“Grocery day, you know, and Duncan had to make an emergency trip to the
hospital with Beth. So—”
“God! What happened, Mike?”
Mike shrugged. “Some kid tried to shinny up the tetherball pole and
didn’t quite make it. They think she broke her arm in two places.”
“Oh, great.”
“Yeah. Now some damn fool parent is going to come bitching about our
lack of supervision or something.” Mike sighed. “Anyway, with Duncan
gone, Pam is in charge so she can’t leave the grounds. She told me to
run into town and take someone with me.”
“And I’m elected.”
“Right.” Mike hesitated. “Look, you don’t have to go if—”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” Peggy flared, but immediately wondered why
she was the one chosen to accompany Mike.
Was this part of Mike’s psychological warfare?
Common sense warned Peggy not to jump to conclusions, either way, about
Counselor Karen Michaels, commonly known as Mike.
The fact that Peggy had no good excuse not to go also crossed her mind.
If this trip were engineered by Pam then it was like orders from
headquarters.
Peggy stood up. “When do we leave?”
“Soon as you’re ready.”
Peggy snapped a fresh rubber band around her ponytail. “Let’s go.”
* * * * *
Both girls were silent as they sped along the highway in the camp
station wagon. Mike concentrated on the sunlit concrete. Peggy’s
attention was focused on Mike.
As the redhead expertly maneuvered the spacious wagon around the curves,
Peggy watched intently, noting particularly the hands on the steering
wheel—not exactly dainty hands, but soft and surprisingly white. Were
those the hands that had quelled Beth’s fervent spirit that night in the
bathhouse, Peggy wondered, all her old suspicions revived.
Abruptly, aversion overwhelmed her.
The realization that she was alone with Mike midway between camp and
town, in territory completely unknown to her yet familiar to the
redhead, chilled Peggy to the core. Suppose this trip had been planned,
as she had first suspected, simply to get her alone with Mike? What if
Mike suddenly pulled into a side road—and parked?
Then, more sensibly, Peggy asked herself—so what if she does? Just what
can one girl do to another? Certainly nothing that could harm either
one, she reasoned, consigning some of her fear to the warm summer
breeze.
But as she began to relax once more, her eyes grazing the interior of
the car, stopping once more on Mike’s milky hands, another thought
struck. Exactly how would it feel to be touched intimately by another
woman? Peggy shivered. How awful. How disgusting it must be!
Being enclosed within the confines of a car with Mike now revolted
Peggy. How had she let herself get trapped into this thing? She wished
she had stayed at camp....
“Are you always so quiet?” Mike asked.
Peggy flushed.
“I was doing a little thinking, Mike.”
“Nothing serious, I hope. By that,” the redhead hastened to explain, “I
mean I hope there’s nothing wrong.”
“Nothing at all,” Peggy assured her. Then, in an attempt at
conversation, she asked, “How many summers have you spent up here?”
“Every one of my life, almost.” Mike grinned. “I started out as a
camper—I was nine years old—and have been here every season since. I
began way back before the days of Duncan, even.”
“You must hold some kind of record.”
Mike grinned. “I guess I do. Pam missed out on a couple of seasons,
going to summer school. But there’s one other girl—Marsha Hendricks.
She’s the one that was supposed to work in campcraft with you.”
“What happened to her?”
“Mono. The kissing disease, you know?” Mike laughed. “There’s only one
thing—Marsha hardly ever dates. When we started razzing her about it at
school she got so upset we finally had to stop and convince her that we
were only kidding. She’s the sensitive type.”
“Is she very sick?”
Mike shook her head. “She’s better now. But the doctor wants her to get
a lot of rest before the fall term. I’m glad. We’re going to room
together this year, and we’d probably get on each other’s nerves if we
spent most of the summer together, then were stuck with each other in
the fall. You know that cliché about familiarity. Besides—” Mike smiled
at Peggy—“now there’s no one around to beat that record of mine.”
Peggy forced a smile, but her mind was elsewhere. “Why doesn’t Marsha
date much?” she asked cautiously.
“Well—” Mike was thoughtful. “She’s one of those shy, quiet gals. Very
reserved. She gets flustered whenever there’s a guy in the same room as
she is. Hell, she gets flustered when there are more than two girls in
the room. But she’s a great kid. I hope to get through to her this year.
Teach her some things about life and love.” Mike winked, but added
solemnly, “Maybe, though, I should just leave her alone. She gets
involved in her studies—loves her books. She might be some kind of
genius who can’t be bothered with a lot of romantic crap.”
Peggy decided not to pursue the question further. “Why was Lilian chosen
to take her place?” she asked.
“You mean in campcraft?” Mike said. “Doesn’t seem the sort, does she?
Actually, it was all last-minute. Someone else was lined up, but backed
out. I don’t know what happened exactly, but maybe Lilian volunteered.
I’ll say this—at least she’s had some experience at camping out. That’s
more than most of the counselors can say, believe it or not. Besides,
she’s got more time than anyone else. I mean just how much extra work is
involved in helping a few kids put on skits?” Mike paused. She cast a
sidelong glance at Peggy. “How do you like working with her?”
“Lilian?” Remembering the hostility between the two girls, Peggy
answered noncommittally. “She’s okay. We haven’t been seeing too much of
each other. She seems nice enough.”
Mike quickly changed the subject. “Have your kids short-sheeted you
yet?”
Peggy sighed. “I’m still waiting.”
“You’re lucky. Practically everyone else has had the treatment.” The car
slowed as Mike guffawed. “Did you hear about Margie?”
When Peggy shook her head, Mike told the story:
“Well, the other night about nine o’clock Margie decided she’d better
leave the lounge. Figured her kids would be raising holy hell. At the
cabin, she found all the girls apparently sound asleep. So Margie
stripped down to panties and reached under her pillow. She felt around,
then flipped the pillow—no pj’s. So she looked in the closet and on her
shelf, under the bed, everywhere she might have put them. Finally she
threw back the blankets. And there was a note—Would you like to play
tetherball? Margie was pretty mad by this time and just threw the damn
thing away. But then she got to thinking. So she pulled on all her
clothes and went out. Sure enough—her pajamas were tied to the top of
the pole. How the hell those little kids got up there, no one knows.
Anyway, she had to climb the darned thing to rescue the pj’s.”
Peggy had dissolved into peals of laughter.
“And that’s not all,” Mike said. “Margie went back to the cabin, got
ready for bed. She started to fluff up her pillow. It was now just a
pillowcase full of rocks. By that time she was really furious. She swept
her flashlight around the cabin but all the kids were sound asleep—and
looking like angels, she told me. Anyway, she went outside to dump the
rocks, came back, found her pillow hidden under the bed, fixed it, then
crawled into the sack. But she couldn’t get her legs down. The kids had
short-sheeted her while she’d been out.”
When Peggy stopped sputtering, she said, “If my kids try anything like
that, I’ll—” She paused, scowling. “What did Margie do?”
The question threw Mike into another fit of guffawing. “That’s the best
part of the whole story. The next night she got one of the other
counselors to go with her during the evening program and short-sheet all
her kids. But while they were in the cabin, Duncan went on one of her
impromptu tours of inspection and caught them red-handed. Honey, I ask
you, can you imagine that scene?”
Both girls giggled wildly.
Peggy felt her icy misgivings melting with Mike’s easy patter. As the
redhead kept on telling stories of other counselors and other years,
Peggy’s enchantment drowned any reservations she had had about the girl.
In town, when the supplies had been loaded in the station wagon, she
eagerly accepted Mike’s suggestion that they stop for a snack.
Strolling down the street that comprised the entire business section,
Peggy noted that Mike, wearing a simple yellow sun dress, did not seem
as husky or as tomboyish as she did in her camp clothes. In fact, Peggy
decided, the redhead looked quite graceful and attractive. Peggy was
sorry she too had not taken the time to change into something more
decorative and less revealing. Her red short-shorts exposed so much
thigh and flank that stares were bent on her from every direction, and
she heard a whistle or two sounding in her wake.
“You ought to hang a curtain over that cute fanny of yours,” Mike
remarked.
“That’s quite an overhang you swish around yourself,” Peggy retorted.
“You know, a girl can get arrested for disturbing the peace.”
A vigorous blush inundated Mike’s freckles, but she looked distinctly
pleased.
Minutes later the two counselors were sitting across from each other in
the local ice cream shop, studying menus that boasted such marvels as
beatnik sundaes, astronaut floats, Hollywood delights, western marvels,
and one concoction promising five flavors plus candied fruits, topping
and—if the customer could finish it in one sitting—a prize afterward: “A
dish of your favorite ice cream.”
Peggy was about to order an old-fashioned tin roof, but Mike insisted
she be more daring. Against her better judgment, she was talked into a
two-flavor dish featuring the establishment’s own rich sauce, topped
with freshly whipped cream, nuts and a cherry.
* * * * *
Probably it was the sauce. Possibly it was the sauce plus the frayed
nerves Peggy had initially suffered when the trip had begun. Or maybe it
was just the smell of some sacks of onions and baskets of cabbage in the
station wagon that did the damage. Peggy was not sure. But a few miles
out of town she felt queasy. A mile away from the campsite she was sick.
By the time they pulled into the parking lot, she wished she were dead.
“Oooh,” she groaned to Mike. “I’m sure if I move I’ll upchuck everything
I’ve had to eat in the last three weeks.”
“Try a cigarette,” Mike advised in her husky voice.
“I couldn’t.”
“Can you make it to the Pillbox? Beth would fix you up.”
“I—oooh—I’ll try.”
Mike helped her out of the car, all but carried her to the camp clinic.
Beth had not yet returned, so Mike pulled down bedding and told Peggy to
flop.
“No, no!” Peggy protested. “I’ll be all right. Just give me a shot of
rhubarb and soda, or anything like that. She must keep some around here.
I’ll be fine.”
Mike pondered a moment, then said, “You’d better stay here a while,
Peggy. I’ll go ask Pam what to do. I don’t want to take any chances.”
Gingerly, Peggy crawled into the bed and lay doubled up, waiting for
Mike’s return.
She cursed under her breath as her stomach did a flip.
Just then the screen door banged. Peggy opened her eyes. Lilian was
standing inside the room.
“I saw Mike drag you in here. Whatever is wrong, I’m sure a cup of tea
will help,” she said without greeting.
Peggy groaned. “No, Lilian. I don’t want anything. I’m afraid even a sip
of water would make me—”
“Hush. I’ll fix some tea, and you’ll drink it.” She left the room in
which Peggy was lying, walked through the dispensary and on into Beth’s
private quarters. Peggy tried to shut her ears to the rattling of
dishes.
When finally Lilian reappeared in the curtained doorway, balancing cup
and saucer, Peggy was still rolled into a ball. She hoisted herself to
one elbow. Just as Lilian was handing her the steaming tea, the screen
door squeaked open. Mike walked into the room.
She glared at Lilian. “What the hell are you doing here?” she wanted to
know.
“I’m taking care of Beth’s patient.”
“She’s not Beth’s patient—she’s mine!”
There was a creaking of bedsprings as Peggy forgot she was ill and sat
up.
“Possessive, aren’t we?” Lilian said to Mike.
Peggy was sure she detected a silent but filthy curse on Mike’s lips.
Then: “Look, while Duncan and Beth are away, Pam is in charge. I’m under
her orders to take care of Peggy.”
“How convenient!” Lilian sighed. “If only my sister were an assistant
camp director, life here would be so—so ideal for me.”
“If you’re finished making with the wise cracks, will you please get the
hell out of here? I want to be alone with Peggy.”
“I bet you do.” Lilian’s lip curled.
“God damn it, Lilian, the girl is sick. She—”
“I only intend to settle her a little—soothe her,” Lilian said quietly.
“I told you before, and I’m telling you again—leave Peggy alone. I swear
to God, Lilian, if you—”
“Don’t threaten me, Mike. Neither you nor that assistant sister of yours
have much to say about what I do around this place, and you know it.”
“Don’t push me, Lilian!”
Lilian calmly eyed the redhead. “What’s your concern with our little
blond bombshell, anyway? Or are you just looking out for Pam’s
interests?”
Mike clenched her fists. “You bitch—”
Peggy was staring in wide-eyed astonishment at the two.
Lilian turned to her.
“I’m sorry, Peggy,” she said. “It’s beastly of us to carry on in front
of you. I apologize—for both of us,” she added benevolently. “Now drink
your tea. I’ll stop by later to see if you need anything.” She squeezed
Peggy’s hand, then turned and marched out, poised and cool.
Mike took the tea from Peggy, then uncapped a bottle of syrupy medicine.
“This is the stuff,” she said, filling a spoon. “Pam told me it’s a
special potion that will cure you or kill you in a hurry.”
Peggy opened her mouth to the oncoming spoon, made a wry face as the
medicine trickled down her throat.
Mike smiled. “Think you’ll live?” She extended a hand and rumpled
Peggy’s hair. “You’d better get some sleep, kid.”
Then Peggy was alone in the white room.
She could have been in some hospital back home, she thought. There was
no sign of camp life in this canvas-walled alcove of the Pillbox. She
felt completely removed from the natural surroundings of the camp, from
the camp population. Except for its canvas partitions, the room was
modernly and sanitarily equipped. So white, Peggy thought. White canvas
walls and white curtains on the one big window and white cabinets. There
were white sheets on the bed and a white wool blanket. And in the corner
a white chair was pushed under a white enamel table.
In the distance young voices echoed across the water. A breeze rustled
the pines. As the sounds reached her dimly, they only intensified
Peggy’s feeling of isolation.
Then the whiteness closed in on her, surrounding her, engulfing her.
The white changed to black....
* * * * *
Peggy had been dreaming about Ted. A noise—something from far off, she
thought as she stirred restlessly—had awakened her, but immediately she
dozed off again, envisioning Ted once more.
_Don’t be frightened_, Peggy, he was whispering. _I want to take care of
you._ He rested a hand on her forehead. _How do you feel?_
Peggy did not answer, but in her dreamlike state reached out for the
hand and clutched it. The hand was soft and cool, and when he touched
his lips to her forehead they, too, were soft and cool against her
burning skin.
He was sitting on the bed now, stroking her cheek and hair. For an
instant Peggy felt certain she was not dreaming.
She stirred restlessly as the lips touched her forehead once more, then
moved to her closed lids, her throat.
_Peggy—Peggy, I want you._ Over and over he murmured her name, caressing
her all the while, stroking her brow, her cheek, her breast.
The bed creaked as he stretched out next to her. Peggy knew she should
protest, try to push him away. But his hands were warming her now, and
Peggy, in her half-sleep, did not want Ted to stop.
Dreamily, Peggy’s fingers sought his hard, muscular body. She drew his
nakedness to her, began to fondle him.
Then realization—and wakefulness.
This was not Ted!
Peggy forced open her eyes. All was hidden by the velvet blackness of
deep night. She could see nothing, absolutely nothing. She moved her
hands again, and touched a silky-smooth breast.
A woman. Yes, a woman was lying in bed with her.
So what? Beth or somebody had come in, had needed a place to sleep, and
so had stretched out next to Peggy. Lots of girls slept naked....
Peggy’s lids dropped shut. That potion she had swallowed was still in
effect.
Vaguely, dreamily, she was aware that the body next to her had moved
nearer. The hands had started again to touch and caress. God, they were
at her breasts.
They were squeezing, stroking. Then Peggy felt moist, tender petals
enclose a nipple. It was being kissed. A tongue rasped and teased the
delicate surfaces. Peggy’s areolas grew turgid as pangs of sharpest
sweetness raced along her nerves.
My God, she thought. She could not be awake. This could not be a girl
next to her. Girls could not do such things. My God in heaven, please!
I’m in a nightmare. Wake me, God. Man or girl, this is so wrong....
Slipping back and forth on the edge of consciousness, Peggy fought to
sit up, to escape. When the smooth hands torturing and enticing her
reached her thighs, trickling over the skin like feathers, she managed
to raise herself on one elbow.
But then the hands did something. Pure pleasure jolted Peggy like an
electric shock.
She did not even sigh. Twitching, she fell back into the dim recesses of
semiconsciousness.
Yet she was aware that the hands were working faster now, more urgently,
doing things Ted had never dared to try. They kindled her every
screaming nerve. She felt about to burst into flame. Passion pulsated
and raged through her.
Once more Peggy fought to rouse herself from this wild dream—and yet was
afraid to lose it. In the end, she clung hungrily to the heated body
wooing her, moving against her, carrying itself and Peggy to dizzying
heights.
Bad, Peggy told herself, throbbing, as she plunged back into slumber. So
bad. So wicked....
FOUR
Early sunlight burst through the window, bringing Peggy awake. Her eyes
rounded the room, stopped at Beth, standing starched and white in the
doorway.
“Good morning,” the nurse said cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”
“Sleepy,” the girl replied, stifling a yawn.
Beth crossed to a white metal cabinet, a smile bright on her face. “When
I came in last night you seemed to be sleeping so soundly I didn’t want
to wake you.” She reached into the cabinet. “And judging by Mike’s
account of your symptoms, I decided sleep was the best medicine,
anyway.”
Peggy could not control another yawn. “What time is it?”
Beth glanced at her watch. “Almost seven-thirty.” She popped a
thermometer into Peggy’s mouth, laid a cool hand on her forehead. “You
did sleep well, didn’t you?”
Peggy did not answer. The touch of Beth’s soft fingers had caused
remembrance to erupt: the caresses, the kisses, the guilty
intimacies—all came to mind with vivid lucidity. She tried to shake off
the recollection, more than half believing she had dreamed everything.
But with the memory her body warmed. Her skin tingled and her breasts
throbbed. She knew she had not dreamed.
Suddenly Peggy wanted to get away from this place, from the room and the
bed—and especially from Beth, who had just removed the thermometer,
checked the temperature, and said, “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No. I think I’d better—”
“I think you’d better have a bit of breakfast,” the nurse said in a
professional tone. “You don’t have any more nausea, do you?”
Peggy shook her head.
Beth shook down the thermometer, went through the process of sterilizing
it. She turned back to Peggy. “I’ll put the water on,” she said, but
stood motionless, gaze fixed on Peggy—on the mass of blond hair rumpled
against the pillow, on the lissome young body curled into a knot under
the clinging sheet, hazel eyes peering over its edge.
Beth smiled then.
“You look like an angel when you’re sleeping,” she said softly. She bent
and retrieved the white blanket, which had fallen to the floor. Then she
hurried from the room.
Peggy lay there, still groggy, a condition she attributed to the
medicine she had taken. From outside, the birdsongs reached her. She
heard the milk truck rumble along the road, stop at the main gate, then
grind its way up toward the kitchen as reveille echoed through the
hills.
When Beth returned a few minutes later, she was carrying a tray laden
with toast and tea. Peggy pulled herself to a sitting position, hugged
her knees to her chest. She had discovered that she was wearing pajamas.
Someone must have slipped them on her while she had slept.
Beth placed the tray on a white stand next to the bed, then sat in the
straight-backed chair, sipping her tea. As they silently breakfasted,
Peggy could not keep her eyes from the nurse.
She tried to imagine Beth in something other than the starched white
outfit. Slacks, Peggy thought. A bathing suit. She certainly has the
figure for either, Peggy decided, considering Beth’s trim waist,
soft-looking yet compact hips, shapely legs now encased in spotless
white stockings.
Peggy’s imagination went still further, attempting to picture Beth in a
dress—a cocktail thing—and with a man....
A man?
It was difficult to visualize the starched and painfully proper nurse
with a man. Covertly, Peggy’s eyes swept over Beth.
She was sitting up straight, but not stiffly. Her blue eyes were alive
and roving the room.
Just then her glance caught Peggy’s. The eyes softly glowed as a smile
lit up Beth’s entire face, curving her generous red lips, dimpling her
cheeks, even wrinkling her nose a little, Peggy noticed. What a lovely,
appealing woman.
Had wild lust ever irradiated those mellow eyes, Peggy wondered. Had
that mouth ever sought another’s? Did that cute nose know the scent of a
man: the compounded smell of shaving lotion, just-washed hands and
freshly laundered shirt?
Peggy could not conceive it. Not Beth, she told herself. Beth’s was not
a body made for lust and passion, but for love and service.
Oh, Peggy could plainly hear out of the past those noxious noises, those
sounds of wanton hunger and its fulfillment, reaching her shocked ears
from the darkness of the bathhouse.
Still, Beth had been forced to it. Peggy could not accept Beth as a
lusting woman. She shut the idea from her mind.
She saw Beth as nothing but the warm and human nurse, the efficient
nurse, that she was. Certainly she could not have been the woman who had
crawled into Peggy’s bed during the night.
A thought struck Peggy with such force that she choked on her toast. Why
had she been assuming the stranger in the bathhouse that night had been
a woman? Why not a man?
“Are you all right?” Beth queried anxiously.
“Oh, sure. A bite went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” Peggy set down
her cup and sat back in the bed.
What man, she asked herself, could be wandering around loose in a girl’s
camp? What such man would know her, Peggy, by name? Besides—that had not
been a man in bed with her last night.
Or had she dreamed the whole thing?
A chill climbed her spine. No—she knew she had not imagined or dreamed
last night’s seduction. It had been real.
Just the memory of the hands on her made her body suddenly fill with
warmth and desire—and with disgust, with horror.
Whose hands had they been?
Mike’s probably, thought Peggy. Surely not Beth’s.
Strains of _America, the Beautiful_ drifted through the window, abruptly
bringing to Peggy’s mind a picture of the campers circling the flagpole,
watching with sleep-filled eyes as the stars and stripes were raised,
stifling yawns to sing, then monotoning: _I pledge allegiance...._
Beth rose from her chair. She collected the dishes, then carried the
load to the other room. There she rinsed and put them away while Peggy
dressed.
Peggy was combing her hair when Beth returned. The nurse leaned lightly
against the doorjamb.
“How do you feel now?” she asked.
“Much better, thanks.”
“You’re welcome to stay longer, if you like.”
“No. If you think I’m all right, I’d like to go now. I want to change
clothes before craft hour.”
Beth crossed the room, sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes still on
Peggy. “You’re fine. I kept you here only to make sure you would hold
down your breakfast.”