exploring fingers, it was also possible that she was writhing with passion. I chose to accept the latter interpretation.
Thanks to the hours Johnny and I had spent poring over Dr. Dunbar’s anatomy books, I was pretty familiar with the parts and purposes of female genitalia. Unfortunately, however, I had no such familiarity with their undergarments. While I might have known what to do if my hand had been inside Debbie’s girdle, I was baffled now, and I couldn’t do anything but probe and poke dumbly around its tightly banded borders.
My quest soon came to an end in any case. Debbie’s first “no” was spoken in the middle of a kiss, and because she said the word right into my mouth, it was almost completely unintelligible. Then she deftly rolled her hips in a way that made it imperative for me to remove my hand from between her legs.
“God,” she said, breaking away from our embrace and sliding back across the seat. “I might have known. Here I am thinking about all the wonderful, romantic times we had together, and all you care about is what you can get. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Not changed? How could she say that? I’d seen Louisa Lindahl’s bare breasts. I’d gotten drunk with her. She’d lifted her dress to show me her scar. She’d even advised me on what I should do in the backseat with a girl like Debbie. How could I not be changed?
Debbie tried to make a dramatic exit, but the door handle wouldn’t cooperate. And as she yanked ineffectually on it, she became increasingly angry. “And to think I told Art Graber that I couldn’t go to Frost Festival with him. Art Graber, for Chrissake!”
I reached across to help her with the door, and this prompted Debbie to fling her arm out violently in my direction. I pulled back, and she almost slid to the floor of the Valiant. But somehow something in that contortion caused the door to pop open, and Debbie scrambled out, trying to recompose herself in the process.
She must have felt that she hadn’t adequately expressed her disgust, for she leaned back into the car’s interior. “Another thing, Matthew, Matthew Garth . . . ” She spoke my last name as if giving voice to it was a sufficient curse. But then her vocabulary failed her and she had to settle for something less subtle. “Oh, fuck you. Just fuck you!”
I watched Debbie McCarren walk away through the scrim of the falling snow. It was not quite as reckless a departure as it might have seemed. Both she and Bonnie Wahl lived less than three blocks from Otis Unwin.
I hadn’t been in the best of moods when the evening began. In my mind the remaining Blue Lake Lager belonged to Louisa, Johnny, and me. We were supposed to drink it together, and I begrudged sharing it with the guys. And then just when I felt finished with Debbie McCarren, she had come back into my life, only to push me away again. By the time I walked back into the house I was clenched tight with anger and frustration.
In the half hour or so I’d been away, Johnny’s fortunes had changed significantly. His chip pile was much lower, while Glen Van Dine’s was much higher. It also seemed as if they’d exchanged playing strategies. Now Johnny sat impassively, his smile and banter both gone. And while Van Dine didn’t keep up a nonstop commentary on the cards as Johnny usually did, he asked questions, very specific questions. And when I walked in he was asking them of Johnny.
“Did you know what a whore she was right away? I mean, she doesn’t look like a fucking whore, so I could understand if you didn’t get that.”
Johnny said nothing. He just sipped from the bottle of Blue Lake at his side.
“She looks like a goddamn schoolteacher, don’t you think?”
Johnny looked at his hole cards again. I’d never seen him do that once the cards were dealt.
“But Lester always said there was nothing she wouldn’t do. I mean, nothing.”
The bet was fifteen cents, and while I didn’t know what Johnny had down, he
Thanks to the hours Johnny and I had spent poring over Dr. Dunbar’s anatomy books, I was pretty familiar with the parts and purposes of female genitalia. Unfortunately, however, I had no such familiarity with their undergarments. While I might have known what to do if my hand had been inside Debbie’s girdle, I was baffled now, and I couldn’t do anything but probe and poke dumbly around its tightly banded borders.
My quest soon came to an end in any case. Debbie’s first “no” was spoken in the middle of a kiss, and because she said the word right into my mouth, it was almost completely unintelligible. Then she deftly rolled her hips in a way that made it imperative for me to remove my hand from between her legs.
“God,” she said, breaking away from our embrace and sliding back across the seat. “I might have known. Here I am thinking about all the wonderful, romantic times we had together, and all you care about is what you can get. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Not changed? How could she say that? I’d seen Louisa Lindahl’s bare breasts. I’d gotten drunk with her. She’d lifted her dress to show me her scar. She’d even advised me on what I should do in the backseat with a girl like Debbie. How could I not be changed?
Debbie tried to make a dramatic exit, but the door handle wouldn’t cooperate. And as she yanked ineffectually on it, she became increasingly angry. “And to think I told Art Graber that I couldn’t go to Frost Festival with him. Art Graber, for Chrissake!”
I reached across to help her with the door, and this prompted Debbie to fling her arm out violently in my direction. I pulled back, and she almost slid to the floor of the Valiant. But somehow something in that contortion caused the door to pop open, and Debbie scrambled out, trying to recompose herself in the process.
She must have felt that she hadn’t adequately expressed her disgust, for she leaned back into the car’s interior. “Another thing, Matthew, Matthew Garth . . . ” She spoke my last name as if giving voice to it was a sufficient curse. But then her vocabulary failed her and she had to settle for something less subtle. “Oh, fuck you. Just fuck you!”
I watched Debbie McCarren walk away through the scrim of the falling snow. It was not quite as reckless a departure as it might have seemed. Both she and Bonnie Wahl lived less than three blocks from Otis Unwin.
I hadn’t been in the best of moods when the evening began. In my mind the remaining Blue Lake Lager belonged to Louisa, Johnny, and me. We were supposed to drink it together, and I begrudged sharing it with the guys. And then just when I felt finished with Debbie McCarren, she had come back into my life, only to push me away again. By the time I walked back into the house I was clenched tight with anger and frustration.
In the half hour or so I’d been away, Johnny’s fortunes had changed significantly. His chip pile was much lower, while Glen Van Dine’s was much higher. It also seemed as if they’d exchanged playing strategies. Now Johnny sat impassively, his smile and banter both gone. And while Van Dine didn’t keep up a nonstop commentary on the cards as Johnny usually did, he asked questions, very specific questions. And when I walked in he was asking them of Johnny.
“Did you know what a whore she was right away? I mean, she doesn’t look like a fucking whore, so I could understand if you didn’t get that.”
Johnny said nothing. He just sipped from the bottle of Blue Lake at his side.
“She looks like a goddamn schoolteacher, don’t you think?”
Johnny looked at his hole cards again. I’d never seen him do that once the cards were dealt.
“But Lester always said there was nothing she wouldn’t do. I mean, nothing.”
The bet was fifteen cents, and while I didn’t know what Johnny had down, he
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