Pretty Maids A11 in a Row 373 the moon. ... It ducked in and out. . . . Where were the PJ’s? There was trouble finding PJs. ... He got into them, with her help. ... He sat on the edge of the bed. . . . She held his face in her hand. . . . She had tucked him in. . . . What sleep. What bliss. What sweet bliss. . . .
“Hey! Ponce!” The voice crashed against Ponce like a barrel of ice water. It jolted him out of his reverie. Looking around, shaking all over, he saw Dink, calling to him. He was catching up to him.
“Hey—What’s up?” Dink said, finally pulling up to him, been hollering and hollering to you!”
Ponce had walked right by his house, he suddenly realized this.
“How come you didn’t call me?” Dink asked, surveying his friend.
Ponce was acutely embarrassed. What a hell of a thing! How could he explain things? What could he tell Dink? About this? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It was something he wouldn’t.
“Holy Poke! I’m sorry, Dink! Gee! Know what was going on? I was thinking of plays. New plays. Honest, Dink! I’m sure sorry—”
Dink grinned, still surveying his friend. He was a funny guy, but some guy, he knew it. Who didn’t know it? And all that trouble at the school didn’t help. Well he knew it. He knew how he felt. He let it go.
“I hope they’re good ones!” He said, walking off with his friend, toward the school. . , .
For what is momentum? Tiger mused, opening the door to his office. The very stuff of life, upon which its renewal is based. Could life possibly exist, without it? How could that be? And Surcher and his karate expert. From the beginning it had been so. It had been the history of this staggeringly successful Republic, for example—wasn’t that so? There certainly was a batch of funerals coming up.
Jeannie would have quite a funeral. He knew. Her father was a devout Catholic, well he knew. The Majorette squad had definitely suffered a blow. He had suffered a grievous blow— He saw Anne Williams.
“What’s your favorite band, Tiger?” That brown-haired Sophomore asked him.
Tiger grinned. Ajid closed the door. She was standing near the desk. She must have got here just a minute or so ago. He admired her form. She wore a sweater and skirt, white socks, her hair was held back by a band, she had long hair, just long enough, Tiger mused, he didn’t like it too long, like some girls wore. Down to the waist, almost He grew warm. He admired her curves. Nature had blessed this girl with the most perfect curves. He thought of curves. Nature’s most perfect form. He just stood there, looking at her, which was something she always loved.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, spontaneously.
She smiled at him. She moved away from the desk. She touched this and that. Now she stood near his chair, behind the desk. What a fifteen-year-old.
“Am I?” She said, just standing there.
She was a little tease, it was her little game, but that added quite a lot to her appeal—bar none.
“You know it.”
Tiger felt more than warm. If he had all day, he could spend it admiring that form. This is momentum, from here it sprang. He reflected on that. Was it in the Bible? Ask Barbara next—
“Aren’t you going to tell me?” She asked.
What was she referring to? He remembered.
He grinned again, acknowledging momentum’s surge, “Ralph Marterie—used to be—” He moved, toward her, “Don’t know anymore. They still have bands anymore? I don’t know. . . .” He paused, two feet from her—“How are you, hon?"
“How’s everything?”
“Do vou like Tim Clean?”
“Who’s he?”
She giggled at him.
“Oh, never mind,” she told him. And then, “Do you like
me?"
He picked her up, he carried her across the room.
She loved that. She didn’t like the floor.
“Where did you used to hear Ralph Marterie?” She murmured, somehow, fondling him. They were on the couch.
He told her, helping her out of her things.
“Someday—” she said—“Take me there—” She sighed —“Will you? Darling—” She clutched him.
He nodded his head. . . .
Miss Craymire spoke to Harry Proffer, urgently, in the outer office, as soon as she got him alone—His own office had of course been once again commandeered by the State Police.
“Mr. Proffer—” she said.
“Yes?” he asked.
“I don’t think 1 can work here anymore.” She said.
Proffer looked at her. Obviously she was quite distressed. On top of everything, the whole damn thing. The phone hadn’t stopped ringing all morning. Policemen, people, all kinds of people, big and little people, barging in and out, everybody checking things out, and only that strong cordon of State Troopers out there keeping things from turning into a rout. He certainly thanked God for them. Above all, Surcher, on the lookout for a karate expert. He admired that man. He kept his head. He kept on looking at her. He sympathized with her, knew how she felt. In fact, he felt the same. He couldn’t walk out now— but—when this whole thing was over—He sighed, seeing that TV store. She could work for him. He was strongly attached to her, they had worked together for years, ever since he had been appointed. If she went, he went, and he didn’t want to, how could he, just yet? More and more, he saw that TV store.
“Now Jane, listen to me—” He said to her.
“What do you think?”
“Take me on a trip.”
He grinned. Soon, they’d be traveling marvelously. Partly, that was what she meant. She had a style all her own, and where had she learned it from? These things came naturally though, that he knew. It was a function of the individual personality, each one just that much different, if no more, and that’s what made life fun. And momentum.
“Where shall we go?” He asked that, standing there, just looking at her. So warm, so young. Young warm form. Tiger knew she was warm, her heart was pounding away under that form. He loved to fondle that form. Her eyes were a very light brown. She was still teasing, still on that game, but definitely trembling a little bit. She wanted that trip—
“Gosh oh I want to go!” She said, and, “Promise you won’t murder me though.”
He grinned. She was some kid. Reaching out now with one hand, he touched her face. It was warm. “Why should I do that?” He murmured, good-humoredly.
“I know you won't—” she murmured too, her voice very low. Her eyes were on his. She moved her face against his hand and gave it a little kiss. Her breath was in the palm of his hand, warm, sweet. He loved it there.
“I’m scared,” she said, falling against him, “Know that?”
Why shouldn’t she be? It was something anyone could understand. He took her in his arms, and kissed her. She gave a marvelous kiss, soft and luscious. He felt her soft form, against his. Her arms were about the back of his neck, caressing it. Now they locked in a tight embrace.
“Still scared?” He said, after a while. Now he fondled her form. Good girl, she hadn’t wrapped that form. That marvelous form. He would reach under the sweater soon, but for now, for a little while, he fondled them through it, they felt wonderful to him. He felt the tips, through it. What a soft sweater. What a form.