“I would say—” He heard himself say. . . .
Tiger looked up. He hadn’t even noticed her come in. He was working on some papers on his desk—tests, football plays, interviews, a sketch of the stage, this and that— when she walked in. He had just about given up hope of her walking in. He checked the time.
“Hi—’’ Sally Swink said.
“Hey, you’re late,” he said.
The honey blond, whose hair was exactly the color of his own Jane’s, and worn in just about the same style as a matter of fact, smiled at him, though she looked wan.
“I’m sorry, Tiger,” she said, crossing toward the desk. She stood before it. She certainly looked depressed. And there wasn’t all that much time. Tiger thought, another time? It just might be best. Rarely did it have to be, but he understood, completely. And if it had to—it had to. That’s all. That was all. He looked at her. What a sweetheart of a girl, that’s all. He was warm. He observed her. She had on a pale blue sweater, and what a sweater. She looked the picture of the sweetheart she was. In that sweater. He was unhappy though, seeing how low she was. Another time. That’s all.
“What’s the matter?” Gently, he asked her.
“Oh gosh. I’ve been having a rough time—”
“Everything alright?”
She looked up at him, and seemed to blush a little. There was just the hint of pink on her. It made her look even prettier. She was so pretty, pale green eyes. He loved those eyes.
“Oh, that's alright,” she murmured, “I’m pretty sure.”
Tiger was glad to hear that. Pretty sure meant sure.
“Running low?” he asked, tenderly.
“Oh—I could use a few more,” she said, in the softest way.
Tiger nodded, and reached into a drawer. He handed her the small bottle. Their fingers touched as he did so. She smiled, still standing there, and her eyes seemed to come a little bit alive, he observed. So did his. Sally was one of the most sensitive of maids. It was one of the things that made her such a treasure, he knew. He treasured her, and handled her supertenderly, and gently. There was poetry in her. She stood there, from time to time her eyes meeting his.
“What’s the matter?” He asked again.
“Oh—” she said, “A U this trouble—” She halted.
“Want to sit down?” He murmured.
The girl nodded, and moved to the chair beside the desk. She sat down, and Tiger observed her. Who could sit down like that? She had an exquisite class. Even the simplest movement told you that
“I know,” he said, “It’s bad.” He meant that.
She was looking into his eyes. He was admiring her hair, her face. The way she held her hands. This girl could be a ballerina. What grace. What a naturally classy girl. As a woman, one day, she would be elegant. He knew. That was the only word. Well he knew. Her eyes were tenderly sad. Her father worked at the electronics plant. He was an engineer.
“They’re questioning everybody—” she said, unhappily. “All over again.”
“That’s why I’m late.” She gave a wistful smile. She reached out, suddenly, with her hand. She reached for his hand. “I’m sorry I’m late—darling—” She said, her hand meeting his. She gave it a squeeze. Tiger admired her beautiful hand.
“That’s o.k.,” he whispered almost, “I’m glad you came.” He checked his watch. Though who would have known. It was too late. He took that blow.
“You know what they asked me?” she said, distressed. Tiger waited to hear, understanding her state.
“What?" He asked, gently. Though, of course, he knew.
She spoke in the lowest of voices. But at the same time, Tiger couldn’t help but observe, was that the trace of a smile there? It could have been. Well he knew.
“Had anyone ever made any sexual passes at me—” She paused, as Tiger sat there, fascinated by her face. “That’s what they wanted to know.”
Tiger nodded, perfectly composed.
“What did you tell them?” he posed.
4,No.**
He grinned, in his way, tender and warm.
“Nor
She gripped his hand, "I love you so much**
He knew. He told her, “ You’re in a class of your own.'*
Her hand was so warm.
“Am I too late?” Now she asked.
Tiger knew she was. But she was approaching some form. It was a problem and a half to grapple with, though he didn’t shrink from it. And never would.
“How are you?” he asked, murmuring low.
“Great," she said, and he knew that was so. Her heart was pounding hard. Well he knew. Yes, some form. He
Pretty Maids All in a Row 383 mused, grappling hard. She would never forgive him, if time won out. He knew.
“Get on the floor,” he told her.
It would be fast, but sometimes that could be fun. Certainly, he would do his best. And she would appreciate that. If possible, he would try working her in again—later today. Maybe after Civics class. He thought about that. For half an hour at least. She squeezed his hand. He murmured to her. Tiger mused, warmly, watching her do as he asked.
What a lass. . . ,
Surcher knew he was at the crossroads. Certainly, a crossroads. The trouble was, well he knew, each of the roads led nowhere. For example, where was the karate expert? So far, he hadn’t unearthed one. Nobody had even heard of one. He just got blank stares. Calm, steady investigator though he was, experienced and seasoned man of the force, he was nevertheless uncomfortable. He was idling low. He knew that before this thing ended, there was more than a good chance that he would need at least a minor overhaul. He was frosted. Certainly, he was buffaloed. He had all his men working full steam, all his resources were beamed. A squad was combing the school, interviewing every single girl available, including teachers. Those who weren’t in school—and surprisingly that didn’t even amount to a handful—would be checked out at home. In fact, it had already been done. And he and several assistants had gone through Jeannie Bonni’s house meticulously. leaving no stone unturned, despite all the difficulties. For that home was a pathetic scene of supreme catastrophe. Her mother was in a state of near-hysteria. Neighbors, relatives, thronged around her. Her father was in a state of collapse, on the sofa. A doctor was with him. Despite his mandate, Surcher had barely been able to go through with it. In the end, he might just as well have skipped it—He found nothing. Definitely frustrated and unhappy, but even more determined than ever, and unrelenting, he slipped away from the place, with his assistants, and returned to the school. There, after breaking through the considerable crowd gathered there, with the assistance of his club-waving Troopers, he found his men hard at work, checking all the girls. Otherwise, he noted, everything else was pretty much in order. Classes were being conducted, though he wondered just what could be going on in them, and everybody seemed to be reasonably calm enough—under the circumstances—in a way, he was glad to note. The one place where calm didn’t reign was in Proffer’s outer office, of course, where the phones rang and rang and people came and went, mostly students, policemen, plus a number of local dignitaries and functionaries, including men of the cloth, of course. Proffer himself, sweating, his tie loosened, shirt collar unbuttoned, jacket draped over a chair in fact, seemed to be talking to everybody at once. Surcher felt sorry for him. It was a mess. What had happened to his secretary, Miss Cray-mire, he wondered? She seemed to have disappeared. He wasn’t surprised at that—last time he saw her she was in some shape. Something like you'll probably be, old buddy, before this is over, Surcher mused, to amuse himself.