the room, April laughed. She wondered if she would ever be able to talk to her mother again without laughing.
8
SATURDAY night April North was dressing for a party.
Saturday night was sometimes party night. Antrim was fairly short on parties, but occasionally a clutch of high school students gathered at the home of a girl or boy, knocked off a case of beer, danced close, necked with lights out and stopped breathlessly short of anything really satisfying. These doings generally took place on Saturday night, with church facing the party-goers in the morning.
But April was not dressing for a high school party.
She was going to a much more exciting party, a party at Craig’s house. She dressed again in the green silk-and-cotton affair she had worn on the night Craig took her to Kardaman’s and made love to her in his big brass bed. At first she hadn’t wanted to wear the same dress, but nothing else seemed appropriate.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” she had told Craig. And when he suggested the green dress, she voiced her objections.
“So what if I’ve seen you in it before?” he demanded. “I’ve seen you naked, and that doesn’t bore me either. My friends haven’t seen your dress. Wear it.”
So she was wearing it. And again she was wearing nothing under it. Maybe I’m being sluttish, she thought. I could wear a bra, and I could wear a slip, and I could sure as hell wear a pair of panties.
But she did not want to.
She compromised by wearing stockings and a garter belt. Craig said it was exciting to make love to a girl wearing stockings. Well, he would get his chance. Sometime in the early morning all the guests would go home and she and Craig would be left alone with each other and—
He picked her up at eight. She kissed her mother and father good night and ran to the car where he was waiting for her. He opened the door and she got in.
“Let’s go,” he said. “It wouldn’t do for us to be late. After all, I’m the host.”
“Am I the hostess?”
“Sure.”
“Good,” she said.
The days since Monday had been good days. Her schoolwork had slipped a little, maybe, but she could keep her head above water in Antrim High without half-trying. And, while she had not been with Craig every day, she had enjoyed herself, had seen him every other day and had been truly alive while they were together. And now, for the first time she would be meeting his friends.
She wondered what they were like. As far as she could determine, Craig managed the difficult task of belonging to a group while remaining somehow aloof from it. He ran with a certain set of people, people like himself—young and sophisticated, moneyed and wild—yet at the same time he maintained a great degree of independence from the group. He preferred to spend a great deal of his time alone, away from people, and she had the feeling that he was secretly glad he could not be with her all the time. He valued his freedom, even treasured his time to himself, and she accepted him as he was.
But what would his friends be like? Even though he was independent, surely he would want his friends to approve of her. Suppose they did not? Suppose they thought she was just a hick from Antrim, a young and silly little girl who was not worth their time?
She wondered if his friends’ reactions would alter Craig’s opinion of her. If they disapproved of her, he might think less of her as a result. She did not want this to happen.
“Maybe your friends won’t like me,” she had said, a few days ago.
“They’ll like you.”
“How can you tell?”
“My friends always like a girl with breasts like these,” he had said. And then he had taken her breasts in his hands and the gesture had taken them out of the realm of serious discussion and into something else entirely.
Still, she worried. Outwardly calm, with one arm flung casually over the side of the car and a cigarette drooping from her lower lip, she was still quivering inwardly with the
8
SATURDAY night April North was dressing for a party.
Saturday night was sometimes party night. Antrim was fairly short on parties, but occasionally a clutch of high school students gathered at the home of a girl or boy, knocked off a case of beer, danced close, necked with lights out and stopped breathlessly short of anything really satisfying. These doings generally took place on Saturday night, with church facing the party-goers in the morning.
But April was not dressing for a high school party.
She was going to a much more exciting party, a party at Craig’s house. She dressed again in the green silk-and-cotton affair she had worn on the night Craig took her to Kardaman’s and made love to her in his big brass bed. At first she hadn’t wanted to wear the same dress, but nothing else seemed appropriate.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” she had told Craig. And when he suggested the green dress, she voiced her objections.
“So what if I’ve seen you in it before?” he demanded. “I’ve seen you naked, and that doesn’t bore me either. My friends haven’t seen your dress. Wear it.”
So she was wearing it. And again she was wearing nothing under it. Maybe I’m being sluttish, she thought. I could wear a bra, and I could wear a slip, and I could sure as hell wear a pair of panties.
But she did not want to.
She compromised by wearing stockings and a garter belt. Craig said it was exciting to make love to a girl wearing stockings. Well, he would get his chance. Sometime in the early morning all the guests would go home and she and Craig would be left alone with each other and—
He picked her up at eight. She kissed her mother and father good night and ran to the car where he was waiting for her. He opened the door and she got in.
“Let’s go,” he said. “It wouldn’t do for us to be late. After all, I’m the host.”
“Am I the hostess?”
“Sure.”
“Good,” she said.
The days since Monday had been good days. Her schoolwork had slipped a little, maybe, but she could keep her head above water in Antrim High without half-trying. And, while she had not been with Craig every day, she had enjoyed herself, had seen him every other day and had been truly alive while they were together. And now, for the first time she would be meeting his friends.
She wondered what they were like. As far as she could determine, Craig managed the difficult task of belonging to a group while remaining somehow aloof from it. He ran with a certain set of people, people like himself—young and sophisticated, moneyed and wild—yet at the same time he maintained a great degree of independence from the group. He preferred to spend a great deal of his time alone, away from people, and she had the feeling that he was secretly glad he could not be with her all the time. He valued his freedom, even treasured his time to himself, and she accepted him as he was.
But what would his friends be like? Even though he was independent, surely he would want his friends to approve of her. Suppose they did not? Suppose they thought she was just a hick from Antrim, a young and silly little girl who was not worth their time?
She wondered if his friends’ reactions would alter Craig’s opinion of her. If they disapproved of her, he might think less of her as a result. She did not want this to happen.
“Maybe your friends won’t like me,” she had said, a few days ago.
“They’ll like you.”
“How can you tell?”
“My friends always like a girl with breasts like these,” he had said. And then he had taken her breasts in his hands and the gesture had taken them out of the realm of serious discussion and into something else entirely.
Still, she worried. Outwardly calm, with one arm flung casually over the side of the car and a cigarette drooping from her lower lip, she was still quivering inwardly with the
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