“Hello,” he said. “My name is Leon Camelot.”
“Oh,” she said, which was as much as she could say, since the name Leon Camelot meant absolutely nothing to her at the moment.
“There’s a good movie playing in town tonight,” said Leon Camelot.
“There is?”
“Uh-huh. Would you like to see it with me?”
Why not? she wondered.
So she said: “Why not?”
“Swell,” said Leon Camelot. “I’ll pick you up at 7:30.”
Leon Camelot picked her up at 7:30. Leon Camelot turned out to be a tall beanpole type with glasses and a rather bulbous nose. He told her that he was majoring in physics and that he planned to go to graduate school at M.I.T. At the time she could imagine nothing duller than majoring in physics and going to graduate school at M.I.T., but she didn’t tell him this.
On the way down to the show she sat next to him in the front seat of his brand-new Rambler sedan and listened to him talk about the miracles of the modern physical world. He seemed to know everything there was to know about relativity and quantum theory, and while this didn’t make for the liveliest conversation in the western world, it was something of a change to sit next to an expert on such vital facets of everyday living.
The movie, contrary to Leon Camelot’s report, wasn’t much to sit through — the standard Hollywood drivel complete with the phony happy ending. Instead of watching the actors mince around on the screen she relaxed in her chair and wondered why in the name of Einstein Leon Camelot had called her for a date. Time, she decided, would tell. And whatever it was, it was something to do.
The movie ended.
Everything does, if you give it time. Even a movie like that one. Anyway, it ended, and after it was over Leon Camelot took her by the hand and led her out of the movie theater.
“Wanta coke or something?”
She shook her head.
“Wanta go for a ride?”
“Okay,” she said. She didn’t have anything better to do, just books that she didn’t want to read and studying that she didn’t intend to bother with. Why not go for a ride with Leon Camelot?
They went for a ride. The Rambler was a fine machine and Leon Camelot knew how to drive very well. Linda wondered dimly whether his ability behind the wheel was in some way due to his prowess in the world of physics. It was something to think about anyway.
Leon Camelot, it turned out, not only knew how to drive but also knew how to park. Subtle he wasn’t, but all of a sudden the car was parked on a shady lane unsullied by streetlights. It suddenly became quite clear to her why Leon Camelot had called her for a date. She wanted to say something bright and clever, but all she could think of was how in the world were they going to do it in the car.
So she said: “How in the world are we going to do it in the car?”
“It’s a Rambler,” he explained.
“So?”
“The seats go down.”
“That’s nice,” she said. “The seats go down and so do I.”
He blinked, and his bulbous nose seemed more bulbous than ever. She turned on her seat and looked up at him, waiting for him to begin. Not once did it occur to her to refuse to make love with him. It was as though she had found her role in life — the question of her own desires didn’t enter into the picture.
But Leon didn’t seem to know what to do.
“Leon—”
He stared at her and blinked again.
“Didn’t you ever—”
“A few times,” he said. “But never with a girl. I mean... never with a girl from school or—”
He broke off, looking somewhat bewildered, and she waited for him to say whatever he was trying to say.
“With prostitutes,” he said. “Down at Newport there’s a place some of the guys go to some of the time. But I never did it with a girl that I knew.”
He looked so sincere that she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. For a moment it occurred to her that she was being called upon to double in brass for a Newport whore but she didn’t let the thought worry her.
“Leon,” she said softly, “don’t you know what to do?”
“I know what to do. I just don’t know how to get started.”
He was approaching the problem like a problem in theoretical physics, and that wasn’t the right way to go about it. “You could begin by kissing me,” she suggested.
He followed her suggestion. At first the kiss wasn’t much more than the pressing of one pair of lips against another, but after a little practice she was surprised to discover that Leon Camelot was learning quickly. Despite herself she felt her heart quickening, found herself getting excited as his arms tightened around her.
“Let’s put the seats down,” she said.
They put the seats down. The seats in Leon Camelot’s Rambler evidently hadn’t been down in quite awhile — which was more than could be said for Linda — and the time it took to get the car ready for battle almost killed her mood. But he kissed her again and she got back into the spirit of the occasion.
“Unbutton my blouse.”
He performed like a highly skilled robot, but once her blouse and bra were off and he was fondling her breasts clumsily but effectively she was able to forget where she was and who she was with. He kissed her breasts, not skillfully as Don had done but with a certain amount of passion, and she didn’t have to manufacture excitement. She was quite thoroughly aroused.
She took off her skirt and panties without any prompting and he had the sense to follow suit. There was something strange about lying around stark naked in a parked car but before long she found herself used to the idea.
Now that the two of them were naked Leon Camelot’s hands took on a new assurance as he caressed her and kissed her and drove her half-wild with hunger. Either he learned quickly or he did a lot of reading, she thought.
Then she didn’t bother thinking any more.
There were better things to do.
And, once they really got down to business, her brain was spinning around much too quickly for any thoughts to germinate in her head. They made love quickly, feverishly, hectically, and at one point she was afraid that the rhythm of their bodies would start the car rolling along the lane.
Then, eventually, it was over. The customary feeling of relief was present as the usual aftermath, but for the first time she felt acutely ashamed of herself, conscious that what they had done was wrong, even inexcusable. As she dressed she found it impossible to look at Leon Camelot, and on the drive back to the dormitory she stayed on her own side of the car, careful to avoid touching his arm, careful to keep from any additional physical contact with the boy.
At her dorm he asked her if he could see her again and she told him maybe sometime, that he could call her some evening next week if he felt like it. She said the words automatically, knowing all the while that he would not call and that if he did she would not see him. The experience had been nothing more than just that to him, she felt, nothing more than an experience not far removed from previous excursions to the Newport cathouses. It wasn’t likely that he’d be particularly anxious for a repeat performance.
As for herself, she already knew what the affair was for her. Just part of a pattern, a pattern that was going to be repeated again and again, over and over, on and on and on and on. She walked up the steps and down the hall to her room, undressing for bed, anxious to sleep. First, though, she had to take a shower. She felt truly unclean for the first time in her life.
The shower didn’t help. She scrubbed herself over and over with no discernible effect. Finally she gave up and went back to her room and crawled into bed.