by John Coyne
Thirteen
A date. Barbara found herself smiling into the mirror as she applied her lipstick. This was silly. She was too old for dating. But Scotty was right; what else could she call it? Derek had invited her over for dinner. She wasn't driving there herself; he was picking her up at the house. She couldn't even pretend it was a Foundation function, something that was social on the surface but business underneath. No, it was a real date. She had had to admit it when she found herself going back to her closet to change outfits for the second time. Well, it didn't matter. Whatever the terminology for this evening-date, dinner, or social engagement-she knew she would enjoy it. Her mistake, if she had made one, had been in allowing Scott to invite Valerie over for the evening. Initially she had refused his request. "Tonight wouldn't be a good time, Scotty," she had said. "Why not? You're going to go have a good time and I'm just supposed to sit here," he complained. "I don't know if it's a very good idea, leaving you two alone in the house." "Why?" he had asked, baiting her. She gave him a look. "You know why." "What about you?" He followed her into the living room. "You're going out with Derek. You might go park someplace and make out." "Scott! What a thing to say to your mother!" "Well, what a thing to say to your son!" She paused. It was true. It was unfair to assume that he would automatically get into trouble if she left him alone with Valerie. As Derek said, she had to start trusting him. "All right," she had answered. "You can ask Valerie over, but no one else. I don't want a houseful of kids here without an adult." "Nothing is going to happen, Mom. We're not delinquents or anything." "I know you're not. And let's keep it that way." When she came downstairs, Scott and Valerie were sitting on the floor with the coffee table between them. He had even gone outside and brought in firewood, a task he had managed to avoid all week. It was not cold for October, but he had lit a fire anyway. It blazed brightly, making the house too warm. Open on the table was the Hobgoblin handbook, and beside it Scott had already set up his Battleboard and miniatures. Well, it hadn't taken him long, she thought. "Good evening, Valerie," Barbara said, coming down the stairs. Her heels tapped loudly on the bare wood steps, like the short repeat of a handgun. "Oh, hi, Mrs. Gardiner." Trying to stand, Valerie began to extract her long legs from beneath the coffee table. The girl was all legs and arms, Barbara realized; she hardly had any torso. "Please, Valerie, don't get up." She appreciated Valerie's manners, but was afraid she'd overturn the table and send Hobgoblin flying. "You look great, Mrs. Gardiner. That's a beautiful blouse." "Why, thank you, Valerie. That's just what I wanted to hear." "Mom always looks good when she goes out," Scott said. "Dad and her used to go to the country club. Boy, she really looked like a movie star. Everyone said so. They were the best-looking couple at all those parties. Dad, too. He was really a big guy, you know. In college he played guard. No one could mess around with him. By the way, Mom," he finished up, "what time is Mr. Brennan coming?" This was deliberate, Barbara realized. He was getting even with her now for Derek. She should have expected that and played down her date, not let on that it was a big thing. Scott didn't want to face the fact that another man could be important in her life. "Seven-thirty, Scott. You know, Valerie," she went on, without giving him a chance to resume, "Scotty told me you wrote about him in the school paper. That was very nice of you." She was standing at the mirror, her head tilted to one side as she worked on an earring. She could see both of them in the reflection. "The article is about Hobgoblin, Mom. Not about me." "Oh, no?" She frowned, as if disappointed. "Well, actually about Hobgoblin and Scott, Mrs. Gardiner." Valerie spoke up quickly. "I think it's very nice of you to go to so much trouble." Valerie shrugged. "Oh, it's okay. I mean, it's no trouble, and I am a reporter for the paper." "And you're even going to learn the game." Barbara came away from the mirror. She could see a car approaching, its lights moving like the eyes of a cat through the dark woods. Again Valerie shrugged. Barbara suppressed a smile. She knew what girls would endure in order to charm boys. At seventeen she had spent months shivering on rainy river banks, just because of a boy who liked to crew. Barbara stopped trying to be talkative. They didn't want to chat, they wanted to be alone, free of such adult persecutions as polite conversation. "Scotty, I'll be home early, but if I'm not back by nine I think you should take Valerie home." She was being officious again, like all parents. "Mom, you know I can't drive after dark." "Oh, I'm sorry, that's right. I forgot." "Mrs. Gardiner, my brother Billy will pick me up. It's okay. He does it all the time." "What time do you have to be home?" "I can stay out until ten on weekends. But it's not critical. My mother knows I'm here, so it's okay. She'd get upset if I were in town. She doesn't like it when I'm with a gang of kids, you know, driving around, or hanging out at the Bay." "The Bay?" "It's a hamburger place, Mom, near school. It's called Hudson Bay and everybody goes there." "They do? Have you been hanging out at the Bay, Scotty, and not telling me?" She had wanted the question to sound funny, but as she said it, she realized it sounded more like prying. Even Valerie hung her head. "I've been there a couple of times, yeah." "You have?" Valerie blurted out. She, too, was surprised. Then she realized Scott was lying, to impress his mother. At last the doorbell rang, rescuing them all. Barbara picked up her purse as she went to the door. "I'm leaving Derek's number here, Scott. Call if anything happens. Good-by, you two." She would not invite Derek in. The less Scott had to do with him at this point, the better. "Don't leave the place a shambles," she added, and immediately regretted it. It was just her nerves talking, she thought. Her "date" was worry enough, but leaving Scotty home with a girl was worse. She ought to be the one staying home by the fire, and her son the one going out. Barbara opened the front door. "Hi," she smiled, trying to shift emotional gears. It was hard to be cool and charming when what she felt was hectic and scattered. Why did she always have such difficulty talking to her son? It was as if they were broadcasting on two different radio bands. "Hello-you look great," Derek answered, then paused, waiting for her to invite him in. When she didn't, he stepped around her, into the overheated living room. Something wasn't quite right, he thought, and his eyes went to the two teenagers before the fireplace. Valerie Dunn was smiling up at him. Scott was looking away, studying an open book. "Hello, Valerie." "Hello, Mr. Brennan." "Hello, Scott" "Oh, hi." Scott glanced up briefly. "Say good-by, Derek," Barbara said. "We're late." Outside, circling the car to open the door for her, Derek asked, "How can we be late? We're eating at my place." "Oh, Scott was just getting impossible again. It's best for the time being if he doesn't have to deal with you." Derek did not say anything more until he had turned the car around and they were out of the drive, going back across the wooded estate toward the main gate. "It's natural, I guess. He sees me taking you away from him:" "I think it's more than that. He sees you as an interloper, someone taking Warren's place in my life and, of course, in his. And that he doesn't want" "And what do you want, Barbara?" They were in the midst of the woods, sealed off from the world by corridors of trees. They had only the lights of the car ahead of them, blazing through the darkness. "Oh, God, what do I want?" She laughed slowly, amused by the notion. "It's been so long since I had the privilege of deciding. For so long it was, what does Warren want? And now, what does Scott want?" "Yes, but be honest, Barbara. Isn't that just another way of saying that it was easier to let Warren have his way?" Surprised at his directness, Barbara retreated into silence for a moment. Then she said, "Yes, I suppose that's true. Making Warren happy was a lot simpler than deciding what it would take to make me happy." He said quietly, "Well, are you ready to figure it out now?" "Oh, no," Barbara said lightly. "I think I'll let it come as a surprise. We can all dress up and go to the Santa Monica Auditorium, like they did for the old Academy Awards. And Anne Bancroft can come out on stage and say, `And now, Barbara Gardiner, the suspense is almost over. This is what you've always wanted-the envelope, please!'" Derek laughed, acknowledging her unwillingness to be cornered. "Sounds like a good plan," he said, reaching over to touch her knee lightly. "Just be sure you let me know in time to
borrow a shirt with French cuffs." "You'll be the first," she whispered, barely aware of what she was saying. She was still registering his touch, the feel of his warm hand on the black velvet of her slacks. At that moment, all she wanted was for him to touch her again.
"Your mother is really neat," Valerie said in the silence that followed Barbara's departure. "Yeah, she's all right, I guess." Scott had gone back to rearranging the Hobgoblin Battleboard, setting up cardboard forests and caves. "I don't think you know how lucky you are. I mean, she's nice to talk to and pretty and just everything. I wish my parents were like that. All they do is work on the farm and stay home and watch television. My mother is fat. And I can't talk to her about anything. That's why I'm always over here seeing Karen. She's the only one in my family that understands anything." "If she were your mother you might not think she was so neat. She's friendly to you, all right, but it's not like that all the time. And at least your mother is at home, not going out to dinner with what's-his-name. I had to eat at six o'clock just so she had time to get dressed." "Well, what's so weird about that? We always have dinner by six. What time do you eat, usually?" "Oh, I don't know. Whenever she can get the food cooked. Maybe seven o'clock." "What do you do?" "About what?" "Do you cook or anything?" He shook his head. "Do you wash the dishes?" "I'm supposed to." Valerie picked up the Hobgoblin handbook and began to flip through the pages. "You're spoiled," she commented. "I'm not." "Yes, you are." Her green eyes were angry and disappointed. "Your mother does everything for you, and you can't even be nice to her." "I am nice." "Not tonight, you weren't. You were awful to Mr. Brennan and that hurt your mother's feelings." "Brennan is a wimp." "He is not! He's cute." "My dad was twice as big as him. Dad could have broken him apart with one hand. My dad played football for Syracuse!" "You told me," she said. "Well, it's true. I've got a picture of him when he made All East. Do you want to see it? I've got it in my bedroom." "No." "I'll get it, I'll bring it in here." She shook her head, not looking at him. "Why not?" He was mad at her now. She was doing it on purpose. She was just trying to be mean. "I thought we were going to play Hobgoblin," she said. She leaned forward across the low coffee table, as if to get started with the game. Scott grabbed hold of her wrist "Why don't you want to see Dad's picture?" Valerie had learned that when he got angry, his face changed. His skin turned white and his eyes widened. He was no longer looking at her, but through her, as if his eyes had fixed on some spot at the base of her skull. "Let go," she said nicely. Scott had never hurt her, but she felt uneasy, not knowing what he would do next. "Tell me why you won't look at my dad's picture." "I don't want to." She jerked sideways suddenly, surprising him and pulling her arm free. He reached after her, scrambling around the table which she had put between them. She began to crawl away and he dove for her, his hand grabbing for her waist but glancing off her breast instead. She wasn't wearing a bra and the warm softness surprised him. His anger disappeared. Still he didn't let her go. Stretched out on the floor, trapped between the sofa and coffee table, they touched along the entire lengths of their bodies. "Please move," she asked. Scott lay above her, barely touching, supporting his weight on the palm of one hand. "Come on, move!" she asked again, but for the moment, she did not want him to move. She had never been embraced before by a boy and her whole body felt the pleasure of his closeness. "Only if you tell me why I can't show you Dad's picture." "Scott, this is boring and you know how I am. If you make me mad, you'll have to kill me before I'll look at it." Planting his weight firmly on his one hand, he began to tickle her stomach with the other. "Stop it," she squealed, squirming under him. "Tell me." "No. No. No." Pretending to be tickling, he let his fingertips wander higher. "Scott, let go." This time she meant it. "Only if you tell me." His face was above her; it filled her vision and suddenly she was angry at him for using his strength against her. "Scott, damn you." He kissed her then, found her lips with his open mouth, clicking his teeth against hers in his inexperience. She hit him hard on the side of the head and slid out from the confined space in which she'd been trapped. "Goddamn you, Scott Gardiner. Did I tell you to kiss me?" She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. "If you try to do it again, I'm going to call my brother and go home." She tried to sound upset and furious, but she wasn't. She had not wanted him to take her by surprise, that was all, before she was ready and expecting it to happen. "Why can't I show you the picture?" "Scott, you know, you're such a bore. All right. Go get it." She sat crosslegged on the floor, strands of black hair loosened from her clip and falling across her face. Now he did not know what to do. Without looking at him she bent her head and opened the clasp, shaking out the rest of her hair. There were dark circles of perspiration under her arms and perspiration on her forehead. The second button of her white blouse was open and he could see the beginning curve of her breast. "Go on," she demanded, "get the picture." "It's in my room. I don't think I can get it off the wall. It would be a lot easier if you would just go see it." Valerie gave him a brief, speculative glance. Then she said flatly, "Let's play Hobgoblin."