Stacy replaced the receiver, laughing.
“Who was that?”
“Mike Damone and Mark Ratner. They wanted to come swimming.”
“Did you invite them?”
“No. They were so obvious about wanting to come over. I just didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. They’ll probably call back.”
The phone didn’t ring.
“Which one is Mike Damone?” asked Linda.
“He’s this friend of Mark Ratner’s. He’s in my English class this semester, with Mrs. George. He’s the one who got Mark’s wallet and brought it to the Charthouse.”
“I think they’re both virgins,” said Linda.
A moment later the doorbell rang. Stacy opened the front door to find Mike Damone and Mark Ratner standing there in their bathing suits.
“Hey,” said Damone, “thanks for inviting us over!”
“Yeah!” said The Rat.
“I don’t believe you guys.” Stacy looked at the floor, shook her head, and swung the door wide open. “Come on in. I can’t keep you out.”
“Oh,” said Damone, “and I brought some Wisk, too.”
One of the best reasons to swim in the Hamilton pool was their Jacuzzi. The pool was constructed in a huge S with a king-sized Jacuzzi attached to one end. The Jacuzzi (or “ja-cooz,” as Brad called it) was separated from the rest of the pool by a tile wall. It was possible to flip from the Jacuzzi into the bigger portion of the pool, like a dolphin. Best of all, if you really had the hot tip on the Hamiltons’ Jacuzzi, you brought a little detergent with you. Wisk for dishes was best. A little Wisk in the Hamiltons’ ja-cooz and you had so much foam that the effect was one of a huge hot and cold bubble bath.
Brad Hamilton slumped in the doorway, home from school. He came out to the deck, took one look at the proceedings, and grimaced. He didn’t mind Linda. The other two guys he didn’t like on looks alone. Underclassmen. Brad went upstairs into his bedroom and slammed the door. He even shut the curtains to his bedroom window, which faced the pool.
“Poor Brad,” said Linda Barrett.
“I know,” said Stacy. “He hardly even talks anymore.”
“Poor guy,” said Damone.
“Really,” said The Rat. There was a somber moment. Everybody knew the story, the sudden fast-food topple from inner lunch court of poor Brad Hamilton.
For The Rat this pool party was pure heaven. A great situation. Damone had become friendly with Stacy in his English class. And she and The Rat had begun to talk a little, even though things had never been on an even keel since the Atlantis. This was a much better situation, though. There was his best buddy Damone to make sure The Attitude was right. The Rat felt pretty good. Why, he even treaded water in the deep end and had a whole conversation with Linda Barrett, the older girl with the great bod.
At the other end of the pool Stacy was sitting in the Jacuzzi talking with Mike Damone. He was a nice guy, a funny guy. She kind of liked teasing him.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said, looking the other way.
“Sure.”
“I heard you were a virgin.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I just heard.”
“How much is it worth to you,” said Damone, “to know?”
“Are you or aren’t you?”
“What do you think?”
Stacy looked up at the sky. “I think you are.”
“That’s a pretty personal question, don’t you think?”
“You are!”
Underneath the layers of Wisk bubbles Damone felt a cool hand on his thigh, moving upward. It stopped just short of his inner leg.
“You’ll never know,” said Damone coolly. But it came out strange. Like Burt Reynolds, but going through puberty. Under the calm Wisk bubbles Stacy could feel the vibrations in the water. She knew Damone’s swimsuit was a tent.
“Mike!” cried Stacy, flipping back into the pool with a splash. “Why don’t you get up and do a dive!”
“Yeah,” said The Rat from the other side of the pool.
“Go ahead!” cried Linda. She hopped off the board.
“No,” said Damone. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Come on,” said Mark.
“Naw,” said Damone. “I gotta go pretty soon.”
“Me too,” said Linda. She sunk a finger into her ear and began shaking vigorously. “My ears are really blocked. Hey Stacy, do you have any Q-tips?”
“God,” said Stacy, “I don’t think so. Why don’t you try inside.”
Linda Barrett strolled through the glass sliding doors of the Hamilton living room, dripping wet. She was wearing a maroon string bikini. Brad had seen her standing on the diving board through the curtain in his room, wet suit and all. Brad usually had one thing to say about Linda Barrett—she really had a bod. And she liked to show it off, too. First chance Linda got, it was always, “Let’s go swimming.” Her fiancé, Doug Stallworth, would just have to sit there while Linda, who was already wearing some little bathing suit underneath, ripped her shirt right off. She would always have on that bikini top. Guys went crazy. Doug just sat there, usually choosing that moment to start polishing his glasses.
Brad kneeled on the floor of his bathroom. His green t-shirt was on, his underwear in a pile on the floor behind him. His arm was pumping slowly.
A short film unreeled in his mind. This film featured Linda Barrett, just as she stood on the diving board a moment ago. She was gorgeous. Her breasts seemed even bigger than usual. Her nipples were hard, poking through the filmy maroon string bikini. Water rolled slowly down her cheeks into the corners of her mouth. Her lips were parted slightly. Her eyes were filled with desire.
“Hi, Brad,” she said in the daydream, “you know how cute I always thought you were. I think you’re so sexy. Will you come to me?”
In the daydream, Brad was wearing a nice shirt. His hair was combed back and looking great. He walked to Linda. She reached out and grabbed him for a kiss, pulling him close. Then she pushed him away so he could watch as she carefully unstrapped the top of her bathing suit. The incredible Linda Barrett breasts fell loose. She took Brad’s hands and placed them on her as she began unbuttoning his shirt. They were just about to fall into passionate teenage love making when Brad heard . . .
“Hey Brad! Got any Q-ti . . .”
There was a swift knock at the bathroom door and then—Jesus—it just opened. The words I’m in here stalled in Brad’s mouth.
There stood the real-life Linda Barrett, her top very much still on. She was standing in the doorway, paralyzed by the sight before her. Poor Brad was kneeling on the bathroom floor, a sizable erection shriveling in his hand.
“Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know anybody was in here.” Linda Barrett pulled the door shut as if she wanted to forget what she saw as quickly as possible. They would never again discuss the incident.
Brad stared down into the toilet bowl, still not believing what had happened. It was funny how everything could just turn around on you in a matter of seconds.
Brad slammed the toilet bowl cover down. “Doesn’t anyone fuckin’ knock anymore?” he said.
The Talent Show
The Ridgemont High Talent Show was the last of the February blitz. It was held at 7:30 P.M. in the auditorium on the last Tuesday of the month. Some of the participants were chosen from auditions; the rest were doing it for a grade in English or speech class. The idea was to convince your parents not to go, go with your friends instead, and laugh at the contestants.
The talent show was the specialty of Gregg Adams, the drama whiz and boyfriend of Cindy Carr. He served as chief organizer, arranged the school band, wrote the show opening tune, wrote the material, and hosted the show with his own sidekick, David Leach. Gregg Adams owned the night.