes glassy, his body so still. “He’s like a cancer, infecting everyone, turning them against us.”

“His parents have always been very proud of him,” Johnny said. It had the effect of a loud clap, directing everyone’s attention to him. Even Gary looked more alert. His eyes grew smaller and his face tightened.

“I remember they were always willing to chaperon trips he went on or school parties,” Sheila said. “My father was always too busy and my mother…my mother,” she added as though that explained it.

“Slattery’s father once coached the soccer team for a season,” Johnny said. “Remember that. It was two years ago when they couldn’t find anyone to do it. He worked it into his schedule so he could leave the college.”

“Slattery probably never let the other guys on the team forget it, though,” Gary said.

“Too bad he’s so good-looking,” Sheila said. Johnny looked at Sandy.

“He’s not really good-looking,” Sandy said quickly. “He has a pretty face, too pretty for a boy.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Johnny said. “I know what has to be done and I’m willing to do it.”

“I’m scared,” Sheila said, lowering her voice so Mr. Lucy couldn’t hear.

“That’s great,” Johnny said. “Let Mr. Lucy down just when he needs us the most.”

“I can’t help being scared,” Sheila said, and looked to Sandy for support, but Sandy looked away disgustedly.

“Slattery’s not scared when it comes to something he wants to do to us,” Gary said. “You heard what he told Sandy.”

“That’s right,” Johnny said.

“You don’t have to do that much anyway,” Sandy said.

“I know.” Sheila looked at them. They were all staring at her so intensely.

“I’m taking the most risk. We’re using the lumber yard,” Gary said. His shoulders rose with frustration and anger.

“You’re right. I’ll get over it,” Sheila said quickly. Gary wasn’t that big, but at this moment he looked enormously threatening.

“Of course you will,” Johnny said. “We’ll all be with you and Mr. Lucy is with us.” He got up and everyone followed him to the kitchen to join Mr. Lucy.

By the time they were all ready to leave, the snow flurries had stopped, but the wind hadn’t died down. The moment they opened the door and stepped out, the cold air embraced them. Even so, Mr. Lucy, impervious to the chilling night, remained in the open doorway and watched them until they turned from the house and headed down Highland Avenue. Johnny looked back and waved good-bye. Then the others did the same.

When they turned onto Main Street, the village proper looked deserted. There was no one else in sight and nearly all of the store windows were dark. The only sign of activity came from Kayfeld’s Bar and Grill.

“I hate this town,” Johnny said suddenly. “I’d like to leave it when Mr. Lucy does.”

“Me too,” Gary said. He was impressed with Johnny’s intensity.

“Whatever I do, I want to be able to travel like Mr. Lucy has,” Johnny said.

“So would I,” Sandy said. She moved closer to him.

Sheila didn’t say anything. Johnny was worried about her. She had been the most quiet in the kitchen and she still looked quite distracted and afraid.

“You all right?” he asked her.

“What?” Gary and Sandy turned to her, too. “Oh yeah. I’m OK. It’s so cold,” she said.

“It’ll warm up tomorrow,” Johnny said. His eyes radiated the excitement within him. He looked at Sandy. “I’ll walk you home,” he said. “Take it easy,” he told Gary, and they parted. “I’m worried about Sheila,” he said when he and Sandy were far enough from them.

“Don’t worry. I’ll stick close to her all day tomorrow.”

“She doesn’t have our sense of commitment,” Johnny said, remembering the way Mr. Lucy phrased it.

“She will, when the time comes,” Sandy said and for a moment Johnny admired her tone of assurance. It was something that she and Gary and he had gotten from Mr. Lucy. Sheila was more fragile. She needed insulation; she needed protection.

“Do you like the plan?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s Mr. Lucy’s plan, isn’t it?”

“I helped him think it out. Just before you all arrived,” he added.

“Really?” She was impressed. “Do you want to come over for a while?”

“I don’t know.” He saw the disappointment in her face. “Yeah, I suppose I could. Are they home?”

“Yes, but just ignore them. We’ll go right up to my room.”

“Your father won’t care?”

“What if he does? He has no right to complain. Come on,” she said. “I’m cold. I feel like snuggling under the covers.”

He laughed, but when they got to her house, they hesitated, both recognizing the vehicle parked in the front.

“Where is he?” Johnny asked in a whisper. “He’s not in the car.”

“It would be just like my father to invite him in to wait, especially him. He knows the Slatterys.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why would he come over?” Johnny asked suspiciously. “Did you tell him to?”

“Of course not.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Well, you think I do?” They continued to stare at the house. Johnny felt the anger bursting inside him. Slattery would always be in his way; he would always be interfering. He wished he could end it tonight. “Wait a minute,” Sandy said. “Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe I can set it all up tonight.”

“No.”

“Why not? He’s here. I can…”

“It’s got to seem spontaneous. It’s what Mr. Lucy wants. And as he said, it gives less chance for anyone else to find out. He has less opportunity to tell anyone. We can’t digress.”

“Digress,” she said disdainfully. “You and your new vocabulary. All right, I won’t do it tonight. But it’s still all right. It’ll make it easier for me to be with him tomorrow and for him to do what I say.”

“Maybe I should go in with you.”

“Are you crazy? That would ruin everything. I got him believing that I think you and Gary and Sheila are really zeros, and then I show up with you?”

“All right.”

“We’ll celebrate tomorrow night. When it’s all over,” she added, squeezing his arm. “We’ll be more into it.”

“Right,” he said, glaring angrily at the car.

She kissed him on the forehead quickly and headed for her house.

“Hey,” he called.

“What?”

“Just…take it easy.”

“Stop worrying. Mr. Lucy isn’t worrying, is he?” she added. He blanched, but she couldn’t see. He remained there until she went into the house, and then he started away. When he was halfway down the block, he turned back and waited behind a car parked across the street from her house until Richard Slattery emerged. He waited for nearly an hour. He watched her walk him to his car and he saw her kiss him. It was a long, passionate kiss that he thought would never end. He almost stepped out from the shadows to complain. Finally, they parted and she rushed back to her house. Slattery didn’t pull away until she was inside.

Slattery didn’t see him, but he nearly exposed himself because he glared at him so hard and with such hate. He saw the expression on his face as he pulled away from the curb.

Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, you won’t be smiling so widely.

Satisfied with that prediction, he ran all the way home.

13

“Well,” Barton Lorner said after he had returned from seeing Adam Lucy, “I have to agree with you.”

“What, Bart?” Ellen didn’t want to appear too interested, but she couldn’t feign indifference.

“Charlie Rosen’s probably full of it. This guy’s no woman chaser. If he was, he would have jumped at the opportunity to be alone with a good-looking woman.”

“So he turned me down?”

“In so many words, yeah. He was polite about it, too polite, I’d say. If anything, he struck me as being somewhat on the stuffy side. He reminded me of Mr. Dolsenberg. Remember Mr. Dolsenberg, how he’d pull himself back before answering a question and look down at you as though he was perched on some throne…”

“I remember, Bart. What did Adam say?”

“Adam? You’d never know you were on a first-name basis with him.”

“Well, I’m not, really. What did he say, for Chrissakes?”

“He said he works only with children. He enjoys working only on children. He thought what you needed anyway were courses in the community college. He said there’s no reason why you should feel embarrassed about going to the college…”

“You told him I was embarrassed?”

“Well, he wanted to know why I even approached him with such a request. To tell you the truth, he made me feel a little foolish for doing it.”

She turned away. He took it as a sign that she was upset with him, so he went to her and embraced her.

“It’s all right,” she said, moving away from him quickly.

“I didn’t mean that you were being foolish, Ellen. I…”

“Forget it already,” she said. “I’m sorry I agreed to your going over there.”

“Well, why do we have to be so upset about him? Who the hell is he anyway?”

“That’s not it. I’m not upset,” she said. “I’m just tired.”

“You’ve been tired a lot lately. Maybe you oughtta go see Doc Bloom tomorrow.”

“No, I’ll be all right.”

“Still, I’d feel better if you had a quick exam.”

She considered him. Maybe he was right; maybe there was something physically wrong with her. She hadn’t been herself since…since she had made love with Adam, and although she recognized that the cause could very well be psychological, she also had a strange new feeling about herself.

It was as though he had effected some major change in her, as though what she had now come to call their “phantom lovemaking” had influenced the nature of her very soul. He had done more than deposit his sperm within her; he had planted something even more substantial. The longer her estrangement from him after their lovemaking went on, the more fantastic were the imaginings her mind created.

He was an alien creature who had enticed and seduced her so he could house the embryo of another of his kind. Lately, she even had begun to imagine movement inside her. She’d feel a strange tickle in her stomach and swear that something had stirred. It was maddening, but what made it more maddening was the fact that she couldn’t talk about it; she couldn’t ask anyone for advice. She trusted no one.

This reinforced her wild ideas. He had deliberately picked someone like her because he knew she would be unable to describe what had passed between them. She didn’t trust any of her friends. She wasn’t close enough with any of them anyway, and obviously there was no way she could talk to Barton about it. If he found out…

Perhaps he had, she thought. Perhaps he had sensed something all along and that was why he was willing to go over to Adam Lucy’s house. He pushed it to see just how far this thing could go. If Adam had agreed to tutor her…

Sure, that was it, that was the reason why Adam had refused. He sensed that Barton suspected something. Oh, Adam, she thought, you’re too clever to fall into any trap. You’re too clever for all of us. You were certainly too clever for me. She returned to feeling she had been used. But for what purpose? Just to provide him with a brief interlude? And how brief it was. No, there had to be some other reason; there had to be.

This brought her back to her fantastic ideas. It was driving her mad. Who was he? What was he? Why did he do the things he did? It suddenly occurred to her that if he had done something weird with her, what was he doing with the children?

She hadn’t imagined those children coming over late at night. They were there, especially that Johnny Masterson. And he was there again tonight. She saw him going over when she watched by the window for Bart to return.

“Ellen?” Bart said.

“What?”

“You’re just standing there, staring at me with this wild look on your face. What is it?”

She was so tempted to say something. It was on the tip of her tongue. But how could she approach it? How?

“No, I think you might be right. I will go to see the doctor tomorrow.”

“Good. I’m worried about you. I really am.”

“I know, Bart. I’m sorry. I guess I’d better just go to sleep,” she said. He nodded. She saw how disturbed he really was, so she stepped closer to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for being so caring,” she said, and started up the stairs.

“Jesus,” Bart said, watching her go.

When she go to the bedroom, she moved like one in a trance. She changed into her nightgown quickly and went to bed. But she didn’t fall asleep right away. Just before Bart came up for the night, too, she got up suspiciously and went to the window. She looked down at the tutor’s house just as the four children left it. She saw Johnny Masterson turn and wave. She stood there long after they disappeared from sight. She was still there when Bart came up.

“Ellen,” he said, “what is it? What are you looking at?”

“Oh, Bart,” she said, turning around slowly, “I think there’s something wrong, something terribly wrong, but I don’t know what it is or even what it could be.”

“What?” he said, grimacing with confusion.

She didn’t reply. She moved like a somnambulist to her bed, crawled under the covers, and turned her face into the pillow. Before he could pursue it much further, she was asleep. Something alien had indeed begun to take control of her.

Sometime during the night, Johnny Masterson woke with a start. He sat up in bed and looked into the darkness of his room. He had the feeling he wasn’t alone, but he could hear nor see anyone. Still, he felt touched. It was as if someone had just walked by his bed and the breeze caused by that movement had caressed his face and woken him.

He reached for his night-table drawer and opened it to take out the flashlight. After he took it out, he directed the beam around the room quickly and confirmed that there was no one present. He took a deep breath and turned off the flashlight, but he couldn’t just lie back and forget it. He still felt watched.

Finally, he got up and went to his bedroom window to look out at the street before his house. It looked quiet and still. Some moonlight had penetrated the thin, wispy clouds and that cast an amber tint over the sidewalk and lawn. He stood there for the longest time, just staring. He didn’t really feel awake; he felt as though he was stepping through one of his dreams. Indeed, the shadows outside took distorted shapes. Nothing reflected true size. It was as if whatever held matter together, whatever kept houses and trees and parked cars in proportion was gone, and what resulted was a random design.

He wiped his eyes. Fatigue was taking hold again, so he started to turn to go back to bed when he was sure he was a shadow move away from the maple tree on their lawn. He waited, watching. After another moment, the shadowy shape crossed over the lawn to the sidewalk and started away. He leaned as far as he could to the left to watch it go.

He thought it resembled Mr. Lucy, but then he wondered what would Mr. Lucy be doing wandering the streets of Centerville this time of the night. It could very well have been a burglar who caught sight of him in the window and was discouraged, he thought. It made more sense. And yet he had to wonder if perhaps Mr. Lucy had come to his house to try to get his attention in order to change something about the plan. He decided that before they entered the final stages, he would give Mr. Lucy a call and confirm that all was still a go.

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep again after he went back to bed, and the nocturnal interruption did nothing to cause him to be tired after he awoke in the morning and got ready for school. He was too excited about the day anyway to feel normal fatigue. He was running on a high that would drive him well into the early evening.

The plan was simple, but just as Mr. Lucy had said, “Its simplicity is the beauty of it. It’s only when things are made too complicated that we run into trouble.” Its genesis stemmed from what he had done and what he had described to Mr. Lucy.

“Let’s turn this whole thing around,” he said. “You did what came natural to you to do. It will seem like a good idea to Slattery, too. And with the way Sandy is winning his confidence…”

Johnny nodded. Later on, the discussion centered on the place and Gary came up with the idea of using the lumber yard. Johnny saw there was something attractively ironic for Gary in that. He hated the lumberyard; it personified the vast differences between him and his father, and because it was such a major business in the small community, it was impossible to ignore it. For Gary it loomed like a sword over his head.

“I can get in and out of the office any time I want,” he said. “It makes sense that it would be a logical meeting place for us. Slattery will believe it.”

“Very good thinking, Gary,” Mr. Lucy said. “Very logical and clear thinking. And you’ve got everything you need there, too,” he added.

When they created the detailed scenario, with Mr. Lucy’s guidance, they participated with a vehemence that indicated just how much they wanted to carry out the plan. Only Sheila held back, but she couldn’t help but be carried away with the momentum.

It was clear that he, Gary, and Sheila would have to stay away from Sandy most of the school day. She had done a good job of convincing Slattery that she wanted to be apart from them; it only remained for her to convince him that she wanted to be more of a part of him and what he intended to do. None of them had any doubt that she would succeed.

Johnny spotted her talking to Slattery in the hall right before homeroom. Sheila told him that she saw them together between morning classes, and then they saw her going off with him to Sol’s for lunch. They remained at the school and ate in the cafeteria.

Johnny sensed Sheila’s nervousness all day. She was filled with a million “what if” questions. Johnny was patient about it, but Gary was irritable.

“Don’t you think Mr. Lucy would have thought of that?” was his refrain. “Or do you think you’re a lot smarter?”

Finally, she became quiet and withdrawn. Johnny didn’t like that either, but Gary was satisfied. Just after the start of the last class of the day, Johnny got a bathroom pass and waited in the corridor for Sandy’s prearranged appearance. By the smile on her face as she approached, Johnny knew that everything was going well.

“He’s convinced that I believe he’s right about you and Gary,” she said.

“How did you get him to believe that?” he asked.

“Just like Mr. Lucy said, I forced him to work on it. I must say, Richard’s a very smart guy.”

“Big deal.”

“Don’t ever underestimate your enemy’s intelligence,” she said. “You only defeat yourself,” she added, parroting one of Mr. Lucy’s favorite refrains.

“You don’t have to tell me that. Did you tell him about the meeting?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell him where.”

“Why not?”

“He’s going to see me after school. I told him we weren’t sure where we were going to meet yet. It’s better if he has less time to tell anyone else. I’ll leave it so he won’t know until he meets me this evening. He’s going to bring his tape recorder and hide in the shadows to record your…how did he put it…self-indicting statements.”

“Keeping the actual location from him, that’s pretty smart,” Johnny said appreciatively.

“You’re not the only one who can plan well, Johnny Masterson,” she said, and teased him with a smile. “I’d better get back. How’s Sheila been?”

“Shaky. Gary lost his temper with her a few times.”

“That’s no good.”

“I know. I’m taking care of it.”

“I’ve never been so involved in a mission before,” she said. “I mean, it was really you and Gary who took care of Mr. Zola. And anyway, this is a lot different.”

“We’ll be all right as long as we move slowly and carefully.” He paused. “I guess I won’t see you again until eight tonight.”

“No. And don’t call unless there are some changes. Richard might be with me.”

“Don’t push too hard,” he said. “You could go too far and ruin it.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she said, a little indignant.

“All right. Good luck.” He wanted to lean over and kiss her, but they heard a classroom door slam up the corridor.

“You, too,” she said. They parted quickly and he went back to class.

After school, he, Sheila, and Gary went to Gary’s house. His mother wasn’t home, but because the maid was there cleaning, they pretended to be studying for an upcoming exam. It was Mr. Lucy’s idea for them to stay with Sheila as long as they could.

“You’ve got to keep her tight,” he said. “She’s the weak link.”

They listened to music, played some of Gary’s video games, and talked about other kids. Johnny and Gary had already made up that they wouldn’t discuss the plan very much. They agreed to keep her from thinking about it as long as possible. It seemed to work, because she did relax. Afterward, Johnny walked her home.

“I wish there was another way to do this,” she said when they reached her house.

“You mean just aim your finger at him and go poof.”

“Yeah.” She laughed.

“Well, we live in the world of reality now,” he said. “Look at what we have and look at what Richard Slattery could take away.”

“I know.”

“Good. Don’t worry. Everything’s going as Mr. Lucy said it would. Gary and I will be by here at a quarter to eight to pick you up.”

“All right.”

He was about to walk away when it came to him to kiss her. He sensed that the effect it might have would do much to strengthen her resolve and help her to be less tentative. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She brought her hand to the spot and her eyes widened with surprise.

“As long as we’re together,” he said, “nothing can hurt us.”

“OK.” The new excitement brought a flush to her face and brightened her eyes.

Johnny took her hand and squeezed it gently. Then he let go and walked off slowly, turning once to wave because he knew she would still be standing there looking after him. It confirmed his sense of power and his sense of purpose.

When he was finally alone at home, he called Mr. Lucy. The phone rang so many times that he was afraid Mr. Lucy wasn’t there.

“I was in meditation,” he said.

“Sorry to disturb you.”

“It’s all right, Johnny. How’s everything?”

“It’s going well.” He paused. Would he come right out and say that he thought he saw him outside his house late last night? “Is there any reason why we shouldn’t go on with it?”

“Not unless you’ve come up with one. How’s Sheila?”

“I think she’ll be all right.”

“Then do it,” he said. The finality of the command couldn’t be any clearer. Johnny stiffened, sorry he had even suggested the possibility of retreat.

“We will,” he said. “For all of us.”

“Good,” Mr. Lucy said.

There was nothing else to say. He hung up and looked at himself in the mirror. For a few moments, the image that was reflected back looked like a total stranger. It was difficult to remember the way he had appeared to himself before he had met and worked with Mr. Lucy. His posture was straighter, his shoulders were broader, and his face was filled with intelligence and confidence. His gaze was intent and determined. His former mousey and withdrawn appearance was hard to recall. He had been ashamed of any picture of himself that exhibited the inferiority he had once felt, so he had removed any he found in his room or anywhere else in the house.

His belief that the old Johnny Masterson had been a nonentity was reinforced by the fact that no one mentioned the absence of these pictures. His mother didn’t notice they were gone from the mantel above the fireplace and from the top of the dresser in her bedroom. His father didn’t even remark about the pictures missing from his office.

It was impossible to properly thank Mr. Lucy for all he had done for him as well as for the others. In effect, he had made him into an individual, into a person. The least they could do was protect him against lesser, jealous types who were out to destroy the good.

No, there was no hesitation, no doubt about what they had to do and what they would do. The others would be just as strong about it. He was confident of that. They were too tightly glued together now.

He heard his mother call him down to supper, so he went into the bathroom and washed his hands and face. He brushed his hair and neatly straightened out his clothing. Then he went down to join his family.

“How’s it going?” his father asked him as soon as he entered the dining room.

“Great, Dad. I got a ninety-five on my history unit exam.”

“Fantastic,” his mother said. His father slapped his hands together.

“This family’s on a roll,” he said, and then went on to describe a business deal that was proving more successful than he had ever hoped. Johnny listened with great attentiveness and intensity, a technique that Mr. Lucy had taught him. His father appreciated it. He laughed and tapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Don’t anybody make any plans for this Saturday night,” he said. “I feel like celebrating. We’ll all go out to dinner. OK?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said enthusiastically and looked at his mother and his sister. “I feel like celebrating, too!”

His emphatic agreement made his parents laugh, but his sister smirked. Her braces glittered in the bright light of the chandelier above the dinner table.

“What do you have to celebrate?” she asked. “Anybody can get good marks.” His parents both sat smiling, waiting for his reply.

“I feel like I’ve been born again,” he said.

For a moment no one spoke. His parents and his sister stared at him as though he was a complete stranger who had just appeared at their dinner table. Then his father nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

“Maybe you don’t need to got to that tutor for help anymore, Johnny. Huh?”

Johnny’s face actually whitened.

“Oh no, Dad. I’ve got to go to Mr. Lucy. It’s important. He’s keeping me on the right track; he’s…”

“I don’t know. Somebody told me today that their kid’s stopped seein’ him. I can’t remember…oh yeah, I think it was Gerson Keppler.”

“Yeah, and Sheldon flunked the math test this week,” Johnny said. “He’s in my class.”

“That so?”

“Oh leave it be for a while longer,” Johnny’s mother said. “It’s not all that expensive.”

“Hmm. All right, a little while longer can’t hurt,” Thomas Masterson said. Johnny relaxed.

It’s even reached into my own house, he thought. Slattery’s dirty work…it’s even come in here.

Neither his parents nor his sister saw how small and how intent his eyes became. The topic of the conversation changed and no one noticed how viciously he cut into the steak on his plate.

Ellen Lorner stood on the sidewalk outside of Dr. Bloom’s office and stared blankly at the traffic that rushed by with indifference. The medical offices faced a major roadway that permitted maximum automobile speed, and although the professional building could be clearly seen from the highway, few, if any drivers, looked her way. They all seemed mesmerized by motion and transformed into mannequins; they had become a part of the cars they were driving.

She felt invisible anyway. Numbed by the news Dr. Bloom had delivered with uncharacteristic surprise and excitement, she felt as though she, too, had been transformed by events, Her essence, the solid part of her, had drained away, and she was left standing in a shell. Her voice echoed within, screaming, crying, demanding answers.

But right now there were no answers. When she got into her car and looked at herself in the vanity mirror on the sun visor, she saw that she was still pale from the shock. Her skin looked transparent. The little blue veins in her temples were emphatically visible. Her eyes looked like tiny glass windows. She could see through them and witness the turmoil within.

Faces floated against one another, sometimes merging into new faces. There was Adam smiling, Barton laughing, Barton angry, and all of her friends, big-eyed, shocked, becoming one astounded visage. She saw herself, dwindling, falling back through time until she was an infant.

The infant, she thought and sat back to catch her breath. Other patients were walking toward the professional building. Some would know her. She had to get a hold on herself; she had to be strong. She put on her seat belt quickly and started the engine. But she didn’t drive away.

She should have made the choice then and there. It would have been easier if it had been done quickly, impulsively. That way she could forget it all quickly and pretend that it didn’t really happen. Now the days of decision would take a toll. Another question was could she keep it from Barton? Should she keep it from him?

Dr. Bloom didn’t give her any help with this. After he told her she was pregnant, he waited for her reaction. It took her a few moments to say, “Maybe I’m too old for this.”

“Maybe,” he said. “That’s something you’ll have to decide.”

“And Bart, too. We’ve grown kind of set in our ways.”

“Understandable. You have options. Don’t feel you have to make the decision right now.”

“He’s going to be surprised.”

“Yes, I imagine he will be.”

“I mean…”

“You and he will have to discuss it. I understand.”

“There’s nothing else wrong with me?”

“Well,” he smiled for the first time during the conversation, “I don’t exactly characterize pregnancy as something wrong.”

“No, I mean…”

“You’re perfectly healthy, vigorously healthy. You’ve been taking good care of yourself, Ellen. There’s no physiological reason for you not to have the baby.”

“Oh.” She had hoped there would be; she had hoped for that out.

“You should see the physical condition of some of the pregnant women I’ve had as patients.”

She just looked at him. She wanted to go into it further; she wanted some kind of guarantee that this child could be Bart’s, that since it obviously hadn’t been she who was incapable of conceiving all these years, it was he and things could have changed with him. Should she go into it? she wondered. Or would that open everything up and expose her extramarital activity?

“I might not discuss this with Bart,” she said, and looked up at the doctor immediately to see his reaction. He was as inscrutable as ever.

“That’s between you two. I don’t get into that. In the meanwhile, I’m going to give you a prescription for more substantial vitamins than those you can get over the counter.”

She stuffed it deep into her pocketbook, but there was no way to bury reality. As she drove away and played the scene in her mind, she tried to imagine Bart’s reactions. Perhaps he would be happy. After all these years, it had finally happened. Maybe it did happen. Maybe it wasn’t Adam Lucy’s child. If she destroyed it now, she could be destroying their own.

It had to be their child. The memory of her intimate relations with Adam had become even more and more ethereal. It was almost completely relegated to the status of a dream. It didn’t actually happen, and if it did, his participation was so indifferent, it couldn’t have resulted in her pregnancy. Those nightmarish fantasies she had had about Adam being some alien creature impregnating her with another of his kind now seemed ridiculous. This wasn’t a movie; this was real life.

She was comfortable with this, so comfortable that it cheered her. She could go home and she could pull it off. She could describe it all to Barton and be excited and animated and make him excited. It would change their lives, of course, but the changes could be good ones. These changes could make their marriage stronger and help her to forget the handsome but eerie tutor who had moved into the house beside theirs.

I’m pregnant, she thought; I’m going to be a mother, she concluded, and suddenly all the joys and dreams of motherhood that she had imagined came rushing back to her. She was buoyed by it all, and the longer she thought about it, the angrier she got at herself for even considering an abortion.

She drove directly home and pulled into the driveway of her house, but before she got out of the car, she caught sight of Adam Lucy in her rearview mirror. He was standing on the sidewalk as though he were waiting for her. He was dressed in an open collar shirt, pants and a tweed jacket. For a moment she was unable to move. She wanted to remain in the car until he walked away, but he didn’t leave. She got out.

“How are you?” he asked. She wanted to hate him, to despise his very voice, but she couldn’t do it.

“I’m all right.”

“You look good; you look like you’re flourishing.”

“I’m all right,” she repeated.

“You understand why I turned your husband down, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

The longer she looked at him, the more she felt something very different about him. It was as though he had turned off all his sexual attractiveness; he wasn’t enticing; he didn’t tempt her with his eyes. He was almost asexual, more like an elderly man. It was eerie. His looks now frightened her, and she didn’t bathe in the warmth of the conversation and suggestiveness. If anything, she felt the need to get away from him.

“You’re sure you’re OK?”

“Yes,” she repeated. The way he looked at her now, she felt certain that he knew she was pregnant, but she fought back that idea. She was terrified of the possibility. “I’ve got to go,” she said. She started for the house.

“Take care of yourself,” he said.

She didn’t turn back, and she didn’t breathe again until she was in her house and the door was closed behind her. She looked at herself in the hall mirror. She was pale enough to go into a faint. She made up her mind. After lunch she would go down to the drugstore and fill the vitamin prescription.

“It isn’t his child,” she told her image in the mirror. “It can’t be his child. I won’t let it be his child. It’s our child.”

Then, as if to be sure she was right, she went to the front window in the living room and peered out between the curtains. He was gone, but the strange look in his eyes lingered like a nightmare.

“It’s our child,” she repeated and then rushed away from the window as if fleeing from any other possibility.

14

The cold weather that had begun a few nights ago lingered. Johnny pulled the zipper all the way up on his leather jacket. He was surprised at just how cold it was. He wasn’t two blocks away from his house before his earlobes tingled. Now he was sorry he hadn’t worn a hat, but concern about the weather was the least thing on his mind when he left.

He knew it was just his imagination, but he thought the colder air made the darkness deeper. Because of what was in his heart and because of what they were all setting out to do, he avoided the reach of streetlights and threaded his way in and out of the darker shadows. It was as if he believed that the moment he stepped into a lit area, he would set off all sorts of alarms.

When cars passed him on the streets, he turned away to make it harder for the drivers to identify him. He realized he probably appeared suspicious, but he couldn’t help it. He had told his parents he was going to Sandy’s house to study. Gary and Sheila would use the same story. Sandy’s father and stepmother had gone to the city to see a show and wouldn’t be home until late. No one could challenge the alibi.

As he approached familiar places in the village, places in which he had spent a good part of his youth, places for play and imagination, such as the old railroad station and the elementary school playground, he experienced some reluctance and uncertainty. Sitting around and planning things out with Mr. Lucy and the others was a great deal like some of the imaginary games and role-playing he had done at these locations. He could feel himself moving out of the world of make-believe and into the world of reality.

The outside lights on the elementary school draped the yard in a dreamlike setting. When he looked up at the sliding pond and the jungle gym, he could almost see a younger, innocent version of himself calling to him, urging him to turn back. He stopped to stare at the illusion and then he shook his head.

Even when I was younger, I was always alone, he thought. There was a distance between me and the people around me; there was a distance between me and my own family. There still is. But ever since I met Mr. Lucy, things have changed. I’m not going to turn back; I’m not ever going to turn back.

He shut his eyes and opened them and when he did so, the fantasy ended; the younger version of himself was gone, swallowed by the darkness that walled the school building and the playground. The elementary school recreational equipment looked small and insignificant again. He rushed onward, even more determined than before.

He met Gary and Sheila at the corner of Flag and Chestnut Streets. Gary’s father’s lumber yard was halfway down Chestnut before Chestnut crossed Maple Avenue. Like Johnny, they remained in the shadows, hovered against the Union National Bank building. Gary had his hands in his overcoat pockets. It was really only a raincoat and not warm enough for such a frigid night. Sheila had her winter coat on, the soft wool parker’s hood up. She was faceless until Johnny crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Got the key?” Johnny asked immediately.

“No problem.” Gary pulled his right hand out of the coat pocket and held up the key. Then he nodded emphatically in Sheila’s direction. Johnny looked at her for a moment.

“So we’re all set then,” he said. “Everything all right with you, Sheila?”

“What if he figures out that Sandy’s bringing him into a trap?”

“Then he won’t come.”

“Maybe he’ll bring one of his friends with him.”

“Then Sandy won’t come. She’s got it all arranged. She would have called us if anything changed or something went wrong.”

“Something could go wrong afterward.”

“Only if we let it,” Johnny said. “And we won’t because we won’t let Mr. Lucy down and we won’t let ourselves down. Right?” he asked her after a moment’s pause.

“I hope so.”

“I know so. Come on. We’ve got to get set up.”

He and Gary started down Chestnut. Sheila hesitated against the building for a few moments and then hurried to catch up to them.

“My father’s playing cards tonight and my mother’s wrapped up in her television programs,” Gary said.

“My mother wanted to drive me over to Sandy’s,” Sheila said, “but I talked her out of it.”

“How did you do that?” Johnny asked.

“I told her I could burn off more calories by walking in the cold weather.”

“Good thinking. You wouldn’t have thought like that six months ago,” he said. “And who do you have to thank for it?”

“Mr. Lucy,” she replied as though it were part of a catechism.

When they reached the lumber yard, Gary opened the gate with his key.

“One key fits all the important locks,” Gary explained. “That’s my father’s ingenious idea.”

“It’s a good idea,” Johnny admitted.

They left the gate slightly ajar as planned and went through the yard to the outer office door. Gary opened the door and flipped on the lights.

“What if someone sees the lights on and calls your home?” Sheila asked quickly. She spoke with a new enthusiasm, as though the realization would definitely put an obstacle in their way.

“My father comes down here often at night. He’s practically married to this place. I told you…tonight’s perfect because he’s at his card game, and nothing interferes with his card game.”

He left the office door unlocked and they moved through the outer lobby where various tools and accessories were on display. Gary opened his father’s office and flipped on the lights in there as well. There was another doorway that faced the interior of the yard.

“My father keeps that door open all the time, even during the colder months,” he explained. “He likes to sit behind his desk there and yell orders like the captain of a ship.”

“Why doesn’t he just get a public address system?” Johnny asked.

“He doesn’t trust them. The men could claim they don’t hear him.”

Gary went to the other door and opened it so they could go out through it and around to the front of the office when the time came. Then he went back out to the lobby. Sheila stood by the outside doorway as though she were anticipating an escape. Johnny checked his watch with the desk clock.

“About fifteen minutes,” he said.

Gary reentered and handed him a hammer. When he offered one to Sheila, she just stared at it as though she couldn’t move a limb. Gary poked her with it.

“Here,” he said. She took it reluctantly and held it out away from her body as though it already dripped with blood.

“It’s heavy,” she said.

“Makes it easier,” Gary said. “And faster.”

“I don’t know if I can…” Her voice was so thin, it was nearly a whisper.

“You’ll be able to when the time comes,” Johnny said. “Don’t worry about it.”

He turned as Gary unpacked the large, black plastic bag and unfolded it before him. Sheila stared down at it and pulled herself back against the office wall. Her face had paled considerably and her lips were nearly white, but only Johnny noticed. Gary was wrapped up in his preparations.

“Take it easy,” Johnny said to her. “Just concentrate on the plan and remember the things Mr. Lucy told us.”

“I’ll try,” she said.

“Don’t fuck up,” Gary snapped.

“I said I’ll try.”

“All right,” Johnny said. “It’s getting too close to the time. Let’s not have any bickering now.”

“Right,” Gary said. “Shit,” he said. “I forgot to turn out the lights in the outer office. He won’t come in unless he feels it’s safe.”

“Do it. Quickly,” Johnny commanded.

“That’s what I mean,” Sheila said when Gary left the inner office. “We can make a mistake and…”

“We won’t.” Johnny was getting tired of buoying her. He was growing nervous himself as the clock ticked on. The outer office lights went off and Gary returned.

“Any minute now,” Gary said. Johnny just nodded. His eyes burned with excitement. He looked from Sheila to Gary and then back to Sheila. She was frozen in position. The silence was so thick and intimidating it threatened to crash through their forced discipline. Sandy’s voice finally broke it.

“Where are you?” she called from the outer office door.

“Back here,” Gary responded. “Where we’re supposed to be.” He looked at Johnny and smiled.

“Sorry I’m late,” Sandy said as she came through the outer office.

“That’s all right. We just got here ourselves,” Johnny said. He and Gary and Sheila stared at her. She nodded and turned her head slightly to the rear to indicate that Richard Slattery was right behind her, probably entering the outer office right now.

“All right,” Gary said, “why did you want us to have this emergency meeting?”

“I told you I was talking to Richard Slattery,” she said.

“Big deal,” Gary said, loud enough for anyone hiding in the outer office to hear him clearly. “I saw you talking to him. If you want to go slumming, it’s not our fault.”

“Let her talk,” Johnny said. “What’s going on?”

“He knows what you two did to Mr. Zola,” she said and closed Gary’s father’s office door a little more. Johnny imagined that was a prearranged signal between her and Slattery.

“What do you mean, he knows? How can he know anything?” Gary asked, pretending anger. “Unless you said something to him.”

“I didn’t say anything to him, but he knows. Mr. Zola told him,” she added.

“What’s he going to do about it?” Johnny asked and began gesturing frantically at Sheila to get into the conversation.

“He…he can’t do anything about it,” Sheila said. Her eyes widened as Gary and Johnny started toward the outer door. “He doesn’t have any proof.”

“She’s right,” Gary said. He was at the doorway. Johnny slipped out first. “How’s he going to do anything without any real proof? And what did Zola tell him anyway?”

“Zola told him…” Sandy began her long, slow recapping of Slattery’s story. Gary went out behind Johnny and they moved quickly around the building to the front. Gary carried his hammer in his right hand and the plastic bag in his left. Johnny crouched below the window and made his way to the front door. He paused and then peered in through it.

Slattery was squatting by the inner office door. Only a thin ray of light emerged from behind it because of the way Sandy had closed it. He had his tape recorder on the floor and he was struggling to get a view of Sandy within. Johnny raised his hammer to indicate all was clear and then he charged through the outer office door, Gary right behind him.

Slattery didn’t hear them until they were halfway across the outer office. He started to rise, shocked and surprised by their appearance, but before he was completely standing, Johnny delivered the first blow. The hammer struck Slattery right in the center of his forehead. His moan was cut short and he fell back against the wall. Almost simultaneously, Gary struck him in the center of his head. He was sure he felt the skull bone give way.

Sandy opened the inner office door, flooding the lobby with light. Slattery had fallen to his right and was attempting to feign off another blow. Sandy looked at the two boys and then swung her hammer laterally, striking Slattery at the base of his skull. The blow drove him forward to his stomach.

“Sheila!” Johnny screamed. She appeared in the doorway. “It’s your turn,” he said. She looked down at the crumpled body. Slattery groaned and twitched. Sandy pulled her forward, practically pushing her on top of him. “Strike him,” Johnny demanded. “Strike him for Mr. Lucy.”

“Strike him,” Gary repeated.

“For Mr. Lucy,” Sandy said.

Sheila raised her hammer and then brought it down on Slattery’s back, losing her balance and falling over him in the process. She screamed until Johnny grabbed her tightly, squeezing her face to stop the shouts.

“You’ll bring someone to the yard,” he said. “Shut up.”

She quieted down immediately. Johnny helped her to her feet and the four of them gazed down at the still body of Richard Slattery. After a moment Gary went to his knees and began pulling the plastic bag over the body.

“Help him,” Johnny commanded, but Sheila shook her head. She looked close to shock. “Damn it.” He got down on his knees, too, and helped pull the bag up the body until Slattery was completely submerged within it. Then Gary tied the top closed.

“Maybe he’s not quite…dead,” Sandy said.

Johnny looked up at her and then down at the bag.

“Down here,” he commanded. “Everyone on your knees. Now!” he shouted at Sheila. She and Sandy got to their knees and the four of them surrounded the bag. Gary handed Sheila’s hammer back to her and then he and Johnny picked up theirs. Sandy still had hers in her hand. “Raise them,” Johnny commanded. “Higher,” he said, looking at Sheila. All four hammers wavered in the air above them. “For Mr. Lucy,” he said.

“For Mr. Lucy,” Gary repeated. Sandy closed her eyes as though she needed to conjure Mr. Lucy’s face before her.

“For Mr. Lucy,” she said.

“For Mr. Lucy,” Sheila added quickly, and then at Johnny’s signal, all four hammers came down on the body.

They pounded and they pounded until Sheila’s sobbing brought it to an end.

When Gary was a preschooler, his father occasionally would bring him to the lumberyard. At the age of four and five, he didn’t mind going there; and even during most of his elementary school years, he enjoyed hanging around the men and the machinery. His father had a yardman then, Whitey Stone, a forty-year-old Englishman who still had traces of an accent even though he had been living in America for nearly twenty years. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with hard, long arms and enormous hands. He had a physical strength that seemed to radiate around him and he was the kind of man for whom groups of people would part.

Everyone called him Whitey because his blond hair was so light it looked white. Gary didn’t like him so much as he was in awe of him. Even on the coldest days, Whitey would work in a T-shirt, his muscles outlined emphatically under the thin material. Gary would stand on the sidelines, preferably undetected, and watch him work for hours.

From the first day they met until the day before Whitey disappeared from the yard, he never talked down to Gary. It was amusing, but even a bit frightening, to see a grown man, especially one as big as Whitey Stone, talk to him as though he were one of the men in the yard. Whitey’s voice didn’t change tone the way other adults’ voices changed whenever they spoke to him, and Whitey gave him orders and made requests with an apparent disregard to his age and size. “Go get this tool; go get that. Go tell your father this. Bring these measurements to the office.”

Whitey was certainly a large part of what made the yard interesting for him. One day, Whitey noticed Gary watching him loading some new lumber onto the bins in one of the storage buildings. He paused in his work, wiped his forehead with the handkerchief he had in his back pocket, and gestured for Gary to come closer.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Gary said. He looked back toward the office. His father had already forgotten he had brought him along.

“Bored already, huh?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t know what it was to be bored, but he didn’t think to ask.

“How would you like your own clubhouse?” Whitey asked. “Your own secret clubhouse?”

Gary’s eyes lit up with interest. He had seen the kids on the television show, The Brady Bunch, building their own secret clubhouse, so he knew what it was.

“Where?”

“Oh, there’s a good one in here,” Whitey said. Gary looked into the storage building. He never liked going in them that much. There wasn’t a great deal to interest him, just different kinds and sizes of lumber piled on shelves.

“I don’t see it.”

“That’s because it’s a secret. Half these guys work around here and don’t know what the hell’s going on. Come on,” Whitey said. He led Gary into the storage building to a far right corner. There he took a broom that was against the wall and brushed some sawdust off the floor. Gary studied the spot. Gradually, he made out the outline of a small trapdoor. “It’s a crawl space,” Whitey explained. “Not a full basement, just enough to get around under there. Grown men have to squat and all, but you could practically stand up. It goes all the way to the end of the building, but you don’t need all of it. Just make something for yourself here,” he said, indicating the immediate spot.

Whitey opened the door and Gary looked down with interest.

“It’s dark in there.”

“Well, if you want a secret spot, there it is,” Whitey said. He held the door up a while and then lowered it. He looked at Gary and shook his head. “When I was a kid, that would be great,” he said, and walked away.

Gary stared down at the door, but it took him quite a while to get up enough courage to open the door and go down there. It didn’t happen until days later. When he got over his initial fear, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed being able to hide away from his father and crawl to the ends of the building and observe people through the cracks undetected.

After he stopped going to the lumber yard, after he had reached the point where he could be left on his own at home, he rarely thought about the secret hiding place. Occasionally, he would remember Whitey Stone and think about the days he spent crawling under the storage building and pretending different things.

But when they had discussed their plan at Mr. Lucy’s, the old hiding place came to him quickly, emerging from his memory so fast it was almost as though it had been meant for this purpose. No one ever went down there anymore; few rarely did when he was using it as a secret clubhouse. It was the perfect spot.

“Thank you, Whitey Stone,” he said aloud as he and Johnny carried Richard Slattery’s body in the black plastic bag across the yard. They had dropped his tape recorder in it as well. The girls followed, Sheila, zombielike, but Sandy at her side carrying the flashlight. Gary had already told Johnny who Whitey Stone was so he didn’t ask.

“How much farther?” Sandy asked.

“We just have to go in here, the first storage building,” Gary said, and gestured toward it with his head. “Hold it,” he said when he reached the open bin. “Shine the light in there.” Sandy did so. “Just keep close to the wall,” he told Johnny and he led their way. As they turned and twisted, it was apparent that the body was growing increasingly heavy.

“You want to rest awhile?” Johnny asked him.

“No. It’s just ahead. Shine the light up toward that corner,” he told Sandy. She looked at Sheila and then walked past the boys. “OK,” Gary said, “right here.”

“Where?” Johnny said.

“That’s the beauty of it. Nobody even gives a shit about it. It’s always covered with sawdust and crap.”

He and Johnny lowered the dead body to the floor and Gary began to brush away the crawl space door. Sandy stood there holding the light on the spot. Sheila remained a few feet behind in the shadows. Gary pulled the door up abruptly and reached for the flashlight. Then he went down and shined the light about for a few moments.

“Well?” Johnny said.

“Just reliving old memories.”

“Great time for it.”

“All right, no sweat. Here, Sandy, hold the light,” Gary said, and reached up to take hold of the bag. Johnny slid the end toward the opening and they lowered the body into the crawl space. After the body was completely below, Johnny jumped in and helped Gary pull it along so it was well within the bowels of the building. Satisfied where they had put it, they both crawled out.

“Finished?” Sandy asked.

“There’s nothing else to do,” Gary said.

“Someone’s going to find it,” Sheila said. It was the first thing she had said since they carried the body out of the office.

“No one’s going to find it because no one ever goes down there.”

“Someone might someday,” she said.

“Someone might…smell it,” Sandy said.

“They got a point,” Johnny said. He wondered why Mr. Lucy hadn’t made more of it. He didn’t seem as intent about the afterward as he did about the plan to get Slattery.

“So what’d’ya want to do, carry it somewhere else?”

“No. What we should do is bury it under there.”

“Now? It’s freezin’.”

“We gotta do it before the ground gets frozen,” Johnny said.

“How about tomorrow night? Just you and me,” Gary said and looked toward Sheila.

“All right. It shouldn’t be any problem leaving it there for just one day.”

“I could do with something hot to drink,” Gary said.

“Everyone come over to my house,” Sandy said. “I’ll brew some tea.”

“Maybe we should go to Mr. Lucy’s,” Gary said.

“No,” Johnny said quickly. “He made a point of telling us not to do that. We’ll call him from Sandy’s.”

“All right,” Gary said. “Well, come on,” he said, snapping Sheila out of a daze, “let’s get the hell out of here.”

The four of them moved out of the yard quickly. Gary locked the gate behind him. For a moment they all stood there looking back through the darkness. Then, they started back up Chestnut. The sight of Slattery’s car parked at the corner brought them to a halt.

“The police will find it here,” Sheila said quickly.

“So what?” Johnny said. “What does that mean?”

“It’s not far from the lumber yard,” she replied, but almost immediately she saw that there would be little meaning in that for anyone who wasn’t in on it.

“It’s not far from Samuels Dairy either,” Gary said.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Johnny said. “Forget about it,” he added, but once again, he wondered why Mr. Lucy hadn’t brought it up during their discussions. Surely he must have realized Slattery would have his car. “Listen,” Johnny said, “maybe it’s not a good idea for us to all be seen walking together. Let’s split up. You girls go on together.”

“But you’re coming to my house, aren’t you?” Sandy asked. Johnny could see that she didn’t want to be left alone with Sheila.

“Yeah. We’ll be there in a few minutes. Go on,” Johnny said. He watched them hurry off. Their splitting up was another thing Mr. Lucy should have thought about during the planning. Maybe he is just showing me that he has faith in me, Johnny thought. Maybe he knew I would think of these things.

“Sheila’s pretty shaky,” Gary said.

“She’ll tighten up once we all meet again with Mr. Lucy.”

“I wish we could have met with him tonight.”

“It’ll be all right,” Johnny said. But now he, too, wondered why Mr. Lucy was so insistent that they not go to his place afterward. “Come on. Let’s cut through Crammer’s backyard,” he said, and moved into the darkness, Gary right behind him. They moved in silence and without hesitation, driven by the vivid images of the violence they had just committed.

They all gathered in the kitchen of Sandy’s house. Under the bright light, Sheila looked even paler than before. Gary, coming down from his own peak of excitement and nervousness, was the most talkative. He began the moment he and Johnny entered the house.

“It was smooth; it was easy; it went well. We did it so fast it seems more like a dream,” he said as they all took seats around the table. Sandy had gone right to brewing the tea. She wanted to keep busy and keep Sheila busy. Sheila set the table without saying a word. “All we have to do now is stay cool.” He looked about for confirmation, but the others were staring down at the cups. “Hey, anyone listening to me?”

“Yeah, we heard you,” Johnny said.

“Why the long faces? We did what we had to do, didn’t we?”

“Of course,” Johnny replied quickly. He looked to Sandy.

“Yes,” she said. Sheila only nodded slightly.

“So? Let’s forget it.”

“Forget it?” Sheila asked. She asked it so quickly and so emphatically, everyone else felt jolted back to reality. “How can you forget it?”

“He doesn’t mean to actually forget it,” Johnny said. “He means don’t let it dominate your every thought.”

“Those were Mr. Lucy’s exact words,” Sandy said. “Remember?”

“I remember,” Sheila said, “but it’s easier said than done.”

“Hey, shouldn’t we have called him by now?” Gary asked. Sandy looked to Johnny. He nodded and got up.

“I just wanted us to settle down for a few moments. We don’t want him to think we have any regrets about it,” he added, directing his attention mostly at Sheila. Gary closed and opened his eyes to indicate understanding.

“I’ll be all right,” Sheila said. “I’m just not going to be as bubbly as Gary is.”

“I’m not bubbly. That’s a dumb thing to say.”

“Forget it,” Johnny said quickly. He straightened his posture to emulate Mr. Lucy’s and brought his head up in the same fashion. “We’ll never need our unity more than we need it now. This isn’t the time for petty bickering.”

“Johnny’s right,” Sandy said.

“Just tell her to lay off me.”

“I’m not doing anything to you. All I said was…”

“Stop!” Johnny commanded. “I’m going to call Mr. Lucy now. He should hear only good things from us.”

Everyone else was obediently quiet as Johnny went to the wall phone and dialed Mr. Lucy’s number. He looked back at them after the second ring. They sat at attention, waiting. Finally, Mr. Lucy picked up the receiver.

“It’s me,” Johnny said. “We’re at Sandy’s house having tea. It’s all over.”

“And how did it go?” Mr. Lucy asked.

“Smoothly, just as planned. There were one or two things we didn’t think of, but we covered them.”

“Like what?”

“We just can’t leave the body under the floor of the storage building. Gary and I are going back there tomorrow night to bury it in the ground under the floor.”

“Good.”

“We forgot about Slattery’s car. It’s still on Chestnut.”

“So what? That doesn’t tie anything to you.”

“That’s what I told everyone,” Johnny said, and smiled at them. Gary’s eyes lightened and Sandy relaxed. Only Sheila remained stiff.

“Is everyone all right?”

“Almost,” Johnny said.

“Sheila?”

“Yes.”

“She’ll be OK. We’ll all be together tomorrow night.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Tell everyone…that I’m grateful. Tell them…they’re the best friends I’ve ever had,” Mr. Lucy said. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he added quickly and hung up.

Johnny couldn’t release his grip on the receiver. He wished he could hold those words forever in his ear and replay them whenever he wanted. He couldn’t keep the tears from filling his eyes. Finally, he forced himself to swallow and hung up the phone.

“What is it?” Sandy asked. She saw his reaction and how emotional he was. Gary stopped smiling and leaned forward. Even Sheila forgot her fear and turned to him with great interest. “What did he say?”

“He said I should tell you he’s grateful.”

“Really?” Gary said.

Johnny looked up at him, and from the expression on his face they knew he had more.

“Then he said to tell you we’re the best friends he’s ever had.”

For a long moment, no one could speak. The words closed everyone’s throat and brought tears to everyone’s eyes. Sheila even felt a little guilty for how she had behaved. Sandy got up and went to his side.

“I’m glad we did it,” she said.

“So am I,” Gary said, getting up and coming over to them. His moment of emotion had already hardened into determination and confidence.

They all turned to Sheila. She started to rise.

“I’m glad, too,” she said.

And then they all embraced…the four of them reaching around each other’s shoulders and waists, pulling their bodies tightly against one another as though they could combine the best of each of them to form an entirely new entity—Mr. Lucy’s Wonder Child.

Now they were able to face another day.

15

When Barton Lorner returned home from work late in the afternoon, he first thought that Ellen wasn’t there. He called to her as soon as he entered the house, but there was no response. There were no sounds coming from the kitchen, so after he took off his jacket and dropped the paper on the table in the living room, he went directly upstairs. He discovered she wasn’t anywhere on the upper floor.

He went back downstairs and called for her again, and again there was no response. Curious now, because her car was in the driveway, he went into the kitchen expecting to find a note under the magnet on the refrigerator door. There was nothing there and there was no sign of her preparation of dinner. He went on into her exercise room and there he found her.

She was on her knees by the window, peering out over the sill, staring intently at the tutor’s house. For a few moments, Bart was unable to do anything but look at Ellen. She was dressed only in a bra and panties. Her hair was disheveled and she had a twisted and wild expression on her face. He was actually frightened by her demeanor.

Of course what amazed him was that she hadn’t responded to his calls, nor had she apparently heard his entrance into the house. She looked as though she had been in that position by that window for hours. He thought that if he spoke, she would jump out of her skin, so he took a deep, loud breath, hoping that would be enough.

It wasn’t. She either didn’t hear or see him or did but didn’t want to break her concentration. He grew annoyed and went further into the room.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, in as calm and soft a tone he could. Contrary to what he expected, she turned to him very slowly. It was eerie because it was as though she thought he had been standing there for hours; as though she thought he were part of whatever it was she was doing.

Her twisted expression became a wry smile. It gave him the chills and he actually backed away. Then, without saying a word, she went back to staring out the window. He observed her for a moment and walked over to her.

“I asked you what you were doing, Ellen. What is this?”

“Get back,” she said. “I don’t want him to see you in the window.”

“Well, what is going on?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you dressed like this?”

“I went up to change when I thought about it,” she said, “and then I came down to watch.”

“Thought about what? Watch what?”

“He’s doing something strange; he’s got to be.”

“Why? Why do you keep suggesting something like that? What do you know?”

“I sense it,” she said. All the while she continued to look out the window.

“Did he say something to you? Did he do something to you?”

“No,” she said quickly. Then she looked up at Bart as though she just realized it was he who was standing there. He saw the expression on her face soften.

Feeling compassionate now, he reached out and guided her to her feet. She fell against him and he embraced her, feeling the great trembling in her body.

“Ellen,” he said, “what is it, honey? Tell me.”

She pressed her face into the curve of his neck and he felt the warm tears beginning. Without further delay, he led her out of the room. She kept herself against him as they moved through the kitchen and to the stairway.

“You’ve got to talk,” he said. “You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong or I can’t help you,” he added. She only moaned as he started them up the stairs. He took her to the bedroom and helped her get under the covers. Almost immediately, she closed her eyes. “Ellen?” There was no response.

He looked about helplessly, hoping for a clue that would lead him to some understanding of what was happening. The clothes she had worn during the day were draped over the chair by the vanity table and her pocketbook was on the table. He saw a prescription next to it.

“You went to the doctor?” he asked, but she looked as though she was already fast asleep. He went to the table and read the prescription. “What the hell is this?” He turned back and waited a moment and then he rushed out of the room and went downstairs to the phone in the kitchen. He dialed the doctor’s office and fortunately caught Dr. Bloom just before he was leaving his office for the day.

“Yes, Bart?”

“Doc, I got problems here.”

“What’s up?”

“I came home from work and found Ellen…found her quite distraught. Before I could get anything out of her that made any sense, she practically passed out on me.”

“Passed out?”

“Well, more like fell into a deep sleep. Did you give her some kind of sedative?”

“No, not for months. She might still have some of those I prescribed. Was she very lethargic? Does she have any fever?”

“No, no fever. Yeah, she was drained of all her strength.” The doctor was silent for a long moment. “You saw her today, right?”

“Yes, did she talk about it?”

“No. She was out of it before I could ask her anything.”

“Well, do you have any idea if she took any of those sedatives and, if so, how many?”

“I have no idea, Doc. She’s really acting strange. I’m worried.”

“See if you can wake her. If you’re having trouble, get her to the emergency room. Call my office before you leave and the answering service will reach me.”

“All right,” Bart said. “Thanks.” The telephone receiver felt as light as a feather. He dropped it into its cradle and stood there staring at the wall. Then he moved slowly out of the kitchen toward the stairway. He picked up speed as he ascended, hoping Ellen would be awake when he returned to the bedroom, but her eyes were closed and she apparently had not moved an inch.

He went to the side of the bed and shook her shoulder. Her eyelids didn’t even flutter.

“Ellen, wake up. Ellen.” He lifted her into a sitting position and still she did not respond. He slapped her face gently and then a little more sharply. He dropped her back to the pillow and went into the bathroom to soak a washcloth in cold water, which he brought back and spread over her forehead. Still, there was no real response. “Christ,” he said. “Ellen, damn it.”

He thought for a moment and then dialed the doctor again. The answering service responded.

“Please tell the doctor that Barton Lorner is bringing his wife to the hospital emergency room.”

“Right away, sir,” the operator said.

He went to the closet and took out her light blue wool robe. After he got her into it and tied it firmly, he tried to get her into a standing position, but she was so limp and loose, he had trouble balancing her. When he started to lift her, he realized he was going to have a great deal of trouble getting her down the stairs and into the car. He was afraid he would drop her and compound the problem. The best way to handle this was to call for the volunteer ambulance squad, but he hated the thought of all that delay.

Almost on cue, like the deus ex machina of Greek tragedy, the doorbell rang. Whoever it was had come at the right time. He lowered her to the bed again and rushed down the stairs. When he opened the door, Adam Lucy smiled in at him.

“I found I had this old business English workbook,” Adam began.

“Forget that, forget that. Help me, hurry,” Bart said.

“What is it?”

“Upstairs, quickly.” He turned and ran up the flight with Adam Lucy right behind him. “I think she took too many sedatives,” Bart said when Adam stopped in the bedroom doorway. “We’ve got to get her in the car and to the hospital.”

“Sure.”

Bart went to take her under the arms, but Adam moved before him and simply scooped her into his. For a split second, Bart didn’t know how to react. She was like a child in his arms; there wasn’t the slightest suggestion of difficulty or struggle.

I could have done that too, Bart thought.

“Go ahead, lead the way. I’ve got her.”

Bart started out. When he got to the stairs, he wanted to take hold of her, too, but it was too awkward and really unnecessary. The only significant contribution he could make was to open the front door and open the car door.

Adam placed her gently on the backseat and then looked at Bart.

“I’ll ride in the back with her,” he said. “Go on, start it up.”

“Thanks,” Bart said. He got in quickly and gunned the engine. Then he backed out abruptly.

After he shifted into drive and shot off down the avenue, he checked things out by looking into the rearview mirror. Adam Lucy had Ellen securely in his arms. She looked comfortable and protected. It was only after he picked up speed on the straightaway that led to the hospital that he remembered what Ellen had been doing when he first found her.

The combination of fear and confusion was overwhelming. He felt like a man who had lost control of the events of his life. Even the car was taking him along in a predetermined direction. He could do nothing but wait for the outcome to be revealed.

The search for Richard Slattery reached epic proportions for the small community. His car had been found quickly and all of the local police plus a half dozen deputies from the sheriff’s department were brought into the effort as the day progressed. They questioned everyone on Chestnut, but no one living there had heard or seen a thing. The Slatterys became more and more frantic.

At the start of the afternoon session in school, Detective Herman Crawson from the township police force set up headquarters in the principal’s office. Bill Carman spent most of his time moving from the faculty room to the superintendent’s office and back up to his outer office while the investigation continued. A constant stream of students were called in, with Richard Slattery’s closest friends questioned the longest.

Herman Crawson was a twenty-two-year veteran of the police force. He had a dry sense of humor and a facade of indifference in his approach that often caused alleged criminals to drop their defenses. At fifty-three, he was at least twenty pounds too heavy, with a rapidly receding hairline and a continual gray-black five o’clock shadow over his soft cheeks and round jaw. A town resident all his mature life, he knew of the Slatterys, and he appreciated the pressure put on him to resolve the problem.

Normally, he would have made the usual first assumption about the missing boy: He had a fight with his parents and ran off in a tantrum. But the consistency with which every adult and just about all of the students he had spoken to testified to the boy’s good character sounded a discordant note that his years of experience amplified. By two o’clock that afternoon, he was worried. Something was definitely not right.

Of Mr. Lucy’s four, only Sandy was called to speak to Crawson, and only because one of Richard Slattery’s friends said Richard had bragged about the progress he was making with her. But Mr. Lucy had prepared her for this, so she wasn’t unduly concerned, nor was Johnny or Gary. Sheila was as nervous as ever.

Mr. Lucy had warned her that although they had taken some pains to keep her rendezvous with Slattery quiet, they had to assume some leakage. She was ready with the answers. First, she took on the proper attitude.

Big-eyed and excited, eager to help, curious and a little frightened, she looked anxious to be questioned by Crawson. He sat back behind Bill Carman’s desk and folded his hands over his paunch. The girl was attractive; he could understand why Richard Slattery would be proud of his romantic progress.

“You know why I asked you to come down?” he began when she took the seat he had placed in front of Carman’s desk.

“Oh sure. Everyone’s talking about it.”

Crawson nodded and turned the chair so that he wasn’t looking directly at her. He seemed to be fighting boredom. Sandy relaxed and crossed her legs.

“You were seeing Richard Slattery?” he asked as though he had just read the question off the wall.

“Seeing?”

“You know…boyfriend, girlfriend?”

“Oh.” She smiled. “Well, not really, not yet. He came over my house a couple of times.”

“Did he come over last night?”

“No.”

Crawson turned to face her. For a moment he simply stared at her. He often found that people who lied after they were asked a question couldn’t face him down immediately afterward. This girl continued to look eager and excited. Christ, he thought, is everything a show to these kids? Damn the television world.

“Was he supposed to?”

“It wasn’t definite. He was going to call.”

“And he didn’t call?”

“No. What do you think happened?” she asked.

He almost smiled. “That’s what I’m here to find out. Did he tell you about anyone else he might see or anyplace he might go?”

She thought for a moment and then shook her head. He turned around in the chair again and looked at the wall. He said nothing for almost a half a minute, but she didn’t fidget or change expression.

“Ever mention any enemies?”

“Enemies? No. There was one boy he didn’t like.”

“Oh? Why?”

“He said he was a poor class leader.”

“Who’s that?”

“Paul Hope.”

“Hope, huh. Does Hope know what he thinks of him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Anyone else?”

“We didn’t really talk that much about other kids.”

“Oh?” He looked at her again. If he were going with her, he thought, he wouldn’t talk that much about other boys either. “Do you mind telling me what you think of him?”

“Mind? No, I don’t mind. I liked him. He was a lot more interesting than most of the boys around here. I could have an intelligent conversation with him and he wasn’t out for only one thing, if you know what I mean?”

“I think so,” he said dryly. “Do you have any idea where he might be?” he asked, snapping out of his reverie.

“No, sir.”

“He never mentioned running off or anything?”

“Oh no.”

“What time was he supposed to call you?”

“Any time after six.”

“Did you try to call him?”

“No. I thought if he wanted to see me, he’d call.”

“Uh huh. You’re not one of these modern women who thinks it’s all right to invite the boy over?”

Sandy laughed.

“Never had to before,” she said, and Crawson’s eyes widened. “If he wanted to see me, he would have called,” she repeated. He nodded. Something had to be wrong if the boy had an opportunity to see this girl and he didn’t, he thought.

“Any idea why he was on Chestnut Street?”

“Chestnut.” She thought a moment. “No, sir.”

“OK,” Crawson said. “If you hear anything or think of anything that might help us, tell the principal or call the station.”

“Sure,” she said.

“You can go back to class now. Thanks.” He turned to look out the window, but when Sandy got up, he watched her go.

Something was bothering him about the interview, but he couldn’t crystallize it, and he was annoyed with himself for that failure.

That wasn’t good police work, he thought. He chastised himself for thinking too much about the girl and not enough about what she was saying.

“Maybe this is what they mean by male menopause,” he muttered to himself and promised himself he would bear down harder on everything else from here on in.

Johnny saw Gary and Sandy waiting for him in front of the Union National Bank building. It wasn’t as cold as the night before, but Gary was dressed warmer. He wore gloves and a sock hat. They looked very nervous when he arrived, and he imagined it was because of the frequent sighting of police patrol cars. They had almost decided to put off the burial, but Johnny thought it was more important than ever they complete the job.

“Where’s Sheila? Didn’t she come with you?” he asked Sandy.

“She didn’t show at my house and I couldn’t wait any longer if I was going to meet you guys.”

“Ain’t that just great,” Gary said, annoyed.

“Maybe we’re better off. She’s too nervous to be of any real help. We’d have to worry about her the whole time.”

“Think she’ll come after we get there?” Sandy asked.

“Naw. She’d never come by herself. She’s too afraid,” Johnny said. Gary agreed.

“Did you call Mr. Lucy?” he asked.

“I called right after school, but there was no answer. I figured we’d just go there after we were finished.”

“He’s not going to like Sheila not being with us,” Sandy said.

“She’s right,” Gary said.

“Well…maybe we’ll call her after we’re through and have her meet us at his place. She’ll do that.”

“OK,” Sandy said. “I saw a couple of police cars as I walked over here.”

“I know. Let’s get a move on,” Johnny said. “It shouldn’t take us long. You’ll hold the flashlight and we’ll dig quickly.”

They started away, moving so softly they looked like three shadows taking shape. When they reached Chestnut, they found it just as quiet and deserted as it was the night before. Nevertheless, Johnny had them pause and wait in the darkness while he perused the street more carefully. Satisfied they were safe, he signaled the other two and they headed for the lumberyard. Gary opened the gate and they slipped in quickly. He went directly to the office and got them the largest flashlight the lumberyard sold. Then he led them to the toolshed and they took two shovels.

“It’s not going to be easy digging under there,” he said.

“We don’t have to go down that deep, just enough to cover the body and the bag,” Johnny said.

“The ground’s like cement. Maybe I oughtta get a pick, too.”

“Come on already. We don’t have that much time.” Johnny paused for a few moments, listening. “Where’s your father tonight?”

“He’s home. He says he has a cold. My mother’s in bed watching television. They don’t even know I left.”

“Good,” Johnny said, and they went directly to the wood storage building. Inside, Sandy turned on the flashlight and they followed the beam to the rear of the building. They stopped by the crawl space door and stared down at it in silence as though it were the gateway to hell. “After we’re finished,” Johnny said, “we’ll cover it with sawdust again so it doesn’t look disturbed.”

“Right,” Gary said. “Let’s go.” He bent down and pulled the door open. “Shine her in,” he told Sandy. She did so and he and Johnny descended. As soon as they were down, she followed. Nobody moved when the beam of light embraced the black plastic bag.

“Doesn’t it look like it moved?” Sandy asked. “I thought it was further toward the middle.” For a moment neither Gary nor Johnny responded.

“I can’t remember where it was exactly,” Johnny said. “How can you?”

“It just seemed more to the right in relation to the door,” Sandy said.

“I think she’s right,” Gary said.

“So what the hell do you think this means?”

“He might have been still alive,” Sandy said, “and turned, rolling to the left.”

“If he was, he’s not alive now,” Johnny said. “Let’s go. We can’t waste any more time.”

Crouched down, they all started forward.

Suddenly, lights came on from every direction—from under the sides of the building, from above them, and from the crawl space where two policemen emerged out from the darkness behind them.

“All right,” Detective Crawson said through the open crawl space door, “just back up and get up here.” He would have liked to have gone there with the patrolmen, but he couldn’t crouch down and squeeze around in such a small area with his weight problem.

Sandy dropped her flashlight. The beam settled on Johnny’s face and she saw the look of horror and surprise. For a moment none of them moved. Then the patrolmen approached and waved them toward the doorway.

“Shit,” Gary said. “How the hell…”

“Sheila,” Sandy said.

Johnny didn’t say a word. They made their way back to the crawl space doorway and Detective Crawson helped each of them up and out. Then Crawson knelt and looked into the doorway at the two patrolmen.

“Get the body,” he said. “All right,” he said, standing. “Everyone out of the building.”

The three of them walked to the doorway and reentered the yard. There were a half dozen or more policemen about, some of whom were from the sheriff’s office. Up by the gateway, they saw two policemen standing on both sides of Sheila.

“1 knew it,” Sandy said.

“Just keep walking,” Crawson said. He indicated the gate. They moved forward while the policemen behind them shouted orders to one another as Richard Slattery’s body was lifted up and out of the crawl space.

When they reached her, Sheila was crying. She tried not to look at any of them, but Johnny stepped up to her.

“How could you do this?” he asked, his voice revealing his incredulity. “How could you betray Mr. Lucy?”

Slowly Sheila lifted her head and wiped her eyes.

“I didn’t betray him,” she said. “He betrayed us. He called Mr. Carman and told him to send the police to my house.”

“You liar!”

“Mr. Carman came with them,” she said. “He told me Mr. Lucy said I should tell them the truth.”

“Liar!” Gary said.

“You disgusting creature,” Sandy said. “Doing this and then lying about Mr. Lucy.”

“I’m not lying.”

“She’s not lying,” Crawson said. “Now move your asses into that patrol car,” he added, indicating the unmarked car parked right in front of the lumberyard gate.

“Where’s Mr. Lucy?” Johnny asked.

“We’re not interested in the whereabouts of Mr. Lucy right now,” Crawson said. “We’re interested in what you’ve got to say for yourselves. Now move it,” he commanded. Sandy and Gary started toward the car. Johnny looked at it, looked at Sheila, and turned back to Detective Crawson.

“You’re lying,” he said. “You’re all lying.”

“Fine. We’re lying. Get going.” He gave Johnny a little push forward. Johnny started toward the car and then, just before he reached it, he bolted to the right, slipping in between the two sheriff’s deputies who had turned their attention to the black plastic body bag being carried across the yard.

“Hey!” Crawson screamed.

Johnny cut over the lawn of the nearest house and shot around through the backyard, the policemen pursuing. Although he didn’t really hang out in this area, he knew where the fences were, where to cut through the bushes, and which direction would take him through the darkest pathways. He ran with all his might, bending, twisting and jumping, extending the distance between himself and the pursuing policemen. He heard their shouts as more of them joined the chase.

When he came to Mr. Kelly’s stockade fence, he remembered where he and some of his friends had once dug a hole under it. The hole was still there, but it took some effort to get his body squeezed through because some of the earth had fallen in and he had gotten bigger. When he was safely within, he rushed across the yard, knowing it would provide him with a shortcut to Branch Road, the end of which would leave him out on Highland Avenue. There was only one thing on his mind from the moment he fled—get to Mr. Lucy.

The pursuing policemen were well behind him now, most of them off in other directions. He could no longer hear their shouts and when he emerged onto Branch Road, all was quiet, all was still. It was as though what had happened was just a dream. He was safe again, maybe even on his way to meet Gary and Sheila and Sandy.

Of course, he knew that wasn’t the case. He hurried along the street, keeping to the shadows until he reached Highland Avenue. Once he did so, he felt a sense of relief. It was as though hope and safety lay only a block away. He took a deep breath to calm himself down and wiped the sweat and dirt from his face. Then he proceeded to walk down the avenue as though it were months ago and he was heading for a tutorial with Mr. Lucy.

It could be that way, couldn’t it? he thought. If he closed his eyes and pressed down on his thoughts as hard as Mr. Lucy had taught him to do, he could drive himself back into the past, back to the days when he was just starting to grow and to change, to the days when he felt the world open up, when his body grew stronger and his pride emerged.

Sure, why not? When he got to that old house, the others would all be there waiting. Mr. Lucy would have tea for them and they would sit around the table and tell each other and him about all the things they feared and hated and dreamt of doing, and he would be listening, just as intently and as interestedly as ever. When it was all over, he would give them advice and instructions, and they would listen in awe.

Afterward, they would emerge reborn. They would feel that strength again, that unity that made them special. No one could stand before them; no one could discourage or defeat them. There was no one better than they were. After all, they had Mr. Lucy, didn’t they?

He quickened his pace, reliving all of this. When he reached the middle of the block, he broke out into a jog and then, as he drew closer and closer to the old house, he sped up until he was running. But as soon as the house came into view, he felt as if all the blood in his body settled into his feet. He stopped running and stood there, dumbfounded.

The house was totally dark and Mr. Lucy’s car was not in the driveway. Where would he be now? He knew they were supposed to come to his house right after the burial. How could he not be home? He had to be home. This was an illusion. Maybe he deliberately turned off all the lights; maybe he heard what had happened and he didn’t want to attract any attention, but he knew, he knew all the while, that Johnny would get here. Sure, he had faith in me, Johnny thought. He’s waiting for me in the darkness of his living room. He’s sitting in his chair and he’s waiting for my report.

He went up to the front door and tapped gently on the wood and waited. There was no response, so he put his lips where the door met the jamb and he whispered.

“Mr. Lucy? Mr. Lucy, it’s me, Johnny. I’m here. Mr. Lucy?”

He waited, but still there was no response. Impatient now, he went around the sides of the building and peered in the windows. It was so dark within, he could see nothing. There were no lights on; there was no movement. He tapped on the windowpane nevertheless.

“Mr. Lucy?”

Panic began to set in again. How could this be? Where was he? Sheila’s words came back to him: “I didn’t betray him. He betrayed us.”

“No,” Johnny said. He shook his head and stepped back from the old building. “No, no. Mr. Lucy, you gotta be in there. You gotta. Mr. Lucy. Mr. Lucy! Mr. Lucy!” His shouts brought Barton Lorner to his window.

“Hey,” he called, “what’s going on?”

Johnny spun around and looked at him.

“I…I need Mr. Lucy,” he said.

“Mr. Lucy’s not there.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. He’s gone. Go home.”

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Johnny was crying now. He couldn’t keep the tears from rushing forward, but he didn’t even realize he was crying.

“I saw him put suitcases into his car and drive away. That’s all I know, son. He’s gone.”

“You’re lying,” Johnny said.

“Huh?”

“He can’t be gone.” Johnny turned back to the house. “Mr. Lucy!”

“Hey!”

“Mr. Lucy!”

He struck the side of the house with his fist and called out again. Barton closed his window and went to the phone. Johnny struck the house again and again. He even shattered a window, driving a piece of the glass into his right palm. He didn’t notice the blood or the pain. He just continued to pound and shout.

When the police arrived, they had to pull him off the structure as if he were in a fistfight with another boy. He had to be forcibly restrained all the way back to the station, from where they quickly redirected him to the hospital emergency room, not only because they couldn’t control the bleeding, but because they couldn’t control the hysteria.

16

Late that afternoon Barton Lorner had sat beside Ellen’s bed in the hospital and had stared at her face in repose. She was out of danger, but he couldn’t get himself to relax. He had barely slept the night before, and he couldn’t shake the numbness he felt throughout his body all morning. He had been with her when she regained full consciousness and he had been with her most of the day.

She couldn’t remember taking the pills. He thought that was odd, but he didn’t pursue it. Their conversation skirted the incident as though to discuss it was to tread upon thin ice. He bought her some magazines and he talked about some of the news at work. The doctors told him it was better to let her initiate a discussion about what had happened and what she had done.

It wasn’t until those moments when he thought he might lose her that he realized how much he needed her, how much they had been a part of each other’s lives. Of course, like any other couple, they took so much for granted about each other. It never occurred to him that there might be a time when he would come home and she wouldn’t be there; she would never be there again.

Now, when he gave it some thought, he realized they hadn’t grown older together so much as they had grown into each other and become one. He hoped she saw it the same way, but he realized that whatever it was that had driven her to attempt to take her own life was something that denied the essence of their relationship.

Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned softly. Then she turned and looked at him, confusion once again registered on her face. It seemed that every time she slept and awoke in the hospital, she had to have things reexplained.

“Hi. How do you feel?”

“What happened to me?” she asked after looking around.

“You took too many of those pills Dr. Bloom gave you a while back.”

“Pills? Oh…” She looked as though her memory was more vivid this time. He leaned forward and took her hand.

“It was a close call,” he said.

“My God.”

“Yes, exactly. Do you remember taking them now? Do you remember why you took them?”

She stared at him for a moment and then turned away. He waited, holding her hand.

“I went to the doctor,” she said. She paused as if that was enough reason.

“I spoke to the doctor. He didn’t say anything was wrong.”

She looked away for a moment and then turned back quickly.

“Nothing’s physically wrong, Bart. I’m pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” He stared at her as though the word made no sense. “But why didn’t he…”

“I wanted to tell you myself.”

“This is fantastic. This is great,” he added, raising his voice.

“You’re happy about it?”

“Of course.”

“But I thought…you might think it’s too late for us.”

“Nonsense. You’ve got the body of a twenty-year-old. You didn’t get depressed and do it because of that, did you?” She didn’t reply for a moment. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said.

“OK. It’s all right. As long as you’re all right now. Everything’s all right. I’ll take you home tomorrow morning.”

“You’re really happy about it?”

“Would I say so if I weren’t?”

“I was going to get an abortion.”

“Put that idea out of your head. This is just what our marriage needs.”

“If you’re sure…”

“You’re making me feel guilty for wanting to be a father.”

“It’s not that.”

“Don’t worry then. Hey,” he said, looking at his watch, “it’s nearly dinnertime here. I hope you have a mother’s appetite. I’ve been eating your hospital food.”

“Yes, I’m hungry.”

“Good. You’ve got to take even better care of yourself now, you know.”

“OK.”

“I’ll get the bed into a sitting position for you,” he said, and pushed the button.

“Did I come here in an ambulance?”

“No, I didn’t want to take the time to call them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I put you through quite an ordeal.”

“As long as it has a happy ending. Speaking of endings,” he said, standing and walking to the window, “our neighbor appears to have given up on the community.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Lucy. He moved out late this afternoon.”

“Really?”

“I happened to see him loading his car and I came out to see what was up. He said he was leaving.” He turned back to her to see her reaction. She seemed happy about it. He didn’t want to pursue it, and even if he did, he thought this wasn’t the time. He could set her back if he pressed too hard. Someday, maybe she would tell him. Without analyzing it further, he knew he would dread it. “And that’s not all,” he said. “There’s a lot more excitement in town. The Slattery boy is missing,” he added and told her all about that.

By the time he arrived in the morning to take her home, she already knew the horrible story. The news had spread rapidly throughout the small community, leaving people dazed with the realization that such a horrible thing could happen in their town.

“All the families are devastated,” he told her. “Their kids seemed to be doing so well.”

“They were all working with Adam Lucy, weren’t they?” she asked as they drove home.

“Yes and apparently he was responsible for uncovering the terrible deed. He got some of the story out of Sheila Cohen and reported what he knew to Bill Carman who informed the police. I guess it was all too much for his sensibilities,” Bart said. “Everyone thinks that was why he left. Can’t say I blame him about that.”

“Is that what people think?”

“Well, why not, Ellen? The man is making so much progress and suddenly, it all turns bad. It must have been very difficult for him to have had to turn them in.”

“Oh Christ.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe that for a moment.”

“Well I don’t know why not. He was a great help when I needed it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He happened to be there when you…you overdosed. He was bringing you a review book for Business English.”

“What did he do?”

He was sorry he had brought it up. She seemed terrified.

“He helped carry you out of the house and rode in the car with you while I rushed us here. He stayed with me for a while and then I found him a ride back. That’s all, but I must say he was very concerned about you and didn’t leave until he heard that you’d be OK.”

She said nothing. She looked out, hypnotized by the sides of the road that seemed to turn liquid as they drove on. Everything seemed so different to her. It was as if she had been away a long time, “as if I died and came back,” she thought. Even her own home looked strange. She was glad to be back, but it all looked so changed.

“Want some coffee?” Bart asked. “I’ll put it up.”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead, sit in the living room. Rest.”

“I’m not an invalid, Bart. It’s all right.”

“Nevertheless, you should take it easy for a day or two until you work yourself back into a schedule. The doctor said so. I heard him.”

“All right. I’ll take it easy.” He kissed her on the cheek and went into the kitchen.

She went right to the front window in the living room and stared out at the street. It was as quiet as ever, but she half expected to see Adam Lucy come walking down the sidewalk. She imagined him in that heavy, turtleneck sweater, moving with a firm stride, the little puffs of breath forming at his mouth, his head high and straight. He would stop in front of her house and turn to look at her in the window.

Something drew her out. She couldn’t help it. She went to the front door and made a quiet exit. Bart had turned on radio in the kitchen so she thought she couldn’t hear her anyway. She walked down the steps and crossed the front lawn to get a better look at the house in which Adam Lucy had worked and lived. Actually, it didn’t look much different now. It always looked deserted, even when he was in it. He did nothing to cheer it up. He accepted it for what it was. He wanted it that way. She should have seen that; she should have realized that meant something.

“Where are you?” she whispered. “Are you really gone?”

Back in her house, Bart was making her coffee. He was probably whistling along with a song on the radio, she thought. He was happy about her being pregnant. All these years, she was unable to conceive, and then suddenly she does.

It’s his child, she thought, looking into the side window of the old house, a window that was more of a mirror because of the reflected light and the darkness within. She saw herself standing there. She looked sad, forlorn, lost, almost as though she had been used and then left behind. Right now, she didn’t want this child, but what could she tell Bart?

“Hey,” he called from the doorway. “What’s going on?”

“I was just getting some air,” she said. “It’s good to be out.” She started back. He stood there looking past her at the old house. “Bart…” she began.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” he said. “Body chemistry. It just changes. Why? Who knows? But we can be grateful, huh? I bet it’s a boy.”

“Yes,” she said. A cool breeze made her shudder. “I bet it is, too.”

Bart put his arm around her and they started for the house. She looked back once more and she realized he would be born and he would grow up in the shadow of that house. It made her wonder if Adam would ever come back.

The thought would linger, sometimes a nightmare, sometimes a fantasy. How many times would she see a tall man in a sweater and wonder? He’s not gone completely, she realized. He can never be gone completely. It was part of the magic and the mystery, but also part of the terror.

She closed the door behind her and went in with Bart to talk about the changes they would make when the baby was born.

Epilogue

As soon as he made the turn onto the town’s Main Street, he could see that this community was experiencing an economic resurgence. A number of storefronts had face-lifts and there was new construction visible everywhere. There was a definite brightness and life here. He knew this was a community with a growing pride in itself.

The sidewalks and the street were relatively clean, and the people who walked briskly in and out of the stores and up and down the avenue looked affluent. Everything about the village announced “upward, mobile middle-class.”

Most of the store owners had put up their holiday decorations. There was a festive atmosphere that was apparently contagious. People greeted one another emphatically; there was music in the air. It cheered him to see such happiness.

He pulled off to the side when he saw the school bus approaching. On the way into the village, he had passed the centralized school system. It was a modern, brick building with a great deal of window space, cheery, open, and rich. He had to pause on the highway and admire it and the beautiful playing fields to the side and rear.

He was proud of the way he sensed these things, proud of the way he always headed in the right direction. It was as though he could smell the possibilities. As usual, the trip had been worth it.

He got out of his car in the village and walked across the street to a cozy-looking luncheonette. All the customers turned his way when he entered. He went right to the counter and the woman behind it smiled at him warmly.

“Special of the day is fresh turkey,” she said.

“Sounds great.”

“The whole dinner?”

“Please.”

She shouted the order to the cook and turned back to him.

“Coffee?”

“I’ll start with a Coke,” he said. She poured it and brought it to the counter. There was something about him that told her he was a man she could talk to.

“Passing through?”

“Oh no. I want to settle here for a while.”

“Really? In business?”

“No,” he said. “I’m a tutor.”

“A tutor?”

“A professional tutor. I help kids who should do well in school, but don’t.”

“Oh,” she said, “you’ll have plenty of customers in this town. This is a hangout for the high school students, and I know from the way they talk, that a number of them could use a tutor.”

“Is that so? Well, maybe you can tell me a little about the people here,” he said. His smile brought her closer.

“Been here most of my life,” she said. “I can tell you just about everything about everybody.”

“That’s wonderful,” he said.

He began to ask questions.

The wind from the west brought in a solid layer of low, dark clouds and the shadows lengthened and deepened throughout the luncheonette. Outside, the residents of the community began to walk faster. They all sensed an impending storm.

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Questioning her sanity, but still insisting that the man she encounters is truly her brother, Marion undertakes her own investigation.

Guardian Angel

The search for Mr. Right turns into a nightmare.

Megan Lester had a miserable separation. She questions whether she’ll ever be able to love again. But she does vow to give it a try, and on Megan Lester's first night back on the singles scene, she surveys the landscape at available men. But a pushy guy at the bar just won't leave her alone, and his aggressiveness goes from annoying to dangerous in the blink of an eye.

Then Steve Wallace steps in and saves her. From that night on, Steve always seems to be right there whenever Megan needs help, or someone to lean on. He’s even there when she doesn’t realize it. Watching. Steve has decided that Megan is his perfect woman, and he will stop at nothing—even kidnapping Megan's young daughter—to make Megan part of his perfect family.

Perfect Little Angels

A picture perfect town holds a chilling secret.

Justine Freeman and her parents move to Elysian Fields to start anew, and the picturesque town seems the perfect place to do so. In fact, their new neighborhood seems too good to be true. Their neighbors are all polite and helpful, and the streets are eerily clean. Even the teenagers of Elysian Field are perfect. They don’t drink, they don’t smoke, and they are polite to their elders to a fault.

But Justine is a more typical teenager, and while the new girl in town hasn’t yet learned how to behave like the teenagers of Elysian Fields, she will. Because in Elysian Fields, there are so many ways—horribly effective ways—to turn disobedient children into Perfect Little Angels.

Sight Unseen

A little knowledge can be a deadly thing.

Everyone knows that David is a smart one. He can tell you the end of a story from the first sentence. The other kids won't even go to the movies with him anymore; he always spoils the ending. People begin to wonder about David. There is, after all, such a thing as being too smart for your own good.

David has learned the hard way to keep his thoughts to himself. But now David is growing up, and his gift is turning into a power. The power to read people's minds. To see the future. To know things—terrifying things—that he didn't want to know. Like who would live. And who would die...

The Maddening

Stacey Oberman made the worst mistake of her life when she followed the garage mechanic's advice and turned off the main highway. When her car breaks down in a rainstorm, she and her five-year-old daughter seek refuse in a nearby farmhouse—and she and her daughter become "playmates" in a violent whirlpool of unrelenting terror.

The Magic Bullet

Dr. Allan Parker may have found the Magic Bullet the world has been waiting for all these years—the cure for cancer in the blood of fifteen-year-old Taylor Petersen. But there's only so much blood in Taylor's body, and so many desperate people.

One of the most desperate is Frankie Vico, a mobster who faces the death sentence of inoperable, terminal cancer for which there is no reprieve. And with time running out, he's learned of one last hope. Now he'll stop at nothing, including kidnapping and murder, to get his hands on Taylor's precious blood. Caught in a deadly chase with only Dr. Parker to help him, Taylor will have to fight to save his own life...and millions of others.

The Solomon Organization

Scott Lester's bitter divorce includes accusations of adultery, alcoholism, and worse—and they're all true. To keep from losing his five-year-old daughter forever, he turns to the Solomon Organization, a secret society sympathetic to the plight of men in Scott's situation. They are on his side. They will help him. And they don't even want his money—they only want what is best for his little girl.

And what they decide is best is the worst thing Scott Lester can imagine...

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Table of Contents

- Teacher’s Pet
- Copyright
- Preface
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- Epilogue
- More from Andrew Neiderman
- Connect with Diversion Books