I wanted to swear at her. But I knew the real evil lay in myself, for
having given in a second time to her. I made sure there wouldn't be a
third. Stepping across her nude prostrate form, I strode quickly off
the dock, pausing near the basketball court to turn on the shower and
scrub myself clean. Then I walked up to the cabins, not looking back.
It was not yet half past six. I considered getting the typewriter out
and doing some work before breakfast, but changed my mind when it
occurred to me that in this silence the clacking of the machine would
be audible all over the camp. Instead I sat down on the porch, my mind
practically a blank, to wait for breakfast.
I saw Sandra come trooping up from the waterfront a few minutes
later. She did not look in my direction. Like some nude sprite that
had materialized out of the morning mist, she crossed the lawn and
disappeared into her cabin. For fifteen minutes all was still. Then
the door of a cabin on the far side of the semi-circle opened, and a
young couple emerged. It was the girl who had worn the bolero jacket
on the tennis court. She and her friend ran down toward the water,
hand-in-hand.
There were other pre-breakfast swimmers. Dr. Richards went down a few
minutes later. Just before seven the door of Cabin Two opened and
Joanie Baker emerged, looking like Aphrodite greeting the dawn. She
stood on her porch, touched her toes a couple of times, and sprinted
toward the lake. She saw me and waved. I waved back. I watched her
vanish behind the trees.
The swimmers returned by quarter past seven. At half past, Dr. Richards
appeared on his front porch to ring the big gong that summoned
everybody to breakfast. I went inside and woke up Meehan. He looked
bleary-eyed and unaware of anything that had happened in the last few
hours.
"Breakfast," I said.
"Oh. Yeah. Yeah." He sat up sleepily and thumbed his eyes. "You sacked
out early last night, huh?"
"Around ten. What time you come in?" I asked.
"Midnight. The Kinowski girl gave me a hard time. You can look, but you
can't touch. That sort of deal." He staggered off to the john. "Bet you
enjoyed a vacation from women, eh?"
"Yeah," I said bitterly. "Yeah, sure."
We went to breakfast. I got a reproachful look from Bonnie--who was
hurt because I hadn't taken her up on her invitation to come to her
cabin--and I got a sly look from Sandra, who was rejoicing in the way
she'd led me around by the nose. I ignored them both.
I got back to the cabin early and cleaned up. It was a bright, sunny
day. I hauled the typewriter out onto the porch, got the folder
containing my outline, matched up a sheet of paper and a sheet of
carbon paper and a second sheet, rolled them into the typewriter,
spaced down to the middle of the page, and boldly typed out in capital
letters, CHAPTER ONE.
Then I stopped.
I stared at the page. My outline was right there next to the
typewriter, but I couldn't begin.
I knew just how I wanted to begin. A scene in my hero's office,
showing him in action, illuminating his character right at the start
and providing a sort of overture to the story. But I couldn't decide
whether I wanted to begin with a line of dialogue or a paragraph of
description. I typed out some description, finally, and it sounded
wooden and stilted. I threw the page away, inserted a new one, and
bravely typed out CHAPTER ONE again.
And stared at the page some more.
I knew what the matter was. It had nothing to do with nervousness about
beginning the book. I knew that once I got rolling the opening chapter
would flow easily. The real trouble was that I couldn't concentrate. I
had women on my mind.
Too many women.
Harriet. Bonnie.
Joanie.
Sandra.
Harriet with the freckled breasts and the ping-pong paddle. Bonnie
with the bug eyes and the pathetic desire to be loved. Sandra with her
devil's lust, her hotbox insistence that could not be brooked. And
Joanie with the flawless body and all the amorous fervor of a Greek
marble statue.
They bothered me. The girls I wanted I could not have. The ones I
_didn't_ want gave me no rest. They made eyes at me in the mess hall,
they crept into my bed in the early hours of the morning, they pleaded
with me to visit their cabins after taps.
Al Fieldston, Stud.
Sure. You sit back there and you envy me. You say I'm crazy to be
complaining because three different women have a need for me.
Brother, let me tell you something.
It's possible to _have enough_. I mean that. You can eat filet mignon,
charcoal-broiled and dripping with juice, until your gut gives up and
the next mouthful brings everything up. You can really get to despise
filet mignon.
Especially when it's free.
And especially when you'd much rather be eating lobster.
The same here. Bonnie, Harriet, Sandra--I could have them any time,
any time at all. Well, love is fun. But there's a challenge involved.
Whether the woman is your wife or your mistress of ten years or just
somebody you picked up on the corner opposite the Merchandise Mart,
you want her to resist a little. You want to have to do some seducing
before you get their clothes off. You don't want them to run around
with everything out for grabs, and you don't want them slithering
into your bed at all hours of the day or night. That kind of stuff is
strictly for sultans. Me, I like a little resistance.
Bonnie didn't resist. Neither did Harriet. Neither did Sandra. For them
it was Sadie Hawkins day all the year round.
Well, I didn't go for that routine. I've never seen much in shooting
fish in a barrel. I wanted to have to _chase_ a girl a little bit, and
I didn't want to be chased myself.