It began in the spring, when as a member of the girls’ cheerleading squad she came on the field where the baseball team was practicing. Like the other girls, she wore the loose sweatshirt with an orange and black PC emblazoned across the white shirt and the very short skirt that barely came to the top of her thighs.
They took up their position in front of the stands which ran from behind home plate down toward first and third base. Miss Carruthers, the phys ed teacher, lined them up, their backs to the players on the field. Since JeriLee had been on the squad the year before, Miss Carruthers had her standing next to her as she led them through the various cheers.
After about fifteen minutes Mr. Loring, the baseball coach, came over to her. “Miss Carruthers, may I talk to you for a moment please?”
“Of course, Mr. Loring.” She stood waiting for him to continue.
He cleared his throat. “Privately.”
She nodded and followed him to the front of the visitors’ dugout. After looking around carefully to see that they were out of earshot he turned to her. “Miss Carruthers,” he growled, “what are you trying to do to my team?”
She was bewildered. “I… I don’t understand.”
“Can’t you see?” he snapped. “In the fifteen minutes you’ve been out there, my boys have missed two easy pop flies, the outfielder stepped into a pothole and the pitcher caught a line drive with his stomach.”
She still didn’t understand. “Mr. Loring, what has that got to do with me?”
He almost exploded. “You got to get those girls out of there or I won’t have any team left by the time the season starts.”
“Mr. Loring!” she exclaimed indignantly. “My girls are in no way interfering with your players. They are merely doing their jobs.”
“Their jobs are to cheer the team on,” Loring snarled. “Not tease them out of their minds. Look at that one.” He pointed. “Everything’s sticking out on her.”
“You mean JeriLee?”
“That’s the one!” he said angrily. “Those aren’t buttons on the front of her shirt!”
Miss Carruthers was silent for a moment as she watched JeriLee. There was no doubt about her female animal quality. Her nipples were hard and clearly defined, even under the loose sweatshirt. “I see what you mean,” she said thoughtfully.
“You’ll have to do something about her,” he said. “Make her wear a brassiere or something.”
“All my girls wear brassieres,” she retorted.
“Then get her one that fits!” he snapped.
Just then there was a loud crash from the far end of the field. An outfielder ran headlong into the fence and fell to the ground. Immediately the other players began to gather around him. The coach hurried down the field. By the time he got there, the boy was sitting up groggily.
“Goddamn it, Bernie!” the coach shouted angrily. “What are you trying to do? Kill yourself?”
“No, sir. I was just trying to catch the ball but I lost it in the sun.”
Loring turned and looked up at the sky. “Sun? What sun?” he shouted. “The sky is covered with clouds.”
Then he looked down the field and saw JeriLee. Even at this distance he could see the motion of her breasts. Suddenly he couldn’t take anymore. “Miss Carruthers!” he yelled. “Get those girls off my field!”
***
Bernie was waiting for JeriLee after practice. He fell into step with her as they walked toward the bus stop.
“Did you hurt yourself, Bernie?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“You really hit that fence. You ought to look where you’re going. What was on your mind?”
“I was watching you,” he admitted.
“That’s silly. You’re supposed to keep your eye on the ball.”
“I know. That’s what the coach said.”
“Then why were you watching me?” she asked.
“You don’t know?”
“No,” she said with annoyance. “I don’t know.”
“You grew since last year.”
“Of course I did, stupid. So did you.”
“I don’t mean like that,” he said, raising his hand over his head. “I mean like that.” He held his two hands out in front of his chest.
“You mean—?”
He nodded. “Just like Marilyn Monroe. That’s what all the fellows say.”
She flushed and involuntarily glanced down at herself. “They’re stupid,” she said but at the same time she felt her nipples harden and a warm feeling come over her.
Chapter 4
The beach club at the Point opened for the season in mid-May. The summer people began coming from New York, first for weekends, and later, when school closed, they moved out full time. By then the club would be crawling with children during the week, and on weekends their fathers would be stretched out burning from the sun, exhausted by an overdose of tennis or golf. And every Saturday night there would be a big buffet dinner and dance for the members.
A job at the club was a plum for the local kids. It was Bernie who first gave JeriLee the idea that she should apply.
“I’m going to work at the club this summer,” he announced.
“Doing what?”
“Lifeguard.”
“But you’re not a good swimmer. Even I can swim rings around you.”
He smiled at her. “They know that.”
“And they still hired you?”
He nodded. “They figure I’m big. The kids’ll listen to me.”
She nodded. At seventeen he was already well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular body.
“Besides, they’ve already got two crackerjack swimmers guarding the beach. That’s where they really need them. I’ll be working the pool. That’s easy.”
“That’s where all the city girls hang out,” she said, feeling a strange twinge of jealousy. “You’ll really have it made.”
He blushed. “Cut it out, JeriLee. You know I don’t look at other girls.”
“Even when they come on with those two-piece suits—you know, the French ones they call bikinis?”
“They still won’t be you,” he said awkwardly. After a pause, he asked, “Why don’t you get a job out there?”
“Doing what?”
“I heard Mr. Corcoran telling somebody they were looking for waitresses. It’s not a bad job. Just a few hours at lunch and dinner. In between, your time is your own. We could see a lot of each other then.”
“I don’t know,” she said indecisively. “I don’t think my father would like it. You know how he feels about the summer people.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“What makes you think I can get the job?”
“Mr. Corcoran said many of the girls he interviewed weren’t pretty enough. He said it’s very important for the club to have good-looking people around.” He looked at her. “You’d have no trouble.”
She smiled. “You really think so?”
He nodded.
“Maybe I will ask my father then.”
Her father agreed that it was a good idea. He had noticed her development and the sudden interest the boys had taken in her and had been concerned that when school was out there wouldn’t be enough to keep her occupied. Once he had given his approval and arranged the interview with Mr. Corcoran, her employment was assured, since the bank held the first mortgage on the club.
Until school closed she worked weekends only. Mid-days she served lunch by the pool. On Saturday night she was at the clubhouse dining room.
Lunch was not a problem, because the menu was simple—hamburgers and hot dogs mostly and a few other sandwiches with side orders of cole slaw, potato salad and french fries. Once lunch was over, about three thirty, she was on her own until six o’clock, when she reported to the main dining room to help set up the tables.
The three other girls with whom she worked in the main dining room had already put in two seasons at the club and knew the ropes. As a result, JeriLe
e found herself stuck with all the dirtiest jobs. Dinner was also made more difficult by the fact that the maitre d’ and the chef were Italian brothers who created an air of panic by screaming at each other in Italian and at everyone else in broken English.
After school closed and the summer families were in residence, there was a dance every Saturday night. Small orchestras were brought from the city, and when the dining room closed JeriLee and the other girls would drift over to the bar where the dance floor had been set up and sit on the terrace listening to the music and watching the members dance. Bernie was one of the two boys who bused the small cocktail tables set up around the dance floor, and she would wait for him to take her home, usually around one o’clock in the morning.
His father had gone in with him on the purchase of a 1949 Plymouth Belvedere convertible, and the payments took up almost all of Bernie’s salary. During that summer, between his responsibilities for the car and his job, Bernie seemed to acquire a maturity along with the dark summer tan and the sun-bleached hair. He was no longer a boy.
The girl members at the club also had their effect on him. As lifeguard at the pool, he was one of the few boys who were always around and so it was inevitable that they would try to exercise their charms on Bernie.
JeriLee saw it when in the afternoons she would change into a swimsuit and go out to the pool to cool off. The girls were always sending him for Cokes or cigarettes or towels or asking him to help them with their strokes or dives. She felt a twinge of jealousy as she saw Bernie glow under the attention. But she never said anything that would indicate she had noticed.
Instead she would slip into the pool and begin to swim back and forth in strong steady laps until her arms were like lead. Then she would climb out of the pool at the far end, away from his lifeguard’s chair, stretch out on a towel on the concrete edge of the pool and read a book. When it was time for her to return to work, she would gather up her towel and leave the pool without a backward look.
After a while Bernie began to notice and one night on the way home he asked, “How come you don’t talk to me when you come down to the pool in the afternoons?”
“Keep your eyes on the road,” she said, not answering his question.
“You mad at me about something?”
“No,” she said shortly. “You know the rules. Mr. Corcoran doesn’t like the help to mix when the members are around.”
“Come on, nobody pays attention to that and you know it.”
“Besides, you’re always too busy.” Her voice took on a New York tone. “Bernie, is my stroke too short? Bernie, I would love a Coke. Bernie, would you get me a light?”
“You sound like you’re jealous.”
“I am not!”
“It’s part of my job,” he said defensively.
“Of course,” she said with a note of sarcasm.
Silently Bernie followed the road that led out to the Point. He pulled into the parking area overlooking the Sound and stopped the motor. There were only a few other cars parked, their motors off and the lights out. It was still early. When the clubs and bars closed after two o’clock, the area would be full. A faint sound of music came from one of the car radios.
He turned and reached for her. She brushed his hand away. “I’m tired, Bernie. I want to go home.”
“You are jealous.”
“I just don’t like them making a fool of you, that’s all.”
“They’re not making a fool of me,” he said quickly. “I’m supposed to be nice to the members.”
“Sure.”
“Besides, there’s not one of them that can hold a candle to you, JeriLee. They’re all so phony and artificial.”
“Do you mean that?”
He nodded.
“Even Marian Daley?” Seventeen and blond, Marian Daley had always been indulged by her doting parents. She wore the briefest bikinis at the club and was said to be even wilder than the New York girls.
“She’s the phoniest of them all,” he said. “The boys know she’s the biggest teaser around.”
Without knowing it, he had said exactly the right thing. She softened. “I was beginning to wonder,” she said. “She never lets you alone.”
“She never lets any guy alone,” he said, clinching his case. He reached for her again.
She slid next to him, lifting her face for his kiss. His mouth was warm and soft. After a moment she let her head fall on his shoulder. “It’s so quiet here,” she said softly.
“Yes,” he said, raising her face to his and kissing her again. This time his lips were harder and more demanding.
She felt his excitement and her own response. Her heart began to pound. She opened her mouth slightly and his tongue found its way inside. A warmth ran through her, leaving her peculiarly weak. She pressed herself harder against him.
His hands slipped from her shoulders, cupping her breasts. He felt her nipples hardening. “Oh, Jesus!” he moaned softly, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse.
Her hand caught his, stopping him. “No, Bernie,” she said softly. “Don’t spoil it.”
“You’re making me crazy, JeriLee,” he whispered. “I just want to touch them. Nothing else.”
“It’s not good. You know it leads to other things.”
“Oh, Christ!” he swore, suddenly angry. He pulled his hands away. “You’re a worse tease than Marian Daley. At least she lets a guy feel her tits.”
“Then you did go with her,” she accused.
“I did not!” he retorted, lighting a cigarette.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to smoke.”
“I’m not in training,” he snapped.
“Then how do you know about her if you didn’t go with her?”
“I know some of the guys who did. And I could have too.”
“Then why didn’t you? If that’s what you want?”
“I don’t want her. I want you. You’re my girl. I don’t want any other.”
She saw that his face was hurt and troubled. “Bernie, we’re much too young to feel like that,” she said gently.
But even then she knew that there were currents running inside her that were bringing her closer and closer to the brink of her own sexual awareness.
Chapter 5
“You’re new around here, aren’t you?”
She was lying face down at the side of the pool and when she opened her eyes the first thing she saw was his white city feet. She rolled to one side and, squinting against the sun, looked up.
The boy was tall, not as tall or broad as Bernie but wiry with curly black hair. He smiled. “I’ll buy you a Coke.”
She sat up. “No, thank you,” she said politely.
“Come on,” he said. “We’re all friends here.”
She shook her head. “I work here. It’s against the rules.”
“Stupid rules.” He grinned and held out his hand. “I’m Walt.”
“I’m JeriLee,” she said. She took his hand and found herself being pulled to her feet.
“I’ll buy you the Coke anyway,” he said. “I’d like to see them try and stop me.”
“No. Please. I don’t want to make waves.”
She picked up her towel. “Besides I have to set the tables for dinner.” She started to walk away.
“Maybe I’ll see you at the dance later.”
“We’re not allowed to do that either.”
“Then we can go to a juke joint.”
“It will be too late. I’ll have to go home then.”
“Something tells me that you don’t want to go out with me.”
Without answering, she hurried away, a strange feeling knotting the pit of her stomach and creating a trembling in her legs.
She saw him again with a group of boys and girls in the dining room that evening. He was seated next to Marian Daley and seemed engrossed in her conversation. When he glanced up and saw her walking by, he nodded and smiled. She went through the swinging doors into the kitchen feeling once more that stra
nge sensation of weakness. She was glad that he wasn’t at one of her tables.
“Coming to the dance?” Lisa, one of the waitresses, asked as they were putting away the last of the dishes.
JeriLee finishing drying her hands. “I don’t think so. I think I’ll just go home.”
“They say the singer with the new orchestra is just like Sinatra.”
“I’m too tired. If you see Bernie tell him that I’ve gone straight home. I can still make the eleven thirty bus.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow.”
“Right,” JeriLee replied. “Have fun.”
She heard the faint sound of the music as she walked past the clubhouse. In her mind she pictured the dance floor.
He was dancing with Marian Daley, who was pressing herself tightly against him. Her full breasts swelled over the top of her dress and she was smiling wet-lipped into his face. He was looking down at her and dancing even closer than before. Then he was whispering something in her ear. She laughed and nodded and a moment later they were leaving the floor on the way outside to his car.
It all seemed so real that for a second she expected to meet them in the parking lot. She began to hurry as if to avoid seeing them, then she stopped abruptly.
JeriLee, she said to herself, what’s the matter with you? You must be going crazy!
“Going to the bus, JeriLee?” said a voice from behind her.
She turned. It was Martin Finnegan, one of the beach boys who bused in the dining room on Saturday nights. They all thought he was rather strange because he kept mostly to himself. “Yes, Martin.”
“Mind if I walk with you?”
“Okay.”
Silently he fell into step with her. They had walked almost a block before he spoke. “Did you and Bernie have a fight?”
“No. What makes you think that?”
“I never saw you take the bus before.”
“I was just too tired to stay for the dance tonight. You never stay for the dances, do you?” she asked.
“No.”
“Don’t you like to dance?”
“Sure.”
The Lonely Lady Page 3