"Oh, well, Bert, I don't know." Her brillant blue eyes drifted toward the floor as she furiously thougth of some lie she could tell that would get her off the hook.
"Sure you can, Carole. No cheerleaders' practice, no tests or homework due the next day – and you don't have a date." In front of her friends, that latter statement would carry the most pressure. Carole hated that her girlfriends had heard she had not gotten a date to the dance.
The girl's eyes elevated upward until she stared into Bert's ingenuous brown ones. "All right, Bert. I suppose I can make it."
He flashed his smile and said, "Great. Pick you up at seven. See you Friday." He waved jauntily as he went to class.
Bert exhaled a long, pent up breath in relief. So far so good. Now for Friday night.
The week spurted by in odd patterns of molasses and greased lightning. The interminably long parts were in class. The ones that fled by far to fast were occasional after school tutoring lessons with Julia, sometimes both Julia and Barbara and one long, long session with Alana in the darkroom. He had spent two hours getting the table in the darkroom cleaned and scrubbed of all noxious chemicals. Screwing on a formica surface wasn't the best of all possible places, but the darkroom did afford a little bit of privacy, a door that could be locked, reason for being gone for an hour or two at a time and did not cause people to ask embarrassing questions.
That aspect no longer bothered Bert. Let them hint and ask all the questions they wanted. he could toss off a jocular answer that may or may not be pertinent to what the inquisitor wanted to know.
Mr. Woodard, for instance, had inquired as to the progress Bert was making on the next photo assignment for the school newspaper. Bert had replied, "I'm still working on the basic layout with Alana."
"Yeah," his instructor had answered, "I know that, but how is the project coming?"
"Coming hard and fast, sir."
Woodward shot him a look that combine curiosity and complete amusement.
Bert added, "Things are developing nicely."
Woodward sighed. "Just be sure to get everything into the stop before you fix it good. Some things don't wash off, you know."
"And some things don't run off either!" Bert replied.
Woodward had laughed at that. "You lucky son of a bitch. Get out of here!" The man shook his head in amusement when Bert left. He wondered what woman (women?) had changed this mousy teenager into a real tiger.
Friday classes seemed to be drenched in glue. Every second was an hour, every hour an eternity. Even Miss Munoz class was something of a drag. Miss Munoz had dressed like a nun, all in black, which could have been ultra-sexy but wasn't. Bert knew Miss Munoz and Mr. Theodore (of the ten inch dong) had a confrontation and their relationship was on the skids. Not that he cared, in fact, it might mean that he would have more opportunitues to get into Miss Munoz's pants but he was concerned about the time it might take. Right when he needed every second he could muster to seducing Carole.
Bert Ellis decided he would cross that bridge when he got to it.
Friday's last class vanished and Bert raced home. He had been studying his closet for three days choosing the exact sartorial elegance to don and most impress Carole. He had finally decided that his gray and black checked shirt with black pants, black shoes with tiny buckles and black socks would be the most effective.
He pivoted in front of his dresser mirror and studied himself with a critical eye. Bert had to admit that his garb was sinister, made him seem a trifle aloof, and yet no one could say anything was ususual about his dress.
Carole's subconscious would register the full effect, even if her conscious mind did not. And right now, he had to work on her at an elemental level, then work up, hopefully along her legs to her golden furred snatch.
Bert combed his hair and sprayed it with some abominable smelling stuff that was suppposed to keep it from flopping all over the place whenever a light wind blew. The dance tonight would require a bit of moving around, and he didn't want to continually have to drag a comb through his hair. It would detract from the cool, suave and slightly bored attitude he wanted to convey.
He left his house at seven o'clock on the dot knowing it would take a minimum of fifteen minutes to arrive at the van derr Hoff house. The youth wanted to be intentially late. All part of his act, his seeming ennui with the whole evening.
The teenager pulled up in front of Carole's house twenty minutes late. He casually walked up the path to the door, knowing Carole was probably watching his every move and seething inside, angry as hell!
The chime had barely died when the door was swung open by Robin. The look on her face was something of a mixture of anger and confusion. In a low voice she said, "Bert! I thought you'd never get here. Carole's been ready for ten minutes. Do you want to go out with her or not?"
Bert smiled ingratiatingly and said in a normal tone, "Good evening, Mrs. van der Hoff. Is Carole ready yet?"
Robin shot him a venomous look, then motioned him in. He immediately took his place on the loveseat as Robin said, "She'll be ready in a couple of minutes." The civilzation-old make-the-mailwait routine seemed a bit trite and useless since he had turned the tables so neatly. It no longer appeared he was the eager stallion trotting after the filly, but rather that the filly was slightly stupid not being ready after an inexcusable delay.
Carole appeared in a few minutes, and Bert had to restrain a gasp. She was dazzling. Her very radiance brightened the room immensely. She had obviously dressed to impress him to the utmost. The turquoise dress seemed to float about her body, clinging here, flowing there. All the heres and theres were strategically placed for maximum effect on any red blooded male.
The decolletage of the dress was as improbable as it was heart wrenching. The sharp V notch of the neckline plunged far down past the bottom of Carole's compact melon-sized breats. Umbra danced and masked vital portions of her partially exposed tits in a cunningly designed fashion. Bert allowed a slight smile to creep across his lips as he said, "Good evening, Carole. Ready to go or do you need a few more minutes to get dressed?"
The teenager started to duck as Carole picked up her purse. He was certain she would fling it at him in rage at his implied insult. Instead, her face fell into a wooden mask that smiled mechanically.
"I'm ready. Let's go." Ice dribbled from every word.
Bert carefully studied anew. The hemline of her dress was perfect for what he had in mind for the main event later in the evening. It came to mid-thigh. The photographer thanked his lucky stars that Carole had not chosen to wear stockings. That would have complicated things to the point of idiocy on his part.
Who knew? It might be nothing but stupidity that he planned. But he would soon know.
"I want to say good-bye to your mother." Bert turned his back to Carole and went into the kitchen where Robin was stuffing the dinner dishes into the dishwasher.
"I just wanted to tell you, Mrs. van der Hoff, that I'll have Carole back before midnight. We'll be at the school dance – it's in the gym – and we'll probably to to Dan's Den for a hamburger afterwards."
Robin's lips compressed into a tight line. "I don't know what game you're playing, Bert, but you'd better watch yourself. I'll see you burn in hell if you…"
"Good night, Mrs. van der Hoff," he said, cutting off her lowvoiced tirade.
Bert returned to the fuming Carole and said, "Let's go now. I wanted your mother to know where we'd be."
As they walked to the car, Carole asked, a note of curiosity creeping into her soft voice, "And what did you tell her?"
"I told her that you wanted to fuck me, and we'd be going to a motel. What did you expect me to tell her?" Bert slammed the door behind Carole with a trifle more force than necessary.
He went around and got in behind the wheel. He keyed the car to life and took off.