Ed Farago flashed before Terry's eyes for the first time in months. He pushed the memory back into the dark regions of his mind, forcing the bloodiness into that darkness.
"I don't care for most of them, either," he said. "But I can't tell you why I don't." Suddenly, he chuckled.
"What's so funny."
"I just thought of what a lot of people call J. A.—behind his back."
"What? I've never heard anything except J. A."
"Before his daddy sold out, they used to own a chicken farm. When J. A. was about twelve, his daddy was losing a lot of hens. Seems as though J. A. was slipping out to the henhouse and screwing the chickens at night. Soon as he did, they'd die. Someone hung the nickname on him: Needle Dick the Bug Fucker."
"That's awful!" Bess put her hand over her mouth to suppress her laughter. "Good Lord, Terry!" a giggle slipped through her fingers and soon they were both laughing.
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She slid across the seat to sit close to him, her left hand resting on his thigh, warm when it touched. She put her head on his shoulder.
Terry slowed, pulled off the road, and drove down a gravel road for a mile. The road ended abruptly at a barbed wire fence. The two of them were high in the hills of Flagler County. Far below them, the lights of Bishop gleamed in the cold night, diamond-like.
They got out of the warmth of the car and walked hand in hand to the fence. Terry stood behind her, his arms around her waist, the side of his face pressed against her hair. Her hair smelled fresh and clean, lightly scented from her perfume.
"It's pretty up here," Bess said, enjoying his arms around her.
"When I leave," Terry said, "I hope I never have to live in Bishop, Georgia again. I don't even know if I want to see Bishop again."
"And, me?" she asked. She was crazy about Terry, but just a little bit afraid of him, too. That feeling confused her, because Terry had always been sweet to her. She thought maybe it was because of the fight. J. A. was bigger and stronger than Terry—a football hero—but Terry had handled him like he was a baby. J. A. had never landed a punch.
"I don't lenow how I feel about you, Bess. I really don't. I know I like you a lot."
"Boys aren't supposed to say that to girls. You're supposed to tell me you love me."
"I don't know whether I'm a boy—I don't
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know if I've ever been a boy, really. And I don't know if I love you or not."
Bess shivered in his arms, the wind cold coming off the mountains. She wasn't at all certain it was the wind making her shiver, though. She pushed closer into his arms.
"Terry, are you happy?"
"Kind of, I guess. I was happy—content is a better word—'til about a year ago. Since then I've been kind of ... confused about things."
Bess decided not to pursue that, thinking it might have something to do with that bitch, Clarissa. "I could fall very much in love with you, Terry."
"I'm not sure that would be very smart, Bess."
She turned in his arms and kissed him on the mouth, pushing her softness against him. "Then love me for just a little while, Terry. Love me until you have to go away. And I know that you will go away. You're not happy here."
"Okay," he said, and the image of her mother popped into his mind. He wondered what Carolyn would look like with no clothes on and that thought brought him to semi-hardness.
She could feel his maleness pushing against her. She kissed his cold lips, tonguing his mouth. "Let's get in the car, Terry."
In the Ford, motors running, heater on, radio blaring, a new young rock-a-billy singer named Elvis something or another was
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vibrating the speaker with "Baby, Let's Play House."
"Are you going to church with us, Terry?" his mother called up the stairs.
"No," he shouted down to her. "Maybe I'll go later."
"Maybe well take the car away from you!" his father shouted up to him.
"Oh, 'way to go, peoplel" Ginny snapped at her parents. They had not heard her enter the house. "That's cheap blackmail tactics. You think forcing him to go to church will bring him closer to your God?"
The parents looked at each other, not understanding the "your God" part of her statement. Before they could retort, Robert blew his horn in the driveway.
Karl Kovak took one more shot. "Terry comes dragging in at two in the morning and here it is a quarter to seven and you just now come home. What did me and Momma raise, a tomcat and a tart?"
Upstairs, Terry wanted to shout down that they would still all be dirt poor if it wasn't for their "tomcat." But he held his silence as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"A question like that doesn't even deserve an answer," Ginny calmly replied. "You're both assuming things that may or may not have occurred."
"Your Poppa and me will pray for the both
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of you," Mother Kovak said.
"Thank you," Ginny replied.
Karl Kovak snorted and stomped out the front door, leaving wife and daughter glaring at each other.
"I spent the night at Joe's," Ginny informed her mother, then braced herself for a good slap in the face.
The pop didn't come. Her mother said, "Your Poppa and me thought as much. You should go to confession, girl."
"Why? I have nothing to confess."
"God sees it different than you, Virginia. Did you come back here to mess up Joe's life?"
Ginny began crying, the tears melting the mascara and dripping down her face in dark streaks. She shook her head. "I don't know why I came back, mother. I just got on the bus one day and here I am."
"I think you know why you came back," the mother put her arms around the daughter and held her. It was breaking her heart to see her cry so. She patted Ginny on the shoulder. "You go get cleaned up and get some sleep. We'll talk when I get back. All right?"
Ginny pulled away, controlling her tears and sobbing. "For whatever good it will do, all right, we'll talk."
A smile creased the woman's lined face. "Good. I reached you, now if I can only reach Terry."
Ginny shook her head. "No, Momma, no one will ever reach Terry—not for many
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years—maybe never. He lives in this house, but he's already gone away."
"Foolish words, girl. They make no sense."
"They will someday."
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FIVE
Odd, Terry thought, driving away from school in the rain. Cinny suddenly deciding to stay. And she's the one who told me you can't ever go back. Or was it come back? Why would anyone want to leave New York City and come back here? Dumb hick town like Bishop.
He could find no ready answers to his question, so he put it out of his mind and thought of the afternoon that stretched before him. And Carolyn Skelton. His young blood began to run faster and hotter as he drove toward her section of town. He parked in a wooded area behind the Skelton home, jogged the block to her back porch, and knocked on the door. The home was secluded, surrounded by woods that would hide him from prying eyes.
"Did anyone see you?" Carolyn asked, letting him in the kitchen.
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"No," he removed his jacket and draped it on the back of a chair.
She picked up the damp jacket and hung it in the hall. "We shouldn't be disturbed," she said. "The Long's are at work and the Patter-son's are out of town." She met his eyes, attempting to stare down his direct gaze. She gave up, cut her eyes, and flushed. "I may be a total fool for getting involved with a boy, but I'm not a tramp. You appeal to me. I can't explain it."
"I never said you were a tramp; never thought it, either. I saw your marriage the other night, not for the first time. You hate your husband, don't you?"
"You're pretty sharp for a boy."
"I haven't been a boy for over a year." Terry fiddled with a salt shaker on the table. It slipped out of his fingers and turned over, spilling salt on the tablecloth.
"That's supposed to be bad luck," C
arolyn smiled, cleaning up the small mess. Her perfume drifted to Terry and he thought how pretty she was and how good she smelled.
"I don't doubt the bad luck part," he said glumly, suddenly depressed in spite of what lay before him that afternoon. "I think I've got more than my share coming to me."
"Well, I have a young prophet with me. What happened a year ago?"
Farago jumped into his memory. But as it had been occurring of late, the memory was blurred, and did not seem as real. He pushed
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the picture back into the grave. "Nothing much, really. I just had a chance to grow up and I took it. Actually, I don't think I had much choice in the matter."
"You sound like you regret it."
"In a way, but I can't change it, so what choice do I have?"
"You don't talk like a boy, either." She touched his shoulder and her hand was hot through his shirt.
He shrugged.
"I'm thirty-five years old, Terry."
"I'm seventeen; so what?"
She laughed softly. "Let's go sit in the den. I have bourbon and ice in there."
Terry followed her through the house and into the den, his eyes never leaving the woman's full figure.
The den was large and warm and comfortable, a huge log blazing in the fireplace. Expensive carpet on the floor. Terry was suddenly ashamed of himself: his mother would really love something like this.
Someday, Momma, he silently promised, I'll build you a home like this.
"Drink bourbon with me," Carolyn broke into his thoughts, "and you'll drink it as it should be drunk, as an adult drinks it, with water."
He nodded and she turned away, preparing the drinks at the wet bar. Terry sat on a low leather couch, watching her. Her belly and
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hips were firm and lier breasts swayed slightly under her dark sweater.
She took two coasters from a tray on the bar and placed them on the coffee table in front of the couch. Terry sipped his drink and decided he didn't like bourbon and water, but would drink it to please the woman.
"Bourbon with water is something a person must become accustomed to," she told him, smiling over the rim of her glass. "Drink it for a week and you'll like it."
"I'll take your word for that," Terry took another sip. He decided it wasn't all that bad. The whiskey was very smooth and easy to the taste. "What kind of whiskey is this?"
"It's a Canadian blend. Smooth, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is." He sat his drink on the coaster and kissed the woman on the mouth.
Her lips, ripe and full and red, responded to his, her tongue sliding into his mouth, but her eyes remained open and cool. "Don't push me, Terry," she warned him. "I'm not a giggling school-girl in the back seat of a Chevy. This time, I'll be the teacher; you be the pupil. You may think you're a man, but there are many things you have yet to learn about a woman."
"And you're going to teach me?"
"I'll teach you. Now drink your drink arid relax—we've got lots of afternoons ahead of us. This is just number one. Getting acquainted—saying hello."
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Terry left the Skelton home a few minutes past four that afternoon. He was drained, almost exhausted, a brassy taste in his mouth. He had a headache, his legs felt weak, and he didn't know if he could ever get another hard-on. He didn't at that moment, know if he wanted another erection—ever! He was very grateful for the fact he had no date that evening, or the next. Bess was gone to a Home EC something-or-another. Terry hoped he wouldn't have to see another woman for at least a week . . . maybe longer.
The times with Vera had been nothing. The sex with Mavis forgettable. The moments with Clarissa and Bess nothing more than fumbling, quick releases, most of the time groping blindly in the back seat of a car. But Carolyn . . . she knew what she wanted, how she wanted it, and when she wanted it.
Terry never dreamed he could go so long without exploding. No wonder her husband drank!
He didn't want to go home just yet, so he drove up into the hills around Bishop. As he drove he remembered . . .
Naked, in bed beside her, the young man took in all the wonders of mature woman. While his erection throbbed, she talked and stroked him, punctuating her conversation with soft kisses on various parts of his anatomy. Terry was quite certain he would keel over and die before the afternoon was
over.
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"You see, Terry," she had smiled at him, "you're ready to make love right now. It doesn't take any time for a man, but it takes patience when you deal with a woman."
Carolyn had knocked back several dark drinks before they went into the bedroom. She was far from drunk, but was feeling the booze.
She instructed him that afternoon, schooled him in sex. He busied his hands and fingers and she responded under his touch.
"It's automatic for you, Terry," she praised him. "You're going to be super. You've got the rogue born in you and the equipment to please a woman."
Just before Terry mounted her, sliding between her spread-apart legs, into the wetness of woman, Carolyn said, "I wonder why it is I worry about you?" .
Terry parked the car and stood for several minutes looking down a long valley that gradually sloped downward and became the town of Bishop. The Chamber of Commerce said "Big things going to happen in Bishop someday soon. Yes, sir. Big things."
"It'll happen without me," Terry said.
There, on that not-quite-a-mountain, but bigger-than-a-hill, the boy squatted down and allowed post-coital depression to hit him with all the force of a nine pound sledge hammer, beginning between his ears and fanning downward to cover his entire body.
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The rain came down in silver sheets, but Terry was seemingly oblivious to the downpouring. He thought: is this the end of youth? Is this all there is to it? When does youth stop and adulthood take over?
He lit a Lucky and blew the smoke to the elements, while his mind worked. Did anything of any real importance happen today? he questioned. And if it did, what and why?
The wind sighed, the trees shivered their bare branches in reply, and a bird called out. Terry listened; the bird received no answer and sang again. No response. He watched the bird beat its wings against the sky and soar away, vanishing in the trees below, seeking some company in the dismal climate of late winter.
I should be happy, Terry mused, but I'm not. I should be proud—most guys my age spend their time jacking off, dreaming of someone like Carolyn. But I feel . . . sticky inside. Something is gone from me that I should not have lost so young. I know that, but I don't know what it is I've lost, or why I should feel so badly about it. What's wrong with me?
He hoped some Great Voice would boom from the sullen sky, answering his questions, erasing all his doubts, but nothing happened. The Heavens did not open; the rain remained the same: crystal gray and shining silver, falling to the earth, splattering on his head and jacket, dripping off his nose. He let sexual
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memories and bloody conflict in the rain wash away a youth he knew he never had a chance to enjoy, and knew would never come again. Terry sighed and stood up. "Hello, goodbye," he said. He walked slowly to the car.
"Ugh, Terry!" his little sister grabbed him as he walked into the house. She quickly released him, "You're all wetl"
"People get that way when they stand out in the rain," Terry grinned at her. A forced grin. He still felt very much like crying, but knew, somehow, he would never again shed a tear for anything or anybody. How he knew remained a mystery to him.
"I've got some really great news," Shirley beamed at him, wiggling with excitement, wanting to tell him, but wanting more to drag out the suspense.
'*So, tell me. I know! Rock Hudson called. He asked you for a date?"
She giggled. "No, silly, it's Ginny and Joe. They're going to be married."
Terry sat down in a chair and stared at his sister. He could not bring himself to speak. Married! Just a couple of days ago Ginny had told him that a person co
uld never go back home. Married?
He found his voice. "When did all this take place?"
"About noon. We've been looking for you all
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day. Momma didn't tell Poppa you played hooky from school. Where have you been, Terry?" "I was on a field trip . . . sort of."
Joe was Baptist, Ginny Catholic, so they were married by a local JP, upsetting both families.
"It isn't proper!" Mrs, Davis told Mrs. Kovak over coffee. "People should wait a respectable time before marrying. We've had no time for invitations, receptions, teas, nothing. It just isn't proper."
"They should have been married in the Church," Mother Kovak responded. "The poor children. What will happen to them. This is terrible."
"If they have kids," Terry said, "maybe the kids can go their own way, find themselves, without being pushed and shoved without being asked if they want to go in that direction?"
"You shut up your mouthl" Poppa Kovak said. "Mr. Know-It-All."
"Tell me, Ginny," Terry asked. "Why did you do it?"
His sister turned her gray/blue eyes on him. The weekend after the marriage, the short honeymoon over. Ginny's hair was cut shorter, her face held some color, and she seemed more relaxed. She sat with her brother in the back
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of Joe's small country store, filling station, and bait house. Terry had driven out to see them.
"You told me a person can't go back," he persisted. "But here you are—back home."
"All right, Terry," Ginny poured them coffee, 'Til give it to you straight. I don't believe you're going to go to pieces and blab it to the family. God! They'll find out soon enough as it is. You're the age of a boy, but you're not, really. You're a man. Too soon, I think, but a man nonetheless. So ... I'm pregnant."
"Yeah, that's what I figured. And not by Joe."
Her laugh was bitter. "Not hardly, brother. I don't know who the kid's father is."
"Well, you must have had a pretty good time in the city." Terry sipped his coffee and waited for her reply. He had tried to keep his voice level, without accusation or innuendo.
The Last of the Dogteam Page 7